Chapter Seven

The sun was high when Mrs. Brisbee awoke. She realized this with a start
and, putting on the Amulet and her cape, ran downstairs to see to the children.
In the small but well-stocked kitchen, Dr. Ages was preparing a pot of what
smelled like corn-and-bean porridge. Catching sight of her, he smiled brightly
and said, "Good Morning, M'Lady! Lunch in twenty minutes!" Brisbee
smiled and returned the greeting, reluctantly reminding him that since she had
apparently been stripped of her rank and title within the court, as well as
being a wanted fugitive, she preferred "Mrs." because
"Lady" might draw unwanted attention. Ages thought about this a
moment. "Very good point, Mrs. Brisbee! You certainly know how to think on
your feet!" He said with admiration.

Brisbee bade him goodbye and went to the main room. Jeremy was sprawled
across one of the padded chairs absently strumming his lute. "Oh, hey,
Mrs. B.!" He said, looking up. "If you're looking for your brood,
they're out playing in the meadow." Mrs. Brisbee thanked him and was about
to go out the door but hesitated. "Jeremy," she said, "How would
you like me to help you, um, improve on your playing skills; not that there's
anything wrong with them now! Don't get me wrong!" The rooster let out a
characteristic cackle. "Don't worry about offending my sensibilities, Mrs.
B. I know that I'm not the virtuoso that I pretend to be." He placed the
instrument aside and stood, proffering a gentlemanly bow. "I'd be honored
to take music lessons from her Ladyship!" He said, in a somewhat
exaggerated version of the manner of the royal court. Mrs. Brisbee giggled and
returned his bow, saying, "Why, M'Lord! 'twill be my greatest of
pleasures! I am but your humble servant!" They looked into each other's
eyes, enjoying the moment, then burst out in childish laughter.

Leaving Jeremy to his playing, Mrs. Brisbee stepped out of the house. Before
her lay a vast tree-lined meadow. It was breathtaking in its beauty, with
colorful wildflowers dotting the landscape. A stones-throw away, a small
garden, surrounded by a low stone wall, complimented the picturesque scene. The
children were playing not far away; Martin and Theresa engaged in a game of tag
from the look of it, while Cynthia was playing with a cloth doll that she had
somehow acquired. Timothy, his head propped against the garden wall, was
staring at the far edge of the field as if lost in thought. She walked slowly
toward where Martin and Theresa frolicked in the tall grass. Martin, who was
chasing his older sister, was the first to notice his mother's approach.
"Hi, mom!" He called out. Theresa stopped only long enough to wave,
and then said, "C'mon, Slowpoke, you're still 'it' and you haven't caught
me yet!" With that, Martin resumed his pursuit of his older sibling.

She continued to where Cynthia sat, the young rabbit holding the doll; which
had been sewn hurriedly from what looked like Turkish-bath-towel cloth which
might once have been white but was now a faded, dingey gray; out toward her
mother. "Look, mommy!" She exclaimed proudly. "That nice Doctor
Ages made it for me this morning!" The doll stared blankly from mismatched
button eyes; a crude nose and lopsided, somewhat forlorn, smile embroidered
into the cloth completed the face. "That's wonderful, honey! I hope you
remembered to thank him for it!" She said gently. Cynthia scrunched her
face in thought, then smiled. "Oh, yes! I remembered!" The little
rabbit then returned to playing with her new toy; not thinking, as it was with
most children her age, beyond the moment.

She walked over to the wall where Timothy lay. He appeared to be dozing in
the gentle heat of the warm mid-day sun. She was about to leave him to his
sleep when he opened one eye and said, "Oh, hi mom." Brisbee sat
beside him, back to the wall, and drew her knees to her chin. "Enjoying
the sunshine?" She asked. Timothy closed the eye again. "Thinkin'."
He said in a calm, neutral tone. "About?" She asked gently, not
wishing to prod him unnecesisarily.

Timothy opened both of his wide brown eyes and sat up, assuming a posture
identical to that of his mother. "A dream." He stated
matter-of-factly, his eyes taking on a haunted cast.

Mrs. Brisbee noticed the change in her son, becoming somewhat alarmed. Ever
since his recent bout with pneumonia he'd been sleeping badly. "Everyone
has dreams, sweetheart, good and bad." She said, reassuringly.

"No!" He said, grabbing his mother's wrist in such a vise-like
grip that it began to hurt her. He was now looking past her, as if he could see
something that she could not. "You don't understand! For the past several
weeks I've been having nightmares about Dad getting killed. And when he died a
few days ago I knew, somehow, what had happened even before Captain Justin came
and told us." He shivered in the warm air and continued, loosening his
grip on his mother's hand. "This morning I was awakened before the others
by another dream." He swallowed hard. "I dreamt of a fire. I don't
really know what it was that was on fire, but it was so real that I could smell
the smoke and feel the heat of the flames around me." He was back to the
present in an instant, calm again. "I don't know what it means." he said
to her unasked question, releasing her wrist and letting his own paw fall to
the ground at his side. "I just thought that I had to tell someone."

Just then, Jeremy sauntered up to where they were sitting. "Hey, you
two, didn't you hear me?" He asked jovially, "Lunch is served!"

