The feast was, in Whimper's personal opinion, a waste of time. Or rather, it was a waste of time for him. How was he supposed to eat all fifty-four courses? He could barely keep anything in, let alone all of this food.

He was deemed too ill to drink, and if he could not get drunk than he was no fit companion for Bork, who seemed determined to wake up the next morning with a hangover fit for a king. On top of that the vast majority of the guests were strangers to him. At least two dozen captains and their retinues, all squabbling like seagulls at a beach. The King sat on a throne. He ate little and drank less, his eyes darting round the room, trying to smell a rat in a room full of rats. Clogg was one of the many squabbling captains. Boasting and yelling and drinking more than anybeast. He was flanked by his compatriots, who were watching the surrounding captains with similar, suspicious looks.

Clogg had explained the situation well to him. Longclaw was King of the Northlands, a large, arid, cold space in the far North. In other words he was King of barely anything. And he wanted to expand south, to do this he had to have the backing of corsairs, for their ships to carry his troops down to whatever part of the world he wanted to crush. Clogg was leading the expedition, and Bork was the figurehead. And Whimper was just a sickly ferret who had no idea what he was doing here.

A part of him wanted to be there instead of Bork, to lead from the front and watch the blood soak up at his feet. But the common sense in him knew that if pushing one mouse overboard was enough to deprive him of a whole season of sleep then any pillaging would be the death of him.

"Ye have to use your brain Whimper. Ye have to think. Think deeply now. How do ye get a bunch of dumb seaslugs to der what ye want? They hate ye, ye hate 'em. But ye've worked together before, but back then ye had someone they could get behind. Ye don't have that now. What do ye do?"

The ferret mulled this over as best he could. "If they hate me, why not kill 'em and be done with it? They'd probably want ter do the same thing, wouldn't 'ey?"

"Ah, but if we waste too much time killing yer potential allies, ye'll only have more enemies. It's not enough."

"Well if ye worked together before just do what ye did before?"

"And what is it that we did before?"

Why was this so important? Still Clogg never shut up about the answer to this specific question. "United under me mum and dad."

"Smart lad. Ye were right both times. They gotta fear ye, but they also gotta love ye. Even woodlanders know this. They smashed Kotir and built their own castle next to it-"

"Abbey." Corrected Whimper automatically. "They built an abbey directly over Kotir."

Trammun Clogg blinked in surprise and cocked his head to the side. "Castles and abbeys are the same thing. And what do ye mea- Directly over Kotir?"

Whimper nodded, not sure where he'd gotten that information from... it wasn't in Clogg's books. "B-b-because ye know... fear and such." His heart was beating rapidly. How had he known that?

"Are ye sure?"

"Y-yes." He squeaked.

"Whimper... this... this is excellent!" The Captain grinned like a madbeast and snatched at a quill. The lesson was over it seemed, and now the rat was busy scribbling things all over a paper.

He was still unsure as to why that simple fact had pleased the rat so much. Or what 'fear' and 'love' meant in terms of Clogg's plan. But he had no doubt he was going to find out soon. Another course of food was brought, a kind of soup that stunk of onion and carrot. He sniffed at it, but knew fully well that he would not be able to keep anything down.

"Ye can take it away." The ferret told the weasel holding his bowl. His eyes rolled off towards the King once more. The huge wolverine was staring at one dark-furred fox that was glaring deeply at Clogg's exposed back.

"Frettie?" He sat up so quickly he felt like he'd been hit by lightning. The weasel serving the food was staring at him with wide eyes.

"W-what?"

"It is you! Silvertongue remember? Ye know me son." The weasel leaned forwards and whispered. "How d'ye get here?"

"I-I... I don't know what you're talking about."

But the weasel seemed determined. "You're that one from Redwall. Ye know, that cursed abbey? Hey! Yer mate's here, the lil' mouse with the big ears-"

Whimper shook his head. "N-no! I don't know a-any mice." Except the one I killed. He shivered violently. "P-please go."

