It was a bitter winter noon when the ship Sayna, crewed by Luke and a score of his fighting mice, slid down its shale runway on the ice the season had provided. With one fluke buried in the sand, the anchor held the ship against an ebbing tide. Even though her sails were furled, the Sayna strained against the anchor rope, as if eager to be gone. All the farewells had been made, and the crew had sent their friends and families back into the caves, not wishing them to stand out tearful and freezing to wave the ship off. Luke was last to leave. Martin sat stone-faced outside the cave. Luke could not reason with him.
“Son, son, you would not last two moons out there on the high seas. I cannot risk your life pitting you in battle against the seascum I am sworn to do war with. Listen to me, I know what is best for you!”
But Martin would not listen. “I want to sail on the ship and be a warrior like you!”
Luke spread his paws wide and sighed with frustration. “What am I going to do with you, Martin? You have my warrior spirit and your mother’s determination. Listen, son, take my sword.”
It was a fighting sword and well used. Luke pressed it into his son’s paws. The young mouse gazed wide-eyed at the battle-scarred blade and gripped the handle tight as if he would never let go.
Luke smiled, recalling the time when his father had passed the sword on to him. Tapping a paw against the crosshilt, he said, “I can see it is in you to be a fighter, Martin. The first thing warriors must learn is discipline.”
Martin felt as though the sword were speaking for him. “Tell me what to do and I will obey.”
Relief surged through Luke, as he commanded the would-be warrior. “You will stay and help defend our cave against all comers, protect those weaker than yourself and honor our code. Always use the sword to stand for good and right, never do a thing you would be ashamed of, and never let your heart rule your mind.” He tapped the blade once more as its pitted edge glinted in the winter morning. “And never let another creature take this sword from you, not as long as you live. When the time comes, pass it on to another, maybe your own son. You will know instinctively if he is a warrior. If not, hide the sword where only a true warrior who is brave of heart would dare to go and find it. Swear this to me, Martin.”
“I swear it on my life!”
The young mouse’s gray eyes reflected the wintry sea as he spoke. Luke saw that the tide would soon be turning.
“It might be some seasons before I return, but I’ll be back, son. Meanwhile, Timballisto is a promising and sensible creature, with more seasons under his belt than you, and I have left him in charge of our tribe. Obey him.”
A determined smile, reminiscent of his mother, hovered on Martin’s lips. “Of course I’ll obey him, but one day I shall be in charge.”
A great feeling of pride enveloped Luke. “I’m sure you will. Farewell, my son.”
*
Rigging ropes hummed around broad-bellying sails as the Sayna skimmed the deeps like a great white swan, headed west out onto the main. Luke turned for a moment from the tiller and looked back astern. He saw the small figure standing on the pebbled strand alone, waving the sword in a warrior’s salute. The vessel dipped, bow into a rolling trough, and when she rose on the next wavecrest, the shoreline was lost in an afternoon of snow and icy winter spume. Luke turned back to his crew, certain he had chosen fighters whom he could trust to be at his side through thick and thin. Vurg, Cardo, Dulam, Coll and the rest, they stood waiting his orders, clinging to the taffrails to stay upright on the heaving deck. Cardo was not looking too well. Luke shook his head. “Get below decks, all of you. Batten down everything and stay there. ’Tis goin’ to get rough. I’ll take tiller an’ first watch. We have t’learn to be sailors now, seabeasts, so like all beginners we can expect to be sick—me, too. There’s nothin’ to be ashamed of. We’ll get used to stormy seas in a few days.”
Cardo had definitely taken on an unhealthy pallor. “Permission to jump over the side an’ drown myself, cap’n!”
Just looking at his friend made Luke feel queasy.
“I’ll drown you myself if you start that cap’n business. My name’s Luke an’ that’s what you’ll call me. Permission denied. Now get below, all of you!”
The entire crew shouted back at him, “Aye aye, cap’n!”
Luke was glad they had not lost their sense of humor.
*
It was three days before they were out of the stormy latitudes. The evening of the fourth day saw calm seas with no trace of snow. Luke realized they must have drifted southwest instead of holding the northwest course. A meeting was held in the captain’s cabin, and Luke told the others what had happened. “’Twas my fault, really. I’m still only learning about bein’ at sea. You may’ve noticed the weather’s changed for the better—well, that’s because we’ve drifted south.”
But Vurg would not hear of his friend taking the blame. “Oh, frogfeathers, mate, it’s the fault of everybeast here, we’ve all taken our turn at the tiller. Bein’ seasick or sleepy didn’t help things. Little wonder we drifted off course. Ain’t that right, pals?”
The crew agreed, though Coll had a question.
“Er, just what was our original course? Seems to me we’ve just been sailin’ willy-nilly, eh, Vurg?”
