A/N: To Sebias Of Redwall, it's what happens I suppose when I torture characters. Though you probably shouldn't feel too bad for him, I mean yes, Fleetfoot was horrible to him, but from the hare's perspective it was just pragmatism. Plus Death *did* start this story out as a literal kidnapper. Originally all of the Honest Bunch were going to end up suffering for that but in the interest of family friendliness there are one or two Karma Houdinis... It's the same reason I flayed Silvertongue- karma's gonna hit like a truck when it comes.

To Abrahem, yeah been meaning to write Mad-Eyes for a *while* now. Gave him that brief scene just so I could have some point of reference. For a dead character he's changed personalities so much over the course of writing this. Originally he was going to be this very noble, but misunderstood guy- but then someone else already did that and it made Skipper and co (including Constance who loves Fret like a son full stop) a bit too evil (and I can't have Constance being evil). So I made him a baddie for the same reason I made the other kids unaware of what they were doing to Fret. And that is *not* making every woodlanderr racist and evil. They *do* have reasons to hate vermin- but that does not make bias against Fret (or any other vermin) fair considering he's not responsible for that kind of thing. In other words to give neither party the high ground. Funnily enough if Fret is the same baby Whimper as in that flashback (you guys can decide that one to be honest) it seems Clogg would always have been his main father figure. He'd have probably ended up something like the fauxWhimper and Bork if Marik was still alive (entitled, spoiled/wanting approval from dad, bad-tempered)

*Spittake* D-did I imply that? Damn that sounds like a good twist! Should have gone for it really... Unfortunately Thornflame is more or less dead and so is Fret's biological mother (neither will appear anymore... At least definitely not in Book II, III is still in planning but I find that unlikely seeing as the central premise of Book III is The Return. Fun fact, Thornflame was originally meant to be Fret's big sister (Marik's daughter) but that idea got scrapped a long time ago. Huh, what made you think that, may I ask?

And of course... I may be lying... So you can keep your theories...

Vermin names are really mostly two words put together, as such most vermin give themselves their own names. Exceptions to this are Sharpfur and his siblings (because he's got parents and stuff). Sick-Eyes for example wasn't always Sick-Eyes (as a pirate Captain she probably had a more badass name). Or if a vermin starts off with a cool name (baby Gulash doesn't need a new name coz Gulash is already badass). Though some unfortunate vermin never loose stupid name and get landed with stuff like 'Stinky'. Threeclaw is only known such because he's missing some fingers and so on.

Well Deathglare was originally gonna get tortured by I believe Clogg (to find out where Whimper is as it's no coincidence he vanished the same day a slave does) but that made him *too* evil. So it was gonna be Flayface and he was going to almost die but then he would trick the fox into drinking poison and make an escape. Then he was going to die during torture, or after it but... I went over that.

Honestly I think I will do a behind the scenes/pages look at this story when all is said and done. Not sure how without at least a 1K authors note XD Forums maybe, but I don't really use those... Maybe I'll write a story about some soothsayer looking into alternate timelines...

Question for all of you: Do you prefer intersecting arcs where every chapter slowly advances the plot of some characters and the next one is about another set so on so forth. Or should I go arc by arc and focus on a set group of character's for a longer period of time before moving on to another group? Can't make my mind up over this.

Anyways, now onto the next segment.

His palace was often quiet. It was built that way, built around silence and secrets. Most floors didn't have any staircases, just long corridors that slanted ever so slightly. One could walk all day thinking they were safely on the ground- but were in reality, perilously high up. Dozens of secret passageways were known to the wolverine king and to him alone. Staircases that lead from the slave-dungeons to cellars. Tunnels that lead to a far deeper system all across the Frozen North. Unfortunately, he had always been a bit too big to explore those himself.

But his palace was quieter now than it had been in seasons, not since Marik had it been so empty.

Sure, the slaves were still there, but he never sullied himself by associating with them. Most of his Silent Guard he'd sent away with Clogg and the other pirates- to make sure his interests were always guarded against anybeast that outgrew reasonable ambition. He doubted he'd see most of the tongueless wonders again, still, so long as he was not forgotten.

Bork was gone too, thank Vulpuz, the boy was annoying and fat and asked far too many questions. Not even the first two had been that bad. Whether his son returned mattered little. Either Bork would be dead and he'd have to produce another heir, hopefully one that clung to him less but was also not overly ambitious, or his youngest son would return with a name worthy of a prince. Perhaps he'd even start acting like one and would even be worthy of the King's precious time… highly unlikely, but weren't all dreams like that? If it could even be called a dream.

He watched from a hidden window- one that looked exactly like an outer wall might to the outside world- as his new Slavemaster bullied his bunch down in Construction, where bricks of red sandstone were being made and added to his walls. There was magic in those stones, Longclaw was certain. What exactly it was or how it worked he did not know, but how else had Mossflower's Abbey not yet fallen? The badgers were wise creatures, and knew these reasons better than he, but he did not need to know to copy.

