L.
THE REDFOAM
It was, to almost a certainty, the very first captains' meeting aboard any searat vessel to include a mouse at the table.
Ramjohn sat looking at the larger rodents around him, still unsure whether to count his unexpected rescue and unorthodox reinstatement as captain of his old vessel as fortuitous or cruelly ironic … or just plain bizarre. The ratmaid Latura, who'd found him and had him released, held a seat at this present meeting too, although she was neither captain nor searat. After getting him out of his chains, she and her helpers had borne him up to the top deck of the Goodwill … at which point, even in his dazed state, he'd discovered that his beloved home on the waves was no longer the Goodwill at all, but had been transformed into some war-making monstrosity, her entire middle deck now taken up by the mammoth turntable supporting the impossible shooting mechanism installed upon it.
As food and water and a good cleaning returned him to some semblance of the mouse he'd been before his recent misfortunes, he pieced together a rough picture of what was going on here, and all which had transpired during his time in chains: the delivery of the Goodwill to Terramort for her retrofitting and metamorphosis into this preposterous engine of war under the direction of Clucus the Inventor; the slave revolt that had started aboard the Redfoam due to a tropical disease, moldy bread and the foresight of the very same ratmaid who now sat at their council; and the confluence of these two chains of events into the Doldrums, where Latura's prophetic vision had told the rebels they would find her "shipkiller" and be able to seize it for themselves.
Once their miniature fleet had made it out of that becalmed zone and back into waters where wind and current were at their beck and call to deliver them wherever they next wished to go, anchors were dropped and the fleetrunner dispatched to bear Tropsa from the Redfoam to the Seabolt. But if the searat thought he was being delivered to his new captaincy, he was in for a rude awakening, reaching the converted trader vessel only to find Latura awaiting him with the proclamation that this battered and disheveled mouse prisoner would be taking command of this ship which was formerly his and now would be again. Tropsa tried to protest, but it was clear that the current crew of the Goodwill/Seabolt had already embraced the idea of Ramjohn as this craft's true and proper master because, well, Latura had said so, and what more was there to say than that?
"Want a cap'ns' meetin'," Tropsa groused, irate over the idea of his promised prize being denied him. "So's we c'n chew this over."
"Great idea!" Latura agreed. "Could use some food t' chew - ain't got much aboard this shipkiller. An' Cap'n Mousey can come along too, give you all a proper hullo!"
And so it came to pass that Ramjohn - after joining Tropsa aboard Fleetrunner Eleven for the searat's unexpected, ignominious return crossing to the Redfoam, whereupon the mouse was checked over by the rebels' healer Zaraphath, further cleaned up and outfitted with one of the smaller searat tunics from the ship's wardrobe - found himself sharing a table with Cordato, Tropsa, Potdar and Latura in the former stateroom of the departed Captain Trangle in a conference to determine the distribution of command over the three vessels of the rebellion against the Searat Empire.
Tropsa levelled an irate gaze at the mouse. "So, Lattie sez you gets t' be cap'n of th' shipkiller."
"Why not? She's my ship," Ramjohn shot back coolly, not the least intimidated by Tropsa, not after what he'd been through. "An' she's called th' Goodwill."
Cordato snorted in amusement. "Not much goodwill bound up in 'er these days, not th' way she can send other ships right to th' seabottom. You say she's yer vessel - but is she really? After what's been done to 'er, she ain't like any craft that's ever plied th' waters of any sea anywheres. So sure y' still wanna lay claim to 'er, liddle matey?"
"Watch the 'liddle matey' stuff, rat. I put several o' your kind in their watery graves 'fore they took the Goodwill away from me an' slaughtered my crew in cold-blooded treachery. An' she might not be what she once was - Tratton may've transformed her inta somethin' outta a sailin' beast's nightmare - but now I'm takin' her back, an' I'll make her Tratton's nightmare, if it can do half of what you claim."
"Kills ships," Latura affirmed. "Mouseboat became Maskfaceboat but now it's mouseboat again, with a Cap'n Mousey!"
Cordato looked to Tropsa. "Guess that seals it. Looks like ye'll hafta settle fer bein' skipper of that fleetrunner after all."
"Pah! What makes this half-rat think 'ee can even still handle his old ship, after alla th' changes that've been done t' 'er? She'll prob'ly seem like a whole nother vessel, so why should 'ee be able to claim speshul priverlege on this?"
