Reign of the Burned Fox, Chapter 1

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Duveer's pointy ears perked up as an unusual noise filtered through the door. He wasn't particularly engrossed in this chronicle, probably something to do with the utterly illegible script of whichever Recorder had been responsible for it. So perhaps the noise wasn't strange, just not one he'd paid enough attention to before. The swishing of habits and clacking of sandals against Redwall Abbey's polished stone floors weren't really rare sounds, after all, even up here in the quiet corner outside the Recorder's chamber.

The fox kit grunted and turned back to the scroll, squinting his eyes at the swirling and spiraling letters in the forlorn hope that he'd be able to make them out eventually. But something at the edge of his sight drew his attention. Brother Avery, the current – and far more legible, if you ask me – Abbey Recorder, had picked his chin up off his ink-stained paws and was staring at the door with his brow furrowed. The old mouse rarely looked disconcerted at all, and it frequently took his apprentice's shrillest nagging to wake him from a late afternoon nap. The fox set the scroll down gingerly, careful to take good care of the brittle parchment, and looked directly at his caretaker.

Brother Avery stabbed his tail sharply towards the row of cubbyholes just behind the fox. A little trickle of black ink dripped from his wrist to splatter on his stone writing desk as he brought a finger to his lips. Duveer knew from experience that the esteemed Recorder's mind never stopped running no matter how dozy he might seem, and so he scrambled up onto the wide shelf he'd just been resting his neck against. If Brother Avery's worried, and by the looks of things worried for me, I'm not about to argue!

Unfortunately, like every other time he'd tried to hop up on the shelf, Duveer's limp and furless tail snagged on the wood. Even with Brother Avery right there, already packing scrolls around the fox, he wasn't able to swallow his yip of pain. He felt more than saw the Recorder's anxious twist towards the door. But it wasn't his fault his back and tail were burned and scarred past recognition! No, that was all because of some accursed squirrel tribe!

A slightly damp paw stroked Duveer high on his shoulder, safely above the last of the dull purple flesh, and he choked back the growl that had been building in his throat. "Sorry," he mouthed into his bright orange belly fur as Brother Avery rammed one last scroll home and stepped back from the shelf. With nothing else to do until his mentor gave the all-clear, the little fox studied his temporary nest. Brother Avery had never explained why this one cubbyhole was twice as tall and twice again as wide as all the rest, but it hadn't taken Duveer much thought to work it out. Not like Brother Avery's other apprentices! In particular, he'd had to outright demonstrate it for Gavin, and that fool mouse rarely did anything but doze off in the first place.

He traced a claw idly along one of the perfectly rectangular rows of slightly coarse and discolored wood. So regular, and I'd swear on Ma's ashes that there was sawdust the first time I had to scour it down. Really, nobeast ever bothered thinking about it before I got here? In fairness, he'd had to scrub these shelves so many times as punishment for some accusation or other that he'd probably been the first to really give it any attention. Well, it's a cozy enough bed, and Brother Avery's done everything short of tell me he used it to nap away his own work when he was my age. Though I get the idea that he's not the first either.

The door creaked open gently and Duveer stiffened, determined to hold his breath for as long as he could. "Father Abbot!" Avery exclaimed as his stool clattered to the ground. The fox's heart battered at his ribs – Brother Avery had made it very clear to him that none of the other Abbeybeasts were supposed to know that the fox had an apprenticeship, especially not in the Recording Room. So if Abbot Tristam was here, now, then...

"Ah, Avery, it's always a pleasure. I hope I didn't wake you –"

"– Where's the fox?" All right, now I don't know what I'm trying to feel. Could be fear, could be worry, but it's probably annoyance. Not like Gavin deserves anything stronger, I don't think! But whatever he was feeling, he dutifully held back whatever face and sound went with it. Pa always said never to let a woodlander get under your fur. They always want to think I'm up to something, and if I give them the tiniest reason I'll never convince them I'm innocent. That's what he said, and Pa was never wrong.

