Sometimes in a pinch frivolous young squirrelmaids can turn out far more resourceful than they themselves would have known. So it was with Celandine. As a Rambling Rosehip Player, she had acted the part of the brave and beautiful heroine many times. Now was her chance to give a star performance.
Cap’n Tramun Clogg advanced on her, leering and winking roguishly. “Haharr, don’t be afeared o’ me, pretty little bird. Soon you’ll be singin’ just fer me!”
Celandine backed off, throwing up her paws in horror. “Begone, you great ugly toad. Put not a paw near me!”
Clogg, who had always imagined himself as a handsome buccaneering beast, halted indignantly. “Ugly toad? You hardnosed liddle snip, come ’ere, I say!”
“Never. I would rather die!”
“Hoho, missy, that kin be arranged. Now be still or you’ll make it worse on yoreself . . .”
Clogg leaped at her, clutching with his free paw. Celandine stumbled back, half tripping. She grabbed a pawful of the sandy soil and flung it straight into the corsair’s face. Regaining her balance, she dashed off.
Clogg dropped his cutlass and sat down hard, pawing at his eyes, which were jammed full of loose, gritty dust.
“Get after that bold baggage an’ catch ’er,” he howled at his crew. “Lively now! I’ll ’ave ’er ears fer dinner an’ ’er liver ’n’ tripes tore out!”
Only Gruzzle stayed back to look after Clogg. The rest set off at a run after Celandine, laughing and cheering. They knew a single squirrelmaid could not get far with an entire crew of corsairs hard on her paws.
* * *
Celandine ran as she had never run before, wishing that she had not added all the frills and furbelows to her Rambling Rosehip tunic. They impeded her and often caused her to stumble. Behind her she could hear the whoops and guffaws of her pursuers as they drew closer. The squirrelmaid’s breath came in ragged sobs. She was unused to running any great distance. Cap’n Clogg had made it plain that he meant her harm, and there was no telling what might happen to her if she fell into the claws of searats and corsairs. Death would be inevitable. Not knowing where she was running to, Celandine forced her flagging limbs onward.
Three searats, Gritter, Crableg and Bluddnose, took the lead, outstripping the rest of Clogg’s crew easily. They were good runners, lean and fit.
A sand dune rose up in front of Celandine, and there was no way round it. She panted fitfully, going down on all fours as she attempted to scramble up the hill. Crableg put on an extra spurt and dived forward. He managed to catch the squirrelmaid’s back footpaw. Wriggling swiftly on to her back, Celandine kicked out. She caught him hard on the snout, causing Crableg to release her. The searat was so close he could have reached out and touched her.
“You ain’t goin’ to be pretty no more, squirrel!” he snarled as he wiped a stream of blood from his snout on to the back of his paw.
Whipping a curved dagger from his waist sash, he brandished it. Suddenly a wooden lance seemed to grow out of his chest. Crableg looked down at it and fell dead with a foolish expression of surprise on his face. The slaying happened so quickly that Gritter and Bluddnose had not seen it. They arrived panting at the dune to find their messmate lying dead, with the short wooden lance protruding from him like a ship’s mast. There was no other creature in sight except the squirrelmaid, her eyes wide with horror.
Gritter drew his sword and walked uphill towards her. “You killed Crableg wi’ that piece o’ wood, you liddle serpint!”
As he raised the sword, another javelin came whistling through the air and transfixed him through the throat.
Bluddnose had drawn his sword, but his nerves failed him. With a small wail of fright he flung the weapon away and took to his heels, back towards the main group, who were now in sight.
Celandine sat shocked, looking at the two dead searats in front of her.
“Celandine, climb the hill, get up here quickly!” a hoarse, urgent voice called from the hilltop.
She sat staring at the carcasses of Crableg and Gritter, unable to comprehend what had happened.
“Move yourself, missy,” Ballaw’s voice rang out theatrically. “Come on, up here or you’ll miss your cue!”
Automatically, Celandine picked herself up and scrambled dumbly to the hilltop. Rowanoak’s huge paws swept her over the hill and out of sight. The badger clamped a paw over the squirrelmaid’s mouth, and Ballaw and Felldoh fixed fresh javelins on to their throwers.
* * *
Crosstooth the fox had always liked Crableg’s curved dagger. He took it from the searat’s lifeless paw and tucked it into his belt as he nudged Gritter’s body with his spearshaft.
“Y’mean to tell us that the pretty liddle squirrel did this?”
Bluddnose was shaking uncontrollably. “Well, there was nobeast else ’ereabouts. She musta did it!”
The ferret Boggs curled his lip scornfully. “Did ye see the squirrel kill ’em?”
Bluddnose sat down on the duneside, head in paws. “No, I never. One moment they was large as life, next thing they’re both dead. She must’ve done it. Can’t yer see, she’s vanished. I knew we should never ’ave messed with magic beasts!”
A weasel called Floater swapped his own chipped and rusted sword for the better blade that Gritter had once owned, and scoffed aloud, “Vanished me tail! We seen ’er go over this ’ere dune. See, there’s the beauty’s pawtracks. I’m goin’ up there an’ get ’er meself.”
Clogg stumped to join the rest, with Gruzzle at his side, still trying to clear the corners of his Cap’n’s eyes with a none too clean silk kerchief. Tramun shoved him away and patted Floater’s back.
“Aye, there’s the laddo. Up the ’ill ye go, Floater. Sing out if you sees anythin’ up there.”
As they stood watching the weasel scale the dune, Clogg muttered in his beard to himself. “Nay, it weren’t no snip of a squirrelymaid did fer two tough rogues like Crableg an’ ole Gritter. The beast that did this could sling a lance good an’ proper.”