Now Silvertongue was annoyed. "I'm stuck here, chopping carrots in the kitchens, and yer pretending not ter recognize me. Deathglare and yer mouse are digging down inter the mountains. Me wife gets beaten by anybeast that likes the look of 'er. We saved yer life lil' Frettie, you owe us one."

Whimper shook his head vigorously. "I d-d-don't kn-ow." He was on the verge of tears. His head ached violently.

Silvertongue leaned forwards menacingly, his claws digging into the wood of the table. "Wouldn't want ter ferget yer old mate, would ye?"

There was a pain in his head, like something foreign was trying to bury inside. Once more he shook his head.

"What's the matter?"

Clogg must have been paying attention to him. The rat was glaring at the smaller weasel.

"Just trynna convince the lad ter have some soup is all sir." Said Silvertongue, bowing low. He was too clever to shoot a glare at the ferret, though he desperately wanted to.

"And who might ye be? Ter give yer advice ter the son of Mad-Eye Marik himself." For some reason Clogg said the last part rather loudly, so loud in fact that some of the other vermin were watching with interest.

"Just a 'umble servant, tryin' to do his best sir." Said Silvertongue through gritted teeth.

"I don't like yer tone." Said Clogg casually. He picked up a small knife that lay nearby, and held it in his paw. He pointed the blade at the weasel. "Ye know who Marik is, right?" The rat then addressed all those watching. "Ye all do know, don't ye?"

There were mumbles of agreement. Whimper was frozen in place, watching the weasel with narrowed eyes. There was some resemblance to something he'd seen before. Perhaps all weasels looked similar? And he'd mentioned Frettie... whoever that was... The pain in his head was stronger than ever now, but he forced himself to watch.

The weasel straightened up again. "I do know."

"Smart beast." The rat said with a small smirk. He then slashed violently, tearing open one of Silvertongue's cheeks with the knife. "For all those who know Marik, what was it he used ter do? What was his signature? Tongue and Tail? Tooth and Nail? I can't seem to remember."

Silvertongue looked scared now. He tried to open his mouth and stammer another excuse, but Clogg's blade was still pointed at him.

"Tooth and Claw! Tooth and Claw! Tooth and Claw!" The hall was cheering loudly now, remembering the days they had spent with Marik and the successes they had had under him.

A stoat shoved Silvertongue into a seat, grinned wickedly and held him down. One rat grabbed a paw and lifted it into the air. The chanting was louder than ever now. Everybeast was cheering as loud as they could. Save for Whimper, who was frozen. The King who was still watching the silent black fox, Bork who was cheering 'wine and whisky' and Silvertongue, who was squirming frantically, trying to pull free and beg at the same time.

Clogg drove the knife into the weasel's fingers one by one, and with slow, deliberate strokes, tore off his skin and fur alike. Silvertongue shrieked and the cheering rose louder than ever, everybeast was shouting, and banging something. Many did not know who was being punished, or why. All they knew was that it reminded them of days long gone, when they had been the mightiest force in the world.

Just as the last finger was flayed, the pain in Whimper's head peaked, and then vanished. The ferret blinked. Silvertongue was tossed to the floor, clutching his paw in pain and sobbing into the floor. And then the cheering crowd lifted him out of his seat, as if he was a great hero or had done anything wondrous. In truth all he could see was the weasel's screaming face. He was placed down next to the King, who spared him barely a glance.

"Searats! Corsairs! Vermin of the North! Tommorow we set sail, we go south! For glory and war! For Marik's memory! We will slaughter any-beast in our way! We will take what has been denied from us for at least a hundred years! The badgers of Salamandastron and the hares of the Long Patrol have locked us up in the frozen wasteland for long enough! They call us vermin, and vermin we are! But if we're vermin, what are they? I will spit on their skulls, and burn their Cursed Abbey!"

