Free The Rogue Crew by Brian Jacques Page A

aboard ever tole me nothin’, sir. I didn’t even know where we was sailin’ to. On me oath, I never!”
    After breaking camp, the sergeant unbound Crumdun but kept him on a rope halter. The column marched down out of the dunes onto the shore.
    The stoat pointed. “That ways, straight north.”
    Trug Bawdsley, paw on swordhilt, kept trying to edge within blade distance of the prisoner. Lieutenant Scutram clasped his paw tightly over Trug’s, stopping him from drawing his blade.
    â€œWhat the deuce are ye playin’ at, Bawdsley?”
    Trug gritted his teeth with rage. “My sister Trey, she was slain by that vermin an’ his crew. Allow me to draw my sword, sah. I mean to kill him!”
    Scutram released the young hare’s paw, shaking his head. “Carry on, by all means, Bawdsley. I’ll write it up in my report as an act of bravery. ‘Private Trug Bawdsley slays a foe in an heroic battle. The vermin, a half-starved stoat, was unarmed and held under guard on a rope halter. Bawdsley showed great courage by attacking him with a sword. The prisoner did not—beg pardon, could not—defend himself.’ There, young Trug, how does that jolly well sound, wot?”
    Shamefaced, the young hare did not attempt to draw steel.
    â€œBlinkin’ awful, sah. ’Twould make me sound like a coward.”
    The lieutenant winked broadly as he patted Trug’s back. “You’re no coward, young un, anybeast could tell that. Wait, watch an’ learn, Bawdsley, an’ one day you’ll make us all proud o’ ye, eh!”
    Trug squared his shoulders, saluting. “Aye, sah!”
    Captain Rake Nightfur gave a tug on the prisoner’s halter. “We’ve been marchin’ the best part o’ the morn, ye rascal. Where are ye takin’ us tae?”
    Before Crumdun could answer, Buff Redspore, who had climbed back into the dunes to scout the land, called out. “North an’ a point west along the shore, sah—can’t make out what it is. Shall I scout ahead an’ see?”
    Captain Rake waved a paw. “Aye, do that, lassie. Sarn’t Miggory, go with her in case o’ bother.”
    Miggory joined the tracker as she descended out of the dunes. Together they set off at a brisk run along the tideline.
    As the column followed up at normal march pace, the haremaid Ferrul looked at Wilbee, who was trudging alongside her.
    â€œBeg pardon, did you say somethin’?”
    Wilbee pointed to himself. “Who, me? No, ’twas Drander.”
    Drander explained mournfully, “I never said a word. It’s this bloomin’ belly o’ mine, growlin’ an’ beggin’ for scoff.”
    Flutchers, another young ranker, grinned foolishly. “Y’don’t say? My tummy is, too. Listen, can ye hear it?”
    He began making a noise out the side of his mouth, like a growling stomach speaking actual words. “Gwaaaa w w w , I want lunch! Kwuuuurrr! Gimme some grub!”
    This caused general merriment amongst the young hares, who began imitating Flutchers.
    â€œBwuuurrr! Foooooood, I wan’ foooood!”
    â€œKwuuurrrrk! Scoffff, I need scooooofffff!”
    Corporal Welkin Dabbs was down on them sternly. “Silence in the ranks, ye bellowin’ beasts! Don’t think ye can start playactin’ ’cos Sarn’t Miggory ain’t here. The next growlin’ gut I hear’ll be on half rations an’ double guard duty tonight! D’ye hear me, wot!”
    Ferrul fluttered her eyelashes prettily. “We hear you, Corporal!”
    Dabbs pulled a ferocious face at her. “Then pay attention, me beauty. I may only be a corporal, but I’m an ’orrible, fearsome corporal who’ll have your ears for breakfast, your scuts for snacks an’ your guts for garters! Wot’ll I have, Miss Ferrul?”
    The pretty haremaid fluttered her eyelids again, replying in a soothing