CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR

As the Goodwill hove into view of Salamandastron's rough rock pier, Captain Ramjohn's brow furrowed at the sight of the red, black and green sails on display there.

"Searats!" the grizzled mouse spat. "T'was hopin' to avoid 'em durin' this landfall - aside from their snot-nosed, snaggle-fanged Ambassador. He's all the searat I care t' stomach at one time!"

His otter first mate Chobor stood on the wheeldeck alongside him, regarding the scene himself with equal distaste if a modicum of pragmatism. "Well, Cap'n, now that they've got their Accord in place, I reckon searats're free t' come an' go at Salamountain as they please. Not surprisin' we're findin' 'em here. T'was a time when those colors anywhere near these shores meant an invasion or incursion, but if that giant red badger standard I see flappin' atop that plateau means aught, I'd say they've not captured their coveted prize this day. 'Sides which, wouldn't ya rather be runnin' inta them moored up here than out on the open main?"

"Pah! Wouldn't put it past those seabrutes to try 'n' board an' inspect us right under Lord Urthblood's nose to demand more tribute ... or past that badger t' look the other way while they did. After gettin' stopped three times so far this season by those bullies - an' having to surrender a larger share of my cargo each time - I ain't lookin' t' get legally plundered so much as one sack or crate more'n I already have!"

"Aye, that's what we're here t' put a stop to if we can, Cap'n. Here's hopin' we'll meet with success, or else it'll be a lean summer to go along with our lean spring!"

A short time later, shaping the prevailing winds to their will, Ramjohn steered his vessel into a clear berth along the jetty, just across the narrow dock from the searat galleon the Redfoam, her canvases still unfurled in full imperial glory in spite of the ship riding at anchor and being tied up to the pier. Members of her unsavory crew could be seen laboring or lounging or standing guard abovedecks, regarding the woodlanders with suspicious ire as Ramjohn and Chobor disembarked. Mouse and otter did their best to ignore the ruffians even while keeping a close watch on them out of the corners of their eyes. Not that they genuinely anticipated any real trouble here; whatever other shortcomings Urthblood might have, and whatever seafaring goodbeasts might think of the present state of oceangoing affairs, it remained a certainty that the current Badger Lord of this fortress would tolerate no strife on his doorstep.

Or so Ramjohn hoped as he and Chobor passed under the baleful gazes of the Redfoam's leering crew.

Moored just ahead of the Goodwill was a cheerier sight, one to encourage the two goodbeasts in spite of the searat presence. Chobor nodded toward their companion trader vessel, a familiar old friend of sorts. "See th' Stronganchor's tied up here too. Wonder what business Cap'n Wakefern's got at Salam'dastron these days?"

"Could be same as ours, for all we know. We'll find out shortly." Ramjohn and his first mate traded hale and hearty salutations with the Stronganchor's crew as they passed, exchanging a few bawdy jabs and risque ripostes with friends not seen in a season or more. Working their way past the other ship to the head of the pier, they found another mouse waiting to greet them.

"Ahoy, Cap'n Ramjohn!" Abellon welcomed his nautical counterpart with free cheer. "Not seen you nor th' Goodwill here in a badger's age! Lord Urthblood still owes you big for your help in that Snoga mess, so we'll always make a warm an' open berth for you here at Salamandastron! What brings you here this day? No ill wind, I hope?"

"How ill a wind 'tis depends on what your Lord has t' say to my concerns," Ramjohn replied as he clasped Abellon's paw. Glancing over his shoulder at the searats, he added in a grumbled mutter, "An' what certain other creatures have t' say for themselves too ... "

"Ah. I can guess what's on your mind then - an' I gather it's much the same that brought you here to these shores summer last, before we even had a jetty for you to tie up at, even if circumstances now aren't quite as hostile or barbaric as they were then. But it just so happens Lord Urthblood's already in the midst of negotiations even as we speak that touch upon that very subject, and a great deal more, too. So I'd say your timing was most fortuitous - we'll just find room at the table for you as well!"

