“Hoohoohooh! Howooooooommmmm!”
Almost a score of sleek black seals popped up, flapping their fins and honking mockingly. A moment later, the limp forms of the other three searats were tossed up onto the deck.
Razzid Wearat stamped up and down on the prow with rage. “Wot the . . . ? Kill ’em, slay those things. Now!”
The seals were too close to focus the giant arrows on, but corsairs flocked to the Greenshroud’s midship deck, flinging anything that came to paw at the circling seals. Still hooting and honking derisively, the skilful mammals seemed to treat the corsairs’ efforts as a joke. They playfully ducked any weapons, then, using their snouts, bounced them back at the vermin crew, two of whom were badly wounded by spears. A few of the seals discovered a rope hanging from the vessel’s stern. A group of them seized it in their teeth and began twirling the ship, towing it in circles and submerging anytime something was thrown at them.
Razzid Wearat was in a towering rage, but the more he cursed, kicked or swore at his hapless crew, the worse the situation became. He could see that the seals were actually relishing his discomfort, honking merrily and clapping their flippers in scornful applause.
Stamping off to his cabin, he snarled at Shekra, “I need to rest. Call me when those stupid beasts tire of their silly games an’ leave us alone!”
The vixen was about to reply when a bunch of wet kelp slapped her in the face. The seals were enjoying their game.
“Hoohoohoo! Haaaawuuurrr!”
The two runaways made it to the foot of the dunes, whereupon Uggo slumped down on the warm, shifting sand, gasping wearily. “Can’t go no further, mate, don’t care wot ’appens!”
Hiding her own fatigue, the pretty hogmaid sat down beside him. “We can rest awhile, but not for long. Once those seals stop tormenting them, the vermin will come after us again. Our best plan is to find somewhere to hide.”
A shrill voice rang out from the dunetop. “Wiggles, git back ’ere—you’ll fall!”
A cascade of sand from the duneside almost enveloped Posy and Uggo. A tiny hedgehog babe emerged blinking from the sand. She pulled tongues at them, then began dancing, and squeaking back up the sandhill.
“Yah, yah! I didn’t never felled, see? I jumpered!”
A moment later, a squirrelmaid of about the same age as Posy and Uggo slid gracefully down from the summit. She nodded briefly to them.
“’Scuse me, be witcha soon!”
She went after the babe Wiggles, who evaded her grasp at every turn, giggling as she did an elusive dance.
As the tiny hog was passing, Posy stuck out a paw and tripped her. Uggo grasped Wiggles, holding her still. This gave the squirrelmaid time to grab the little hog, then wrap her tightly in a shawl as she squeaked angrily, “Yew lemmee go, Foober—y’ain’t my mammy!”
The squirrelmaid, Foober, tweaked Wiggles’s snout. “I wudden be yore mammy, not fer a barrel o’ nuts. Wait’ll I tells ’er ’ow you’ve been behavin!”
She nodded to Uggo and Posy. “Y’ain’t from round ’ere, are yer? Whereja come from, then?”
Posy pointed to the Greenshroud out at sea. “We were prisoners on that ship, but we escaped, an’ now we need to hide somewhere before the vermin come after us.”
Foober passed Wiggles to Uggo. “Ye keep ahold o’ that liddle snit—yore an ’edge’og. Someplace to ’ide, eh? Foller me!”
She started back uphill; they followed her hurriedly. Living up to her name, Wiggles wriggled wildly in Uggo’s grip.
He shook her, though not too hard. “Be still, baby, or you’ll fall. Yowch!”
Posy turned to see what was happening. “What now?”
Uggo ducked his head out of the little one’s way. “She bit me on the nose, the liddle savage!”
Foober chuckled. “Then bite ’er back—go on!”
Uggo bared his teeth menacingly, though he had no intention of biting Wiggles, who began wailing, “Waaahaaahaaah! It not fair, yew got big sharp teef, ya bully. I’m on’y likkel.”
The threat had worked. Uggo gnashed his teeth for better effect. “Then be still or I’ll bite yore nose clean off!”