“Well, I s’pose there’s little else y’can do when you’re searchin’ the seas for that red ship.”
Luke gestured at the empty shelves around the cabin. “What were we supposed t’do? There’s not a chart or a map aboard the vessel. Most of these pirates sail by instinct. I’ve been thinkin’, maybe ’tis best what we’re doin’, lettin’ the winds an’ currents carry us.”
Cardo had regained his color, as had the rest of them. “Why do you say that, cap’n, er, sorry, Luke?”
“Well, look at it this way. Seascum hate the cold stormy seas as much as we do, so it stands to sense they’d sail to warmer waters. I’ve a feelin’ the farther south we sail the more chance we have o’ meetin’ up with Vilu Daskar.”
Dulam spoke up as he headed for the door. “Great idea. I’m with ye, Luke. But after three days sick I’m feelin’ much better, ’cept that I’m famished. Let’s break out some vittles an’ get a decent feed inside us!”
Dulam’s suggestion was welcomed wholeheartedly. The crew were much happier now they were in calmer climes with a plan of action worked out.
*
A full moon beamed down on the Sayna as she drifted south on calm seas. Luke let Denno, a fat jolly mouse, take the tiller.
“Let her sail easy, Denno, just keep your eyes open and check the tiller from swingin’ wide in another direction. I can tell by the smoke comin’ from our galley there’s some serious cookin’ goin’ on. Better take a peek, eh?”
Denno shook his head, chuckling. “You’ll prob’ly get chased away. There’s more cooks in that galley than y’could shake a stick at, an’ that Cardo’s the worst of all. Thinks ’e’s cap’n o’ the stewpot!”
Lantern light and steam came from the open galley window. Out on the darkened deck, Luke shook with suppressed laughter as he watched the antics of his crew. They bustled and bumped into one another, each trying to advise or outdo the other with tips on cooking expertise.
“Not too much o’ that dried barley, Vurg, go easy.”
“Oh, rubbish, my ole mum always put plenty o’ barley in every thin’ she cooked!”
“Aye, I thought yore mum’s fruitcake tasted a bit funny.”
“Well it didn’t stop you scoffin’ it, y’great lard bucket!”
“Lard bucket yoreself, mate. Hoi, Dulam, where are you goin’ with the salt? Ship’s stew needs lots of salt!”
“How d’you know? ’Tis the first time you’ve been on a ship. Put any more salt in that stew an’ we’ll drink the water barrels dry afore mornin’.”
“Aye aye there, chop those carrots smaller, mate!”
“Gerrout, I like big cobs o’ carrot!”
“So that means we’ve all got to ’ave great lumps o’ carrot?”
“Huh, won’t ’urt you. Hey, ’tis my turn to stir. Gimme that ladle.”
“I’ll give ye it on yore nose, see ’ow y’like that!”
*
A large cauldron of stew was carried into the big cabin, where Luke had set out beakers of ale and an oatcake by each place. Doing his utmost to keep a straight face, he tried sniffing appreciatively. “Mmm, that smells good. What is it, Cardo?”
A heated debate broke out over the cauldron’s contents.
“I call it Cardo’s Carrot Seastew!”
“Ho, do you now, well I calls it Vurg’s Veggible Delight!”
“I did all the work, so ’tis goin’ t’be called Coll’s Combination Concoction!”
“No it ain’t, it’s Dulam’s Delicious Shipstew!”
Luke banged the mess table with the serving ladle. “Enough! I won’t have mutiny aboard my ship over a pot o’ grub. I’ll name the stew. Put it down here!”
They watched as Luke ladled a portion into his bowl. Blowing on a spoonful he sampled it gingerly, with his crew looking on anxiously. Bravely, Luke chewed at the stew, his face expressionless. He put down the spoon and took a deep draught of ale.
They all spoke the word at once. “Well?”
Luke picked something from between his teeth and looked at it quizzically before returning his verdict.
“I think it should be called crunchy barley, half-cooked carrot lump, far too salty ’otwater stew. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just stick to oatcake an’ ale for tonight’s meal, mates. Eat up, an’ see how you lot like it!”
Luke wandered out on deck with his frugal meal. “I’ll take the tiller for a while, mate. You go an’ get somethin’ to eat.”
Denno immediately stopped gazing at the peaceful moonflaked waves and relinquished his watch. “Certainly smelled great when they carried it to the cabin, Luke. Thankee, mate. I’ll enjoy some o’ that stew.”
Luke smiled wryly. “Oh aye, I’m sure you will!”
*
Soft pastel-hued skies heralded the dawn. A mouse named Cordle dozed at the tiller, a canteen of water held loosely in his paw. Coll came to relieve him, sipping from a beaker.
“Huh, fine one you are, sleepin’ on watch. Good job Luke never caught ye or he’d ’ave whacked yore tail off!”
