Marianne and the Song of Redwall

[James Gryphon]

I've liked it a lot, overall. I don't have time to go into in-depth commentary right now, but the introduction of religious elements gives the story a distinct feel that isn't present in the original books. I'm not entirely sure I like it, but it does certainly sets your style apart from other stories. Although honestly I think the Abbess has something of a point about the rather lazy lifestyle the Redwallers usually live, I felt her style is pretty pharisaical, and it was nice to get even a faint clue that she wasn't, well, always such a jerk.

Personally I think Skipper's case is pretty shallow, and I expect Samuel to say so, with characteristic anger. Skip must take him to be some sort of fool to suppose that he would go out there, almost but not quite murder an abbeybeast, and then drag her all the way back to the Abbey so that he could get caught.

[belle]

I've liked it a lot, overall. I don't have time to go into in-depth commentary right now, but the introduction of religious elements gives the story a distinct feel that isn't present in the original books. I'm not entirely sure I like it, but it does certainly sets your style apart from other stories. Although honestly I think the Abbess has something of a point about the rather lazy lifestyle the Redwallers usually live, I felt her style is pretty pharisaical, and it was nice to get even a faint clue that she wasn't, well, always such a jerk.

Personally I think Skipper's case is pretty shallow, and I expect Samuel to say so, with characteristic anger. Skip must take him to be some sort of fool to suppose that he would go out there, almost but not quite murder an abbeybeast, and then drag her all the way back to the Abbey so that he could get caught.

Thanks, James. The case is pretty shallow. I actually had a part Id written where Skipper cslms down and discusses how likely it would be that Samuel would do something like that, but they also question the veracity of his story of being surrounded by five vermin and getting out without being injured, and dont know what to think. There was some other stuff in that part, too. Unfortunately, I stupidly deleted it years ago (this story is pretty old and I just started working on it again after leaving it off for some years after Chapter 17) because I was planning to make huge revisions that didn't get made. I need to find that part or write a new, similar part, along with another scene I foolishly deleted.
I'm glad you liked it I will keep writing and hopefully improving.

[Captain Tammo]

Hey Belle!

I actually haven't started reading this one just yet :-/
I've been juggling a few midterms and things won't be slowing down for a little bit. But I'm really happy that you're posting consistently! That means I'll be able to read through a lot more when I finally get some free time

[belle]

Skipper Johndam, unheeding, prompted, "Well, Miz Salome? Why did yore big brother feel th' need t' bring 'is weapon with 'im? Couldn't've known those bad varmints'd be lurkin' about, waitin' for him, could he?"

Salome's temper rose, and, forgetting her apprehension, she leapt to her feet."Why in Mossflower would anybeast bring a weapon along? D'you

fancy these Woods are some sort o' . ..placid 'aven?" (A phrase from

one of Marianne's songs.)

"Well, they ain't - an' of all creatures you ought t' know! If Samuel 'adn't

brought th' axe along they'd've been deadbeasts - him an' Muryet!"

Skipper Johndam shouted back, "If not for yore axe, eh, Samuel? I'd promote ye t'

Abbey Champion anyday - it was plain bad luck yore sister lost or forgot yore dagger, lke the daft, good-'earted little creature she is!"

Salome was incensed. "I ain't daft! An' Samuel ain't never called me daft!"

"Oh, he didn't, did you, Big Brother? Would ye mind goin' out an' findin' th' dagger

yore sister forgot or lost - she didn't seem t' be certain which one it was! Are ye sure she didn't forget it in yore

chamber, or in one o' yore tunic pockets?"

Samuel slammed his paw down on the table surface. "I give my word

I don't 'ave th' blasted dagger! Salome, shut yore mouth an' sit down! You

Are daft - daft an' stupid! A hollow'eaded, clueless,

washed-up-with-th'-silt-of-th'-river oaf!"

The Abbess rose just as Salome crumpled into her chair."Enough! Iwill not tolerate that sort of language! This

nonsense must cease immediately! Marianne, go to the kitchens to assist Friar Jerome; you

are no longer needed in Great Hall. Samuel, Salome, you will be

confined to your chamber until further notice. I wish to hear nobeast

speaking, besides myself and Skipper Johndam - that is, Skipper, if you feel

that you are able to speak and behave like a creature of Redwall

Abbey!"

Shamefaced, the Skipper mumbled an apology -not to the two ferrets, who

were taking their leave, but to the creatures in general.

Marianne retreated to the kitchen, as she was told - but, a few moments

later, she reappeared, with Friar Jerome. The Friar had wrangled with Sister Bethelle, hoping to be permitted to visit Muryet, but had returned, defeated.

As shaken as she was, Marianne performed a passable curtsy."May I speak, Mother

Abbess?"

Abbess Elinor regarded her for a moment. "Have you anything helpful to

say, miss?"

Without replying to this question, Marianne pointed to Friar

Jerome."Friar, didn't you say earlier that eating bread and pastries

mightn't 'arm Muryet after all?"

