Chapter Twenty-Three
When Browder awoke, the mild throbs of a distant headache gently kneading his skull, the sun was out from behind the clouds. His initial joy at this improvement in the weather turned to dismay when he realized that the sun shone into his eyes from just above the mountains on the western horizon.
"Oh, hornswoggle! Don't tell me I went an' slept away th' whole bally afternoon? That won't improve our mileage much, wot?"
He immediately set about searching for his companions in the nearby vicinity. Finding no sign of the creatures themselves, Browder sought evidence that they had passed by him while he slumbered, but the only tracks in the soft ground that led up out of the basin were his own.
"Now that's dashed odd, I must say." The hare threw his gaze left and right. There were only two possibilities: either the marchers had come up at some other point along the basin's rim, or else they'd never emerged from the circular valley at all.
This second option didn't appeal to Browder at all. If the former slaves had gotten by him, he could simply pick up their trail and run ahead to catch up with them - no trouble at all for a hare. But if they were for some reason still down in the basin, that would put them almost a day behind their already lagging schedule, and further strain their limited food supply. This prospect did not please Browder's stomach one bit. To quiet its protests, he settled down and helped himself to some dry biscuits from his provision sack.
"I say, this is a dilly of a pickle, wot?" he muttered to himself between mouthfuls. "Blinkin' sun's already gone down, an' I haven't a clue which way that motley crew's gone. Might take me 'til nightfall to find their trail, if there's even one t' jolly well find, an' then I daresn't take off after 'em since I could lose it again in th' dark. S'pose I could light a fire to let 'em know where th' blazes I am, but then I'd risk attractin' the wrong element, don'tcha know, an' that'd be a right poor piece o' judgment for a simple non-fightin' beast all on his own like I am. An' if they're far ahead, they're not likely to be lookin' back for my fire anyway. Then again, if they're still stuck down in that misty lowland, that'd be even worse ... "
So intent was he on his personal ruminations that Browder failed to notice the winged shadow that dropped down out of the twilight sky to land lightly behind him. The firm prod he received between his shoulder blades from the curved beak made him jump nearly his own height straight up in the air in surprise.
Klystra stood waiting to greet him when he spun round, his remaining biscuits scattered across the ground. "Gah! Don't go ambushin' a chap like that, you feathered frighter! You made me toss my cookies!"
If a falcon could have smiled, Klystra might have done so.
"Well, glad t' see you're still in one piece," Browder admitted grudgingly, stooping to gather his spilled biscuits before they got too damp. "Sounded like a real high-kickin' melee wot was goin' on out there on the coast, an' when you didn't show your danderface for so many days, we were beginnin' to wonder, naturally, whether you might've been killed. So, um ... how did the bally battle go?"
"We won," Klystra replied. "But losses very, very high. Survivors almost back to Salamandastron. I stay with them until they safe, close to mountain. Then I fly back to you." The falcon glanced around them. "Took some looking, one hare alone. Where the rest of you?"
"Um ... well, that's the thing, you see. I seem to have misplaced them."
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Klystra insisted that he had flown all over the Western Plains in his search for Browder and the former slaves, and that the others were nowhere to be seen anywhere within a day's march of their present position. Browder, however, was equally adamant that the falcon make one more survey flight before the daylight failed altogether, just in case the small party might have escaped the bird's notice. Klystra was quick to point out that he'd been able to spot a solitary hare with neutral-colored fur and earth-tone clothing, but in the end he gave into the blustering hare's demands just to get away from Browder.
While Klystra performed his aerial reconnaissance, Browder raced to and fro along the lip of the basin-shaped valley, frantically searching for any sign at all that his charges might have come up out of it to one side of him or the other. But no matter how hard he looked, he could find no trace of the tracks that surely would have shown in the damp earth. It appeared the slaves had not made it out of the basin at all, unless they'd gone way, way off course.
The sky was nearly dark by the time Klystra gently glided down out of the deepening twilight to rejoin Browder on the ground. "Nobeast, nobeast anywhere," the falcon reported.
