The Legend of Luke

by Brian Jacques

  ‘We will do it together, Luke. I have waited long for another warrior to come to the red ship. You are here now!’

  Gazing into the fearless dark eyes of Ranguvar, Luke had no doubt that they could accomplish anything together. Murmurings came from all around the bottom deck. Denno spoke for everybeast as he called out, ‘We’ll be with you, to the death!’

  Luke smiled grimly. ‘Good! But we need a plan.’

  By next morning Vilu Daskar had regained his voice, though he still kept the dark bruises on his neck covered with a white silken scarf. Accompanied by Parug and Akkla he descended to the lower deck and paid Luke a visit. The stoat captain held the scarf end to his nose as the vile reek of the Death Pit assailed his nostrils. Luke kept his eyes down as Daskar addressed him.

  ‘So, mouse, why does a creature in a small ship follow my Goreleech? Surely you must have known you had no chance against the red ship. Why did you do it?’

  Luke made no reply. The blade of Vilu’s bone-handled scimitar slid along Luke’s neck and lifted his chin until he was looking into the stoat’s eyes. Still he did not speak. Daskar raised his eyebrows and nodded. ‘Speak or I’ll slit your gizzard. Why were you following me?’ Though the sharp blade was pressing on his neck, Luke closed his eyes and held the silence. ‘I warn you, mouse, talk, or you’re a deadbeast!’ To add weight to the threat, Vilu swung the blade high over Luke’s head, bracing himself for the strike.

  ‘No, wait! Don’t kill our cap’n. I’ll tell ye, sire!’

  All eyes turned on Denno, who was waving his paws agitatedly. ‘Please spare the cap’n, please, sire. I’ll tell you all!’

  Vilu strode over to Denno, chuckling. ‘Loyalty to one’s captain, a wonderful thing. I wish that my crew of sea scrapings showed that faith in me. But then they wouldn’t be Sea Rogues, would they? So, loyal mouse, save your captain’s life. Tell me why your silly little tub was pursuing the mighty Goreleech?’

  Denno’s face was a picture of simple honesty as he explained, ‘Do you recall the northland shore, sire? We followed you from there to avenge our families.’

  Vilu’s paw tapped the bone scimitar handle pensively. ‘Northland shore, hmmm. Ah yes, I remember now. Bunch of mice, fools, burning a fire like a signal beacon on the beach. Aye, they were all either too young, too old, or too weak to make oarslaves of. We slew them for fun and ate their food. Oh dear, were they your families? Well, never mind, they provided a bit of amusement for my crew. By the way, where were you and all the able-bodied ones whilst this was going on, eh? Probably hiding somewhere to save your own skins, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  Seated next to Denno, Dulam’s fetters clanked as he struggled to rise, tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘That’s a lie! If we’d’ve been there we would have fought you murderers down to the last beast!’

  Vilu smiled condescendingly. ‘But instead you chose to go off and gather daisies.’

  Dulam’s whole body was shaking with rage. ‘No we never!’ he blurted out. ‘We were up the coast by the tall rocks, keepin’ lookout while Luke and the others buried our tre—’

  ‘Shut yore mouth, idiot!’ Luke shouted.

  Vilu turned to Parug and Akkla, smiling triumphantly. ‘Unchain these two and their captain. Bring them to my cabin.’

  As they unshackled Luke, he glanced across to Ranguvar and winked. The plan was beginning to work.

  The three mice were hustled roughly into Vilu Daskar’s cabin, where they were lined up in front of an ornate table. Lounging behind it in a magnificent carved chair, Vilu watched as his servants laid out wine, baked fish, preserved fruits and bread, fresh from the ovens. He picked at the feast, whilst Luke and his friends stood dull-eyed and hungry, trying to ignore the wonderful food. Akkla, Parug and Bullflay stood by awaiting orders.

  Vilu dabbed the silken scarf across his lips, weighing the three slaves up carefully. He addressed Denno.

  ‘You, tell me what it is you were hiding up the coast in the tall rocks. But take care. One false word, one little lie, and I will hang both your friend and your captain from the mainmast, where their bodies will stay until they rot and seabirds pick at their bones. But speak truly and I will give you all your freedom, once I have what you hid in the tall rocks. That is your choice. Now speak.’

  Denno glanced apologetically in Luke’s direction, then said, ‘It was the treasure of our tribe, sire. We had travelled many seasons, guarding it from foebeasts. Havin’ chosen the northland shore as our new home, we searched out a safe place to hide it. Among the tall rocks, further north.’

  Luke was glaring angrily at Denno. Vilu smiled at the Warrior mouse in mock surprise.

