Things Better Left Unvisited:
Exactly What It Sounds Like, Mates.
Answer quickly and answer well, youngbeasts! What's some thing that can be done to a beast in the Redwallverse which trumps being robbed, invaded, conquered, maimed, or even slain? Here's a hint: Humans used to and are still doing it.
Slavery. It's slavery. Above all the number one act cited by racist goodbeasts to excuse their retaliations against vermin groups which did this thing to them or to some random other creatures. It's hard to find anybeast, in real life or in the annals of Redwall, that is okay with slavery. You'd have to go to either the backwoods of Kentucky in that secret location where those odd fellows in the white dunce caps gather to have a strangely-shaped bonfire, or any bad neighborhood in the southwestern U.S., Laos, or Bangladesh (I'm completely serious.).
But the goodbeasts of Redwall and Mossflower don't agree with enslaving creatures, do they? Of course not.
Right..?
You probably know that I'm about to say "WRONG!". You're right.
But it's not that simple as the "They actually don't mind it" kind of wrong. It's way more complicated than that. There seems to be an unwritten set of rules regarding slavery etiquette among the goodbeast clade.
The first thing to keep in mind is the system is, SURPRISE!, very racist. Rule number one: Vermin, be they rat, weasel, stoat, ferret, fox, marten, cat, wolverine or any other creature the goodbeasts believe is brought into the world via the Paw of Satan, cannot ever have a slave. Even for any of the reasons and excuses that I'm about to delve into.
*Excuse For Goodbeast Slavers Number One: Because They're Vermin And They Did (Or Tried To) Me Wrong*
The book: Salamandastron. The quest: Icetor flowers, a non-existent magical plant that can somehow grow in glacial mountains and cure what looks like Meningitis. But they call it Ditchdry fever, because they don't know Latin but they sure as heck know some Twowords Jammedtogether language.
Thrugg the otter swaggered up the path north, a baby dormouse with the appropriately dumb name, I kid you not, DUMBLE sitting in his food pack with his tiny butt crushing the foodstuffs. Why, what a tolerant and patient otter, not scolding the naughty Dibbun for this! Surely he'd be understanding if a desperate band of homeless creatures explicitly stated to not be robbers but BEGGARS showed up right about--
"Eee! Foxes be'ind us!" Dumble squeaked, sounding as dumb as his name.
Sure enough, four foxes explicitly stated to not be robbers but BEGGARS had sown up on cue. Their weapons are described as heavily sh*tty, either dull rusty swords or...uh, STICKS. The otter, being a typical Redwaller, gets out his sling just in c--hmm, that doesn't sound all that much like a peaceful beast at all. Wonder what happens next?
"What's up dogs?" the otter said. The foxes were all looking at the otter's pack desperately.
"Hello, good fella, nice day to yer," the first fox greeted with incredible wheedling civility, "'Ave ye got any food in that pack?"
"Nope! Just th' carcasses of any stupid homeless foxes that ever asked me for food!" the otter grinned glibly.
"Ooooooh, Oh no he DI'N'T!" one fox guffawed. The other, which was less than amused by the unwarranted threat, drew his crappy sword to remind the otter that metal weapons generally beat one made of leather or wool, even when reduced to a sh*tty state.
"Oh, yeah, reeeeeeal funny. Are yew as tough as yew are racist?"
"Sure am! Wanna die?!" the otter threatened in an oddly happy voice. The first fox made a long drawn out hiss and bit his lip. This was the sort of thing he's read about in gory horror tales. He knew you DO NOT mess with the otter that seems strangely overjoyed to see you while carrying a bitty little weapon that doesn't seem all that dangerous.
"Er, now wait a minute. We're not 'ere t' fight yew. We kinda just wanted a little donation. Ain't yew from th' Abbey where they do that kinda thing?"
