Whimper was sure he had never been on a boat like this before. Smaller ones perhaps, the dinghys, maybe even a raft or two, perhaps a smaller version of this, but the Black Plague was just... so much grander than anything. But that was ridiculous! He lived here! And according to Clogg, had done so for his entire life. The galley was so wide it stretched to both sides of the river, and it was a miracle that it didn't scrape against the earth underneath. It was made of rope and staircases, and cabin after cabin after cabin. There was a dark well in the center of the lowest deck that he had tried to peer through and had called down to hear his voice echo downwards, but Clogg had hastily pulled him away from it.

Everybeast was a stranger to him, but they all greeted him like their captain, with salutes, low, sweeping bows with many-a-flourish. He tried to hear and hold all their names, but that was practically impossible. He could recognize Scringewhiskers, for his bright yellow cloak and flourishing bows. He could smell Fleaback from a mile away, and the rat was easily recognizable up front as well, for noone else had that many gold teeth. The only one who refused to bow or salute or even acknowledge his existence beyond looking down at him, was Darkhide, who sent shivers up his spine whenever their eyes met. But Clogg had explained that she did that to everybody. Yet strangely still, their names were as foreign to his tongue as his own. They didn't feel like he knew them. But he supposed that was just his headache.

"Remember anything?" Clogg pressed after he had met yet another important captain of the Black Plague.

Whimper shook his head. "No."

"Hmm... maybe my cabin will jog your memory. I mean mate, you were practically raised there." And so the rat led the way and Whimper followed.

This place was familiar. Lit by a sole candle and smelling faintly of paper, with many-a-book piled onto a small desk that had been shoved into a corner. "Well?"

Tentatively he went for the nearest book and opened it. Inside was a picture of a red palace-like-structure, with high walls made of red bricks. It looked familiar. In the next page there was a map of the inside, and that too was familiar. He flipped the book closed and read the title. "The Cursed Abbey." He had heard of this tale before... distantly. Cursed Abbey... yes, yes he had heard that before. He turned to Clogg, who for a moment was staring at him with keen interest, as if seeing him for the first time. "I think I remember this." He pointed at the book.

"Then that's our solution." The rat scuttled behind him, pulled out a large chair from the shadows and shoved it in front of the desk. He dumped the ferret into it's soft folds, and then handed him the book. "Read up, and you should be back to normal in no time. Reading was always your favorite thing to do."

"It was?" That sounded strange. He didn't think he was a reader.

"It still is. Now I'm sorry I can't be of more help to you, but I need to go now. You know, Captain-ing is a pretty difficult job. Enjoy your reading. I will be back soon." And then with a gentle ruffle between his ears, the rat took his leave.

Whimper shrugged and opened the book. Perhaps it would help.

"It's getting dark." Hawthorn complained. "How much longer till the river bends?" They had been walking all day and had found no trace of anyone, nor a single bend. It was getting darker and colder, and the vole wished now more than ever that she was back in Redwall, with it's warm fires and comfortable beds. How was she meant to sleep on snow and silt?

"It shouldn't be much further." Sharpfur assured. It shouldn't be much further until I can make a break for it. He was beginning to understand why Fret had not wanted to return to the abbey. If everyone was like this vole Sharpfur would have jumped off the royal red walls seasons ago! She couldn't go a single minute without whining or complaining! Hellgates and people called him a brat.

Grollo trudged along behind them, his head hanging down in misery. It felt almost strange to see him without Matiya or Momchillo-the three had been practically inseparable. Well, soon we shall all be back together again and then we can forget all this ever happened. Then the hedgepig spoke, and made Sharpfur jump.

"There isn't a bend in the river is there?"

The weasel composed himself. "Y-yes there is! It's not much further I swear."

"You've been swearing all day. Either you have no idea where we're going or you're taking us-"

"Back to your abbey-" Sharpfur snapped nervously.

