CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Colonel Clewiston had had a long night.

With his schedule once again turned topsy-turvy - as it had so many times this season - the Long Patrol commander found himself making breakfast his dinner, then heading down to the hare tunnels to catch at least a few hours of sleep before events called him back to duty once more. While the rest of Redwall got their day fully underway, finishing the morning meal and moving on to their daily chores and pursuits, he hoped to be sinking into rejuvenating slumbers.

Not without first, however, spending a few happy moments of quality time with one of the newest leverets of the warrens.

"Hey, Mel," he called out to his wife in the adjoining chamber as he dandled little Thimbleberry upon his knee on the side of their bed, "remind me again, wot 'xactly my relationship with this tiny tyke is?"

"Same as Chevelle's," she responded. "We've been over this how many times? He's Mizzy's son, an' you married Mizzy's mum - me - which makes you Mizzy's stepdad, and therefore Thimby's step-granddad."

Clewiston bristled at this notion, just as he always did. "I'm not ready to be a grandpa yet, Mel, or even a step-grandpa. Not enough seasons under my bally belt, don'tcha know. Tho', on morns like these after pullin' an all-nighter, I do feel my age more'n I care to admit."

"You must, if you can't even keep your familial relations straight! An' Thimbleberry's a simple one; imagine wot it'll be like for Chevelle an' Faylona growin' up havin' an uncle who's younger'n they are!" Melanie stepped into the bedchamber, straightening her tunic and patting her ears down to their tips to make sure the fur on them was all running the same way. "At least you'll be able to catch your forty winks down here while I'm up topside on day rotation. Kinda envious, t' tell the truth."

"Envious? You try standin' watch all night with those ratfaces shadowin' your ev'ry bally step. Think they were helpin' us guard th' wallgates, did they? More like makin' bloody nuisances of themselves - an' when are they gonna get it through their ugly skulls that we're standin' watch as much against them as we are those bushtailed, treejumpin' devils outside?"

"A touch of obtuseness on their part might be a good thing on that score," Melanie offered. "If they're genuine, it'll make 'em less tense not knowin' how close we're watchin' 'em, an' if they mean ill, they'll be less ready for us to come down on 'em like a forge hammer when they start trouble."

Clewiston chuckled. "Forge hammer. I like that, I jolly well do. Lord Urthfist woulda too." He gave Thimbleberry a few more bounces on his knee, calling forth a new round of delighted gurgles and titters from his step-grandson. "Bad enuff we gotta take in an' shelter such scumnoses on principle, but now Wink's teaching their snagglefanged whelps like they were our own Abbey young! Wot's th' blinkin' deal with that?"

"It keeps them occupied and out of trouble, Clewy - just like Redwall classes have always done for the rambunctious youths among us. Be honest, have any of those ratty lads 'n' lasses given us one tenth the grief Droge and Budsock have with their merciless pranks? Or Vanessa lately, come to think of it? Gotta face th' bally fact that these rats might not be going anywhere anytime soon, so may's well expose 'em to a little Abbey history an' learnin' while they're with us, wot? Who knows - mebbe some of it'll stick."

Clewiston snorted. "All I c'n say is, when it comes time for any of our leverets to attend Abbey school, I hope Wink's not still foistin' off his duties on young Cyrus in order to keep wastin' his efforts on a bunch o' frazzle-whiskered rockheads - our hares deserve more'n Redwall's second-string upbringin'."

"Now now, Cyrus is doing a wonderful job, from wot I hear," Melanie countered. "I'm sure our levs would do just fine with him as their instructor."

"Pah. He's still an apprentice; Wink's th' master."

"Uh huh. And not three seasons ago, Wink was the apprentice under Geoff, who wasn't even Abbot yet. It all comes around, Clewy."

"I s'pose. But seasons help us if little Chevvy, Fay, Troy 'n' Lyss end up havin' to share a classroom with any ratbottoms. Rather have Cyrus teachin' 'em than Wink forcin' 'em to rub shoulders with unsavory vermin types. Let's hope it never comes to that, wot?"

Melanie gave her husband an affectionate but prim stare. "Vermin types? Need I remind you that our levs' favorite playmate happens to be a ferret?"

