12
Fentress woke not remembering when or where she had gone to sleep, and unable to tell when or where she had waken. Things creaked, shadows flitted across her hazy vision. She rubbed her head, which was sore and scabbed, although not scabbed enough to prevent a dull wetness from seeping into her fingers.
"Eh, she's comin' 'round. Get her some drink."
A glass bottle pressed against her mouth and water flowed through. She gulped down the water, coughed, gulped down some more.
"What happened," she asked.
"Y'took a lump," replied the same voice as before, a female voice. Somebeast touched her. "I'd like t'say yer gonna be alright now, but I'd be lyin'."
"I can't see anything," said Fentress. "Where's Sully?"
"I'm right here," said Sully. Who knew where "right here" was, though. Fentress reached a paw toward the direction of the sound and another paw took hers and clasped it.
"Those shrews," Sully continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "They took out you an' the hare and wrestled me down fer good measure. They tossed us in the brig, an' that's where we are now. Dark in here."
Oh, yes. It came back to her. Most of it, at least. That shrew captain—Log a Log Kennebec, his name had been. Had he ordered them attacked? Was there a misunderstanding?
The voice that had spoken earlier spoke again. "Now that yer up, next time they come 'round for 'spection they'll put you to rowin' duty, same as the rest of us. Fer now, we're docked. Who knows where."
Rowing—docked—inspection. It was too much for Fentress's addled mind to comprehend all at once. "Where's Bristol," she asked.
"Still out," said Sully.
"And why," said Fentress, "Why are Guosim shrews attacking peaceful passerby and forcing slaves to row their ships?"
A bustle of commotion arose from the dark and for the first time Fentress realized there were many more creatures in the hull with them. They all seemed to be muttering the same thing: Luce, Luce.
"Stow it," said the first voice, the strongest voice. "I told this story enough times already, I'm too tired o' tellin' it to tell it again. They'll figger it out in their own time."
"But Luce—"
"I'm too tired to tell it!" snapped Luce. A squeak of dismay from whoever had spoken previously followed.
"Please, Luce," said Fentress. In the dark, with all faces obscured, speaking came easy. "My friend and I come from Redwall Abbey, which has fallen to a horde of vermin. We were separated from the other Abbeydwellers, who went to the river for help. I need to know if you have seen them or not."
A pause. Luce seemed to contemplate what was said. Finally, she replied: "Yeah, we seen 'em. Big group of 'em, right, all in those green rags? Got rounded up by Kennebec an' his crew o' corsairs. But there were too many of 'em to set t'rowin'. He shipped 'em off to his headquarters. That's all I know of 'em, I been in this hull fer weeks now, only see the sun when the hatch opens."
"But they're alright? Our friends?"
"As alright as you or me," said Luce.
Fentress tried to process the information, tried to tie the knots together, but her head was still fuzzy and the inability to see didn't help. Just as she was on the verge of giving up until she got some more rest—she was deathly tired—a scratching came from above and the voices in the hull whispered for quiet before a gleaming square of light opened up and illuminated them all. Fentress shielded her eyes but in the sudden surge of light she could only make out writhing masses of creatures, mostly young and gaunt and clutching at rags, shuffling out of the way as a large shrew appeared in the hatch and let out a guffaw.
"Arright, now. Had enough chitchat, y'lazybeasts? We're movin' on upstream, headin' back home. Rowin' positions, move!"
The creatures obeyed without protest, scurrying left and right onto small wooden benches. At each bench was a massive staff impaling the side of the ship, which Fentress surmised were the oars. She caught the eye of Sully and tried to ask wordlessly what they should do. Sully only shrugged.
"I said git up and move," said the big shrew, reaching to his side. He seized a coiled whip and with one smooth stroke unfurled it with a massive crack against the side of the wall. "Log a Log wants us movin' fast. We got one more deposit to make afore we head to meet with some business partners, an' these ain't the kinda partners that like lateness in a creature, no sir. Now git!"
Although he cracked the whip again with such force that Fentress feared somebeast would be hurt, none of the creatures cried out or even flinched. In fact, all of them were already at their posts on the bench. Then who was the shrew—
"Okay then, if that's the way it'll be. You there. The otter, an' the squirrel, you two. Stand up now, stand up where I can get a better look atcha."
The shrew descended a set of wooden steps leading from the hatch to the hull. Fentress stood up. Sully hesitated, but Fentress pulled her up too. Best not to get on the bad side of the one with the whip. Fentress knew.
