I do not own Redwall. Name: Re-Kuu.
Recu spat out another mouthful of water, struggling to keep afloat. Damnedable rat. Just after their "talk" Recu had retired to his cabin, only to be raised shortly after for the call of the daily rations. Supplies were hard to come by in the now poor world they had been in. But with the promise of an extra half, it was well worth getting into line for something so meager. He had been told to wait until the end of the line, then go in, and get the other half of his food. So while he waited, he finished off his tray, keeping from the others.
Entering the kitchens of the ship, he looked at the captain, who grinned. Instantly, the rat raised his voice.
"Oi! Wat der yer think yer doin'?! Stealing vittles in a famine! Ta tha brig wit yer!" Stunned, Recu put up a fight with the crew, all of them rats. Five died before he left the kitchens, and he had almost made it to the edge of the ship to jump when one of the bigger rats threw himself in front.
He was dispatched with a quick upcut of the scythe, the deep red streaked across the blade, spraying its owner with the heavy goo. Recu always hated this part of the job… in truth; he always hated the job in general. The time it took to swing his weapon was enough for a rat to drop from the ropes overhead and catch his scythe, while another grabbed hold of his tail. Then it was just a wave of sea rats on him, pinning him to the deck, taking his battle axe, his scythe, and releasing him of twenty odd daggers. They even took his boots. And threw him in the brig.
Days later, and many meals conveniently forgotten to be given to him, Recu was trying to refrain from being queasy as the ship rocked from side to side in the storm. The rats had been stupid, only taking what they could see. After taking his boots, they were able to find the last of his daggers. All he had now was a small wood hatchet, the (somewhat) empty pouch on his sash, and his haversack of books and herbs. Wonderful. Well, at least he had something to read.
Looking up from his page and closing his eyes, he tried to still his empty stomach, wishing that the storm would sink the damn ship already. Pulling his sack over, he dug to find the right herb, sucking and chewing on the leaf once he had it. It helped little, but at least it was something. A few minutes later, he felt his fur stand on end and his body go ridged, jittery, and there were white-hot dots all over the ship walls that were within his vision. As quickly as it came, the sensations were over. Looking around, he found nothing odd…
Except that the bars were steaming.
One touch proved them to be hot enough to burn. He held his paw into the water that was quickly starting to pool at the hem of his cloak to cool the appendage. The ship had been struck by lightning. There was a hole, about the size of his four paws put together, in the cell across from his.
The ship had been hit hard by the storm.
The metal in ship had knocked a hole in the hull; one of the nails had shocked him.
And it was now sinking.
And that's how he found himself fighting to keep his head above water. The ship was leaning to one side, his side, so that he was more underwater than the other half of the brig was. Tugging his sash off, he check that he had his haversack, his hatchet, and his pouch. Good; everything was intact. Tying the sash on the outside of his cloak, he pinned the dark fabric over his pack and other valuables, making sure nothing could get caught in the water, trapping him.
Taking one last deep breath he ducked underwater before it topped his ears, and swam to the bottom. Now that the water was taking the weight it should be easy to pop the hinges. The hatchet made quick work of the planks under the door, just enough for him to wedge himself under it, and push upwards. Low and behold, the door shifted up and fell outwards to the cell. Perfect. Swimming to the ladder that led to the upper decks had never been easier.
What he found up top was utter chaos. Most of the rats had been waiting for grub, and had fried when the ship was hit; but the rest were running around, trying to find a way to get off the ship with everything they could. Looking at the mainmast that was now dragging in the water, broken and held by just a few splinters; he found the twisted, melted, charred remains of his scythe. Stupid vermin. They had wanted to expose the blade to the weather and salt, making it rust and deteriorate, then boast that his main weapon was gone forever.
It had been their lighting rod, and his saving grace. He bowed his head in respect for his dead weapon, and then quickly went about his way to take stock of where on the sea they were. One look was all it took. There was the shore, not too far from them. And behind it, framed by the storm clouds that had freed him, was a huge mountain cone. Salamandastron. He had heard of it in his studies before the war broke out. As welcoming as the Badger and the Hares were believed to be, if anyone even looked like a vermin, they'd be killed on sight. This wasn't good for him. He was a traveler now; he had left the world of an assassin, never wanting to use his scythe or other blades to kill again.