"Same here." Browder pursed his lips. "Well, I s'pose you can go up again when it's full night, see if you can spot 'em by their campfire ... "
"No." Klystra shook his feathered head emphatically. "No fly at night."
"No? Well, that's a bit of a paw-binder, wot? Makes you ineffective jolly half th' time, wot? Still, guess we can't expect you to be a bat as well as a bird, can we?" Browder glanced around the level plains, then turned to descend into the basin. "Looks like our procrastinatin' procession's still lollygaggin' their way down here, so might as well join 'em. More sheltered anyway, an' a better place t' hunker down for th' night. Not that I'm gonna be all that sleepy, with all that shuteye I got today. Still don't know wot came over me ... "
Klystra, who'd been following Browder down the slope on foot with wings folded, suddenly flapped and fluttered in alarm, hastily retreating from the low ground before them. "Not go down there! Not go, either of us!"
Browder stopped in his tracks, peering back over his supply pack at the agitated falcon. "I say, wot's all th' bluster 'n' fluster?"
"Flitchaye gas! Flitchaye gas!" the raptor cawed in warning.
"Well, that's nice. Now, would you jolly well mind makin' a modicum of sense?"
"Flitchaye gas, what Urthblood used to make Salamandastron hares sleep. Smell it now, down there!"
Browder's eyes went wide. "You don't blinkin' bloomin' say? Well, that sure explains how I got so suddenly stricken by the snoozes this mornin'. Um, are you certain, Klystra chappie? This is wot that stuff smells like?"
Browder had not been present during Urthblood's invasion of Salamandastron the previous summer, but he had heard the stories of how the Badger Lord's otters had silently infiltrated the mountain fortress one rainy night and used some manner of sleep-inducing gas to render unconscious the twenty hares who had been left to guard the stronghold. This was how Urthblood had been able to reclaim his throne without any loss of life ... at least up to that point.
"Not exactly same, but very close," Klystra said. "That, Flitchaye gas, or very similar."
Browder stood in silence for a long time, staring down into the suddenly forbidding misty darkness of the valley. "Which means," he concluded at last, "that our friends're lyin' asleep down there right now. So, wot do we do about it?"
"Must wear mask," answered Klystra. "Damp cloth, over nose, keep you awake."
"Right. Well, I've got a spare kerchief or two here in my bag. I'll just sprinkle a little water from my drinkin' pouch onto one, tie it 'round my face, an' be on my way. Prob'ly need a torch or two, so I can find 'em without trippin' over 'em ... "
"Not now," Klystra ordered. "Wait until morning."
"Wot? And leave them down there all night?"
"Not safe. May be danger. Wait for morning."
It was clear from Klystra's tone that the bird genuinely feared venturing into the narcotic vapors in the dark, and considered it a mistake for Browder to do so as well. And since the falcon had experience dealing with the fiendish stuff, while Browder did not ...
"Okay, okay." The hare turned about and tramped back up to the top of the slope, leaving behind the cloyingly sweet vapors that hung and coiled below. "I gather they'll be fine where they are. Not like they'll be gettin' up an' strollin' off in th' night, with all that sleepy stuff blanketing them. I say, Klystra old chum, wot's a load of Urthblood's Flitchy gas doin' here anyway? I mean, does it occur naturally?"
"No, not naturally," came the reply out of the gloaming. "If Flitchaye gas down there, somebeast put it there."
"Somebeast ... put ... ?" Browder gulped. "Um, Klystra chappie, I think you'd better tell me more about this ... "
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The former slaves awoke to find themselves captives once again.
They came around one at a time, cracking open their bleary eyes to behold before them an underground cavern lit by a mysterious green glow. The sickly sweet smell from the rocky basin, now tinged with a hint of smokiness, hung in the air. Thick, tough vines bound them tightly to a rock column that rose from floor to ceiling. Clearly, there would be no escape unless they were able to break these bonds.
Every one of them woke with a headache. For the two otters and Granholm the squirrel it was a mild pain that didn't greatly bother them, but for the smaller creatures - even Syrek the searat - it was a heavy throbbing in their skulls that made cogent thinking difficult. As a result, conversation among the newly-revived companions was far from erudite.