"First off," Ramjohn retorted, "better a half-rat than a full one, I'd say. Second, were any of you actual captains of anything 'fore this little revolt o' yours?" The mouse looked each of them in the eye in turn - skipping Latura, of course - and saw that the answer did not need to be spoken. "Well, I was - which brings me to my last point. Now, I ain't tried t' handle th' Goodwill since what you idiots did to 'er … but I can promise you this: lemme get my paws 'round 'er wheel, gimme a few leagues t' get the feel of how she responds in 'er new top-heavy configuration, an' I'll be able t' steer tricks outta her that th' rest o' you could only dream of!"
"Big words fer a liddle mousey," Cordato half-taunted. "Oh, an' by th' way, 'we' didn't do anything to yer ship; that was all Tratton's an' Clucus's doin'. Not all us rats - not even all us searats - 're all t'gether as one. An' ye're in with us now, like it or not, so ye'd best get accustermed to the idea o' bein' a mouse 'mongst rats, with me givin' the orders. As fer yer shipkiller - which is what she is now, so that's what I'll keep callin' 'er - she's all yers, 'cos Lattie sez she is. We've all learned not t' go 'gainst her when she comes out with stuff like that. We'da all been dead long 'fore now if we'd not followed 'er counsel in pretty much ev'rything."
Tropsa wasn't ready to drop the matter just yet. "Well, if we give our shipkiller over to this mouse 'ere, who's t' say 'ee won't turn on us, sink th' Redfoam an' alla us an' then just sail on 'is merry way?"
"Well, he'd not be sinkin' you," Cordato reminded his fellow captain, "if you'll be skipperin' th' fleetrunner, 'cos that'd be a mighty tough target t' hit, small as she is. But biggest reason I trust 'im is, I don't hafta. He'll be a mouse presidin' over a crew o' rats. What, you think 'ee's gonna run that whole ship by 'imself? I was over there when we sank th' Gullslayer; it took a whole team of us, workin' under Lattie's direction, just t' get that giant crossbow contraption aimed an' fired. 'Sides," Cordato levelled a vaguely malicious glare at Ramjohn, " ye'd never do anything treacherous like that 'gainst yer new allies, wouldjer?"
"Not unless you give me reason. So, I get my ship back. What next?"
"Counted five more o' them treetrunk-sized arrows over on th' shipkiller while I was aboard; 'parently, Clucus was plannin' on a fairly thorough testin' of his new toy. Pity he got taken out 'imself on the very first shot, along with th' Gullslayer. That ferret oughta've been more careful where he put 'is footpaws, 'specially with loose ropes an' lit stormpowder kegs all about th' place! But his loss is our gain, an' if we make 'em count, those five giant arrows we got left means another five ships o' Tratton's we can take out."
Ramjohn's eyes widened at the audacity behind this last statement. "So, what, you're gonna go huntin' ships of the Royal Navy?" The mouse's tone was as hopeful as it was incredulous.
"Why not? They'll be huntin' us, an' now we c'n fight back like we never could before, take th' battle right to 'em. That's if ye've got th' stummik fer it, Cap'n Mousey?"
"Oh, don't you doubt my intestinal fortitude, rat, or my resolve in this neither. Watched my entire crew get butchered an' my ship stolen from me. If ever there was a beast on land or sea lookin' for payback 'gainst those who wronged 'im, that'd be me. I'd sail right up to Terramort itself an' launch all our remainin' stormpowder at 'is stronghold, if I thought it'd do any good."
"Actshully, ye'd not be wantin' t' waste yerself on that effort these days, since Tratton ain't even there."
Ramjohn stared at Cordato. "An' how would a bunch o' rebel slaves like you know that?"
"Passed him on our way out from Salam'dastron, 'fore our revolt. Travellin' on a galleon like ours, in company o' two fleetrunners, which kinda called attention to 'imself right there. One o' them liddle spyboats broke off an' came over t' poke around th' Redfoam, an' 'er spycap'n let slip that Tratton was on th' galleon, sailin' in secret t' meet with Urthblood or summat like that. Might think he'd be back at Terramort by now, but Lattie seems pretty sure Tratton was gonna spend a long spell ashore."
Latura nodded. "King Ratty's goin' fer a walk. A nice long walk!"
"Ah," said Ramjohn. "So ye're goin' 'round sinkin' an' seizin' his ships, an' he likely don't even know about it yet?"
