I.

GRAYFOOT'S TAVERN

Vanessa's head popped up out of the tavern's floor. "I see your cellars remain well-stocked ... and that you've started a modest brewing operation of your own."

Grayfoot, seated with Tolar at the table nearest the open hatch, nodded at the inquisitive Abbess. "Aye, t'was allers a fair paw at brewin' up in the North, when my officer's duties allowed. One o' th' reasons Lord Urthblood reckerned I might make a fair go of it down here in Mossflower with my own inn. After all th' help you fine folk gave me in stockin' my starter inventory, figgered I ought at least be able t' turn out some basic ales of my own so as not t' rely entirely on Redwall. Mebbe once I've got a few casks o' that brewed up t' my satisfaction, I'll try my paw at sumpthin' more challengin', like p'raps a cordial or some simple wine."

"Yes, I saw you spending a lot of time with Balla during your most recent visit to our home." Vanessa climbed the stairs and stepped up onto the wood floor of the ground level. "Picking her brain for more advanced recipes, I take it?"

Grayfoot nodded. "Didn't spend half th' time with 'er as I would've liked, what with ev'rything else goin' on there durin' our stay. But she was able t' gimme a few more pointers an' show me a few more things t' help me along, so I was grateful fer th' time she could spare me. As fer my other stocks, well, business ain't never 'xactly taken off fer me. Think I've thrown back as much as my customers have. At this rate, it'll still be another season or two 'fore I'm askin' fer any more o' Redwall's brandy, sherry or rum." The ferret shot a glance toward the Realms stacked on the table between him and the fox Sword. "'Specially if this new payment system scares travellers away ... "

A long-eared figure followed Vanessa up out of the cellar; Colonel Clewiston had insisted on accompanying the Abbess on this overnight trip, and was seldom to be seen far from her side. Gazing around at all the weasels and foxes filling the tables of the tavern's single main room, most nursing beverages of one kind or another, he drolly remarked, "You've no jolly shortage of filled chairs now, chap. Maybe you should start by chargin' this lot, wot?"

Several of the lounging weasels turned looks of disfavor upon the hare at this suggestion.

Vanessa helped herself to a seat at Grayfoot and Tolar's table, while Clewiston took up arms-folded station standing behind her. "So, are we almost finished here? As comfortable as your guest beds upstairs are - which is only to be expected, since they were built by Redwallers - I'm eager to be back at the Abbey well before evening. One night away from my home at a time is all I feel I can spare these days."

Tolar regarded her with a measured gaze. "Why the hurry, Abbess? You're no longer Abbess, so your responsibilities are minimal. In fact, just what are your responsibilities and title, now that Geoff has resumed the Abbot's chair?"

Vanessa flashed a wry smile. "I'm sure I'll find ways to keep myself occupied, Sword."

Tolar returned his gaze to the Realms piled on the tabletop, and then to the additional coins arrayed upon the bar. "I'm worried about security myself; that's a concern we'd not fully considered before. Even though we're only leaving a small portion of the minting here with you, Captain, it still represents a sizable value. If word gets out once you start distributing them - which is, after all, the entire idea - it might attract the wrong elements, eager to take it all for themselves."

Clewiston blew out one side of his whiskers in derision. "Naught to worry about there, friend. No honest creature of Mossflower's likely to buy into wot you're tryin' t' sell them here, which leaves only the vermin sorts - an' you've got those all under your command already, wot?"

Tolar eyed the hare. "There are still wicked beasts aplenty in Mossflower, Colonel. That horde where your rats came from, for starters. Just because they don't bother you at Redwall doesn't mean they're not out there."

"The Colonel does have a point, Sword," Vanessa said. "If the woodlanders of this region refuse to accept the Realm as currency, that means the only creatures who'll be using them will be those in Urthblood's service. So if some brigands do come along and relieve Grayfoot of his entire treasury, the only place they'd be able to use them is with you and the Gawtrybe. They'd have to turn themselves in to you in order to spend what they stole."

Tolar showed mild umbrage at this suggestion. "I sincerely hope this economic overture will not be rejected by all the residents of central Mossflower - or that you will not seek to convince them to do so."

Vanessa feigned exaggerated innocence. "Who, us? You've got us bottled up inside our own walls. However would we accomplish such a thing?"

"Only your rats are bottled up there; the rest of you are free to come and go as you please."

Now Vanessa flashed a devilish grin. "Then maybe you'd better stop giving me ideas!"

