Badrang ordered a wallguard to be posted night and day against the return of Tramun Clogg. He harbored no doubts at all that the pirate would be back, doubly bent on revenge and conquest. Extra guards were put to watch the slaves when they were quarrying stone, fishing or tending crops to feed the horde.
Felldoh’s father Barkjon had wheedled himself on to kitchen duty. He kept his old eyes and ears open, gathering all the information he could. In the slave compound at night he discussed it with others. Since Martin’s open defiance of Badrang and Felldoh’s rock throwing, a new mood was beginning to make itself felt among the captives. Keyla, Barkjon and a hedgehog named Hillgorse were a little bolder than the rest. They soon became the ringleaders of a rebellious little group that met each night around the compound fire. Barkjon was a squirrel with a wise old head, and everybeast listened when he talked.
“We must do all we can to help Felldoh and Martin escape, and the other little mouse Brome. If they can make it to freedom, I know that they will do all in their power to defeat Badrang and free us all. Felldoh and Martin are the only ones ever to defy the Tyrant, I am certain that if they were on the outside they would not leave us here to rot in captivity.”
There were murmurs of agreement from the creatures that crowded round to listen at the meeting. A mouse called Purslane, who sat with her husband and babe, called out, “Tell us what to do, Barkjon. We’re with you.”
“Get them extra rations to keep up their strength,” Keyla answered for the old squirrel. “Shellfish or shrimp if you’re out with a fishing party, crops or fruit if you work in the fields. They need to be fit if they’re to escape.”
A female otter named Tullgrew spoke up. “What if you work in the quarry like I do? How can I help?”
“Hinder, hamper, work as slowly as you can,” Hillgorse answered her. “If at all able, try to steal anything that can be used as a weapon—tools, sharp rock shards, anything. They may all be needed someday.”
“Don’t listen to them. You’ll only land us all in trouble.”
Barkjon stood up and gazed out over the slaves. “Is that you, Druwp?”
A surly-looking bankvole who was trying to hide behind others lifted his head. “Yes, it’s me.”
Tullgrew grabbed him and stood him upright. “Then don’t hide at the back muttering, stand up and speak up face to face with others instead of slinking about.”
“Go on, Druwp, have your say.” Hillgorse nodded towards the bankvole.
It was clear whose side the bankvole was on when he spoke. “We’re slaves, and it’s better to be alive than killed trying to do foolish things. Badrang and his horde are too strong for us. If you start stealing fish and crops and tools we’ll all be punished. I don’t want to be suffering for the foolishness of others. Count me out of your plans!”
Purslane threw a piece of firewood at Druwp. “Shut your snivelling little trap. I’ve seen you hanging around the guards and carrying tales. You’re a sneak, Druwp, a toady!”
Angry murmurs arose from the crowd. Barkjon held up a paw for order. When there was quiet he confronted the bankvole.
“Unfortunately, we cannot count you out of our plans, Druwp. You are one of us, therefore all we do affects you and anything you choose to do must affect us. Together we can be a stream, coursing its way powerful and silent. Even a small stream can wear away large rocks. But separate us and we become as single droplets of water, ready to be scattered by the flick of a paw. You are either on our side, or you are with Badrang and his horde.”
Druwp lowered his eyes avoiding Barkjon’s gaze. “I am alone, I side with nobeast. Leave me to live my own life as I see fit.”
Barkjon silenced the angry murmurings of the slaves with a growl. “So be it, Druwp. No creature is forced to join us. You may stay alone. But let me warn you, bankvole, if one word of our business reaches Badrang and his creatures, I will hold you responsible. When that happens you will be a deadbeast. I promise this!”
Druwp slunk out of the crowd to a deserted corner of the compound. The silence that followed was eventually broken by Keyla.
“Oh well, if that’s all for tonight I’ll be on my way. Feeding time for the prisoners, you know.”
* * *
Rose and Grumm lay behind the rocks, watching Fortress Marshank, helpless and unable to approach the gates because of the two sentries who stood on the walltop keeping a lookout for the return of Tramun Clogg.
The mousemaid shook her head despairingly. “With those two up there we won’t be able to communicate with our friend. What can we do, Grumm?”
“Oi says we sit’n toight an’ wait. You’m friend be a cleverbeast, ’ee’ll think o’ summat, miz, you’m see, hurr aye.”
* * *
Inside the fortress Keyla was racking his young brains for an idea. He poked scraps through the grating as he whispered to the prisoners below.
“They’re guarding the walltop, mates. It’s going to be difficult getting instructions to our friends out there. Any ideas?”
“Hey down there, what’s all the whisperin’ about? Are you talkin’ to those prisoners? If ye are I’ll lay me spearhandle across yer back!”
Keyla spread his paws wide appealingly. “Not me, sir. I haven’t said a word. It’s these poor wretches in the pit, they’re callin’ to me. They say that they’ve got the fever and they want to be let out.”
Frogbit and Nipwort, the two rats who were on guard, looked at each other, taken aback by the news.
“Fever! I knew it, mate. Gurrad was shiverin’ like a leaf last night. He sat by the fire drinkin’ wine, an’ this mornin’ said ’e was stayin’ in ’is bunk cos of the pains in ’is ’ead.”
“Nah, that was just through guzzlin’ too much wine. There ain’t no fever in this fortress, mate.”
“No? Well, what about ole Fleabane, got a great yeller mark on ’is ear. It was bleedin’ this afternoon!”