"We're countin' on him not knowin'. Him, an' none o' his rats neither. Gotta keep th' element o' surprise fer as long as we can."
"Well, won't be that long," Ramjohn informed them. "That was an experimental vessel, a prototype out on a test trial. How long do such trials usually last? A day? Two, or three at most? What're they gonna do at Terramort when th' Goodwill don't come back on schedule?"
"Already been over that with the survivor we pulled outta our fleetrunner," Cordato replied, "an' he said th' same as you. An' ye're prob'ly both right. Sumpthin' big as this goes missin' - somebeast important as Clucus goes missin' - that's gonna be noticed an' investigated sooner rather'n later. Could be just one day overdue'll be enuff t' get more fleetrunners out from Terramort t' see what's keepin' 'em. We gotta put distance 'tween ourselves an' the Doldrums 'fore those search parties get there - an' mebbe bring a warship or two with 'em."
Potdar nodded. "Flee th' scene o' th' crime. Yeah, I can relate t' that. Makes good sense."
"Or," Ramjohn countered, "we turn around an' head right back there. Lie in ambush, take out any other searat ships that come to investigate. Let 'em come to us, sink 'em one by one."
The others marvelled at the mouse captain's grim tone. "Bit bloodthirsty there, ain'tcher?" Tropsa remarked.
"Just lookin' t' give back what was given out t' me first. Question is, how serious are you lot about this little rebellion o' yers?"
"Oh, we're serious,"Cordato assured the mouse. "Mainly 'cos it's more'n what you just called it. When we threw off our chains an' killed Trangle an' his crew an' took th' Redfoam fer our own, that was a rebellion. But what we done now, an' what we're talkin' 'bout doin', that's war, plain 'n' simple. We're at war with Tratton now. So my question for you, liddle honorary rat of ours, is whether ye're on board with all th' rest of us fer such a contest?"
Ramjohn didn't even need to think about it. "Course I am. Where else would I go now? Tratton took ev'rything from me I held dear, through treachery an' murder. Can't even go report it to Lord Urthblood, 'cos from what you say Tratton's there with 'im now, hatchin' who knows what conspiracies an' agreements 'tween 'em. Swear that badger cares more for his peace with seabutchers than 'bout honest seafarers like me! Well, now I got my ship back, with a nice big gift mounted on her courtesy of Tratton 'imself, an' I'll use that weapon fer what it was meant for - just not who it was meant for. Even were I on my own, I'd find a way t' use th' Goodwill t' go huntin' Tratton's ships, an' sink as many of 'em as I could 'fore they sunk me. So yeah, I'm onboard with ye. I'm as onboard as any mouse can be with searats."
"Then welcome, an' congrat's on gettin' yer ship back, an' may you an' she serve us all well 'fore we go to our well-earned graves. 'Bout one thing y' said, tho': goin' to Salam'dastron t' lodge a complaint wouldn't do ya any good at th' moment, an' not only fer th' reason you stated. 'cordin' to Lattie, Urthblood ain't even there now."
"He's not … " Ramjohn shook his head as if to jumble his memories back into place. "That's right … that's right, he was makin' ready t' sail off t' Southsward when I left Salamandastron. But, you said Tratton was makin' for the mountain when you passed him? So, the Searat King's there now, but Urthblood's not?"
Latura quickly corrected the mouse. "Nope. Neither one's there. Bigredbadbadger sailed south, an' King Ratty's takin' his long walk."
"Tratton's on a march?" asked Potdar, more familiar with the lands than were any of the searats around him. "When you said afore he was goin' fer a walk, we figgered you was bein' silly. Where's he goin', an' how many o' his rats is he takin' with him? Is it an invasion of the inner lands?"
Cordato perked up at this. "Hey, that might actshully work t' our favor. If Tratton's drawn off any large number of 'is forces an' led 'em inland, that'd be less we'd hafta worry about comin' after us."
But Latura was shaking her head. "Nonono, t'ain't like that. Not an invashun, not an army, just a walkabout, seein' th' lands. Badredbadger said 'ee could, so 'ee is. Just seein' th' sights, is all."
"Well, that's just … bizarre," Cordato declared. "Why'd Tratton wanna go an' do that?"
"Mebbe got bored seein' just th' sea?" Latura speculated with a shrug.
"An' if Urthblood wasn't even at Salam'daston when Tratton got there," Tropsa pounced, "how'd he give that rat permission t' go on a trek to the inner lands in th' first place?"
