The Rogue Crew (Redwall)
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In his acclaimed and beloved Redwall series, New York Times bestselling author Brian Jaques "shows no signs of letting up or slowing down the action." (VOYA) Visit the gentle critters of Mossflower Wood with The Rogue Crew...
In which the brave hares of the Long Patrol team up with the fearless sea otters of the Rogue Crew to defend Redwall Abbey from the terror of both land and sea—the pirate Razzid Wearat…
smiled. “So we are, shipmate, so we are. But we does it accordin’ to my plan. Go an’ get yore supper. I’ll come t’the galley an’ tell ye how ’tis t’be done.” He beckoned Shekra to his side. The vixen came warily, nursing a heavily bandaged paw. “Lord?” Razzid kept his voice low. “When I go t’the galley, I want ye behind me, watchin’ my back. Arm yoreself with a good dagger. Can I trust ye, fox?” She answered earnestly. “Aye, Lord, I swear ye can trust me.” The Wearat left it some time before
the squirrelbabe was trying to peer inside the garb which Pinny had tailored from the vermin cloak. “Pardin’ me, but wot sorta h’aminal are you?” Drogbuk pulled his outfit closer to his spineless frame. “Go ’way, ye nosey liddle wretch!” Murty molebabe chuckled, wrinkling his snout at Drogbuk. “Oi’m thinken you’m a blizzard or ee toadybeast, zurr!!” Kite Slayer took Murty on her lap, allowing him to nibble at her plumcake. “Nay, liddle un, he’s only a daft ole ’og wot’s lost his spines, ain’t
left, we don’t—it’d lose us the blinkin’ edge. Right, Cap’n?” Rake nodded. “Aye, that’s mah plan. Though if anybeast has a canny idea tae suggest, Ah’m ready tae listen.” A Guosim shrew piped up eagerly, “Wot about sendin’ up a pile of fire arrows? Then we’d be able to see the vermin.” Log a Log Dandy stared scathingly at the unfortunate shrew. “Fire arrows? How long d’ye suppose a flamin’ shaft’d last in this storm? Huh, the way the wind is blowin’, it’d come straight back at us. Fire arrows!
now, Corp. We’ll just ’ave to ’ope for the best!” The choir began singing a tranquil song that was almost a lullaby, soothing and melodious. “Hushed golden sand covers the land, lazily swirling, by warm breezes fanned, still summer noontide ’neath tranquil blue sky, far, far away now, I hear seabirds cry. Live without fear, shed not a tear, a vale of quiet shadows awaits thee, my dear. “Sleep now in peace, list’ whilst I sing, nightshade falls dark as the black raven’s wing, tired
“Right, where are they? Just let ’em show their faces an’ I’ll put a stop to ’em! Come out an’ face me, if’n ye dare!” A chunk of wet wood, a broken sycamore branch, came boomeranging out of the dusk, cracking him across the shoulders. Mowlag’s bow accidentally discharged its shaft; it pierced the ear of the weasal corsair he had taken it from. Shekra yelled at the archers, “Shoot! Loose those arrows, don’t just stand there with yore bows bent!” As the archers fired, each in a different