CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THREE
"Put up yer oars! Put up yer oars, ya worthless, lazy, useless, wretched landscum!"
Crackmaster must have had a real given name at one time, but norat aboard the Redfoam knew what it was - nor were they particularly keen to inquire very deeply into the matter. The brutish slavemaster had driven the newly-imprisoned rowers through most of the night with no food and little water, allowing them only brief snatches of slumber during his own intermittent naps at the back of the putrid lower deck. It seemed the captain and crew of the searat galleon meant to put as much distance between themselves and Salamandastron as quickly as they could, for whatever dark design the nervous and exhausted slaves could only guess at.
Morning had broken clear and bright over the rolling swells, the brilliant sun and azure skies and glittering wavetops visible through the oar holes. Roughly half the captive woodland rats had been stricken with violent bursts of seasickness, never having been to sea before, and Palter numbered among them, barely able to keep down the few sips of water allotted to him, hunger gnawing at his empty belly even as the mere thought of food made his stomach perform somersaults. With this faintness and nausea piled atop the burning weariness of rowing all night and the stiff ache of being tied into place on his hard bench, Palter could not remember when in his life he'd been more miserable. Not even the dread captivity and servitude of Krayne's valley, with the constant threat of execution hanging over him at all times, could compare to this.
In the row before Palter's, a female rat of middle seasons, clearly not affected by seasickness as he was, implored of their sadistic keeper, "Please, when c'n we 'ave summat t' eat? We're about t' pass out from weakness!"
"Food? Y' say y' want food, do ye?" the hulking rat growled with a cruel smile playing upon his lips. He tucked his coiled whip under the chin of an adolescent male seated next to the complainer, selecting the younger creature for the slave's clear discomfort. "What sez you, laddie? You 'ungerin' fer a nice big brekkist - mebbe poached albatross eggs an' fermented sea grog?"
The suffering male rat leaned forward, head between his knees, and gagged, although nothing came up; he'd emptied his stomach long before now. Palter, looking on from the back row, said silent thanks that the slavemaster hadn't singled him out for such a display, although he feared such indignity and humiliation would find him soon enough. He was just too scrawny to escape such cruel attentions for long.
Crackmaster's next statement, however, made Palter second-guess such thoughts, and wonder whether something far worse awaited him and some of the others.
"Food? Why would we waste perfectly good grub on any o' th' like o' ye, until we get it settled which of ye'll be stayin' around, an' which o' ye ain't? I been watchin' all night, seein' which o' you sorry crew c'n pull an oar handle worth a barnacle, an' which 're a lost cause. An' I'm tellin' ye now, when we take alla ye up topside in a liddle bit fer final inspection, there's mebbe half o' ye'll not be comin' back down 'ere again!"
"Well, that's a relief," said a father rat farther toward the front of the galley. "Mebbe those of us who ain't cut out fer rowin' c'n get some softer work ... "
Crackmaster sniggered at this naivety. "Oh, sure, matey - soft duty they'll get! Soft as seawater, harrharrharr!"
Shortly thereafter, a half-dozen cutlass-wielding crewrats descended into the rowing galley, wrinkling their snouts at the stench as they untied the ropes restraining the slaves and prodded them at bladepoint as a group past the other rat rowers up front who'd already occupied the galley prior to Salamandastron, up the two flights of stairs and along the companionways until they all stood abovedecks under the wide blue sky, the crisp ocean breezes rippling the three-colored sails above and providing fresh relief from the malodorous conditions of their previous confinement. While the sun and clean air might have been a deliverance of sorts from their prior conditions, the sense of momentary liberation was dampened by the sight of the endless ocean horizon in all directions, with no trace of land visible no matter where the eye searched.
The roughly twoscore prisoners were arrayed in an uneven line across the deck amidships, stretching from one railing to the other, port to starboard, while much of the searat crew had turned out to witness what was about to happen. Palter saw Latura standing near the middle of the line while he lingered near the port rail; their forced march topside had left him no opportunity to bring himself closer to the one creature in this whole disaster to whom he could still cling as some kind of anchor for both his hope and his sanity.
