Eulalia!

by Brian Jacques

  Baul sniggered. “Aye, so ya did, but I can’t go ’cos I’m der laziest beast aboard dis ship.”

  Widge decided to play the game, he shut his eyes. “No ya ain’t, I am. If’n dis ship started t’sink right now, I wouldn’t move. Dat’s wot ya call real lazy.”

  Baul thought for a moment before replying. “Ya call dat lazy? Lissen, mate, I wouldn’t even budge if’n dis ole ship went afire!”

  A cavernous rumble sounded out, almost above their heads. Before they could stir, both vermin were pinned to the deck by the stout wooden handle of a pitchfork, which pressed down on their chests. Gorath the Flame leaned on the shaft, his deep, growling voice turning the blood in their veins to ice water.

  “My kinbeasts weren’t lazy, they were old and weak, so they couldn’t better their way out of a burning dwelling, after sea-raiding vermin locked them in!”

  Baul and Widge found themselves staring up into a pair of burning, bloodshot eyes, surmounted by a flamelike crimson scar. Panicked words tumbled from the ferrets’ mouths.

  “It wasn’t us, lord, on me oath it wasn’t!”

  “We knew nothin’ about it, sir, honest!”

  “Aye, we’re allus left be’ind ter guard der ship!”

  “Cap’n Vizka ain’t let us ashore fer seasons, ya gotta believe us, sir, please!”

  The huge, young badger pushed down harder upon the pitchfork shaft. “Has Longtooth returned here yet?”

  Grunting and wheezing as the breath was crushed from them, the crewbeasts gasped painfully.

  “No, lord…’e ain’t returned…yet.”

  “We d-don’t know when ta expect ’im…uuuunnhh!”

  Gorath released the pressure from their bodies. “Get up, quickly!”

  They staggered upright, tenderly holding cracked ribs. As the pitchfork, Tung, was levelled at them, both vermin wept brokenly. “Aw, sir, ya ain’t gonna slay us are ye, ’ave mercy!”

  “We ain’t nothin’ but pore shipwatchers, ’tis Cap’n Vizka ya wants, but watch yoreself, ’e’s an evil fox.”

  With a massive effort, Gorath fought to shake off the Bloodwrath, which threatened to engulf him. Whump! He slammed the tines of Tung deep into the deck timbers. Grabbing the two ferrets by the scruffs of their necks, he lifted them up bodily. They screeched in terror as he shook them like rag dolls.

  “Yeeeeeek! Oh mercy, sir, mercy!”

  The young badger’s chest expanded as he sucked in a huge gulp of air. He threw them from him, clear over the stern rail into the River Moss. Leaning over the rail, he bared his teeth at Widge and Baul. “Go! That way, north. Go now before I change my mind and kill you both. Go while you still have your lives!” Gorath turned his back on them, knowing that when he looked again, all he would see was the muddied water they had churned up in their mad flight.

  Retrieving his weapon, Gorath stood there shaking, forcing himself to calm down. Making his way to the galley, he went in and sat down. Overcome by thirst, he drank a full pitcher of water. Then he sat still, awaiting the arrival of the fox.

  Shimmering calm had settled over the ford as noontide softened to early evening. Blue damselflies hovered over the River Moss, tiny, winged insects flitted about in myriad patterns, whilst a trout made a halfhearted jump at a mayfly, which skimmed gracefully out of harm’s way. A meadowbrown butterfly stretched its dun-hued wings, settling close to the golden fox’s footpaw.

  Vizka was oblivious to the tranquil charms of the summer’s day. Shielded by clumps of knotweed and hemlock, he lay watching the Bludgullet from a short distance. There was no sign of movement from on board the vessel. Had he brought crewbeasts with him, he would have sent them to investigate his apparently deserted ship. Several times since his arrival, he had flicked pebbles at the side of the craft, with no result. He rose slowly. There was nothing for it, he would have to board her and see for himself.

  Placing one paw cautiously in front of the other, he approached. Still no sound from the ship. Gripping one of the midship mooring lines, he pulled gently on it. The Bludgullet drifted smoothly to the bank until it scraped bottom. Martin’s swordblade clattered against the rail as he boarded. Vizka held his breath a moment, waiting for any reaction to the sound. There was none. Drawing the blade, he unhitched the mace and chain from about his shoulders, calling in a voice barely above a whisper, “Ahoy dere, guards, show yerselves!”