"Used 'is birdies," Latura explained. "Redbadger's got all kinda birdies, lots 'n' lots of 'em. But still takes 'em time t' fly back 'n' forth with notes. That's what kept King Ratty at th' big rock longer'n 'ee planned, made 'im late fer his walk."
"That's right … " A contemplative look lit Cordato's eyes. "Urthblood's birds … an' if that badger's really cooperatin' with Tratton in any way t'all, even if it's just t' keep the Accord in place, might they not share infermation 'tween each other with those winged messengers? An' if Urthblood's 'seen' any o' what we been doin' here with 'is prophetic sight, an' clues in Tratton … "
"Naw, that ain't happ'nin'," Laura simply assured the worried rats and mouse around her. "Badger's keepin' his birdies fer himself. Ain't sharin' with nobeast."
Tropsa bent his thought to the matter, then voiced another possibility. "If that's true, then mebbe Urthblood knows about our rebellion, an' is keepin' it from Tratton … mebbe even conspirin' t' keep Tratton inland, where he's outta touch with his navy an' unable t' do anything about us?"
"Naw, that ain't happ'nin' neither. Redbadger don't know what we're doin'."
"An' why wouldn't he?" Tropsa challenged. "Urthblood sees an' knows what nobeast else can."
"'Cos th' seer hides th' seer. Can't see us 'cos o' that. Can't see anything happ'nin' out this way."
The others stared at her in silence for some moments, absorbing the implications of the ratmaid's assertion. Then Cordato asked, "Well, could Tratton an' Urthblood cooperate in some other way that might work 'gainst us?"
"Don't think so. Ain't like they're friends or nuthin'."
"But, the Accord," Ramjohn said. "He bent over backwards t' make it work with Tratton, even goin' so far as t' round up all you land rats an' give you over to 'im. Peace seems pretty important to Urthblood."
"Naw, neither one's all in fer peace. Why d'ya think King Ratty had th' shipkiller built?"
"You sayin' Tratton's been preparin' fer renewed war 'gainst Urthblood?" asked Potdar. "Even after gettin' all us land rats, an' payin' lip service to peaceful relations with that badger?"
"Tain't no secret 'mongst us searats that Tratton never did trust that badger," Cordato said. "Never slacked off pushin' Clucus t' come up with new types o' weapons, new ways t' make ships 'n' sails fireproof. Dunno whether he was countin' on Urthblood betrayin' him, or strikin' first 'imself, but Terramort was never put on any peacetime footing that I heard o', not even after the Accord. An' Urthblood's voyage t' Southsward makes sense in this light too - tryin' t' drum up new alliances fer when the Accord fails."
"Maybe he's tryin' t' do more than that." Ramjohn's gaze went to Latura. "I was there at Salamandastron when this one came through, an' quite a ruckus she caused too. Closest thing to a fright I've ever seen anybeast give Urthblood - I'd swear he was more afeared of her than he ever was of Tratton. Claimed there was somethin' to her that coulda undone all his work, an' undone him as well. Somethin' protectin' her in such a way that he dare not slay her, or it would've meant his own downfall."
"I can berlieve that," Cordato attested, thinking of everything that had happened since Latura boarded the Redfoam . "We all can, after what we seen o' her."
"So here's th' thing," Ramjohn went on. "If Lord Urthblood had such a clear idea of what your Lattie could do, could it be that he sent her Tratton's way to do exactly what she's doin' now: start an all-out war, rat against rat, that'd either topple Tratton an' end his Empire, or at the very least leave him so greatly weakened that he never poses any serious threat to Urthblood again."
Everyrat present turned his gaze on Latura. "That true, Lattie?" questioned Cordato. "You workin' fer Urthblood?"
She shook her head. "Ain't workin' fer nobeast. 'Specially not bigbadredbadger. He was mean t' me. Wanted t' take my head, but wasn't his t' take. So, sent me t' sea instead, 'long with Paltryrat. Where is he, anyways?"
"Down below, where that miserable example of rathood belongs," Cordato half-growled. "If he weren't with you, I'da like as not chucked 'im overboard myself by now."
Ramjohn brought the conversation back on topic. "Just 'cos she ain't a willin' part of it don't mean this still wasn't Urthblood's design all along."
"But if that's true," said Tropsa, "that means … we're all doin' Urthblood's bidding right now. Fightin' a war 'gainst Tratton fer him, so he don't hafta."