Tolar scowled and turned away from the goadsome Abbess. "I'm wondering whether it might be a good idea to station a couple of my brigade foxes here for a little added protection, now that you no longer have any Gawtrybe permanently assigned here. What do you think, Captain?"

Grayfoot shrugged. "Up t' you, Sword. Gawtrybe still swing by here oft 'nuff to serve as a deterrent, as do Cap'n Choock's shrews. An' don't ferget, I still know how t' wield a decent blade m'self. Don't reckon I'd need any o' yer squad, but if you wager it's necessary, yer call."

"Maybe we could send some Redwallers down to help babysit all your precious coinage," Vanessa offered. "In the spirit of neighborliness."

Tolar couldn't tell whether she was joking. "As long as it's not any hares, who are likely to go hurling our Realms all over the Captain's establishment."

"Oh pish," said Clewiston.

"I think we can safely avoid that, since all our Long Patrol will I'm sure prefer to remain at Redwall for purposes of Abbey defense. Perhaps some of Balla's hedgehog assistants, who can help Grayfoot with his brewing and distilling, along with a stout mole or two?"

"A mole? I thought all your moles were out at the quarry, Abbess?"

"A few stayed on, for handybeast needs. Can't expect Cyril to shoulder all those responsibilities, especially now that he's got Jiriel so much on his mind. And as for the rest of the moles, it won't take them forever to finish their quarrying. They'll be back sooner or later, and I'm guessing they'd look upon a detail here as a nice little vacation. Funny thing about moles: they're seen by other species as soft and quaint, but you don't want to get on the bad side of a seasoned diggerbeast, no you don't."

"Er, thank you for the offer, Abbess, but if it's all the same, I think we'll stick with professional fighting beasts. The right creature for the right job, you know."

"As you wish, Sword."

Judelka chose that moment - or perhaps the moment was chosen for her - to stick her head in through the tavern's rear door. "Gray! Gray, yer son's outta paw out here!"

"'m kinda busy 'ere, Judy. Can't you manage th' li'l ripsnort?"

"Needs 'is daddy's strong paw! Come now!"

Grayfoot sighed. "Sorry, Sword. When Percy gets t' cuttin' up, he c'n be a right liddle terror. 'scuse me."

"Of course. We were nearly finished here anyway."

Grayfoot rose and disappeared into the rear of his tavern. Vanessa pushed back her own chair and stood to follow. "That ferretlad's so cute when he misbehaves! I'm going to go see what he's up to now. No need to follow, Colonel; I could use a break from you hovering over me. Keep my seat warm - I'll be right back!"

When the former ferret captain stepped out into the sunlit meadow behind his tavern, he found Percival sitting sedately in the grass, intently studying a caterpillar inching its way along a fallen branch, with no hint of rambunctiousness in evidence anywhere.

"Judelka is very easy to influence," Vanessa said as she stopped alongside Grayfoot. "A refreshing change from Latura. Those foxes and weasels haven't been giving us much chance to speak privately. So, have you considered our proposal?"

"You mean yers an' th' Colonel's? I dunno, Abbess. Anything like that'd be hard t' pull off if there's foxes stationed here, like Tolar was just suggestin'."

"I'm working on that. Assume there won't be a Foxguard contingent here. What would you say then?"

"There's still th' Gawtrybe. They worry me more'n Tolar's crew, truth be told."

"Yes, they are quite the fanatics, aren't they? And they just might be liable to track any rat fugitives they're shadowing right to your door. But the beauty of this arrangement is that no fugitive would need to spend more than a very brief time in your tavern before being sent on its way again, so that if the Gawtrybe are watching, you'll be able to claim you sent them off without rendering any aid or assistance. You denied them safe haven, as Urthblood and Custis would expect of you. We well appreciate the importance of providing plausible deniability in all of this."

"Yah - except if any of those rats do get stopped after leaving here, they'll be found bearin' packs an' supplies I gave 'em."

"Supply packs you had prepared for your family's own use, which the brazen thieves took from you by force or threat. And if any apprehended rat dares to say otherwise, well, rats are notorious liars, aren't they? I'm sure that would be the view of any Gawtrybe squirrel - and who are they to believe, a desperate robber or an upstanding former top officer of Lord Urthblood's forces?"

"Heh. You make it sound very safe, marm. But it'd be anything but, wouldn't it?"

"It's entirely up to you, Captain. We'll not force or pressure you into anything you're uncomfortable doing. But the Colonel seemed pretty sure your feelings were leaning this way. If true, know that we'll be on your side and provide whatever assistance we can."

