Black and White

[The Grey Coincidence]

 In Which A Feast Is Brewing

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...

[close]

[The Grey Coincidence]

 In Which A Perfectly Good Feast Turns Into A Warzone

Following the trial, Friar Gord had made a small dinner, consisting of no less than three different types of soup and pastries and half a dozen varieties of fruit salads. The hedgehog had thought it wise not to overdo himself, after all there were still plenty of leftovers from the previous night's feast. The news of his son's safety and good health had been an inspiration, to say the least, and the dishes were once again delicious. For this all the abbeybeasts were grateful.

"You mean he'll be staying here?" The news of Threeclaw's questioning had spread like wildfire and it was all anybeast could discuss.

Bella cracked her knuckles and nodded grimly. "Until the rest of our children turn up anyways."

The Recorder harrumphed around a raspberry cupcake. "In that case we had better get used to him."

"Now now Montague, there's no reason to be a pessimist." Friar Gord, a portly hedgehog by all accounts, wagged a disapproving ladle at the bespectacled mouse. "My Grollo's on his way, and Hawthorn too."

"Not my Momchillo..." Rosebrush muttered into her soup. The sad little mouse would have been offered comfort had a dozen hares not suddenly burst through the doorway.

"Ah there he is!"

"The Friar, wot!"

"Just the chap we wanted so see!"

"We're off!" The tallest hare explained, as he and the other members of the Long Patrol with him, snatched at the salads and pastries and stuffed them into haversacks. "All bloomin' winter and not a trace of anybeast." He shook his head from side to side and bit into a cheesecake. "We were beginning to lose hope don'tcha know? But then the squirrel shows up- I mean one dibbun alive eh? Others must be fine too, it's the only logical explanation!"

The shortest hare continued. "And this time we shan't return till we've got them all accounted! Ain't that right chaps?"

There was a chorus of 'yes sahs' followed by a swarm of 'wot wots'.

Saluting smartly the group spun on their heels and marched out to cheering and whoops of joy. Only the Friar, wearing an ugly scowl, seemed disgruntled by their sudden entrance and departure.

"They've stolen all my haversacks..." He muttered, the ladle shaking in his paws.

"Well there you have it Montague." Rosebrush grinned widely, forgetting her previous sorrow. "It's only a matter of time before the others show up."

The abbeybeasts cheered again, in part to drown out any further pessimism from the Recorder, who's bitterness was left to simmer.

"And when they do Redwall will once again be free of vermin!" A much smaller cheer (made by perhaps half of the shrews present) followed the words of the Log-a-log.

Constance cleared her throat icily, and a hush fell upon the hall. "Not if Fret comes back."

The few Guosim that had cheered had the grace to look apologetic. The Log-a-log did not and stabbed a radish leaf, yet said nothing in reply.

"And I don't think we're getting rid of the weasel babes anytime soon, either." Bella added, in part to take the conversation away from the rather complicated and potentially volatile subject of Constance and her adopted son. "The Abbot seems fond of them and it would be heartless of us to toss them out just because our own young returned."

There was a quiet murmur of acknowledgement, followed by the usual sound of dishes being scraped clean and refilled.

"Has anybeast seen Mefelda?" Friar Gord scratched at his head-spikes and scanned the tables. "And Mormont was in the kitchens before but he doesn't seem to be here now. Are they not hungry or?"

"Nah, they're hiding out in the gatehouse." A chubby otter informed. "I was at the pond you see, saw them sneak in with blankets and everything."

"Hiding?" Bella repeated, a frown on her lips. "Why would they be hiding?"

"The stoat of course." Montague said briskly. "Mefelda's expecting and Mormont's always been a bit on the er- shall we say cautious- side of things. There is a literal, confessed kidnapper within these walls and I for one think they have the right of it. The further they are from Threeclaw, the better."

"There's no point in them skipping dinner." Friar Gord scowled, not wanting anybeast to miss out on the rebirth of his cooking skills. "You don't mind fetching them, do you?"

The addressed otter shrugged and stood up. "I could try but I think it might be easier if I brought some vittles to them."

"Assure them that if that vermin lays any of his three claws on them I will personally rip his tail off and strangle him with-"

"Bella!" The Friar snapped. "Not at dinnertime, please!"

The badgermum, now frowning apologetically, had the grace to look abashed while sipping her tea. The otter, snickering, departed, two platters filled and at the ready.

Once more there was a pause in the conversation, as plates and bowls and cups were emptied and refilled.

"What about that hedgehog lady?" Montague asked, voraciously tearing apart a brunt turnover. "Quite an odd beast really. Very sensitive and all tha-"

"She's also rather nice." Rosebrush butted in. "I was showing her to her room earlier and I don't have anything mean to say. I don't think we should have any problems with her and if she does choose to stay she's more than welcome to."

There came a hearty cheer (which coincided, coincidentally, with the arrival of a particularly marvelous pudding). Damsons were artfully arranged around the sides of the dish, a sprinkling of candied chestnuts topped the wobbling blob, and powdered sugar was carefully sprinkled on in a pattern- one that greatly resembled a young hedgehog.

The Friar flushed with pride as he placed the pudding at its deserved spot in the center of the table. "And we mustn't forget that she looked after Grollo and Hawthorn for us. No doubt kept them warm and well-fed." The fat hedgehog proceeded to dish out the pudding with a flourish, giving Rosebrush a particularly large scoop.

BANG!

The door was flung open. Agatha stomped towards the table, and over protests of a certain Friar, dumped a dusty blanket onto it with vengance, as if both the blanket and the table had done her some great ill. "Where is Matiya?" She demanded.

"Agatha please! Get that old carpet off of my table!" The Friar was shaking with so much silent fury that the jelly threatened to topple to the ground.

