Always wanted to do a Redwall fanfic (Redwall copywrite Brian Jaques I assume, not me anyways) and, since I had nothing to do today, thought I'd give it a bash.
Notes: This is definately probably not connon – a grittier, darker Mossflower, there is heightened security at the abbey from what the books display, more human animals (I hope – I get so irked by the black and white characters of the actual series (how much of a dissapointment was Outcast?! Bang goes the whole nature/nurture debate of the redwall universe)). In case any one cares – there was a beaver in a redwall novel once (can't remember which) and I wished to use one here because I'm excited that beavers have been mating in the wild in Britain again :3 huzzah!
Oh, and forgive any gaping plot holes/shifting perspective/incontinuities of tense/rubbish characters. That said – Enjoy!
"Words, words, words." Muttered Kale, fiddling irritably with his quill whilst staring out of the dusty, filtered window.
"Is there a problem, Kale?" Recorder Arystwyth looked sharply in his pupil's direction as the small class tittered around them.
"No brother." Kale swiftly snapped back to attention. The tetchy old recorder was notorious for his tenacity when it came to discipline.
The old beaver began walking slowly towards the small field mouse whose tail began twitching nervously from side to side. "Strange, I'm sure I heard you say something...?"
Kale opened his mouth to deny it again when there came a small cough from behind him followed by a familiar but surprising voice saying: "It was me." He didn't need to turn around to know that that voice belonged to the head of the class, resident know-it-all Howarth; Kale's long-term rival and the last person he would expect to take a fall for him.
"Was it now?" The recorder was clearly sceptical but incapable of refusing a pupil actually owning up to trouble. "Then, novice Howarth, you can remain behind at the end and explain to me what was so important that you felt the need to disrupt my class."
The rest of the class passed in silence.
It wasn't until Kale was sat down for the evening meal in cavern hole when he saw Howarth again. He watched as the mole sheepishly sidled in through the door and helped himself to a pot of stew left by the servers for latecomers. He shuffled over to make room for his rival who took the hint and sat next to him.
"What do you want?"
Howarth simply smiled and broke off a chunk of nutbread from the basket nearest them. "Really, brother, why ever would I want something from you?"
"Don't give me that." Kale muttered, keeping his voice low to avoid unwanted attention. The other creatures were all chatting and laughing gaily but Kale knew how quickly they could pick up on an argument. "No beast willingly takes a punishment from 'Twyth, not unless he's got 'is own reasons."
Howarth said nothing but continued smiling. Kale drained the last dregs from his bowl and stood up forcefully. "Well, if you don't want anything, I'll take my leave, thanks."
"I'm planning something, tonight." Kale had to lean down slightly to catch the rest as his rival got quieter and quieter, "Don't sleep, I'll wake you at midnight."
They took their chance to sneak out of the dormitory as the great bells tolled to mark the darkest hour. They crept in silence down the winding stairs and scuttled across the great hall like thieves. Howarth led them to the oaken door that stood down a small stairwell on one side of the deserted space. He began patting his tunic, looking for something, and getting more and more frantic as it didn't turn up. Kale was already fed up of this venture. He and Howarth hadn't spoken since evening meal and he was starting to wish he'd taken the punishment off old Arystwyth instead.
"Looking for this?" A sweet, churlish voice rang out behind them, making them jump as it echoed round the cavernous stone walls.
"Abigail!" Exclaimed Kale watching slightly bemused as the tiny squirrel bounced up and down, dancing with the dust motes that swirled in shafts of moonlight streaming from the windows.
"Shhh!" Howarth glared angrily at both of them. "Abi," he hissed, "what do you think your doing?"
"I figured you'd need this!" She held up an old rusted key, "Since you went to all the trouble of stealing it!" She poked a small tongue out and leapt gracefully out the way as Howarth made a lunge for it. Kale recognised it as one of the spare keys kept by the elder brothers who were in charge of locking up the abbey at night in case of wondering young ones, such as themselves. He had to admit he was surprised at Howarth, he could never have imagined the fastidiously rule abiding, studious mole stealing anything.
"Give it back, Abi." Howarth held a paw out pleadingly, "Come on, I don't have time for games."
"No." She squeaked, folding her arms resolutely and grinning infuriatingly as the other two winced.
"Please!" He whispered.
"Well... All right. But!" Howarth eyed her suspiciously. "I get to come to!"
"No." Howarth refused outright.
"Please, Abi, we'll get caught." Kale interjected.
Abi gave a nonchalant shrug and, balancing the key on her nose, wondered off back towards the staircase leading to the dormitories. They exchanged glances.
"Fine," Said Howarth.
"But no talking." Kale agreed.
"Or... acrobatics." Howarth finished.
Within a bound she was at the door and turning the key in the lock with a satisfying 'click'.
The three miscreants sheltered behind a bush, away from the solitary pair of eyes that made up the night watch, slowly patrolling the outer wall.
"So what's this all about?" Kale could remain quiet no longer.
"I need a book." Kale looked at him incredulously. Abigail played with a beetle disinterestedly. Howarth held up a paw before Kale could complain.