  ‘Now now, don’t pull faces at your friend. He’s just saved your life and bought your freedom. Let’s hear you speak your piece now. Tell us about this treasure, or I’ll hang both of these mice in your place and you can watch them dangle!’

  An expression of defeat replaced Luke’s glare, and he sighed. ‘Only if you promise to spare our lives and set us free once you have the treasure.’

  Vilu spread his paws disarmingly. ‘Akkla, Parug, Bullflay, tell this mouse about my word.’

  The three vermin nodded vigorously.

  ‘Oh aye, the cap’n never lies!’

  ‘You can rely on that, mouse!’

  ‘I’ll take me oath on it!’

  Vilu took a sip of wine and dabbed his lips. ‘See?’

  Luke told him what he wanted to hear. ‘’Tis a great treasure, plates, chalices, daggers an’ swords, all wrought of gold’n’silver, studded with many jewels.’

  The pirate stoat nodded approvingly. ‘Just as I thought. Now tell me the exact location. Where did you hide it?’

  Luke stared levelly at Vilu Daskar.

  ‘Only three creatures went among the tall rocks to hide that treasure, myself, Vurg and Cardo. I am the only one you left alive out of the three, so only I know the true location. But I am not a fool, Vilu Daskar. I do not trust the word of a murderer, so I will not tell you, no matter what you do to me or my friends. However, I have a proposition for you. Set sail for the northland shore, and when we reach there I will pilot your red ship up the coast and steer you to the spot. That way you will have to keep us alive, at least until you have the treasure. Agreed?’

  Bullflay grabbed Luke and raised a belaying pin, but Vilu held up a paw and stopped him.

  ‘Release him, Bullflay. I like this mouse. It will be a change to do business with a creature who has a brain. Good enough. I agree to your proposition, mouse.’

  Luke could not resist a parting dig at his enemy. ‘You have no choice but to agree. Dead mice cannot find the treasure for you.’

  Vilu popped a piece of preserved fruit into his mouth. ‘How wise of you. Of course I must keep you alive. Meanwhile, days and nights spent in the Death Pit will make you realise how wonderful freedom will be when you eventually gain it. Bullflay, you can be as hard on them as you please, as long as you keep them alive. Go now!’

  That night, as Bullflay lay snoring on a heap of old fenders and Fleabitt dozed with his head resting on the drum, Luke winked at his two friends. ‘Well done, mateys. You played yore parts well!’

  Ranguvar Foeseeker whispered across to Luke, ‘I think I can feel this staple startin’ to move!’ The black squirrel had wrapped a piece of rag around her pawchains, and had been silently heaving and levering for many hours. Only after much strain and effort was the heavy iron staple, which held the running chain that connected all the footpaw shackles to it, beginning to move in the damp solid deck timbers. For the first time since he had been aboard the Goreleech, Luke smiled.

  ‘Keep at it, Ranguvar. Once you’ve got the staple out pass it over to me, mate!’

  The Goreleech dipped her high bows into the trackless waste of the main, bound north into the night, the red sails bellied to the wind. On she went, like a giant blood-coloured bird of ill omen, sated on a cargo of misery.

  Vurg was sweating in the sun, prying timbers loose from
the wreckage of the Sayna. Beau was sawing away at some sail canvas with a rusty dagger. Beside them on the sand a mishmashed pile of timber and cordage was bound together in the rough shape of a raft.

  ‘I say, old thing,’ the hare called up to his companion, ‘we’ll need somethin’ a bit straighter than that rib plank t’make a blinkin’ mast, wot?’

  Vurg wiped his brow in exasperation. ‘Well it’s the straightest piece I can find. I’m a farmer, not a boat builder. If’n you can find a better bit o’ wood, matey, then yore welcome t’try!’

  As he hacked away at the canvas, Beau nicked his ear when the dagger point tore free and shot upward.

  ‘Well keep your fur on there, mousey, I thought the flippin’ agreement was that I built the perishin’ raft an’ you supplied the bally materials. Hold y’temper in the ranks, wot wot, I nearly chopped my ear off there whilst you were yammerin’on at me like an old frogwife!’

  Vurg left off prying loose timbers. Sucking at a splinter in his paw, he climbed down to join Beau.

  ‘Owch! There’s so many splinters in me I’d float if’n I fell into the sea, mate. How’s our raft comin’ along?’

  The hare stood paws akimbo, surveying his work. ‘Oh, splendid, absojollylutely spiffin’! All she needs is a jib boom, spanker, top royal gallants an’ mizzen shrouds!’

  Vurg peered at him questioningly. ‘D’you know wot yore talkin’ about?’

