"Fret is a good lad!" Connington continued.
Abbot Martin 'humphed' sceptically and tried to close the door in his face. Connington was persistent and clambered in through the window.
"He is! He really is! The others pick on him because he's different but deep down he's a sweet kid-"
"Who lies more often than not, falls asleep during lessons and is always quick to snap at people and resort to violence! He is a vermin Connington, and nothing you say or do can change that." The old man finished heavily.
The mice stared into each other's eyes for a long time.
"The nature of his kind lives inside him. For now he lies to get himself out of trouble, how long until he uses it to cause some?" The old abbot continued.
"That's poppycock! Nobody believes him anyways! And whether he deserves it or not he needs to get out once in his life. He deserves to know what's hidden behind those great red walls. He's old enough!"
"And you expect the Skipper of the otters to let some vermin-pup in, because he 'needs to see something?' No,the boy will stay inside as he always does, and when he's older and eventually gets banished then he can see the outside world all he wants!"
"He isn't Veil Sixclaw, Abbot. He's my nephew-"
"Adopted! His parents were raiders and pillagers and murderers-"
Connington cut short the old man. "My sister is not a raider, pillager or murderer. He's coming this season and if he behaves, next season too."
"And the Skipper-"
"And I have known each other since we were welps, I don't think he'll refuse me."
"And the boy's mother?" The word 'mother' sounded especially forced.
Connington deflated. "Uh, well I suppose you should tell her that-"
"You convinced me to let her precious dibbun out of the safety of our abbey. Yes, shall we go now?"
Connington grew pale. Constance would probanly throttle him if she heard it put that way. "Maybe I should speak to her first?"
"Excellent, excellent! When she insists he goes, he may go." The Abbot pressed his advantage. The battle was won. Constance would never let go of that ferret, not even if her life depended on it.
Fret endured his punishment like he always did. He complained non-stop.
"It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair." He would repeat out loud as he scrubbed the grease off the pans, his paws elbow-deep in hot, stuffy, soapy water. He only shut up when it looked like the cook was going to throw him in as well. Then he continued muttering under his breath.
"Fret!" Rang the familiar cry. All day people had been asking him to do 'favours' he had no choice but to accept. That and the old mole kept asking him whether he saw her pies.
"No! I didn't see your blueberry-cream-coated-custard-filled-sweet-pies!" He snapped, turning to his uncle. He looked surprised for a moment, but was quickly annoyed again. "What do you want?"
"Tsk tsk, your manners always were awful. Still I think you'll be happy to hear what I got you-"
"If it's the stupid toy I don't want it!" The ferret snapped. "It's boring anyways and that ugly mouse can keep it!" Yet another lie. He had liked that toy.
"I wasn't talking about the toy. I was talking about the little excursions you dibbuns have twice a season. You can go."
The ferret eyed him suspiciously. "I can? But… I'm getting punished and-"
His uncle waved away his doubts. "Fret, you're old enough to know what's outside this abbey." He placed a paw on the ferret's shoulder and for a moment Fret wanted to hug him, until he realized that was a soppy thought and pushed it away.
The first trip had been when Fret had been four seasons old. He had not wanted to go, but then Momchillo and Matiya and Grollo had gone on and on and on about how wonderful everything was beyond the abbey. Then he had wanted to go, but his momma had been worried and decided he had to be older. He wanted to go so badly, to see Mossflower woods and prance around in fields of flowers and see the rivers and climb the trees where so much had happened. He had given up a while ago though, why all of a sudden? How?
"But we have to convince your mother first." Came Connington's voice.
Easier said than done.
"Momma please! Everyone's always gone except me! I'm already different enough as it is!"
"Fret, it's, it's dangerous! You can't swim and otter-food burns! You could drown! Breathe fire! Get lost! No, you're too young!"
"But momma-" He whined.
"No buts! I'm sorry Fret, maybe next season."
"You always say that!" Fret complained. "And I'm old enough. I'm not a dibbun momma please!"
"But your finger's still hurt! And your chores and-"
"Please momma, I'll be good! I promise. I won't lie, I won't fight, I won't do anything bad ever, ever, ever again!"
Constance watched him plead, a knot tightening around her heart. He was right, he wasn't a dibbun anymore. He was older… Soon he would be taller than her…but he was not old enough! Not yet!
"Fret, how about you run along now. My sister and I will talk about this."
The ferret gave his mother one last pleading look, before walking out with deliberate slowness.
"Jon, he's too young and-"
"He's old enough. All he's ever known is the abbey-"
"And the otters! They're too loud and rowdy and he's vermin to them-"
"And almost everyone here. He needs to see the world with his own eyes. Let him go."
