The Story of Gericault.
Chapter 1: Let's do this.
An old squirrel was sitting on the gatehouse steps at Redwall Abbey, Sitting back after his lunch. A group of dibbuns wandered up to him, curious, as always. A brave hare leveret, more curious than the rest, ventured a question:
"Who're you, sah?"
"I'm a friend of the Abbott." The squirrel answered promptly.
"That doesn't really answer my question, sah."
"You may call me Jerry. Tell me, are you looking for some trouble to get into?"
"No, sah, were upstanding` dibbuns, wot."
"Would you like a story?"
"Sounds boring. No offence sah. Just the ones we hear are boring, about good manners and the like."
"My stories are a wee bit better, young one."
The hare and the rest of the dibbuns looked apprehensive.
"What, you have something else to do today? Then go; don't listen to an old fool on these steps. No, not leaving? That is precisely what I thought."
"Gerron wif it." A mousebabe complained, shuffling his feet.
"Patience will serve you well in your life. You listen to the stories the Recorder tells you?"
"Everyone does, sir." Answered a polite otter.
"You all want to grow up to be like Martin?"
"Aye, sir."
"Well, quite a few of the fights Martin got in were won with the aid of patience."
"Sir?"
"Take him and Tsarmina for example. He could have rushed the fight, done it right when he and Gonff escaped. He may have won, with the element of surprise, but the odds were stacked against him, with only a slim dagger blade. No, he waited `till he learned more, fought more, and thought more. The experience, and his readiness, ensured the battle would go in his favor."
"I think I might understand, Sir."
"Well, I don't." chimed the impudent mouse.
"The irony is mouse, that to learn patience, you must BE patient."
"But that's borin`"
"Fine! Then I'll entertain you."
"Jerry" took a large swig of cordial and launched into his story.
*_Quite a few seasons prior_*
Gericault woke, being prodded by another squirrel.
"Gericault, wake up. It's a big day for you. Wait, never mind, just chores, hahahahaha."
"Thomas, I think I hate you."
"`Prolly."
Thomas, Gericault's older brother, pranced from his room with a silly smile on his face. It was HIS big day. Gericault was a fairly young squirrel, only ten seasons old; his brother was thirteen seasons old. His little brother had to stay home and look after the place while their parents took Thomas to his ceremony. Gericault didn't even know what it was about; just that he had to "mind the fort" as his father put it.
The "fort" was a cozy, buried house, the entrance was a tunnel burrowed under a fallen tree. A tree, that even when it was dead, required a little maintenance to keep the insects and termites from destroying it. This was easily done. Gericault tied a dock leaf over his mouth and nose, reached beneath the cupboard and retrieved a vial. It contained a substance that kept the termites and insects away. Also, it was a powerful hallucinogen. The slightest whiff could leave one huddled in a corner, seeing terrible things in a waking nightmare.
Gericault's father was an accomplished herbalist, and from the power of some of his concoctions, Gericault was really glad his dad knew what he was doing. Gericault took a twig with a bit of cloth around the end, dipped it in the vial, brought it out, then swiftly finished protecting the entrance, brushing the thick liquid it all over the log. Thank goodness it only had to be done once week. As he went in to put up the solution, he overheard a whispered order.
"Over here, cullies, I saw a squirrel."Gericault stopped everything, standing stock-still.
Vermin
"`Es gorra be `round here somewheres…"
Gericault listened intently, reaching for a kitchen knife.
"`Ey, I smell summat…"
He crouched, hidden inside the cusp of the fallen tree.
"It's the old tree, it's covered in some kinda sap."
"Damnit, quit dithering and find the squirrel!"Gericault sat still, kitchen knife forgotten as he covered his mouth with his paws to keep from laughing as he listened to the events unfold. He heard one of them sniffing at the log.
"Phaw, that is an awful pong!"
"You're an awful pong, now sharrap and keep looking."
"There's something over there!"
"What was it!""I think it was the squirrel.""Let's go get him!"
Gericault scrunched up as they leaped right over the log, over him, nobody looking back. If they did, Gericault would be seen. The one who had sniffed the tree, then pointed where he thought he had seen a squirrel, dazed now, stumbled over the log and fell. Nobody noticed, the rest of them too intent on finding their squirrel. Gericault leapt on him, giving him a sharp rap on the head with the handle of the kitchen knife. The stoat was out of it now, drooling as he was dragged into the house and bound and gagged. Gericault then washed his hands, put away the knife, and then, bounding to the top of a nearby tall pine, barked out a warning to all goodbeasts in the area to watch out for vermin.
Shortly, Thomas and their parents ran into the home. They found Gericault washing dishes, elbow deep in soapy water, while the vermin prisoner, bound and gagged, stared unblinkingly at his bonds as if they were snakes, which, to him, they might appear to be.
"Jerry! What have you done?" His father, the fastest to comprehend, questioned him.
"Sorry dad, thought you might want him." Gericault replied after drying his hands and replacing the last plate.
"What would I want with a crazy stoat?" His dad questioned, arms spread wide patronizingly.