"Yeah, but I'll still be th' one on th' front lines if things go awry. But let's see how things go t'day, an' then we'll know better ... "

A short time later, having concluded their arrangements with Grayfoot, Tolar led his foxes and weasels north along the main road on their way back to Redwall. Haddican, marching at his Sword's side, suddenly looked up as if something had only just occurred to him. "Sir, we didn't leave any foxes behind at the tavern, did we?"

Tolar gave a dazed blink, then was himself again. "No, I decided it wasn't necessary. Grayfoot's a capable fighter himself, and with the Gawtrybe and our shrews abroad in Mossflower, I doubt he'll encounter any trouble he'll not be able to handle. Better to save his guest rooms for paying customers - if he gets any. But there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

Vanessa and Clewiston ambled along behind the main company, which was easy to arrange. Able to speak freely without fear of being overheard, as long as they kept their voices low, they assessed the success of their overnight excursion.

"So, how d' you rate that went?" the hare queried.

"I was able to convince Tolar not to quarter any of his foxes or weasels at Grayfoot's, so that's half the battle right there. Our ferret friend remains leery about the whole thing, but I think he'll come around. Once we start sending down some help with the spare supplies he'll need, I trust he'll fully commit."

"I'm worried 'bout staying in touch with the chap, m'self. Even if all these brushtails 'n' weasel-faces go back to Foxguard an' have the good grace t' stay there, they'll still be able to spot all our comin's an' goin's from that tower of theirs."

"From what Tolar says, the Gawtrybe spend more time up on that observation deck these days than his own foxes do."

"Hardly improves matters, wot? Maybe even worse, all things considered. 'Tween that skyscrapin' spytower an' all Urthblood's other minions - squirrels, birds, shrews an' who knows what else - we'll not be able t' send as much as a single Sparra messenger Grayfoot's way without out enemy knowin' about it."

"Which is why all appearances of secrecy are best avoided, to prevent raising suspicions. And why hedgehogs make the most sense; they'd have the cover excuse of helping Grayfoot with his brewing. They should be able to come and go without attracting undue notice."

"As sensible a proposition as any, I s'pose. Not sure why you brought up moles, tho'."

"No less likely creatures to raise suspicions as moles, are there? If we're to pull this off, discretion will have to be our byword. Moles and hedgehogs fit the bill perfectly, so that's what we'll use."

"No hares tho', hm?"

"As Tolar pointed out, he's afraid of his precious Realms being flung all over the saloon. Your speed would be useful, but sparrows are even faster, if we're ever faced with a situation where speed is of the essence. You Long Patrol are too conspicuous, especially after your clash with Urthblood's forces out in the Plains. And speaking of conspicuous, did you really feel it necessary to accompany me on this little jaunt? One might conclude you don't completely trust me."

"It's not that, marm. Er ... just didn't seem right lettin' you outta our sight for so long, comin' all the way down here in the company of possible enemies ... "

"Not enemies, not if I have anything to say about it. And I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, Colonel. I swear, you're as bad as Maura was when she first found out, hovering over me so that I couldn't even take a blessed breath in peace!"

"Maybe she had th' right bally idea, consid'rin' wot's at stake."

Vanessa gave a sly grin. "If that's the way you really feel, Colonel, then you're going to simply love what I have in mind next!"

THE STRONGANCHOR

"What's that sound?"

After two days at sea aboard the Stronganchor, Alexander finally felt he was growing some sea legs and becoming accustomed to the ways of wave and wake - even if his primary duty so far had been to stay out of the crew's way while they saw to the proper running of the ship. Still, everything he'd absorbed through sight, sound, smell and feel had imbued him with a fairly solid sense of how things were supposed to go out here upon the open main. Thus, when this strange new distant roar began to impinge upon his awareness, only to increase in volume and urgency with each passing moment, Alex could not imagine what it portended.

"Ah, that sound?" Wakefern clapped the Redwall squirrel on the back, acting as if naught was amiss. "Stuff o' legends, an' some might say nightmares, too. Thought mebbe ye might've heard of it yoreself, but I s'pose there's a lot from out on these waters that never makes it to the inner woodlands. Cock an ear, matey, an' see if ye can guess what that sound might be?"

Alex did as bidden as he stood there at the ship's starboard railing staring out to sea. Far away, toward the horizon line to the west, he could just make out what appeared to be a disturbance upon the wider waters, a place where the ocean seemed to rise up slightly, standing above the stretches around it. On a day less clear and sunny that this, he might very easily have missed it - although he still would not have missed the noise coming from it.