Clewiston cried foul at this. "Hey, not a fair comparison there! Apples an' acorns, apples an' acorns! Little Percy's had th' benefit of a partial Redwall upbringin', don'tcha know. Born here, exposed to th' proper elements right from th' start - not t' mention his dad's a former officer, even if it was for the other side. That tyke's got a chance. These rats, who knows who they really are, or where they came from? Horde rabble - I'd say they've got far more of an uphill climb ahead of them than Percival does!"

A soft rapping on the outer door made all three hares, even young Thimbleberry, cast their gazes that way. "Expectin' anybeast?" Melanie asked.

"Only the Sandhare, t' sprinkle sleep inta these tired eyes. But that chap's usually quieter than that."

Melanie crossed to the door and opened it to reveal Alexander standing in the passage without, quite alone. "Hullo, Alex. What brings you down to our level?"

"I was hoping for a few words with the Colonel, if he can spare me a few moments."

"He's rather tired, having stood watch all night. He was just about to turn in, in fact."

"S'all right, Mel." Clewiston waved for the squirrel to enter. "Alex here's been up all night too. I should know, since we ran into each other a few times durin' our respective rounds. If he c'n keep his weary peepers propped open for a few words with me, I can jolly well keep up with him, wot?"

"Very well." Melanie lifted Thimbleberry from her husband's lap and set him on the floor, taking him by the paw and guiding him totteringly toward the hallway. "Well, I've got watch duty now, so let me just drop little Thimbs here off with Givvie in the nursery, an' I'll let you two malebeasts jaw on about wotever it is needs discussin'."

After Mel and her grandson were gone, Alex was left smiling warmly. "Walking now, is he?"

"Very nearly, chap. Another day or three, an' he may not even need his mum's paw for steadyin'. An' after that, it'll be Givvie's second, Evelliard, who'll be linin' up for the chasin'. A fine brood we've got comin' up, with more always on th' way, seasons willing."

"You and Mel trying for any more?"

Clewiston gave a wry smirk. "Not plannin' on anything, Alex. At our ages, Lyss may well end up bein' our first an' last. It's up to nature now. If another comes our way, we certainly won't turn it down!"

"No, I suppose not." Alex helped himself to the small hassock opposite the bed where Clewiston say. "About why I came - I really wasn't sure whether to approach you or Traveller. Just which one of you is officially in charge of the Long Patrol these days anyway?"

"He made it clear t' me after all those ratfaces were let in that he'd only pulled rank to get done wot needed t' get done. We've reached tacit accommodations since: day t' day command of the Patrols 're back to me, but he'll invoke his seniority anytime he feels he must."

"Make sense. But I wanted to speak with one of you in private, if not both of you together, and since he's up on watch now ... "

"That leaves me. Wot's on your mind, Alex?"

"Well, there's no easy way to dance up to it, so I'll just come out and say it." Alexander's gaze met the Colonel's with dead earnest. "I think you Long Patrol may have been right about Urthblood all along. I think he may be Redwall's enemy."

"Oh ho. An' how does Mrs. Alexander feel about this revelation of yours?"

"We haven't discussed it. We're not talking about much of anything these days."

"Ah. That's a rotter, an' you do have my sympathies on that score. But still, better to have your eyes opened to an unwelcome truth than be hoodwinked an' jolly well oblivious, wot? Tho', lots of Redwallers lately 're havin' second an' third thoughts about that big red brute, wot with wot's been goin' on outside our walls, an' Wink's insistence that His Bloodiness an' Martin himself are at odds."

"Well, I can't speak to that," said Alex. "Spirits and prophecies have always been the province of our Recorders and historians ... and our Abbots and Abbesses, I suppose. It's funny, but when Geoff first discovered evidence in the archives two summers ago that Urthblood's prophetic powers might be veiling this entire period of Abbey history from our founders' future sight, he and Vanessa and the rest of us agreed it ought to be kept to ourselves, so as not to unnecessarily worry the rest of Redwall. It was only a theory, after all. But now, with Latura's open declaration that Martin and Urthblood are actually locked in a struggle somewhere in the spirit realm, many Redwallers are seriously questioning what perhaps they should have been questioning long before now: Is Urthblood an enemy of this Abbey?"