“Huh, that’s cos the fool’s been scratchin’ at it to make it go away. Nah, there ain’t no fever ’ereabouts, take my word.”
“That’s exactly what I said, sir,” Keyla called up to them. “But these three down here are convinced they’ve got fever or plague or something horrible. Come down and take a look at them, sir.”
“What do we want lookin’ at mouldy prisoners,” Nipwort scoffed. “Our job is up ’ere lookin’ out fer other things.”
“Listen,” Keyla whispered down to his friends, “they can’t stop sick creatures shouting out feverishly. If Rose is outside she’ll hear you.”
* * *
Below in the pit Martin grasped his friends’ paws.
“Who has the loudest voice, mates?”
Brome swelled his little chest out. “Try me, listen to this . . .” Cupping his paws, Brome yelled aloud in a piercing howl, “Somebeast, anybeast, can you hear me? Help us, there’s fever down here!”
Both Martin and Felldoh had to cover their ears. The youngster had lungs like bellows and a howl like an injured wolf.
“Help, help! We’re dying of fever. What’s the matter, can’t you hear me?”
Nipwort clenched his paws and ground his teeth together. “Of course we can ’ear yer! Stop that yellin’ or I’ll come down there an’ kick yer tail until it’s blue!”
“Oh yes, sir,” Brome howled back louder than ever. “Please, sir, kick us, beat us, but come down and see us. We’re dying slowly of fever. The place is a plague hole. Come down and see for yourself!”
Frogbit shuddered. “Fat chance! I ain’t goin’ down there an’ catchin’ a sickness.”
Nipwort was in complete agreement. “Nor me, mate. They c’n yell an’ holler all they want. I’m not puttin’ a paw anywhere near ’em.”
* * *
Through her tears Rose sat back, giggling helplessly.
“Heeheehee! That’s my little brother all right. Remember he used to scream and shout like that back home until Mama let him have his own way?”
“Yurr, oi amembers miz. Oi used t’plug moi ole ears oop wi’ grass. If’n yon choild ’as fever wi’ a voice loik that, oi be a taddypole!”
Rose held her throat, and throwing back her head she gave the eagle call.
Grumm winced and covered both ears. “Moi moi, wot a fambily furr noisenin’. Maister Brome’ll know furr sure us’ns kin ’ear ’im naow, miz.”
* * *
The eagle screech rent the night air again. Brome clapped his hands joyfully. “That’s my sister Rose all right. She can screech as good as any eagle.”
Martin patted Brome heartily on the back. “Great work, young un. Rose can hear us! Right, get ready to send her the message.”
* * *
From the walltop Nipwort shook his spear at Keyla. “You started all this, otter. Listen, they’ve even upset that eagle bird now. Get away from there, go on! Get back to the compound. You’ve caused enough mischief around here!”
Keyla knew his job was done. Martin and his friends could send their own messages to the outside. The young otter trotted off grinning happily as the two guards argued away on the wall.
“I’m not putting up with this row all night.”
“Oh no, then go down there an’ shut them up.”
“Me? Huh, I’m stayin’ right up ’ere, mate!”
“An’ so am I, mate. We’ll just ’ave to ignore the noise an’ keep watch fer the Seascarab.”
“Ignore the noise! Are you jokin’? Lissen to that!”
“Roseyrosey rosey, Grummgrumm grumm! Lissenamee lissenamee!”
The eagle screech sounded again. Rose and Grumm were listening.
Nipwort and Frogbit plugged their ears with the screwed-up corners of their ragged cloaks and concentrated on watching the sea.
Brome sent the message in fine howling style.
“In the middle of the gate set your faces.
Oh, I’m dyin’ of the fever!
Walk to the south about twenty paces.
It’s a terrible thing this fever!
There are three of us in this awful pit.
The fever, the fever!
As deep as three mice and a bit.
I’m goin’ to die of fever!
We need the claws of a good old chum.
The fever, the fever!
I know that you can do it, Grumm,
Don’t let me die of fever!”
There was a moment’s silence, then the call of the eagle screeched out three times. Rose had received the message.
A quiet peace fell over the star-traced seas, the shingled beach and the weary sentries on the walltop. The only sound was small waves gently lapping the land as the tide ebbed. Frogbit unplugged his ears. Nipwort followed his mate’s example.
“Cwaw! Ain’t it lovely an’ quiet.”
“Aye, I think the eagle bird frightened ’em inter silence.”
“Silence, wot a lovely word.”
“It’d sound better if you shut yer gob an’ gave it a chance.”
* * *
Rose had written it all down on a smooth rock with a piece of sea coal. She read the instructions carefully to Grumm.
“Face the center of the gates, walk twenty paces to the south. Brome says there’s three of them in a pit that is as deep as three and a bit mice. So if we, or should I say you, dig down twice my height then straight tunnel from the twenty-pace mark, sooner or later you’ll break into the pit at about head height. Can you do it, Grumm?”
The mole winked as he flexed his huge digging claws. “Can oi do et, miz? Can burds floiy in sky, can fishers swim in ’ee seas? Hurr hurr, ’twould be easier’n eatin’ yore mama’s li’l apple puddens!”
“If you rescue Brome, I’ll see that my mama bakes you more apple puddings than you could shake a stick at, when we get back to Noonvale.” The mousemaid hurled herself on Grumm and stroked his velvety back fur the wrong way.
“Ohoohoohurrhurr, mizzy. Doant you’m do that. Et tickles, hoohoohurrhurr!”