"It's not a carpet." She snapped, waving it in his face. The hedgehog almost fell over. "It's my son's blanket and it is covered in blood!"

The Foremole intervened, rescuing the pudding and placing it carefully upon the table. "Burr, itten moight be a toiny scratch."

"It's that stoat." Agatha snarled. "H-he oh you should've seen him today!"

"What did he do?" Bella placed her tea on the table, and wore the expression of one preparing to tear a beast apart.

"He was beating my son! With a stick! An-and Matiya! The- oh you know how he is! Wanting to be the Abbey Warrior and all that. I thought he'd grow out of it by now b-but he- the stoat is teaching him! Teaching! He- he doesn't understand h-how dangerous tha- that vermin is! How he might- and he won't tell me anything!"

"Agatha dear, please sit down." Rosebrush suggested, offering a seat.

The squirrel did so. "I just d-don't understand why he would- and not telling me- and-"

"If this vermin thinks he can get away with hurting our young in our abbey no less." Bella cracked her knuckles.

"There naow Mizz Bella 'ee can sit 'eesself down again. 'Tain't nuffin teh be gettin' 'eeself all stressled about. Zreeclaw an' Mout'ee'a were a playin'."

"Playing! Y-you call that playing? H-he knocked him to the ground! Twice! An-and-" Agatha growled. "I don't want my son around him. A-a kidnapper! A vermin! A-a scoundrel! And a bully! All he seems capable of is h-harming our children!"

"Matiya will be fine." Constance assured her. "He is home again and he is safe. That stoat can't do anything to him. Either me or Bella or a good cell will make sure of that."

"It's not the stoat I'm afraid of! I-it's Matiya! Look at him, trusting a beast wh-who stabbed one of his friends! An innocent child! An-and M-Matiya trusts him b-because he teaches him h-how to swordfight? H-he's naive! And a danger to himself an-and-"

"He can't expect to learn much from vermin anyways." The Log-a-log interrupted with a cackle. The portly little shrew helped himself to a generous piece of pudding. "Most of 'em fight like a pair of half-blind old crones with their legs tied together!"

"Some half-blind old crones with their legs tied together fight very well." Threeclaw was instantly recognized by his accent. "I admit I have not seen many, but I am sure one or two can look after themselves tres bien." The stoat smirked and gave a small wave as the abbeybeasts, almost as one, turned to face him. "As for Matiya, I will say what I said before. He is exceptionally talented. And agreed to my tutalage. If he wishes us to stop, we will stop."

"Will you?" Agatha hissed. "I for one, find that extremely unlikely." She flapped open the blanket and gestured at a streak of dried blood. "Care to explain this?"

"I see a dirty carpet." The stoat replied, with dangerous calm.

"This is my son's blanket! And why, pray tell, is there blood on it!?" The squirrel demanded, rising to her feetpaws.

"Your son can answer that question better than I can. Whatever you are holding I have not been seeing it before. And before you continue to tirade and blabber about your son I was thinking it is being rude to talk about beasts behind their backs."

"Rich of you to speak of manners." The Log-a-log spat. "Guosim! We'll be sleeping on the walltops tonight, to make sure there's no funny business." There were some muffled complaints, and while shrews did love arguing, here they must have seen a lost cause and decided to take the path of least resistance.

Threeclaw waved them away as they passed and blew kisses, which none of them bothered to try and catch, though they acknowledge them with glares and growls of every kind. As soon as they had departed the stoat turned back to the rest of the abbeybeasts and cleared his throat. "I understand that it is time for dinner."

After a short pause Friar Gord nodded. "Yes well... sit down I suppose. I-if you washed your paws that is. I-it is, well we generally wash our paws here-"

Threeclaw marched forwards and thrust his paws outward. "Spotless, oui? It may surprise you but I know my way around a bar of soap." Now that he had mentioned it, the abbeybeasts became aware of the soft, delicate fragrance of spring roses that followed him around. No doubt he'd found the scented soaps.

"Steal a lot of them, do you?" Montague remarked, just as Threeclaw pulled up a stool.

The stoat smiled dangerously and replied with a question of his own. "Would you be thinking more or less of me if I answered honestly?"

Before the Recorder could reply Roseheart, who Threeclaw had just sat next to, stood up abruptly. It was obvious from the way she was shaking that the molemaid was terrified. "Oi be fuller. Good noight!" Without waiting for any kind of response (and indeed before anybeast could give any) she turned and fled from the hall.

"Do not be letting the bed snakes bite." Threeclaw snickered.

"She hardly touched her food." Bella commented, glaring at the responsible party. It said much of the reputations of badgers that the stoat grew silent.

"So um- Threeclaw, was it? Well we generally help ourselves here but if you want I could-"

"Don't bother monsieur hedgepig. I can be helping myself." The friar opened his mouth and, sensing further protests, Threeclaw went on with the cunning bestowed upon him. "You, mon copain, look famished. Please, be sitting down. Be helping yourself. You must be starving."

"Well I am a bit peckish but..." But it was too late. Before anybeast could stop him Threeclaw had assembled a plate, a fork and a knife. To the surprise of everybeast he did so without breaking or damaging any other plates, knives or forks. "...I suppose you can..." To silent gasps of shock and widened eyeballs the confessed vermin kidnapper whipped out a neckerchief and wrapped it swiftly around his neck with all the polished etiquette of one born and bred by badgerlords. "...Manage..."

"I am glad we are agreeing." Threeclaw continued to bewilder the abbeyfolk by piling his plate high with as many of the assembled delights as he could manage. This in and of itself was not surprising and was the general behaviour of any beast visiting Redwall. What was surprising was that he had done so without spilling a single droplet of soup or shedding a single crumb of pasty. It was not at all like what they expected from vermin. Although in their defense, the abbey's previous resident vermin had not set the bar very high.