"Yer the one's we picked up on the river," said the shrew, scrutinizing them. He glanced over his shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially. "Look. I'll tell ya this once. Log a Log don't like creatures who slack off. He put ya in here 'cuz he 'spects you to row, so row's what you'll do. If ya don't, you'll have lot worse'n just me t'deal with."
It seemed more like a warning than a threat, and the shrew did not even raise the whip. With a sigh he jabbed out a finger at an unoccupied bench.
"There's yer spot, just opened up. When yer hare wakes up, put her there too, or Log a Log'll be angry."
Fentress grabbed Sully's sleeve and pulled her to the bench, muttering thanks to the shrew as they passed. The shrew said nothing in return, and for a moment Fentress believed they had managed to escape the incident unscathed, until a voice piped up behind them:
"He ain't the Log a Log."
It wasn't Sully. It was Luce. She had risen from her spot at the bench, a small shrew, even by shrew standards, hardly measuring up the the bigger one with the whip.
Fentress expected the shrew to lash at Luce, but he didn't. "Oh come now Luce, do we have to have this argument ev'ry single time? I'm just doin' what I'm told. Quiet down and get to rowin'. Please?"
"Kennebec ain't the Log a Log. Killin' the real Log a Log don't make you one, it makes you a murderer, an' nothin' else. That's Guosim law. You know Guosim law, don't act like you don't, Trego."
Trego rubbed the back of his neck with his paw. "It ain't that simple, Luce. Sometimes law ain't how things go. But look. Quiet down an' get to rowin' afore he comes down to ask why you ain't doin' what he asked. Come on, do it for me, will ya?"
Before Luce could respond and before Fentress could stop her, Sully piped up. "You got that whip. Why don't you make us row, eh?"
"Sully," Fentress hissed, "I'm assuming you've never been whipped before. Let me tell you, it's not a pleasant—"
"This ain't no slaver," said Sully. "This ain't nothin' at all, just a big ol' coward doin' what his captain ordered. We ain't gotta listen to this fool." She had stood up now, motioning to the other creatures in the hull. "We ain't gotta stand for this at all. We ain't even chained down—what's to stop us from risin' up and takin' this whole rotten operation?"
Sully motioned to Luce for support. A smart move. Luce was obviously the ringleader either de facto or de jure of the gaggle of slaves in the hull. And for a moment Fentress thought Luce might say yeah, sure, let's mutiny right here and now. But Luce said nothing. Luce only looked to the hatch which as far as Fentress could tell was the only exit from the hull, and with her looked every other creature, even Trego. Fentress looked too.
Entering the hatch, still wearing his coat and large red hat, was Log a Log (maybe?) Kennebec.
"Yes," said Kennebec, descending the stairs with regal flair, allowing his coat to sweep around him. A few crew members—Fentress couldn't tell how many—followed. "Who is to stop you? As obviously the fellow I appointed to the task has proved insufficient to that end."
Trego whimpered and shuffled out of the way. Kennebec passed without acknowledging him.
"That fool I granted the generous occupation of slaver has done so little slaving I might as well have not had one. Which is a problem, of course. Because I need this ship to move, and fast, and the winds won't move such a fine craft alone. But since that creature I called a slaver has failed so utterly at every other task, at rigging, at navigation, even at cooking—why, I've no idea what I might ever do with such a layabout." Kennebec paused. He held up a finger. "Ah, wait, yes, I do know. I have the perfect job for such a creature. Fishbait."
Trego cried out and threw himself at Kennebec's footpaws. "No sir, no sir Log a Log, please not that, please don't use me for fishbait."
Kennebec ignored the pleas and trod across the prostrate body before turning his attention to the slaves gathered around him. He made a beeline for Sully. Fentress scanned the area for a weapon, a blunt object, anything to grab if things turned grim, but the only thing she could find were the oars, and they were affixed to the benches by large metal bolts.
"Now, I hear such foul things being uttered about mutiny and uprising and what not, just as I come to greet my new subjects. Because I forget creatures are always like this at the beginning of their new lifelong career. So adamant, so contrarian. They have to be educated to understand things my way."
He seemed to move slow but he actually moved fast. Already he had a paw under Sully's chin. "You know, I wasn't planning on keeping you two as rowers, actually. I have much grander plans for my Redwaller guests, which is why you'll find none of your friends down here, although they are all every last one in my custody. But I love feisty ones. The ones that think they are something special, that they are important, that they don't deserve this. Being here. In this hull. Rowing. For the rest of your life. Do you believe you deserve this, dear?"
Sully spat in his face. Kennebec lost not an ounce of composure. He did not even wipe his fur.
"But you do, dear. You deserve this so, so much. Your entire life has been geared for this purpose. Even before your life began, your mongrel parents bred you precisely to pull these oars up and down and up and down and up and down until your little body finally petered out completely and left you a lifeless corpse on these wooden planks."