He shook his head. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear it sounds like the rushing of a rain-swollen river after a torrential spring downpour. I saw the River Moss once after such a deluge, and it was awesome to behold. But there can't be any rushing rivers out here, can there?"

The otter captain chuckled. "Oh, ye'd be surprised. This great sweet mother o' ours is full o' secret currents an' eddies an' slipstreams all her own, some more impressive an' hazardous than others. An' the one we're passin' now is one any nautical beast with half a brain in its skull will allers give a wide berth."

"Great sweet mother? That's a phrase I've heard the Long Patrol use, but I never knew its origin, or exactly what it meant."

"It's another name fer th' sea itself," Wakefern replied, apparently content to stand here explaining such things to his passenger while his crew saw to the sailing of the Stronganchor past whatever watery menace they now transited. "The sea has many names, as those of us who respect her well know. Not surprised your long-eared friends were familiar with it, having dwelt upon the coast at Salamandastron fer all th' seasons they did."

"So, what is this hazard we're steering clear of now?" Alex prompted, still no more illuminated by Wakefern's cryptic statements.

"Well, shore, I could tell ye ... but some things're p'raps best seen with one's own eyes." The otter pointed up to the riggings above them. "Feelin' up fer a liddle mornin' climb, matey?"

Alex grinned. "You forget my species, Captain - we squirrels are always up for a climb, no matter what time of day or night! And I'll challenge you to try to keep up with me!"

"To the crow's nest then, bushtail - an' first one there gets extra helpin's fer supper!"

Wakefern scaled the rope latticework with surprising speed and dexterity for a creature so large and rugged, but not even a lifetime's experience at sea could prepare him to match any squirrel's innate climbing ability. And so it was that he found Alex, barely winded from his exertions, waiting for him at the top cross spar alongside the enclosed basket where the mouse lookout Bobee stood watch.

"Looks like ye earned yore extra vittles, fair 'n' square," Wakefern puffed as he joined Alex in perching upon the mast spar, clutching ropes to hold himself upright so Bobee could have the crow's nest to himself. "Now that we're as high above th' deck as it's possible t' be, cast yore gaze westward once more, an' tell me what y' think o' that!"

Alex turned his eyes to the raised area of the sea that'd he'd observed down on deck; he'd not known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't what he saw now, and the vista nearly made him lose his balance and fall from the crossmast. "Seven seasons of acorns, it's a hole in the ocean! A giant whirlpool big enough to swallow Redwall!"

Wakefern nodded. "Aye. Th' Green Maelstrom, 'tis called. Been churnin' out here long as anybeast c'n remember. Found ref'rences to it in journals goin' back generations, so could be it's been there almost as long as th' sea 'erself."

"Yes," said Alex, "I remember now, hearing of this during Abbey lessons, in the tales of Mariel and Dandin, and Mariel's father Joseph the Bellmaker. T'was Joseph, on a voyage south to Southsward just as we're making now, who witnessed it. But never did I imagine it might still lurk our here, or that I'd someday behold it with my own eyes!"

"Then ye may also recall from yore school tales that th' Maelstrom gives rise to th' Roarin'burn, swiftest current in all the seas, an' one that'll send us straight down t' Southsward in th' fastest possible time. That's what we'll be lookin' for now - it can be a liddle tricky t' pinpoint, frustratin' many a mariner who's tried, but 'tween me 'n' Whiskersalt, we got about mebbe ten ordinary lifetimes o' seagoin' smarts under our belts, so we'll get th' job done, ye can be shore o' that!"

Alex couldn't tear his gaze away from the Maelstrom, spinning and frothing out near the horizon. "Incredible to think such wonders exist in the world ... terrifying as some of them are."

"If we sailed closer ye'd be able t' get an even better look at it, but this is as close as we'll be drawin' on this voyage. We'll not be like those daft searats, darin' that monster right on its outskirts!"

Alex looked to the otter. "What do you mean?"

Wakefern gave a grim chortle. "Became common knowledge 'mongst all us old salts that new searat cap'ns take on th' Maelstrom as a rite of passage, steerin' their ships as close to it as they dare without gettin' caught up in it an' sent to the sea bottom. Word is, not ev'ry such vessel o' theirs escapes such a fate."

Alexander's eyes widened. "That's ... that's too terrible to even contemplate! Entire ships? And all their crews?"

Wakefern shrugged. "It's just searats. Naught t' shed a tear 'bout, 'specially if it's through their own stupidity. If twice as many were lost that way, still wouldn't be enuff by half."