"Hmm. Not sure what you're goin' on about, but if Wakefern's involved, it's gotta be on the up-an'-up. I'll take it as a good sign, then - along with bein' met out here by a fellow mouse. I was expectin' a phalanx of those red-furred, bushtailed treejumpers your badger surrounds 'imself with. They happen t' be elsewise engaged, I assume?"

"In a manner of speakin'. Most've been reassigned to Mossflower to oversee things there, so we're down to about a hundred from the three hundred you saw here before. That leaves the rest of us mice, 'hogs an' Mattoon's weasels bearin' more responsibilities, but as long as the Accord holds, we don't need as many defenders - an' if it should fail, we got all our battlebirds to put Tratton right back in his place again!"

"Hmm. Guess that makes sense. Leave it to that badger to have everything worked out to the smallest eyelet an' grommet!"

Halfway up the sandy coastal slope between the pier and the main entrance to the mountain fortress Abellon halted, spotting a large group approaching from the south just above the tideline. "Hold just a bit, friends. I'd like to see how things went with this assignment, make sure there's no problem. It's our first batch, you know. Let's head down that way for a closer look - unless the two of you would rather head right inside?"

"Not at all," Ramjohn replied, speaking for both himself and Chobor, who was just as curious about the mixed group to the south. "It'll give us a little more chance to get out land legs back. Lead th' way, Cap'n!"

Abellon gave a friendly smirk. "Y know, it might get a mite confusing, two mice callin' each other 'Cap'n' all the time!"

"Only for us pore ol' salty dogs standin' by tryin' t' figger it all out!" Chobor put in with a laugh.

Abellon led the two visitors away from the soaring portal and across the sand around to the southwest foot of Salamandastron, better positioning themselves to sooner receive the oncoming company. It took some time for the large group of newcomers to resolve itself even to the two sailorbeasts' sharp eyes, but Ramjohn was content to hold his ground to satisfy his piqued curiosity.

And the most curious aspect to the procession was the gulls who circled and wheeled low above it, as if providing additional protection from the air. But as it became clear who the ground creatures were, the gulls' presence made sense. Roughly twoscore rats, dressed in woodlander garb which may have been almost fine at one time but now showed the abundant wear and tear of a forced march, were being herded along by half that number of Urthblood's weasels - the difference being that the soldierbeasts were armed, while the rats were not. Some of the rodents' paws were bound, and some were even bound to each other, although all legs remained unencumbered for marching. Not for running or escaping, though - the strength of gulls and weasels saw to that.

Many of the rats wore blank expressions of dazed fatigue, seemingly unsure of where they even were. But where some semblance of emotion did shine through the weariness, that emotion was uniformly fear and apprehension of what awaited them at the end of this nightmarish march, and what would come next.

Ramjohn didn't need to hear any explanation to know what was going on here before Mattoon puffed to a stop before them. "We need a boat!" the weasel officer grunted. "Two days' poundin' 'cross shiftin' sand wears a beast out, it does!"

"One of the things His Lordship's negotiatin' for right now, unless I'm mistaken." Abellon gestured to his guests. "You remember Cap'n Ramjohn, of the Goodwill, an' his first mate, don't you?"

Mattoon gave a noncommittal nod of acknowledgment, too tired for any more extravagant hospitality.

"Any trouble?" Abellon inquired, turning more serious.

"From this timid bunch? Naw, they were broken in just fine by th' Gawtrybe an' then by Choock's shrews after that, an' now they're docile as babes. Course, we made it clear to 'em what they'd be in fer if they weren't. Took 'em off our shrew comrades' paws down at th' transfer point right on schedule, an' now those scruffy spikefurs're headed back inland fer th' next lot, soon as enuff 've been collected." Mattoon gave a chuff. "Hope we've got a boat by then."

Ramjohn and Chobor looked on, not sure what to make of the sight before them - or how to feel about it. Both had been present the previous summer for the signing of the Accord, and the surprise provision apparently thrown in at the last moment promising Tratton all the rats of the lands in exchange for freeing his woodlander slaves, and had been on paw to witness the first phase of that exchange, with Urthblood's other troops force-marching the dazed and disbelieving rat soldiers up onto the searat ships while the equally dazed and disbelieving former slaves filed down onto the shore and into the mountain, scarcely daring to accept this turn of events.

