An alliance had been made between Badrang the Tyrant and Cap’n Tramun Clogg. Still not trusting each other, the two villainous stoats affixed their signatures to a sprawling birch-bark parchment, Badrang writing his name in a curly flourishing script, whilst Clogg laboriously scrawled an X and a crude sketch of a wooden clog, his mark. It was witnessed by Gurrad the rat for Marshank and Boggs the ferret for the corsairs. Tramun repeated the terms as he and the Tyrant took a joint beaker of best parsley wine.
“Harr, so, as I sees it you’re goin’ to call off yer troops an’ lend me some slaves to refurbish an’ refloat my ship. Meself on the other paw, won’t attack, ’arass or demand slaves from you. I’m to unnerstand that the slaves you lend me is still yores an’ ’ave to be returned. Right?”
Badrang sipped his wine and nodded, tapping the parchment. “Aye, agreed, and don’t forget all this. At such times as you have a seaworthy craft to sail off in, I keep half of your crew as hostages. When, or if, you return having taken more slaves, then they get divided equally between us and you get your hostages returned to give you a full crew.”
Clogg stroked his plaited whiskers, narrowing one eye. “Fairly said, partner, fairly said. An’ I can feed me crew from yer supplies an’ billet them ’ere in yer fancy fort, though I’m never to tell other corsairs or searats as I may come across on the ’igh seas the location of this ’ere place.”
Badrang nodded, refilling Clogg’s beaker. “Right! But don’t forget, Tramun, after the first cargo of slaves is split between us you guarantee to sell any further slaves from other voyages only to me. I’ll give you the best of weapons, trade goods and supplies.”
Clogg slopped wine as he threw back his head and drained the beaker, then draped a paw around Badrang’s shoulders. “Haharr, just like in the good ole days, eh, matey!”
The Tyrant reciprocated by throwing his paw about Clogg’s neck. “Aye, as y’ say, just like in the good ole days, Tramun. But this time there’ll be no underpaw dealings, traitors nor spybeasts.”
“Spybeasts? I ain’t never used spybeasts, matey.” The pirate stoat adopted a look of injured innocence.
“There, there.” Badrang patted Clogg’s neck affectionately. “I know you haven’t. There’s nothing worse than a spybeast. Why, if I thought there was one in my fortress I’d tie him to the gates and let my archers use him for target practice. Look, just like that fox over yonder.”
He turned Clogg’s neck with his paw so that the corsair was looking at the inside of Marshank’s main gates. The carcass of Skalrag hung there, stuck with so many arrows it was like a pincushion.
Even though he was seething inwardly, Clogg grinned from ear to ear. “Foxes was allus traitors. I never liked that one.”
Badrang tightened his grip on Clogg’s neck momentarily then released him. The Tyrant matched the corsair grin for grin.
“Neither did I, matey, neither did I!”
* * *
Early morning sun bathed the shore beyond the headland, promising a high hot day. Rowanoak harnessed herself between the shafts of the Rosehips’ gaily painted cart and they moved further along the shoreline, away from the close proximity of Marshank. Felldoh and Brome enjoyed the company of the Rambling Rosehip creatures greatly; they had been accepted immediately as friends and possible members.
By midmorning they had set up their camp on the clifftops, where they had an excellent view of the area without revealing their presence. The hare Ballaw De Quincewold and Rowanoak were in close conference while the rest unpacked and prepared lunch. Brome helped Gauchee and Kastern to prepare a leek and bean soup, sniggering with the two mice as they watched the pretty squirrel Celandine trying to flirt shamelessly with a much embarrassed Felldoh as he unloaded the cart, blushing to his tailtip at her simpering compliments.
“Oh Mister Felldoh, you’re so strong! You lifted that trunk as if it were no more than a feather. I’ll bet you must be the most powerful squirrel in the whole country!”
Felldoh was completely lost for words. He turned away from the cart and started breaking some driftwood up for the fire.
Celandine dabbed at her brow with a dainty lace square. “Oh my, oh my. I’d be all season just trying to break one teensy piece of that wood with an axe, and look at you, sir, snapping it in those great paws of yours like it was dead grass!”
Trefoil the other squirrelmaid unceremoniously bundled a pile of tunics at Celandine. “Here, missy, get your paws wet washing those through and leave that poor fellow alone before he turns into a beetroot!”
The temptress flounced off in a huff, laden with dirty washing. Trefoil began snapping wood alongside Felldoh.
“Take no notice of her, friend. I’ve seen her fluttering her eyelashes at dragonflies.”
Buckler the mole was erecting the awning as a sunshade. “Burr aye, she’m a gurt flutterer, that un,” he chuckled. “Oi losed moi ’eart to ’er long seasons agone. Hurr, but she’m a foin arctress too!”
The food was good and simple, hot soup followed by wheatflour pancakes spread with wild honey. The company lounged beneath the awning, eating and drinking cool mint and buttercup cordial from an old stone jar.
Rowanoak shook her great head.