As if only now noticing their stares the stoat smiled apologetically. Well it was probably supposed to look apologetic but their was a kind of 'ha in your face!' arrogance in his grin that somehow ruined the effect. "Desole, I am a hungry beast and your cooking is being legendary even among my kind. Could somebeast pass the pennycloud cordial? Por favor?"

Struck dumb by the manners on display, Bella obeyed. Simmering in silent rage Agatha got up and stomped out the hall, blanket in tow. The Badgermum cleared her throat and instinctively everybeast in the hall straightened up and removed their elbows from the table.

"Gracias mademoiselle." Threeclaw replied, holding his only pinkie out while filling a goblet with generous amounts of cordial.

"You're welcome." Said Bella, gruffly. "I must congratulate you on the way you hold yourself. Their is a certain grace to it." The hall had become a warzone. It was a battle of politeness and courtesy, a game of manners and etiquette.

"You are too kind." The stoat sipped his cordial the way woodlanders sipped their tea. "And your cordial is simply divine. My compliments to the chef."

Friar Gord was currently devouring an apple salad and holding a miniature pair of raspberry crumbles in his paws. The hedgehog stopped chewing abruptly, his cheeks bulging with vittles, when he realized that everybeast was staring at him. Swallowing deeply he wiped his mouth on his habit sleeve. Bella shut her eyes and Threeclaw's smugness tripled. "Is er- something wrong?"

"Absolutely nothing!" The albino replied, carefully cutting a turnover into a tiny, bite-sized morsel which he could easily stab with his fork and devour.

The Friar was rescued from further embarrassment by the timely arrival of Matiya.

The squirrel's fur was still damp from his bath and there were patches of wetness on his otherwise clean habit; he hadn't been very thorough with the towel before putting it on. "I'm starving." He said, sitting down besides Threeclaw on Roseheart's abandoned stool. Oblivious to the fact that every eye in the hall was on him, the young squirrel snatched at the nearest dish- a tray half-full of cheesy scones and began wolfing them down with all the grace of a beast half-starved.

No spoon or napkin was in sight. His elbows were on the table. He hadn't even asked for it to be passed to him.

"Matiya dear." Bella's voice was like the rumble of a thundercloud. "There is a stick in your tail."

"Oh. 'Fanks." And now he was speaking with his mouth full and Threeclaw was snickering. The squirrel pulled the stick out of his tail and, because he was hungry, tossed it over his shoulder. Finally he swallowed and faced the albino. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Just eat your dinner." Matiya was not sure why Threeclaw had shot him a wink, but shrugged his shoulders and continued to violently and gracelessly tear apart his food- the way hungry squirrels were wont to do.

The following minutes were pure torture for Bella. Threeclaw daintily used his napkin to clear lips that hadn't been dirty to begin with, while Matiya smeared his habit sleeve with the crumbs and fillings of half-a-dozen tarts. The stoat sipped at his drink, so silently he made barely a sound doing so. Matiya was practically gurgling it. Matiya hadn't had his table manners under so much scrutiny since he was a little dibbun!

It was a similar kind of torture for the other abbeybeasts, who had moments ago been eating as swiftly as their appetites allowed, yet were now reduced to a crawl. Elbows were constantly being removed from the table, backs were straightened up with force, napkins were used vigorously. Nobeast dared to talk.

Before long, Abbot Martin, accompanied by the weasels clinging to his paws, walked into the quietest, most formal dinner in the Abbey's history.

"PUDDING!" The weasels shrieked, breaking the silence and forgetting the abbotmouse as they hurried towards the table.

Friar Gord, acting quickly, swiftly snatched up the confectionary and held it high above their heads.

"Grrr! Give it back ye fat ole hedgepig!" Snarled Fang.

"Aye! Give us our dinner!" Demanded Bow.

"Or we'll guts ye!" Jewel brandished a lettuce leaf.

Before the Friar could threaten in kind, the Abbot intervened. "Please, children. Sit down. You can have your fair share of the pudding in due time, but erm yes, this is Friar Gord. He's in charge of the kitchens. And well, a lot of time and effort went into that dish and it's not fair on him for you to er- devour it."

The four harrumphed as one, and muttering evilly about puddings and unfair abbotmousies, they began to lay waste to an unfortunate basket of muffins.

"Thank you Father Abbot." The portly hedgehog returned the dish to it's rightful place on the table, before once again picking up his knife and fork and attempting to cut up a blackberry tart that looked more squashed than sliced.

Sitting down at the special chair reserved for the abbot of Redwall, Martin could not help feeling a little awkward. Their was less silence now that the dibbuns had come to eat, but even his half-blind old eyes could tell something was amiss. "So... how was... orchard clearing?"

The abbey-dwellers, aware of what was going on, all swallowed hastily and went for their napkins. Abbot Martin raised an eyebrow and regretted asking.

"It went well, Father Abbot."

"Lots of grass was cut."

"Yes. We should do it again tomorrow."

"The orchard is cleaner too, thank Martin."

The old mouse adjusted his spectacles. "Right. Well er- that is good to hear. I'm sorry I would have come sooner but I was ah- occupied." Nobeast replied, but many gave the weasels- who had poured strawberry fizz into a large bowl and were now lapping it up- quick, furtive glances.

After several minutes of such forced politeness the Abbot's curiosity got the better of him and he was compelled to ask. "Could someone explain to me what's er- going on?"

Threeclaw was the first to reply, smiling brightly. "We are eating dinner of course!"

"I can see that but... may I ask why...?" The old mouse gestured at all calm and quiet of the normally loud and chattering dining hall.

The stoat shrugged. "Your badger doesn't want to see a vermin with better manners than a woodlander."