Ramjohn had wondered more than once in the seasons since whether any of those soldier rats he'd seen depart that day still drew breath. It would be like Tratton not to trust them to live, and given the way the searats had always treated their slaves, a mass execution seemed not entirely out of the question. But these were the affairs of Lords and Kings, and the business of Urthblood and Tratton, not a simple sea trader captain such as himself. And while Ramjohn wished no harm upon anybeast who didn't deserve it, he felt it was hardly his place to insert himself into the diplomacy of a war between major powers, and the agreements reached to stop that war.

But now, seeing these hapless rats of wood and field swaying on their paws from exhaustion, and the hollow, haunted, confused looks in their eyes ... these were not soldierbeasts who might have been prepared for killing and dying and capture. Some here were still youngrats, and some were old, and while more than a few presented the air of hardbitten ruffians and brigands with evil deeds in their past, even they seemed beaten down and hopelessly lost at the plight in which they now found themselves. But other faces were innocent of such dark history, and these drove home to the seamouse just what a cost this arrangement between Tratton and Urthblood would amount to.

Suppressing any misgivings, Ramjohn addressed Abellon. "You said this was only the first batch? After all this time? The Accord was signed three seasons ago; I'd've thought Lord Urthblood would be a lot farther along with this ... "

"Oh, he is. First batch from Mossflower is what I meant. Lord Urthblood decided to start in the Northlands - which makes sense, since that was where all his other campaigns started. All last fall 'n' winter was spent clearing out that region, an' from all I've heard, there's hardly a rat left there anywhere, an' maybe none at all. Our forces can be very thorough when we set our minds to it. Well, now it's Mossflower's turn, an' that oughta keep us busy 'tween now an' summer's end."

"Ah. Well, that's, uh ... "

"Is Cap'n Matowick back at th' mountain yet?" Mattoon asked Abellon. "He 'n' his Gawtrybe were s'posed to be in charge o' this whole processin' business, tho' with him sent away on that unexpected assignment an' 'is wife the 'tenant on maternal leave, wouldn't be surprised if'n more o' that falls on th' rest of us."

Abellon glanced back at the Redfoam. "Not sure how much 'processing' will need to be done, with our searat friends already on scene. Lord Urthblood's got the holding chambers all ready 'n' waiting for transfers, but we might not even need 'em this time - just march this gang right up onto the ship when the searats're ready for 'em. But as for Matti, last I heard, his squad was over th' mountains an' oughta be gettin' back any time now."

"His squad?" Mattoon asked in surprise. "He ain't got his squad with 'im."

"What do you mean?" Abellon prompted, taken aback. "Why wouldn't he?"

Mattoon pointed skyward. "Some o' our gulls've been flyin' higher an' rangin' out ahead o' us, an' they reported seein' Matti comin' down from th' mountains all alone, 'cept fer one rat who was with 'im."

"A rat?" Abellon showed clear puzzlement. "Well, where's th' rest of his squad? A half-dozen of 'em set out when they left. And who's the rat? Where'd he come from? Is he part of the mission Matti was sent on?"

The weasel gave a tired shrug. "Yer guesses 're good as mine, Abbs. Wouldn'ta known any o' this t'weren't fer a few strayin' gulls, an' looks like His Lordship ain't 'xactly keepin' th' rest o' you filled in either. Like ev'rything else 'bout Matti's dispatchin', it's got an air o' mystery 'bout it, it does." Mattoon turned to his fellow weasels and issued orders for the captive rats to lower themselves to the sands. Tired as they were, the prisoners complied without complaint - which allowed the equally tired weasels to sit down and get off their own footpaws for a much-needed rest.

For their commander, however, such a respite would have to wait. "Best head right in to report - not that Lord Urthblood won't know we're here already. You goin' in too?"

Abellon nodded, indicating Ramjohn and Chobor. "'Course. Doesn't pay t' keep honored visitors waitin' out on the beach, now does it?"

00000000000

Whiskersalt wore a perpetual stoop.