"Oooo, my head!" Wexford the mouse moaned softly. He tried to lift a paw to his temple, and was surprised to find both arms tied to the rock he sat against. "Hey, what's with this?"
"We been captured, matey," Kurdyla said from two beasts over; Clovis sat between Wexford and the otter. Kurdyla had been one of the first to awaken, and had offered what little explanation and reassurance he could to those who'd returned to consciousness after him. "Sorry, looks like I led you all astray an' landed us in a right fix."
"Oh, it's all right, Kurdyla," Clovis said comfortingly through the dull pain that hammered at the inside of her skull. "Nobeast could've known that mist would put us to sleep - ooo! - or allow us to be captured."
Granholm struggled in vain against the vines encircling all of them. "But captured by who, is what I want to know ... "
The squirrel's question was soon to be answered, as ghostly, indistinct shapes began to dance and cavort at the limits of their vision in the dim green cavern. There were other beasts down here, many of them, who were not tied or restrained in any way. A distant chattering, almost like the echoes of mocking laughter, reached the woodlanders' ears.
"I'm scared," Clovis whined softly.
Kurdyla lowered his head to rest his cheek between the female mouse's ears - the only scant physical comfort he could show her in their present state. "There there, lass. We're all in this t'gether. Whatever these nasty li'l terrors are, they can't be worse'n those searats. So be a brave liddle champ, an' don't let 'em get to ya!"
From the other side of the rock column, where Fallace and some of the other mice had been the last to wake up, the hedgehog yelled out, "Hey, there's shrews back here!"
That got everybeast's attention (as well as making the mouse on either side of Fallace wince), for there had been no shrews among their party. Kurdyla called back, "What, you mean it's shrews who've taken us prisoner?"
"Nay. They're tied up same as us, but to a different rock. Must be captives too."
"Well, if they've been down here longer'n us, they might know what we're up 'gainst. Are they awake?"
"Aye ... an' they look 'bout as moody as I feel," Fallace reported.
"Then ask 'em what they're doin' here, an' what's going on ... "
"Don't need yer spikedog, we hear ya well enuff, otter," came a gruff voice from the part of the cavern behind Kurdyla. "An' if'n ye're hopin' fer hope, there ain't none t' give. These're killers who've got us in their clutches - savage killers. Ain't none o' us makin' it outta here alive."
"Says you," Kurdyla spat back defiantly at the unseen shrew, straining at his bonds as he did so. He stopped when he saw that his struggles were pulling the vines uncomfortably tight against the others; it must have been especially bad for those around on the opposite side of the column. Whoever had designed this method of confinement had been fiendishly clever about it.
"What are we gonna do?" Wexford groaned in dismay.
"Fer th' moment, just sit tight, looks like," Kurdyla replied, but added optimistically, "Don't worry, we'll think of somethin' ... "
No sooner had he made this hopeful pronouncement than their captors swarmed out of the green murk to close in on them, surrounding the slaves on all sides. They danced and swayed as they chanted in unison, as if it were some kind of ritual.
"Aye, aye, Flitch-aye-aye! Aye, aye, Flitch-aye-aye!"
They were weasels, scrawny and unclothed. Any one of them alone, seen in the full light of day, would have seemed pathetic and unthreatening. But here, in the eerie green glow from the rocks and in such numbers, they truly were menacing. The fang-bared expressions of malicious anticipation upon their faces were frightening, transforming them from scraggly vermin to monstrous ogres. Several carried clay pots hanging on cords, from which issued wisps of smoke that reeked of the same acrid perfume as permeated the basin-shaped valley somewhere above them.
"By me rudder," Kurdyla muttered under his breath, "what a hideous bunch o' heathens!"
One of the weasels pranced up to him, sticking the haft of its spear none-too-gently under Kurdyla's jaw. "Heeheehee, deesa beasts all awakey now!"
"Yes, we're all awake," Granholm grumbled. "Now, who the fur are you, an' what do you want from us?"
"Aheehee! We d' Flitch-aye-aye! You belonga us now!"