  Silently cursing himself that he could not recall the names of the two vermin he had left to watch his ship, he called out again, this time in a normal tone. “Ya slab-sided idlers, where are ya?”

  A startled wren darted off from the bowrope. Vizka whirled to face forward. He thought he saw a shadow flitting somewhere near the galley. The old smile, which had given him his name, Longtooth, appeared on his face. It was the usual tale with crew vermin, leave them alone for awhile, and all they were interested in was sleeping, and feeding their faces with grog and vittles. He tip-pawed toward the galley. The two guards, whatever their names were, would have to learn a harsh lesson, for disobeying Captain’s orders.

  He was about to place his paw on the door latch, when some inner instinct made him stop. If the ship’s guards were in there, why had they not responded when he called? Perhaps they were asleep, but then why were there no sounds of snoring or ragged breathing from within? There was a tiny crack in the door planking, the golden fox squinted his eye against it, peering in.

  Gorath had heard Vizka come aboard, The young badger stood facing the galley door, his pitchfork aiming squarely at it. He thought he heard his enemy’s footpads approaching, and readied himself. Then there was complete silence from outside, nothing but a thin sliver of sunlight from a crack in the door, playing on the floor in front of Gorath. Then it vanished.

  Alarm bells began ringing in the badger’s head, he knew the fox was watching him through the crack. Without giving a second thought to the consequences, Gorath put all his muscle behind Tung, giving the pitchfork a ramming thrust as he roared, “Eulaliiiiiaaaaa!”

  Vizka leapt to one side, he saw the twin metal prongs of the weapon come thundering through the shuddering timbers, almost to their full length. The golden fox was an expert fighter, the most feared among the sea raiding brethren, he saw the immediate chance and took it. Avoiding the prongs, he threw himself hard against the galley door, slamming it wide open. Gorath was thrown against the bulkhead, still gripping the pitchfork haft tight as it snapped, leaving him holding only the end piece.

  Vizka bounded in, flailing his mace, and brandishing the sword. The advantage was all his in this battle to the death, he grinned wolfishly. “I’ll finish ya dis time, stripe’ound! Haharr!” He held Gorath against the bulkhead, swinging the mace and hacking away with the sword in a frenzied attack.

  With his back to the wall, armed with just a broken piece of wood, Gorath could only try to weather the vicious onslaught. Splinters flew as the spiked ball struck the bulkhead timbers, he ducked and swayed, trying to avoid the whirring mace and flashing blade.

  Vizka found himself imbued with a new confidence, this was no seasoned warrior he was facing, merely a big, young beast, armed with only a bit of stick. Moreover, the stripehound’s eyes were not blood red, as he had seen them before. Had he lost the power to go into one of his berserk rages?

  The golden fox slowed his assault, laughing as his victim tried to wriggle out of harm’s way. Vizka performed a clever maneuvre with the mace, grazing the side of Gorath’s head. “Ya want me ta give ya another fancy mark on yer skull? Mebbe I’ll knock one of ya eyes out dis time!”

  Now that he had the upper paw, the old Vizka returned, swaggering as he taunted the young badger cruelly. What he did not realise was that as he mocked and toyed away, Gorath had been gradually edging round the galley until he was close to the door, still trying to parry his foe’s random sallies with the battered little section of wood. Almost chopping Gorath’s paw, Vizka hacked a chunk from the broken haft, he waved the sword of Martin proudly in Gorath’s face, as t
he badger tried to parry it away. Vizka was really enjoying himself now.

  “D’ya like me new blade, ain’t it a beauty? I tell ya, I could take yer ’ead off wid one swipe. Dat’d be nice’n’quick, wouldn’t it? Stan’ still, stripe’ound, an’ I’ll show ya….” Heswung the sword back as far as he could.

  That was when Gorath made his move. Throwing himself out of the open doorway in a sidelong roll, he grabbed at his pitchfork, which had pierced the door through, to the length of its prongs. The handle snapped, right at the socket where it joined the metal fork.

  It was at that point the tracking party arrived alongside the Bludgullet. Rangval seized a pair of his daggers, but was halted from boarding by Salixa.

  “Leave Gorath, this is his fight, he wouldn’t thank you for helping him!”

  Maudie was aghast. “I say, that’s a bit thick, ain’t it? The other rascal’s armed to the bloomin’ teeth!”

  The badgermaid warned the others, holding her paws wide, “My friend is facing his fate, we cannot alter what’s about to take place. Have faith in him. Watch!”