There was much cheering, except from the black fox. Casually the corsair removed a gauntlet he wore round his paw, marched forwards and tossed it at Clogg's feet.

The hall was silent for a moment. Then there was the sound of steel on steel as the black fox drew a blade. Clogg laughed and held out his paw. Fleaback handed him a dirty axe.

"What's happening?" Whimper blinked in confusion, trying to stop his head from reeling, not that he could.

The King spared him a glance. "Your Captain has just been challenged. The rules of our society dictate that only the strong can rule. Whomever comes out on top, has the right to rule." The wolverine seemed bored. "Clogg will win. He always wins."

Momchillo had been drifting off when Deathglare shook him awake. The pine marten was grinning like a madbeast, and for a second the mouse was worried. He opened his mouth to find the source of his companion's joy, but was hastily shushed and beckoned forwards.

"A tunnel?" Momchillo stared at it with wide-open eyes. "H-how? W-wher-"

"Aye it's a tunnel. Used to be an old latrine pit by the looks of it."

"B-but h-how did you?"

"The other prisoners are a bunch of sheep. I reckon everybeast knows about this but is too scared to use it. All I did was make it wide enough for you to fit."

The mouse stared at the pine marten. "Me?"

"Does it look like I can fit in there?"

Momchillo opened his mouth, but was hastily silenced. "The slavemaster hates you, one of these days he'll get bored of hitting you."

He never will. Momchillo thought bitterly.

"He will if he catches you. Now go. There's no time to loose. There's a feast going on tonight, which means everybeast'll be in the main hall. Stay away from the food and the noise and head for the gates. Go south. To your abbey, tell them about this place, and about where it is. And about who helped you." Deathglare was holding him by the shoulder. His grip was vice-like, his voice desperate. The marten had always seemed so calm and collected, almost at peace... yet now the mouse could see that behind that calm he was as desperate as he was. "Tell them to come quickly."

Momchillo stared up at the tunnel. Climb up, get out, go south. I can do that much. "Give me a lift."

Clogg brought the axe down hard into the fox's skull. Cheers exploded from everybeast as the blood pooled around the vulpine. The rat smirked lightly, basking in the glory. He caught Whimper's eye and winked.

It makes sense now. They fear him coz he can kill any of them. And they love him because they loved my father. He stumbled away from the feast. He needed sleep. There was so much blood. Blood, blood, blood.

He was slipping and tripping. There was blood over the deck. A black rat was coming closer towards him. He was scared. His heart was beating like a drum, sweat trickled from his brow. There was a weight on his chest. The rat was standing over him, raising an axe. There was more blood when a sword plunged through the the back of his throat.

"Come on." Said a squirrel. "Let's put this... Behind us." Home was tantalizingly close. The woodlander reached his paw out towards him, Fret reached out to grab it. Then the ship lurched and his head hit the side.

He was in the hall, stumbling and tripping over the cloak. Fret. He was Fret. Fret was him. It was the name... Constance had given him. Constance... His momma.

"It's not fair!" Fret repeated for the fiftieth time. "They were gonna steal it with me too. But I'm the only one that had to help make more and I don't get to try them either."

Constance listened to his ranting while she washed him with a large brush. Somehow she was used to this by now. Fret had a knack for getting into trouble. The first time somebeast other than her had picked him up he had nearly bitten their finger off. Of course that had been Connington. And only a few days ago he had been found next to the broken remains of a precious, intricately-made vase. He had denied it was his fault. His latest mischief had been earlier today when he had somehow been found neck-deep in one of the cook's most time-consuming dishes. The list went on and on...

Presently, he popped a soapy bubble in annoyance. "Even you're punishing me!"

"I'm not punishing you." Constance explained patiently. Fret required a lot of patience.

"You're making me do something I don't like. That's a punishment!" He snapped.

"No it's not Fret." He harrumphed. "Fret I'm only doing this because I care about you. Would you rather go around covered in sugar?"

