It was the break of dawn and the sun was just beginning to rise. The light turned the sky into shades of pale blue and clouded white, yet the earth below was turned to black silhouettes. A thin mist settled upon the moors, upon the rolling slopes and muirs, and the patches of heather on the peat. Several hundred miles North of the grand and civilized city of Zootopia, the land was far less civil; untamed, almost. For it was here, in the Zootopia Highlands, that for generations clan fought clan for the honor, enhancement and greaterment of the tribe.
The air was crisp and still, as it always was on mornings such as this, a wind blowing through the damp, foggy air and a layer of dew on the hardy grass.
Through the thin air, a sound rang, carrying across the miles of empty, Highland moor. The sound of bagpipes - its clear notes playing a droning tune from within the depths of an aged, Highland castle.
The castle was tall and wide, built from brick as old and hardy and as the foundations of the very mountains themselves. The fortress was silhouetted black against the rising sun, it's strong towers and thick walls sat lurking among the miles of unbroken marshland.
Built by a clan once feared by even the strongest of their enemies, the fortress they inhabited became known as a place of fear. For hundreds of years the stronghold held firm against time and raids for this, my friend, this is Castle De'ath.
The sound of bagpipes played clearly from within, the sound of it's wistful, eerie tune echoing though the high, arched corridors and wide dining hall, through rooms decorated with suits of armor with swords hung upon the wall, and too a room which lead down to the basement, the dungeon, the torture room.
The air was chill, the walls and floors made from stern and smooth rock. A stone staircase lead down from the door frame, banistered by old and fragile wood. A number of tools hung down from the roof and upon the walls, pliers, thumb screws, nails, saws, rope, whips. Against one wall was an iron maiden, painted to resemble a female badger in mourning. And in the center of all was what looked to be an unusually designed table - otherwise known as The Rack - and tied down upon the wooden bed with tight, leather straps, was the stripped figure of a Newfoundland dog, screaming in agony as the towering frame of a badger turned the handle on the rack, pulling his neck up a little higher, pulling his body tight and gradually ripping his spine apart.
The woman's face painted onto the iron maiden gazed down upon the figure on the rack. The handle turned again. The dog cried out. The bagpipes played. This, my friend... this is Castle De'ath.
...
A few hours after the passing of dawn the sun had rose into the morning's blue sky. No longer casting silhouettes upon the earth, the high mountains and wide moors were light and grand, and the previously ominous moors tinged pink with the heather growing upon them. The mist had cleared, the birds sang, and the masonry of the castle shone with a warm light which reflected off it's creamy-white bricks.
The castle's courtyard was fresh, a small patch of grassland at its center, surrounded on all sides by the ageless walls of this castle which was once so grand and stately - yet with time the clan has fallen into decay. While the castle was still inhabited, the size of the De'ath family had dwindled to but two, and the castle was showing signs of it's age. It was built to last indeed, but brick crumbles, and wood rots.
From the main gate outside the castle walls, two kilted badgers entered the main courtyard and paced along the gravel path towards the main keep. The first was a younger, thinner badger who walked slightly ahead of the other, his gait hurried as he impatiently tried to avoid discussion with the second. The second was older, taller, wider. He followed the first mammal as he marched towards the main keep and pushed open the door, following him close behind as he spoke.
"You'll not be letting people trudge and tramp all over the place, ah hope?"
"Aye," the younger said, "I'm thinking about it, McGnab."
"Where's your dignity?" he shot as he pulled the door shut, "You have a position to maintain."
"And a castle to keep up. No small expensive in these days."
"Well I'd rather be poor than have strangers peep and pry."
"Do you think I want it, McGnab?"
Both mammals turned at the sound of car revving its engine close by.
Outside, an expensive car drove in through the main gates and pulled up to a stop at the end of the gravel path. The door swung open and a small padded foot stepped out. The young rabbit stood and gazed about at the high walls that surrounded her, her amethyst eyes glistening in the sunlight as she took in her surroundings with some little ore. Reaching back in, the rabbit took out a small suitcase before locking the door and making towards the large wooden doors to the main keep.
The door opened and the rabbit stepped in, a warm smile on her face as she gazed up at the two badgers who looked down at her with scrupulous suspicion.
"Good-morning," she chirruped, reaching out on tip-toe to offer her paw to the younger badger. "Are you Mister De'ath?"
"I am," he said after a moment, stooping a little as he reached down to shake the rabbit's paw, "and who might you be?"
"Hopps, Miss Judy Hopps." She retracted her paw and craned her neck to look expectantly up to Mister De'ath and McGnab as they shared a baffled glance to one another. Clocking their confusion, the rabbit stepped firmly into the room with an innocent smile and looked about at the premises. "Well, it's a lovely place you have here. It certainly has a lot of potential."
"Potential?" said De'ath.
"Oh, yes," she said, looking up the large chimney, "It's a big job but it'll be worth it in the end."
"Worth it?"
"I think I'm gonna enjoy staying here."
"Staying here?"
The rabbit retracted her head from the fireplace and turned to De'ath, a brow raised. "The job will take a day or two, but I thought I made that clear in my letter."