"No secret where we Long Patrol stand on that, chum. Just a shame it's taken so bloomin' long, an' required such a messy state of affairs as this, for the rest of you to catch us with us. Guess I don't hafta ask wot swung you around on this?"

Alex's face darkened. "It was murder, what happened yesterday. Plain and simple murder, as I'd hoped I'd never witness with my own eyes. But not the type of wanton violence you'd expect from villainous vermin. This was so cold, so calculated, so ... official. They never paused, never hesitated, and acted as one, almost without thinking - as if they'd done it many times before, or had drilled for just such a situation. And I'd made it plain that I'd placed those rats under Redwall's protection, but that didn't matter to them at all. They just acted as if they own all of Mossflower. If this is the kind of thing Urthblood sanctions, how can we regard him as any manner of friend or ally?"

"Preachin' to the bally choir here, chappie. Lord Urthfist always warned us wot that bloody prophecy foretold: That tyrant tryin' to take over everything, not just Salamandastron. Glad t' see somebeasts're finally startin' to take things seriously, even if it hadta come to this for that to happen."

"So," Alex asked, "if Lord Urthfist's interpretation of that prophecy was correct, then what do we do? How do we stand up to Urthblood?"

"I'd say we're doing a spankin' fine job of that already, wot? Look at the tizzy we've got his Gawguts in, just by takin' in those rats an' refusin' to hand 'em over. Major marmalade in their plans, I would say. His Bloodiness has even gone an' sent a special envoy our way to address the bally matter, or so it seems - Cap'n Treejumper has yet to state exactly wot he means to accomplish here, so we'll have to wait 'n' see wot's wot with that. We're standin' up to him already - with big thanks to Winokur an' Traveller, who reminded us wot Redwall stands for when we were just about to forget it - an' Urthblood doesn't like it one bit."

"Yes, that's fine, as far as inside the Abbey goes. But what about outside, in Mossflower? There are our woods, and if Urthblood means to take them away from us, how do we stop him? How do we take the forest back?"

Clewiston leaned back, an assessing look on his face. "That's where it gets dangerous, doesn't it? We've barely got enuff force of arms to safeguard this Abbey an' keep his Gawtrybe out. No way we can take th' battle out to him. He's got Foxguard, an' soon he'll have Gawdrey too, an' his squirrels, shrews an' birds 're sweepin' all Mossflower, dolin' out grief to any rat they come across, an' mebbe to lots of other creatures too. Sounds like they almost gave Lord Sodexo a greeting of arrows when he dared t' question 'em. It's an occupation, plain an' simple, an' as long as he keeps up th' play about this bein' all about rats an' ridding the lands of 'em, he might just get away with it. If he decides to turn against other species once all the rats're gone, he might have his talons sunk too deep inta Mossflower by then for anybeast to do anything about it - even Redwall."

"We can't let that happen," Alex said resolutely. "Not after what I saw yesterday."

"You fancy taking your own squirrels against those bushtailed fanatics? I don't fancy leadin' my Long Patrol against 'em. Mebbe out in the open plains, where we'd have our hare speed an' maneuverability on our side, an' they'd be denied their customary tree cover for quick travel an' arboreal ambushes. But here in th' bloomin' thick o' Mossflower? They hold th' sodden upper paw, an' nobeast is taking it away from 'em anytime soon - an' they're countin' on us realizin' it."

"So you're saying we do nothing? Just sit back on our tails behind the safety of our high walls and let that bully take everything? What of his supposed clash with Martin? If there's anything to that at all, then you can be sure he's got his sights on Redwall - maybe not this season, or next, but eventually."