Brown-eye's replacement was a fierce old fox. He was of an age with his king, but lacked Longclaw's longevity and as such was already gnarled and rusted by age, yet fit enough to command the submissive creatures all around him. He had had the misfortune of being in the path of a badger with bloodwrath. It was rumoured that half his face was missing and that was why he wore a multi-coloured mask- but Longclaw knew better. His whole face was missing. Flayface the Foul they called him, though Longclaw knew him as Flayface the Fool. He almost trusted the fox, but alas, knew that his current slavemaster had tried to murder him half a dozen times over the course of their lifetime, half of those before the age of seven.

It would be foolish to trust him. Still, he did his job well. Construction, Mining, Threading and of course, the Kitchens were all running smoothly. And Longclaw had barely anything to worry about. It was a relief after all the haggling he'd been forced to do between pirates that quite frankly hated each other.

But that didn't mean he could rest easy... No king should or else they were no king.

Silvertongue eyed his pile of carrots dismally. He was a deadbeast. A very, very dead deadbeast, marked out by the missing skin on his right paw.

"Damn that ferret." He hissed as the root he was currently cutting shot away from him. He would have been stirring soup or doing something easy if his paw was decent. Frankly it was all he'd done over the winter. Now though his flayed paw marked him out as an easy target. His height didn't help and neither did the new slavemaster, who seemed determined to prove that he was just as cruel- if not moreso- than the old one.

Ever since the feast he'd been moved to cutting, which was agonizing. His paw felt numb and ached at the best of times, let alone when he was using it to hold something still. He wasn't handy with knives and had cut himself a dozen times. It was like pouring oil onto a burning beast and weak and pathetic as he was he couldn't help the hisses of pain or the yelps or the tears that inevitably followed such an action.

Sickletail was out of sight, being occupied with innumerable tasks to prevent her from helping out. Still the fox had underestimated his wife. The first few times she had against all odds managed to finish her duties and his own. But then exhaustion had begun to set in, she could not keep this up forever and as he watched her now, furiously struggling with a ball of dough, he knew his life was forfeit. This time at least Sickletail could not save him.

He only wished that he would be allowed to say goodbye. He hadn't managed to do so for his children, and even if he had to shout it mid-execution he wanted to give her a goodbye… and a thank you. She deserved that much at least.

His life had been eventful to say the least. Born a runt he'd outlived his litter, which had been wiped out by a particularly harsh winter. Silver-tongued and smarter than most he'd won the heart of the most beautiful weasel to grace Mossflower Country. Eight children of their own and one happily adopted. Life with the Honest Bunch had been simple. Occasionally raid, forage supplies, avoid woodlanders and live in peace. Not every beast needed a great castle or to lead a horde. He had been happy watching his children come into the world and grow up. He'd been happy carrying around their fat little rat and calling him part of the family.

Hellgates he was crying again. With a viciousness the carrot didn't deserve, Silvertongue stabbed forwards.

"Alright, I'm done. Hand over the knife." This was Sickletail, who panted as she wrenched the knife free of his paws. "Carrots, eh? Not too difficult." With speed that Silvertongue could not hope to match, the weasel proceeded to slice the carrots into neat little pieces. She was done in a few, short minutes and slid to the floor of the kitchens with a deep breath.

"Ye can't keep this up." Said Silvertongue, sliding to the floor next to her. He took her paw in his good one and squeezed it tight. "Forget lil' old me. I'm a deadbeast sooner or later, no point gettin' yerself killed too."

"Everybeast's a deadbeast sooner or later. I don't care, we've bin over this. I ain't gonna let ye die. And stop moping so much. Yer not leavin' me and that's final."

"Ye'll wear yerself out. Look at yerself, ye don't even get any sleep."

"Shut it! Yer not dyin'!" She snapped, pulling her paw away from his.

"I am." He snapped adamantly. "Ye deserve better though."

"I don't! I deserve just as much as ye do an' anyhow what have I got ter live fee? Our kids are dead!"

"But ye don't have te be! Ye can have more kids... Live fer my sake at least."

"Don't make much sense if yer goin' to die yerself." Sickletail pushed herself to her feetpaws. "Anyhow ye know ye can't argue with me." Taking his good paw, she lifted him back to his own feet.

"That I do." He said with what would have been a grin in any other place.

"I warned you hare." Came Deathglare's voice.

"Yes. I see what you mean. How on earth do you put up with them? Wot. No wonder you were such a tough nut to crack."

The pair of weasels found themselves staring at Deathglare, who for some reason was wearing a sail and was standing besides a one-eyed hare. The pine marten also had a leash (that looked suspiciously like his old clothes) which the hare held tight in one paw. He raised the other in greeting.