"Let me explain. It's a recording. Summer of the rat." Kale shrugged, perplexed, until Howarth continued, "It's the season I arrived, long before you came."
Kale listened, intrigued. Though they were both roughly the same age, Kale had never felt anything in common with Howarth. They were both so different and had never gotten along. He realised now that, apart from his name and his fondness for all things academic, he knew nothing of his rivals past nor his thoughts.
"Howarth wants his parents, Howarth wants his parents!" Abi chanted to herself in a singsong voice.
"What do you know?" Howarth asked accusingly, giving her tail a sharp pull.
"I was here first, y'know!" She replied, cuddling her tail to herself "I remember, even though I was only a babe!"
"Do not." He argued.
"Do too. I remember your folks came a-knocking at the gate, you was just a dibbun and they left you here."
"They didn't!" Kale exclaimed wide-eyed, genuinely shocked at the thought of a creature just abandoning their offspring.
"Did." Sulked Abi.
"It wasn't like that." Howarth replied, "I remember it too, you know. I remember my mother giving a letter to old Holburn. He was recorder back then." He added at Kale's inquisitive glance. "I have to know what that letter says."
"I guess that's where we come in." Kale surmised.
"Who said anything about we?" Abi was still sulking.
"No one asked you to come anyway." Snapped Howarth, "Kale, I need you to help me. Arystwyth leaves his window open at night – I need you to climb in and open the door for me so I can have a look for the tome while you keep an eye on him."
"Won't 'Twyth notice if it's missing?"
"Don't be an idiot. Arystwyth has enough trouble with his own recordings, never mind those scribed seasons ago. Come on, let's go."
Kale stared wide-eyed at the sleeping recorder. The mouth was swung open and both drool and a slight rasping snore emitted from the gaping cavern within.
"He's just as scary when he's asleep." He muttered to Howarth who headed towards the study where the recordings were kept.
"Hist! Just think what he'll do if he wakes and finds us a-creeping in his room! Just make that cricket noise if he stirs to much."
"Right-o. But please do hurry!"
Kale's ears twitched at every slight scuffle from the recording room, every breeze that creaked the open window frame, but his eyes remained fixated on that gaping mouth. He felt like he had been standing there for hours but only minutes could have passed before a small voice said at his shoulder, "Wa-oh, he's just as scary when he's asleep!"
Kale froze, waiting with closed eyes until his heart stopped racing. He opened them again "I thought you weren't coming?"
"I changed my mind." The incorrigible squirrel slowly waltzed closer to the grey whiskered beaver.
"Don't!" Hissed Kale making a half motion to stop her but knowing he could never catch her. She giggled instead and crept closer. A floorboard creaked beneath her paws and they both took a sharp intake of breath. A breath filled with dust. Kale saw Abigail looked at him in shock as he gave one great, hacking cough.
Howarth gave a small satisfied smile as he gazed on the shelves upon shelves of recordings. Huge bound tomes detailing the events that occurred over the many cycles of seasons that the abbey of Redwall had lived through. He was glad that he knew exactly when he was looking for, it could take a beast seasons to look through it all. He could hear no sound from the other room and so approached where the most recent volumes were stored. This was easy enough to work out. Left was dust and cobwebs. Right was new binding and only a thin coating of dust.
Howarth counted back seven volumes and slowly, ever so slowly pulled it out. He lovingly opened the cover and smiled as he read 'Sumere off the Ratt' inscribed on the title page. He started to leaf through the pages, trying his hardest not to let his mind wonder from the task at hand as his eyes skimmed the pages trying to find any reference to him or his family. He froze as a loud cough came from the other room. It was followed a few seconds later by Kale's cricket impression before it was interrupted by a scream and Kale crying "Howarth! Help!"
"Abi!" Howarth exclaimed as he burst into the room, volume clasped to his chest. The old beaver had grasped the squirming squirrel by her arm and was advancing towards the twitching mouse, who was seemingly frozen to the spot. The recorder's head snapped to see who the latest rabble-rouser to disturb his sleep was.
"Oh Howarth," he grumbled, "I am surprised at you. What's...? Just hand me the book..." he held out one of his massive paws and began advancing on his star pupil who just held the book tighter "and I'll let all three of you go."
Kale glanced from one to the other, both staring resolutely and not giving an inch, and then at poor Abigail, stuck in the middle. She had never really been in trouble before. Orphaned when only a babe, the redwallers had taken her in and tended to turn a blind eye to her minor transgressions in return for her light and sprightly manner, although she had become somewhat spoiled as a result.
"Enough games!" The recorder snapped and began marching towards the mole "Those tomes are forbidden to you!" Without thinking, Kale's paw instinctively grasped the first thing it came to – a heavy brass candlestick. He leaped at the beaver and saw his arm as if in slow motion as it swung down on the recorders unprotected head.
Silence. A heavy thud as the brass hit the floor and rolled beneath the bed. The three youngsters looked at each other. Howarth, still as the grave; Abi with tears rolling down her usually smiling cheeks; Kale whose breath came in and out so quickly and sharply, in and out.
Without a word, they fled.