"That has nothing to do with it." Bella snapped. The badger paused, unsure of how to proceed- although her first inclination was to smack the smug grin off of Threeclaw's face.

"I mean if that is the case..." Abbot Martin scratched the tip of his nose and cleared his throat. "While er- proper etiquette is indeed very important and a ah- vital part of abbey life-" His eyes drifted to the four weasels, currently digging into a pie rather literally. "I think for the time being anyways formality does not have to be ah- particularly high on our list of priorities."

A sigh of relief seemed to sweep across the hall. The Friar tossed aside his knife- having failed to do more than squash his tart flat- and attacked his plate with all the grace of a saber-toothed cavebeast. Backs were hunched, shoulders sagged, drinks were chugged and chatter returned. The familiar sound of dishes being scraped clean had also come back.

Stifling a yawn the Abbot smiled and reclined on his chair. His eyelids were heavy now, and the hour was late. The old mouse felt himself beginning to drift off into a peaceful, well-earned rest. Briefly Martin wondered whether he'd wake up in bed or in the chair...

The sound of a door being slammed open with enough strength to tear it off it's hinges, brought the aged rodent back to his senses. Agatha had entered the hall, looking furious and a part of him hoped this was just a nightmare he could wake up from.

"Matiya." The squirrel's voice was as chilly as a spring frost. Her son turned to face her, swallowing his current mouthful with an audible gulp.

"Yes mother?" He replied, uncomfortably aware that most beasts were watching now.

Constance strode forwards and placed a paw on the squirrelmaid's shoulder. "Not now Agatha, let the boy-" She was shrugged off and ignored.

"I was in your room earlier today. And I found this." She held out the blanket and Matiya's face fell.

"I can explain tha-"

"I also found this." From under the blanket she procured a rapier. The younger squirrel squirmed uncomfortably at the sight of his own dried blood upon it. "Care to explain?"

"I was sleeping." Matiya was staring at his feetpaws in embarrassment. "And I had a nightmare and I cut myself." For the life of him he could not remember what the horrible night-time manifestation had been. Something about Fret? Yes, that was it! And the ferret had been fat for some reason... The young squirrel was wrenched from his thoughts by a loud clatter.

Agatha had flung both the blanket and the rapier to the floor and furiously placed her paws on her hips. "Do you really expect me to believe that? After I saw your- your tomfoolery with this-this-"

Threeclaw turned swiftly to face her, grin at the ready. "This?"

"This vermin!" Agatha hissed. Her eyes were red and bloodshot. Constance, acting swiftly, placed her paw once more on the squirrel's shoulder, not that stopped her from speaking. "What were you even doing with a real- a real weapon? You could have hurt- you did hurt yourself!"

"I gave it to him." Replied the blademaster. The stoat's voice was calm and cold and sent a shiver down Matiya's spine. "So that when I got here, and when somebeast inevitably called me vermin I didn't kill them." Casually he sipped his tea; pinkie still protruding from his grip..

The older squirrel was struck dumb by this reply, and the underlying threat brought silence to the hall once more. Abbot Martin rose to his feetpaws, but nobeast seemed to notice.

The tension cracked when Threeclaw snickered. "I am joking." His smile seemed to agree but his eyes said otherwise. Coughing awkwardly the stoat rose and made his way towards the pudding.

Agatha glared momentarily at his retreating back, only to turn back to Matiya. She spoke now, loud enough to be heard by all in the hall. "I don't want you around that beast."

Matiya shot to his feetpaws, a strange kind of energy was coursing through him. It was not exactly anger, nor was it adrenaline but it burned white hot. "Just because he's-"

His mother cut him off. "What he is has nothing to do with it." She shot the stoat a look of pure revulsion. "But he is dangerous."

"No he is not!"

"Yes I am!" Threeclaw chimed in, generously filling his plate with scoop after scoop of glorious pudding.

The young squirrel growled but forced himself to remember his manners. He did not need Bella reminding him to respect his elders. Agatha went on.

"I do not want you playing, practicing or being with him. He is a dishonest creature through and through by his own admission."

"You don't know him, mother." Matiya forced himself to reply, knowing full well that he did not know Threeclaw all too well either.

For a beast known as Blind the squirrelmaid was quite perceptive. "And do you?"

Matiya glanced in the stoat's direction, hoping for some sort of advice. He found none for Threeclaw was busy whispering something to the weasel dibbuns. In truth he knew less about his sword master than he liked to admit, especially out loud, but lying was not the abbey way and Threeclaw would probably contradict him anyways.

"Look at me Matiya."

It took a conscious, physical effort to bring his eyes towards his mother's scowling face. Constance still had Agatha by the shoulder and the big mouse had the grace to look apologetic, not that that improved his mood.

"I don't want to repeat myself." Agatha went on. "Will you listen?"

Matiya suppressed the urge to snap 'no', but found himself out of ideas. Bitterly he remembered that nobeast had ever objected to Matthias learning swordplay. Then again Matthias' mentor had been a kindly old mouse, not an eccentric stoat.

"Agatha." Abbot Martin had made his way over by now. "Whatever he is, Threeclaw is our guest unt-"

SPLAT!

Four identical shrieks of laughter pierced the air. Abbot Martin and all his words of wisdom had been interrupted by a pie to the face, thrown by none other than the weasel quartet. They were not the only four who snickered. Threeclaw was giggling next to an appalled-looking Friar, Matiya could not suppress a snort and even Bella looked mildly amused.

The old mouse held onto every trace of dignity he could as he pulled the pie off his face. Wiping cream off his spectacles, he made no sound as he walked slowly towards the oblivious weasels.

Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat!

A tiny cupcake was dunked onto each of them (to Gord's horror), bringing in more laughter from the hall. The Abbot himself was beaming, satisfied at the small measure of pay back he had gotten for all the things they had put him through...

