Free The Rogue Crew by Brian Jacques Page B

tone, “You’ll have the most frightful headache if you continue bellowing like that, Corporal dear.”
    Welkin Dabbs glared at her, his ears a-twitch with wrath. “Watch that dressin’! Pick up your pace at the back there! Hup two, left right! Shoulders back, Wilbee. Eyes to the front, Miss Ferrul! Now march, you sloppy, straw-pawed,’orrible, misbegotten lot!”
    From the ranks, an unidentified young hare sobbed mockingly, “Oh, dear. I wish our lovely old sergeant would come and rescue us from this cruel corporal!”
    Â 
    The object Buff Redspore had espied from the dunetop appeared as no more than a dark smudge above the tideline. Miggory’s paws drummed time with the tracker’s as they drew closer to their goal. The sergeant put on a spurt. Drawing ahead of Buff, he held up a paw, calling out a warning.
    â€œHold ’ard, marm. Let me take a peep first!”
    Buff knew Miggory never acted without purpose. She halted but could not help querying his motive. “I say, Sarge, why do I have to stay here?”
    Miggory’s reply was terse. “Just smelled somethin’ I don’t like. Stay put, if ye please, marm.”
    It was a large mound of ash, black, white and grey, from a sizeable fire long gone cold. The grizzled colour sergeant stirred the debris with a swift paw. He crouched down, eyes roving over the area, shaking his head.
    The tracker took a few tentative paces forward. “What is it, sah . . . ?”
    Miggory whirled in her direction, his voice loud and strained. “Wot did I tell ye, Redspore? Stay back! Take yoreself off now, back t’the column. Tell Corporal Dabbs t’keep the young uns away. Send Cap’n Rake an’ Lieutenant Scutram t’me, quick h’as ye like!”
    Buff hesitated. “But, Sergeant, what is it?”
    Miggory’s bellowing sent her scurrying to obey.
    â€œDon’t argue with me—just do as yore h’ordered!”
    The column stood well off downshore as Captain Rake and Scutram crouched amidst the ashes with Miggory. Rake Nightfur’s eyes were blank with shock as he picked an object from the ruins.
    â€œWhat manner o’ monster could do sich a thing tae another creature? Ah’ve never seen ought like et!”
    Scutram surveyed the awful scene, leaning on a lance. “Aye, this has got t’be the work of a Wearat, sah.”

7
    Young Uggo Wiltud soon found that Jum Gurdy’s bark was not serious, and his supposed bite was nonexistent. The young hedgehog knew that the otter, despite his forbidding size and appearance, was quite easygoing. Together they trudged off along the path, cutting across the ditch and travelling west through the area of Mossflower woodlands which skirted the vast flatlands. Midmorning saw warm sun seeping through the leafy canopy of oak, beech, elm, sycamore and other big trees. Soft, loamy earth was sprouting with grass, young fern, cowslip, primrose, silverweed, milkwort and alkanet. Birdsong was everywhere, echoing through patches of sunlight and shade.
    None of this was of any great interest to Uggo, whose stomach had been telling him of his need for food all morning. Jum, who had been forging doggedly ahead, turned to the young laggard in his wake. “Are ye weary already, Master Wiltud?”
    The reply was loud and swift. “No, I’m ’ungry, Mister Gurdy!”
    Jum nodded at the sky. “Sun ain’t reached midday yet. That’s when we stops for lunch. Keep goin’ awhile yet.” He carried on.
    Uggo followed, but not without complaint. “Huh, ’tis alright for you, Mister Gurdy. You ’ad brekkist back at the Abbey, but I never, an’ I’m starvin’!”
    The otter leaned on the lance he used as a travelling stave. “Ho, dearie me, pore liddle ’og. Wot a pity ye can’t go sneakin’ off down t’the kitchens a-stealin’ vittles.”
    Uggo stuck out his lower