"What letter?"
"The one in reply to yours," she answered, smiling pleasantly.
"My letter?"
Her smile slowly fell. "I'm sorry, you did say you were Mister Angus De'ath?"
The badger smiled, tiresomely. "No, I am Ian De'ath."
"The thirty-fifth Laird," McGnab added.
"The De'ath who wrote to you is my cousin. What's this all about, Miss Hopps?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," the rabbit said, "my mistake." Walking to a sturdy, old table she placed her case upon it and started to undo the clasps. "You see, your cusian has hired my company as consultants."
"And that company would be?"
"Abor Cashaata."
"Abbaco what?"
"The Advisory Bureau Of Refurbishing Castles And Stately Homes As A Tourist Attraction." She pulled the case open and took out a large sheet of paper. "My card." The rabbit crossed the room to Mister De'ath and handed him the large sheet of paper - which was merely calling-card sized in his paws.
"And what did this letter say, Miss Hopps?" asked McGnab.
"Well, Angus De'ath wrote to tell us that the castle was being opened to the public."
"Did he, now?" said Ian.
"And my job in all this is to advise him in the best way to attract customers."
"Pah!" the older badger interjected suddenly, "he's a got a nerve alright."
"Miss Hopps," De'ath said, "as Laird of the Clan De'ath, I am the one to make the decisions about the future of the castle, and when I see Angus I'll-"
There was a whooshing sound as a black object few through the air, between De'ath and McGnab, and impaled an inch into the wall, barely a foot above the startled rabbit's head. Judy's gaze rose slowly, watching the crossbow bolt as it shook genitally back and forth in the wall just above her head, suddenly very glad she had let her ears droop just moments before.
"Bull's eye," called a figure behind them. They turned as a third badger rushed down the stone staircase, discharged crossbow in his hand as he made towards the three.
"You dam fool, Angus," Ian shot, "you could've killed somebunny!"
"Aye," the third badger said, "but I didn't, did I?"
"So what's the next trick," Judy said, "putting an apple on top of my head?"
"He tried that before," Ian muttered, "it didn't go at all well."
Angus chuckled at the rabbit's disturbed expression. "Don't worry, Lass," he said, "it was just a tailor's dummy." He stepped towards her, reaching out and bending down to shake her paw. "You must be Miss Hopps. Welcome to Castle De'ath."
"Thank you," the rabbit said, "I've already tripped over the mat."
"Angus," Ian cut in harshly, "you might do me the courtesy of letting me know exactly what you're up to next time. First a Highland historian nosing about the place, and now a publicity consultant?"
"Och, I'm terribly sorry Ian, it must've slipped my mind." Angus held Ian's firm gaze steadily with a small smile, before everyone's eyes were drawn down by the feminine sound of Judy's voice.
"Perhaps I'd better just go."
"No," said Ian, "Angus invited you here, and I'll have no-one accusing the De'ath's of being inhospitable. But remember this, the both of you: when the time comes to be making any decisions, I'm the one who will decide what we will do, and what we will not do."
Judy's gaze turned to Angus, then back to Ian.
"Enjoy your stay, Miss Hopps," Ian said as he turned to leave. "Come along, McGnab."
The tall, wide figure of McGnab stared down at Hopps for a few seconds more, then walked on behind him. Judy turned to Angus. He was a little younger than his cusian and somewhat overweight - but not tall and bulky like McGnab. She sighed a little as she her head turned up to him.
"Well, you might have warned me there were two of you."
"Och, don't let Ian upset you," he said, reloading his crossbow, "he's much too caught up with the honor and glory of Clan De'ath and that sort of thing. Would you care to try?" he added, proffering the crossbow towards her.
"Thanks. So, what was that Ian said about a Highland historian?" she said, holding her paws up to take the device.
"Yes, there's a fox here interested in writing a book on the thirteenth Laird. Ian isn't to keen on it though." He placed the crossbow genitally into the rabbit's paws. The rabbit struggled as she tried to hold it up, realizing too late the device was clearly designed with much larger mammals in mind.
"O-oh?" she wheezed, trying to control her balance while wielding the large device, "I would have... would have thought he would've been happy for the chance to get the clan name out there a little more."
"No, no. Not the thirteenth Laird. He's the blot in the family record; the traitor who betrayed the clan."
"Well," the rabbit stuttered, the weight of the crossbow overpowering her, "he sounds like a... aah!" She teetered and tripped, landing with a thump on her back, accidentally firing the crossbow as she fell and shooting a bolt three inches into the head of a painting of Ian De'ath on the wall.
Angus chuckled as he reached down with a paw to help the blushing rabbit to her feet.
"Sorry," she said, quietly.
"Och, don't worry about it. I always did say it was an over-flattering impression of him anyway. Come, lets meet out tame historian."
Picking up his crossbow, the badger lead the small figure of the rabbit up the stone staircase and into another hall. "This is the banqueting hall," he said, indicating a large, rectangular table with a dozen chairs around it, "and here's the table around which the clan used to gather in the old days."
"And now?"
"Huh, now it's just Ian and me."
"Passing the salt must be a challenge."