"I can't imagine Tratton would approve of such risks. I mean, these are the ships of his fleet we're talking about here, precious craft he'd not want jeopardized for a dare."

"Many of the older frigates an' galleons go back t' before Tratton's ascension to the throne o' Terramort - back to th' days o' Farca an' Garwal, an' even before them. They allers had their own cap'ns, their own crews, an' their own ways. Gettin' 'em all t' serve under his banner musta been one o' Tratton's greatest challenges. Their sails weren't allers th' same green, black an' red ye see today; back then, ev'ry searat ship flew her own colors an' designs, as each cap'n saw fit. But legend has it even Tratton Whiteclaw 'imself took th' Maelstrom dare on 'is first captaincy. It's part o' searat custom an' tradition, an' I doubt even an edict from th' Searat King 'imself would stop it."

"Still, he can't be happy about ships of his being unnecessarily exposed to such danger - or very happy with the captains who undertake such a huge chance with their vessels and crew."

"Well, look at it this way, Alex matey. If a boneheaded cap'n miscalculates an' sends his ship to th' sea floor, 'ee's never gotta worry 'bout Tratton's wrath again, does 'ee? But if he passes th' trial successfully, he'll have won th' perm'nant respect an' loyalty of his crew, an' they'll not go runnin' to Tratton to fink on their own captain. Now in recent seasons, that crafty tyrant's been stationing some o' his small spy craft 'round th' Maelstrom - surprised we're not seein' any at th' moment, in fact - to persuade any new cap'ns not to take too big a risk. Searats might be spurred by their ambition to keep takin' this challenge, but could be they fear Tratton's spyrats even more, an' that might finally be what it takes t' put that tradition to rest."

"At least it would save lives."

"Wrong kinda lives, matey - 'specially now that th' searats have given up all th' goodbeast slaves o' theirs."

Alex and Wakefern descended the rigging to find Urthblood roaming the deck, checking to satisfy himself that his nautical hosts had everything well in paw. Badger and squirrel regarded each other coolly; they'd adopted a habit over the previous two days of tolerating each other's presence during their occasional encounters on the fairly close confines of the Stronganchor, and any words they exchanged held a grudging if not outright frosty air.

"Have we found the Roaringburn yet, Captain?" Unrthblood inquired of Wakefern.

"Little ways south yet t' go, Lord. Should be pickin' it up later today."

"Captain Wakefern was just showing me the mighty Maelstrom off to our west," Alex told the badger. "It's really quite a sight. Too bad you're too big and heavy to climb the riggings and see it for yourself."

"I have seen it," Urthblood rumbled, immune to the Redwaller's thinly-veiled denigration. "Remember, this is not my first time at sea."

"Oh, right - when you helped Tratton become king."

This accusation drew a look of surprise from Wakefern, but Urthblood ignored it, turning away from Alex dismissively. "I see that you and your crew are on top of matters, Captain. Please inform me once we have entered the Roaringburn. That will be all for now."

As the imperious badger ambled away, Alex muttered under his breath, "Don't suppose there's any chance he might fall overboard on this voyage, is there?"

Wakefern kept his own voice low as well. "Dunno, matey. Be int'restin' seein' him try t' swim in that red armor o' his!"

THE REDFOAM

"A ship is like a town."

Latura gazed vacantly at Trangle across the small table in the captain's cabin, making the searat wonder how many of his words she was truly absorbing. Nevertheless, he decided to press on.

"Now, if th' Redfoam's a floatin' village, that makes me 'er mayor o' sorts, fer want of a better term. Which means I'm responsible fer what goes on aboard 'er, from my first mate an' bosun all th' way down to th' lowliest galley pot-scrubber an' belowdecks bilge-scraper. I gotta make sure ev'ryrat aboard knows its place an' does its part, so's we c'n all keep th' Redfoam sailin' smoothly." Trangle paused, for dramatic menace. "An' I can't have anyrat disruptin' my ship."

"Uh huh."

"Now, y' know why I called fer you t' be busted outta yer chains an' brought here fer this liddle talk?"

"Um ... t' get t' know me better?"

The searat leaned back in amusement, letting his mouthful of sharp teeth show. "Guess you could say that, in a way. See, my crew's been sayin' lots about you, missy. Sayin' how you c'n predict things, how you c'n make things happen, how ye're protected so if somerat tries t' mistreat you, it snaps back on them instead. Now, what've y' got t' say t' that?"

"Um ... which part? That's a lot you said jus' now. Kinda lost track."

