A/N: Abrahem: Yeah, I'm pretty sure there are always ads on this site- although it depends whether you're viewing it in mobile or desktop. You can add 'Sick-Eyes' to the list of eye character names, and Slit-Eye the Slit-Throat and Mad-Eye Marik, eyes are (apparently) a pretty common naming scheme
We shall be getting the olive oil incident some time in Book III, although I don't want to shoehorn it so it might end up in a drabble instead. We're not that close to the end really, but we are close. I think I'm just going to finish all of the Southern Arcs next, and then finish off the Northern plotlines. So next chapter should either be Redwall or Salamandastron.
My computer won't let me open the article, but I think I get the gist of it. You copy good writing in order to learn what is good writing- amiright?
Most likely yes- it's my 'internet name' so to speak.
Yeah, I'm not sure if it will be as long as Book II, but definetly longer than Book I (pacing is this story's weakness, but I think I make up for that)
We'll see when we get to Salamandastron, but I think I have got something written along those lines.
And thanks, yeah my birthday was last monday. I'm probably gonna put some more doodles on my deviantart... been ages since I uploaded anything.
The issue with the recording is mostly Abbot Martin. I cannot for the life of me do an 'old mouse' voice. Especially since he goes through quite a few emotional ranges. It's also hard to do Constance without making her a high-pitched squeaky thing or a er- manly woman.
As for Maggie May, I'm not sure if I already said this or not, but I guess I could use it- not anytime soon obviously, and I don't see many places where everyone will burst into song. So that's a maybe? As for the song itself, it's not bad, decently catchy (not like I know anything about music...) but it is a bit surprising that a children's author was singing this... although the Redwall series does have quite a few Ho Yays so... that explains it then.
Remnants of Fantasy: I left a more detailed review on the picture itself, but I just wanted to say thank you again for doing it. It means a lot and was a nice surprise. Also the first piece of fanart I've recieved so that's a milestone. Gosh I'm getting famous XD And yes, poor Fret will never have peace of mind around Snakeskin.
Sebias of Redwall: You don't have to review every chapter (or any chapter for that matter, reviews are appreciated but optional)so I'm not going to hold this against you. But glad you're enjoying it.
AlexFalTalon: Comedy is my favorite genre, period. And while this story is not exactly a laugh-out-loud festival, I am glad that particular line was well-recieved.
"Ow."
"Ow."
"Ow!"
"Will ye cut it out!?" Sick-Eyes demanded. "Yer eye's fine- it's just the flesh around it's all swollen an' gettin' in yer way."
"That's nice to know." Deathglare spoke through gritted teeth. His jaw was fixed so tightly it was a miracle words were even coming out. "My eye's fine but it still hurts and I can't see. Praise Vulpuz!"
The older pine marten growled, and promptly poked his bad eye. Deathglare hissed and immediately stood up, his paws clasping at his face.
"That's what ye get for yer attitude. Now sit back down an' let me fix it for ye."
"I'm good thanks." He growled. "Go poke Silver's paw or something."
"She already has Death." The weasel reminded him.
"Nobeast asked you anything." The pine marten spat, taking a seat besides the singer.
Sick-Eyes shook her head in despair. "No wonder the hare got the better of ye. No hypnotism with an eye like that, eh?"
"No." Deathglare admitted after a pause.
Silvertongue shrieked with laughter, and punched the marten lightly on the shoulder. "Fails ye when ye need it the most! Typical limbs am I right?"
"Eyes aren't limbs." Was Deathglare's cold reply, his eyes fixing the weasel with a glare. Silvertongue's grin faltered, and fell. "Now if you'll excuse me I think I'll go check on said hare. We wouldn't want him pulling a fast one on us."
"Miss yer barrel do ye?" Sick-Eyes teased, her grin wide and childlike and full of mocking laughter.
Deathglare did not reply.
"I'll go an' make sure the woodlanders are still breathin'." Silvertongue offered. "I ain't much use here anyways." He waved his thickly-bandaged paw for emphasis and without waiting for any kind of reply stood up and crossed the kitchen. As he walked a few of the slaves waved. He recognized the missing-finger otter and the droopy old mouse, and he waved back by way of greeting. Nearly all the slaves they'd recruited had been hesitant at first to join any kind of rebellion- but now it was different and anybeast who wound up knowing about it, flocked to the kitchens.
They had full control of the kitchens, which meant, ironically, that as per usual, his wife was in charge of feeding everybeast. It also meant that slipping poison into somebeast's soup was easier, and although the king had somebeast to test for him- most of the officers did not. Quite a few captains and chiefs had died in their sleep over the last few days- and as punishment more slaves were 'killed' and 'turned to soup'. And with the 'dead' slaves free they could now work on sabotaging the boats.