"Flitch-aye-aye?" the otter Wharff repeated. "That's a pretty stupid-sounding name, if'n y' asks me."
The weasel who'd addressed Kurdyla darted over to the other otter and gave Wharff a savage poke in the stomach, eliciting a sharp "oomph" of pain from the restrained woodlander.
"You givva d' Flitch-aye-aye lip, we givva you pain, plentya pain!"
"Stop it!" Clovis burst out in indignation over this mistreatment of her comrade, her previous fear forgotten in her anger. "You've some nerve, capturing innocent travellers and tying us up and treating us this way! You think you can make us your slaves? Well, we've been enslaved by better than you, and they couldn't keep us in chains! And neither will you!"
"That's th' spirit, Clovis me bucko!" Kurdyla whispered aside to her.
But the spokesweasel came right up to the recalcitrant mouse, thrusting its ugly snout into her face.
"Yeeheehee! Deesa smarteemouse think we wanna make'r nastee slave!"
"Well, then, whaddya want with us?" Kurdyla demanded.
The weasel smiled wickedly. "D' Flitch-aye-aye live unner d' ground. No food grow unnerground. So, how you think d' Flitch-aye-aye eat?"
Clovis grew pale at the implication. "Oh! Oh, no!"
"'Fraid 'ee's not pullin' our legs," Fallace said from her side of the column. "Now that my eyes have cleared a bit, I can see a pile of bones back 'ere ... "
"Aye," came a shrew's voice. "Two o' our mates. All that's left of 'em, anyways ... "
The lead weasel sniggered. "Shrewee meat all tough 'n' stringy! Betcher mousee meat tastee much, much better, teehee!" His face still a mere whisker's breadth from Clovis's, he licked his pallid lips with a disgusting wet smack.
"You touch one strand of fur on her head," Kurdyla growled menacingly, "an' I'll snap yer scrawny neck, I swear it!"
"Eehee! No touchee fur, fur tastee bad, hee! But meat unner fur tastee good!" The weasel bounded across to Wexford, who sat trembling on Kurdyla's other side. "I thinkee we take-a this mousee first. He looks juicy-tastee, mmeehee!"
"You've got us all tied t'gether," Kurdyla pointed out. "You can't take one of us without freein' alla us ... an' you don't wanna do that, berlieve you me."
The weasel, though small, gave the otter's outstretched footpaw a stamp that twisted the ankle painfully. "You sucha smartee waterdog! You see d' Flitch-aye-aye smarter den you!"
Several of the weasels came forward and loosened Wexford's bonds. Surprisingly, the other prisoners remained tightly bound. Kurdyla, an old paw at rope lore himself, could not begin to imagine what system of knots and bindings the Flitch-aye-aye were using that would allow such a thing, but the flesh-eating weasels had clearly mastered these skills. There was nothing any of them could do as Wexford was dragged struggling and protesting from the cavern by the weasel horde.
Kurdyla went berserk, red rage flooding his vision at the thought of what lay in store for Wexford, not caring how his efforts to break his bonds hurt his companions. Not only did he pull and strain against his confining vines with all his bodily strength, but he also dropped his head and began gnawing furiously at them as well.
When the weasels saw what Kurdyla was doing, they went into a panic. Clearly, they did not want the big burly otter loose among them in such a rage. Several smacked him across the face and head with their spears, but the blows had almost no effect. Finally, in desperation, the leader grabbed one of the smoking clay pots from an underling and broke it over Kurdyla's head. The vessel smashed into a shower of shards and smoky embers that cascaded down around the otter.
The heavy blow did the trick. Kurdyla slumped forward, stunned by the brutal impact upon his skull. The dim green cave receded into nothingness in his vision, his awareness gone even as more of the weasels surged forward and continued to rain down more sharp blows upon his unconscious form.
In fact, by the time they were done with him, they had worked up quite an appetite indeed.
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Time passed. How much time, none of the woodlanders in the cavern could say. Kurdyla remained slumped forward in his bonds, dead to the world although the gentle rise and fall of his broad chest showed that he was not in fact dead. As the smell of cooking flesh gradually permeated their chamber, wafting its way from some other part of the cave complex, more than one of the captives wished they could have joined Kurdyla in blissful unconsciousness.
