Dawn broke, turning the rolling peeks and valleys of the Highlands, once again, back to their bright and merry-looking atmosphere, and the castle back to it's grand and stately demeanor.
The mote shone clearly in the early-morning sun which beamed in through the castle's windows and into the main dining hall. Upon the table of Clan De'ath, sat a bowl of thick and bitty oatmeal.
The spoon was raised to the users mouth, who grimaced as he swallowed down this rather repugnant breakfast. The spoonful was inserted into the meal a second time, but this time faltering on it's way towards the mouth, it's user, instead, just staring at the spoonful of slop, grimly.
Ian De'ath - sat at the head of the table, beside the breakfast-disliking figure, with his own bowl of sloppy oatmeal - lent towards the figure as he spoke. "Are you not enjoying your breakfast, MacWilde?"
The fox drew his attention hastily back from staring at his meal. "It's not exactly to my taste, I admit."
"So, you've noticed it to? Well you're right... there is not enough salt in it."
The fox squinted at the badger as he picked up a glass salt cellar and emptied half the contender into his dish.
"That's better, much better. Now, here you are," he added, passing it to Nick, "help yourself, and take plenty of it."
The fox looked down at his plate with speculation as he dithered in pouring salt over the contents, knowing full well salt wouldn't in any way improve the overall flavor. He was just about to tip a little into his porridge, when Angus De'ath strolled into the room with a third plate of oatmeal.
"Morning Ian," he said, sitting down beside the fox, "morning MacWilde."
"Morning," Nick said, taking this excuse to rid himself of the... "some salt?"
"Och, thanks," he said, pouring the other half of the salt cellar's contents over his breakfast. The fox stared with muted wonderment as he put a large spoonful into his mouth, apparently quite enjoying it.
"Beautiful morning," Angus said.
"How would you know?" Ian replied. "Twenty-seven minutes past eight, it's nearly lunchtime. Oh, by the way," he added, finishing his porridge, "insurance. This... this Miss Hopps woman of yours: does her company cover her against accident?"
The fox's ears pricked up straight.
"Because I will not be held responsible for any accident she has here - the way she goes traipsing about the place."
"Och, Ian," Angus muttered, "you certainly work hard at this 'unsociable Highlander' business, don't you? Look, Miss Hopps is perfectly capable of looking after herself. Where is she by the way?" he added, turning to Nick.
"Oh," he said, forcing a smile, "still in her room, I'd guess. You know what rabbit's are like: burrow down into the sheets of their bed and sleep half the day away."
"Aye," Angus chuckled, "and how about yourself? Did you pass a good night?"
"Thank you, yes."
"No disturbances?" Ian asked.
Wilde turned to the badger, a charming smile in place. "None that I noticed." Ian's brow started to furrow.
"Och, I think he means our ghost. He was aboard again, last night. I heard the sound of the pipes."
"Well, foxes may be partly nocturnal, but I've always been a very heavy sleeper."
Ian sat forwards, clasping his hands before him. "But you didn't notice anything? Anything at all?"
The fox's smile grew wider. "Only the bed."
"What about it?"
"It gave me claustrophobia. I spent the night in a chair."
"Hah," Angus bellowed, "I'm sorry to hear that, pall."
"Well," Ian said, dryly, "perhaps we'll be more successful with another room."
Nick's smile fell like a brick.
"Coffey, Mister MacWilde?"
"...thank you. Did you go to the dungeon last night?"
"Aye, as a matter of fact I did. You'll remember you expressed an interest in Black Jamie's portrait? Well, I've brought him up for you to see. Come, this way."
Nick stood, deserting his meal readily, as he followed Ian towards the other end of the room. The badger lifted a large portrait from behind a desk and placed it upon an easel.
"The light isn't very good here. Flick that lamp on, will you?"
The fox turned to an electric lantern next to him and flicked the switch. "How long has this castle been on the mains?"
"It isn't," Ian said, "we have our own diesel generator down in the stables." He turned the lamp towards the portrait, and shone the light upon the face of the board-shouldered and fierce-looking badger painted upon it.
"So, this is the famous 'Black Jamie'?"
"Famous?" Ian said, "Informants more like, thank you very much. If he has to be remembered, be sure he's remembered as the traitorous scum he is, MacWilde."
"Look at those eyes," Nick said, softly, "so fierce; so independent." He chuckled. "He must've been quite a character to meet, and not one to make yourself an enemy of."
"But you didn't hear him last night?"
"No. Does he give regular concerts?"
