A/N: Back in Redwall again for a brief interval, so as not to bore you all to death with the Northlands politics and whatnot. Brief but big thank you to Keldor (known here as keldor314) for hopping along. He is now the official beta-reader of Black and White. A beta-reader is more or less an editor but I would also like to emphasize that Keldor does help clean the plotlines up and give (many good) suggestions and ideas (I mean you're all welcome to give those) in addition to banishing the typos off the face of this good earth. I'm going to recommend his fic The Deserters here, it's only two chapters in and not too long word-wise, but it's a fun retelling (kinda) of Salamandastron following Thura and Ding-eye (who are the dumbest vermin in fiction and I say that in the nicest way possible XD)
AlexFalTalon: A while ago XD Flayface was the fox who got killed by everyone, the replacement slavemaster. I suppose this is the biggest flaw with such a sprawling tale. Inevitably some parts of the fic will end up forgotten. So yeah... Fleetfoot is Flayface. The real Flayface though was killed and cooked into soup. Which Longclaw ate. And liked. I'm dark like that sometimes.
As to why they didn't smell him, for one thing he's dressed in Flayface's clothes- which have probably never been washed- is wearing a fox skull and a rotten tail. I think the rotting tail is the biggest er- deodorant here. Noone wants to sniff too closely y'know.
Abusive relationship, eh? Is that the case or... is it meant to show something else?
Waycaster: I do think Longclaw sees himself as an above-average (read cultured) hordeleader, that said is this out of culture or self-interest? He knows what Flayface is capable of doing, surely he's a safer lackey than two ambitious unknowns.
We will get more Honest Bunch backstories... eventually. Frankly the only one I have mapped out fully is Threeclaw - though part of Sick-Eye's charm is that she... well her backstory is so over the top it's almost like she's making it up to sound more interesting. Good point about marriage for love, but there *is* always the option of falling out of love. Which isn't what's happening here mind. Sickle and Silver aren't falling out of love.
Abrahem: Hehehe, I will :)
I'm not going to comment on whether or not he's onto One-Eye and so on, you all know the drill be now. That said, he and Flayface did know each other since childhood (small details are easy to forget, worry not). Chapter 39, the Longclaw segment reads "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." Again, small details, nothing to fret about (I'm only clarifying so you don't enter the depths of far-fetched theorizing XD)
You make some pretty good points regarding Silver and Sickle, just thought I'd add that- before when they thought their kids were dead, they were fighting with the knowledge that if they lose, they die. Now, if the lose, they die and never see the kids ever again. So funnily enough the fact that their babes are alive amplified the stress if you will.
My accent is... *Drumroll*... Eh I'm not sure? I've been told I have an american accent before- but 'American' is preety vague considering how many different accents there are there. I speak French with a german accent (but dont know German... funnily enough). I er- am quite good at doing accents (I can do a pretty decent Scoottish/Welsh/Irish hodgepodge) but I'm not sure what my 'normal one' is.
Sebias: Baked Warthog? Tastes like pork! Keep in mind though, that Longclaw doesn't know that Fufret escaped.
Yes... marriage problems :) We'll go with that...
An intriguing guess. A little game of knives in the dark is always fun, no?
Thank you everyone for the reviews and stuff. Here's the chapter. Hope you like it.
Despite his initial fury, Threeclaw did not protest his guesthood again. He was, in his own words 'pas exactement thrilled', but he wasn't throwing a tantrum either. He seemed more annoyed in fact, by Matiya's irrepressible excitement and giddiness.
"You'll absolutely love it here!" The squirrel was insisting, in what was probably an attempt to cheer the stoat up. "Life h-here is- it's peaceful and calm an-and it's easy. I mean, yeah we all have to help out with the harvesting and cleaning up and stuff but you know they're just chores. Not hard to do. And I don't think Abbot Martin is giving us lessons, because the others aren't back yet and he's probably busy with abbot things anyways. B-but that means we can spend more time practicing!" Matiya grabbed Threeclaw by the paw and half-lead, half-attempted-to-drag the albino across the grounds. "We have a pond, but I think it's a bit early for swimming."
"I see troi otters splashing."