Friar Jerome folded his paws. "Aye, missie, I said may'ap Samuel was

I also said I wouldn't take th' risk. What of it?"

Marianne cast an appealing look in the Abbess's direction."See, Mother

Abbess? Salome didn't go t' 'arm Muryet. I swear it!"

Friar Jerome actually took a step backwards."Missie, what in th'name o' seasons . .."

Marianne bit her lip. "You gave Muryet cake yoreself, Friar, remember? You sent me with

A little cake for her once!"

Skipper J. turned to look at him."Is that so, Friar?"

Friar Jerome reclined against the wall."Aye, I it wasn't nothin'

regular - it was done on a feast day, th' first cake she'd 'ad in seasons. An' she was locked up in that gate'ouse an' didn't intend t'

come out - for bread or anythin' else!"

Skipper J. made a noise of

impatience."Never mind when she got th' cake! Miz Marianne, you brought th'cake

to her, I'm assumin'. Did ye notice 'er lookin' groggy or actin' queer after she

ate it?"

Marianne realized then that she had blundered, and made an unsuccessful

effort to avoid the Skipper's eyes. "Wasn't there t' see he reat it, sir."

"Did you see her th'next day?"

"No, sir."

The Skipper's face

was inscrutable. "I see. Salome 'elped you t' pack sweets for Muryet, is that right?"

"Aye, sir, but -"

"Did ye stay long enough t' see Muryet eatin' 'em?"

"Aye, but Salome -"

"Did you see her actin' ill - or queer in any

way?"

No good would come of lying."She acted drunk, sir." Marianne's voice

was flat.

"Drunk?"

Marianne held a miserable, but obstinate silence.

"Hage you anything more to say, Marianne?" the Abbess asked.

Marianne was unwilling to give up so easily; she made one last

desperate attempt. "Skipper, 'ow could you say Samuel would 'urt Muryet? I was

with 'im from th' moment we left Muryet, an' he gave th' dagger t' Salome to

play with before he went t' check on her!"

Skipper J. raised an eyebrow."An' ye saw Salome lose the blade?"

Marianne opened her mouth to reply, and realized, of a sudden, that she

had seen nothing. She had fallen asleep shortly after Samuel's departure.

Now, the Friar came over and placed a paw upon the

squrrelmaid's

shoulder. His voice was gentle."Come an' 'elp me in th' kitchens,

missie. No use in stickin' yore snout into problems when you can't do anythin'

for 'em."

Wordlessly, Marianne obeyed. Salome had received similar advice - if only she had taken it!

As soon as he had closed the door, Samuel turned and cuffed Salome hard

across the ears. She fled to the bed and tried to

scramble under the blankets, but Samuel seized her by the shoulder and hauled

her upright. With his free paw, he thrashed her across the face and head.

"Wot in Hellgates is th' matter with you, Salome? Why d'you act like a blasted fool?".

[belle]

Abbess Elinor and Skipper Johndam, like most of the creatures in the Abbey, hailed the morning sun with sleepless eyes. While the Skipper went out for a stroll through the Abbey lawn, Abbess Elinor poured herself a cup of tea and sat in Great Hall. Sister Bethelle, who, on other days, would sit with her, drinking tea and complaining about the state of the Abbey, had confined herself to the Infirmary with Muryet, about whom the Abbess had received no news.

Abbess Elinor stirred her tea absently. Would it be wise to march up to the Infirmary door and

demand to be admitted, or would this encourage all of the Abbeydwellers to harass the Sister? Abbess Elinor wondered whether most of the creatures had retired to the dormitory for a morning nap. Of course, the Friar was awake, but he was a sensible old creature; if the Abbess explained to him that, for now, she alone would be permitted to visit Muryet, he would not seek to oppose her. Yes, she would go up to the dormitory now, and ensure that the Abbeydwellers were resting; then, and only then, would she confront

Sister Bethelle.

Just as the Abbess was rising from her chair, Skipper J. strode into Cavern Hole, a loaded sling at his side.

"Mother Abbess, marm, there's some varmints standin' outside, an' they wants a word with you."

Abbess Elinor staggered back and collapsed into the chair. "Vermin? How

many of them?"

Skipper Johndam whirled his sling purposefully. "No more than three o' th' scum - great ugly beasts. I'll attend to 'em if you ain't in th'

mood t' be pestered, marm."

The Abbess managed to regain her composure. She set her cup aside, stood up and squared her shoulders. "Don't talk foolishness, sir! Of course I will speak to them."

Together, the Skipper and the Abbess went out to stand upon the south wall. From there, the Abbess

got a good look at the three "great ugly beasts" who stood in the middle of the path.

A big, husky-looking ferret; a scrawny, youngish-looking stoat; a tall, dark-eyed weasel - the creatures bore no more resemblance to one anoher

than melons did to peaches, save for the strange, repulsive, ink-black,

bead-round spots that were scattered throughout their filthy coats. The

weasel wore what appeared to be a sort of emblem - a ring of silver,

centered with an X - on a neck-chain.

