Helga: Out of Hedgelands - Rick Johnson (a court of thorns and roses ebook free TXT) 📗

we got hit by the hurricane and battled the waves for days—so, yes, we was takin’ a little rest. But, I’ll be thankin’ you not to bad-mouth my crew, Dog-breath—or, Ol’ Suzy here might be tempted to just decide to spend no more time on you!” Instantly, Katteo revealed a cutlass concealed under her sea-cloak. Pulling the blade out dramatically, the cutlass sliced a long arc toward the Wrackshee, just nicking his cheek enough for a thin line of red blood to appear amidst the orange fur. “That’s my calling card, Dog-breath,” Katteo laughed. You may have taken the ship, but you have not taken our spirit!”

Outraged that one of the Daring Dream crew would dare such an act, the Wrackshee leader stepped close to the upstart sea-beast. “Yes, my bug-eating roach, I took your ship—and I care not about your spirit, because it will do you no good when you are sinking to the bottom of the sea.” Turning to the Wrackshee horde massed behind him, he gave the order: “No quarter for such a wildcat. Subdue her!”

 Wrackshees swarmed forward, and in the blink of an eye, Katteo was disarmed and bound, head to toe, in ropes.

The Wrackshee chieftain directed that Katteo be carried to the stern of the ship and lifted onto the gunwale. “Now, my Bug-brained Wildcat, do you want to leap off yourself, like a brave beast, or would you rather admit you are a cowardly rascal and have us throw you overboard? In either case, putting you off the rear of the ship show’s best to all to leave you in the past, while the rest of us go forward.”

“The only cowards here be yourselves!” Katteo declared. “And rascal is too good a word for the likes of you Dung-swilling Hell-bounders! Nay, I’ll not take more of your filthy hands—I’m away on my own powers—my spirit whole, and off to see new adventures!” With that, Katteo gave a hop and dropped out of sight—KER-SPLOOSH!

Alas for the Wrackshees, they should have thought again of their hasty act, for listening below were, of course, Captain Red Whale Gumberpott and his good mate, Fishbum. When the Wrackshee kayaks were summoned to the ship, abandoning their watch, Red Whale and Fishbum breathed a deep sigh of relief. Pulling themselves up and hanging their arms over the rudder chains, they listened with great interest to the proceedings above them.

Hearing Katteo’s speech and seeing her fall past them into the sea, Fishbum silently slipped into the water and swam underwater to where Katteo was struggling in her bonds. Coming up beneath his struggling comrade, Fishbum tugged firmly on Katteo’s trouser leg until she stopped her struggles and allowed him to untie her feet. Now able to stay afloat by kicking her legs, Katteo still kept up the sounds of her struggle so as not to draw the attention of the Wrackshees back to her.

Soon, Fishbum has also freed Katteo’s arms and Fishbum said softly, covered by the continuing sounds of Katteo’s dramatic struggle, “Now for the finale of your acting debut—drowning—make it real and trust me.” Taking a deep breath, Fishbum slid under the surface and pulled hard on Katteo, dragging her underwater. A more convincing image of an exhausted, drowning beast slipping into Davy Jones’s Locker was never presented. Once below the waves, and out of sight, Fishbum guided Katteo to the darkness behind the rudder workings where Red Whale was waiting.

A gray-red dawn was beginning to streak the sky as the three comrades silently greated one another. The opportunity for happy reunion was short-lived, however, because cries and activity on the ship called their attention.

“Butter-Slaggers coming along! Lines and ladders down! Slaves to the Butter Dock in time for breakfast! HORT-HAR-HORT! Breakfast—a stew of spiders and beetles for the lucky beasts! HORT-HAR-HORT!” The Wrackshee chief roared out in his bellowing style. The sounds of running feet, lines being hauled, and the cursing grunts of beasts straining at their work, painted a picture not lost on Red Whale. “Crinoo!” Red Whale cursed under his breath. “They’re going to steal away our mates! We’ve got to make a plan.”

While Red Whale, Fishbum, and Katteo began their urgent deliberations, several large catamaran-style boats pulled alongside Daring Dream. The roughly-made vessels were constructed of two sets of logs, four or five in a group, strapped together with strong grass rope, then joined, one set to another, by a “deck” of woven ropes, supported by a light wooden frame. Two broad woven-reed prows, fronting the bundles of logs, allowed the boat to cut the waves with some grace.