He could perfectly picture Brother Avery's face. Though I suppose if anyone can address him with such familiarity it's Father Tristam. Not like Gavin's simpering. The old mouse's head would be tilted to his right just slightly, a tiny smile at his lips, his muzzle perfectly angled to be humble or scornful based purely on his audience's guilty conscience. "Little Duveer? Why, has he used kitchen duty to try the October Ale again?" It was all the fox could do not to retch – the Abbey's ale was far, far too strong for his tender young throat. Their cordials and wines, on the other paw...

"Don't waste your time hiding that tailless rat – er, I mean, ah..." Gavin trailed off – as he so often does, whether he's put his footpaw in his mouth or not, Duveer thought. He wasn't even bothering to swallow his smirk anymore.

"Well, it seems that somebeast has been at the casks today!" Don't snigger, Duveer, don't snigger. "Or, if there is a rat in the Abbey these days, you'll have to introduce me sometime."

Even through the scrolls Duveer could hear Gavin scraping his paw on the floor. "I'm sorry, Master Avery, that was wrong of me," he said hesitantly, taking whole seconds to work out each word as he came to it. "He and I have never gotten along, and I'm even madder than usual today. But I suppose I'm still his host and shouldn't make such a fuss, right?"

Duveer's smirk vanished, and he was reasonably sure Brother Avery's smile had run off at the same time. He doubted anyone particularly believed Gavin's spells of politeness, but they all had to pretend they did or else he'd never bother with good behavior again. In fact, it had been Father Tristam who'd said that. But couldn't he break that rule once in a while for my sake? Please?

Apparently he couldn't. "Gavin here has told me something very disquieting, Brother Avery. Two things, in fact. And while I do not approve of his tone, I have already lectured him myself when he came to me with the news. And I cannot blame him for losing his temper. Gavin, please, show our dear Recorder your tail."

Brother Avery hissed sharply, the sort of sound Duveer expected from himself far more than the gentle old mouse. "From how you've been talking, child, you're going to tell me that our guest is responsible for that." Someone was pacing eerily close to the fox's hiding place. "I'm...not sure what to say. Frankly, I trust Duveer more than I trust many in this Abbey, and I'm not yet convinced he's at fault. But I cannot deny that injury either. Please, Gavin, continue. I want to learn the entire story."

The young mouse cleared his throat. "Well, sir, I got into an argument with him this morning. He told me I wasn't worthy of being your student and we, er, well..." The Abbot and his Recorder had distinct and unforgettable "go on" frowns, and Duveer didn't doubt that Gavin was withering under both at once. "I threw the first blow. I know, I know, I was wrong. But he caught my wrist and twisted me around, then he stomped on the base of my tail until it popped!"

Duveer's stomach heaved. His own tail had been abused so badly that Gavin's story set it blazing with sympathetic pain. And finally his control failed and let his back arch spastically, his body trying to fight against the three-pronged assault of pain, nausea, and bad memories. And then, to his terror, his charred tail started to freeze, senses overwhelmed by even the sun-kissed Abbey air.

"Rather drafty here, isn't it? Father, I think our young friend would be more comfortable if you would close the door." The fox couldn't believe that his caretaker had missed his tail, so why was he trapping...ah. Actually, that's quite clever. I need to stop panicking or I'll make assumptions as bad as theirs usually are. The door thudded shut. "It doesn't seem to be paining you now, does it, Gavin? Brother Dolin truly is a miracle worker."

Oh my, Gavin's started panting. Took him this long to remember he's in pain. "Actually, Master Avery, it really didn't hurt all that much even at the start. But I can't feel the end of my tail anymore either. Not the breeze, not the grass, not the Abbey dust."

By the Black Forest, how did he come up with that? I know I never told him how my back and tail thought all season after they burned our cart! Duveer frowned, grumbling just faintly as he took a quiet breath. Maybe...something really did happen to his tail? But how? What did he do to it?

