Eulalia! by Brian Jacques Read Free Book Online Page B

Rock’ead feel ’ungry. Codj, you keep an eye peeled on ’im, I’ll be in me cabin if’n ya wants me.”
    Grivel waited until Vizka had gone from the cabin before he picked himself up, wiping a smear of blood from his lip. A large, fat, one-eared rat named Feerog, who was Grivel’s messmate, shot him a warning glance.
    Codj headed for the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’m gonna keep watch on der stripe’ound.” Vizka and Codj were very close, so the crew did not say anything until he had gone out on deck. Once the captain and first mate were not present, Grivel spat blood upon the floor.
    â€œDid ya see dat, why’d ’e pick on me, wot did I say?”
    Feerog supported his friend. “Yarr, sometimes der cap’n will belt ya jus’ fer lookin’ at ’im d’wrong way. It ain’t right, mates!”
    Grivel poured forth his grievances against the captain of the Bludgullet. “Aye, an’ why’d we waste a whole season sailin’ round der Northland coasts, wot’s ter be gained there, eh?”
    There were nods, and mutters of agreement as Feerog took up the cause. “Couple o’ sacks o’ veggibles an’ some grain. Huh, an’ a crazy stripe’ound. We coulda been in the southern isles, at least ’tis allus warm there.”
    A runty old weasel, Snikey, spoke his piece. “Cap’n must ’ave ’ad ’is reasons, any’ow we’re sailin’ clear o’ the Northlands now, ain’t we?”
    Grivel’s voice was thick with bitterness. “But we ain’t bound fer no southern isles, are we? I’ll wager der cap’n’s got dis ship ’eaded for the Western shores, an’ ye know wot dat means, don’t ya?”
    Feerog slammed his knifepoint into the mess table. “Aye, Vizka Longtooth wants ter do wot Windflin Wildbrush couldn’t. Kill dat ole stripe’ound an’ ’is rabbets, an’ make ’imself king o’ der mountain!”
    Snikey shrugged. “I’d sooner live on a mountain than be stuck aboard dis tub all me life.”
    This was the chance Grivel had been waiting for. Grabbing Snikey, he head-butted the runty old weasel hard. Still holding Snikey, he kicked open the cabin door, and flung him, half-stunned, out onto the deck, growling at him. “We ain’t gittin’ slayed in battle, jus’ ter make Longtooth famous. An’ remember this, ya liddle sneak, one werd to Vizka or Codj, an’ yore a deadbeast!” Slamming the door, Grivel winked at the others. “I caught ’im a good ’un, split ’is nose, stinkin’ tale-carrier. I’ve never trusted dat weasel!”
    A black rat, called Durgy, shook his head. “Ya did der wrong thing there, mate, everybeast knows Snikey’s the cap’n’s spy, ’is mouth’ll ’ave t’be shut fer good, or ’e’ll go blabbin’ ter Longtooth.”
    Feerog pulled his knife from the tabletop. “Yore right, I’ll see to it dat Snikey slips off nice’n’quiet-like.”
    Â 
    Late afternoon found the weather still overcast, but calm. Gorath stayed huddled against the mast, where he had been since early morning. The pangs of seasickness had left him, and the pain in his wounded forehead had calmed somewhat. Nobeast had bothered him all day, though he was aware of Codj watching him from a distance.
    Then the cook, a greasy, bloated ratwife, dragged a cauldron along the deck, halting where she knew the chained prisoner could not reach. Taking the lid from the cauldron, she began stirring it, yelling in a shrill voice, “Come an’ get yore vittles, afore I tosses ’em overboard!”
    The aroma of cooked food assailed Gorath’s nostrils, and he realised how desperately hungry he was. The crew lined up with their bowls and dishes as she began slopping out steaming ladles of the mixture.