"No, no. Sometimes we hear him three times in the one week and then don't hear him again for another month."
"Strange, isn't it? They normally operate on a regular schedule: anniversaries, full moons and such."
"No... not Black Jamie."
The fox turned back to the painting of the badger, his eyes almost alive for the flame within them. "He certainly leaves an impression," Nick said.
"Aye. Well," Ian said, turning, "if you'll excuse me, we have work to do. Come along, Angus."
Nick waited until both De'ath's had left the room before standing and leaving his disappointing porridge where it was. He checked about himself carefully before crossing out into the corridor. He had work to be doing too.
...
The basement door rattled with the sound of a key being turned in the lock. Hearing the noise, the rabbit was startled from her light slumber on her make-shift bed and she lept to her feet, eager and alert as the lock clicked and the door began to swing open.
She armed herself with a long pare of heavy, iron pliers and did her best to conceal herself behind the steps of the staircase as she heard footsteps making their way down.
The figure descended the finale steps. The rabbit raised the pliers over her head. Around the banister of the staircase, the red figure of a fox stepped into view.
"Oh, Nick," Judy said, dropping her pliers and just hugging him instead, "it's you."
"Boy, Hopps," Nick said concernedly, pressing his paw against the rabbit's cheek, "you're freezing!"
"It's s-so damn c-cold down here."
"Come here, then," the fox said, dropping down onto his knees and wrapping his arms tightly around her... noticing her, somewhat lacking, clothes. He grinned. "You know, you're not exactly dressed for sleeping it rough in a drafty castle dungeon."
"This might surprise you," she said tersely, stepping back from the hug and stretching her back painfully, "but it wasn't all that intentional. I was locked in. And this thing," she said, kicking the rack, "wasn't designed for sleeping on."
"So, you had about as much of a restful night as I did?"
"How do you mean?"
"They told me to sleep in a different room. I didn't understand why at first but luckily it took me a while to nod off last night, and I was awake enough to notice there, erm... little joke."
"Little joke? What are you talking about?"
"A misunderstanding was all. I mean, all they wanted to do was press my best pare of boxers..." the rabbit squinted... "while I was still wearing them."
The rabbit's eyes widened.
...
In the main hall, Ian paced down the large staircase towards the courtyard, listening wherryly to Angus who was following him close behind.
"Well, a family tree of the clan. I think it's a good idea."
"The most reasonable I've heard so far," Ian said, dismissively.
"But I've got so much more we could do, like Son et lumière."
"You mean music and colored lights," he asked, flatly.
"Well why not? If it's good enough for the palace of Hollywood House it should be good enough for us."
"And what else have you got in mind? Saturday afternoon bowls in the courtyard if it's fine? Bingo in the main hall if it's not?"
"Exactly. The through had crossed my mind."
"Well you can forget it! As long as I'm the Laird, the public will stay outside of Castle De'ath."
Angus opened his mouth to retort, but Ian had had already turned and marched away down the corridor, leaving the badger to stare after him as he went.
...
The fox stepped from the basement, checking around him before pushing the door open and ushering the rabbit out.
"So what now," she asked quietly as they made towards the bedrooms.
"Well, for a start, we get you changed into something more sensible. Not that I see anything wrong with this," he added, smoothly.
"I mean after that," the rabbit said, pulling her gown just a little tighter around herself as she tried to keep as much of her privacy covered as possible. "I'm guessing things aren't too safe or us around here anymore."
The fox pushed the door open for the rabbit and she slipped in side, the fox following her into her bedroom and shutting the door behind. "No. You locked up all night, me destined to be made into burger meat, I think we've been rumbled."
"So what have you got in mind?" she said, slipping out of her gown.
"Some research, for you," he said, his head tilting and a small smile at the rabbits state of undress - wearing just her panties and a bra - before stepping behind a wall divider with a heavy blush to undress further.
"Anything in particular?" she asked, snapping him from his trance.
"The history of the castle. See if you can get some kind of original blueprints. I want to know exactly how many entrances to the East tower were blocked up when he was sent away."
"Why?"
"I think there's more behind these walls than just a ghost."
"Well, I'll see what I can find," she said, stepping out as she adjusted her fresh shirt and trousers. "And what are you going to do?"
He glanced to her, smiling. "I'm going fishing."
The rabbit turned to the fox sharply. "You mean while I'm sat about revising, you'll be off relaxing, fishing in the loch?"
"No. Not in the loch... in the mote."
Judy gazed at him, her brow furrowed. "But... there are no fish in the lock?"