"Top of the … late afternoon to you, wot. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Captain Fleetfoot One-eye of the Long Patrol. You already know Death here I assume."

"Death?" Repeated Silvertongue, dumbstruck by the pair's sudden appearance. "Since when were ye pals with the Long Patrol?"

"We're not exactly pals." The marten replied, indicating the makeshift collar round his neck.

"But we share a mutual interest in escape." The hare butted in. "And I am sure that you do too."

Every eye in the kitchen was on them. A long pause followed his words.

"B-b-but if you try to escape they hurt you." Stuttered a small otter that looked twice his actual age and sported less fingers than Threeclaw.

"Ah ole chap, thing is we're not trying. We're doing."

"Ye've got a plan?" Asked Sickletail skeptically, but the excitement in her eyes gave vent to her true feelings.

"Cover of dark. Steal a boat." Deathglare explained.

"That won't work." Said an old mouse, shaking his head so that his ears flopped at his sides. "Best to just do as they says. They won't hurt you then."

"Well we haven't perfected it yet." Fleetfoot grumbled impatiently. "But where there's a will there's a way, wot. It is of utmost importance-"

"Flayface is coming." Whispered a hedgehog, just loud enough to be heard. There was a mad scramble to get back to work. Sickletail vaulted over a table to get to her station, Silvertongue picked up a pawful of carrot slices to put into the bowl as soon as the fox showed himself. The otter went back to stirring. The mouse to rolling. Despite the fact that neither knew who Flayface was, Deathglare and Fleetfoot too, scrambled for cover. The hare snatched the marten, and ignoring his sudden protest, stuffed him into an empty barrel. The hare himself promptly dived into an unused oven.

And all in the nick of time, for Flayface announced his arrival with a crack of his whip.

"How's lunch coming along then?" He asked, eyeing the assorted slaves, searching for somebeast to make an example of. "Weasel…" Unsurprisingly he chose the smallest one. "How are those carrots?"

"Done sir." Silvertongue replied, driving as much contempt into the last word as possible.

"Impressive skill. Yer wife is quite talented." The fox chewed thoughtfully. "Now, show me what yew can do." The fox picked up a fat, stray carrot off the floor.

Silvertongue searched for the knife, and picked it up with a shaking paw. His flayed one held the root in place and carefully the weasel dug the blade into the carrot.

The fox shoved him to the side and the knife blade gently skimmed his bad paw. It did not cut deep, but enough to draw blood. It hurt and his eyes could not help but begin to tear.

"Just as I thought." He turned to Sickletail. "Yer with me tomorrow. We'll see how well yer precious pup does without his mama." The fox brought the whip down twice on the whimpering weasel, and kicked him for yelping. Flayface spun on his heel and strolled over to the otter.

"Yer a good lad riverdog. It'd be sad te chew off any more of those fingers, wouldn't it? Tell me, why do I smell hare?" He drew in close. The otter shrunk.

"I-I-I don't know sir."

"Really?" He drew close to the otter's face. To the slave's credit he didn't mean to give Fleetfoot away. But instinctively his eyes darted to the unnocupied oven. "Yer a good lad. Soup smells good today. Very good. Almost... Like hare."

Flayface strolled towards the oven. "Some slaves from Threading have gone missing. Mostly vermin but I think there could have been a hare or two." He made his way to the oven. "I wonder what's cooking in here…"

The otter was shaking. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean- I just did and- it's nothing sir!"

Flayface was a skilled bully. He was expecting a frightened slave he could beat into submission. He most certainly did not expect an oven door coming towards him.

Fleetfoot shot out of his hidhng place with speed worthy of his name, but by then the fox had recovered and shot the whip forwards. It's cutting barbs tightened round the Captain's foot and brought the hare crashing down.

"Nothing, eh?" Flayface wiped at his nose. "Ye'll be sorry otter. As for yerself hare-" A mad dash to escape he should have seen coming, but the hare's sudden twist and swing of his paw was another thing. The whip was knocked out of Flayface's grip and the hare scrambled to his feet. Both grabbed the nearest thing to them.

In the vulpine's case it was a cleaver. In the Captain's a rolling pin. Flayface darted forwards with a snarl and swung the blade at his opponent's ears. Fleetfoot hastily flattened them, and tried to parry with a rolling pin that was promptly cut in half.

Not missing a beat the hare slammed the other half into the fox's face. The slavemaster didn't miss a beat either and brought the cleaver down, aiming for the hare's long feet. But he wasn't 'Captain' for nothing and had earned all his medals through blood sweat and tears. He kept his toes by a fraction of an inch, having managed to scoot backwards in the nick of time.

Sickletail pounced from a tabletop and dug her claws into the fox's mask. She'd been aiming for his eye but missed. To her surprise the mask neatly slid off and her with it.