An authoritative rat with silks of privileged rank accenting his more utilitarian crewbeast's garb strode forward to stand directly before them, his coldly-appraising eyes sweeping slowly up and down their line.
"This's it, eh?" he drawled at last, affecting an exaggerated air of disappointed disgust. "This's what we sailed all th' way t' Salamandastron fer, what Urthblood saw fit t' give us? Well, guess we'll hafta make do with what we've been dealt, won't we?"
The female rat who'd dared to ask Crackmaster about food down below now raised a tremulous paw. "'scuse me, Cap'n sir ... ?"
"Oh, I ain't th' Captain," the silk-adorned rat replied with a wickedly lopsided grin as he hooked a pawthumb over his shoulder to the wheeldeck, where an even more distinguished-looking rodent in a fine coat and fancy tricorner hat topped by an ostentatious purple feather made a point of not even looking their way. "I'm first mate. Cap'n Trangle's got more important things t' worry 'bout than th' likes o' ye. So, Cracks, you been watchin' what our new oarsrats 'ere c'n do?"
"Aye," answered the brutish slavemaster, sounding supremely underwhelmed as he tarried behind First Mate Laverty. "Ain't much, c'n tell y' that. "
"Well, mebbe winnowing out some of th' weak links - heh heh - might leave those who're left as a more effective labor pool. You know what t' do, Cracks - get to it."
"Aye, sir." Starting at the starboard end of the line, Crackmaster walked slowly from one slave to the next. "If I tap ya on th' shoulder, go stand over there," he instructed, gesturing toward a cleared spot on the deck. "That oughta be simple 'nuff fer even thickheads like ye t' grasp, right? Here we go ... "
Minutes later, twenty-one rats remained standing where they'd started in the now gap-filled line-up, while the rest, having been singled out by taps on the shoulder from Crackmaster's coiled whip, clustered away in a separate group. Palter noted with a sinking feeling that all those pulled out of the line were able-bodied adults, leaving behind just the very young, the very old or infirm, or adults like him who weighed in on the scrawny side. He found scant consolation in the fact that he and Latura now stood with only two youngsters, who looked like brothers, separating them.
"I'm done," Crackmaster gruffly informed Laverty.
"Truly?" The first mate of the Redfoam stepped forward as the slavemaster stood back, keen on performing an inspection of his own. "Seems like you passed over an awful lot here."
"Right, sir. An awful lot's what they are."
"Heh. Good 'un, Cracks. But, don'tcher deem any o' th' rest o' these're salvageable?"
"My job's t' pick out those fit fer rowin'. That's what I did. As fer th' rest - yer call, as allers."
"Fair 'nuff." Laverty paced up and down the line of remaining rats, performing his own inspection, and not seeming to particularly like what he was seeing; he visibly scowled at the ratmum cradling her swaddled babe, as if disgusted that such a thing had made it onto his ship. Retracing his steps, he singled out one young ratmaid and three rat lads - including the two separating Palter from Latura - and ordered them to go stand with the others chosen. "Too small yet t' pull their weight on the oars," he muttered, "but they look healthy 'nuff, an' we can allers use extra deckpaws fer swabbin' an' scourin' an' servin'. Too young t' cause trouble, an' right age t' be taught proper searat ways. Play their cards right, an' mebbe they'll actshully become crew."
The ratwife holding her infant, hearing Laverty's grumbled assessment, stepped forward and held forth her precious bundle. "Here, sir, take my son too, then. 'ee's but a babe, you'll be able t' raise him however y' like, make 'im one o' ye ... "
Laverty's face twisted in clear distaste, and he elicited snickers and guffaws from the surrounding searats when he said, "Oh, sure, we'll just deviate from our assigned course an' make a special run to Talaga, so we c'n drop off yer whelp with a nursemaid there. An' while we're at it, mebbe we'll enroll these other brats inta officers' school, have 'em trained alongside sons an' daughters of captains an' commanders from throughout the Empire. Wouldja like that?"
The trembling mother could tell from the derisive scorn being directed her way from all sides that nothing of the sort would happen, and timidly retreated to her place in line.
Laverty turned to some of his nearby crewrats. "Get th' stuff."