"But, what if he, you know-"
"He'll come back. I promise you, he'll come back and he'll thank you and-"
Fret walked away from the house. He was torn between the hope fluttering inside him and the dread building up. She would let him in the end. Of course she would, why shouldn't she? And then there was the prospect of putting Redwall behind him. He could walk along Mossflower Woods, teeming as it was with critters great and small, wild and tame. He could smell the air of the forest he could spend hours on end staring at from the walls.
Then he tripped and fell on his front and Momchillo was sitting on his back, idly flicking the stolen toy over Fret's face.
"What ho, vermin? Hast thou smelt sour cheese, for thy strides are long and bouncing."
That made no sense. "If you're going to speak Shaggspearian you might as well do it right."
"A vermin lectures me on the art of speach. This day is stunning to behold!"
Fret zoned him out. He would not let the mouse ruin his mood. He would not.
"We're going to the otters this time. Maybe we can bring back some ferret soup for you?"
"Ferret soup? That's bad even by your standards. And you won't have to. I'm coming too!"
Momchillo blinked, and the toy sailed out of his grip and into the ferret's waiting paw. "Wait, what?! Since when?"
"Since today." Fret couldn't keep the smugness out of his voice as he spoke.
"Oh Momchillo, you've caught yourself a carpet! Budge up for the maids!" Came Matiya's voice, but Fret pulled out and dusted himself. Matiya was flanked by some ugly mole and the albino. His eyes felt like they were warming up just looking at her.
"Momchillo. Helloooo. Is something wrong?"
"He's coming?" The mouse pointed at the ferret. It was all he could do to not grin from ear to ear.
"Coming? Coming? He's-"
"Going to meet the otters." Fret said casually, playing once again with the odd toy.
Everyone blinked at him. "Oim bi thunkin' this moight'n be an joike."
Fret felt his furs shiver. He hated mole speech, he hated mole speech, he hated mole speech. "Why would I joke about that?" The ferret replied smugly. And so he left them, and made his way back home.
His momma still looked grim, but Connington was looking very proud of himself.
"Are you sure you want this?" She asked hesitantly.
"Yes! Of course I do!" He replied instantly.
She sighed. "You can go."
"Yes!" Fret whooped and without thinking threw himself into his mother's arms. She returned the hug just as he began to cringe from his sudden 'mushy' behaviour. Still, he was so excited he didn't let go for a long time.
Fret counted the days until they left. Nothing could dampen his spirits. Not the soapey water, not Abbot Martin.
Then the day finally came and for once he woke up early and was preparing breakfast.
Constance blinked at the sight of him, sporting an apron over his habit, buttering toast and sending a 'Good Morning' her way.
"Good morning." She replied caustiously. "You woke up earlier."
"Yup!" He said with such a large grin. "And I made breakfast momma!"
Constance blinked again. Why was he acting so strangely? When had he learned to cook toast?
"So momma, I'm gonna get ready for the trip."
Constance lost her appetite and stared at the ferret with apprehension. Was he too young? Would everything be okay?
Then Connington waddled in with another loud 'good morning', a bundle wrapped up in his paws.
Constance eyed it suspiciously. "What is that?" "A gift for my nephew, of course." And he held it up. It was a large brown robe with a hood large enough to hide Fret's whole face. Then in a voice he knew wouldn't carry, he muttered. "This way nobody tries to hurt him."
Fret was the first dibbun waiting outside the gates, flicking the odd toy he had decided to call a yo-yo for no good reason, beyond being bored.
The next to arrive was the young mole who had accused him of joking. They gave each other such long looks of disapproval as they looked eye to eye.
"You are coming." Grollo, the large hedgehog that was the cook's son blinked at him.
Fret grinned so evilly it made the hedgehog shudder. Then came the albini, who 'humphed' at the sight of him before joining the mole. The ferret's heart tightened at this. He had done nothing to her, yet she looked at him like he was less than dung.
Then Connington came followed by Momchillo and Matiya, both looked apalled that Fret was amongst them.
The grown-up mouse addressed the children. "Right! Off we go!"
Fret was slightly confused as to why Connington was there, but then he figured that his momma had forced him to do it.
Then the gates opened, and for the first time ever Fret walked through them.
Footnote: And thus Fret embarks upon his first outing from the abbey. What happens next?
To be honest I like writing Fret's character a lot. The rude, snappy kid with his grumpy attitude. Notbthat I can relate to him or anything, it's just tht he makes for an odd protagonist.
Enjoy