Unfortunately, Martin had miscalculated. Vermin rarely took insults lying down and dibbuns never did.

"Ye'll pay for that abbotmouse." They growled in unison, swaying a pie between their paws.

The old abbot smiled fondly, remembering bygone days when he had been a mischievous dibbun. He'd thrown his own fair share of pies back then...

With a cry of bloodcurdling rage the weasels hurled the pastry forth. Despite his age, the mouse easily avoided it, having had ample time to prepare his escape. Agatha, unfortunately, was called Blind for a reason. She never saw the pie coming.

Howling in rage, amidst gales of barely-suppressed laughter, the squirrel mother freed herself from Constance's grip and seized a soup-pan by the handles.

"Agatha! That's enough!" Bella rose to her feetpaws, but too late. The soup splattered all over Rosebrush and the pan (which had slipped from the squirrelmaid's grip) made a loud clang! upon connecting with the Foremole's head.

"'Ee should knowum better'n to waste yon food." Said the mole, rubbing his digging claws against a small bump.

Rosebrush said nothing at all and hurled the last of the pies at Agatha. Her aim was off and instead it caught an unfortunate shrew.

"Not the treacle tart!" Shrieked the Friar, rising to his feetpaws. But it was too late. The Foremole was guffawing with the wild pleasure of a dibbun let loose, despite (or perhaps because of) the tart currently stuck to his face. "And anything but the pear pas-" The pear pasty exploded against the quills of a hedgehog lucky enough to turn before it struck. Because, of course, the Foremole was not the best of shots.

The hedgehog turned back, her quills bristling, her nostrils flaring. The mole had the grace to tug his nose in embarrassment, as moles were wont to do. That might have been the end of it, had she not heard a small cough.

"Mademoiselle." Threeclaw offered her a tart dripping in meadowcream. "Is the expression not an eye for an eye, a pie for a pie?"

"It surely is!" She cried, having perhaps had a bit too much cordial.

Within moments the Great Hall had become a war zone. All the carefully made salads and soups were thrown about hither and thither. Abbot Martin soon found himself drenched and blinded, his spectacles covered in cream and dressing. The Friar stood in the center, clinging onto his precious pudding protectively. Bella would have put a stop to the nonsense, were she not busy trading pastries with Constance.

Matiya ducked a flying pie and hopped over a river of lava-hot pumpkin soup. He was in no hurry to join in the battle after he'd spent most of the afternoon pulling things out of his tail. Yet a daring sort of excitement coursed through his veins. He longed to leap in and launch a pastry or two, to duck between deadly muffins and-

"You are being welcome." Threeclaw was besides him, unharmed and unstained (to Matiya's surprise and annoyance). The stoat grinned. "Best go to bed before maman can make you pinkie promise, oui?"

Of course you were behind it all... Matiya grinned back. "Thanks for the diversion."

"Anytime. And duck."

The squirrel did as he was bid, bringing his face into an incoming pie. Matiya growled from under the cream.

The stoat was too busy cackling to hear him. He was also too busy cackling to avoid a pancake projectile that caught him right in the face.

Satisfied with the fairness of the universe (and the fact that Threeclaw took two more pancakes to the vital organs) Matiya fled, leaving a trail of creamy footprints in his wake. They came to a sudden halt when the squirrel tripped over a stray cupcake. He flailed his paws wildly about him as if they were a pair of undersized windmills, yet failed utterly to regain his balance. His momentum did not stop however, not even upon hitting the floor. With a scream he slid forwards, carried forth by rivers of soup and cream. Carried forth directly into the back of Friar Gord's legs.

The hedgehog toppled backwards with a scream of his own and hit the floor with a tremendous crash. Matiya watched in horror as the wonderful pudding the Friar had been cradling flew through the air.

Abbot Martin wiped his spectacles as thoroughly as he could with the soaked sleeve of his habit. Delicately replacing them he winced. The hall would take days to clean and he was quite sure every habit present was ruined. I had better put a stop to this while I still can... "Bella! Everybeast! Please! This is getting out of paw!" Nobeast seemed to have heard him. There came a scream and a particularly loud crash. The old mouse turned just in time to see the wonderful pudding flying towards him. He sighed, resigned to his fate. "Oh dearie me..."

SPLAT!

Matiya winced as the aged rodent fell to the ground. Deciding this was his cue to leave, the squirrel bolted for the door. He reached it without further event and scampered away as fast as he could.

"Woah there mate! Easy on the-" The chubby otter, having returned from delivering Mormont and Mefelda their dinners, would remember to step out of the way of escaping squirrels next time.

"Sorry Flounder." Matiya winced, pulling himself off the dazed lutrine.

"Issalright." The otter replied, rubbing the back of his head. "Geez, what happened to you?"

"Well..." Matiya glanced in the direction of the hall. "There's a bit of a war going on for some reason. And er- I think it's getting a bit out of paw."

"You can say that again." Flounder replied, eyeing him as if he were some never-before-seen species of sentient pudding. To be fair, he probably looked like one.

"Yeah." Matiya chuckled half-heartedly and scratched the back of his head. "You might want to call the Log-a-log."

[close]

[The Grey Coincidence]

In Which Cavern Hole Is Cleaned Up

"Yew ought te be ashamed of yourselves." The Log-a-log placed his paws on his hips and turned up his long shrew nose at the assembled abbeybeasts. The fat shrew was the sole beast present who was not covered in some kind of once-edible matter. Standing atop a patch of mostly-clean flooring (for there was not a single inch of Cavern Hall that was wholly-clean) the Guosim chieftain continued to scold the woodlanders. "Do yew have any idea how long this'll take to clean up? Or how long ye'll take to clean up? Look at this place!" He gestured at the walls. "There is a splatter of meadowcream! I repeat! There is a splatter of meadowcream!" He pointed at the floor. "Is that a turnover or somebeast out cold?"