"Ain't no Abbey in th' Woodlands, children!" the otter bellowed in a fiendish voice, as if summoning the ancient spirit of Lutras, who feeds on the infants of caiman and watervoles, "Go back to whatever slum y' came out of an' starve t' death why don't ya!"
The fourth fox, who shall forever remain nameless even though the others all got assigned names, drew his sword and decided to get serious with the belligerent otter. His namelessness has yet to be explained, but most of his peers suspect it was for the Witness Protection Program from when he reported the ensuing horror to the non-racist raccoon police.
"Okay, mate. Just fer that we're gonna beat yer ass!"
Suddenly the otter remembered that close combat against multiple opponents while armed only with a pathetic little sling is very very very dumb. He ran off into the trees, earning a great big "What th' f***?!" from the foxes before they followed him in an angry mob.
"Grr, ottery bastard. Let's stomp 'im in th' hazelnuts."
"Yah, but ain't this a Redwall novel? We could get horribly maimed or killed even though we're overwhelmingly more than a match for that otter."
"It's okay! The Great Jakes is busy god-moding the plot of Samkin's journey to get that sword back agin."
"Hey, dudes, now that we're gonna fight this otter, can we eat that dormouse he's got with 'im?"
"Yeah, it's not like it's cannibalism or anything. We're freaking foxes and that's a chipmunk."
"Oh, I think I see 'im! GET TH' BASTARD!"
They all leaped upon a devious trap set by the uncharitable lutrine, and Thrugg snuck up behind them and beat them happily about the head. He stole their weapons and quite possibly their only means of self-defense and tossed them in the woods, then decided that the best way to wake them up again was to BEGIN WHIPPING THEM WITH A SWITCH AND MAKING THEM CARRY HIS LUGGAGE FOR MILES.
"Git movin', boy!" the otter smirked with delight as he drove the traumatized and literally weeping foxes across the ford in River Moss. You know, the one in the previous book that the main heroes almost died in. From pike. Which are biting the foxes the whole time.
"Okie-dokie! You've payed for yore passage with ten miles of service an' two gallons of misery for me own entertainment!" the otter grinned, "Yer free t' go! Oh, and don't bother lookin' for yore weapons. I lost 'em for ya!"
Cussing and still in tears, the foxes took off for the nearest payphone to call the police on their abductor.
Now, for rule two. No creature may own a goodbeast, unless it's another goodbeast. A fine example would be the Highbeast Tribe: Amballa's pygmy shrews.
*Awkward, Isn't It?*
Martin the Warrior rallied his troops to him, ready to wipe Badrang's evil name from the face of the earth. Then a pygmy shrew bumped into him and Pallum.
"Yaaa! Let'skill badstoat forenslave Martinmouse!" the shrew cried lustily. Pallum looked at him funny.
"But... don't you guys keep slaves all the time? You even enslaved us just a few sections ago!"
"Er, wejust gonnago ignorethat. Webe goodbeasts."
"Yeah, that makes it waaaay too complicated for third-graders to read," Rose rubbed her head like she was getting a headache, "After all, the Gawtrybe tried to kill us, torture us, and are generally really immature selfish pieces of sh*t. And suddenly they're on our side fighting for us, not jumping around bullying everybeast and trying to get revenge. You know, like you'd expect them to behave from EVERY OTHER SCENE WITH THEM IN IT."
There you have it. In matters of slavery, when vermin do it to goodbeasts and vermin alike it's always vile. But when goodbeasts do it to vermin they may get a headshaking, or other goodbeasts cheer them on. When goodbeasts (pygmy shrews) do it to other goodbeasts it's viewed only as a shame, and the goodbeasts get a head-shaking. How comforting it must be to know you literally cannot get in trouble for anything if your species is on a certain list. But that's reserved for another installment.
More may follow. If you like, you may leave an as-of-yet unanswered bit of unusual Redwall yore as a suggestion, but it is more than likely I'll cover the grand majority of oddness and unmentioned unmentionableness.