Clovis sniffled, unable to stop her tears. "Oh, poor Wexford! He never hurt anybeast - not even the searats, when he had a chance to do so during our revolt. He was a good friend, and I really did like him. I never realized how much until now. Oh, this is horrible!"
Granholm, tied up alongside Clovis, wished he could offer her a comforting embrace. "Aye, those weasels are murderous fiends, all right," the squirrel pronounced grimly, "an' if there was any justice in the world, they'd have the same thing happen to them as they've done to our poor Wexy. Why, if Kurdyla had been able to get free, I bet he wouldn't have left a single one of them villainous cannibals alive!"
"But he didn't," Clovis sniffed, glancing over at the otter's still, head-hung form. "And now there's nothing to stop those abominable weasels from coming and harvesting us like cabbages, one at a time!" Although she was close to hysterics, her voice dropped to a tremulous murmur. "I don't want to die, Granholm. Not like this."
"Call me Granny - everybeast does," he said with forced cheer. "And I know what you mean, Clovis. Nothing wrong with dying, if it's in battle and you've got a fighting chance. Every creature should be allowed the choice of a brave death or a peaceful one. Didn't look like we'd have a chance at either during our seasons of slavery under the searats, but fate gave us a way out of our bondage. If it happened once, it could happen again, here. So don't give up yet."
"Even if it does, it'll be too late for Wexford ... " Clovis's tears flowed anew. "He was such a nice mouse! Oh, how I wish I could close my nose the way I can close my eyes! I dearly don't want to die, Granholm - Granny - but I almost hope they come for me next, so that I don't have to suffer through this happening to any more of my friends."
"Chin up, Clovis my gal," the squirrel soothed. "There may be hope yet. You saw how those weasels panicked when Kurdyla tried to break loose? You think they would have reacted like that if they hadn't thought there was a good chance he could've freed himself, and maybe us too? Perhaps we're not as inescapably bound as they'd like us to believe ... "
Granholm contorted himself so that he could get his jaws around the vines that confined them. As Clovis looked on hopefully, Granholm set to work with his sharp incisors, gnawing fiercely at the strands to see what he could accomplish.
Meanwhile, around on the other side of the wide stone column to which all the woodlanders were tied, Fallace the hedgehog was doing her own part, in her own gruff way, to keep up her companions' spirits. The task wasn't made any easier when the unsettling cooking aromas began to fill the cavern.
"How long do you reckon we've been down here?" wondered a stout mouse named Lekkas, more to take his mind off Wexford's fate than anything else.
Fallace shrugged with her bonds. "Impossible t' say, really. No way of knowin' how long we was out fer, up in that valley. Could be th' middle of th' day, or th' middle of th' night ... not that that'd make a hill o' beans' difference to us down 'ere."
"At least they didn't get us all," Lekkas said with a trace of defiant optimism.
"Oh? Whaddya mean?"
"Well, hadn't you noticed? Browder's not here."
"Ain't he? I c'n only see less'n half of us, tied with my back t' this spine-forsaken rock pillar. Never occurred t' me t' ask, tho' I guess I'd o' heard his foolish chatter by now, come t' think on it. Hey," she shouted to be heard by all, "anybeast seen Browder since we woke up in here?"
Her question was met by a few scattered negatives and a general silence from the rest.
"See?" said Lekkas. "Browder's still free. Maybe he'll be able to help us?"
"Unless these barbarians scoffed that greedyguts first, 'fore we all woke up. Could be they've a special fondness fer hare."
Lekkas immediately slouched in deflation. "Oh. Hadn't thought of that ... "
"Aw," scoffed Syrek the searat, "even if that flopeared buffoon is still alive an' free up there, ain't naught 'ee could do fer us. Prob'ly don't even know where we are ... "
"That's a good guess, rat, since we don't even know where we're at." Fallace fastened her gaze upon the two shrews across from her. "But somebeasts here ought t' know whether Browder was ever down 'ere. Hey, you two! Was there a hare down here with us anytime 'fore we came awake?"