“Butter-Slaggers along and ladder down to the Wreckers!” The repeated call, made eight times, counted off the number of catamarans that pulled aside Daring Dream to take away the captured crew. Quickly, the crew of captured sea-beasts was hurried down the rope ladders onto the Butter-Slaggers. Alighting in the catamarans, the captives were greeted by Wreckers—mountain-sized Wrackshees detailed only to the hauling of slaves to the Butter Dock—seven feet or more in height, each one with the strength of ten beasts—scimitars and daggers bristling from their belts.

“See here now, Wreckers!” the Wrackshee leader roared out from the Daring Dream helm. “Every one of you as reaches the Butter Dock with no escapes or dead beasts, there’s an extra lump of gold for you!”

“Ho-Ho!” Red Whale thought to himself, smiling. “I wonder if that includes us?” For while the slaves were being loaded, Red Whale, Fishbum, and Katteo had swum under the Daring Dream and come up under together beneath one of the Butter-Slaggers. Catching hold of the underside corners of the woven-rope decking, the daring comrades well hidden and able to have their heads above water to breathe. “Ho-Ho! I think there may be more than an extra lump of gold coming to them with this cargo!” Red Whale had very good feelings about this turn of events.

Red Whale had great fun listening to the Wreckers arguing above him.

“Yah! It must be a bad current running against us. There’s no wind, but we can’t keep up with the others!”

“Blast it, Doggo, it’s just the lot of those slaves playing slacker at the paddles!”

“Not so—looks to me like they’re pulling for all they’re worth.”

“Yah! It’s a bad current running, I tell you! What else could it be? Maybe this bunch of sea-beasts are just heavier than they look!”

Red Whale could hardly keep from laughing out loud. “Sure, and that’s the problem,” he smiled, “this bunch of sea-beasts is, indeed, a whole lot heavier than it looks!”

Red Whale’s good humor did not last long, however. When the Butter-Slagger was about a mile off-shore, it began to cross the long rocky reef that protected the harbor. Sea-going ships had to enter the harbor by rounding the reef far down the coast, then sailing up the deeper channel behind the reef. Butter-Slaggers, however, were designed to cross the reef. Riding high in the water, and built to take pounding that would tear any ordinary boat to pieces, they skimmed over the treacherous rocks.

For the comrades hanging beneath the slagger, it was the end of the voyage. The reef left no room for them to continue their stealthy ride. At the first insistent touch of the jagged rocks, Red Whale, Fishbum, and Katteo parted ways with the Butter-Slagger. In the spreading light of the dawn, the three comrades watched in dismay as the slagger danced across the rough current boiling across the reef. An impassable barrier now stood between them and their captive shipmates rapidly disappearing into slavery!

With the natural instinct for self-preservation, and the stalwart sea-beasts’ slight capacity for swimming, the three friends struck out along the reef, looking for any possible break in the barrier. The dangerous current, continually threatening to crush them against the deadly rocks, soon exhausted their remaining energy, however.

Gasping for air and losing strength rapidly, the three comrades at last pulled themselves up on a single rock, sticking up out of the waves foaming and lashing around it. Slippery and not at all level, the rock provided a precarious, but welcome, temporary haven from the thrashing sea. Relieved, the exhausted beasts collapsed and closed their eyes for a brief respite.

Katteo noticed it first. Her exhausted, labored breathing had barely returned to normal when an overwhelming odor of fish assaulted her nostrils. The unbelievably fishy smell was accompanied by a loud strange bellowing and honking—as if someone were yelling through their nose.

“What on earth?” Katteo stammered as she sat up and looked around.

“Sea lions,” Red Whale replied, sitting up. “But where are they? I’ve seen them before and the smell and sound always hit you first—but they can’t be far off.”

“OHO, THERE! SCHNORT-SCHUZUCK! MOVE OVER AND MAKE WAY!” With that announcement and a flop, flop, flop, a huge Sea-lion pulled himself up on the rock beside the sea-beasts.