  Beau leaned against the raft. It collapsed. ‘No, d’you?’

  ‘Yeeeehawhawhaw! Y’ain’t figgerin’ on goin’ ter sea on that thing, are yer, mates? Yukyukyukyuk, worra mess!’

  Beau and Vurg were astonished to see a large fat sea lion basking in the channel, watching them. Patting a bulging stomach with both flippers, he snorted a cloud of droplets from his bristling whiskers and chortled heartily.

  ‘Yukyukyukyuk! Looks more like a mad seagull’s nest than a raft. Only place you’d go on that termites’ brekkist is straight t’the bottom. Yukyukyuk!’

  Vurg stood open-mouthed, but Beau recovered his composure smartly, twitching his ears disdainfully at the creature.

  ‘Mad seagull’s nest? Termites’ breakfast? Have a care there, chubbychops, wot wot! My old auntie used t’say, don’t criticise what y’can’t do y’self. Pity you never met her!’

  Floating flat on his back, the sea lion blew a jet of water on to his stomach and watched it evaporate in the sun. ‘Aye, more’s the pity, flop-ears. I ’ad an ole auntie once, got ’erself et by a shark, cheered my ole uncle up no end. She was a grouchy beast at best o’ times.’

  Beau drew himself up to his full lanky height. ‘Call me flop-ears once more an’ I’ll wade out there an’ chastise you severely, m’good feller. Name’s Beauclair Fethringsol Cosfortingham, Beau f’short. Now, what appellation d’you answer to? Speak up, wot?’

  Paddling into the shallows, the sea lion beached himself like a glistening grey rock on the sand. He grinned as he extended a flipper the size of a small table.

  ‘Ain’t got a h’allepation. They calls me Bolwag, pleased t’meet ye, Beau, an’ yore liddle mouseymate there.’

  Vurg shook the proffered flipper. ‘My name’s Vurg!’

  Bolwag heaved his bulk further up, and galumphed around the raft, inspecting it.

  ‘Seen a lot better, an’ one or two worse. Not much of a craft t’go chasin’ after the red ship, though, is she?’

  Vurg looked up curiously at the gigantic sea lion. ‘How did you know we were goin’ after the red ship?’

  Bolwag sorted through the mess of timbers with flipper and muzzle, sending planks flying. ‘Watched it come’n’go fer many a season, Vurg. Saw what happened to your mates. That ole cap’n, Vilu Daskar, he’s worse’n any shark, evil beast!’

  Beau began picking up the planking. ‘I say there, Bolwag, d’you mind not chuckin’ our raft around like that? Took us long enough t’put it together, wot. Of course we’ll be sailin’ blind, haven’t a bally clue where old Vilu wotsischops has sailed off to.’

  Bolwag nodded his great head wisely. ‘I know which way the red ship’s bound. Always goes the same course when it leaves ’ere. North’n’west two points, to Wood Isle. Takes on water’n’provisions there.’

  Vurg peered upchannel to the open sea. ‘Wood Isle? Have you been there, Bolwag? Will you show us the way to this place?’

  Bolwag frowned, then his whiskers split into a huge grin. ‘Suppose I’ll ’ave to, matey. Couldn’t let a pair o’ liddle sardines like you two go twiddlin’ round alone out there. Beau’s ole auntie might never clap eyes on ’im agin, and we can’t ’ave that now, can we? But first let’s git yore raft built proper’n’seaworthy. You lay out a good crisscross of timbers on a big piece o’ canvas, I’ll go an’ fetch some bladderwrack – grows big in these warm waters. Git t’work, an’ I’ll be back afore you knows it, mates!’

  Neither Beau nor Vurg had the least idea what bladderwrack was. They stretched the biggest canvas sail on the sand and began laying a grid shape of ship’s timbers on it. Bolwag returned, though at first it was hard to tell whether it was he, because a huge clump of seaweed surrounded the sea lion’s body as he swam, towing it with him. With a powerful heave he flung it ashore.

  ‘Bladderwrack, buckoes. Nothin’ like it fer keepin’ afloat!’

  It was slimy, slippery seaweed, but studded with big inflated air bubbles.

  Bolwag winked at them. ‘Cover those timbers with it, an’ lay on more timber atop o’ the bladderwrack. I’ll go an’ get some more.’

  The process was repeated three more times, after which they cloaked the lot with the sailcloth ends. Under Bolwag’s directions, Vurg and Beau laced the canvas casing tight with rope until the sea lion was satisfied with the job. It looked an ungainly bundle.

  Vurg bounced up and down on it. ‘Haha, ’tis springy enough. Will we need a sail, Bolwag?’

