Read Online Rakkety Tam by Brian Jacques - Free Book Online Page B

assortment of weaponry: broken knives, sharpened sticks and stone-topped clubs—crouched below the banktop behind their leader.
    Runneye, a rat with a leaking squint, peered over the rim at their intended prey. “Worra sorta beast be that ’un, Drift?”
    Driftail grabbed Runneye’s tail and pulled him down. “Dat’s a foxer, funny white ’un. Gorra curvity sword anna likkle bag o’ vikkles, too!”
    One of the gang ventured a peek over the banktop. “Mebbe dat foxer be good wirra sword, an’ not frykind?”
    Driftail hauled the speaker down and cuffed him scornfully. “Gerraravit! On’y one foxer, they’s lots of us, we’ll lay ’im flat! Dat curvity sword an’ de nice belt wot foxer’s wearin’, dey mine, y’hear?”
    He slitted his eyes, glaring fiercely at the gang until they lowered their gaze. Knowing the prizes were his without question, he loaded his sling with a rock the size of his paw. “We all shares de vikkles out.”
    The white fox was close to the bankside when Driftail popped up and launched his stone, striking the fox on the side of his jaw. He did not fall but clapped a paw to his face, staggering about half stunned.
    Driftail howled triumphantly, “Quicknow, gerrim!”
    The gang charged out and mobbed the white fox, dragging him down. A blow from Runneye’s club finished the job, knocking the fox unconscious. They bundled him down the bank to the stream’s edge.
    Driftail dashed down the slope in time to kick one of the gang who was wielding a rusty knife. “Mud’ead, not killim yet, I want words wid diss one!”
    Whilst the rats fought over the fox’s small ration bag, Driftail relieved his captive of the belt and sickle sword. Grabbing some tough vines, he bound the prisoner’s paws together and slung water over the fox’s head to revive him.
    It took awhile for the strange creature to come around. He struggled briefly with his bonds, then looked up at the ugly, grinning faces surrounding him.
    Runneye sniggered nastily. “Heeheehee, gotcha self inna big troubles now, pretty white foxer!”
    Elbowing Runneye out of the way, Driftail leaned down and drew the sickle-shaped sword. “Wot name be yer called, foxer?”
    The captive glared at Driftail but maintained his silence.
    The River Rat tapped the point of the blade on the fox’s chest. “Ya be dumb, or jus’ shoopid, eh? I be Chief round’ere! When I axe question, yew answer quick, or I skin yer slow. Wherra ye commed from, foxer? Speak!”
    The prisoner stared levelly, unafraid of the rat. “From the land of ice, across the great sea.”
    Driftail had never heard of or seen a great sea. He kicked the fox savagely. “Ha, fibba lie! How yew comed, who yew comed wid—eh, eh?”
    The white fox replied flatly, “We came in a great ship, a band of us one hundred strong, led by Gulo the Savage.”
    Driftail sensed a note of contempt in his captive’s voice. He kicked the bound fox several times more. Then he strutted around the streambank, doing a bad imitation of the fox’s voice for the benefit of his gang. “Ho yes, I come onna big shippen, wid a strong band of hunnerd, an’ Glugo der Sanvage. Hah, we be scared, eh?”
    Hoots of derision came from the River Rat gang, taking a cue from their chief’s disbelief of the fox’s explanation.
    One of the rats began pretending that he was all of a tremble. He knelt down by the bound fox, wailing piteously, “Waaaaah, I be reel frykenned. Save me, save me!”
    The fox waited for the jeering to die down before he replied, “So ye should be feared, stupid fool!”
    Driftail struck him across the face with the flat of his sword. “Yew gorra smart tongue, foxer. Afore I chop it off, tell me, where be all dese hunnerd beast an’ yore big Glugo now, eh?”
    For the first time since