"I mean... it's never early for otters. But me and you'd probably get a cold or something." Matiya shrugged and continued excitedly hopping around the stoat. Threeclaw for his part was wearing a bemused smirk. "And we have an orchard and it's Spring already which means the first flowers and stuff should be coming up now. And there's usually too much fruit to know what to do with. Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! We can climb the outside of the belltower! I've always wanted to but my mother- I mean if you did it with me-"
"Desole, I'm not a treebeast."
"Well that's... fine." Matiya stopped bouncing for all of three seconds. "But we can still duel and stuff. And there might even be a book or two about swords in the Record Room, although I'm not sure Montague'll let me take it out. He's really possessive about books. Only ever lets Momchillo read them. B-but anyways yeah. And I mean... if that's not enough to warm you up to the place just wait till the next feast. There's always a feast just around the corner you know." Matiya frowned suddenly, his brow furrowed, deep in thought. "I think the grown-ups do it that way so they can threaten us into behaving."
"Very clever grown-ups."
The squirrel stopped bouncing once more, perhaps finally noting that Threeclaw did not seem the least bit interested in abbey life. "So..."
"So." Repeated Threeclaw, brushing his claws clean against his chestfur.
"Do you... well it's a bit early for dinner." Matiya scratched the back of his head. "Do you want... to... see anything?"
"Not really. I daresay there'll be plenty of time for that."
"Right. So... do you think your crew will turn up soon?"
Threeclaw shrugged. "I would rather not talk maintenant."
"Yeah..." Matiya trailed off. "Sorry, I mean, busy day and everything. And yeah I'm sorry you can't leav- Oof!"
A well-placed jab had sent Matiya sprawling to the ground. Wearing a wide, rogueish grin, Threeclaw pressed the stick against the squirrel's throat. "I would rather we are practicing, si? No point wasting daylight, you can show me whatever demain." He spun on his heel and turned away. Matiya knew this was when he was supposed to get up.
He did so, searching for a stick of his own, only for Threeclaw to spin around and toss one at him. Matiya caught it and gave it an experimental spin, the way Threeclaw always seemed to do.
"Very good reflexes." The stoat praised.
Matiya opened his mouth to respond with a 'thank you', but Threeclaw acted faster. Darting forwards the albino swung his 'blade' at the squirrel's, effortlessly snapping it at the base. He cackled with verminous glee at the look of shock on his pupil's face. "Next time you are picking a better weapon, si?" The tip of his 'sword' poked the now-annoyed Redwaller on the nose. Matiya brushed it aside with a scowl.
"You didn't let me pick one."
The albino shrugged. "You were being slow at choosing."
"And you knew that one would break."
"I did, oui. If you are expecting your opponents to give you good weapons then it's a miracle you are not a very, very dead squirrel." He grinned, spun the blade and offered Matiya the 'handle'.
"So is this one going to break as well or do you have something else in mind?" The squirrel asked, taking it anyways.
"I was just going to show you what a swordsbeast can do... without a sword. Feel free to try and hit me as much as you like, as hard as vous voulez." Threeclaw turned again, though this time with a mocking waggle of his tail.
Matiya hesitated a moment, then sprung forwards and made to strike at the stoat's unprotected back. As if expecting the blow to come, and in hindsight he probably had been expecting it, the stoat ducked. The 'blade' sailed overhead and the momentum of Matiya's swing, coupled with a sudden tug at his tail, brought him gracelessly to the ground. He was dazed for all of five seconds, but that was more than enough time for Threeclaw to place a mocking feetpaw upon his head.
"The point of that petit exercise, aside from humiliating you in your own abbey, was to show that you do not need a weapon sometimes. If your opponent is grand, stupid and is being predictable-" As if to underline the last point, the stoat's footpaw ruffled the fur between Matiya's ears. "Sometimes it is better to take their blade than draw your own." Deciding his pupil had been sufficiently humiliated, Threeclaw stepped off his head and helped the squirrel back up. "Maintenant, I will try and tappe vous and you must somehow get me to the ground before I 'kill' you- yes I will not be hitting hard and yes if you do beat me you are more than welcome to make this a sufficiently embarrassing souviens-"
"Matiya!" Came the shrill cry of Blind Agatha, who, from the way she came striding forwards, arms crossed and wearing a cold glare made of solid winter snow, must have been watching for quite some time. "What are you doing?" She asked, once she had reached the two.