The two shrews glowered back at her. The duo had proven quite resistant to engaging in conversation of any sort, refusing even to give their names and confirming only facts the slaves would have been able to figure out on their own anyway. Perhaps they were as in the dark as anybeast and too stubbornly proud to admit it, perhaps they were enraged over the fate of their two comrades, or perhaps they were just naturally rude and nasty. Whatever their reasons, they were hardly shaping up to be the allies for which the woodlanders had hoped.
"Naw, ain't no hare been down here," one shrew finally deigned to answer with the usual ill-mannered abruptness. "But yer ratface is right - won't do ya a lick o' good if'n he is still free up topside. Only way anybeast gets down 'ere is if these damnable Flitchy's brings 'em down ... an' then it's all over for 'em."
"That's right," the other shrew affirmed. "'sides, he wouldn't be able t' get near this place wi'out gettin' overcome by those sleepy-fumes 'imself. Only way you'll see that hare here is as part o' th' Flitchy's menu."
"You never did tell us how you were captured," Wharff called to the shrews from around his side of the column. "You locals, or what?"
"None o' yer business, waterdog!" the first shrew snapped with far more vehemence than the innocent question warranted.
"Yeah, shut yer gob!" the second added defensively.
Fallace glanced aside at Syrek. "These shrews're actin' more like vermin than I ever seen you do, 'Rek."
"Yah, thanks," the rat muttered. "I think ... "
A scuffling and chattering came their way as a couple of the Flitch-aye-aye emerged from a side tunnel bearing a rough-woven greasy sack between them. Most of the slaves averted their eyes in disgust and sadness as a new batch of gnawed-clean bones were spilled from the sack with a clatter atop the pile of shrew remains.
"Already?" Wharff gulped. "They shore made quick work o' poor Wexy!"
One of the Flitch-aye-aye hopped over to the otter, prodding Wharff sharply in the shoulder with its paw. "Teeheehee! One-a mousee feed alla Flitch-aye-aye for day! Bigga beastee like you, feed alla us for twoday, mabbee threee! Eehee!"
With a quick snap of his neck, Wharff jerked his head down and brought his jaws round the weasel's paw. The taste of the unwashed flesh and fur was awful, but the otter was able to take a nice chunk of meat out of his tormentor. Wharff spat it back into the screaming vermin's face. "Ptoo! There, see 'ow you like it!"
"Whaaahaaaoooow!" The injured Flitch-aye-aye howled and danced in circles, clutching at his bleeding claw.
Granholm, who'd suspended his vine-chewing activities at the approach of the enemy, grinned wickedly. "Good goin', Wharff matey!"
The two Flitch-aye-aye converged on the otter, showering him with enraged punches of retribution that were largely ineffective, doing little more than bruising him slightly under the fur. Singly, these weasels truly were weaklings, and would not normally pose a threat to any but the smallest of creatures.
The uninjured assailant, seeking to land a blow on Wharff's face, found his own paw caught by the otter's teeth, and lost all the skin off his knuckles as he pulled it free. "C'mon, is that th' best ye can do?" Wharff taunted.
The Flitch-aye-aye retreated a few steps, glaring at the otter. "Mabbee you next-a, makkee dinner outta you!"
"Gah, I hopes you do, an' I stick in alla yer ugly throats an' choke you!"
As the two weasels made to exit the cave, the rat Syrek called out to them, "Hey, wait a beat, fellers! I gotta talk t' ya!"
Lekkas regarded his fellow prisoner sternly as the two Flitch-aye-aye approached. "Syrek, what are you doing?"
But the searat ignored the mouse's question. One of the weasels, still painfully grasping its claw, said, "Yeah, whatcha wantee, bigga ugleemouse?"
"I ain't no mouse. I'm a rat, an' I don't belong with these others. Ya gotta see that. I'm on yer side. Lemme go, an' I'll help ya. You wouldn't wanna eat me anyways - I'm tough an' dried out from all me seasons at sea. Why, I bet I'd taste worse'n any shrew! So, lemme free, whattya say?"
