Trapped!
The word ran back like wildfire along the creatures packed into the escape tunnel, and panic took over in the dark airless place.
“We’re all going to die down here. Help!”
“Ooh, I knew we should never have tried to escape!”
“I can’t breathe. Let me out of here!”
“At least we were alive in the stockade!”
“It’s that Brome’s fault, the stupid young fool!”
Something within Keyla snapped. Suddenly the young otter was crushing and pushing, lashing out as he climbed over heads, squeezing and scraping past other creatures, bashing out with all paws and his rudderlike tail as he battled towards Brome at the blocked exit.
“Gerrout of my way! I never came down here to suffocate an’ die. Let me by, you stupid snivellin’ moaners!”
Bulling and pushing, kicking and shoving, the resourceful otter strove on through the packed airless tunnel until he felt Brome’s corsair rags in his paws. “Brome, what’s the matter. Why can’t we get out?”
His face touching Keyla’s, Brome yelled in the darkness, “We were nearly out, I’m sure of it, but the exit’s caved in!”
The otter pushed him backwards into the press of wailing slaves. “Get out of my way and give me space. I’ll get us out of here!” With a surge of strength born of desperation, Keyla threw himself at the blockage, all four paws going like windmills. Despite the screams and cries of outrage from behind, he tore, bit, gouged, kicked, dug and flailed at the sandy earth as it sprayed around him in gouts and showers. His shouts could be heard throughout the tunnel as he flung his body forward.
“Eeyaahhh! What d’you want? Somebeast to dig? I’ll show you how Keyla digs! Like this! And this! Wahoooooooooo!” The otter’s nose fountained blood as it struck a large rock. Keyla wrapped his whole body around it and yanked, grunting and squeezing past the rock, he savaged the loose earth, scraping, biting and thudding until his head burst through into the hole on the shore between the rocks. Wriggling out, Keyla spat earth, and wiped his mouth out with a paw. Chuckling quietly, he shook with delight.
“Haha, just shows what you can do when you feel like it!”
Brome leapt from the tunnel, casting aside his disguise and hugging Keyla tightly at the same time. “Keyla, you rogue, you did it, you got us free!”
Then it was Brome’s turn to act sensibly. As he helped the first slaves out of the hole he issued instructions to Keyla.
“We were trapped down there quite a while. Time was lost, and it’s not long until dawn. I’m going to run to the camp and get Felldoh with some others to help. I’ll bring them back as quickly as I can. You must follow my pawprints, and move everybeast along as fast as you possibly can. Once the fortress is roused, Badrang will have his horde out after our blood!”
* * *
Dawn was crimsoning the grey from the sky as the ebb tide lapped gently on the shore. It was Bluehide’s favorite time of day. He had catnapped most of the night through his sentry watch on the walltop of Marshank. Now he stretched gratefully in anticipation of breakfast and a sleep until noon. Shortly his relief arrived, another ferret called Stumptooth.
Bluehide passed the sentry spear over happily. “It’s goin’ t’ be a scorcher of a day, mate. You’ll sweat up ’ere.”
Stumptooth took the proffered spear and leaned heavily on it. “Aye, yer right there, Blue’ide. Tain’t fair, is it, me stannin’ up ’ere on guard all day while those bone-idle slaves lie round the compound scratchin’ their-selves.”
“Hoho, don’t you fret yer ’ead about the slaves, Stumpy.” Bluehide began climbing down a wall ladder. “They’re all down the prison pit. ’Alf of ’em will be dead afore the day’s through!”
Stumptooth was pushing past Bluehide on the ladder. “Slaves in the prison pit? I never seen any an’ I looks down there every mornin’ when I passes!”
Bluehide landed on Stumptooth’s head. They bumbled down the ladder to fall in a heap at the bottom. Scrambling on all fours, they both raced to the pit. Bluehide’s jaw went slack in dismay.
“But, but, they was there last night,” he began explaining. “I saw ’em go down with me own eyes. It was two of our horde put ’em down there . . .”
Stumptooth was not listening. He was dashing for the longhouse, screaming, “Escape! Escape! The slaves ’ave escaped!”
Badrang came thundering out, tripped over Gurrad’s body, picked himself swiftly up and kicked the carcass bad-temperedly. “Slaves escaped? How many? Where?”
