Two chapters in under 24 hours. What can I say? It's a lazy Saturday. More power to me. Note to those who haven't read the last chapter: Read it first. Otherwise this won't make sense.

"Well," Abbot Havelock said, easing himself onto his bed, "that went better than I had hoped, even if every Abbeybeast present was insulted."

The otter was sprawled on the ground, staring at the ceiling. "They deserved it. Not sharing food with the poor, done-in travelers? What kind of Redwallers are these? Are you a mouse or an amoeba?"

"I'm not sure what that is."

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Laurie answered, putting a paw over his ice-blue eyes. "I learned quite a lot after my multitude of experiences prior to having to be locked up in here."

"Now, you know that's not true. No one's forcing you to stay; in fact, most beasts here would prefer it if they never saw you again."

"Yeah," the crippled otter snorted, taking the paw away from his face to scowl at the Abbot. "I'll just limp out into Mossflower and smack down anybeast what attacks me with my cane, right?"

Abbot Havelock pulled a book from his nightstand and opened it, carefully turning pages with one finger. "I'm sure an escort could be arranged."

"Walking hurts. I don't have anywhere to go."

"Then stop complaining."

A knock on the door put the conversation to an end. A small, thin otter poked his head in, looking worried. Havelock sighed and put his book down. "Yes, Rolf?"

"Beggin' yore pardon, Abbot, but a Dibbun's gone missing."

The Abbot calmly replaced the book on the table and walked to the door, glancing back at Laurie. "Coming?"

"Don't be ridiculous," the otter said, still lying unmoving on the floor. "I'm crippled."

Havelock snorted and left.

"Well," said Bayrd, wrapping his tail around his shoulders to keep warm, "that was one of the better naps I've had, even if it's bloody freezing in here."

The vermin were lolling around in various states of post-slumber laziness. Lennartney lay atop a trio of barrels, tuning his lyre while the rats and weasels, unsurprisingly, had begun another game of poker. Coldbare was teaching Snake-eyes magic tricks.

"Aye," Lennartney said, shrugging his thin shoulders. "Better than jail."

"It kind of is jail," the fox said. "It's not like we can leave."

"But the food…"

"Ah, yes. The food." Bayrd sighed, staggered upright, and slouched against the barrels. "You think we can bust these open and get to whatever's inside?"

"I'd advise against't."

"Yeah…"

They sat in silence for a while, watching Coldbare produce a stick out of thin air. "The ferrets really stepped up last night, didn't they?" Bayrd asked, more as a statement than a question. Lenn nodded.

"Bayrd, what're we gonna do?"

Another sigh. "Dunno. We are trapped here. The coast is a long ways away and we don't have a ship to get us to Darkten's island. Hell, we'll have a hard time sailin' a ship big enough to get there, just the eight of us. Probably less, since the Long Patrol is waiting out there to shoot us as soon as we poke our heads out of the Abbey. We'd need to get more vermin—excuse me, beasts of lesser "nobility"—from Mossflower 'fore we tried to get to sea…and we'd have to steal a ship…it won't be easy. Really, what we need is for the Redwallers to take us into Mossflower just so we can look around, find out where vermin'll be hiding…"

The cellar door opened and five otters stepped inside, Skipper at their head. "Fox," he growled. "Follow us."

Bayrd, with some effort, straightened up and strolled up to the burly otter. "Is there a reason for this, or is dinner served again already?"

"No backtalk from you, fox," one of them began, but Skipper cut them off.

"We can't find one of the Dibbuns, a mouse named Matthew. Coincidently, you all showed up right before he disappeared."

Floating on a leaky life raft in the oceans of suspicion, Bayrd had an idea: a doozy, a humdinger, a "Damn, I'm brilliant!" sort of idea that hit you over the head like a ton of rectangular building things.

"Yanko 'n' Fenroy," he shouted. The rats immediately left their card game and flanked him. "Follow us. Lead on, otter."

"They stole my baby!"

"Who let these vermin in here in the first place, eh?"

"Throw 'em to the Guosim!"

"Nah, to the Long Patrol!"

"We don't want their kind here!"

"For the love of all that is holy!" Bayrd roared. "Shut up, will yer?"

The throng of angry Redwallers did, in fact, shut up. They wouldn't stay quiet for long, though. They were only speechless because they were so outraged. How dare a vermin tell me to shut up, fwah fwah fwah. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abbot Havelock emerge from a corridor and walk towards the group.

"First off, we haven't been here long enough to plot to steal the silverware, much less steal a living, breathing mousebabe. Ya got me? If I had to guess, I'd say that the Dibbun is either hiding in an attic or he got out of the Abbey when the hares—" he paused for a moment to mentally curse all hares. "—When the hares came. I assume you've all searched every crook and nanny, so 'e must be in Mossflower."