The ferret had no ready reply and only grumbled. Still Constance was up to the task. Several seasons of living with him had taught her a lot about patience. Suddenly, his ears flattened. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Oh come."

"It's nothing."

"Well..."

"I said it's nothing!"

"I think you missed a spot in the kitchens."

Fret whimpered. Then shook his head and tweedled his thumbclaws. "Well, it's just that... if you're doing this because you care. Well, w-what about everyone else?" Try as he might to hide it (and he was trying) he sounded hurt.

"Fret..."

"It's nothing. Just...wondering."

Constance sighed. "Redwall will always welcome any who are good of heart." She said, lifting his chin up so that he had to look at her. Even then his eyes tried hard not to meet hers. "They care about you as much as I do Fret. They just don't realize it yet."

For a moment his eyes met hers and were held there. It was a brief moment. Fret squirmed free from the hold on his chin. Quick as a flash he snatched the brush from her paw.

"I can finish up here." He said in a voice that brockered no argument. Constance almost reprimanded him, but decided the day had been long enough. Silently, with a small hint of worry, she left him scrubbing and brushing.

As soon as she was out of sight and earshot Fret dropped the brush. He found his eyes were watering and wiped them hurriedly. Constance had practically confirmed what had been a growing suspicion. The amount of times things had been unfair… It wasn't natural. It was always him, getting punished, getting blamed. The ferret of redwall. He hated his reflection. It was the final confirmation of the fact. He would never be welcome at Redwall.

Ferrets did not have good hearts.

Then he shook himself and wiped his tears again. So what if they didn't care? If they didn't he wouldn't!

"Hey Fret!" Matiya came, practically bouncing towards him the next day. "Do you want to play 'it'?" Fret almost said yes, but remembered how quickly they had gotten cold feet the previous day, and how quickly everything had fallen on him. Literally. A growl came out.

"No!" He snapped and without pausing he shoved past and made his way home. The squirrel only blinked in confusion, before shrugging and running off to play with somebeast else.

Fret felt his feet giving out under him. He was not even sure where he was walking, all he knew was that life was not fair...

"It's not fair!" Constance was exhausted after what had been an exceptionally long day. But, she knew from experience, the day would not be done until Fret had ranted for a good half hour. "I never asked to carry the pies! I didn't want the pies! Then that stupid vole bumps into me and complains that I ruined her dress! Then all I said was that it looks better that way but nooooooooooooooooo she had to go and start crying because I was being rude, and that she had made the dress and had worked hard on it, then I got so sick and tired of listening to her that I shove another pie into her mouth and she goes an-"

Constance got so sick and tired of listening to him that she shoved a pie into his mouth. Then with practiced diplomacy she lay a paw on his head. "Yes Fret. I know it's unfair. But right now it's late and you must be very, very tired after all that happened to you today, aren't you?"

Fret grumbled as he chewed, then swallowed noisily. He opened his mouth to continue, but he had been much smaller back then and Constance had easily pinched his muzzle shut, before lifting him effortlessly off the ground and carrying him to his bed.

"Tomorrow will be a better day Fret. I promise." She said, as she lifted the blanket and draped him within it's soft folds.

How do you know that? He asked, without speaking, to her retreating back.

He was breathing deeply, practically panting for breath. His eyes were watering. It would never be a better day. No, nothing good could come out of something rotten, and he was rotten to the core.

"Fret!" Roared the Recorder. Somebeast had cut his favourite old book to shreds.

"It wasn't me." The ferret snapped immediately, backing away from the mouse. He had been smaller back then. Much smaller.

"Explain." He said slowly. "Why you were the only one with the key and have got a carving knife behind your back.

"Er... I don't have a knife." He said, dropping the carving knife to the floor behind him. Unfortunately it made a loud noise, and brought forth the Recorder's fury.

Quick as a flash the mouse snatched his ear and twisted it. "Ow, ow, ow, ow! Lemme go! Yowch!" He had stepped on the knife blade.

"Come on! Let's see what your mother has to say about this!"