“AL-OHO, THERE!” the Sea-lion bellowed. “SCHNORT-SCHUZUCK-SNORT-SNORT—AH, THAT’S BETTER—HAD A BIT OF CRAB SHELL STUCK IN MY THROAT THERE FOR A MOMENT! EXCUSE ME WHILE I CATCH MY BREATH!”

The Sea-lion had slid up the extremely slippery rock with the greatest of ease. With astonishing speed, its long cylindrical body seemed to glide up the rock, defying gravity. Flopping to a stop in front of the three comrades, its body shortened into a squat, immense mountain of flesh—nearly the size of all three sea-beasts put together. The almost bear-ish head and neck, would suddenly thrust out, turtle-fashion, with over-sized eyes peering closely when the beast talked in his bellowing, snorting manner.

“HUURRUMPFF! GRRUMPT! PARDON ME IF I’M INTERRUPTING! SCHNORCKT! I’VE BEEN FISHING AND, AS I SAID—SCHUZUCKT—GOT SOME CRAB SHELL STUCK—MY FAVORITE MEAL, OF COURSE—THAT CRACKLY,  CRUNCHY, SALTY OUTSIDE, AND SQUISHY, WARM GUTS INSIDE—YUMM—ANYWAY, WON’T BE HERE LONG AND DON’T MEAN TO BARGE IN ON ANYTHING! SNORCHNORT!”

Red Whale, Fishbum, and Katteo exchanged bemused looks. “There now, friend, don’t you be worrying on our account,” Fishbum said. “Why you’ve got as much right and need to be on this rock as we do. But, what’s your name? We’d be honored to know your name.”

“REGINALD M.Q., AND THE HONOR OF KNOWING YOU IS MINE, I ASSURE YOU,” the Sea-lion replied. “AND WHAT PROUD NAMES DO YOU HOLD FOR YOURSELVES? SNORCHNORT! SNORCHNORT! SPPITT—SORRY THERE, OLD SPOT, FINALLY GOT THAT BLASTED CRAB SHELL DISLODGED AND—YOU KNOW—JUST HAD TO CLEAR MY THROAT, YOU UNDERSTAND—NOT MEANING TO SPPITT ON YOU. SNORCHNORT! SPPITT!—OH SORRY, THERE, OLD SPOT, THAT ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME. NO HARM DONE, THOUGH—JUST FLICK IT OFF ANYWHERE. NOW, I SAY AGAIN, WHAT PROUD NAMES DO YOU HOLD FOR YOURSELVES?”

The three sea-beasts introduced themselves and fell into animated conversation with Reginald. When the Sea-lion learned of their current predicament, he was outraged. “WRACKSHEES IS IT? SCHNISST! POOPER-SCHOONCT! WHY THE POWERS OF CREATION DO NOT FEED THEM TO THE SHARKS, I CANNOT FATHOM! SHNORRT! WHY, I’LL HELP YOU RECOVER YOUR MATES! JUST YOU ALL CLIMB ABOARD AND I’LL HAVE YOU ACROSS THIS LITTLE REEF IN NO TIME!”

“Us? Ride on you?” Red Whale said. “That seems a little disrespectin’ of your eminence, it’s not exactly the way me Mum taught me, you see….”

“STUFFER-NONE-SUCH-SENSE!” The Sea-lion bellowed, more loudly than before. “SCHNORRCKT! GUZZZANSHNORT! WHY DO YOU THINK I’VE GOT SHOE-LEATHER ALL OVER ME AND FOUR INCHES OF BLUBBER UNDER THAT? THOSE WRACKSHEES ARE SO PROUD OF THEIR SLAGGERS—WHY I JUST SLIDE RIGHT ACROSS THE WHOLE MESS! SCHNORCKT!”

Reginald was extremely angry now—his huge neck bulging, ferocious-looking teeth snapping. He roared and bellowed, the stiff bristles on his nose quivering like trees in a high wind. And, of course, the loud bellowing that seemed like words exploding deep in his sinuses.

“CLIMB ABOARD, FRIENDS! I’LL HAVE YOU ON YOUR WAY IN  THE TIME IT TAKES ME TO SNAP THE SHELL OF