"I'm sorry," Brother Avery said very softly. "I cannot tell you any more than Dolin can about whether it will heal properly in time. But, and forgive me for asking, what was your argument about? Duveer has always been a clever and impressively well-read child, but I never sensed that sort of jealousy for your place as my apprentice." Because I already know I deserve it more than you do, Gavin. I don't need to bother fighting with you over it, whether mine's official or not.

"Honestly? He's a fox, what do you expect? He's always going to be jealous of us woodlanders and Abbeybeasts, and he's always going to hide it so we don't punish him."

"Gavin!" Father Tristam cut in, voice severe enough to set Duveer on the edge of trembling.

"I'm inclined to agree with the Abbot, child." Though Brother Avery's words were gentle, all of the laughter had gone from his tone, and that chilled Duveer more than any wind against his burns ever could. "All three of us know the histories, that's true, and you are sadly right about most of the foxes our Abbey has had dealings with across the seasons. But when you look at how much of his life Duveer has spent chopping onions and scrubbing plates, I think any accusation of him 'avoiding his punishment' is a little far-fetched."

Gavin muttered something Duveer hoped the two elders would pretend not to hear. Then, "I'm sorry, Father Abbot, Master Avery. Maybe I shouldn't have come to you so soon. I'll have myself under control by tomorrow, promise." He shuffled around a little, habit rustling right outside of Duveer's nest. "By the way, Master Avery, have you taken up charcoal sketching? I haven't seen this lying about the last few times you've had me in here."

And then, with no further warning, he yanked hard on the root of Duveer's tail.

The nausea the fox had felt over Gavin's tail came back a thousandfold as his entire back lit up like it was on fire all over again. He shrieked and writhed around, ripping his wounded body out of the hated mouse's grip only to scrape his scabrous skin against the wall behind him. Through suddenly teary eyes he saw Gavin lurching away from his echoing scream. And then he was squinting too hard to see anything, trying frantically to hold in his bile. There was a pile of scrolls right in front of him, after all, and it would not do to vomit across such fine reading material. Even if two thirds of them were just dull ancient almanacs.

This isn't the first time this has happened! I'll get through this one too! He shook vigorously as if he was casting water out of the coat he deserved to have. His pain seemed to have evened out somewhat, just like what Gavin had been talking about in his fantasy story. Really, how did he come up with that? Maybe one of the old stories mentioned it and I just can't remember? His thoughts were settling down too, and he hesitantly opened his eyes. After all, he probably wasn't going to enjoy what he saw.

Bah. I hate it when I'm right.

It wasn't entirely bad, he supposed. Gavin's face in particular was a fascinating conflict between panic and smugness, though now that the fox had stopped screaming smugness was definitely gaining ground. But the Abbot was giving him the most damning glare he'd ever seen in those usually gentle eyes, worse even than the time he'd buried Jem the otter's ceramic tankard in the mud of the Abbey pond – that was his daughter's fault, though! She got me stuck cleaning dishes all through the last three visitor's feasts. It was completely fair that I finally gave them something to scrub out too! That argument hadn't worked on Father Tristam then, though, and it was only distracting him from what was probably about to happen now.

And from Brother Avery. He'd taken a quick glance at his caretaker and steadfastly refused to look at him again. His slightly cloudy yet shining eyes were now deeply hooded, his head hanging down like that rat whose back his Pa had broken long ago. The Recorder's sadness threatened to rush out and flood Duveer too, and so he twisted his head away to focus entirely on the Abbot.

But Father Tristam wouldn't even allow him that comfort. "Brother Avery, what have you done?"

Not for the first time, Duveer marveled at how silently the Badgermum could lie in ambush for troublemaking foxes. Lady Dinah had been right outside the door the entire time, her massive paws waiting to parade him down to the Abbot's chambers. She held Gavin's shoulder at least as tightly and was careful with his now-weeping burn scars, but even though he was grateful for both of those considerations they still weren't comforting.