"No! This isn't the way back! I'd have remembered seeing stuff like this if we were heading the way back. And there was no bend in the river anyhow. The boat never turned much."

Now the weasel was glaring at him. I will not be caught lying by the likes of you hedgepig! "Okay then, you lead the way! You find my family! Go on you clever old woodlander, you definitely know this place better than me. The villainous vermin! I'm no doubt leading you into a grand ditch!" Ha! That should fool ya!

The hedgehog glared back, but could not be sure whether he was being sincere or not. He turned to Hawthorn. "I say we go back. We'll find something, anything. You know the grown-ups are looking for us. You know it's only a matter of time-"

"And won't it be a shorter amount of time if we walk towards them?"

"Shut it weasel!"

Hawthorn bit her lip. They had been walking all day, and truth be told she was hungry. What she would give for a loaf of bread... On the one hand Grollo was convinced that the weasel was cheating them, and while likely, Sharpfur did want to find his family so he was probably leading them in the right direction. But what was the right direction? She had never been this far away from Redwall before, or at least not alone. Which way was the right direction? Grollo was right, their parents would be looking for them. Brother Connington had scouted Mossflower for Fret-surely their own parents would do no less. Which meant it was only a matter of time... But how long would they last in the ice and snow with no food to eat? "I think we should stay here." She said finally. "We should make a fire." She added. "We'd freeze without one. And food. We need to find food."

Sharpfur almost jumped for joy. Boy were woodlanders dumb! He'd just wake up early one morning and then they'd be no more problem. He restrained himself from rubbing his hands in glee. It would not do to arouse suspicion. Or rather, more suspicion than they already had for him.

"Right, so let's head into the woods and find some wood and make a fire... and if we're lucky we'll find something to eat, and then we can just sit tight and wait for rescue."

It took Sharpfur all the self-restraint in his possession to not burst out laughing at the absurdity of her plan. You poor naive little princess.

"So. Let's go then." She said, pulling up her sleeves and marching into the woods looking far more determined than she felt.

Grollo eyed the weasel. "I just want you to know. Pull something past us, and you'll wish we never dragged you out of that river."

"Don't worry." Sharpfur said with a wicked grin. "I'm an honest fellow."

And so together the three vanished into the darkness of the woods, the falling snow and rain covering their tracks behind them.

Connington did not sleep. He sat down against a tree, his eyes wide and unmoving. Rosebrush, Roseheart-whatever her name was- was being escorted home by a small group of the younger Guosim (who had been too scared to go further but dare not admit it) and a hare who was sent to explain the situation-in as soft a way as possible.

There was just one thing that made no sense to him. One missing part. Constance had fainted and lost herself before Fret had vanished. So it was not due to his nephew's disappearance but something else. Perhaps it was linked, perhaps not. Perhaps he had never really known his nephew. But from all he had seen Fret had loved her. He had run to her after school, had clung to her side until he was big enough to walk on his own, and had always come home and ranted at her for hours about the unfairness of everything. She was his mother. It was as simple as that. But why had Constance fallen? What had made her stop?

He was taken away from his thoughts when a scout, dripping wet and panting, exploded from the water. A look of fright and fiendish glee present in his eyes.

"I found something!" He exclaimed to noone in particular. Several people muttered that they were sleeping, One-Eye was getting up groggily. But Jon was wide awake and clinging onto every word. "A boat! Huge! Biggest-pant-thing-pant-you'll ever-pant-see!" The shrew took a humongous breath of air. "It's got to be what we're looking for! Only boat out for miles and miles! And it's a slave ship."

One-Eye was now wide awake. "Does it have a name?"

"Black-pant-Plague." Then the shrew collapsed and began snoring loudly.

Log-a-Log stepped up and began shouting orders and commands. The rafts were being fitted, and suddenly it was as if morning had come already. Connington stood in the middle of it all and clutched, unconsciously, at the round metal bob he had gifted his nephew so long ago.

Soon everything would be back to normal... hopefully.