It was a simple plan- one that he would one day claim as his. Of course it would have all failed dramatically if the wolverine decided he wanted his men to have proper burials. But that was not the case. No, the king trusted Flayface the fox with the corpses and didn't question what he was eating.
"Such dutiful guardsbeasts." The weasel had said, cradling the skull of a rat that had once been master-at-arms, but was now a pasty-filling. "Protectin' his majesty's stummick from all kinds of aches an' pains."
"Stops his royal highness from goin' hungry. What a hard-working beast he is." Sickletail added and they had both laughed.
The slaves were only too happy to be free, and as such did not bring up the how's and the why's. Some, mostly the vermin, were delighted to hear about the grim fate of their former oppressors. But most would go as green as the one-eyed hare and run into a guilty corner, so Silvertongue did not bother to let them in on the secret. All they knew was that they were leaving as soon as they were ready.
The castle had never been a noisy place. All winter the halls had been silent, and that was at full capacity. Now it was both empty and quiet.
Perhaps it was instinct, or maybe just the grinning skulls glaring down at him, but Silvertongue always got the impression that somebeast was watching him. A ghost or a spirit, Vulpuz himself perhaps.
The weasel shivered, both for the cold and for his nerves, and proceeded at greater speed. Next time, he'd let Deathglare go on his own... luckily for him, the path to the cellars was not a long one. Down a few hallways, down a few hidden staircases and, as Threeclaw would say, voila!
"Battle's one thing old chap." The hare was saying. "You fight the enemy face to face, whisker to whisker, wot. Nothing but a pair of angry bodies beating at each other like a hammer on an anvil. It's bloody horrible but it's a damn sight better than cooking somebeast." He was talking to Connington of course, the drunk mouse had been denied drink ever since the rebellion had started and was well on his way to recovery. Unfortunately, he was also having the most painful hangover of his life.
Serves him right, the drunk fool...
"Well they're dead by the time we cook 'em." Silvertongue reminded, mostly to announce his arrival. "It's up to ye whether ye prefer poison te the battlefield."
"I don't really have a preference." One-eye retorted. "But there's dignity to one-"
"An' success te the other. Take yer dignity an' shove it in yer tail it's not like we got many options here." It amazed Silvertongue to no end that a grizzled old hare of the long patrol was so squeamish.
"I know that! But it still doesn't make any of this feel any better, morally-speaking of course, wot."
"That's just yer tummy talkin'. Rat ain't good for yer stummick I heard." The weasel snickered, and watched in satisfaction as One-eye went a small shade greener. "Anyway, I came te check on ye. Seems yer still alive so that's good."
"Your concern for my wellbeing is bally heartwarming."
It was Silvertongue's turn to be disgusted. Him? Heartwarming? Only to Sickle! "We don't really have anybeast what can wear the mask so yer important. That's all."
"That's a shame ole chap. I was beginning to think you were growing attached to me." The hare's voice dripped with sarcasm, but the weasel didn't seem to pick up on that.
"I've got a wife ye know." The singer snarled, waving a fist. "And she's the only beast I'm attached te. Well her an' the kids, but they're all dead now so take yer attachment somewhere else."
"Well I had a wife- but plague and all that, you know how it is, and I had a son but you kidnapped him, wot. So my attachment has been feeling rather lonely as of late." The Long Patrol Captain pointed at a piece of floor opposite him, offering it as a seat.
"That hare was yer whelp, eh?" Silvertongue sat down, mostly to delay his inevitable forray through the no-doubt haunted halls of the castle, and scratched his chin. "No wonder the lad couldn't sing. Horribly out of tune, just like his dear one-eyed papa it seems." The weasel shook his head. "He ain't here, but that ain't my fault now is it? Sorry about yer missus, but plague ain't too bad a way te go."
Fleetfoot One-eye harrumphed skeptically, but was a polite beast when it suited him. "And I'm sorry for your loss. The death of a child is always a tragedy." And because he knew exactly what the weasel would have asked next, he added. "Even vermin children."
Silvertongue, who had been about to ask 'even vermin children?' closed his mouth and frowned. "That's nice of ye te say."
For a short while they sat in silence, until Connington gave a great wretch, rose to his feetpaws and emptied his stomach into a nearby barrel. Wiping his mouth on wrist-fur filthy enough to make anybeast else sick, the mouse slid back to the ground with a groan.
One-eye reached over to carefully pat the mouse's shoulder. "You know what they say ole chap. Better out than in, wot."