Flayface's grizzly features were now free for all to see. Gnarled, pink flesh the colour of spring roses. A single eye that bulged out far too much to be natural. And his teeth- shining white for all to see despite the fact that his jaws were technically shut. He lacked a muzzle and cheeks and his nose was a pair of small holes at the edge of a wobbly bit of flesh.

"You are certainly uglier than I expected, wot." The hare had gone pale at the sight of his opponent. It was... Rather horrifying.

Fleetfoot threw the remaining half of his rolling pin at his opponent, and caught the fox in the stomach. The hare used the side of a cooking top to ricochet towards his opponent. He barreled into the fox and knocked him flat on his back, the cleaver sliding out of reach.

Flayface opened his mouth to shout, but using both arms, One-eye snapped the jaws closed. The fox's claws shot forwards and forced their way into the hare's sides. Fleetfoot ignored the pain as best he could and released one paw long enough to bring it crashing down on the Slavemaster's face.

The pair continued to scuffle, until with a tremendous effort Flayface lifted the hare into the air. Fleetfoot sent a flurry of kicks into his opponent's midriff, but was nonetheless thrown off. The hare crashed against a barrel which was promptly sent spinning about the kitchens until it crashed against the side of an oven. Deathglare came spilling out of it with a groan.

"Yer a tough one." The fox growled, rising to his feet and reaching for a nearby knife. "But I've fought badgers an' lived. No hare's gonna stop me."

Silvertongue reached the knife first, and slammed it through the slaver's paw and into the table. Flayface howled in pain, and was promptly slashed across his face by the vengeful weasel's claws. Before he could retaliate Sickletail slammed a cleaver down and neatly sliced off his left toes.

But the fox was screaming and as the other, terrified, kitchen workers knew- someone would soon hear the commotion. Deathglare also knew this, which was why he rushed (dizilly) in from behind and pounced upwards. He brought his leash around the fox's neck and squeezed, so that no sound could come spilling from it's jaws.

But the fox was fighting back. One blood-soaked feetpaw knocked Sickletail onto her back- his unpinned paw swatted Silvertongue away before it went for Deathglare. He had forgotten completely, about the hare.

Like a river bursting from a dam, Fleetfoot charged and ripped Flayface's paw free from the knife and table. With a grunt of exertion, he forced the flailing fox into a flaming fireplace.

There was hissing from the burning coals, and a smell foul enough to knock out somebeast with a better nose. If Deathglare hadn't spent an unhealthy amount of time crammed into a stinking barrel he'd have been sick. There would have been screaming (and lots of it) but the pine marten held firm despite the proximity to the flames, until the vulpine's thrashing form went limp.

One-eye pulled the dead fox free of the fire and helped a disgruntled (for some of his fur had singed) Deathglare to his feetpaws.

"Y-y-you killed him." This was the old mouse, sounding thunderstruck. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack. To be fair so did every other slave.

"Chap didn't give us much of a choice mate." One-Eye rubbed at his sides. Ten long gashes, but none very deep. They were sore and blood still gently trickled free from them. On the whole though he was unharmed.

"He had it coming." Silvertongue was looking very pleased with himself. Far too pleased than anyone who had just participated in murder should have been.

"Now they hurt us." Whimpered the otter, curling in on himself as tightly as he could.

"Don't worry boys. Nobeast'll know. I always get away with my murders." Sick-Eyes made her grand entrance.

"What're ye doing here?"

"I escaped threadin' while they were movin' us back to our cells. It was difficult and required a lot of skill. I'm fine, thanks fer askin'. As to yer other question, same as Death an' his pet hare."

"I'd say he's more like my pet. The leash really does the trick, don'tcha know?"

Sick-Eyes ignored him, there was childlike excitement in the old pine marten's eyes. "Let's start a rebellion!"

The other slaves looked rather like one would when faced with the prospect of dying. In other words, terrified.

"They'll have ears for this!"

"And fingers!"

"Nevermind ears and fingers- they'll have heads for this!"

"No they won't." Explained the old beast patiently. "The hare's a tall beast an' there are fox skulls all over this damn place. Give 'im the mask an' nobeast'll know the difference."

"B-but the b-b-body."

Here Sick-Eyes looked demented enough to make even those who knew her, not to mention a hare of the Long Patrol, take a few steps backwards.

"Don't ye lot know how to make soup?"

"Soup?"

"Aye! With carrots and that. Details don't matter, just get the biggest pot ye have boiling. I'll tell ye what ter do as ye do it. But first Death is gonna tell us why he's wearing a sail."

"I'm not-"

"I was gonna ask that too." Added Sickletail.

The pine marten shrunk slightly. Fleetfoot patted his back jovially. "Go on chap, tell 'em what happened."