The weasel stepped forward. "I know that this place is the Abbey of Redwall; you cannot hide this from me. Are you the Mother Abbess of Redwall?"

The Abbess pursed her lips. "Yes, I am the Mother Abbess of Redwall,

and I would have no reason to hide this fact. The creatures of Redwall fear nobeast, but evil creatures in all parts of Mossflower know and fear us. What do you want of me?"

The weasel seemed to be unfazed. "And I am Rashe, Chief of the Walking Dead of Mossflower. I seek two

ferrets - Samuel, son of Matt, a male ferret who is approaching adulthood, and Salome, daughter of Matt, a young ferretmaid of twelve or thirteen seasons. Have you seen them?"

Abbess Elinor stifled a gasp in the nick of them. She bit her lip,

inwardly praying that her expression had not changed.

"Samuel, son of Matt, and Salome, daughter of Matt. What of them?"

Rashe half-smiled. "It is nothing that concerns you or your creatures."

Skipper J. was poised to tell the weasel that he might scoot off and take his questioning elsewhere, if that was the case; but the Abbess

spoke before he did. "Samuel and Salome passed this place yesterday,

but they left several hours ago. I do not know where they have gone."

Rashe regarded her with unconcealed appraisal. "Then you've never heard of Jamar, the weasel? Or of the squirrelchild, whose name - if I

heard correctly - was Muryet?"

The Skipper's jaw tautened, and the Abbess sensed that he was beginning to whirl his sling, over and over, in one slow

arc, though the vermin could not see it. Once again, she spoke hastily, fearing that Skipper

Johndam's rage would come to the surface and betray them.

"No, we have never heard of a squirrelchild named Muryet, or Mariette, or anything like it. And this Jamar - describe him!"

"A weasel in his middle age, tall and rangy, gray of fur, with yellow, cattish eyes and narrow black pupils."

Abbess Elinor breathed an inward sigh of relief. She sniffed

disdainfully. " 'Yellow cattish eyes?' 'Narrow black pupils?' No, we have

never seen this 'Jamar' before, and we would never welcome scum like that into this Abbey!"

Rashe sneered. "You've allowed filthier scum - like Samuel and Salome - to enter your Abbey, marm."

Now the Skipper came forward, sling at the ready. "We've no time for yore nonsense, weasel," he growled. "Samuel an'

Salome are gone, an' we know nothing about any other creatures. If you 'ave no more questions,

kindly take yore leave. My patience is wearin' thin!"

Rashe stared at the sling, seemingly unimpressed. "There's no reason to believe that

you are feeding me falsehoods. We will leave now. But we must find Samuel and Salome, and if they left your Abbey hours ago,

they are still in Mossflower. My horde will simply have to settle here in the Woods . . . . . until those

ferrets show themselves."

He removed something from his belt, and tossed it to the ground. "You might as well have this despicable thing."

When the three vermin had gone, Abbess Elinor sat down. She began to breathe deeply,

hoping to calm herself.

Skipper J. left the walltops, so that he could see what Rashe had

thrown. A while later, he returned, and handed the object to Abbess

Elinor.

It was Samuel's blade, coated with dirt and bits of leaf.

[belle]

Not long after sunrise, Marianne brought a plate of food to the room that Salome and Samuel shared.

As Samuel came to accept the plate, Marianne refused to meet his eyes.

"Good mornin', Master Samuel." Her voice was quiet, just barely audible. "Th' Abbess. . . th' Abbess says t' tell you she wishes t'

speak with you when you're done eatin'."

"Thank you, missie." Without another word, Samuel closed the door.

He turned to look at Salome, who was still curled up beneath a layer of quilts. Samuel spoke curtly. "I know you're awake. Get up an' eat

somethin'; no use in you lyin' about all day."

After a moment of hesitation, Salome sat upright.

"Here." Samuel handed her the plate, which held two ladle-sized servings of oat porridge, four plain scones and nothing else.

"Aren't you goin' t' eat any of it? "

"What do you think?"

Salome took up her spoon. She began to prod at the oat porridge.

"What are you goin' t' talk t' Abbess Elinor for? "

Samuel rummaged through his clothing trunk for a clean tunic. "It's nothin' that concerns you." He pulled out an overlarge

habit and studied it, before tossing it aside. "Pokin' yore snout into crannies it didn't belong in was what got th' squirrelmaid Muryet ill an' landed us into this mess."

The backs of Salome's eyes began to grow hot; she blinked, hoping to dam the rising tears. "But I didn't go t' do it!"

"You never 'go' to do anything." Samuel shut his clothing trunk, having seen that it contained nothing but oversized green woodlander habits.

"Toss me that tunic over there."

Salome snatched up the said tunic and spat on it, before crumpling it and firing it across the room to land at Samuel's feet.

Samuel picked it up without a word, and slipped it on, disregarding the spittle.

" 'Ow come yore tryin' t' act all cool?" Salome demanded, utterly

bemused. "I ain't done nothin' like that since I was a babe throwin'

tantrums, an' I was feelin' sure you'd come over an' 'it me - like th' varmint you are."