"Which leaves th' question," picked up Potdar, "o' just who our real enemy is here: Tratton … or Urthblood?"
"Or both?" said Tropsa.
"Urthblood's no friend o' mine," said the land rat. "He's th' one who rousted me an' ev'ry rat I ever known outta our homes, rounded us up an' marched us off to th' coast in bonds, destined fer lives o' misery. If this is all some secret scheme o' his t' further his own aims at the expense of all our lives, I say we call this war off right now an' make our getaway. We can go back to Cap'n Cordato's orig'nal plan, head north then west then south again, to regions far from Trartton's control, an' far from Urthblood too. Now we got th' shipkiller, we can go wherever we want, an' ain't nobeast t' stop us!"
"Is that what he wanted to do?" Ramjohn looked to Cordato. "Now that woulda been a brash an' bold move. But if you strike out that way now, your 'shipkiller' won't be goin' with you. I got unfinished business in these waters. I'll not be goin' to my grave until I take a dreadnought called th' Skyburn with me."
The three male rats directed their surprised gazes to the mouse among them. "What's yer grief with th' Skyburn, matey?" inquired Cordato.
"She's th' ship that captured th' Goodwill an' slew all my crew. An' now that I've got my vessel back again - with an extra liddle barb to 'er courtesy of Tratton's weapon shops - I'll not rest 'til I hunt down that dreadnought an' put 'er on the seabottom!"
"In that case, friend, 'fraid I got some bad news fer you … or mebbe good news, dependin' on how y' wanna take it." Cordato proceeded to relate the account of their encounter with the Skyburn, and the larger ship's destruction - an episode which had not yet been divulged to Ramjohn by Latura or any of the other rats. As the rebel captain finished his tale, Ramjohn slumped in his chair, disappointed dejection writ large on his face at the realization that fate had denied him his chance of retribution against the specific ship and crew who had so wronged him. Justice had been meted out, but by paws other than his own. Never would he have the satisfaction of personal vengeance against the searats who most richly deserved it.
"So, does that change yer plans?" Cordato asked him. "Wouldja wanna make a run fer it, north an' west, after all?"
Ramjohn mulled it over. "No. Not really. It was still Tratton an' his ferret weaponsmaster who gave orders for th' Goodwill to be seized. You may've taken care o' that maskface too, but there's still plenny o' ships in Tratton's navy, an' every one we can sink's a blow against Tratton 'imself. 'Sides, no offense, but I can't see me sneakin' off to parts unknown t' live out the rest of my days with rats as my only companions."
Cordato cracked a sardonic smile. "None taken. It's a novelty treatin' with a mouse as an equal, but not sure we'd be able to accept it fer th' long run any more'n you could. So, guess it's back t' sailin' an' sinkin', fer as long as we can pull it off, huh?"
"Which brings me back to my original question: do we run away from th' Doldrums t' try'n escape detection, or do we head back there an' pick off any rescue ships that come out to see what happened to Clucus an' his shipkiller?" Ramjohn stabbed his paw down at a nautical map spread out over Trangle's table. "An' if we don't go back, where do we go?"
"Well, there's two problems with headin' back to th' Doldrums, logistic'ly," answered Cordato. "First off, when we grabbed th' shipkiller fer ourselves an' sank th' Gullslayer, our enemies were thoughtful enuff t' line up all our targets fer us, so all we hadta do was get aboard that weapon ship, aim an' shoot. Can't rely on that happ'nin' a second time, an' without any way t' use our sails in that becalmed zone, it'd be tough fer us to maneuver in order ta line up our shots. More to th' point, the craft Terramort's likely t' send out to investergate will be their fleetrunners - small, fast boats that'd be almost impossible t' target. An' if we tried an' missed, as we almost surely would, they'd beat it back t' Terramort with news that th' Redfoam's now an enemy ship, an' then the entire Fleet really would be out huntin' us. Naw, we gotta go for'ard, not back. Gotta keep th' element o' surprise on our side fer as long as we can."
Ramjohn sighed. "Ah well. S'pose we'll still run inta other ships of Tratton's out on th' sea lanes we can take down."
"'m hungry," said Latura.
