"Sed, I see woodlanders." Sed jerked his head up. Dark shapes were emerging from the dim wetlands. The ferret could see a mouse and a hedgehog, helping each other towards where he stood in the muddy shallows.
"Oi, there!" Sed called. The travellers stopped abruptly.
"Who goes there?" Det challenged.
"Malcolm the Warrior and a friend!" the mouse called back. The two woodlanders trudged through the shallows, their simple tunics sopping wet. The mouse stood before the guards, his paw resting on the hilt of his engraved sword.
"Who are you?" Malcolm demanded.
"Sediment. This is Detritus. Sed and Det," Sed replied.
"Who do you work for?"
"I'm not workin'. I'm 'ere for my paws," Sed explained.
"I'm not workin' either," Det hastily added, "I'm 'ere on an unofficial capacity."
"Though you was relievin' me, Det?" Sed asked, sounding hurt.
"I 'aven't relieved you yet, Sed."
"True." There was a pause.
"So… is there a fort just beyond here?" Malcolm asked cautiously. Det drew in a deep breath. Sed tilted his head.
"It's subject to discussion, actually," he responded. Malcolm blinked.
"What?"
"Well, we can't see no fort," Det supplied. Malcolm frowned.
"You must surely know where you live, though?"
"I remember sleepin' in one. Don't mean it's there today," Det reasoned.
"Are you from the South?" Sed interjected.
"The South? I suppose. I come from Redwall Abbey."
"What about your silent friend there?"
"Oh, Quilter? He doesn't talk to strangers." The hedgehog nodded and smiled nervously at the mention of his name.
"Strange logic," Sed mused.
"What you thinkin', Sed?" Det enquired.
"I'm thinkin' they're strangers, so by their own logic we can't speak to 'em. Only problem is, that sort of logic means we'd never talk to no beast ever again."
"Frightful thought."
"Terrible, Det. Can't go travellin' to Redwall Abbey in silence." There was a short silence.
"Y-you're going to Redwall?" Quilter piped up nervously. Sed grinned at the short hog.
"So, we're not strangers no more?"
"I guess not, sir," Quilter replied politely.
"Det 'ere suggested goin' South."
"Only in the event that our present conditions were unsatisfactory," Det hastened to add.
"Listen to me!" Malcolm shouted over the two of them. Sed curled his footpaws in the mud and scowled.
"I'm looking for a friend of mine. A squirrel called Rufjak. Do you know him?" Malcolm enunciated slowly and clearly.
"Oh, first we were lookin' for forts, now we're lookin' for tree-jumpers," Det grumbled, frustrated. He folded his arms, shivering at the damp cold fur pressed against his chest.
"Have you?" Quilter questioned.
"I 'aven't, I only just got 'ere myself. Ask Sed, 'es been standin' in the mud all night," Det shrugged.
"Not totally true, Det. I lay down for a rest on the bank."
'You slept in the mud?"
"Better than mud with pebbles in."
"You could 'ave drowned, Sed."
"It was always an option, Det."
"Have you?" Malcolm bellowed at the two vermin.
"Not yet, my dear Malcolm. Drownin's a frightfully unclean business," Sed mused, wiping his brow of moisture.
"As is sleepin' in mud."
"That's the lesser of the two evils, Det."
"The squirrel," Malcolm hissed, grinding his teeth.
"Maybe. Our chief keeps many slaves," Sed reasoned.
"Only a few, Sed. It's not a big fort."
"True, it seems quite miniscule from where I'm standin'."
"You vermin are really winding me up," Malcolm stated tersely.
"Vermin! 'Ow do you like that, Det?"
"Bloody cheek, Sed."
"We're a class below vermin."
"I'd call it the sub-vermin level."
"Above frogs, in the general 'ierarchy of all nature."
"We're leaving," Malcolm announced in a snarl. He grabbed Quilter's paw and moved to brush past Det.
"You can't," Det snapped, shoving him back.
"Why not?" Malcolm asked, infuriated. His paw tightened around his sword's handle.
"We 'aven't exchanged pleasantries," Det proclaimed.