Frigid little teeth gnawed his back and tail. He'd turned down the offer of an abbey novice's habit back at the beginning, opting instead for a so-called tunic that was more like a confused apron. The heavy linen the rest of the abbeydwellers favored was soft to the paw but still aggravated his scars, especially his poor stub of a tail. So instead the Abbot had offered him one of his own outfits, cut to avoid the silvery forest of spikes that jutted from his back. The compromise in Duveer's case, of course, was that his scars had no protection from the chilly air of the abbey's deeper halls. It wasn't normally a problem – if anything, the itch was a reminder that even his worst wounds weren't truly dead yet – but he always felt it a lot more sharply when he was being dragged down to face Abbot Tristam's justice.

And it was worse today, because the person he'd managed to drag down with him didn't even deserve it! Well, Gavin deserved it just for existing, of course, but of course that wasn't who he'd meant. Brother Avery had done nothing but live up to the abbey's ideals. Or perhaps he had violated them – he wasn't wrong about Redwall's unfortunate encounters with other foxes – but that wasn't a violation Duveer would have ever lost sleep over. He sneaked a quick look at Gavin's face and recoiled, growling low and deep in his throat at the pride and satisfaction on the mouse's plain face. Clearly, he lost quite a lot of sleep over it. The fox's lip curled up at the back, displaying his fangs in a way he seldom dared to do around woodlanders. Good.

But he'd also seen his enemy's tail, and just like Brother Avery he couldn't deny the reality of the injury. His long bald tail was crooked sharply about a third of the way from the base, though something still seemed off about his story. Aside from the fact that he'd blamed Duveer, of course, since the fox had barely slept and run straight to his favorite scrolls before sunrise. He squinted at the tail, but whatever the mouse's lie was he couldn't pin it down.

Father Tristam had been muttering to himself all the while, but Duveer kept his ears tucked tight to his skull. He probably didn't want to hear it anyway. From the tightness of Brother Avery's face, he knew it would have only left him feeling even guiltier. Of course, the Abbot was a master of that art anyway, so the fox knew full well that anything he was dodging now would just settle in ten times as heavily when the lecturing started.

And here it came now. The elderly hedgehog fiddled with the clasp on his door until it swung open with barely a creak, far lighter than the tree trunk of a door to the Recorder's room. Badgermum Dinah nudged her captives into the room with reassuring gentleness, though it was still enough to set Gavin staggering. Duveer had no such problem – after all, he had five seasons of experience to his name. Which was undoubtedly why his stomach was leaden and his throat tasted of ash before the Abbot had even said anything.

Brother Avery had walked in alongside the Abbot, but like the two abbey youths he sat on the stone just before Father Tristam's cushioned oak armchair. In fact, he'd reached his spot before the Abbot had made it to his chair, and quirked his head in surprise when Tristam tapped his shoulder.

"There's no need for you to hurt yourself, Avery," the hedgehog said with a short laugh. "There are cushions behind you for a reason. Please, be comfortable." But Brother Avery shook his head slowly and tapped the hard stone, and the Abbot sighed heavily. "The offer stands, my friend. But know that I appreciate your gesture. And I hope it's not lost on them."

For his part Duveer squatted down; his legs and stomach immediately started burning. He knew that invitation wasn't for him just as well as he knew his haunches and tail would never forgive him for sitting down cross-legged like the others, though, so it was always worth getting a little exercise. Especially if Brother Avery was going to join them on the hard abbey sandstone.

Gavin, of course, knew none of those things. Duveer watched out of the corner of his eye as he fumbled for one of the well-stuffed green pillows. But he caught Father Tristam's gaze just as he finally laid paw on one and immediately let go, rocking away from it without unfolding his legs. Duveer snorted, and if the Abbot disapproved of that then he really didn't care.

He gave no sign of whether he approved or not, however, simply clearing his throat. "Lady Dinah, if you would seal the door?"

"Already done," she grumbled back.