But those hunched, broad shoulders stood in direct contrast to the upstanding regard in which he was held by his fellow sea otters. And while Whiskersalt captained no vessel of his own, all the other captains who plied the wide main, be they otters themselves or other honest creatures, looked to this crusty old sea salt as a wise and seasoned sage of the waves, and an unspoken leader of all mariners.

One of those mariners, long known to Whiskersalt, now strode through the main seaward-facing entrance of Salamandastron with his equally-familiar first mate at his side, escorted by Captains Abellon and Mattoon. The burly otter chieftain stepped forward from Urthblood's side to issue a hearty greeting to these old acquaintances.

"Ramjohn, ye old seamouse!" Whiskersalt declared as he took the smaller creature in a brotherly embrace, slapping Ramjohn cheerily on the back before turning to the mouse's companion with equal enthusiasm. "An' Chobor th' Great, ablest first mate on th' high seas! If ever there was a river otter born in th' wrong place, it was you! A natural to wave 'n' wake, ye are!"

Ramjohn shook off the friendly pounding while the two otters delighted in an amiable pummeling contest, then stood back from each other. "Cap'n Whiskers," the mouse said, "didn't think I'd be findin' you here, of all seadogs."

Whiskersalt puffed out the impressive growth of fur above his upper lip that formed a formidable drooping mustache, merging with his heavy sea otter's whiskers so smoothly it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. "Well, I'm sure you saw the Stronganchor tied up at th' pier, an' Cap'n Wakefern 'ere - " Whiskersalt hooked a crooked pawthumb over his shoulder at the river-sea otter halfbreed flanking the stoic Badger Lord, " - 'ee was gracious 'nuff t' sail me up here for this liddle jawflap with Lord Urthblood. Got a lot t' discuss, but we decided t' take a break when we heard you were pullin' up t' dock. Glad t'was you, an' not more searats."

Ramjohn and Chobor's faces twisted at the mention of this disfavored species. "Do y' get a lot of those sorts here these days?"

"Couldn't say, matey. First time in the badger mountain in ages fer me, tho' I hear there's a ratfaced Ambassador skulkin' 'round 'ere somewheres. Hasn't had th' gumption to show 'is pinched snout while I been here - not that I'm grousin' over it, ho no!"

"I've met 'im," Ramjohn stated, his face remaining dour, "an' you ain't missin' much." Behind him, Chobor nodded his agreement. "So, what've you 'n' Lord Urthblood been discussin'?"

"This, that an' other things. I'll leave that t' him to tell you all about, if 'ee's so inclined. Not sure it's mouse business, tho' yore buddy there might find it of interest."

"Ah. Otter affairs, is it? Well, I'm here t' talk about matters of concern to all seafaring species, otters and otherwise, and the folk of the lands who depend upon what we bring 'em. Hope you 'n' Lord Urthblood'll be able t' fit me inta your agenda."

"Always room fer th' most famous 'n' fearsome mouse cap'n of th' sea lanes, far as I'm concerned!" Whiskersalt turned back to the badger. "Uh, speakin' fer myself, that is. Not meanin' t' be presumptuous or speak outta turn, Lord."

"Not at all. I considered this a convenient juncture to take a break from our discussions, since I wished to take Captain Mattoon's report directly, and am also expecting the imminent arrival of another visitor of note, and this will provide me the opportunity to properly address both matters. We may resume our conversation later this afternoon or this evening, after I have seen to all else. At that time, Captain Ramjohn will of course be more than welcome to join us."

"Thank you, Lord," the mouse acknowledged with a deferential nod. "That other visitor of note you mentioned - anything to do with those searats tied up out there?"

"As it happens, no, not directly. This is a separate matter entirely, but one of no less import."

"Such is th' lot of beasts great an' powerful," Whiskersalt weighed in. "Always competin' an' conflictin' affairs vyin' fer our attention - tho' I daresay ye've got far more on yore plate than I ever did, Lord."

"Is it Captain Matowick?" Abellon inquired of his badger master. "Captain Mattoon just told me the gulls spotted him coming down from the mountains earlier today, but without the rest of his squad - just a lone rat. Was this ... expected?"