"Can you see th' future?"

"Sometimes I know things 'fore they happen. Not allers, but sometimes."

"How convenient," Trangle sneered. "Jus' like ev'ry other fake seer I ever ran inta. See th' future when it suits ya, but not in any way you c'n prove yer gift's fer real. So, what about controllin' events ... willin' 'em t' happen?"

"Martymouse said I do that, but I ain't really sure. T'ain't sumpthin' I wanna do, but mebbe I jus' does it."

"Martymouse? Who's that?"

"Ghost mouse who protecks Redwall. 'Cept 'ee ain't a ghost no more. An' 'ee's a she now. Least she ain't a badger too. That was real confusin'."

Trangle leaned forward, not even trying to make sense of her statement about reborn, gender-switching mouse warriors who weren't badgers. "Ah, yes, Redwall. Heard it said you came from there. That true? Didn't think they allowed our kind there."

"They didn't, not 'fore we got there, seekin' t' escape th' bad red. Hadta take us in - Martymouse made 'em."

Understanding lit Trangle's hard-edged face. "Ah, so you were refugees! Tryin' t' escape Urthblood's Purge! Makes sense now. So, you ain't a true Redwaller after all."

Latura took this as an affront. "Nay, I'm Latura o' Redwall! Martymouse said so!"

The searat remained clearly dubious. "Just how long were you at that Abbey anyway?"

"Long 'nuff fer th' sisters there t' make me th' prettiest orange dress! T'was my fav'rite thing ever! But th' badred squirreleys took it away, made me wear this borin' shirt instead."

"Yah, looks like t'was made fer a malebeast. So, if you only went t' Redwall after Urthblood started roundin' up rats, couldn'ta been there long, couldja?"

"Lessee ... left my village in late winter, when t'was still some snow on th' ground. Got t' Redwall in early spring, when all th' leaves an' flowers were comin' out."

Trangle was hardly impressed by this confirmation of his suspicions. "So, just earlier this very season. I was hopin' you'd be able t' tell me quite a bit about that place, but if you were only a guest there, fer just part of a season ... "

Latura took this as a challenge. "Hey, I know 'bout Redwall! Talked to its Abbotmousie, an' its stripedogmum, an' its rabbithare kernel, an' its squirreldogs who were part o' th' good red an' not bad at all. An' Greenpup too! Can't ferget Greenpup!"

"What's ... a Greenpup?"

"Otterdog. In green robes. Nicest beast - allers nice t' me, an' my kin. Helped us get t' Redwall, get safe."

"What does he do there?"

"Writes a lot. Mostly what 'ee does, allers writin' in books an' on scrolls, an' lookin' up things in old books 'n' scrolls too. Oh, an' he holds lessons fer all th' youngrats. Tells 'em all th' best tales, Greenpup does!"

Trangle started to reconsider Latura's usefulness in this regard. If she really had interacted with most of Redwall's leadership as she seemed to be claiming - the Abbot, and some of the Abbey defenders, and their teacher and historian - she might have picked up some worthwhile information after all. Then another thought occurred to the searat.

"Any of those others down in th' rowin' galley come from Redwall too?"

"Jus' th' scrawny, shrimpy one, who sits next t' me. Fergit 'is name ... "

"Does he make any more sense than you do?"

"Huh? Whaddya mean?"

"Nevermind. I'll find out fer m'self. So, what's it like at Redwall?"

Latura's face lit up at the happy memories of her time at the Abbey. "Oh, 'tis a wunnerful place! Where they make a beast all kinds o' d'licious food t' eat, an' pretty dresses t' wear, an' soft comfy beds too, tho' I only got t' bounce on one of 'em a liddle bit, mostly hadta sleep on th' floor ... "

"On the floor? Why was that?"

"Too crowded. Too many beasties, too many bodies, not enuff beds t' go 'round."

"Just how many of you rats sought refuge there?"

Latura screwed her face up in concentration. "Ooo, t'weren't never too good with numbers. T'was all th' rats from deadfoxie's valley horde, plus a few others. Lessee ... scores, I know that fer sure. Over a hunnerd, mebbe close t' two hunnerds, think I heard it said. Paltryrat down below might 'member better'n me."

"Two hundred? An' hordesrats too? That explains why there was no room. Surprised they letcher in t'all."

"Oh, but it weren't jus' us. Lotsa goodbeasts sleepin' on th' floor too, down in th' big hole cavern. Least there was, 'fore they all up an' moved on."