Samuel's teeth were clenched, but he smiled very sweetly.

"Yore still nought but a babe throwin' tantrums, Salome - just a big

babe."

Salome was infuriated.

"Why, you - you pig! Yore a smelly garbage-fed sack o' bones wot

got lucky when th' rat's fleas didn't chew you up! You ain't my brother – bet yore th' son of a starved an' 'alf dead cat

an' a worm that 'ad its 'eart broken!"

Samuel walked on, seeming as if he were deaf. Salome rummaged about for

a word with which she could express all of her anger and contempt.

"You - you - you scum!"

Samuel turned to face her.

"What?"

There was no expression on his face, but his eyes bore a hard glint - one that Salome seldom saw. She swallowed hard.

"Baby Sister." Samuel's voice was sweeter than honey. "Sit down an' be quiet."

Several quiet, sitting-down moments later, Salome was alone in the room.

OoooooOOooooOOoooooooo

Sister Bethelle was sitting upon the edge of the bed, having risen hours earlier than was usual for her, and exhausted herself, once again, with her restless pacing, when Muryet opened her eyes.

It was the first stirring of her head against the pillow that alerted Sister Bethelle, who leapt to her feet and fairly flew to the bedside.

"Oh, thank heavens!"

Muryet lay there, wide awake. Her great dark eyes, still rimmed with crust as though she had merely been sleeping, were fixed upon the ceiling, and she did not turn them, even when Sister Bethelle took her face into her paws.

"Are you quite all right, dearheart? Do you feel any pain? . . . Oh, I'm a fool; of course you won't want to speak. You're exhausted, and parched, I shouldn't wonder. Wait for one moment, my dear."

She vanished, and reappeared a few moments later with an earthen mug.

"Here you are, little one – some cold water for you, and when you've finished with it, I'll feed you a little broth to help you to regain your strength."

"I . . . don't want any food . . . or any water."

Sister Bethelle nearly dropped the mug when Muryet spoke. She hastily collected herself.

'What do you mean, my little one?"

Those huge eyes shifted, then, to meet Sister Bethelle's gaze.

"I saw Fainlie."

Sister Bethelle pressed the rim of the mug to Muryet's smiling lips.

"Oh, sweet, please don't talk such silliness and frighten me. Here – drink, at least a little; there's a good squirrelmaid."

OoooooOOooooOOoooooooo

As he was on his way to Cavern Hole, Samuel stopped in Great Hall.

The young ferret went to stand beside the tapestry. He gazed up at the ever-smiling

mouse warrior.

Martin son of Luke, eh? I've 'ad t' listen to more terrible drunken feast-songs about you than I care t' think about. Come on, mate - wipe

that great simpering grin off yore mug. Creatures who grin all th' time give

me th' spooks.

I see yore bent on holdin' that stupid smile o' yores, ain't you? Give it up. We all know yore love, Laterose o' Noonvale, or whatever you called her, got slain 'cos you were too busy chasin' after vengeance t' look after 'er - an' all th' clown-facin' won't make anybeast forget it.

Say, son of Luke, I need a bit of advice. It ain't nothin' big - I'm just in God's Hell with a bunch of woodlanders, 'cos my little sister lost my dagger an' decided t' play about with a squirrelmaid's 'ealth troubles. It's queer, isn't it? First it's Luzi who nearly gets Salome an' me killed. Now Salome's about t' give us both a ride t' Dark Forest.

Martin's expression did not change.

Now don't go tryin' t' make me feel guilty. She's my baby sister. Of course I'll look after her, an' care for her. Huh - look after her. Nice words from the creature who left 'is sweetheart t' be slain by a crazy varmint.

. . . Throw Luzi in my face, will you? You can't lay th' blame on me for not knowin' what she was plannin'. Luzi was a fool - a thick-headed

little idiot. A blind creature could've seen that weasel Jamar meant nothin' good when he asked her t' steal that ring off her uncle, the Chief, an' for him, sayin' he'd get her out of the settlement safely and that it would buy food an' everything for them. Look, Martin, if I'd 'ad a speck of good sense I would've stopped her. Then, if I'd 'ad any good sense, I'd 'ave grabbed Salome an' left that sick-pit long before I did. Would never 'ave listened t' that little idiot. I wasn't nothin' but a youngster - not much older than Salome is now.

An' Luzi was just a season older than Salome is now. I remember. It was about a month before I found her carcass lyin' in th' middle of her den, crawlin' with fleas. Th' Chief gave her a robe as a birthday gift. She was fourteen seasons old that day. Kept prancin' around, fancyin' that she looked pretty in th' thing. It was too big for her scrawny, starved-lookin' body, an' she looked as silly as a mousemaid at a

picnic. I couldn't 'ave told her that. Before her father died, maybe, but after th' Black Death took her parents she was like a babe in th'

head.

Samuel could see those large dark eyes, moist and plaintive. Wait for me. Say you'll wait for me, Sammy.