"Don't speak about my parents," said Sully.
"Because you are meek, dear. You are not strong. You are not smart. You are not a creature of worth. And thus, you are here. You deserve to be here—you belong here. This will be bliss for you."
"I'll ram that hat of yours down your throat," said Sully.
Kennebec chuckled. "I love it. I love it when they fight back. It allows me to prove that I'm correct. Come then. The hat's right here. Make your words more than just words and you and all the others will be allowed to leave. Come now."
"Don't," said Fentress, grabbing Sully by the wrist. "It's a trap. He has a rapier under his coat."
"Don't," said Luce, from far away.
Sully's fists clenched.
Kennebec tilted his head to the side and launched into another monologue. Meant to make it seem like he wasn't paying attention. To make Sully believe she could just leap at him and take him down and walk out. But Fentress knew how foolish it was, because even if Kennebec really were stupid enough to distract himself with his own voice and open up to an attack, and it wasn't just a feint, Sully had nothing but her bare paws to fight with, and undoubtedly the crewbeasts gathered behind Kennebec would intervene. Kennebec did not strike Fentress as an honorable creature. He struck her like vermin.
And then she heard what he was saying.
"You see, I actually saw Lady Alagadda do something similar to this, not long ago. It's a bit of a habit of hers, and for a long time I couldn't puzzle out why she did it. She would subjugate some clan of otters or whatnot, capture their leaders, round up the whole lot of them. Open and shut. But then she'd throw a blade to the chieftain, some big wiry otter or some military hare, and duel them. And I thought, why would you risk your life like that. But then I realized—demoralization. The look on those otters's faces when their chief took a knife to the gullet, why—"
Fentress had taken out his legs and was pummeling him in the face before she received another crack to the skull from behind. She slumped over, dazed, as the shrews pulled her away from Kennebec. Kennebec popped up, swept his jacket, and fixed his hat.
"Well. Didn't expect that."
He leaned in and inspected Fentress. Three shrews had restrained her.
"Ah," said Kennebec. "No wonder. It's an otter. I wonder if she had any relation to the one I was just discussing."
Nothing seemed to fit together in Fentress's vision. Shapes moved, swirled. Colors blended. Something deep inside her managed to snarl: "My father. That was my father."
A smile curled on Kennebec's face. "Ah! The lost daughter of Skipper Faulkner. We had all assumed you died—Actually, no, we didn't assume, I distinctly remember somebeast saying they saw you perish in the swamp. That was so long ago, I can't get the details together. But this is perfect, this all illustrates my point perfectly. Because Skipper Faulkner was a moron. I'll just say it. A total moron. He saw my ship and welcomed us in because he thought he could trust us. He believed my stupid lies about trading and whatnot. And when Lady Alagadda arrived on my behest to aid in his tribe's evisceration—"
"It was you," said Fentress. "It was you."
"Yes, I wasn't quite so stylish back then," said Kennebec. "I don't blame you for failing to recognize me right away."
He turned away, motioning for his crew to release Fentress. She could see nothing anymore. She could only keep repeating, it was you, it was you.
Because it was him. How had she forgotten. How had she failed to remember so much. How long ago had it even been? Time felt nebulous, empty. As if it never existed. Her father had welcomed the shrews, they had feasted, sung songs. Many songs. And then, that night, as they all slept—but Fentress couldn't think. She could hardly even see.
Before the hatch closed, Kennebec said, "Make sure they row, Trego."
All light vanished.
"Fen, Fen are you alright?" said Sully. Her paws shuffled across the boards until she found Fentress. "What were you pullin', that was like something I would pull!"
"I did the same thing once," said Luce. "He gave me a lot worse. But then again, I did a lot worse t'him."
Their words bounced against Fentress, meaning nothing. All she could remember were faint, hazy images of a broken past. Her tribe, slaughtered, their bodies piled up. Her mother, handing her the sword that was her father's, the sword that had been passed down his family line. They ran. Her mother had not made it. Only Fentress had made it, the long smooth blade with its oaken shaft the only thing she had with her.
Somebeast had stolen the sword not long after.
But by then it hadn't mattered, because her father was dead. Her mother was dead. Her friends were dead. Everybeast she had ever known was dead. And she was nothing much more than a babe, toddling through Mossflower Wood, groping for anything with grubby paws.
Alagadda had killed her family. Kennebec had killed her family. Every single one of their respective crews had had a paw in killing her family.
All she could do was tremble against the rough bark of the hull while Sully held her, stroking her fur to calm her down.