  The combatants faced each other on the deck. Vizka did not seem unduly put out by his quarry’s escape. “Ya had yer chance t’die quick, stripe’ound, now I’m goin’ to carve ya up nice’n’slow!”

  Gorath swung the long part of the haft like lightning.

  Crack!

  It struck his adversary’s paw as he slashed out with the sword. Vizka screeched with pain and shock, his paw totally numbed, and broken, by the blow. The sword of Martin arced through the air, ending up point down in the shallows. Gorath’s eyes were calm, he stood waiting until his opponent came at him again. This time it was with a long, flailing swing of the mace. The young badger switched his hold; seizing the wooden haft in both paws, he held it forth horizontally. The iron chain of the mace wrapped thrice around it, the spiked metal ball dangling useless in the tangle. One wrench from Gorath tugged the weapon’s handle out of the fox’s grasp. Vizka watched, horrified, as Gorath tossed the shaft and the mace into the river.

  A cheer went up from those on the bank. Gorath the Flame hardly noticed it as he wrapped a mighty paw about Vizka. His other paw clamped around the fox’s muzzle. Lifting Vizka until their eyes met, Gorath growled, “I was never your slave, and I am no longer the slave of Bloodwrath, that is my fate, fox. Now here is yours!”

  Maudie winced, as did everybeast. The sound of Vizka Longtooth’s spine snapping sounded like a dry twig. There was a splash as Gorath tossed his enemy’s limp carcass into the River Moss.

  Salixa allowed her friend to assist her aboard the ship, she clasped his paw tightly. “You defeated him without resorting to Bloodwrath. Though I had my doubts when I heard you calling the war cry.”

  Gorath smiled. “Oh, I only shouted that cry because I like the sound of it. Also because I knew that I was in full control of myself.”

  On the bank, Orkwil Prink was waving a hefty staff of yew wood, which he had garnered with the sword of Martin the Warrior. “I found ye a new fork handle. Permission t’come aboard, Cap’n Gorath!”

  The young badger shook his head. “You’d best ask my first mate.”

  Salixa laughed. “Permission granted, but only if you can shout out the password. Maudie, coming from Salamandastron, you should know it well.”

  Mad Maudie (the Hon.) Mugsberry Thropple threw back her head, bellowing the time-honoured cry in a most unmaidenly manner. “Eulaliiiiiaaaaaa!” She bounded aboard, followed by the rest of the company.

  Orkwil was beside himself with happiness, he waved the sword of Martin in the air, yelling. “Friends, I’ve just thought of a new name for this ship, guess what it is?”

  The answer came in a deafening roar from everybeast. “Eulaliiiiiaaaaaa!”

  The young hedgehog looked slightly crestfallen, but a moment later he was joining in the general laughter and backslapping.

  40

  As evening shadows gathered, a meeting was held on the deck. By unanimous decision they voted to sail the newly named vessel on a voyage that would fulfill Maudie’s mission. Both Gorath and Salixa were enthralled at the thought of seeing Salamandastron, that fortress of legendary Badger Lords. There was no lack of volunteers for the trip, everybeast wanted to go.

  The next three days were spent profitably. Foraging parties scoured the woodlands for food supplies, whilst Guosim shrews and otters cleaned the ship from stem to stern, eradicating all trace of vermin habitation, and making Eulalia shipshape for the coming adventure. Rangval proved to be quite artistic, obliterating the name Bludgullet, and installing the new title skillfully.

  Many suggestions were put forward, as to who should captain the Eulalia. Skipper Rorc, Barbowla and Log a Log Osbil were all well-favoured, capable beasts. However, it was Salixa who settled the matter, both she and Gorath nominated Orkwil Prink. This was enthusiastically seconded by Maudie and Rangval.

  On the evening before they sailed, Rangval whispered to Maudie, as he watched Orkwil swaggering around the deck, “Shure, an’ will ye look at the bold, liddle hog there. Faith, ye’d think he was a cap’n born t’the command. I wonder where he found those floppy, ould seaboots an’ big, feathery hat?”

  Maudie stifled a giggle, saluting the young hedgehog as he strode by. “Good evenin’, Cap’n Orkwil, lookin’ forward t’the jolly old morrow, wot wot?”

  Orkwil waved a paw nonchalantly. “Oh, one voyage is much like another y’know….” The floppy hat fell over hiseyes, and he tripped as the sword came loose, dangling between his outrageous boots. He stumbled, fell and bounced back upright, all in the one movement. Orkwil glared at both of his friends, as if daring them to laugh. “Ahem, river’s a bit choppy tonight, watch how ye go!”