“From the prison pit, Lord!”
“Prison pit, who put ’em down there?”
“I don’t know, Sire. Blue’ide was on duty las—”
But Badrang was not listening, he was dashing about the courtyard yelling, “Hisk! Fleabane! Get the horde together. Now!”
Half-asleep weasels, ferrets and rats stumbled out, pulling their clothes on as they trailed weapons behind them. Badrang was in a towering fury. He lashed out with the flat of his sword.
“You half-baked, slobberfaced slugs! Move! There still might be time to catch those slaves. Stir your stumps, you useless blatherbrained beasts. Filling your stomachs and resting your heads is about all you lot are good for!”
Hisk and Fleabane scuttled about, echoing their master’s threats and insults, not quite sure of what they were supposed to do.
The Tyrant returned to Gurrad’s carcass. Obviously Clogg had forestalled the assassination attempt. He would get rid of the body before Clogg saw it and started gloating. Grabbing a passing rat, Badrang snarled, “You, Nipwort, bring that thing and follow me.”
Nipwort struggled along behind Badrang, dragging the limp figure as he tried to keep up.
With a frenzied burst of energy, the Tyrant stoat dragged the grating from the pit. Lying flat, he thrust his head in and could not fail to see the escape hole. “Here, Nipwort. Leave the body there and climb into this pit. See that hole in the side of the wall? Get yourself in there and see how far it goes. Report back to me when you find out where the exit is.”
Before going to attend his horde, Badrang watched the unhappy Nipwort climb into the escape tunnel. When the rat was lost to view, Badrang pushed Gurrad’s body into the pit and replaced the grating with a swift heave.
* * *
Tramun Clogg had been up and about before Badrang that day, anxious to know the result of his murderous plan. When Gruzzle and Boggs reported the finding of Oilback’s body, Clogg knew the scheme had failed. Hastily they disposed of the poisoned rat, tossing him into the sea. Clogg had his crew stand by fully armed lest Badrang should come seeking revenge for the attempt on his life.
Crosstooth the fox took a swift glance toward Marshank’s open gates. “Stand by, Cap’n. ’Ere comes Badrang with trouble aplenty!”
Tramun stood prepared as the Tyrant and his horde pounded out across the shore. However, his keen ears caught the drift of what Hisk and Fleabane were shouting.
“Double quick, you lot. Come on there, Lord Badrang wants every last one o’ those slaves back!”
“Aye, if you don’t catch those escapers you’ll find yourselves doing their work. So move!”
Clogg sheathed his cutlass, chewing thoughtfully on a beard plait as an idea formed in his sly fertile mind. “Ho buckoes, put up yer weapons an’ foller me!”
With a look of concern on his villainous face, the corsair ran towards Badrang, calling out aloud, “Ahoy, matey. Wot’s the trouble?”
The Tyrant stoat halted, glaring suspiciously at Clogg. “Didn’t you know? The rest of the slaves escaped during the night!”
Horror and indignation stamped themselves on the corsair’s features. “Why, the rotten bunch o’ scallawags! I’ll never get me new ship built now. Badrang, matey, let’s call a truce between us until we catch ’em. Which way d’you reckon they went?”
Badrang could not waste time bandying words with his old adversary. He realized he would need all the help he could get to recapture the slaves. “They’ve probably headed south and to the cliffs. That’s the way we’re going.”
Clogg stroked the braids on his chin thoughtfully. “Aharr, maybe that’s wot they wants you to think, mate. Maybe they went north to fool ye. I’ll take my crew that way.”
Before Badrang could reply, Clogg had hauled out his cutlass and was running north along the shore with his corsairs. “Come on, you flotsam. If ye ever want to feel a deck neath yer paws agin, you’ll ’ave to find them scummy slaves!”
Badrang led his horde off to the south at a lively run.
* * *
Nipwort emerged from the escape tunnel. Dusting himself down, he climbed on to the rocky outcrop to get his bearings. The tracks were clear. Shading his eyes against the morning sun, Nipwort scanned the shoreline. He saw the unmistakable form of a group in the distance. They were hurrying towards the cliffs. Turning round, the rat could see Badrang and the horde running in his general direction. Jumping up and down, he waved frantically.
“Over here, Lord! I can see them!”