The Friar sniffed loudly. "It's a flan..."

"It used to be a flan." Bella muttered.

"It was a rhetorical question! What about that, eh? That hotroot is a tripping hazard! And that pile of mush looks like somebeast pulled his pants off an-and- GAH!" Swiftly he averted his eyes from the disgusting blob that used to be food. "Yew tryin' te make me sick or what!? Don't answer that! I didn't give yew permission to answer that Brossin! Ah Brossin! I'm disappointed in yew most of all. When I sent yew an' all my other faithful, obedient Guosim to restore peace in Redwall Abbey at the behest of that laughing otter I expected yew back at yer posts in half an' hour! One. Exact. Hour. Later. I have te go an' do everything myself because yew're all busy wasting vittles! That's right! Wasting vittles! D'ye have any idea how many beasts there are out there without a scrap of nosh to go around? And yer tossin' it all on the floor! On the walls! On each other like yew've all been possessed by some rabid dibbuns! An' when I get here te beat some sense into all of yew lot my other faithful and obedient shrews join in the chaos and start jumping about in the muck!"

The Log-a-log's face was red from shouting, and the overweight chieftain was so irritated by the night's events that he began to hop on the spot- as if he'd been possessed by a grumpy dibbun. This came back to bite him in his rather plump backside when he landed on a wayward muffin and slipped, bringing said backside into the hard floor and a puddle of still-warm soup.

Most of the abbeybeasts had the grace to snicker quietly, though many of the Guosim laughed uproariously. They were all silenced by a stern glare on the part of Bella.

"He is right. We have all behaved in a most unbefitting manner, thank you for pointing that out Log-a-log." She cleared her throat, maintaining all the dignity a Badgermum could while dripping in seven types of cream. A small smile crossed her lips. "None more so than our own Abbot, I'd like to add."

"I beg your pardon?" Abbot Martin removed his pudding-splattered spectacles and wiped them on a soup-stained habit sleeve. Replacing them, he found that in doing so he'd only blinded himself further.

"It's true Abbot sir." Another voice added. "You threw the first pie!"

"Burr!" Buzzed the Foremole, coming to the Abbot's defense. "Oi remembers it t'be yon woisels."

"Of course it was the weasels!" The Log-a-log growled, trying to get to his feetpaws. "I could've told yew that much!" He slipped dramatically and once more became intimate with the floor.

"Yes well, while they may be responsible for the first pie." Abbot Martin cleared his throat. "And the third. But, well I mean you can't blame them truly. They're children."

"Aye."

"We're innocent."

"Anyhow it was Threeclaw's idea."

"Of course it was..." Bella growled.

The Log-a-log harrumphed, slipped and hit the floor. "If he's responsible for this mess-"

"While his actions certainly started the whole mess, the fault lies solely with us." The aged rodent continued far more sternly. "Children will be children. It's not their fault we all joined in on the pie throwing and soup spilling. Log-a-log I seem to recall that as a child you once dropped a bucket of ink on me."

The fat shrew, who had finally managed to get to his feetpaws, harrumphed again. "Yes and you made sure I made up for it by dusting all your recordings. I remember."

"You remember wrong." The Abbot smiled. "I made you dust the recordings for dropping a brick on me. I would have punished you for the ink incident but I distinctly remember you running away."

Laughter filled Cavern Hole and the Log-a-log, sufficiently embarrassed, went pink.

"On the subject of table manners." Abbot Martin smiled brightly, despite the fact that everything was blurred by pudding. "Well... I remember Agatha, that you used to hide tarts in that tail of yours. I'm sure Bella remembers as well."

"Too well I'm afraid." The Badgermum grinned grudgingly. "It was rather hard to wash off. I remember Gord used to hide candied chestnuts in his headspikes."

The Abbot smiled wryly. "I believe he still does."

Snickers and giggles bounced around the food-splattered hall.

"And you were a horrible creature too, Father Abbot."

The laughter doubled in volume, drowning out the aged rodent's protests.

"I remember at one point it was your ambition to eat only with your tail."

Abbot Martin went pink in the cheeks.

"And your fur always had bits of vittles in it too." Bella smiled, knowing full well that she had been just as bad a dibbun as everybeast present, and knowing full well that nobeast was old enough to remember those times.

After a while the laughter died out, leaving a kind of awkward silence in it's wake. Nobeast seemed to know what to do about the mess.

Flounder, who had returned with the first batch of shrews and was now wearing a treacle tart like a hat, gave a wide fake yawn. "I think I'll hit the bed n-"

"Not with filling in your fur, you won't." Bella snorted. "I'm not cleaning vittles out of blankets as well as habits."

There came a collective groan as everybeast present came to the same realization.

"But it's already late." Flounder complained. "And by the time we get all the water heated up it'll be even later."

"I'll heat up the water." Bella growled. "And if you don't want to wait in line you can head to the pond."

"But the pond is cold." Came the complaint of a shrew.

"And yew aren't supposed te wash after a meal."

There was no pity in the Badgermum's voice. "Should've thought of that before you started chucking pies. Everybeast who wants a warm bath can start cleaning this place up. Anybeast who doesn't mind the cold can have a dip in the pond, but no sneaking off now. If I see a single crumb on any of your bedsheets you can spend the rest of the week scrubbing pans."

With much muttering under the breath the assembled creatures got to work. The abbey otters were lucky enough to not mind the cold of the pond and trooped out, followed swiftly by the Guosim shrews. The Friar too, made for the pond, though his was a most slow journey. The poor flabby hedgehog was still mourning the loss of his pudding and seemed in no rush to go anywhere.

"I had better go too." Constance said, dusting off her habit. "To make sure he doesn't drown himself."