"Well we mostly have McGnab for that. He's our butler by the way - the tall mammal you met earlier. We also have two felines working here, the McKern's. They tend to run the operation in the background; McGnab has more to do with them than we do."
Following Angus, the rabbit came to the far wall, where there was a line of tall bookshelves baring a variety of thick, leather-bound books. There was a small ladder on rails which could be pushed back and forth along the bookshelf and used to reach books on the higher shelves. Currently occupying this ladder, was a red-furred mammal in a kilt who appeared not to notice the rabbit as she pace up behind him, accompanied by the large frame of the badger.
"And here is our tame historian," Angus said, "Miss Hopps, allow me to introduce, Mister MacWilde."
Turning on the step, MacWilde gazed down into Judy's face, his intelligent, emerald eyes glistening as a smirk grew on his face. The fox jumped down from the ladder and landed lightly on his feet.
The rabbit reached out a paw. "A pleasure to meet you, Mister MacWilde."
Reaching down a little and taking the rabbit's soft paw in his, he spoke. "Please, Miss Hopps, call me Nick."
Judy smiled, warmly. "Well, well," she said, "you're not from the Highlands. You sound more like a Zootopian mammal to me."
The fox grinned. "How intuitive. And you, Miss rabbit, you were grown in the famous Hopps' family farm, I'd wager."
"Well done," she said, a smile growing, "I hear you planning a book?"
"Yes, Black Jamie, the thirteenth Laird of De'ath."
"Odd," the rabbit said, looking about, "I haven't seen his portrait about anywhere."
"Och, no," Angus said, "we're not very proud of him, Miss Hopps. No, Black Jame's portrait is where it belongs, in the dungeons."
"Dungeons?" Hopps asked.
"No self-respecting castle goes without dungeons, Hopps," Nick said, winking to her.
"Can I have a look at them?" the rabbit asked, "Only, one can do so much with dungeons."
"Och, I'm afraid ours are in a very poor state of disrepair. Ian's reluctant to let anyone go down there. Oh," he added, looking to the fox, "Miss Hopps here is our publicity consultant. We're planning to open the castle up to the public."
"Oh good," the fox said, "but meanwhile, I'd better be getting along with this book. I think I'll take a stroll out in the glen and wee, bonny banks and... oh, I don't need permission to fish in the loch from Mister No-fun, do I?"
"What kind of fishing," said Ian De'ath, appearing and entering the room suddenly from behind the fox who turned swiftly to face him.
"The fishing rod type," the fox said in reply.
"Just so long as you're not one of those Aqualung mammals. There was an armature frogman, a Newfoundland, who drowned in the loch last week. His body was found in the banks three miles from here."
The rabbit's eyes met the fox. "How tragic," she said, "what happened?"
"They say the mechanism on is Aqualung jammed," Ian said. "Still, whatever it was, there'll be no more diving in he loch - I've made my mind up about that - but I have no objection to rod and line and so, Mister MacWilde, I wish you luck."
"With fishing," the fox said, "I'll probably need it. Oh, Miss Hopps," he added, pacing towards her, "since we're here there's a book I'd like to recommend to you."
He paced until he was close to her, then took a large, red book from a shelf, "This one's a comprehensive history to Clan De'ath. Did you know Mary Queen of once refused to sleep here?" The fox dropped his voice to a level only a rabbit's ears could hear. "Did you also know that Newfoundland was four inches taller when he was dead than when he was alive? He'd been on the rack."
Judy's startled gaze rose to meet Nick's. He nodded, turned, and paced his way back out of the room. Ian De'ath watched him as he left. "Which room is for Miss Hopps, Angus?"
"Och, I thought the former McMagnus room. May I show it to you? I'm sorry we don't have anywhere more suited to your size, but this is the best we can do."
"Oh, don't worry," Judy said, "I'm sure it'll be fine. And thinks for being so hospitable, Mister De'ath."
The rabbit followed the much larger Angus out of the room, leaving only Ian to watch distrustfully after her as she left as he lent on the empty table which was once the centerpiece of the entire De'ath clan.
...
Outside, in the warmth of the sun, stood on the castle keep balcony, stood a dark-furred feline holding a pare of binoculars, and the tall, wide frame of McGnab.
"That's MacWilde," McGnab said, looking down at the figure of the fox as he walked out towards the main gait along the gravel path. "Where's he going?"
"A walk by the look of it," the feline said.
"Alright, Robert, keep an eye on him. Chief's orders."
"Aye, sir." The feline raised the binoculars to his eyes and watched as the figure of the fox knelt down at the edge of the loch. "Why, that's ridiculous," he said after a moment, "he's sailing a wee paper boat!"
"He's what?" McGnab said, snatching the binoculars from him. He raised them to his eyes, and saw the fox had placed an origami boat down into the water. Nick MacWilde watched the boat as slowly drifted down stream in the gentle and leisurely current. The fox's brow furrowed at just how slow and leisurely the current was.
"Alright, McKern," McGnab said, "I'll take up watch. You go and down to the basement and see if your brother is ready for tonight."
"Aye, McGnab," said Robert McKern, "everything should be in order."