"You helpee Flitch-aye-aye?" The weasel sounded skeptical. "How rattee-mouse helpee us?"
Syrek said, "There's sumpthin' I gotta tell yer leader ... er, chief, or whatever it is y' got here. It's sumpthin' important that he'll really wanna know about."
"Whatwhat? You tellee now, rattyface!"
"Syrek, don't!" Lekkas said, finally guessing what it was the rat had in mind.
Syrek swallowed. "You ain't got alla us - "
"Syrek, don't you dare, you traitor!" Fallace growled.
"There's more o' us above ground," the searat forced out. Then, for good measure, he added, totally off the cuff, "An' some of 'em might know th' secret o' yer sleep smoke. They'll be able t' come down 'ere without bein' put out, an' then they'll slay you all fer what you done!"
"Nobeastee know our secret!" the weasel decried, but there was a hint of doubt in its voice.
"You wanna take that chance?" Syrek challenged with all the bravado he could muster. Straining to imagine what might strike the most fear into the Flitch-aye-aye, he added, "How'd y' like a whole horde o' beasts streamin' down 'ere, weapons drawn fer blood? Hares, an' squirrels, an' badgers - "
"Badgerses! Badgerses!" This threw the two vermin into a total and complete panic. One fell onto its knees, paws clutched at the sides of its face in despair. The other leaned toward the rat and queried, "Bigga shinee red badger, alla steelee red?"
Syrek didn't know what the frantic creature was jabbering about, but he played along. "Yeah, a big red badger. That's what we got up there, an' it'll be down 'ere if you don't lemme help ye ... "
"Redmetal badger! Aiiiiieeeee ... !" The two weasels fled back down the side tunnel, their terrified wails echoing after them long after they were gone.
Fallace glared aside over Lekkas's head at Syrek. "Rat, you are the lowest scum on land an' sea ... "
"Aw, stuff it, y' old pincusion!" Syrek retorted in a low hiss. "Whaddya think I'm tryin' ta do? If I c'n get free, mebbe I can get me paws on a weapon an' cut you all loose!"
The hedgehog's eyes went wide. "So that's what ye're on about?"
"Course. An' I'm th' only one o' us who's got any chance o' pullin' this off. They'd never trust a woodlander t' betray their own ... " He shot a glance toward the two shrews. "Well, most woodlanders, anyway. But don'tcha go makin' all nice wi' me now that y' know my ruse. This play'll only work if they see you blowin' yer bile at me like you was b'fore. So you keep snipin' at me, an' I'll growl back at you, just like I really am traitor scum."
"Gonna be hard playin' mad at you, now that I know, but I'll do my best." Fallace glanced after the path taken by the two flustered Flitch-aye-aye. "Won't mean much, though, if it don't get you free ... "
"I ain't worried 'bout that," said Syrek. "You see th' way they turned t' jelly when I told 'em there was a badger up there? Dunno what that were all about, but from their fear I'd wager they'll wanna know all I c'n tell 'em. An' I'll make it clear I won't say another word 'til they cut me loose!"
"Unless you got 'em so scared that they all run away, leavin' us all tied up," the hedgehog speculated. "Those were some mighty frightened weasels ...
"Aw, we could free ourselves, if we know they ain't comin' to check on us. Better bein' left alone that gettin' et, I say ... whup, 'ere they come again, y' old stickle-scragged, nasty-nosed, muck-spiked pricklebag!"
"Same t' you, ya scum-pawed, scaly-tailed, grog-breathed traitor!"
A small group of Flitch-aye-aye stopped before Syrek, brandishing an assortment of knives and short blades stolen from the travellers. Rather than cut the rat loose, they painstakingly untied his bonds just as they had with Wexford so that the others would remain bound. Then Syrek was escorted in their midst down the side corridor, the weapons pointing at every part of him to ensure that he didn't try anything. Just before he was lost to view, the searat glanced over his shoulder and gave his fellow slaves a conspiratorial wink.
And then he was gone.
"I just hope this works," muttered Fallace.
"I just hope that rat was telling us the truth," added Lekkas.