Mops and buckets were handed out to the remaining creatures and the arduous task of cleaning Cavern Hall begun.

Bella had a similarly arduous task at paw. Easily scooping up the weasel quartet in her paws (before they could scramble away) she turned to the Abbot.

"I'll bring a tub to the infirmary, and deal with this lot." She gestured at the frantically squirming, biting, clawing dibbuns in her paws. "I trust you can manage in my absence?"

Martin nodded once, and stifled a yawn. "Yes, yes. It er- shouldn't be hard now that everybeast's gotten started. I daresay you have the harder task."

Bella snorted. "I think I can handle a few weasels."

A short while later...

"Hold still!" The badger snapped, marching towards the infirmary in all haste. It was only a matter of time before one of the monsters wriggled free and it was preferable that they do so with the tub in-sight.

"Lemme go!"

"Dumb badger!"

"Stupid big paws!"

"Bite her fingers!"

"Why don't ye bite them?"

"I am bitin'!"

"Now yer talkin'!"

"I know I'm talkin'!"

"Well ye both ought te be bitin'!"

How did the Abbot tell them apart!? To Bella they all looked and sounded the same. And while their baby teeth could not hope to do much damage to her, their tiny fangs were sharp! Luckily for the badgermum the infirmary was in sight! And so was Threeclaw...

The stoat looked just as smug and refined as ever as he exited. "Ah, good evening mademoiselle." He waved at her, as if to show off his horribly scarred paw and waited for her to draw closer. "I am guessing you are being here for a bath?" He smirked and pushed the infirmary door open wider, revealing a large, steaming bucket, surrounded by a neat pile of towels, sponges and soap bars. "The tub awaits. I recommend the lavender balm. It is very soothing and gets all the pie crusts out of your f-" He was interrupted by Bella's snarl and flinched at the sight of her bare fangs.

"You! Do you have any idea what state you left Cavern Hole in? After we so mercifully didn't tear you apart-"

"I beg your pahr-don?"

"Don't play dumb with me! You told them to throw a pie-" She thrust the weasels forwards. "You started the whole-"

"Perhaps, yes. That was a mistake on the part of moi. But you all seemed so civilized, how was I supposed to know you would all start being children?" He smiled widely and Bella had to restrain herself from dumping the entire wash basin over his head. "Where will I be sleeping?"

It was the badger' turn to smile. It was the kind of sinister one only a truly wicked beast could conjure up. "You can head to the Hall and help wash the mess you've made. Once everybeast else has washed up I'll be more than happy to show you to your quarters."

Threeclaw frowned deeply but made no further conversation. Bella made her way into the infirmary and slammed the door shut behind her. A part of the badger hoped she had hit him.

That part of her would have been very happy to see the albino rubbing the back of his head and muttering all the foreign swear words in his vast vocabulary. Needless to say Threeclaw was not a fan of the badger. Yet a part of him now pitied her, probably because of all the commotion coming from within the infirmary.

"You will have clean fur whether you like it or not!"

Splash! Bang! Crash!

"Hold still!"

"But I wanna chew pie outta my tail!"

"You already did! Now quit squirming!"

Bang! Crash! Splash! Splash!

Resisting the urge to loudly comment on how much more slippery weasels became in soapy water, Threeclaw turned away from the infirmary.

"Get back here right this instant!"

The stoat paused for a moment and darted to the side to avoid the door being swung open. One of the triplets was making a break for freedom, laughing at the top of her little voice. Bella was hot on her heels and slammed the door open again. Threeclaw, unfortunately, was not quick enough to avoid it this time and was squashed against the wall.

Oblivious to the stoat's plight Bella snatched up the little troublemaker and stomped back into the infirmary. "Now where did the rest of you go?!"

Not wanting any more doors in his face (or any other part of him), Threeclaw pulled himself free of the wall and made his way towards Cavern Hole.

"Typical woodlanders." He muttered, rubbing a sore muzzle.

On his way there he passed Constance and a group of dripping wet otters, very carefully carrying the prone, soaked and shivering from of Friar Gord.

"Told you not to jump in mate."

"We figured you wanted to get it over with."

"But you ought to remember that sudden changes in temperature can have adverse effects on the bodily constitution of most creatures."

"I bet he'll catch a cold."

Constance snorted. "Not on my watch. We just have to get him dried up and near a fire."

"Yeah, and fetch his apron from the pondside."

"He loves his apron."

Threeclaw, having gone unnoticed, continued on his way and soon reached Cavern Hole. The stoat was forced to admit that the creatures of Redwall seemed just as adept at cleaning a mess as they were at making one. Tables and chairs had been shoved into a mostly-clean corner, to be scrubbed spotless before being returned to their rightful places. A large section of the floor and walls were already squeaking and sparkling in the candlelight.

"I see you've washed up." Came the bitter voice of Blind Agatha. "Any idea where my son is?"

Threeclaw turned to her and replied in his most curt voice that he did not know. He replied in French of course, which the squirrelmaid had no hope of understanding.

"Forget I asked." She growled, turning back to her mop.

"I already have." The stoat pointed a claw at a single, microscopic crumb. "And you have been missing spots."

Another growl followed and Threeclaw's smile only brightened. "If you're here to help go bother somebeast else!"

"And if I am being here for another reason?"

"Then get out of my fur!" Blinded by fury Agatha mopped faster and harder.

"But I am not being in your fur. If you are wanting me somewhere else I will go somewhere else, but you know it is tres kind of moi to be helping vous. I could have snuck off but I did not."

"Either way you're not helping!" She hissed venomously.

"Oh but I am." He nodded wisely. "Look how much faster you are cleaning the floor now that I am ici."

The squirrel gave a final growl. "Just go scrub chairs or something."

