Chapter Five

Chapter Five

"Well, my friends, it's up to you; I am behind you like a stone wall."

–DSCH

They say that what you don't know can't hurt you. They say that ignorance is bliss. Well that's true enough for a free beast and an innocent one. But there are really precious few of those in the world. Perhaps my being a servant made me guilty of something, but that matters not. My point is that I was hurting enough while knowing nothing beyond my own direct situation. So what could a little more pain be if something could be gained before the impact was felt? Pride comes before a fall, they'll also tell you. I hate those cliches, they seldom apply. But for that last one, one of those rare times. When you know more, so much more becomes clear to you, you can do so much more. Pride and personal success–or success of art–can be magnified. But tied in, almost in a law or equation, the fall afterwards will hurt more. I can assure you I'll come to that part, dwell long enough on it, spend much more time on my hurts later on. And so for now, I drop it in words. I'll never drop it mentally, but that needn't affect you.

The creature that threw open the window in my study, so to speak, was, of course, Volklov Varzar. We met daily in the old music room to discuss the programs of "forbidden" concerts. I would look at the old things Volklov recovered from the dusty shelves; he would glance over and comment on my creations, sometimes as soon as the ink was literally wet on the page. And then he'd immediately program the piece into a set of others, based on themes of title or tonality. He came up with many themes; we determined enough programs to run a concert series a season long. At least. But for our planning, I felt it necessary to express a fact that had been obvious to me, if not to the big enthusiastic wolf. "You know, they'll never let any of this be played. There's nobody to play it, and nowhere. If we could, if there was, they'd still never let it be played."

Volklov looked up at me from his own scribbling, face a mask of exaggerated tragedy. "Really?" And he suddenly snapped to his normal expression of good humor, amber eyes twinkling something mischievous. "That's what you think."

When he said that, I was thinking he was going to get us both killed.

There were many things forbidden to do in Mtsensk. Leaving the grounds was one of them. True, once you performed the act you weren't in Mtsensk anymore and the rules were gone, but the act of crossing the gate could be controlled; that should have been the deed listed as wrong. Either definition you choose, Volklov Varzar blatantly dragged me into violating it. If one wants details, our being in the old music room was against Zlaya's rules as well, so what's another sin? The two were tied together, you could almost call them the same.

I was led rather blindly through the back halls of Mtsensk and out. I don't recall where we left from or how we got out. It was dark, we were moving quickly. I could also tell you nothing more of what route Volklov had in mind, other than it was pitch black in night, wooded, and the travel along it was swift. I would liken it to a night escape to freedom like one reads about in stories, except that we eventually returned to where we came from. And the route was little clearer to me, even in light.

Ah, I'm getting ahead of myself, or I'm running away from the storyline itself. It may seem like another long tangent to go on when I say I'm not the most physically fit creature in the woods, but in fact it's more relevant. A beast who sits and plays or writes music all day cannot be expected to be very fit. I'm scrawny, my breath runs out quickly. I don't know, to tell you the truth, how Volklov's breath didn't leave him as he made me follow at an uncomfortably swift pace for no less than five miles. Perhaps that was the nature and physique of his species assisting. My species must have no such aid, for the instant I was forced stumbling through the door of a small building, I literally collapsed on the floor and fell immediately asleep.

The amount of light in the morning woke me, and I immediately knew I wasn't in Mtsensk. There was a window in my room there, but it was small, it didn't let in nearly as much light as hit me that morning. Light is generally associated with good things, but I felt worried at that conspicuous reminder of a broken rule. It was still very early in the morning, though, and so my concern was a drowsy one. The instinct to make myself presentable in the morning rode over it, as I stumbled down another well-windowlit hall to eventually come to a lavatory. Splashing water onto one's face is generally an effective way to wake up, but peering down into the tub that morning proved an even better way before I even wet my paws. Lazily swishing in what was undoubtedly the washtub were two large, unattractive fish. I need not tell you they startled me, though I cannot quite write my actual recollection of the feeling again. There is no word, I'm positive, to describe how it feels to be staring two fish in the face upon just waking up. Alarm only begins to cover it, but I darted out of the lavatory in a state of that, down the hall to halt abruptly. Standing before me were Volklov and two big otters, not at all helping my state of mind. "What have you got in there?" I panted.