"Wait for me, Big Brother. Wait for me. Don't leave me."

They had entered Mossflower Woods yesterday. Only a while ago, Samuel had acquainted himself with the old dormouse, who had accepted a silver brooch as payment for food supplies and a map. Salome had been fed and allowed to rest. They had not been travelling for a full hour now, and already she was beginning to lag.

"Don't leave me, Big Brother," she cried, after every two or three steps. "Wait for me. Wait for me!"

Samuel rolled his eyes. "Blast it, Salome, stop th' whinin'. Try an' walk a bit faster, for

God's sake! Yore too big for me t' be carryin' you, an' I'm already luggin' this pack."

Salome stumbled over a clump of stones. "OW! I almost fell. Big Brother, I almost fell!"

Samuel sighed, but he did not stop - if he had, it would have been the twelfth "big-brother-i-got-hurt" halt he had called since leaving the

dormouse's home.

Salome seemed to understand that she was being ignored, and she gave Samuel a moment of pleasant and very relieving silence.

Then:

"Walk slower, Big Brother! Don't leave me. Wait for me . . . wait for me! Wait for me . . ."

Samuel tried not to grit his teeth. "Salome! You say 'wait for me' one more time - an' I swear I'll thrash you into next season. You know I won't leave you. An' I've told you about a hundred times t' stop

callin' me Big Brother."

Salome was quiet for a while. This was quite unusual for her, and, if not for the sound of shuffling feet and the crackling of

dried leaves, Samuel might have forgotten that she was behind him. Thus, her energy, which was usually devoted to complaining and asking questions, was reserved for walking, and, before long, she was trotting beside Samuel.

"Look, Big Brother! I'm walkin' faster now. I'm walkin' as fast as you!"

Samuel had to smile. "Good girl, Salome. Good girl."

Salome slipped her paw into his. "Remember th' night when we left th' settlement, Big Brother? It was very dark an' scary."

Samuel went rigid. "Don't talk nonsense, Salome," he told her, a little roughly. "It was nighttime. It was supposed t' be dark."

"It was scary t' me. We were walkin' through th' forest an' I couldn't see. I tripped and fell into a big puddle o' nasty mudwater. Th' mud was

thick an' sticky an' I couldn't get out! But you came back an' pulled me out, Big Brother. I thought I'd be stuck there forever. You were mad at me, Big Brother. I was scared you were goin' t' 'it me. Lord, I'm 'appy you didn't 'it me, Big Brother. You said if I fell into another mud puddle you wouldn't pull me out an' you'd leave me be'ind. Big Brother, I was frightened!"

Samuel gently pried his paw free. "I'll 'it you now if you don't shut yore silly

little trap. You know I wouldn't leave you stuck in no mud puddle, Salome. Yore my baby sister. An' I told you t' stop callin' me Big Brother." . . . .

Abbess Elinor caught Samuel, just as he was prepared to descend the

steps into Cavern Hole. She seized his paw, much to his bewilderment,

and spoke in low, urgent tones.

"Samuel! All of the creatures in the Abbey have been waiting for you in Cavern Hole! You must tell me – have you heard of Rashe, Chief of the

Walking Dead of Mossflower?"

Samuel gently pried his paw from the Abbess's grasp, just as he had done with little Salome six or seven seasons ago. "I ain't never seen or heard of any Walkin' Dead, Mother Abbess. And Rashe . . . what sort of creature is he? "

"He was a weasel - very tall, and utterly disgusting in appearance. He had grimy fur, and was covered with . . . bumps . . . they looked

almost as if they were globs of dried ink . . . He wore a circle of silver, with an X in its center, on a chain around his neck."

Samuel stared at the Abbess. "Rashe . . . weasel . .. circle of silver

with an X . . . "

The young ferret stepped backwards, as if he had been struck.

"God's Hell!"

Cavern Hole was packed, just as it had been last evening, but all was

silent.

Muryet, who had been brought out of the Infirmary, wandered throughout the room, paws outstretched, as if she was a blind creature, groping about for a wall. And she might well have been blind, for she seemed to see no one and notice nothing.

Certainly she, along with everybeast else who was present, did not notice Salome, who had managed to slip into Cavern Hole without being seen, and was now sidling into the shadow of an unoccupied table.

When she was safely behind the table, Salome crouched between two chairs.

Though she could see very little from her position, Salome knew that

somebeast was rising, preparing to speak. Most likely it's th' Mother Abbess, she thought, about t' say somethin' about Muryet. Well, to Salome, even listening to an hour of Abbess Elinor's droning was better than spending the day shut up, as if she were a prisoner, in that miserable chamber – alone with her suspense and her guilt and fear.

The young ferretmaid curled her lip scornfully. Of course, they would catch her when the sermon or meeting or whatever it was had ended. And Samuel would shout at her, but she knew that he would be far too pansy-livered to hit her while any of these Abbey creatures were

watching.

"Abbess Elinor. . ." It was Samuel's voice. Salome wrinkled her snout, bemused. Why in Hellgates was Samuel speaking? "If that weasel's th' creature I think he is, by rights, he shouldn't be alive this season. Th'

plague should 'ave taken 'im long ago."