"Nook and cranny, I believe," Havelock murmured in the fox's triangular ear as he approached. The Abbot walked past and stood in front of his Redwallers. "I suspect that Bayrd is right. I've already told you all that I believe this fox is telling the truth. As you yourself said, Brother Wentworth, it would be the work of a moment to throw the vermin out. There are over a hundred of us and only eight of them. Calm yourselves."

Brother Wentworth, an overweight dormouse, folded his arms on top of his habit-stretching stomach. "Perhaps, Father, but I still believe this is no coincidence."

"That's fine, that's fine," Bayrd said before Havelock could respond, waving a paw dismissively. "Hundreds of seasons of vermin being, well, vermin…I see where you're coming from. But, to prove to you goodbeasts that I and my crew had nothing to do with young Mark's—"

"Matthew."

"—Matthew's disappearance, I will take these two strapping young rats with me into Mossflower to look for the babe."

"Oh, right," said a squirrel—it looked like Lipwig, only thinner and more curvy. His sister? Aye, most likely. Lipwig was standing beside her, arms folded, gazing at the fox. "We'll let you go into Mossflower to talk to the kidnappers and work out how much ransom money you want? I don't think so!"

Shouts of agreement rang out. Abbot Havelock raised a thin hand, calming them. "A valid point, Hibiscus."

"Don't call me that, Father," she said, flushing slightly. "Just Bisk."

"Of course. How silly of me to forget that. You and young Lipwig may go with Bayrd and Yanko to search part of Mossflower. Skipper, send three otters to go with…Fenroy, correct? Yes. And the fox and rats will not be given weapons. Are we agreed? Good. I believe it is time for lunch. Friar Schwartz, get cracking in those kitchens, won't you?"

"I can't believe he paired us with you," Bisk hissed, traipsing through Mossflower's undergrowth. Bayrd chuckled in response. He had already told Yanko to keep his trap shut, so this squirrel lady was about to get 100 smooth talking.

"I'm by far the most talkative and intelligent of the lot," Bayrd said, smiling roguishly. "You're lucky you got paired with me."

"Are you trying to butter up my sister?" Lipwig asked from behind him. The squirrel carried a javelin in one hand and the air of someone that knew how to skewer beasts in the other. Bayrd decided it'd be better not to tell Lipwig that his sister was extremely pretty. The Redwallers, unlike most vermin, might not take to cross-species lusting, even if vermin still only married (if ever) within their own species.

"There's no need to be crude," Bayrd said smoothly. "I'm just a friendly fox."

"My arse," said Bisk. Strong-willed, too.

"There's no need to be crude," he repeated. "Maxwell!"

"His name's Matthew," Lipwig muttered.

"Yeah, that's what I meant."

It had been an hour and a half. They had gone north into the woods while the otters and Fenroy had gone south and a third group of otters had stayed in the forest closer to Redwall to search. So far, no luck on the northern front. Bayrd was still nervous about the Long patrol, but he was relatively certain they wouldn't attack while he was with the two squirrels. Probably. Hopefully. With luck.

He really, really wished he had his sword…

"Did you hear that?" Yanko asked, breaking his vow of silence. The fox cocked his ears and stopped moving.

"Shh…"

He heard it that time. A rustling in the underbrush. "Matthew?" Bisk called uncertainly, gripping her own javelin. No answer.

"Check it out, Yanks," Bayrd urged.

"Me? Why me?"

"You've got more muscle than I do."

"Why can't the squirrels do it?"

"We'll back you up," Lipwig assured him.

Yanko heaved a sigh and cautiously crept forward towards a line of tall bushes. Bayrd felt his heart thumping in his chest. His tail twitched; he quietly picked up a rock and hid it behind his back. After what seemed like eternity, the searat reached the bushes and cautiously pulled them apart.

A blade ripped out of the underbrush and cut his head off. Blood, twigs, and his head flew through the air. Bisk sceamed, shoved Bayrd forward, and took off back towards the road. Lipwig was already gone.

"Oh, fuckberries!"

The fox hit the ground, which was why the second swing of the axe was well over his head.

He propelled himself up and sent an uppercut into his attacker's face. The creature yelped and fell backwards. Bayrd threw the rock at the creature; it hit his chest and bounced off of a hard sheet of iron armor.

The axe swung upwards and nearly took off Bayrd's outstretched arm. The fox grabbed the axe handle as it drew near, yanked it out of the attacker's grasp and raised it up to cut the bastard from crown to crotch.

Stars exploded in his eyes and he blacked out.

Oh, not agai—