“What in the name of trees and turnips made us ramble this far up the land, I’ll never know. We had good times in the south, friendly creatures to entertain, nice places to stop awhile . . .”
Ballaw the hare made a pancake disappear with alarming speed. “True, true, but what’s a chap got up here in this bally neck o’ the woods? Fortresses, tyrants an’ corsairs. Bit thick, isn’t it, wot? About the only decent thing was meeting you two jolly lads.”
The rest of the company murmured agreement.
Rowanoak stared patiently at the hare. Ballaw carried on guzzling cordial, unaware that he had interrupted her flow. “If you’re quite finished, Mister De Quincewold?” she continued.
Ballaw dispatched another pancake, daintily licking honey from his paws. “Not finished dealin’ with these pancakes, Rowan me old oak, but don’t let me stop you talkin’. You eat less when y’ talk. Hawhaw!”
The badger eyed him frostily before continuing.
“Thank you! Now what I have to say concerns our new friends Felldoh and Brome. Here is what I propose. We’re up here anyway, for better or worse, so we may as well do something useful. It goes without saying that we will keep our eyes peeled for any sign of their companions, Brome’s sister, Martin and the mole Grumm. But meanwhile, as Felldoh has told us, his father Barkjon is a slave in that dreadful fortress. It makes my blood boil when I think of a creature being enslaved, robbed of freedom, beaten, starved and forced to labor for some jumped-up villain. What do you think?”
There was an instant chorus of agreement with Rowanoak.
“Shame, poor old Barkjon!”
“It’s a flamin’ liberty, wot?”
“Yurr, nobeaster should be slave to anuther!”
“Oh, I can’t imagine it, we’ve always been free!”
“It’s disgraceful. That horrid stoat!”
Rowanoak let them carry on working up their indignation before carrying on with her speech. When they had done she continued.
“When Ballaw and I formed the Rambling Rosehip Players we took on only talented creatures we knew we could rely on. I personally have never been disappointed in any of you, that is why today we are all gather—”
“Oh, stop takin’ a bally seavoyage to get round a cockleshell, old gel. We all want to rescue Felldoh’s old pater, don’t we?”
“Aye!” The response was loud and wholehearted.
“Good show. Then let’s stop jawbangin’ an’ get to it, wot?”
Rowanoak passed Ballaw the pancakes and honey. She was smiling. “Thank you, Bal, you old rascal. Now we need a strategy, and you know the best way that a travelling company can scout the land?”
Buckler held up a sticky digging claw. “Yurss, marm, us’ns goo thurr an put on ’ee show!”
“What?” Felldoh spluttered on his drink. “Now just hold fast a moment friends. It’s very kind of you to offer to rescue my dear old dad. But we’ve an appointment with Martin in Noonvale. Our plan is to raise an army and free all the slaves. And anyway you’d last as long as a leaf on a bonfire at Marshank.”
Kastern the mousemaid chuckled. “Listen, squirrel, if you’d been half the places we’ve been and done a quarter of the things we’ve done, you’d know better.”
“Chaha! I’d say y’ would, old lad. Gauchee, remember we put on the courtin’ of the frog an’ the caterpillar for all those fierce toads in the south swamps?”
“Do I ever!” The mousemaid nibbled her carrot, shaking with mirth. “With you playing the villainous toad uncle. I thought those toads were so enraged they were going to toss us in the swamp!”
Celandine giggled. “And they would have, too. Good job they let Celandine butterfly tie them all up with the magic rope that would make them all handsome. Heeheeheehee!”
The whole company fell about laughing as Kastern pointed at Rowanoak. “That was when Badger Bountiful hoisted them all up into a tree and told them they too would turn into beautiful butterflies and fly away. Hahahahahaha!”
“Hoohoohoo! You should’ve seen their bally faces when we ate all their feast and went off, leavin’ ’em all hanging’ from a tree waitin’ to turn into butterflies. Hawhawhaw!”
When the laughter had subsided, Rowanoak winked at Felldoh and Brome, “No need to worry about us. We know what we’re doing.”
Felldoh grasped the badger’s paw. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Trefoil was rummaging in the cart. “Oh, don’t thank us. We won’t be doing it all on our own—you two will be taking part in the show.”
Brome leapt up in alarm. “But they’d recognize us right off!”
Kastern placed a huge frog mask over the young mouse’s head. “There, your own mama wouldn’t recognize you now.”
Rowanoak clapped her hefty paws together. “Righto, clear the food away. We’ve got a show to rehearse. Felldoh, you look strong enough to be a good catcher . . .”
Celandine fluttered her eyelashes. “Ooh, he could catch me anytime of the season!”
Rowanoak gave her a glare then ignored her. “Brome, sorry you can’t sing on this job. Your voice is too recognizable. However, you would make rather a good frog maiden.”
“Me, a frog maiden?”
“Why certainly, old lad. An’ I’ll be your wicked uncle toad. Hoho, me proud beauty, you shall never marry that caterpillar!”
Felldoh shook his head in bewilderment as Buckler stuck a large red ball on the tip of his nose. “It sounds just crazy enough to work!”