"His arrival and prisoner, yes. As for the lack of his fellow Gawtrybe, it appears their squad encountered certain difficulties during their crossing of the range, with some manner of misfortune befalling them. I am confident Captain Matowick will be able to provide us the necessary details when he gets here."

Abellon was not ready to let the subject lie, not even in the face of Urthblood's dismissive tone of finality. "And this rat he bears with him - might that mark his mission as a success, or a failure?"

"Supreme success, Captain - if it is the right rat. Otherwise, I fear we may have spent more than we can afford to lose, with nothing to show for it. Time will prove which is the case. But for now, let us get you all retired to the dining hall once more, this time not to engage in serious talk but to give Captain Ramjohn the proper welcome he warrants as a witness to the Accord's signing."

"All due respect, Lord," Ramjohn begged to differ, "but I do have matters of my own to discuss, which've brought me to your home once more - an' if it's all th' same, I'd just as soon get down to brass tacks, if you've no objections."

"Then I regret I must disappoint you, Captain. As soon as I have seen to your immediate comfort, I must be away to attend to these other needs, and will have no time to spare for substantive talks until a later hour. My apologies in advance."

Ramjohn shrugged. "Ah well then. What's an extra half day here 'n' there, long as it gets addressed in its own good time?"

Whiskersalt clapped Ramjohn on the shoulders, holding back his full strength so as not to send the mouse sprawling. "What'd I tell ye, matey? Always bein' pulled in two directions at once, an' always needin' t' be somewhere else besides where he is!"

00000000000

Something was wrong with the long glass.

Urthblood stood out on the open mountainside balcony - the very same terrace, in fact, where Perricone and Ambassador Erzath had shared their less-than-cordial moments just a day earlier - surveying the coastlands to the north. Having seen to the comfort of his latest guests in the dining hall and then taking Captain Mattoon's report in private, Urthblood had proceeded straight here to look to Captain Matowick's arrival.

That very squirrel now strode plainly in the monocular field of the telescope, crossing the sands toward the mountain fortress on a course to carry him past it to the north and thence around to the main seaward-facing entrance. A contingent of welcoming gulls flew close escort low above the plodding Gawtrybe officer, providing the extra security his missing teammates were not present to supply. And with Matowick walked the creature uppermost in the Badger Lord's mind, the figure from his visions of many seasons.

Or so he could only assume. Overeager to catch his first glimpse of this mysterious entity he'd so long searched out and quested after, he ventured out here even at the cost of playing a less hospitable host than he'd have preferred, where the long glass might at last give shape to this taunting phantom who'd only ever been a shadow to his inner eye.

Except that now, he still could not make her out. At first he imagined this prophetic ratmaid who'd cost him so much must possess some uncanny knack for always positioning herself directly behind Matowick from the badger's elevated vantage, obscuring herself with every step, perfectly aligning with her squirrel escort so that she would, against all odds and probability, remain veiled from his sight. Such a tendency, farfetched for any ordinary creature, would fit perfectly with what he might expect from his present prize.

But the longer he watched, and the more he narrowed his gaze and focused his attention, the more certain he grew that something else was going on here. Too many times - too many fleeting, uneven moments - the rat appeared to slip out of synchronicity with Matowick and emerge at least partway from behind the squirrel's eclipse. Even if just an arm, a leg, a tail ... and yet she remained clouded somehow, dark, shadowed even in the full light of day. She was there, and yet she wasn't.

The long glass must be malfunctioning somehow. And yet this obvious assessment stood belied by the clarity of Matowkick's fur, the wind-rippled texture clear in Urthblood's field of view, almost down to the individual strand. And the gulls, too, the ribbing of their larger feathers plain to see. Only the rat ... only the rat ...

Urthblood slowly lowered the instrument, facing the conclusion that lay beyond even his otherworldly purview. Of all the things he might have anticipated from this moment, he had not expected this.

"It cannot be," he murmured to himself. Then, compacting the long glass against the heavy iron cap covering his right wrist, he turned and strode from the terrace to see whether such an impossibility could, truly, be.