"Who were they? An' why'd they leave Redwall?"

"Freed slaves. From th' searats ... hey! That's you, ain't it?"

"Aye. We're searats. King Tratton freed all our woodland slaves as part o' his agreement with Urthblood. Makes sense a lot of 'em woulda found their way t' Redwall, since most wouldn'ta had any home t' go back to."

"Homes! That's where they were goin'! To th' big rockpit, t' help dig up stone fer buildin' new homes fer themselves. Gonna make a whole new village right across th' ditch!"

"The ditch?"

"Yeah, there's this ditch, see - "

"Nevermind that. So, all these freed slaves ... they can't've been happy sharin' the Abbey with so many rats."

"Oh, they weren't! Almost kept us out, but Greenpup an' Martymouse, they knew we hadta be let in t' escape th' bad red. Abbot weren't happy, almost put us out agin, but Greenpup an' old gray hare talked 'im inta lettin' us stay. Them old slaves, got their snouts outta joint over it, that's why they went to th' rockpit t' help th' molerbeasts there dig th' stone fer their new homes. Couldn't stand bein' 'round us rats no more. Kinda insultin', now I stop 'n' think about it."

Trangle leaned back in his chair once more, beaming. If even half of what this halfwit had told him was true, he'd struck a goldmine of valuable intelligence. Redwall taking in rat refugees meant they were at least somewhat opposed to Urthblood's Purge, which would put the badger and the Abbey at odds. And discord amongst the Redwall leaders over the status of these rats, and between them and the former slaves ... and creatures needing to sleep on the floors due to the lack of space? That suggested that perhaps Redwall was being overwhelmed with sanctuary-seekers, its resources strained beyond what they could comfortably accommodate. The only way this could get any better was if ...

"So, if you an' yer friend belowdecks were safely sheltered at the Abbey, how'd you end up here?"

"Badred squirrelies snatched us up! Tricked their way inta the Abbey with lies, lured us outside th' walls ... no, wait, t'was Martymouse who did that ... but then they tied us up an' marched us away to th' coast, to see th' badred badger at his mountain."

"Just th' two o' you? Not anyrat else? Why?"

"Badred badger was after me. Thought I was speeshul, somehow. Guess 'ee changed 'is mind, 'cos 'ee let me go agin. Pretty sure he aimed t' slay me, but then 'ee didn't. Sliced my nose, tho' - that stung an' pained me. Mebbe he didn't like what 'ee saw when 'ee looked inside me. I looked in him too. He's empty, y' know. Just winds rushin' all 'round in 'n' around 'im. Looked fer it, but t'weren't there t' be found."

"What wasn't?"

"A soul," Latura replied innocently.

Trangle shuddered. Not that this wasn't anything most searats hadn't concluded for themselves long ago. "Well, that's ... sumpthin'. So, I'm gatherin' the Redwallers can't have been too happy 'bout havin' you snatched away from 'em like that?"

"Oh no, they weren't. Rescue party came out after us, but th' badred's gullbirdies beat 'em back. Wasn't there t' see it m'self, but heard tell it got bloody, hares 'n' halfmice dyin', gullbirdies dyin' too, lots of 'em all over th' ground ev'rywheres."

Trangle straightened at this. Urthblood's forces and Redwallers, slaying each other in open battle? This was better than anything he could have hoped for! Could relations between the Abbey and Salamandastron truly have deteriorated to such a point of mutual enmity?

"Paltryrat could tell you more," Latura concluded. "He was there with 'em, saw more of it than I did. Bigbird flew me ahead, away from th' fightin'. Badred badger didn't want 'em catchin' up with me."

"Musta been quite a clash. But back to Redwall - "

"Ooo, are we goin' back t' Redwall? That'd be real nice. Didn't think you could sail a ship there ... "

The searat captain scowled. "No, we ain't goin' there."

"But y' jus' said - "

"Shattup. What does Urthblood think o' Redwall takin' in an' shelterin' so many rats, in defiance o' his will?"

"You'd hafta ask him, wouldn'tja? But his badred squirrelies ain't happy. Got the Abbey all surrounded, can't go outside without runnin' inta them. Daresn't go outside t'all if ye're a rat, elsewise they'll snatch you up an' march you off!"

"A siege? They've got Redwall under siege?"

"Um, if that's whatcher call it, yeah."

Trangle silently contemplated everything he'd just heard, mulling over the vast and myriad implications. Redwall under siege ... open battles being fought between woodlanders ... such fractures and divisions amongst their traditional adversaries were not to have been guessed at, and if her companion rat down in the rowing galley could confirm all of this, it would constitute some of the most vital intelligence ever to be delivered to Uroza and his spyrats.