The two glanced at one another. It was the kind of look often shared by dibbuns caught in mischief.
"Go on Matiya, tell your famille what we're doing." Threeclaw said, after an icy pause.
"I was just going to. Well... you see mother Threeclaw has been... teaching me." Inwardly, Matiya had debated lying, but knowing his mother as well as he did... there was no point. For one she was probably well aware of what they had been doing (only now did it become apparent that their shenanigans had drawn quite a few stares) and there was no point in lying now if she caught him and Threeclaw at it on a later date.
"Teaching you?" Her lips curled in distaste. "And what exactly does he have..." She gave his calm, confident grin one look of pure revulsion. "To teach?"
Either he hadn't noticed or he was used to such looks and took pleasure in receiving them. "Many, many things mademoiselle. I am a beast of many talents, hard as that may be being to comprehend-"
"What has he been teaching you?" The squirrel demanded, briskly, of Matiya. Only now did Threeclaw seem offended. The stoat frowned, grew silent and turned away to stare at the gates.
"Sword-work." Matiya mumbled, gazing at his feetpaw. His mother had never truly approved of his desire to be the next Abbey Warrior, and while such disapproval had never stopped him from prancing around with wooden swords she had never encouraged him to seek out potential tutors, nor had she let anybeast willing to teach him, teach. It would have been one thing for him to return to Redwall, clean and fit, learning from a Badgerlord or a hare of the Long Patrol. But he'd come back looking like a bird's nest and trying to emulate the combat style of a vermin kidnapper.
"We have been over this Matiya." She said, sounding exhausted.
"I know mum but-"
"Your son is exceptionally talented." Threeclaw butted in. "He has good reflexes and I could not have asked for a better student. He is obedient and smart and learns quickly. We have already made much progre-"
"Yes I can see the bruises." Agatha snapped.
The stoat would have replied with something along the lines of 'they'll help him remember the lessons better', had Matiya not trodden on his tail.
Her nose held high and her eyes shut, the elder squirrel went on, oblivious. "In any case, Matiya I don't think even you know when's the last time you washed up. I've boiled some water and there's soap and a clean habit waiting for you." She turned away. "Come along now."
Knowing better than to argue Matiya did as he was bid and followed in her footsteps. It was hard to say whether he or Threeclaw looked more sullen about the latest turn of events.
"How dare ye!"
"Who de ye think ye are?"
"Kill the abbotmouse!"
Bow, Fang, and Jewel probably couldn't kill the old mouse even if they wanted to. And they didn't really want to anyways. But somehow or other they had found out about Threeclaw's questioning. And they had found out that a certain abbotmouse had not told them about it. And now they were trying to bite him.
Small though their teeth were the old mouse did not doubt their sharpness and in the initial panic that followed their calls for his murder he had scrambled up the door. Hanging from the top of it, his tail and feetpaw pulled out of reach of the most violent dibbuns in the abbey's history (or at least, the most consciously violent) the aged rodent tried and failed to reason with the enraged triplets, all while Cheese watched from the corner.
"Ye tried te feed Threeclaw te yer badger!" Snarled Fang, who hopped as high as she could in an attempt to rake his tail red.
"I assure you th-that was not the case." The Abbot protested. He would have been wringing his paws, the way he often did when flustered, were they not the only thing keeping him away from the voracious trio.
"Don't lie te us!"
"We heard the mousies talkin' about it!"
"An' we also know how ye locked him up in a dinghy cell an' left him to rot in manacles that go 'clink, clink' everytime he moves!"
"I-I did no such thing!"
As one all four weasels snapped. "Liar!"
"Please!" The Abbot pleaded, for his arms were growing tired. "I-it was- he's fine! We just wanted to ask some questions f-f-for clarification so we could find out where our children are. T-to get an idea of what happened. An-and we haven't locked him up! He's free to roam the grounds an-and the Abbey if he's supervised."
"Yer tryin' te trick us with fancy talk!" Jewel accused, attempting to clamber up the door after him.