"Very well then." Abbot Tristam coughed again and studied his paws for a moment, then looked Duveer straight in the eyes. The fox winced away almost instantly. "First, the matter of Gavin's injury. You've seen it now, and I'm fairly certain you'd seen it before. And I know you overheard his story. What defense of your actions will you offer this time?"

Duveer's neck strained as he forced himself to meet the Abbot's gaze. Even still, he blinked frantically. "What actions, Father Abbot? I was in the Recorder's chamber since sunup – I even skipped breakfast! I'm sure someone noticed that, and Brother Avery will back me too. He arrived only a few moments after I did."

Father Tristam raised his chin, giving a high nod to the Recorder. "Well, Avery?"

"Of course, Tristam. He'd let himself in and was going over the old...let's see, it was the Mariel saga again, wasn't it? Said he'd had bad dreams and his scars were itching, so he came to my office to relax." The old mouse was smiling, but it was a thin and triumphant smile that lacked all of his usual welcome. "And before you ask, I was with him the entire time. I skipped my own breakfast to make sure he settled down properly, then I set him a task – what was that again, child?" His tone sharpened as he whipped around to look at Duveer, and the fox started to panic as he realized it was a pop quiz.

"Um, let me see...restoration, I remember that, but which story? It wasn't one of my usual favorites and...ugh, I'm completely drawing a blank on the season!"

The Abbot closed his eyes and steepled his paws. "I...see." He turned to Gavin, eyes still shut. "When would you say this happened?"

"Me? Um, oh. It was just a short while ago – maybe half an hour? Er, no, that was probably when I found you. More like three-quarters." Gavin swallowed a few times and settled down. "I didn't even go to see Brother Dolin because I thought I needed to report it right away." He glared at Duveer, who had absolutely no trouble matching him. "Before the fox ran away again."

Abbot Tristam rubbed his eyes. "You realize that neither of you has a trustworthy witness, correct? If you'd reported to Dolin right away you'd at least have had someone to say how severe the wound was at first and when it happened. As it is, we've just got your word and the break in your tail."

"Excuse me, Father Abbot." Duveer raised a paw like he was down in cheeserolling class under Friar Beddoes. "You said 'neither of us' had our stories supported. What about Brother Avery, though?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth he crumpled, barely able to keep his tail from scraping the stone. He was probably just waiting for some idiot to say that, wasn't he? Some charred foxy idiot.

"Ah." At last the Abbot opened his eyes, once again staring directly into Duveer's. "That brings us to the second issue, I suppose. Avery, I'm certain you already understand how disappointed I am that you let a fox into our records. And I'm also surprised, since you were the one who refused him most fervently when he first came to us for care. Don't bother to deny it, you've already confessed today."

"I wasn't going to." That thin smile was still there in spite of everything. Duveer marveled at his mentor's nerve. "He knew more of letters and stories when he arrived, barely more than a Dibbun, than most Abbeybeasts do after twelve seasons of study. More than that, he knew other versions of our histories – outside versions. How could I turn that sort of experience away, even if it was bundled in the body of an enemy?" He chuckled briefly, smile never slipping, and amazement started to give way to fear. Fear for his mentor and of him in equal measure. "Besides, in my mind it kept him out of trouble for as much time as I could keep him bundled up with my scrolls and away from everybeast else."

Abbot Tristam nodded slowly. "I see. Though I'm still curious about how you first found out, considering how little you trusted him at first. All of your reading must have taught you how dangerous a wild fox can be, of course?"

Still that same quiet smile. "Of course. And don't think that didn't immediately come to my mind when I opened the door to see him tangled up in scrolls with his back weeping all over my floor. And then I realized just what I was looking at – a child who could understand and enjoy our old Recorders' scrawlings even while his eyes were glued shut by tears – and by the time old Sister Gwyn hauled him back up to the infirmary I'd invited him back."

"I knew it!" Gavin shrieked. "I knew he was your favorite! What were Talma and I to you then, just distractions?"

"Gavin..." Abbot Tristam warned, but Brother Avery waved him away.