They followed Foober almost out of the dunes, where the heathland was dotted with scrubby hummocks. Smoke from cooking fires rose from behind a large patch of gorse bushes. Foober yelled, “Comin’ in! Open d’gate, Freepaws.”
A section of the yellow-flowered spiked branches was drawn back by two hairy voles with hooked staffs. They escorted the small party through to a fire, where a big old silver-tailed squirrel was roasting parsnips in the embers.
He waved to Uggo and Posy. “Hah, two young ’ogs, eh? I likes ’ogs, affable beasts they usually are. Are ye affable?”
Not knowing what the word meant, Posy nodded. “Oh, we’re affable, sir, very affable. I’m Posy, and he’s Uggo. We’ve escaped from a vermin ship.”
For his length of seasons, the silver-tailed squirrel had a fine set of teeth. He grinned widely at them. “Name ain’t sir—’tis Rekaby. Excaped, eh? ’Ard work, excapin’. Y’must be ’ungry, come an’ eat.”
Scraping ash from two roasted parsnips, he gave them one apiece. They tasted very good. Uggo looked around at the others within the gorse compound. They were a diverse bunch: squirrels, moles, voles, hedgehogs and various types of mice.
Foober helped herself to a parsnip, winking at the silver-tailed patriarch. “Nobeast kin roast parsnippers like yew, Granpa. Wot are yew starin’ at, Uggo?”
The young hog explained. “Sorry, but I couldn’t help noticin’ yore certainly a mixed bunch.”
Rekaby shrugged. “That’s ’cos we’re the Fortunate Freepaws, y’see. We do no ’arm to anybeast, go where we like an’ do wot we please. Even the Axehound’s Crew leave us be. Good name that, ain’t it, Fortunate Freepaws? I thought it up meself. I like big words—d’you know any?”
Posy scratched her headspikes thoughtfully. “Er, how about curmudgeon, or lackadaisical?”
Rekaby repeated the words, relishing their sounds. “Curmudgeon, lackadaisical. . . . I likes them. Wot do they mean?”
Posy explained, “Well, a curmudgeon is a beast who’s moody and sulky. Lackadaisical, I’m not quite sure, but I think it means some creature who is idle and couldn’t care less about things.”
Rekaby scraped off another parsnip, nodding sagely. “Good new words, I’ll remember them. Thankee, Miz Posy.” He gave the parsnip to Wiggle. “So then, ye liddle curmudgeon,’ave yew bin behavin’ yoreself, or ’ave ye bin givin’ pore Foober the runabout?”
Wiggle climbed up on the oldster’s lap, giggling. “Ho, Wiggle gived ’er the runabouts. I’m a real ’mudgeon!”
Rekaby kissed the babe’s soft headspikes fondly. “See that? Ye’ve nearly learned my new word. Go on, now, off with ye an’ torment yore mammy for a while.”
Uggo gained Rekaby’s attention. “Ain’t you worried about the vermin we escaped from? They’ll be comin’ ashore an’ huntin’ for us. There’s a lot of ’em, y’know, an’ they’re pirates an’ murderers.”
The old squirrel laid an earthenware pot in front of Uggo and Posy. “Try dippin’ yore parsnips in this. ’Tis gorseflower honey—we gets it from the bees here.”
Both hedgehogs did as Rekaby suggested, with Posy pursuing Uggo’s enquiry. “Mmm, it tastes quite pleasant, but you haven’t answered my friend’s question, Rekaby.”
The old squirrel gestured with his parsnip. “I think I hear your answer comin’ now. Open the gates for Swiffo, will ye?”
Hooking back the spiny gorse, the two hairy voles admitted a lithe young sea otter. Rekaby called him to the fire. “Now then, ye young curmudgeon, I’ve roasted a parsnip or two for ye. So, what news?”
Swiffo winked at Uggo and Posy as he helped himself to the food. “You two were lucky to escape that ole vermin ship. Ye wouldn’t have made it ’cept for the Whoomers. Hah, I likes Whoomers—they’re good fun!”