Cordle blinked sleepily and took a quick swig of water. “Leastways while I’m sleepin’ I’m not drinkin’. I tell ye, Coll, I never drank so much water in all me life!”
“Aye, no more o’ that blinkin’ stew fer me, mate. You could’ve stood a spoon up in the salt that went into it! If we capture any Sea Rogues, I reckon we should feed it to ’em, that’d teach ’em a lesson.” But Cordle was not listening—he was staring eagerly out to sea. “What’s up, Cordle?”
“Look, land! I’m sure of it. That’s land of some sort dead ahead. Laaaaand hoooooooo!”
Instantly the ship came alive. The mousecrew tumbled from their bunks and staggered out on deck, rubbing sleep from their eyes as they followed the outstretched paw of Cordle.
“It’s land! Land!”
“Dead ahead, Luke. Cordle’s spotted land!”
Luke climbed to the bowsprit and viewed the dark blot on the horizon. “Aye, ’tis land sure enough, an island by the look of it. Take in the bow an’ mainsails, Coll, an’ steer north. We’ll sail in nice’n’easy ’round the other side of that island. No sense in chargin’ at it full sail. Right, mates, I want you all armed an’ alert. Cordle, Denno, Dulam, stay with the ship an’ guard it close. The rest of you’ll come ashore with me. Make no noise, tread careful an’ follow my lead. There’s no tellin’ what we might meet!”
*
The Sayna dropped anchor in a sheltered inlet on the island’s west side at early noontide. It was sunny, silent and windless. Luke inspected the high rocks surrounding the cove. Seabirds nested in the crags beneath a jumble of trees and vegetation growing on the clifftops. Climbing over the ship’s side, the shore party waded through clear sunwarmed shallows to a narrow strip of sandy beach.
Vurg gripped his spear tight, whispering to Luke, “I don’t like it, mate. ’Tis far too quiet—place gives me the creeps. I feel like somebeast’s watchin’ us!”
Luke drew a scimitar he had chosen from the former crew’s weaponry. He pointed it at a strange sight, a flight of steps carved into the cliffs. “I wonder who took the trouble t’do that? Looks as if they’ve been there a long time. Let’s take a look.”
In single file they climbed the smooth, well-carved steps, which, though narrow, were easily negotiable. They ascended in several zigzag shapes to the clifftop. From above, the Sayna looked very small in the cove below. Cardo uprooted something from the ground which he wiped on his tunic before beginning to eat it.
“Mmm, young onion. Wonder how that got here?”
A loud, frightening cry rang out from the trees.
“Oohoohoohaaaaaarrrrreeeeeegharr!”
The hair on Cardo’s nape stood straight up, and he dropped the onion. “What’n the name o’ frogs was that?”
Luke and Vurg began creeping forward, gesturing to the rest not to follow them. “Stay here. We’ll go an’ take a look.” Crouching low, they made their way into the thickets.
A small bird whistled somewhere, but other than that the only sound the two mice heard was their own footpaws rustling through the ferns. After a while Luke straightened up. “Well, whatever it was, there’s neither sight nor sound of it now, matey.”
Vurg uncrouched and something bumped lightly against the back of his head. He turned cautiously. “Hoho, pears, a whole treeful of ’em!”
It was a pear tree, laden with fine ripe fruit.
Vurg picked one, squeezed it gently, nodded approvingly, then took a huge bite. “Mmm shlumphh! Sweet’n’juicy, mate, wunnerful!”
Luke reached for a pear, grinning at his friend’s juice-wetted face. “Ole greedyguts, are you eatin’ that pear or takin’ a bath in it?”
Fffffssssst . . . Splack!
A thick piece of wood with a metal point at either end whipped out of nowhere and thudded deep into the tree trunk between them both. It was followed by a loud booming voice echoing out of the stillness of the trees.
“Seascum! Touch not my food. Go from this place or Werragoola will tear you limb from limb and devour you!”
Luke threw his pear to the ground. “Do as I say, Vurg. Drop your pear an’ let’s get back t’the crew. Don’t argue!”
Vurg was not about to disagree. He dropped the half-eaten pear as if it were a poisonous reptile and followed Luke back the way they had come. When he figured they were both out of sight, Luke dropped down behind a fallen tree.
Vurg was still wide-eyed and trembling. “Did ye hear that voice, matey? It must’ve come from a beast ten times bigger’n a badger!”
“You lay low here ’til I get back. Give me your spear.” Before Vurg had a chance to argue, Luke plucked the spear from his paws and was gone.