"Aye! What kinda word is 'cleariffickation'?" Bow demanded, waving a tiny fist up at the bespectacled woodlander.
"We wanted t-to understand w-what happened." The Abbot was sweating profusely by now, his arms straining under his weight, his old bones creaking. Why! He hadn't had to climb up a doorside since dibbunhood! "I-it was boring. A singularly boring affair! H-had I known you were so keen to erm- come I'd have brought you. B-but I thought, I mean really it would have put you all to sleep."
Fang narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, but considering she'd been trying to claw him moments ago Martin considered this an improvement. "Why didn't ye ask us?"
"B-because I knew it would b-b-bore you." In truth Abbot Martin had quickly ruled out inviting them to the trial for the opposite reasons. They would have taken the first opportunity to cause chaos, perhaps by biting the Log-a-log if he threatened Threeclaw. Which the shrew had done. The abbot dreaded to think how much louder he would've had to shout to get some semblance of order. "There were lots of l-long b-boring words everywhere an-and Threeclaw himself was almost snoring!"
The quartet 'harrumphed' in unison, but the triplets turned away from the door. Though they grumbled under their breaths and spoke with the air of mutinous pirates, the aged rodent knew that he was no longer in danger of scratches. Gently sliding back to the ground he gave both his arms a quick rub.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, the aboot continued. "Anyways... I erm yes. I thought you might like to know that Threeclaw will be staying in the abbey until more of your er companions show up."
The weasels gave four, strangely distinct, cries of delight and rushed back towards the abbotmouse. Having not expected such a turn of events the aged rodent landed heavily on his backside, his spectacles askew. The quartet crawled over him, practically bouncing up and down with glee.
"Will he be stayin' here?"
"That hasn't been-"
"Or does he get his own room?"
"Well I'm not sure about a room but he'll have-"
"Can he play with us?"
"If he wants to." The mouse replied, trying to re-adjust his spectacles.
"Does he want te play with us?" Jewel asked, tugging at his whiskers.
The Abbot tried and failed to push himself into a more comfortable position. "I haven't really asked-"
"Will ye read stories te him as well?" Fang seemed as interested in the answer as she was with his tail.
"It's not something I considered-"
"Will ye make him wash up and brush his teeth?"
"I mean some level of basic hygiene-" Before Martin could finish replying Cheese bounced and landed on his stomach. The weasel did not weigh much but neither did the poor abbot, who was promptly winded. None of the dibbuns seemed to notice.
"Does the badgerlady want te eat him?"
"Are ye gonna make him work for ye an' clean all the pots an' pans?"
Unable to extricate himself from the grip of their questioning, and unsuccessful in his attempts to so much as sit up, the aged rodent resigned himself to his fate and tried his best to answer the very many questions placed before him.
Luckily for him there came a knock at the door and Friar Gord entered, no doubt having heard the commotion. "Father Abbot sir... do you need any help?"
"I er- well... yes." The weasels scrambled off of the abbot as the portly hedgehog gently helped the old mouse to his feetpaws.
"I've got you sir." Gord scratched at his head-spikes, leaned in and whispered. "Would you like me to get these rascals off your paws and set them washing dishes or something?"
Martin brushed away the suggestion. "No, no, that's quite alright. They had good reason to be upset." The abbot sighed. "Why don't you go and inform the others that Threeclaw will be joining us at dinner?"
The round ball of quills wearing an apron (which was what the dibbuns thought he looked like) nodded. "If you need me for anything er- don't hesitate to shout."
Friar Gord left and Abbot Martin turned to the weasels. The old mouse sat down and cleared his throat. "I will answer all of your questions to your heart's content." He promised. "But please do ask them one at a time."
The endless stream of questions returned.
Friar Gord must have looked particularly bitter upon entering the kitchens, for Mormont, who was helping with the dishes felt compelled to ask what was wrong.
"Didn't you hear? Not only are those devilish weasels going to be at dinner, but Threeclaw as well!"
"Do you think they'll behave themselves?" The mouse asked nervously.
The Friar's reply was as blunt as they came. "No." Which meant his pudding was in grave danger...