Plague?

Salome heard the creaking of a chair and knew that the Abbess was drawing herself upright. "What plague, sir?

"

"Th' Black Death."

Near the far end of the nearest table, somebeast gasped sharply. Had it been Sister Jane? Salome could not tell.

An earthen mug came crashing down onto the tabletop. "And what in heaven's name is the Black Death?"

"The rats' fleas, Mother Abbess!" It was Sister Jane, and, for the first time ever, as far as anybeast knew, her voice sounded strained,

as if with impatience. "Samuel knew these creatures, and he is saying that they suffered from a plague that was brought on by rats' fleas! Who were the other vermin, Samuel? Why have they come to the Abbey, seeking you? "

"Th' Abbess didn't say nothin' t' me about any other vermin, Sister, an' if you mean th' Walkin' Dead that she came askin' me about, I told 'er I never 'eard of them!" It was obvious that Samuel was speaking through clenched teeth. "I only know th' name Rashe, an' th' circle

with th' X in th' middle!"

"Where has this Rashe come from, then, and what on earth does he want?"

"He's a weasel wot lived in th' same place I lived in," Samuel said flatly. "When th' Black Death broke out, me an' Salome left. That was th' last we knew of him, Mother Abbess."

"But that is not all you know of him, I'm certain of it. You deceived us, Samuel. Why did you lead us all to believe that you were from

Mossflower Woods? And you must have known that those vermin were pursuing you - this was what brought you to Redwall Abbey!"

Salome heard nothing more.

Salome remembered very little about the settlement from which she had come, and she remembered even less about her parents, though she

pretended otherwise. "I was thinkin' about Mamma," was a convenient excuse for a sudden flood of tears, a foul mood, or forgotten chores.

She had been a little ferret kit who ate when Samuel could find food for her, whinged and cried when he couldn't, and, every afternoon,

prepared to spend the better part of an hour persuading him to allow her to go out and play near the foraging grounds.

"I want t' go outside, Big Brother! I want t' go outside! It's no fun in 'ere. I want t' go out. I won't get lost, Big Brother, cross my 'eart an' 'ope t' perish an' burn in 'ellgates! I won't go into the foragin' grounds an' try t' steal stuff. I won't go near th' garbage 'eap, I promise! "

At last, Samuel would give in.

"God blast it, Salome! Go if you want to. But let me 'ear that you took one step away from that spot. . . let me 'ear you went playin' with any rats . . . an' I swear I'll skin you!"

And the face of a weasel - grimy, dotted with black and purple scabs . . . those fangs, jagged, yellow as curds, zippered into a grin of malicious anticipation . . . the point of a dagger, hovering inchesfrom her throat . . .

Black Death.

The sound of shouting, quarreling creatures brought Salome back to earth. Sister Bethelle was shrieking, "Black Death! Those filthy

creatures have come into our Abbey with rats' fleas hopping about in their fur and a horde of Walking Dead on their heels!"

Abbess Elinor raised her voice to issue a reprimand, but her words were lost amidst the commotion. Her efforts to restore order were all to avail,

for she was unaided by Skipper Johndam, who had joined the free-for-all battle to be heard.

At last, she was forced to shout. "Samuel! Have you heard of a weasel named Jamar?"

Samuel shouted back, "Aye, marm, I knew a weasel called Jamar - an' if he ain't burnin' 'ellgates yet, 'e's sure t' meddle with th'

wrong beast someday an' send 'imself there!"

"Why? What do you mean, Samuel?"

But Skipper Johndam leapt to his feet and seized the floor. "Are you creatures deaf or daft? Did ye 'ear a word I said t' you? That scum wot calls 'imself 'Rashe' 'as a 'orde be'ind him - an' he plans t' use it if we don't give him wot he asks for! The Walking Dead of Mossflower – we'll be the Walking Deadbeasts of Mossflower before long!"

Sister Bethelle's scream drowned out all other attempts at communication.

"Sister Bethelle ... Bethelle, you must be calm." It was the Abbess again, and she sounded far from calm herself (considering that she was

still shouting), which did little to improve matters. "Think of your patient - this behavior will only excite her!.. .Where on earth is

Muryet? Oh, God in heaven!"

At that moment, all of the noise seemed to cease, as abruptly as a

creature would shut a book.

Instinctively, Salome glanced up. She stifled her cry of alarm in the nick of time.

Satan's name ... what's Muryet doing over here?

It was obvious that the squirrelmaid was still quite weak; she was leaning upon the back of achair for support, even as she peered over the edge of the table. Those large, dark eyes seemed to drift about, never coming to rest upon anyone or anybeast; a smile was plastered

across her face, and she looked for all the world like ahappy

Dibbun. Salome breathed an inward sigh of relief. Muryet's mind was in another world , and it was unlikely that she saw Salome at all.

Then, Muryet spoke in a whisper - addressing Salome, or some benevolent being that could not be seen.