"Then we keep on preparin' ourselves for that day. Earlier this very season, at the Freetown council, our Abbot declared in a moment of good sense that Urthblood could totally overwhelm us if it came to all-out war 'tween us an' him - which is why we've jolly well got to avoid that at all costs, for as long as we can. Take a look at wot's been goin' on lately, with all this rat business, an' so many of his forces relocatin' to Mossflower. Mayhaps it's part of some bigger plan. Mebbe he realizes that, powerful as he is, if he launches a war 'gainst Redwall out of th' bally blue, ev'ry goodbeast in all th' lands will see him as the villain he is, an' they'll rally against him, or abandon him, like his otters did. But wot he's doing now with the rats - mebbe he figures that if he does somethin' he knows we're bound to oppose, he can goad us into taking action against his creatures, giving him the excuse he needs to stage a counterstrike against us, all while shiftin' the stinkin' blame to Redwall, claimin' far an' wide that we started it. Knows a thing or three about propaganda an' appearance, that badger does. Brilliant strategy, if y' think on it, 'cos wot woodlander living in wider Mossflower wouldn't welcome the prospect of all those pesky, bothersome rats bein' sent away, never t' trouble goodbeasts again? It's a cagey campaign, an' it'll be oh so easy to paint us as the bad eggs if we try 'n' interfere with it. That's why this current situation's so fraught with peril. We gotta watch our bally step, an' think through everything we consider doing. His Bloodiness might be thinkin' several steps ahead, so we hafta too, and try to anticipate wot his next three moves might be.

"But here's the thing: If that really is his game, he may've shot himself right in the flippin' footpaw with it. With Lattie's help, that is. I s'pect she may be the fly in the ointment, th' pebble in th' mortar, an' the fish head in th' stew neither he nor his bowtwangers ever counted on. She saw wot was coming before it came, an' did something about it. Mebbe Urthblood thought a few rats might escape inta Redwall 'fore the hammer came down, and that'd be enuff to provoke the crisis he sought, but I'll wager my whiskers he never bargained on half a horde's worth eludin' him, an' many of those actual horde fighters too. Now, I'm still not sure if we can count on Harth's crew not to slit our throats in our sleep if we let our guard down, but if push comes to shove 'tween us an' Urthblood, which side d'you think those rats'll choose: the badger who sought to put 'em in chains an' slay 'em if they resisted, or the Abbeybeasts who took 'em in an' sheltered 'em from such a fate?"

Alexander's eyes widened. "You speak of making Harth's rats Abbey defenders?"

"Reckon they'd become that by default, if Urthblood ever attacked us. But it does bolster our reserves of fighting beasts, doesn't it? And in a way I think ol' Bloodface never bargained for. I'm of a mind that this whole rat campaign may've been calculated to not only spark a confrontation, but to divide us from within - as it has, in a way, wot with Lekkas leadin' most of the former slaves off to the quarry. 'Cept now that scheme's gone haywire, with more rats here than there ever shoulda been, an' the Gawtrybe takin' out their frustrations on good folk hereabouts. But make no mistake: tho' they owe Urthblood their freedom, those slaves won't think twice about choosin' Redwall over that badger if it comes to blows. Same with our Guosim friends too. Old Log-a-Thing might still feel grateful toward Urthblood for freein' little Pirkko from the searats, but he's a Redwall ally first an' foremost, an' never swore any fealty to that red-armored brute. He 'n' I've already discussed it, an' he made it clear to me that we can count on his shrews if any trouble comes our way - no matter who or where it's comin' from."

"I'm sure Geoff wouldn't appreciate you discussing Abbey strategy without his knowledge. Not sure how I feel about being left out myself; I am one of Redwall's chief defenders, after all."

"Yah, well, you've been rather, ah, occupied with more personal matters, don'tcha know."

Alex sighed. "Yes ... yes, I have. So, what do we do now?"

"It's grown complicated, chappie, no arguin' that t'all. I can see things shakin' out any number of ways, but it all boils down to the same thing: we dare not strike first. If we do, Urthblood'll pound us with all he's got, an' there won't be anybeast left to pull our fat outta the flippin' fire. Could be we won't hafta do anything but sit tight, an' the good folk of Mossflower will come to see on their own wot Urthblood's really about - an' then he'll lose these lands 'fore he's even won 'em."

"Yes, but ... what if we wait for him to strike first, and that first blow is so devastating that we're left no way to respond? What if he concocts batches of Tratton's stormpowder for himself, and uses it to bring down our entire outer wall? What if he resorts to the yellow vapors he used against Snoga, and poisons most of us when we're least expecting it? What if, as you yourself have asserted many times over the seasons, he and Tratton really are conspiring against the lands, and someday both their armies show up here at once, and overrun us? You say he dare not move too brazenly, or else he'll lose Mossflower. But I might argue he's already got much of Mossflower under his control, and if he conquers or destroys Redwall on top of that, there won't be much of an opposition left to resist him."