"An' that brings up another thing," Cordato continued, picking up on Latura's non sequitur. "On our raid back there, we picked up a whole bunch more mouths t' feed, an' no more food or water t' sustain them or us. It's nice havin' enuff paws on board t' fully staff th' Redfoam agin, or nearly so, but that won't do us no good once we all start goin' hungry an' thirsty. Our stocks're low an' gettin' lower, an' while it ain't a crisis yet, it soon will be. We can't keep on sailin' th' sea endlessly; eventshully, we'll have no choice but ta put inta port somewhere t' replenish our supplies. An' that rules out loiterin' around in th' Doldrums waitin' on craft we prob'ly wouldn't be able t' sink anyway."
"Could allers go back t' the isle of melons an' insecks," Potdar joked, eliciting mirthless chuckles from the two searats, while Latura looked on without reaction and Ramjohn wondered what was so funny.
"But seriously," the land rat went on, "I know y' can't drink seawater - any fool knows that - "
"You didn't," Cordato reminded him, "when you asked that very question right after we all freed ourselves from th' rowin' galley an' we're takin' stock o' what we had on paw."
Potdar bristled at this gleeful belittlement. "Anyway, as I was sayin', can't we take some food from th' sea? Seems to me it's full o' fish an' other critters we c'n eat, so why don't we do that, an' steer clear o' any ports where we'd only find trouble?"
"Harvestin' the sea's bounty's always a hit-or-miss propersition," Cordato explained. "Sure, we could try, but we're sailors, not anglers. We got nets aboard we could trail out after us an' see what we come up with, but unless we luck inta a runnin' shoal or sumpthin' like that, the pickin's 're likely to be mighty slim, an' not enuff t' sustain us."
"An' unless we run inta a mighty storm that lets us refill our rain barrels," Tropsa added, "we'd still have th' problem of runnin' outta drinkin' water."
"My crew an' I sometimes made decent work of haulin' in catches from th' sea, on some of our longer voyages," said Ramjohn.
Potdar slapped the tabletop and motioned to Ramjohn. "Well there y' go! Put this mouse here in charge o' that an' we'll be in fish up to our ears."
"Not so fast," Ramjohn went on. "Only reason that worked is most of my crew was otters. How many otters you got here 'mongst you?" He scanned all the deflated faces around him. "Yeah, thought as much."
"'m hungry," Latura repeated.
"Yah, we know ye're hungry, Lattie," Cordato groaned. "So let us grown-ups try'n figger out what we're gonna do about it, huh?"
"Mebbe we could raid th' stocks of th' next ship we take down," Potdar suggested.
"An' how would we do that?" Cordato chastised the land rat. "Only way we'll sink anymore ships is by surprise, an' once we harpoon 'em with a lit stormpowder keg, they won't be in any shape fer boardin'. Not when they're blasted apart an' sinkin'."
"Who sez we only hafta target Tratton's warships?" proposed Tropsa. "Still lotsa trader vessels plyin' wave an' wake … an' under the Accord, they'll be expectin' t' be stopped an' inspected by warships flyin' the red, black an' green like we are. We could take 'em unawares, board 'em an' raid 'em fer what we - "
Ramjohn cut in, hackles visibly raised. "You start targeting trader vessels, an' I will aim my 'shipkiller' at the Redfoam."
"There's a middle ground we can settle on," Cordato jumped in, defusing the suddenly-tense atmosphere in Trangle's stateroom. "Not alla Tratton's ships are warships either. He's got lumber barges an' ore freighters an' general cargo haulers, lightly-crewed an' lightly-armed. We go after some o' those, we should be able t' seize 'em without blastin' 'em, an' mebbe then we c'n get what we need in th' way o' vittles an' drink."
"So, we're def'nitely stayin' in these seas an' not fleein' fer parts unknown?" probed Tropsa. "Gonna stay an' fight Tratton, even if that means we're doin' Urthblood's dirty work fer him, fightin' his war an' dancin' on strings that he's pullin'?"
"Urthblood don't really matter t' me now," replied Cordato. "That badger ain't threat'nin' our necks out here at sea. It's Tratton's ships we've seized an' sunk, Tratton's fighters we've slain … which means it'll be Tratton who'll come t' collect our souls, an' Tratton we gotta be prepared t' stand 'gainst."
"I'm hungry!" Latura declared for the third time, with a forcefulness that made every rat and mouse break off their discussion and stare at her. "I'm hungry. Wanna go here." She stabbed at the nautical map in a most decisive fashion.
When the others leaned forward for a closer look, they all saw that Latura's paw was planted firmly on Talaga.