The slightly smaller of the two otters, who appeared to have a large scar on the left side of his neck, knew exactly what I was referring to. "Oh, that's our aquarium," he explained with a grin.

The other otter and Volklov grinned simultaneously, as if the first was a conductor cuing them. "Mitya, I'd like you to meet Venyamin and Evgeny Sobareka." Volklov indicated with a broad sweep of his paw before returning to his broad grin.

I gazed back at him, still appearing disconcerted, I'm sure. "You're telling me this why? Why are we here?"

Volklov's expression snapped from a grin to something less frozen, as it was so prone to do. "No, I guess you don't know about them, do you? If you didn't know about what happened at Mtsensk...akh. I'm sorry. Evgeny here's a singer, and Venyamin's a world-class violinist. Zlaya's decree's holding them back, too."

"Volklov showed us some of yer manuscripts, Mitya," Venyamin, the smaller of the two otters, told me, patting a pile of papers on the table behind him. Although I didn't consider it then, it occurred to me later that the mark on his neck was not a scar but a callous from his violin rubbing against it when he played.

Evgeny's distinguishing characteristic was his musical voice, demonstrated to me when he said, "If y' don't mind, we'd like to bring this into our musical circle."

I immediately thought I'd like to write a set of songs for his voice range, but that was more of a reflex thought. Those happen to all composers, I think. More on the matter, I actually told him, "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." And I repeated the phrase convulsively.

"We'll be able to get your pieces played, matey. There's enough of us under other occupations to make an orchestra, an' a large one at that. Granted y'may not hear the concert y'self, an' I'm sorry about that, but your music'll be played in places hopef'lly beyond wherever Zlaya'll stretch er clutches."

Evgeny seemed quite pleased about his organization, but I still had my doubts and concerns. I knew about places beyond where I'd actually been, but I wasn't quite sure where Zlaya's holdings ended and the free world began. I think that if I'd asked someone with the authority to know exactly that, Zlaya would have taken a hint–Oh, new territory! Let's go and conquer it!

"Places hopefully well beyond," Venyamin supplied. "Places like Ruddaring, the Western Plains, Southsward, Redwall."

"Redwall?" I'd heard of the place only in stories at that point. I'm sure that may shock you, but distances can be large and well closed off under a dictator.

"I hope you don't mind my offering your music up like that." Volklov moved from between Evgeny and Venyamin to my side. "I just knew that it needed to be played. Redwall's a good place for that. You may not get to hear the concert, I repeat, but appreciative beasts will. These fellows have pulled concerts like that for other composers. And the Redwallers have always wanted to meet the composer. They'll want to meet you. I hope you don't mind missing that fame..."

"I don't mind, you know. I don't mind at all." The concept of a large crowd rendering me famous made me nervous. It still does; I still try to slip out of concerts as soon as I can to avoid that. "Just so long as they do hear the music, just so long as they do." That mattered, matters much more to me.

"Wonderful!" I don't recall whether it was Evgeny, Venyamin, or Volklov who made the exclamation (nor are any other quotes in dialogue exact), but I understand they felt unanimously.

"And so Zlaya sees, suspects nothing," I added, glancing out the window at the still-increasing daylight. "She has to find out nothing." My glance turned to Volklov then. I hoped he knew the time as well as I did. The odds were good that Zlaya would find something out before any concert could be organized if we stayed out longer. I think about it now and my feeling of dread returns.

Volklov was always good at catching on to things. A fortunate attribute, as he announced our departure. "Mitya has a point there, and a good one. We should take it. He'd be on call at two places, then, Redwall and Zlaya's hall at Mtsensk."

"But aren't you goin' to stay for brunch?" Venyamin inquired with a wink in my direction. "We're havin' fish!"

Volklov and I made our exit, and he once again pulled me down a landmark-barren green trail. My immediate concentration at that speed was on breathing, but I still felt jittery about leaving the whole fragile issue to the Sobareka brothers. It was not that I distrusted them; they seemed very steadfast. It was Zlaya, as always, that worried me.

We returned to Mtsensk's interior from the side, as if we'd been simply strolling the grounds. Only to be met by Marshal Raikh, who did not help my breathless discombobluation. "Nobody knows anything now; go and play, Shostak."

My unpleasant interpretation of the rat's words forced me to play only the happiest of obnoxious little pieces that evening. It's amazing what fear can produce. I never want to hear those pieces again.