* * *
Ballaw, Rowanoak, Buckler and Felldoh, in company with ten or more of the most able-bodied free slaves, jogged along the clifftop behind Brome. Felldoh looked grim as he muttered to the hare, “What a reckless little fool Brome is. He could have been captured at Marshank or smothered in that tunnel!”
Ballaw hefted his lance lightly. “Matter of opinion, old lad. If you fail you’re a bally fool, if you win you’re a jolly hero!”
Rowanoak puffed along behind them, towing the cart. “Ballaw’s right. I’d say if he pulls this off he’s a reckless hero; who would have thought it, young Brome!”
Brome stopped. Pointing down to the shore he yelled proudly, “There they are!”
Felldoh’s eyes roved further afield. “Aye, and look who’s following on the double!”
Rowanoak gave a great groan of dismay. “There’s far too many of them for us. Our only hope is to get those poor creatures on to the clifftop up here before the horde gets to them. Come on, let’s give it a try!”
Stout vine ropes were anchored to rocks and thrown over the steep cliff slope. Ballaw roared to the slaves, projecting his voice magnificently, “I say, you chaps. Over here!”
Felldoh and some others shinned hurriedly down the ropes on to the shore, and ran to help the stragglers. Buckler threw his paws about an old mousewife, glancing back at the pursuers. “They be comen on apace. Oi doant think us’ns ull make et!”
* * *
Badrang’s paws slapped hard on the strand as he put on a great burst of speed, calling to his horde, “Come on, we’ve got ’em!”
* * *
Old Geum grasped the rope. Gazing upwards, she pursed her lips. “I’ll never be able to haul myself up there. What d’you think I am, a young squirrel?”
“I don’t know about a young squirrel, Mother, but you’ll be a dead mouse if you hang about here!”
Felldoh threw Geum across his shoulder with a single heave and began hauling himself up the rope.
Buckler and six others launched a salvo of short javelins directly at the horde. Four of Badrang’s creatures fell. The rest parted ranks, spreading themselves to avoid being hit. All of the escapers were now on the ropes, scrambling up the steep cliff face, fear of their pursuers and the scent of freedom lending speed to their paws. Felldoh had delivered Geum and hopped back down without using the ropes. Now he was on his way back up with two small young ones clinging to his tail. Buckler and the others were backed up hard to the cliffside as the horde advanced on them. Two had been brought down by spears from Badrang’s creatures. Rowanoak looked worriedly down as she called to them, “Get on the ropes! Come up here!”
Brome and those on the clifftop began hurling javelins and slingstones to cover their friends’ retreat.
Badrang dashed forward as Buckler began scrambling up the rope. He picked up a fallen javelin and hurled it. The mole cried out in agony as it took him through the shoulder.
“Hold tight, Buckler, hold tight!” Rowanoak bellowed furiously as she seized the rope in both paws and heaved mightily.
Badrang leaped for the rope but found himself grasping dust. Despite the fact that there were six others climbing the rope above Buckler, the strength of Rowanoak’s tremendous pulls made the whole thing fairly fly up. She dashed backwards, muscles straining, as she towed the taut vine rope behind her. It hummed and sang under the tension, sending creatures who were clinging to it flying along the clifftop on their stomachs.
Ballaw pulled the javelin from Buckler’s shoulder. “How are you doin’, old scout?”
The mole winced then smiled. “Take more’n a likkle ole spear to slay oi!”
“Ballaw, they’re climbing the other ropes!”
Brome’s shouts brought Ballaw to the cliff edge. Badrang was standing on the shore, directing his creatures upwards. “Get on those ropes, the rest of you start climbing. Come on, we can swarm them. They’re too few to stop us! Move, you dolts, get climbing.”
Felldoh pulled the last slave over the clifftop. Below him he could see ferrets, rats and weasels scaling the remaining four ropes, while the rest were climbing up, spurred on by Badrang.
Rowanoak joined Felldoh and stood watching. “Let them get a bit closer to us then I’ll move.”
“Move what?” Felldoh looked at the badger quizzically.
“Those four large boulders the ropes are tied to, of course!”
Ballaw waggled his ears expressively. “Should give the rotters somethin’ to think about, wot! Let’s do it now before they get any further. I’ll get all the gang to lend a paw. Right, gather round, chaps, and I’ll explain the drill.”