Bellying down, Luke crawled back to the pear tree. Then he lay still, checking the area keenly, eyes darting back and forth as he searched the trees for any sign of movement. Satisfied he was not being watched, Luke picked up his fallen pear and stuck it on the point of Vurg’s spear. Acting speedily, he flung the spear, butt end first, into a thick bush, where the pear on the spearpoint remained clearly visible, sticking out of the leaves. Next Luke gave the pear tree a good shake, calling out aloud, “Hah! These must be the pears the cap’n tole us about!” Then he wriggled off into the shrubbery with his teeth clamped tight around the scimitar, and lay still, watching.
Suddenly another metal-tipped wooden club struck the pear from the speartip and a mad, booming voice howled angrily, “You did not heed my warning! Now Werragoola says you must die! Yakkahakkaheeeyhooooo!”
A wild, ragged figure hurtled across the tiny clearing and flung itself into the bush, undoubtedly hoping to come to grips with whomever was holding the spear. Luke was after it in a flash. The beast was immediately at a disadvantage, trapped with its bottom sticking out of the bush. The sturdy mouse dealt the target a tidy whack with the flat of his blade and shouted sternly, “Come out o’ there, ye savage!”
The reply came back after an agonized gasp. “Haharr! Stabbed me from the rear, eh, seascum? You pirates are all the same. Just wait’ll I get out of here!”
Luke gave the bottom another whack with his blade-flat. “Mayhap this’ll help ye, Wellaguller, or whatever y’call yoreself. Here, have another taste o’ my blade!” He laid on another stinging blow and the beast almost somersaulted out of the bush in a cloud of leaves and broken twigs.
“Owowowouch! Typical vermin pirate type, wot! Can’t slay a chap without jolly well torturin’ him t’death first. Oooh! My posterior’s aflippin’flame, y’great lout!”
It was a hare, garbed ridiculously in rags, seashells and strands of vegetation, its face stained purple with berry juice. Luke watched it cautiously as he put up his sword.
“I’m no seascum. My name’s Luke an’ I’m a chieftain from far across the seas.”
The hare stood up, rubbing his tail area ruefully. “Oh I see, and that gives you the blinkin’ right to land up here an’ whale the tar out of chaps’ bottoms with your sword. Huh, prob’ly why you had to leave the place you came from—everybeast got fed up with you wallopin’ all an’ sundry ’round the nether regions with swords an’ whatnot, so they banished you from the blinkin’ land. Say then, scurvy cad, beaten up any other poor creatures t’day, wot wot? Speak up, sah.”
Luke was astonished at the nerve of the hare. “Hold on a tick, flop-ears! First you go terrifyin’ my crew with your howlin’ an’ wailin’, then you try to kill me by flingin’ those funny-lookin’ spears of yours, an’ then you got the brass neck to complain when you get caught at it. Just who d’ye think you are?”
Puffing out his narrow chest, the hare clapped a paw to his stomach and bowed curtly. “Who do I think I am, sah? I am smoke on the wind, a creature of many resources! To the vermin inhabiting this island I am Werragoola the purple-faced terror. In a far more elegant life than this I was known as Beauclair Fethringsol Cosfortingham. Fondly referred to as just Beau by m’family, friends an’ dear old nanny, wot!”
Vurg stole cautiously up, brandishing a stick. “Ah, there y’are, Luke. But who’s this creature?”
Luke made the introductions. “This is the one who was doin’ all the shoutin’ an’ throwin’ weapons at us. Vurg, meet Beau.”
The hare regarded Vurg’s outstretched paw suspiciously. “Vurg, eh? Sounds a right murderous vermin name if ever I heard one. Chap looks shifty, too. D’y’know, I’m not totally convinced that you two aren’t Sea Rogues.”
Luke sighed impatiently. “Well we’re not standin’ ’round all day just to convince ye. Come on, Vurg, let’s round up the crew an’ get back aboard the ship. We’re wastin’ time here.”
They had only gone a few paces when Beau leaped in front of them with a broad grin pasted on his purpled features.
“You’re mice, silly old me, wot? Mice aren’t seascum, they’re good chaps like m’self. Have y’really got a ship, Admiral Luke? Are y’sailin’ away from this confounded isle? Take me with you, sirs, I beg of you. I’ll even provision your vessel with the food I grow here. You won’t be sorry. Old salty Beau they call me on shipboard, can turn m’paw to anythin’ nautical. Hoist me mains’l, loose those anchors, take a turn ’round the riggin’ an’ boggle me bilges, wot wot! I can spout that sort o’ rot all season . . .”
Luke could not help smiling at the lanky excited creature. “Keep that up, Beau, an’ we’ll make ye swim behind the ship to give us a bit o’ peace. You say you’ve got provisions?”
“Provisions, grub, rations, scoff, vittles, tucker, you name it, Luke m’mouse, an’ I’ve got it!”
Luke was forced to place a paw across Beau’s mouth. “Enough, mate. You can sail with us, but on two conditions. Cut the cackle an’ show us to the provisions!”