"No, Gavin. You two were certainly more difficult students than dear Duveer was, but that was only because you had your own goals and talents. He was a far better reader and had some knowledge of pensmanship when he arrived, but I doubt he could match you with a fishing pole! Tell the truth, child, you're only learning from me for the sake of learning all you can – a laudable goal – than because you truly want to spend your life restoring old records."

Gavin clenched his fists and sat up perfectly rigidly. "No! I value our time and your instruction, and I definitely don't want to see some two-faced fox learning all our weaknesses! Maybe he's tricked you, Master Avery, but he's never going to fool me. I'm not falling for another Vitch, do you hear?"

Duveer felt his own mouth curling up into a smile that paralleled Brother Avery's. "Vitch? Well, I guess you actually have read some of the records while you were up there. Let's see, young rat, about your age, sent into the abbey by Slagar the Slaver as a spy about a week in advance of the fox's raid and then used first as a guard and then a slave himself as the company tried to escape from Matthias the Warrior. Does that sound about right, Brother?" Avery nodded, still wearing that eerie smile. "To me, the most important part of that is that 'a week before.' I've been here five seasons now and there's been nothing of the sort!"

"Well, maybe – maybe, I doubt it – you're smarter than he was! Why else would you be so jealous of us other students if you weren't afraid we'd catch you doing something you shouldn't be?"

Duveer snorted. "Jealous of you and Talma? You're right, why would I be jealous of you two? Like Brother Avery said, you two were never really even interested in penmanship or history. Not the way I am. So what makes you think I was ever jealous at all? You've really got me curious, mouse." He puffed out his cheeks a bit as he realized how he'd phrased that last bit. It definitely wasn't going to help his argument if he voluntarily sounded like an outsider, but on the other paw he was completely through with humoring Gavin.

And now it was the young mouse's turn to put on a tight yet victorious smile. "For starters? What you told me when you stomped my tail this morning."

"I. Did. Nothing. Of. The. Sort." Duveer's fangs were bared in earnest now. He could hear Lady Dinah shifting behind him, but she hadn't yanked him away from Gavin yet and he was determined to make the most of it. "Brother Avery knows that full well, and so do you!"

"Are you calling me, a proud child of Redwall Abbey, a liar?"

"Who caught that fish last Midsummer's? You sang your own praises, but I say I helped Kay and Beddey haul it ashore."

Gavin was on his feet now, and Duveer catapulted up to meet him – and to enjoy the relief that flooded through his cramped legs. "We all know how much you nap, Master Avery, and at your age who can blame you? I'm just saying you might not have been watching him the whole time."

Duveer had voluntarily dulled his claws to make the Abbeybeasts feel safer, but they'd clearly grown back since the last time he'd touched them. Certainly enough to shave Gavin's fur and pierce his skin at the end of the fox's massive slap. The impact echoed through the Abbot's chamber as Dinah wrestled him to the ground, no longer caring about his old injuries. His tail lit up as it bent against the stone and his back froze over an instant later, and if the Badgermum didn't loosen her grip soon he wouldn't have a right shoulder to come back to, but it was all worth it to see the shock on Gavin's face. How could anybeast stand aside when someone calls such a dear friend senile, anyway? I doubt an Abbey Warrior would have stood for it, so why should I?

"Enough! Both of you!" The fox had heard Father Tristam angry before, but he'd never imagined the stooped old hedgehog could sound so commanding. Out of deference he stopped writhing in the Badgermum's grasp, holding himself down to more of an itchy wriggle. "This clearly requires more investigation than what I can learn from either of you. Until then, Gavin, you will report to Brother Dolin and get your tail treated. You will see no visitors and cannot leave the infirmary until I inform him otherwise, as you clearly need time to let your temper cool. And you," for the first time since coming to Redwall, Duveer was able to meet the Abbot's stare without flinching away, "you will be locked away from the other Abbeybeasts until I can come to a decision. Milady Dinah, escort Duveer to the cellars and bar him in."