Shielding his eyes, Clogg squinted up at the weasel, who had made it to the top of the hill.
“Ahoy, Floater. Any signs o’ life up there?”
The weasel waved his paws wildly, shouting aloud, “Cap’n, it’s threeeeeeeeeee!”
Floater came tumbling awkwardly back down the dune, flopping this way and that, hampered in his fall by the short lance through the center of his back. The body halted its sliding descent right in front of the Cap’n’s big wooden clogs.
“Three o’ me best fightin’ beasts slain. Harr, the murderin’ scoundrels, ’ooever they are. Right, buckoes, arm yerselves an’ take the ’ill. Chaaarge!”
Clogg stood back, whirling his cutlass as he urged them on. The charge was not a notable success. Nobeast wanted to reach the top first, and there was a deal of hanging back and accidental stumbling before Clogg realized what was going on. The pirate stoat did a small dance of anger, clogs clicking sharply.
“You bottlenosed bloaters, get up that ’ill right now, d’ye hear me. That’s an order from yer Cap’n. Go on, chaaaaarge!”
They stood awkwardly about a third of the way up the dune, still unwilling to storm the hilltop. Clogg unsheathed his cutlass and began bustling his way up, knocking crew members left and right as he did.
“Out o’ me way, yer mack’rel-faced, milk-swiggin’, muck’eads. Yore nothin’ but a pack o’ ring-tailed cowards!”
As they turned to look sheepishly at him, a searat called Wulpp screamed when a short javelin zinged out of nowhere and slammed right through his footpaw. The charge immediately deteriorated into an undignified rush down the hill.
Clogg followed in their rear, berating them soundly. “One liddle spear an’ yore all runnin’ about like beetles in a bucket. Ho shame! I never thought I’d see the day a crew o’ mine would dash off without even seein’ the enemy!”
When they were a reasonable distance from the big dune, the corsairs stopped and sat down on a grassy sward. Tramun came clattering up, with Wulpp limping slowly several lengths behind. The corsair Cap’n slumped down and began emptying sand from his clogs.
“Gruzzle, I’m fair disappointed in you, matey, an’ you, Dedjaw, an’ you, Boggs. Mateys, what are ye all afeared of, a few ole sharpened wooden sticks?”
Whang!
A needle-pointed lance arced out of the blue summer sky, narrowly missing Tramun Clogg as it pinned his coat skirt to the ground. The corsair Cap’n leaped up as if he had been beestung, ripping his coat from the quivering lance in the process.
“Tidal waves an’ typhoons! There must be a monster be’ind yon ’ill. Nobeast could hurl a lance that far!”
The rout continued, with Clogg in the lead as they scurried back to the safety of Marshank.
* * *
Behind the sand dune, Felldoh lay watching over the rim at the retreating corsairs.
Ballaw blew a long sigh of relief as he put down his javelins and thrower. “Good job they never charged the bally top an’ stormed us. There was enough of the blighters.”
Rowanoak dusted sand from herself. “There certainly was. Imagine if they’d got past us, our camp is only over the next hill, south and east on the clifftops.”
Celandine suddenly bounced back as if nothing had happened. Primping the lace hems of her tunic, she remarked airily, “Oh yes, I had an idea it was, that’s why I headed over this way!”
Ballaw rolled his eyes upward in mock despair. “You dreadful little fibber, miss! You were coming this way because a band of ruffians were chasing you.”
“O them!” Celandine tossed her tail huffily. “I knew they wouldn’t get me!”
Felldoh turned around from the dune rim. “But how did you know?”
Celandine clasped both his paws, fluttering her eyelids wildly. “Because I knew in my heart that my brave Felldoh would come to my rescue, and you did.”
Rowanoak smiled and shook her huge head. “Come on, brave Felldoh, let’s get this ruthless charmer back to camp!”
Felldoh felt his face burning as Celandine hung on his paws, praising him outrageously.
“You’re so strong, so courageous, and so accurate with your sharp little sticks. Ooh look, I pricked my paw on one!”
* * *
When they had gone, Brome emerged from hiding. He had followed Felldoh with the intention of joining him, until the badger and the hare decided to help his friend. Brome had stayed out of sight, knowing that Ballaw and Rowanoak would have sent him packing, back to camp. So he secreted himself in a clump of tor grass and watched them rescuing Celandine. Brome had grown a lot bolder since his escape from Marshank. He admired Felldoh and wanted to be like him, but he was treated as a young one in the camp. Brome climbed the dune and peered down on the three dead corsairs, imagining himself launching lances alongside Felldoh and simmering with resentment at being left out.
He slid down the dune on his bottom and sat looking at the three lifeless figures. After a while the young mouse ventured to pick up the sword which lay near Gritter. He swung it in the air, trying a few fancy strokes, an idea forming in his head as he did. There were still a good number of slaves to be freed from Marshank. Imagine the looks on the faces of Felldoh, Ballaw and Rowanoak if he, Brome, came marching back with a score or so of slaves that he had rescued.
The more Brome swung the sword the more he liked the idea. He would do it!
Arming himself with the sword and a dagger from Floater’s belt, he dressed himself up in an assortment of corsair gear which he took from the three bodies. Smudging up his face with a few pawfuls of dust, Brome pulled the brim of Crableg’s floppy hat down at a rakish angle and set off for Fortress Marshank. Swaggering along like a villainous searat, he practised the brogue.
“Haharr, I’m Bucktail, as good a matey that ever sailed the seas an’ plundered landlubbers. Haharr an’ hoho!”