Jiboree's log, day thirty five of our voyage, day fourteen of my escape.

Three days into Mossflower Woods. I've deserted them.

I've deserted the Greenshroud.

It started the evening of the sixteenth. I was feeling a bit miserable Shekra couldn't tell me more about the red stone house. I went to the forecastle to fetch some of the strong stuff. Seaweed grog, so strong we used it as paint thinner when we were fixing the Greenshroud. I needed to get that stupid vision out of my head.

Crumdun was there. He was hunched over one of the portholes, holding something in his paws. I should have left, or ignored him. I marched up to him and asked him what he was doing. It was only then I realised he was holding a rope. I looked out the porthole. He had slung Posy in it, helping her escape.

"She's just a kit," he said. He looked at me, I looked at him. What was I supposed to do? Haul her back in? I wanted her gone! Should I have raised an alarm? Those questions kept me from sleeping for a week. Crumdun looked so afraid, and the little maid below was obviously fighting back tears. They thought I was going to kill them both, or recapture Posy.

I helped Posy down to the ground, clear of our still-moving wheels. As I hauled the rope up, Crumdun began to fasten it around his waist. He said, simply, "I'm going too."

It made sense. Crumdun couldn't tell a convincing lie to save his life. Which is what he would have to do, if he stayed. I hated this chubby stoat, but everything was changing now. His life was in my paws, and I couldn't justify killing him. Crumdun was still a shipmate. You don't knife your shipmates, not even the ones you don't like.

So, he was next. I lowered him, my arms straining from the weight. Good thing I'm an outdoors sort of weasel, or he would have dropped like a stone. Unfortunately, this whole operation had taken too long. One of the lookouts started shouting. I could hear raised voices approaching the forecastle.

Now my life was on the line! I'd been spotted helping a prisoner escape and a shipmate desert. Somehow I doubted Braggio Ironhook would be in the mood to spare my life. Even if he did, it would mean loss of rank, maybe torture or even being thrown in the brig for a season. I made another snap decision, and followed that fat stoat out the window.

Weasels are tough. Corsairs are tough. I'm both, and the landing wasn't too bad. I only hurt my wrist. My non-writing paw, of course. Posy apparently knew how to make a splint for it. What do they teach kits these days? Anyway, it's no problem. Like I said, I can take the pain. It's gotten a lot better, since two weeks have passed.

Now Posy, Crumdun and I are travelling together.