* * *
Badrang was about to mount one of the ropes himself when he heard the ominous rumble from above. Leaping clear he shouted up, “Off! Get off the ropes! Back down, everybeast, quick!”
Some of the horde were almost at the top. They hesitated, looking at the long drop to the shore. Others clung to the cliff face, not knowing what to do.
* * *
Rowanoak threw her great bulk against the first boulder. It rolled quite freely. Ballaw and Felldoh had a thick branch under the next one. They levered down and the boulder began moving. Brome and some others charged the third boulder with the cart, setting it on the move as the stout little vehicle bumped it forward. Amid the screams and yells of panic as the first boulder came rumbling over the edge, Rowanoak dashed to the fourth and final one. She bulled into it with a deep growl. A ferret’s head appeared over the clifftop as the boulder rolled forward. He gave a wail of dismay and flung himself into space.
* * *
The devastation caused by the four boulders was considerable. They tore huge chunks out of the cliff face as they bounced downwards, and several creatures tangled in the ropes attached to the boulders were given a fast, harsh sleigh ride on their backs down the steep slope. The less fortunate were crushed in the path of the great stones or caught by them as they bounced and thudded towards the shore.
Badrang had pulled a score of archers back. They knelt on the beach, directing a volley of shafts upwards. Cries from the clifftop told the Tyrant that his strategy was being rewarded.
* * *
As Rowanoak harnessed herself into the cart shafts, an arrow buried itself in the wood by her paw. “Time we weren’t here, Felldoh. Can you and Ballaw get the slow and wounded in the cart double quick, please.”
It was but the work of a moment. The cart trundled off at a fast lick, propelled by Rowanoak and every able-bodied creature.
* * *
“Cease fire, hold those bowstrings!”
Bluehide was the last to hear. He could not stop his arrow twanging off over the clifftop, nor could he avoid the swift kick from Badrang that sent him sprawling.
“What’s the matter, cloth ears? Can’t you tell that there’s nobeast up there any more!” The Tyrant sighed heavily and sat on one of the boulders. “Hisk, Fleabane, count ’em up. How many did we lose?”
“Fifteen in all, Sire. About that many injured too.”
“We got eight of theirs, though, and some more up on top must have been slain by arrows.”
“Eight of theirs,” Badrang snorted. “You mean eight of ours—they were my slaves. The only one of theirs was the mole. I got him, though I never got him good enough to finish him off.”
The horde members sat about in silence, awaiting their leader’s mood, which could range from indifference to foul bad temper.
Badrang watched them licking their wounds and retrieving their weapons. Then he summoned Hisk. “Take ten, make sure you’ve got a couple of good trackers. I want you to find where they’ve gone. When you do, report back to me at Marshank. Don’t try to fight or even show yourselves, just come straight back to me with the information. Have you got that?”
Hisk saluted with his spear. “Yes, Lord. I will do exactly as you say!”
“Good. When they are least expecting it, we will come in full force and ambush them. They are not soldiers or warriors, merely escaped slaves and some ragtag actors who have been lucky so far.”
* * *
Cap’n Tramun Clogg sat back in Badrang’s chair, enjoying the comfort of the longhouse. He drank damson wine and picked his teeth with the bones of a herring he had eaten. His clogs clacked noisily as he swung his legs on to the tabletop and gave Crosstooth a huge wink.
“Brains, that’s wot y’need to outsail yer enemies, brains!”
The fox shook his head admiringly. “An’ you’ve certainly got ’em, Cap’n. You fooled ole Badrang!”
Clogg’s huge stomach shook with merriment. “I’ll ’elp ye to find the slaves, sez I. You go that way an’ I’ll go this way. Aye, an’ this is the way I goes, straight round the back o’ the fortress, over the wall with me bold crew, an’ captures Marshank for meself. Haharrharharr. Is the gate locked, matey?”
Crosstooth poured himself a beaker of wine. “Locked, barred an’ bolted tight, Cap’n. The crew is on the walls, well fed an’ armed to the fangs!”
Clogg lost the fishbone in his stomach plaits and forgot it. “All waitin’ for pore uncle Badrang to come visitin’ with his tail atwixt ’is legs an’ a flea in ’is ear. Hahaharr!”