The eagerness with which his underlings responded stirred a sense of dread in the remaining land rats in the diminished line, and Palter took an unobtrusive sideways step to place himself closer to Latura, even though she didn't seem to be aware of him, or recognize him if she was. And all the while, the aloof captain of the Redfoam kept to his spot on the raised wheeldeck, consulting with his navigator and steersrat while pointedly ignoring the spectacle unfolding just a glance away.
With a deep and ominous rumbling, two of the deckpaws rolled a large barrel up a ramp from the hold, pushing it across to where the slaves stood divided into two groups; from the trouble the duo had stopping it, the formidable keg clearly weighed quite a bit. Behind the two barrel-bearers came several more searats wrangling between them a generous length of dully-clinking chain.
Without word or warning, Latura quickly ducked around Palter's other side, effectively swapping places with him in line, although she continued to avoid any eye contact with him and said nothing. If any of the searats noticed her maneuver at all, none made any comment.
"Down on yer tails!" Crackmaster roared. "Arses on deck, an' footpaws out, now!"
The seemingly-furious whiprat was not to be disobeyed, and within moments every one of the seventeen prisoners of the original line sat flat against the weathered deck with their legs stretched out before them. To their horror, the chain-wielding deckrats went from one to the other, manacling them at the ankles with the rough, orange-coated fetters so that all were fastened to the same length of chain.
"Lattie," Palter whispered in alarm, "what's gonna happen? What're they gonna do to us?" An' why'd y' switch places with me?"
Latura replied, just loudly enough for the rat on Palter's other side to hear as well, "I'm th' weakest link. You hadta go b'hind me."
If she'd meant to say any more, Laverty's arrogant, mocking voice drowned her out. "Now, I'll have y' know metal's a right scarce 'n' precious commoderty to us searats - allers has been - an' that's 'specially true unner King Tratton, who's got special needs fer it no rat ever has before. But sometimes, metal just outlives its usefulness, an' becomes so much scrap. With that in mind, ye'll noterce th' chains 'n' shackles bindin' you now've seen better days, they 'ave. All rusted an' corroded, they're past their prime an' just about useless ... jus' like alla you. Which means ye c'n both be spared, an' norat'll miss ya. Deserve each other, y' do."
The first mate strode over to the barrel, around which his crewmates were now fastening the long trailing end of the chain. "Yah, we can spare some old rusty chain - jus' like we can spare a leaky ol' barrel, an' a few shovelfuls of ballast. Makes fer a nice liddle improvised sea anchor, it does - though we'll not be usin' it t' hold th' Redfoam in place, oh no we ain't. Got plenny o' decently-maintained, proper anchors fer that. Naw, this's just dead weight we're best rid of, y' unnerstand?"
Laverty's wicked grin grew to diabolical proportions as the crew took down the side railing where the gangplank usually went - except that there was no gangplank anywhere in sight.
"So, let's be rid o' you - all o' you!"
With malicious glee lighting their faces, the two searats nearest the now-absent ship's railing heaved the barrel over the side. The shocked prisoners barely had time to widen their eyes in terror or open their mouths to scream before the chain went taut, and then the entire line of all seventeen of them - eighteen counting the babe clutched in the paws of his wailing mother - was sliding across the deck toward the starboard gap framing their doom. The first went over the edge and straight down with a bloodcurdling shriek, the second with an agonized scream, the third with a strangled cry, the fourth with a furious bellow ... but they were all screaming now, even those farther back along the chain who could clearly see what lay in store for them.
The searats, to a beast, just stood back, watching and grinning.
Captain Trangle had not ordered the Redfoam to drop anchor for this sadistic exercise, so the galleon pushed forward through the waves even as the living necklace of condemned land rats slipped over the side one after the other. Once the ballast-weighted barrel and the first two victims were in the water, the forward momentum of the vessel began to tell, and the chain began to yaw aft, until it was rubbing against the section of the railing that hadn't been removed, even as the rusted links continued to clatter over the lip. It all happened so fast - as fast as rats were going over the side - that the watching searats didn't realize what had happened until it was over.