The stoat gave a bow in return. "Comme vous voulez. Oh and tu missed another spot."

Shaking with rage Agatha threw her mop to the floor and stomped towards the doorway. A few beasts looked up from where they were working, and in response to their gazes she shouted,"I'm braving the pond then! Good night!", and slammed the door shut.

"Was it something I said?" Threeclaw was the picture of (false) innocence for all of a minute before shrugging and picking up the squirrelmaid's abandoned mop. The stoat proceeded to continue mopping the clean side of Cavern Hole with very slow, gentle motions as if he were dusting a great and ancient artifact at risk of crumbling to pieces.

After a while Rosebrush noticed and came striding towards him. The mouse wore a small smile and gave a small wave, which the stoat replied to with a wild waggle of his paw. "You seem perdue, mademoiselle. How can I help you?"

"Er yes, that's the thing really. I was just going to ask if you could take your things over there." She pointed at the far messier part of Cavern Hole, where the remaining abbeybeasts were busy at work.

Threeclaw gave the tart-splattered walls one look, before shaking his head dramatically. "I would help of course, mon cherie. Mais you see I have just washed up and I would rather not have to go through bathing again."

Rosebrush tried to backtrack, sensing an incoming excuse with the ingrained instinct of every mother. "Oh no! No, no, no you won't get dirty just do wh-"

Threeclaw went on as if he had not heard her. "You see soap burns us."

This took the mouse by surprise. "Soa- what?"

"Oui. Burns. Like a blazing fire that sticks to your fur and turns you to ashes."

Rosebrush frowned, scratching the top of her head. "Okay. Er- well I suppose then-"

"So really I am desole, but I do not want to have to go through the process again."

"I guess that's understandab-"

"I am joking."

"Oh?" The mouse looked up at him.

"It's more like a nettle stinging."

"Wha- soap, right?"

"Mais bien sur!" He exclaimed, nodding swiftly. "It's why we vermin generally-"

Threeclaw's exaggerated lie was interrupted by the arrival of Bella. The badger was soaked nose to tail and greatly resembled a volcano about to erupt. Cavern Hall grew silent as all eyes turned to the Badgermum.

"I take it the weasels were er-" Abbot Martin paused desperately to find the right word. "Difficult?"

"They're impossible." Bella snarled. "Scrub one, the other three are causing mischief. Catch one, the other three run away. They're four times worse than Fret ever was and I've had more than enough for tonight!"

"Well... there are four of-"

"They are four times worse each." Bella snapped. Taking a deep breath the badgermum went on in a slightly less aggressive tone. "At the moment they're laying waste to the infirmary and I thought I'd get some help before they-"

"Mais you have come to the right place." Threeclaw exclaimed, thrusting his mop into Rosebrush's paws. "There is not a single beast in the abbey plus qualified than I to deal with les petites rascals. Allow moi."

Bella gave the stoat a look of pure disdain. "And what makes you think you can handle them?"

Threeclaw gave a theatrical shrug. "What makes you think I can't?"

The Badgermum sensed the challenge hidden in his words. Wordlessly she rose to her feetpaws and stomped back out. Pausing at the doorway Bella gave a small, irritated jerk of her head, as if she were trying to throw off a fly.

Smirking, Threeclaw followed in her wake.

The infirmary was a mess. It was not quite as horrible as Cavern Hole, but that was hardly saying much. The stoat winced at the sight of a shredded towel and resisted the urge to ask how on earth a tiny weasel had managed to inflict so much damage. A mirade of soaps lay strewn about on the floor- a dangerous tripping hazard that would no doubt cripple somebeast if it were not cleared up at once. Most of the sponges had bite or claw marks on them, and were in similar disarray. The tub at least, was still intact, though stripped off a third of its contents. Many a puddle of bubble water lay upon the floor, as if the weather had decided to rain indoors.

After a short while of admiring the chaos, Threeclaw ventured to ask. "So where are les petites-"

"There." Bella growled, pointing at the window, where Bow, Fang, Jewel and Cheese were swinging from the curtains. The Badgermum allowed herself a scoff. "Good luck with them."

"Amigos!" He cried, waving to gain their attention. "If you hurry and wash up now you can have another food fight tomorrow!"

Bella blinked, and watched in horror as the dibbuns came racing forwards, apparently very anxious to have another culinary battle. Her temper, already frayed by the day's events, came to a boil.

Threeclaw smirked and tapped the side of his head knowingly. "You see madame badger, it is just a matter of knowing. A few promises, the right noirmail and you can get anybeast to do anything." He smirked and tapped the side of his head knowingly. Frowning at her lack of reply, and becoming distinctly aware of a shadow standing over him, the stoat turned around just in time to see the whole tub of bath water unceremoniously dumped upon him.

The quartet of weasel's approach came to an abrupt end, deciding that it was probably best for them to vacate the premises as quickly as possible.

The force of the water had knocked Threeclaw off his feetpaws and flat on his rump. The stoat spluttered and hastily wiped at his eyes. "What on earth was that for? Tu grand champignon! You got me all wet and everything! And made a mess of the place like the big, stupid-"

"Get out!" The Badgermum roared.

Threeclaw did not need to be told twice, and scrambled to his feetpaws. In his mad dash for the door he slipped on a bar of soap and came crashing to the floor. His momentum, and the fact that he was covered in soap water, carried him away, as if he were sliding on ice.

Growling once more, yet feeling slightly satisfied, Bella turned away from the door and began the arduous task of collecting soap bars. We wouldn't want anybeast to slip on one, now would we?

Swallowing in terror the weasel quartet slipped out of the infirmary. A few pawsteps away and they turned and fled full-speed towards the safety of the cellars, desperate to put as much distance between themselves and the crazy badger cleaner as possible

[close]

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