"He's not crazy, just out of sorts. He sniffed our tree while your concoction was still fresh. None of his friends noticed his absence." Said Gericault, trying to explain before he was overwhelmed with questions by his brother and mother, who were about to ask questions of their own.
"Son, this is a vermin, one of the group that nearly ambushed and killed everyone at Thomas's ceremony, at first opportunity, he'll-"
"What ceremony was it anyways?" Gericault interrupted.
"You don't know?" His brother said, incredulously.
"None of you tell me anything. After dad caught me eavesdropping, I couldn't get any information."
"What about your friends." His mother asked, eyebrow raised.
"Have you seen my friends, ma? The nonexistent ones? You know there's nobody my age.""I thought they were just shy, or something…" His mom trailed off.
"Little Brother, they were congratulating me on blocking up part of the stream. Remember when everyone was getting sick? It was because the river went past this stagnant swamp. I took it into my own hands to dam the stream off from the swamp, which was causing the sickness."
"Really, Thomas? You're a hero!" Gericault was looking at his brother with respect and admiration.
"Well, seeing what you did just now, you're giving me a run for my money." His big brother complemented. Their parents were getting impatient, knowing they wouldn't get any information until Gericault knew what he needed to.
"I just dragged him in here and tied him up, dad's stuff did most of the work."
"Jerry, I'm not talking about him, though it was well done. You saved half the town's lives. You shouted the alarm just as they were gonna ambush us. Nobody was hurt."
"It's just what dad told me to do."
"Thanks son, but when I told you to sound the alarm for vermin, I don't remember saying "Also capture a stoat and tie him up in the kitchen if you get a chance." His father said, half admonishment, half sarcasm.
"Once again sorry, I thought he could help you with your work. Like a tester or something."
"Jerry, when you grow up, you will realize how wrong doing that would be. He is still another living creature. What if I gave him something that would dissolve his liver from the inside?" His father asked, turning his philosophical. Until, of course, ma interrupted.
"From the smell of his breath, that's already what he's been getting at. Some kind of grog."
"Quiet, he's coming around."
The stoat had chewed through the gag (a spare dishcloth), finally and his eyes were devoid of the haze and stupor that they were.
"You squirrels see the size of that snake. Nearly ate me."
Jerry's dad stepped in, reining in the whole situation. He might be an herbalist, but if you thought about it, you really, really shouldn't mess with an herbalist. An angry herbalist is a skilled poisoner; Gericault's dad was fond of saying.
"What's your name, Vermin?"
"None of your business."
"You sure? I can get the truth, if I'm so inclined…"
Gericault's dad opened a cupboard in full view and began going through vials, loudly listing well-known poisons that'd send a badger to his grave. The stoat gulped visibly.
"Okay, okay, it's Bane. Don't poison me."
"I'm sore tempted, stoat, after what your friends tried to do.""What'd they do?"
"They tried to ambush us. Would've killed half the village had my son not shouted the alarm."
"They wouldn't kill anyone. They're just hungry."
"Aye, they have a real thirst for killing."
"We couldn't get food once our swamp dried up and everything dried out." Bane explained.
"So they raid a peaceful village?"
"You would do the same, if you were in our place."
"Nay, I'd have managed without killing and robbing. You could have just resettled."
"My clan have lived there for many seasons. It's not possible. All we had to do was raid your village and bring the spoils back. Maybe could have got hostages to use for a steady food source." The stoat was surprisingly talkative after the scare Gericault's dad had given him.
"Tell me, what should I do with you."
"Lemme go?"
A small smile appeared around his eyes. "No, you tried to kill my entire family. My son when you were snooping around here, and your friends tried to kill the rest of us."
A small, sigh of despair from Bane was heard.
Thomas spoke, enlightening Bane a little.
"I apologize for your clan's hardship. I dammed the stream from your swamp because it was making our beasts sick."
Bane was looking intently at Thomas, who became a little apprehensive, though Bane was still tied securely, sitting on the floor.
"Tell me, when did your squirrels begin getting sick."
"A half season ago."
"What happened to `em?"
"At first they were throwing up, then they would go pale for a few days, while throwing up occasionally, then it would wear off."
"Kiddo, you have no idea how smart you were. You damming up the stream didn't cause our swamp to dry up. Don't blame yourself. It did save you squirrels though. Since we were further upstream, we got hit harder. They'd throw up and go pale, but usually on the fourth day, they'd die. We burnt our own clanmates for fear it was contagious. I burnt my best friend, for nothing, instead of givin` `im a proper burial. Turns out our swamp dried up because the ashes from the burned bodies killed the plants."
"Do you know where the sickness is coming from, Bane?" Gericault's dad asked, Bane's vermin status temporarily forgotten in this new development.
"No, sir, we don't, `gates, we were still getting sick until we figured out it was the water, just a week ago. My guess is though is it's washing downstream. We're getting our water from a shallow well we dug."
"Hmm. If we, say, helped you find and get rid of the sickness, would you leave our village alone?"
"Squirrel, if you got rid of the sickness, my entire clan would owe you a life-debt. We've lost so many, we'll do anything to prevent more deaths."
Gericault's entire family looked once at each other and then at Bane.
"Let's fix this."