The seventh rat in the line went over; Latura was eighth. Her struggling predecessor contorted himself just enough as he plunged to his demise that she found herself being fetched up fast against the intact edge of the remaining wall-like railing, and then ...
SNAP!
It took several moments for the onlooking searats to fully realize what had happened, and then the smiles slowly faded from their faces to be replaced by expressions of puzzlement and, in a few cases, crushed disappointment.
Latura sat massaging the shoulder she'd banged into the railing. "Ow. That was rough."
The other condemned rats had stopped screaming with the realization that they'd come to a dead stop and were no longer being dragged to watery oblivion. Palter gaped at Latura, fully aware that she had made this happen, but no less astonished than the others for having witnessed it.
"Um ... what just happened?" Laverty asked of nobeast in particular.
An evil-looking searat with an eyepatch and bearing a loaded a crossbow stepped forward and bent down alongside Latura to inspect the chain. With a grunt of resignation he rose and announced to his comrades, "Chain broke. Link tore clean in half."
Crackmaster gave an amused grunt of his own from just behind Laverty. "Guess it really was a worthless ol' length o' chain, wasn't it? Harrharr ... "
The rat chained at Palter's other paw stared past him at Latura with eyes as wide as saucers. "She knew," the old creature breathed. "She knew this were gon' happen; that's why she weren't concerned ner fearful. Weakest link, she said." His gaze went to Palter. "She saved yer life, switchin' places with ya ... "
Palter nodded, still dazed at his narrow escape. "She made it happen. Lattie makes things like this happen. She ain't no mere rat."
Captain Trangle, up on the wheeldeck, now showed some interest in spite of himself.
"What's that those two're sayin'?" Laverty asked, only catching bits of Palter's exchange with his chainmate.
Scringewart, the one-eyed rat with the crossbow, reported, "Jus' some claptrap 'bout this ugly maid 'ere knowin' this was gonna 'appen, or made it 'appen, or some such idiocy."
"Is that so? Well, if she or any of the rest o' them think that's gonna save 'em, they're in fer a sore surprise. We got another ballast barrel ready?"
But the rats who'd brought up the first barrel frowned and shook their heads. "We only had one prepared, sir. Didn't think we'd need another."
"Hmm. Well, find sumpthin' else heavy we can spare, so we c'n send th' rest o' this sorry lot over t' join their fellows in th' brine. An' let's hope this time all th' links hold."
"Uh ... 'scuse me, but ... that ain't gonna work."
Laverty and the other searats gaped at Palter, cowering with one paw meekly raised. The first mate narrowed his eyes dangerously at the scrawny prisoner. "An' jus' why won't that work, wretch?"
"Lattie 'ere, she's got a charmed life. Can't be killed if she ain't meant t' die. An' from what just happened, she ain't meant to. Not t'day."
"A charmed life, eh?" Laverty's mouth twisted in wry amusement. "Scringe?"
Scringewart straightened to attention. "Aye?"
"Put a bolt in this charmed maid's heart, an' show these superstitious maggots what Cap'n Trangle thinks about such talk aboard his ship."
Scringewart grinned wickedly, raised his weapon to his shoulder, sighted along the bolt to take dead aim at Latura's breast, and pulled the trigger.
An instant later, Scringewart lay on the deck screeching and writhing in agony as he clutched at the bloody crossbow bolt protruding from his eye.
If the crewrats had been surprised by the snapping of the chain which had spared over half the condemned land rats from their rendezvous with a watery demise, they now stood stunned and struck still as stone by this impossible armament malfunction which had laid low one of their crewmates. And into those slack-jawed faces began to creep signs of doubt over their captain's longstanding dismissive scorn of all things mystical and occult - signs of which Trangle would not approve at all.
Laverty finally stirred himself to move, approaching Scringewart and bending down to the stricken rat. Forcing the protective paws away from the bloodied face to inspect the wound, the first mate saw that the errant, misfired crossbow bolt had penetrated far enough to utterly ruin Scringewart's sole remaining eye, even if it hadn't gone through to the brain. Standing and walking back to the others as the injured archer's screams trailed off to whimpers, Laverty said, "Pity. Scringe was one of our best shots, even with only one eye. But a bowbeast with no eyes is less use than this chained rabble. Martool, you do the honors."