"Tristam, I must protest. Clearly –"

But the Abbot was past listening to argument. "Clearly I cannot trust your judgment where this fox is concerned, Brother Avery. You are not to allow him into the records again even if he is found innocent. He can find some other interest to pursue. Regardless, if I have to chase him out of the records chamber again I will chase you out at the same time, and that will be the end of it. Am I understood?"

Brother Avery muttered something Duveer pretended not to hear. Who knew he'd have paid so much attention when I told him about "The Lays of the Gullywhacker?" I prefer the original story, of course, but there's something to be said for the sort of saga your father cuffs you for reading under the cart. But when all was over, he hadn't protested any further. If even stubborn and inventive old Avery wasn't willing to keep fighting the Abbot on this, what chance did Duveer have alone?

"Do not even try to argue down my judgments," Tristam warned before the fox could even come up with a rebuttal. He twisted his head to look over at Gavin, who had puffed himself up to say...well, the fox didn't know what he would have said, but it would probably have been either hilarious or depressing. Gavin seldom said anything that wasn't one or the other. "Duveer, you have been our welcome guest for five brief seasons, and you have already learned much. But surely your most frequent lesson has been that we do not tolerate fighting among the Abbeybeasts." He wheeled, spikes blurring behind him. "And you, Gavin, you have been taught this from the beginning, and yet you have antagonized him with nearly every word you spoke today. You both must endure your punishments and try to learn from the experience. We try to reward good behavior, but I cannot overlook this sort of hatred."

"Yes, Father Abbot," Gavin muttered.

Duveer swallowed down the stale air in his throat and thought about what to say. "Father Abbot, I –"

"No, Duveer. Gavin, follow me. Milady, you may take him away."

Duveer rose on his own before Dinah could yank him even more out of sorts. As she led him towards the door he turned, getting one last look at his mentor. Brother Avery was still wearing that strange little smile, and as the door swung open and the cool abbey air rushed in Duveer felt a matching one creep back onto his face. Somehow he still knew things would work out all right.

In spite of all of the evidence to the contrary.

Redwall Abbey wasn't really all that big, but it certainly felt like it some days. The lower floors in particular were honeycombed with stairways and mole tunnels that connected halls and pantries at random. And Badgermum Dinah seemed to be dragging him through every one of them as they worked their way down to the absolute bottom of the abbey, drawing as many eyes as possible along the way.

At length she seemed to realize that her massive paw with its spadelike claws was still digging into his uncovered burns. She loosened her grip suddenly and refastened it a smidgen more gently on the crest of his throbbing right shoulder. "Sorry," she muttered softly enough that passersby couldn't catch her showing leniency.

"Thank you, Badgermum," the fox replied just as softly. He might have had a chance to dart away when she had let go, he supposed, but he wasn't about to get himself into even more trouble yet. And besides, her legs are more than twice as long as mine. And he owed her plenty of courtesy anyway – she'd come to his defense just as promptly as she had any other young Abbeybeast's. And if his bony chest bore the bruises to prove he'd suffered her wrath more than once, well, so did Gavin's rump.

"Why do you two do it?" she said aloud. "You and Gavin, I mean. You find new ways to rile each other up every day, and twice on weekends! It can't be that satisfying, can it?"

Duveer hesitated. Actually, it really is that satisfying most of the time. He's a pompous fool who doesn't need my help to humiliate himself, but that doesn't mean I won't lend a paw whenever he gives me the opportunity. "Dunno," he replied. "We just never...clicked, I guess. Rubbed each other wrong or something. I mean, it's not like everybeast in the abbey hates me, and –"

Dinah scoffed, setting the fox vibrating as her chest rumbled. "Who said anything about hatred? You'll notice I don't break up your wrestling matches with those otter pups whenever their parents come in from Mossflower." She shook her head and by extension Duveer's whole frame. "I think young Gavin can be an immature fool, and that he's latched onto you as an outlet for his foolishness, but I don't believe even he's particularly hateful."