Was it so hard to ask for a retired life on a farm?! Claws gripped both of his ears, and pulled him down. Wrenching himself free, he twisted 'round, hatchet in paw. Ah, the captain!
"Ye have done I a great injustice, yes." Recu hissed, glaring at the rat. Half the fur was melted off his skull, and he looked crazed with fear and pain. Pity was all that filled Recu, but he kicked the corsair away from him none-the-less. "However, ye have saved mon life, so I shalt hurt ye not. Go, flee yon ship, yes. Yon hares will slaughter all found on yon ship, run." The pirate wouldn't listen though, and threw himself on the fox.
"Yer ta one tha' brought ther cursed scythe 'ere. Yer ther one that's got ter die!" Recu didn't even feel the ship, what little of it was left; hit the sand as he and the rat grappled. Kicking, biting, hitting with paws and weapons, the pair were oblivious to the rush of hares that flooded the ship to rid it of the last of the rats.
Captain pulled Recu's ear, locking his teeth around the burnt paw of the fox. In return, he received a sharp kick to the gut, the back of the hatchet knocking against the think skull. Rolling and fighting, growls and yips of pain filled the air as the Long Patrol formed a circle around them. The long-eared beast had yet to see the likes of it, and didn't want to miss anything. A couple of them were placing bets on the fighters. Milkeye pushed through the crowd, and eyed the duelers.
"Get off I ye flea-bag, yes! I be not curs-ed! Ye thieving vermin ways beith what struck ye, not I!"
"Yer foxer, yer brought it to mah ship! Such a gentle beast, killun the likes o' usins." Recu dragged the blade across the rat's back, only to get a claw gouged into his face. Taking the rat's head in his paws, the fox kicked him in the middle again, twisting to make himself on bottom. With a crack, the neck broke, and the body fell boneless onto him. Breathing heavily, Recu quickly shoved it off, and scrambled to his footpaws; holding the hatchet ready and counting a rough estimate of the foe-beasts around him.
"I am not here to hurteth ye! I am here as traveler, I will not fight ye if'n I do not have to, yes." He called, throwing his hatchet into the deck, where the head sunk into the wood, and the handle snapped into two. It was useless now. Standing strait, he challenged the ring to attack him with a silent look.
"We're not goin' to harm yew, foxer. Not after that show." Milkeye smirked and strode forward. "But you're comin' with us'ns nice and quietly, see? Yew got a lot of questions ta answer. Are ye comin', or dew I hafta drag ya?" Recu looked the badger over, and nodded.
"If ye lend me yon water skin, Lord, I'll come with ye to yon hellgates and back, yes." The badger looked at his brigadier, who nodded, and tossed the fox a water skin. With a barely heard 'Thank ye.' The water was gone, and the fox passed it back before the hare knew it.
"Lead yon way for I, yes."
Three days later, the assassin was sitting in a small room, looking out at the sea from his barred window. Even though he came willingly, they still put him in a prison just to be sure. Not that he minded, at least this one wasn't rocking. A kindly, fat hare maid stepped in, the door locking again behind her.
"Here you are, sah Foxer. Vegitabel soup, dontcha know!" She handed him the mug, which he sipped with a small smile.
"Thank ye, Dewdrop. 'Tis kind of ye to get yon food for I, yes. Is yon Badger Lord ready to question I yet?"
"Nah, I thinkin' he wants ta make sure yewr healthy an' all, wot wot. Yew was pretty thin when yew came ta us."
"That happens when one is locketh in yon rat brig. And there was little food to start with. Yon mountain has much scoff, yes."
"Yew sound like yew came from a blinkin' famine chap, wot. Yew dinna have food like this up north?"
"Nay, mon home was in a war with a vermin tribe from yon south. Ash blocketh sun, no food grows. Ash all time, cover everything; ash of friends, family, foe. All same, no different, yes." The hare and the fox talked for a while yet, talking of pasts and hope for the future, until a rap from the door called Dewdrop away.
"Well now, my pretty." Milkeye looked at his interrogator from the anvil he was sitting on. "Wot has he told yew today?"
The hare recounted, offering things she had inferred, and her thoughts on the fox's character.
"We can trust him." She stated.
"Hmm." The Badger Lord stood, pacing and stroking his stripe. He had been learning everything from his "Spy" the last few days, and what he had heard of Recu had pleased him.
"Bring him to me; methinks it's time to give him what my fore-masters have told me."