From the wheeldeck, Captain Trangle was most definitely paying attention now.
Martool, a burly rat nearly as formidable as Crackmaster, strode forward and scooped Scringewart up off the deck, went to the side railing and lifted the blinded searat high over his head. When Scringewart realized what was happening, he screamed anew, this time in desperate protest. "No, no! I c'n still do tasks 'n' labors - I c'n still be o' use! Don't - aaarrgh!" His final cry followed him over the side as Martool flung him overboard and he splashed into the sea, never to be seen or heard from again.
Laverty nodded approvingly. "Now do th' same fer our magic wench over there - an' make sure you throw 'er hard 'nuff that she takes the rest of th' line with 'er."
Captain Trangle was on his way down from the wheeldeck now.
Martool stomped over to Latura, bent down and picked her up bodily, and hoisted her over his head just as he had with Scringewart, forcing Palter's manacled leg high off the deck as well as he and the other chained rats watched in renewed horror.
Latura went over the side, accompanied by an audible crack; she was not so much forcefully thrown as dropped, as Martool collapsed onto the deck with a solid thump. "Gahh! My back!"
Latura, dangling pendulum-like from the chain attached to Palter and the others, hit the side of the hull with an equally solid thump. "Ooof!"
Laverty stalked over to the fallen searat, not sure he wanted to know, while several of the crew clustered around him. "What's th' problem, Martool?"
"Can't feel me legs! Sumpthin' in me back went crack, dropped me like a stone! Think it's broke - I can't move legs ner tail!"
Somewhere back amongst the onlooking searats a voice was heard to ask, "Just what did Urthblood inflict on us?" - and that was all it took. Captain Trangle's crew might normally have scorned and scoffed at traditional vermin superstitions as so much ridiculous claptrap, but where Urthblood was concerned, all bets were off. Every rat of the Empire knew that badger possessed clairvoyant sight and a true Seer's eye for future and far events, and otherworldly insight into his enemies which rendered him all but invincible. Buried, suppressed superstitious beliefs bubbled to the surface now in light of what everyrat had just witnessed with Scringewart and Martool, and the breaking of the chain, all the pieces falling into place; Urthblood had pressed these last two rats upon them - indeed, the scrawny male claiming fated powers for his ratmaid companion had even delayed their departure while Urthblood finished with him - and if that badger had his paw in this, there was no telling what witchcraft and sorcery might be at play here. But they'd all just seen three attempts to kill Latura fail in spectacular, impossible fashion, and that was all they needed.
"What's going on here?"
Laverty and the other searats turned to look at Captain Trangle in his ornate coat and tricorn hat, descended from on high to stand amongst them. "We, um, had some mishaps, Cap'n," the first mate reluctantly confessed.
"So it seems. I just saw Scringewart blinded and cast overboard, while half a line of substandard slaves who should be in th' blue 're still clutterin' up my deck. Care t' explain?"
"Chain broke - old an' rusty. Scringe's crossbow misfired, cost 'im 'is sole remainin' eye."
"Hmm. An' Martool here?"
"Slipped disc, back spasm, sumpthin' of th' sort. Sure he'll be fine an' back on 'is paws in no time after some bedrest, I'm sure of it."
"I hope ye're right, Lavs. Be a shame if he hadta follow Scringe over th' side."
"Um, anybeast gonna pull me up?" Latura called from where she dangled head-down over the side.
"Haul her up."
Several deckpaws jumped to obey their captain, although they acted not on his instigation alone; where Latura was concerned, they seemed most eager to demonstrate they meant the ratmaid no harm.
When she was at last back topside, seated next to Palter with her tail firmly against the deck, she glared at the searats encircling her. "You tried t' hurt me! That ain't very nice! I'm Latura o' Redwall, an' I'm tellin'!"
This defiant outburst made several of the crewrats shrink back from her, although none stopped to wonder exactly who she meant to tell. Trangle, however, latched onto a different word in her diatribe, and squatted to look her in the eye.
"Redwall? Did you say ye're from Redwall?"