  ‘Nah, I’ll be either pushin’ or pullin’ all the way. Well, it don’t look like much, me ’earties, but ’tis tight’n’ strong an’ ’twill get you to Wood Isle without sinkin’.’

  Afternoon was well advanced when they loaded the last provisions aboard and launched the odd-looking raft into the channel. Bolwag grabbed a trailing line in his mouth and went off like a fish. At first Beau and Vurg clung to one another on the skimming, bobbing raft as it bounced and cavorted across the wavetops. However, after a while they became used to the momentum and sat sharing some bread and cheese. Heading north and west they sped onward, creating a small bow wave of spray, though it was hard to tell exactly where the raft’s bows were located, as it swivelled from side to side. Bolwag kept the sunset in the corner of his left eye as he pulled them effortlessly along.

  Beau waxed lyrical at approaching evening. ‘Does somethin’ to a chap, the old sunset, rather jolly, wot. Sky goes the colour of meadowcream when y’stir it into a plate of damson pudden, sea’s as dark as blackcurrant cordial, an’ the sun looks like a rosy apple covered with honey. I say, Vurg old lad, rather poetic, wot wot?’

  Vurg hid a smile. ‘Did you compose that with your stomach?’

  Beau grinned. ‘Yes, it did sound rather gutsy, didn’t it! Oh I say, nothin’ to ruin a perfect evenin’ like a great pack o’ sharks. Just look at that lot!’

  Vurg saw the ominous fins cutting through the water until they surrounded the raft. Suddenly the whole craft swayed threateningly as Bolwag flopped aboard. Beau threw himself on top of the sea lion, grabbing at his slippery hide with all paws and roaring heroically.

  ‘I’ve got you, old fellow. They’ll have t’deal with me before I’ll let ’em get to you. Ahoy an’ belay, you slabsided swabs. Scuttle me bilges an’ other nautical terms, show me a shark an’ I’ll show you a coward! Take one bite out of our raft, just one munch, I dare you! I’ll leap into the briny an’ give you a sound drubbin’! Hah, y’dealin’ with a Cosfortingham now, wot wot!’

  Bolwag shrugged his huge bulk, sending Beau toppling into the sea. The hare yelled out in panic.

&nb
sp; ‘Didn’t mean it, only jokin’ you chaps, there, there, nice sharky, good sharky. Yowoops!’

  One of the big fishes flicked his tail, catching Beau and sending him sailing back on to the raft.

  Bolwag chuckled. ‘Yukyukyukyuk! Don’t yet know a bottlenose when y’sees one?’

  Beau clung to Bolwag’s flipper, shivering. ‘Keep mum, old chap. Don’t go callin’ ’em names like bottlenose – you’ll get ’em mad an’ they’ll scoff the raft. Nice sharks, good sharks. I say, aren’t sharks handsome chaps?’

  Bolwag’s stomach shook as he laughed. ‘Yukyukyukyuk! Those aren’t sharks, ye great booby, they’re pals o’ mine, bottlenosed dolphins. They offered t’push awhile an’ let me ’ave a rest!’

  Vurg smiled at his irrepressible friend. Beau regained his composure quickly in any situation.

  ‘Pish tush, sah, I knew that all along, what d’ye take me for, wot? Sharks indeed. What gave y’that idea?’ He leaned over the raft’s edge and patted the strange beak-shaped snout of the nearest dolphin, which stuck its permanently smiling face out of the sea as Beau nodded to it. ‘Ahoy there, you jolly bottlenosed rogue, what d’you mean by impersonatin’ a flippin’ shark? Wipe that smile off your face an’ answer me, laddie!’

  The big fish gave an earsplittin’ squeak and shot a jet of water into Beau’s astonished face. He sat back wiping water from his eyes, remarking to Vurg, ‘Pity that chap never had an auntie to teach him a few manners, wot. Spittin’ seawater into a feller’s fizzog, huh, very nice, I don’t think!’

  Bolwag flapped Beau’s ears gently with his huge flipper. ‘Don’t you go talkin’ about my pals like that, matey. Kweekum an’ his school ’ave been friends o’ mine since I was a pup!’

  Whilst Bolwag held an unintelligible conversation, which consisted of exchanging varying degrees of squeaks with Kweekum, Beau whispered to Vurg, ‘Tchah! School indeed. Only school that chap ever attended was the school of spittin’. I’d give him detention or a few whacks of the cane if I was his schoolmaster, wot! Blighter can’t even speak without squeakin’ like a confounded seagull. I’ll bet all the baby bottlenoses are a right shower of yahoos. Still, y’can’t expect any better if you’re brought up with a name like bottlenose, I suppose, wot wot?’