  Rangval stared over the side at the River Moss, which was as still as a millpond. He nodded. “Yore right, Cap’n. I’ll take first watch in case those waves come a-washin’ o’er the sides an’ sink us!”

  The young hedgehog nodded officiously. “Right, Mister Rangval, I’ll be in me cabin if’n ye need me. Good night to ye both!” Trying to control the sword, boots and hat, he staggered off to the stern.

  Salixa and Gorath joined Maudie and Rangval, watching their new captain’s progress. Gorath smiled fondly.

  “I owe my freedom to that one, he’s learned a lot since we first met.”

  The gentle badgermaid clasped her big companion’s paw. “I think we’ve all learned a lot, don’t you?”

  Maudie interrupted. “Aye, friend, we have, an’ we’re all young enough to learn more, wot!”

  Afternoon sunlight flooded the forge room at Salamandastron, softening the rough, rock walls. Old Lord Asheye sat on the broad stone windowledge, enjoying the late summer warmth. Blindness did not stop the ancient badger from appreciating the day, he could even judge the time by the position of the sun upon his face. The outgoing or incoming tides, he knew by the sounds of the sea, the cries of seabirds and, often, the feel of wind or breeze. The familiar sound of Major Mullein’s swagger stick beat its brief tattoo on the chamber door. Lord Asheye’s response was correspondingly brief. “Come!”

  The Major entered, shepherding Furps and Tringle. Both young hares were in charge of the afternoon tea trolley. Mullein cautioned the pair as they negotiated the rock floor. “Steady as y’go now. Furps, slow down, laddie buck, you ain’t in a race. Now, what dainties have we here, wot?”

  Tringle fluttered her long eyelashes. “Hot mint or chamomile tea, sah, a selection of sandwiches, some of Cook’s dark fruit cake, an’ the usual scones an’ whatnot, sah. With the jolly old trimmin’s of course.”

  Lord Asheye nodded approvingly. “Very nice. I hear you passed your Running Scouts test yesterday. Congratulations t’you both!”

  Furps and his sister saluted smartly. “Thank ye, sah, it was jolly hard, but we passed with flyin’ colours, didn’t we, Tring!”

  “Oh rather, we’re both wearin’ green pawbands at the moment, new uniforms ain’t ready yet, m’Lord!”

&
nbsp; Asheye reached out and ruffled their ears. “I’m sure you’ll both be a credit to the Long Patrol. But remember the old saying, It ain’t the uniform that counts, ’tis the warrior who wears it, eh!”

  Major Mullein took charge of the trolley. “C’mon now, chaps, back down to the Mess Hall, you’ll only tire Lord Asheye out with all this chatter.”

  Furps and Tringle saluted, but before they dashed off, the Badger Lord spoke out.

  “Leave them, Major, I enjoy their company. Sit down here and take afternoon tea with me, young ’uns. Mull, you can be mother, pour for us, please.”

  Honoured and delighted to be invited thusly by their Badger Lord, Furps and Tringle smiled cheekily at the Major. “Two spoons of honey in my tea, Mother!”

  “Me, too, an’ could you pass the cucumber sandwiches, mum?”

  Mullein fixed them with a comical glare. “I’ll mother you two when I get you out on the parade ground, it’ll be tails for tea an’ drill for dinner!”

  Asheye chuckled. “Young ripscallions, here, come and be my eyes for awhile. How d’you see the sea today?”

  “Blue as usual I suppose, sah.”

  “No, it’s a sort of greeny blue.”

  “Don’t y’mean bluey green?”

  “Well, alright, it’s a kind of light bluey pale green, with tiny white flecks here an’ there.”

  Asheye spread a huge old paw to indicate the expanse. “Oh come on, you can do better than that. Are there no patterns of breeze ripples on the surface? How big are the waves as they break on the shore? Any gulls or cormorants diving out there? Use your eyes, describe!”

  Furps took a try. “Lots o’ jolly big waves comin’ ashore, sah, makin’ that swishy noise they always make. Some of that seaweed gettin’ washed up also, long, dark, green stuff. Er, some seabirds, too, gulls I think—”

  Mullein interrupted him. “You think, laddie buck? Are they guillemots, geese or gulls, have ye been taught nothin’ at nature study, wot?”