"Your Majesty! Will you find Fainlie for me? You must find Fainlie for me!"

Salome gritted her teeth. Hellgates!

Muryet held out her paws beseechingly."Will you return Fainlie to me? Oh ...say you will, your Majesty. Say you will!"

Her voice was beginning to rise. Already, Salome could see the faces of the Abbeybeasts, who stood several feet behind Muryet, so as to give her a decent berth; none of the creatures dared to speak for fear of startling her. Salome shrank back, praying that nobeast would come close enough to realize that she was here.

"Please.. .please!" Muryet was no longer whispering - far from it. "Say you'll find her for me. Say you'll bring her back!"

Salome did her best to meet Muryet's eyes, hoping that the squirrelmaid saw and was paying mind to her - the very thing she had been dreading

just moments before.

"Yes!" she mouthed."Yes! Yes! I'll find Fainlie for you. Muryet . ..I'll find Fainlie for you, see? Cross my 'eart an' 'ope t' die an' drink molten iron. Now go an' sit next t' Sister Bethelle, will you? Please?"

All signs of unhappiness vanished. Muryet leapt to her feet, beaming fit to outshine the sun.

"Thank you! I knew you would do it. Master Samuel will bring Fainlie back to me, and

you will find her for me. Martin told me so. Thank you, Queen Salome, my ferrety friend!"

"Salome? What in heaven's name... "

As Abbess Elinor stepped into view, Salome realized that she was cornered. She reached up and grasped the edge of the table, hauling

herself upright.

The young ferretmaid stood there, massaging the life into her limbs; they had fallen

asleep after only a few minutes.

"Miss Salome." Abbess Elinor's voice was unusually quiet."What in heaven's name were you doing, hunkering under a table like a homeless

urchin in the middle of a rainstorm? And I certainly cannot remember giving you permission to leave your chamber."

Salome toyed with the sleeves of her pinafore, avoiding the Abbess's eyes.

"I ... I... I got thirsty, Mother Abbess marm. There wasn't nothin' t' drink in our room . .

."

Abbess Elinor pursed her lips."Speak up, missie. Icannot understand you!"

Salome dared to lift her eyes a bit, and cast a glance in Samuel's direction. Samuel averted his eyes, making it clear to her that he saw her no

more than Muryet saw the creatures who surrounded her.

"Mother Abbess, I'm . . . I mean, I needed . . .I. .."

Fortunately for Salome, Muryet broke away from Sister Bethelle and wandered over. She was glowing - her "ferrety friend" had

vowed to return Fainlie to her, had she not? - and she was determined to share her happiness with the others.

"Oh, Mother Abbess! Martin spoke the truth - I knew he spoke the truth! Didn't I tell you that he spoke the truth? What a wonderful day!"

Well, Salome thought, at least somebeast is 'appy.

Abbess Elinor forced herself to smile, and took the squirrelmaid's paw."Of course he did, little one. Come with Sister Bethelle and me; you must rest now."

With the assistance of Sister Bethelle, the Abbess steered Muryet out of Cavern Hole. Skipper Johndam followed, a loaded sling in paw; apparently, he was unwilling to let the matter of the "Walking Dead" rest.

For now, Salome was forgotten, and this stung her far more than any thrashing or dishwashing sentence.

Many of the Abbeybeasts lingered about, awkward and uncertain. As their

Abbess was no longer present, and the Skipper had deserted them as well, not one creature had the courage to utter a word and risk igniting another civil war.

Samuel was the first to take his leave. As he climbed the steps that led into Great Hall, Salome trailed after him.

Samuel heard those footsteps, but he did not glance over his shoulder.

"Don't come botherin' me, Salome." If he hadn't spoken her name, she could not have known

whether she was addressing her or the tapestry of Martin.

Salome bit her lip. "Th' Abbess didn't send me back to th' chamber. S'pose that means I can stay out 'ere."

Samuel feigned deafness.

Salome, uncertain of what she should say, fumbled with the sleeve of her pinafore and studied the floorstones.

At last, she spoke up in a small voice."Sorry I called you a scum earlier . . . Big Brother."

Samuel held his dagger into the light. The blade was still coated with dirt - as if Rashe, in a surge of contempt, had stuck it, hilt-deep, into a puddle of mud. For the second time, since the day he had driven into the mad weasel/ferret who had cornered Salome, it would have to be cleaned.

When the silence persisted, Salome came over to stand beside him.

Salome peered up into his face."What did you come in Great Hall for, any'ow? I didn't know you cared for th' tapestry of Martin."

Samuel spoke then, much to Salome's surprise and relief. "I'd sooner sit an' stare at yore mousey little face all season than look at that tapestry an' that excuse of a Warrior. I came in 'ere t' get some peace an' quiet. Should've known you'd want

t' come nosin' in an ruin it all."

Salome hesitated. "Samuel ..."

"What is it?"

Salome toyed with her claws."What are we goin' t' do now?"

Samuel did not reply, but continued to stare at the tapestry. Salome could not help but to follow his gaze.