"Fret... why did you cut his book to shreds?" Constance was not well, and so the matter had been brought to his Nuncle. The two sat solemnly in the gatehouse. The mouse sounded anguished.

Fret did not reply. It was because the Recorder had 'accidentally' spilled a bottle of ink all over him.

Connington sighed deeply. "That was not a very nice thing to do."

"But when he threw the ink on me he didn't get punished!" Fret snapped.

"That's because it was an accident." Connington explained slowly.

This had been many seasons ago. The small mouse had been bigger than him, though not by much.

"Maybe I accidentally cut his book up, eh? Nobeast thought about that before they went and started blaming me!"

"That's because-"

"Because books don't get torn up by accident! I know!" Hopping to his feetpaws Fret stomped off grumpily.

His nuncle... he'd killed his nuncle. The drowning mouse he'd pushed overboard... his nuncle. His nuncle who had always been nice to him, who had brought him his beloved yo-yo, who had... always tried so hard to get along with his nephew.

"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!"

He was surrounded by barrels and could still hear the distant sounds of cheering coming from the hall. But he could no longer cheer. His legs gave out from under him and he fell to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Life, as ever, was unfair.

The castle was eerily silent. He had expected anything from a hundred guards to sneak past, or one to mess with... instead he was greeted with nothing. His heart was racing faster than a hare. He too, was trying to be as quiet as possible. He could not risk making a sound. It would mean death for him, and would doom Deathglare and the rest. He shot up a staircase, three steps at a time, silently. He paused to see if he was being followed, his ears twisting nimbly around to see if he could catch the sound of approaching feetpaws. But there was no sound.

Momchillo continued, and scuttled forwards. Another staircase, another corridor, another left turn. Momchillo swapped directions when he heard the sound of cheering. He did not know how far he went, though the cheering had subsided considerably by the time he came to a stop. A door ahead lay open, and from behind it came the sound of sobbing.

The mouse bit his lip. If he turned back now he would have to go back to where the cheers were coming from. One sad rat would not be the death of him. He could creep past the door. It wouldn't be too difficult.

Steeling himself the mouse tip-toed forwards. The sobbing drew ever closer as he approached. He took a deep breath, and passed by the door. He glanced in the direction of the staring, and fell over.

Fret sat up to the sound of somebeast hitting the ground. "Mom-hic-chill-o?" He croaked, his mouth dry.

Momchillo had hated the ferret's guts the last time they had seen each other, but that had been a long time ago. After a winter spent slaving away under a mountain, in a land foreign to him, anything from home- even Fret -was a welcome sight. He grinned spontaneously, all past quarrels forgotten for the moment. "You have no idea how good it is to see you!" The mouse advanced.

There it was... another ghost coming to haunt him. Fret screwed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. His claws were digging into the side of his head. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He rocked back and forth desperately. Tears were running down the side of his face, like raindrops on a window.

Momchillo was taken aback by the sudden, hysterical, apology. He had known Fret all his life, but did not remember seeing him like this, ever. The mouse was unsure of how to react. He stood up, and feeling a lot older than he was, he walked towards the ferret. "It's alright. It's fine." The mouse placed a paw on Fret's shoulder. The ferret shivered at the touch.

Blinking tears out of his eyes, the mustelid stared up at the rodent.

"You look horrible." The mouse said with a chuckle.

Fret sneezed into his robe, refusing to look back at the mouse. "So do you." He muttered bitterly.

Momchillo shrugged. "I think we've both been better. So... the others?"

The ferret blinked and felt his stomach drop. "I... hoped they were with you."

There was an awkward pause. Momchillo had a thousand more questions he wanted to ask. How had Fret gotten here? What had he been doing? But now was not the time for that. They had to leave.

"I guess we'll have to meet them back home." The mouse straightened up.

"H-home?" Fret squeaked in a voice so small it was barely audible.

"Redwall."

The ferret gulped audibly.