And it had fallen right into Trangle's lap, through sheer providence.

While the searat captain dwelt inwardly upon his stroke of good fortune, Latura found her own attention wandering in its usual fashion. Noticing Trangle's tricorn hat sitting on the tabletop between them, she reached out to toy with it, finding the headpiece most novel; nobeast where she came from had ever sported anything quite like it, nor had she seen anybeast at the Abbey wearing anything similar either. Trangle, summoned from his reverie by her impetuous roving paws, smacked them away.

"Mind yerself there, missy. That's Cap'n's hat, an' Cap'n gets testy if it ain't shown proper respect. Won it fair an' square in a game o' clams 'n' periwinkles with ol' Cap'n Harrity, tho' it did take my blade in 'is back t' convince him t' surrender it after our game. No other hat like it in all th' Fleet. Become my hallmark, it has, an' other cap'ns an' officers can tell it's me from a long ways off, just 'cos o' that hat. Nobeast touches it but me, unnerstood?"

"What if it blows off yer head, an' somebeast wants t' be nice an' pick it up fer ya?"

"I make sure it's fit nice an' snug when I'm out 'n' about. Been through near gales with it, an' it ain't never blown off once. Like I said, it's quite a special hat."

"Hmmm." Latura found herself shuffling her paws against the floor, and not for the first time since being seated before the captain of the Redfoam. "Nice carpetin' y' got in here, soft 'n' cozy. Nice curtains too ... and that bunk looks almost as comfy as an Abbey bed."

"Ah yes." Trangle ran his flat paw over the polished surface of the table, a piece of furniture more finely crafted than anything one might expect to find aboard a searat vessel. "Bein' Cap'n gives ya perks, y' know. These rugs an' hangin's an' beddings, my chest an' tables an' chairs an' drawers, it's all th' best from our plunders an' tributes taken from over th' seasons - aside from what's sent to King Tratton, o' course, since he gets t' very best fer 'imself, right off th' top. But any cap'n of th' Fleet who plays 'is cards right can live like a prince, if mebbe not a king. Just rewards, fer all our hard work."

Trangle's eyes narrowed at Latura. "How'd you like some perks fer yerself, missy?"

"Oh, we couldn't have nice carpets like this down where we're chained up. They'd get all stained an' stinky ... "

The searat scowled at such a notion. "Ain't talkin' 'bout that. How'd y' like not t' have t' go back down there? No more chains, no more rowin', no more whips ... "

"Oh, Crackrat don't whip me no more. Hurts 'imself, ev'ry time 'ee tries."

"So I've 'eard. Lots o' my crew's talkin' 'bout you bein' protected, 'bout how no harm c'n befall you. Now, I ain't a superstitious beast, never berlieved in ghosts or spirits or curses or omens 'n' portents - but most searats still do. An' that's what counts 'ere. Now, I c'n blow an' bluster an' invoke my captain's authority all I want, but I'll never be able t' convince 'em of sumpthin' other than what's in their hearts, never banish th' boggerts in their souls. They've come convinced that anybeast who tries t' do you harm ends up harmed themself, an' that's no belief I'd be able t' counter. So, if that's what they berlieve, I'll just go along with it. If tryin' t' hurt you ends up with my crew takin' lumps an' bruises - or losin' an eye, or throwin' out their back - we'll just hafta start takin' very good care o' you, won't we? Make sure no harm befalls ye, so that none befalls us neither, hm?"

"Um ... okay."

Trangle flashed another gleaming, many-pointed smile. "So glad y' agree, missy. From now on, ye're gonna be our mascot, our good luck charm. No more slop from th' dregs of our cookin' galley, no more rowin' down below, ye'll get a berth o' yer own where you c'n nap an' sleep much as y' like ... oh, an' we'll getcher some new clothes too, so you look a liddle prettier. Might not be as fine as a Redwall dress, but we'll see what we c'n do. How's that sound?"

"Sounds real nice. Can Paltryrat be a mascot too?"

"No."

"Oh. He won't like that."

"Tough for him." Trangle rose and came around to Latura's side of the table, extending his paw. "Welcome aboard th' Redfoam, Lattie o' Redwall! Look forward t' havin' ye as part o' my crew - an' th' good luck ye're gonna bring us!"

Latura sat letting her paw be shaken, a passive observer to the scene. "Um ... can I get a hat like yers?"