"A valid point, Alex chap, an' one that's given us Long Patrol more'n one sleepless night of tossin' an' turnin' 'tween us. It truly is a case of cursed if we do, an' cursed if we don't. Can't move first for fear of inviting a debilitatin' counterpunch, but if we wait, he might just hit us anyway with somethin' every bit as cripplin'. Horns of a bally dilemma, no denyin' it."

"If you're really so worried the situation may be that bleak, why are you even having leverets? What's the point of bringing new babes into a world you half-expect might come crashing down around their heads at any moment?"

"'Cos they're our flippin' future, chap! Wot're we t' do, stop livin' our lives just 'cos that red-armored fiend wants us to? That'd be a fine how-do-you-do! An' give him a victory as big as any he could win through force of arms! Someday, if all goes well, our current levs, along with those yet to be born, will become the next generation of Long Patrol - and, if they're lucky, live long enuff t' dwell in Salamandastron once more, either by themselves or serving under a Badger Lord worthy of that title. Now that's a dream worth strivin' for! An' if we hafta struggle through some trial an' strife to get from here t' there, well, we're up for it!"

Alex let his gaze wander. "Wish I could share your optimism. And it still doesn't answer what we're supposed to do about all of this."

"Mebbe we'll wait on jolly ol' Martin to give us some guidance on the matter, wot? That's wot he's supposed to be best at, isn't he?"

Alex turned a somber gaze on Clewiston. "Except that Martin is making himself very scarce these days, Colonel. Urthblood's keeping him rather tied up elsewhere, remember?"

"Oh, pish. Things're changin', now that Lattie's here. Wink believes Martin sent her to us, to make sure we knew more than we would've otherwise. Fur, Wink even thinks Martin made our Abbey cart crash at th' quarry, to help her along without gettin' trapped by the Gawtrybe who were on their way to Foxguard. If our long-dead mouse champion can do all that, then I'd say he's hardly out of th' game, wot?"

00000000000

The young rat seated on the Abbey lawn with all his fellow rodent refugees raised his paw for attention, just as they'd all been taught to do in recent days. "Brother Wink'nur! Brother Wink'nur!"

The otter Recorder, standing at the head of his informal outdoor class as he prepared to commence that morning's lessons, pointed to his inquisitive pupil to acknowledge the polite and proper hail, not put out in the least that his name had once more been mangled in the usual vermin fashion. "Yes, Drattell, what is it?"

"What's a Vitch?"

"A ... Vitch?"

"Yeah. I heard one o' the other brothers sayin' we were all a bunch o' Vitches, an' we'd lead to th' same trouble."

"Oh, he did, did he? And just which brother of the Order was it who said such a thing?"

"Dunno. One o' the mice. They all look th' same to me, in those creepy brown robes."

"Ah. Well, he ought not to have said that. It wasn't very hospitable of him, and I'm sure he was only speaking out of frustration, as well all do from time to time. We shouldn't hold it against him."

"But what is a Vitch?" Drattell pressed.

Sensing the opportunity for another history lesson, Winokur replied, "Vitch was a rat, and not a very nice one, either. Would you like to hear his story?"

Every youngrat there nodded and murmured assent; most of their favorite stories from back in the valley were about creatures who weren't very nice. Those were the best kind!

"When he was an older lad - not much older than some of you, I'd venture - Vitch fell in with an utterly wicked and evil slaver fox named Slagar, whose face was so hideously deformed by an adder bite that he was forced to wear a silk mask at all times to keep from frightening anybeast he met, and who in his deranged mind blamed Redwall - this fair Abbey, of all places! - for this misfortune. So Slagar hatched a diabolical plot to get revenge on Redwall by stealing our youngbeasts and leading them away to be slaves in the dark kingdom of Malkariss!"

While a couple of the more audacious rat youths flashed fangy grins of appreciation for such nefarious scheming, most expressed alarm, and a few even visibly cowered. A ratmaid named Tryna shouted out, "You mean like those bad squirrels wanna do to us?"

"Well, uh, no, not really. Lord Urthblood and the Gawtrybe aren't evil - not like Slagar and Malkariss were."

"But, they wanna do th' same thing t' us!" Drattell joined in. "Take alla us youngrats away t' someplace bad 'n' make us slaves there!"