"I've been meanin' te ask." Silvertongue butted in. "Why'd ye bring a drunk on a rescue mission? Ye can't be that daft can ye?"
"Connington's not a drunk." The hare grumbled pointedly, only for the weasel to laugh.
"Ye really are half-blind aren't ye? If he ain't drunk, I'm a bloody lizard."
The hare shook his head. "That's not what I meant. He isn't normally like this. Most likely coping with grief. You kidnapped his nephew, wot."
"Grief? He's grievin'?" The weasel snickered and shook his head. "I lost far more than that an' ye don't see me streamin' tears."
One-eye did not reply but after a short pause ventured to ask. "You have no idea where the children are do you?"
"Nope."
"They weren't with you here?"
"Only the mouse and ferret." Silvertongue replied. "But Frettie's not even a slave." Thinking about the ferret always made him mad. The cowardly kit had watched his paw get flayed away... It was not a coincidence that all their bad luck had started the day Sharpfur and Greyclaw had brought the ferret to their camp.
The hare was staring at him dumbly. "C-could you say that again?"
"The damned ferret ain't a slave. There was this big feast not too long ago an' he was there, sittin' on a mound of pillows while I toiled away in the kitchens. Then I start talkin' te him an' he doesn't remember me so I get mad, snap a bit and then this mad rat comes along and-" Silvertongue shivered and growled all at once. "Flayed me paw."
Fleetfoot glanced worriedly in Connington's direction. He'd had his misgivings about the ferret from the start of the quest, and such feelings had only been strengthened by Roseheart's version of events. Now he didn't know what to feel. This was horrible news no matter which angle he looked at it from.
"He is coming home. I will drag him back if I have to!"
The mouse had said, all those many weeks ago when they had first found the molemaid and the weasel pups. Perhaps it was a good thing Jon Connington was hung over...
Silvertongue stood up. "Well if ye need us we'll be in the kitchen cookin' up some stoat stew."
"I think I'll pass."
The singer turned to leave.
"Out of curiosity." Came One-eye's voice, just as he'd reached the doorway . "How old were your children?"
Silver paused for thought, did a quick mental headcount and spun on his heel. "Well Heartrip was gonna be a full twenty, Blizz an' Red should've been nineteen. Sharpfur an' Greyclaw were about ten an' a half, eleven-ish. The girls were about four an' Cheese would've been-"
"Three daughters and a baby boy?" For some reason the hare sounded... Happy? Excited? Cheerful?
"Aye. That's it." The weasel replied carefully. Why was the one-eyed captain smiling?
"Seems you're still a father ole chap. We sent the last four to Redwall Abbey."
Silvertongue frowned in disbelief. "Yer pullin' me tail here."
"Give me one bally reason to lie about something like that."
Silvertongue burst through the kitchen doors faster than a bolt of lightning. "Sickle! I've got the best news ye'll ever hear!"
The female weasel raised an eyebrow as her mate clasped her paws in his own. "The boats are ready?" She would be glad to leave the place of course, but was that really the best news she'd ever hear?
"Our babies are alive!"
"Yet jokin'?" He did not seem to be, and was bouncing on the spot, his tail a small red blur behind him. There was nothing in his eyes but pure delight.
"Course not! The hare said so. Found them in a barrel an' took 'em te the abbey. Isn't this wonderful?"
Indeed it was and soon the two were spinning round the kitchen, chanting 'they're alive' at the top of their lungs.
"How can this possibly be good news," Deathglare rubbed at his forehead. "If they're in the bloody abbey?"
Sickletail kicked him. "It ain't bad news if that's what yet tryin' the imply. An' so what? They raised young Fret didn't they?"
"And would you say 'young Fret' was the pinnacle of successful parenting?"
Silvertongue kicked him too. "My kids ain't nothin' like the no-good little sneak anyways. An' it's fine, we give 'em the hare and his drunk mouse an' we get our babies back. Simple!"
One-eye came to this same conclusion down in the cellars. Frankly it came as a relief. The alliance he had with the vermin would only have lasted as long as it took for them to escape. But now he and Connington could at least hope to keep their lives a little longer and the uneasy working relationship would continue.
Their lives were secure, but happiness was another thing. His son was probably still missing. Somewhere in Mossflower woods... And if what Silvertongue had said was true, well, he'd have some comforting to do...
"Better out than in ole chap. You'll be right as rain soon enough, wot!" And he'd have some explaining to do. But how did one beast tell another that their nephew had gone bad?
Footnote: A bit of a shorter chapter than usual, but I'm saving the good stuff for when I can focus on the Northlands. Just wanted to say thank you to anyone who's read this. This story has passed ten thousand views.