Martin the Warrior - what beautiful, dark grey eyes he had! And they sparkled with a luster that was

far brighter than the star-light of his blade. Samuel might talk as he wished about Laterose of Noonvale and her untimely

end. Salome liked to look at those grey eyes, to imagine that they had become clear -clear enough to reflect the candlelight, as real eyes

do. As it was, the picture-Warrior kept his smile bright for any creature who should pass through Great Hall, and gazed off at nothing,

just as Muryet had done since this morning.

"I don't know what we're goin' t' do 'ere, Salome," Samuel said, at last. "I'd be lyin' if I said we 'ad much of a choice. Rashe told th' Abbess he 'as a 'orde behind him - an' th' Abbess is frightened out o' her wits. Creatures are yellin' that he's carryin' a bag o' rat's fleas. But Skipper Johndam

wants blood. Huh. These woodlanders are queer. If th'Chief of th' settlement 'ad been in th' Abbess's shoes, we would've been knifed to pieces for bringin' th' threat of death 'ere."

Aye, knifed to pieces, just like the corpses of rats that Samuel had seen as a youngster- lying in the settlement's garbage trench, half-buried beneath the rubbish.

In the dimming candlelight, Salome's face was small and ashen."Samuel .. .will they throw us out? Th'Abbeybeasts?"

"Don't talk like a fool, Salome." There was a harsher edge to Samuel's voice, of a sudden."You know th' Abbeybeasts ain't goin' t' toss us out."

After a pause, he added, "Don't suppose we can sit about 'idin' be'ind th' skirts o' th' little Abbess mouse much longer, if this keeps up."

For several moments, neither Samuel nor Salome said anything.

The lanterns and candles, which provided the lighting in Great Hall, and which, on other days, were carefully tended, had been neglected since the day before. Already, most of the lanterns had become dim, and almost nothing could be seen.

The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps. Some creature crossed the threshold into Great Hall, stirring up

A draft of air as he or she passed; several lanterns flickered and gave of the lanterns that

hung upon the wall against which Salome and Samuel stood were now cold

- all but one of them. The glow of that lantern was so faint that the

ferret siblings, who had not budged or even glanced up, might not have

noticed it, if it had not cast its light upon the blade of Martin. Now, nothing could be seen of the blade, except a streak of silver-white, so

bright that it was almost eye-piercing. For a moment, Salome began to think that Abbess Elinor had been speaking the truth about the fallen star and the blade-casting Badger Lord.

Then, Marianne seemed to emerge from the darkness.

Salome stiffened at the sight of her. She had not spoken directly to her since their exchange in the forest, and she cast her eyes down, avoiding her gaze.

"Marianne! I . . . well, I . . . didn't think you'd . . . I . . ."

To Salome's stuttering, Marianne made no reply.

Instead, the squirrelmaid came over, without a word, and held out her paw.

Salome dared to look up, then, into those great brown eyes – soft as the candlelight, and damp, though she wore the faintest smile. There was no anger in those eyes – and, somehow, this only made Salome wish to avoid them all the more.

When Salome made no move to accept the offered paw, though, Marianne reached down and grasped hers, just a little forcefully.

Softly, she sang:

"Retired knights! the elders of the Garden

And every morn, their medals are renewed

As the gentle young sky-maidens sing their praises

Tales of deeds, however ancient, and forever fresh and true.

Do you wonder that they chant praise-laden fables

Of the days of creatures still - with them - alive?

Would you wonder still, my child, if only you could see

The undying, awed love-luster in their eyes?"

Samuel smiled a little."You'd best go an' take yore songs into th' kitchen, missie -Friar Jerome couldn't've got much cookin' done this morn an' he'll go mad without yore 'elp."

Marianne shrugged, returning the smile with a hint of bashfulness. She had spoken very little to Samuel and Salome since the last evening.

"He won't need me very much, Master Samuel - no one seems t' 'ave much of an appetite. Except for Muryet, that is. She's done nothin' but wander around, callin' me 'Your 'Ighness' an' askin' th' Friar for great

platters o' bread an' cake."

At the mention of "bread and cake", Salome squirmed uncomfortably.

"Is that you, Princess Marianne? Or is it Queen Salome? I can scarcely tell. Dear me, it is dreadfully dark in here!"

It was not a bit difficult for any of the three companions to tell who this was. Immediately, Marianne donned her sweetest smile. She sang

out, "It's only me, Salome an' Master Samuel, Muryet. We're right over

'ere!"

Within moments, Muryet was standing directly in front of Marianne.

"Your Highness, Princess Marianne," she cried, almost breathlessly, "I have seen something! I've seen it! I believe it will alter the course of Abbey history - forever!"

[The Grey Coincidence]

I've been reading this on fanfiction.net XD I was kinda surprised to find it here to be honest, and it seems that you post more on that site than on this one (like me )
I've left a review there and don't feel like copying and pasting-but so far it's a good story and I hope you do continue posting it. Here or anywhere so long as I can read it.