"What for?"
"Common courtesy, scum. 'Ow do you do?" Sed barked.
"I'll not answer you."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
"I'm not upset!" Malcolm screeched in a high pitched tone.
"I was just tryin' to be a vermin to impress you," Sed explained. Malcolm paused, trying to work that one out.
"I-I'm not doing too well, Mister Sed. I have to rescue my enslaved friend," Malcolm blurted out. There was a long pause.
"H-How do you do, then?" Malcolm asked, bemused by the two beasts.
"We're cursed," Det answered flatly. Sed made a mocking show of being alarmed.
"We 'aven't even been to Marshank yet!"
"So you're plannin' to go to Marshank, Sed?"
"I said no such thing, Det."
"It was implied!"
"You know about Marshank?" Quilter interrupted.
"Heard it's cursed!" Det said excitedly.
"I question the logic of that," Sed sniffed.
"You two could help me get into the fort," Malcolm proposed.
"Marshank?" Det asked hopefully.
"No! The fort in the marshes!" Malcolm shouted, exasperated.
"I 'ave to stay in the mud," Sed shrugged.
"All I need you to do is march us in like we're you're captives. From there we can rescue Rufjak and leave!" Malcolm planned.
"Leave to where?" Sed wondered.
"Mossflower. Back to the Abbey."
"Why should we come with you to Redwall Abbey?"
"I didn't say you were! What would two vermin be doing in an Abbey?" Malcolm roared. There was an awkward pause.
"So you want us to stay in this foul dump of mush?" Det asked disbelievingly, echoing his friend's earlier words.
"I didn't mean it like that. Go wherever you please. Just leave your horde."
"They feed me bread an' ale."
"Poison and water for me!"
"How horrid!" Quilter gasped, putting a paw to his mouth.
"So, you'd enslave and kill innocent creatures for food?" Malcolm asked angrily.
"No beast said anythin' about us keepin' slaves."
"In the fort!" Malcolm waved his paw at where he supposed the fort to be.
"On three!" Sed yelled, preparing to yet again search for the fort.
"Right you are, mate!" Det tensed up, ready to turn.
"One! Two! Three!" The two guards whirled around. The fog had not yet lifted, all they could see was the muddy slope Det had squelched down that morning. Malcolm came to stand besides Sed and Det.
"What… was that about?" Malcolm asked in a strained voice.
"No fort, my dear Malcolm. No slaves neither," Sed confidently put his muddy left paw on his hip, leaning on his spear like it was a walking stick.
"And why were you counting?"
"We were playin' at bein' heroes," Det smiled toothily, puffing out his chest.
"Look, the least you could do is tell me what your chief looks like," Malcolm said urgently. Sed and Det looked at each other, at Malcolm and finally back towards the slope.
"Tall stoat. Greyish-brown colour, brown eyes. Wears a ragged blue cloak." Sed began.
"Morbidly obese, carries a long sword. 'e wears a green tunic," Det continued.
"Long 'air, long claws an' a black tail," Sed added.
"Light-brown fur an' 'e 'as a lot of rings on his paws," Det mimed his paws covered in jewellery.
"Speaks in a voice deep enough to rival the most fearsome badger."
"'e 'as a gaze like a hawk with red eyes and blue war paint."
"Muscly arms, thick legs, and a scarred face."
"Thin weasel, wears a black robe."
"Hold on!" Malcolm cried. The guards blinked at him.
"You're describing two different beasts, the pair of you!" Quilter exclaimed.
"Who were you describin', Sed?" Det asked, bewildered.
"Thricebrand. Who were you talkin' about, Det?" Sed queried, equally puzzled.
"Thricebrand! Our weasel chief!"
"Stoat," Sed corrected.
"I thought 'e was a stoat in an honourary capacity!"
"Are you two raving mad?" Malcolm screeched.
"Well, I'm certainly very alarmed!' Sed answered tersely.
Malcolm did not even bother replying. He stalked off up the slope, Quilter trotting after him. Soon, the mouse and the hedgehog were shrouded from view by the rolling mist.