No, no, I'm pretty sure that's hate you've been hearing from him. You were paying attention in the Abbot's chamber just now, weren't you, Badgermum? He's got plenty of hate in him, I'd stake what's left of my fur on that. It's just that he's not worth hating. Far too much hassle.

"And that's why I'm so disappointed in you, Duveer," she continued. And here we go. Just when I thought I'd chased the ash out of my throat from earlier... "I know that you of all beasts are sensitive to tail injuries, so to maim his that way...he must have antagonized you even more than he always does."

Oh, for the love of...Badgermum, you don't honestly believe that charlatan, do you? Duveer squinted as he thought about Gavin's broken tail again. He still couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong with the mouse's story – besides the obvious, of course.

"Maim whose what what way?" The fox swung in Dinah's grip, but he recognized the voice too well even without seeing the squirrel it belonged to. "When I saw you I thought you were just working off another damson wine debt or something, but maim? That's not a word you hear here in Redwall."

"No, Miss Talma, it isn't. And that's why Gavin's locked in the infirmary and Duveer's about to be locked in the cellar."

The squirrelmaid – hated, hated squirrels – gasped, and Duveer could just picture her little paws crossed over her mouth daintily. "Gavin?" She stomped around in front of them so she could glare at the fox directly, and like always he flinched away from her long red-brown face, flames roaring out of the shadows behind his eyelids. "What did you do to him after he dragged you out of Cavern Hole?"

"What are you –" Duveer began dizzily, but Dinah interrupted him before he could even wrap his mind around what that thrice-damned treemouse had just said.

"You saw him earlier, Talma? The Abbot will need to hear of this. But to answer your question, Gavin says they quarreled and Duveer stood on his tail until it popped. He's been barred from receiving visitors without permission on account of his own behavior, though, so you'll have to wait." The Badgermum's paw had become a carpenter's vice. Duveer's right arm was going numb, but that was a small concern against the confused thoughts whirling through his head.

"I'll go right up, then. To the Abbot, I mean, not to poor Gavin. And you," her voice was naturally piping but she could always claw her way up to a shriller timbre when Duveer was around, "I hope the Abbot sorts you out properly this time!" She twirled, her habit spinning like a flower in the high plains wind, and trotted out of sight.

Badgermum Dinah struck out again for whatever cellar they were bound for, ominously silent. Duveer had to hop and skip every couple of steps to keep up with her redoubled pace. He could feel his back crumbling again as he was stretched out to his full length by her steel grip. But that was just discomfort and pain, and he'd plenty of practice dealing with both even before he'd been burned beneath his family's cart five seasons past. No, the accursed squirrelmaid had given him something far more painful to think about.

She couldn't have known. Literally couldn't have. I was up with Brother Avery the whole time, I really was! So how could she have seen me down in Cavern Hole? No, it wasn't worth doubting himself – it wasn't as if he'd sleepwalked down the stairs and through a fight with Gavin! Though with that said, he probably didn't even need to be awake to flatten that clod of a mouse, not even after his recent growth spurt.

No. They planned this, he decided. Maybe she really does only know about him leaving Cavern Hole, but something had to happen to his tail. And I wouldn't put it past a squirrel to do that to a friend. No, they knew I was working with Brother Avery, and they were the jealous ones. They always have been.

For some reason Duveer felt like his stomach should be churning at his realization, but really there was nothing shocking except the cunning his enemies had shown. But Redwall's always been famous for clever wardens. Doesn't stop them from being totally blind half the time anyway, but when they set their minds to something they're relentless and thorough. And I got caught right in front of it. He evened out his stance as best he could, though he couldn't do much around Dinah's paw. Still, instead of feeling bereaved, he was strangely proud. And why not? It's almost an honor to be cast down by Redwall's scheming, isn't it? It shows me once and for all where I stand in their eyes: a rival worthy of a mighty deception to cast down. He swallowed down the lump that had risen in his throat. I'm a challenge to their brightest minds, not some crippled child!

So why do I feel like crying?