"Well, yeah. Fer a liddle bit, 'fore th' bad red snatched me an' brought me to 'is mountain. He's see-through, y'know."
Trangle let this revelation play across the surface of his brain, absorbing how so few words could hint at so much. Rising, he said, "Take these prisoners back down with the others, and get them all properly chained up to the oars. We'll not be drowning any more of them today."
"All due respect, sir," Crackmaster complained, "but none o' these on th' line're fit fer rowin'. That's why we was gettin' rid of 'em."
"Then I'll leave it to you to make 'em pull their weight. I trust you'll find a way t' make it work."
Laverty leaned in toward Trangle. "What about that babe, Cap'n? You want we should take 'im back down to th' rowin' galley too?"
"Lavs, ain't you th' one who's allers told me ain't no place fer such baggage on voyages like ours? Handle it as you see fit."
Laverty gave a knowing grin that would have done the dearly departed Scringewart proud in its evilness.
"Awright, on yer paws, ya poor excuses fer maggots!" Crackmaster ordered the chained rats. "Back to th' galley y' go - an' consider this th' luckiest day o' yer miserable lives!"
"Do we get these chains off?" asked an old ratwife on the line of the formerly-condemned as she eyed the unchained woodland rats who'd been selected out, a trace of envy in her eyes.
"I'll say when or if yer chains come off, y' old crone! Maybe it'll suit me t' keep you in 'em, as reminder ye're meant t' be dead 'stead o' cloggin' up my rowin' galley. Y' won't need yer footpaws free t' pull an oar!"
While the slavemaster roared his disapproval at the shrinking ratwife, Laverty came up on the ratmum holding her babe, unsteady from the effort of rising to her paws while both chained and cradling her son. Before she could stop him, the first mate grabbed the swaddled infant right out of her arms and stalked away with it. When she reached out for it and started to cry out in protest, two of the other crewrats beat her to silence with the flats of their swords.
Laverty made a point of lingering before Latura, staring the prophetic ratmaid squarely in the eye. "This's fer Scringewart," he growled, and cast the blanket-shrouded ratbabe overboard. An anguished cry rose from the bereft mother, a tortured wail cut down to wracking sobs by a fresh round of buffets and smacks from the two crewrats. Others among the prisoners gasped and moaned at this display of wanton cruelty, but Laverty only chuckled as he looked back at Latura. "Guess y' ain't powerful 'nuff t' protect him, were ya?"
As the woodland rats - chained and unchained alike - were herded back belowdecks, and Martool was borne after them down to his bunk to see whether some bedrest might allow him to regain the use of his legs, Laverty took Trangle aside. "What was that all about, Cap'n? What made you decide t' spare 'em?"
"Didn'tcher hear, Lavs? That rat sez she's from Redwall. King Tratton an' Spymaster Uroza've never been able t' get eyes inta that Abbey, or so 'tis said, an' I wager they'd give their eye fangs fer a rat who c'n tell 'em what's been goin' on there!"
Laverty remained doubtful. "Can we even berlieve 'er? I mean, a rat from Redwall? What would she've even been doin' there?"
"Who c'n say, Lavs? But that might be part o' her tale worth hearin'. That one struck me as a beast who ain't crafty enuff t' pull off a deceit or act of any kind. An' ain't she th' one who kept us waitin' t' haul anchor from Salamandastron?"
"Nay, that were her partner - th' one chained in line next t' her."
"He from Redwall too?"
"Um - didn't say."
"Well, Urthbloood kept 'im in th' mountain that extra time fer a reason - musta had somethin' real important t' talk about."
Lines of worry creased Laverty's brow. "Reckon it's some kinda plot Urthblood hatched t' try 'n bring about our undoing?"
"From th' moment His Majesty signed that Accord, we s'pected Urthblood might try 'n sneak soldiers 'n' spies aboard our ships, an' that's why we've slapped 'em all right in chains th' moment they set claw on board. Trust me, we'll keep a real sharp eye on those two. If they're plants, we'll make 'em come clean eventually. But if that feisty li'l maid's what she claims, now we got two reasons t' flag down th' first fleetrunner we see: News on that ship Clucus wants fer his own, an' mebbe news from Redwall as well!"