"Yes, but ... you see, Slagar acted out of pure, malicious spite. He wanted to hurt innocent beasts just for the sake of hurting them. Urthblood might be working on a far bigger scale, and affecting many more creatures, but he's doing it as part of a peace accord that could end up saving many lives and help many beasts be freer and safer."

"Except we ain't free, or safe," Drattell complained.

"An' just 'cos 'ee's a powerful badger king," Tryna added, "don't make it right!" Most of her classmates nodded and murmured in agreement.

"Yes, these are tough questions," Winokur confided to his students. "The very questions our Abbey leaders grapple with daily. They clearly agree it's not right that you and your families should all be sent away against your will, which is obviously why they've granted you asylum within Redwall."

"Does that mean Urthblood's yer enemy now?" Tryna asked.

"That's another matter, and it's also quite ... complicated. We still have a lot to figure out ourselves about all of this."

"Them awful squirrels outside sure are actin' like Redwall's their enemy," said Drattell. "An' they murdered those four rats yer own squirrels were tryin' t' bring here t' safety. D'you think they'll try 'n' bust in here an' do th' same to all th' rest of us?"

Winokur grimaced; he'd hoped his rat students might have avoided hearing about the previous day's tragic confrontation, but news travelled fast within the tight confines of the Redwall community even in normal times, and these days, with so many extra creatures packed together within its walls, rumors and gossip flew all the more rapidly.

"We have high walls, sturdy gates guarded day and night, and constant lookouts patrolling our ramparts. More than that, we have the standing and reputation of Redwall - the very thing which led your parents and guardians to seek sanctuary here in the first place - and that is not to be taken lightly. The Gawtrybe would not dare attempt an assault on this Abbey - and if they did, we'd stop them. You have my word on that, so rest easy - you're safe here."

This stalwart assurance seemed to allay their apprehension, and a calm settled over the seated rat pupils. For his own part, however, Winokur's mind was anything but serene; these worries expressed by his newest students mirrored some of his own secret misgivings, and he found his usually unshakable instructor's focus wandering. Drattell promptly dragged Wink's thoughts back to the moment with his next question.

"So, whatever happened to Vitch?"

"Vitch? Oh, yes. Well, after Redwall's defenders and their allies quested after their young ones and brought down Malkariss, Vitch was invited to come back to the Abbey and live there as a goodbeast, his treachery forgiven. But he ran back to Slagar instead, and that double-crossing fox betrayed and slew him."

"How'd Slagar kill 'im?" Dratell asked.

Winokur, in his distracted state, answered automatically without thinking through the repercussions of his response. "Slagar had a particularly nasty weapon, four heavy steel balls bound together with a cord which could be thrown with such force that it could shatter and splinter solid wood beams. He hurled it at Vitch, and hit the ill-fated rat in the head."

All the youngrats sat digesting this, eyes wide, before Drattell inquired, "Did it make his head split open, an' all his brains fall out?"

"Um, I'm not really sure about that ... "

"I don't think I like that story," Tryna decided. "I feel sorry for Vitch. Why couldn't he've come to Redwall an' lived a happy life instead?"

Wink lowered himself to the grass and sat cross-legged before his pupils, sensing another teachable moment to get his lessons back on track. "That is often the way of this world, isn't it? Not everybeast's story has a happy end, as much as we might wish it to be otherwise. But one thing we can be sure of is that creatures who choose a path of evil are much more likely to meet horrible fates than those who choose to be goodbeasts. Now, we all might wish that Vitch had chosen differently and been spared his untimely doom, but he opted to spurn the paw of friendship Redwall extended to him and go back to Slagar instead ... and look where it got him. I'm sure all of you would show far more sense than that, and now that you've seen what a fine home this Abbey makes and how easy it is to live here if you simply follow our few basic rules, and that you would never choose to cast your lot with wicked slavers, thieves and murderers when you can all enjoy the benefits of being goodbeasts instead!"

This seemed to win the rat students over once more, although one or two appeared to puzzle over just which path they would pick if faced with such a choice. Winokur silently vowed that if he ever discovered which brother of the Order it was who'd invoked the name of Vitch within the hearing of these impressionable young refugees, that mouse would find a generous helping of hotroot in his next dessert!