Mrs. Brisbee nodded and said, "We'll be there in a few moments, Jeremy.
Please go ahead without us."

The rooster smiled and shrugged and said, "No problem. I can understand
wanting some quality time together." He turned and headed back toward the
house.

As soon as he was gone, Mrs. Brisbee put a comforting arm around her
youngest son's shoulder. "I'm not really sure what to do, Timothy."
She said, deciding that honesty was better than false bravado. "If you
like, I'll let you stay up a little later than the other kids tonight so that
we can talk to Dr. Ages about it. He might be willing to help you, if he's
able."

The young rabbit smiled and nestled his head against his mother's shoulder.
"Thank's mom." He whispered. After a few minutes of enjoying the
sights and sounds of the field, Mrs. Brisbee said, "How 'bout we go in and
get some lunch? The Doctor was making a wonderful smelling corn-and-bean
porridge." Moments later, she and her adopted son were walking hand-in-hand
toward the house, both with wide, happy smiles on their faces.

Chapter Eight

"He said WHAT?"

Jenner's voice echoed through the throne room like a peal of angry thunder.
The merchant, wearing a white robe to cover the bandages on his wounds, knelt
before his King and nervously repeated, verbatim, what Justin had told him to
tell the lion Ωwho sat before him. "P-Please, your Majesty, I-I beg
your mercy! Those are his words, not mine!" He stammered.

"Enough of your wimpering, idiot!" Jenner cried, exasperated at
the blabbering fool in front of him. "I should take that whip to you
myself! My ability to rule is on shaky enough ground as we speak! But to have
my subjects revolt against me because a simple-minded pig wasn't willing to
spend a few Talents to hire a few carriers from the local Sheriff?" Jenner
gave the merchant a hard look. "Eustace," He said in a genuinely sad
voice. "You have made me, your King, look the fool. Under my reign you
could have profited handsomely from your connections to my court." The
anger returned to his voice. "But I can't forgive this kind of sheer
stupidity!" Jenner pointed a beringed finger at the boar. "I hereby
sentence you to exile from my Kingdom! I also hereby confiscate all properties
from you except for sufficient means to take whatever transportation is needed
to carry out my sentence. Furthermore, this sentence is to be carried out
within seven days, after which you will be executed on sight if you should ever
set foot in my Kingdom during my reign." Eustace paled visibly, his lower
lip trembling. "Count yourself fortunate that I am a merciful ruler,
Eustace Scrubb!" Jenner said sternly. "You, at least, will live to
see another day; even if it is in a foreign land."

At Sullivan's nod, four of the King's Guards advanced; two of them picking
the unfortunate merchant up by his underarms with barely an effort, and the
other two drawing their swords, showing the boar that they meant to carry out
the King's order, and falling in behind the first two; and dragged him,
pleading for Jenner to reconsider his judgment, away.

As soon as the fearful squealing had faded, Jenner motioned Sullivan to
approach. Sullivan dismissed his Troop from the Throneroom and, as soon as the
heavy iron-reinforced door was closed, joined his King.

"I'm always at your service, Your Majesty." He stated flatly.
Jenner nodded and regarded his Captain-of-the-Guard. "Tell me, my
friend," he said languidly. "Do you feel that I did the right
thing?" Sullivan's eyes hardened as he said, "The pig was, as you
said, an idiot. He really deserves to die for his crime, especially for using
that whip!" Jenner sighed. "Yes, yes, I know. But I didn't ask you if
I did the correct thing; I asked you if I did the right thing."

Sullivan arched an eyebrow, unsure where Jenner's line of Ωquestioning
was supposed to be leading. Jenner caught the motion. "You see, my friend,
if I appear to be too harsh with those who helped me to ascend to this Throne,
I will surely lose their badly needed support before I can build a strong
enough power‹base to let my rule sustain itself. If, on the other paw, I'm too
lenient; my supporters will take that as a sign of weakness and I'll soon be
relegated to no more than a figurehead, in which case, I might just as well be
nothing more than the 'flea-bitten excuse for a throw-rug' that your bothersome
predecessor described me as."

Sullivan nodded his understanding. He'd never had the patience or stomach
for power politics that his King did, preferring instead the physical
domination of a foe on the battlefield. But that did not mean that he didn't
appreciate Jenner's talent for anticipating a problem and thinking out a
solution, even if that solution proved lethal to Jenner's adversary."Don't
worry, your Majesty, I'll find him." He said confidently.

Jenner's face darkened. "I'm sure you will. But I want a reward posted.
A thousand crowns for his head, in a platter, at my feet!"

"Will that be all, your Majesty?" Sullivan asked.

"It's a start." Jenner sneered.

Chapter Nine

"I'm really not sure what to tell you, my boy." Dr. Ages said,
leaning against the fireplace mantle.

Timothy had just told his mother, Ages and Jeremy about his nightmares over
the past several weeks. His narratives had been very detailed and all three
were amazed at how much he seemed to remember.

Ages began to nervously pace the room. "We've known for
centuries," He began, as if lecturing to a group of medical academy
students, "That certain rabbits, usually males, somehow acquire an ability
to see into the future. It usually seems to run in families, although here have
been exceptions, but since we have no way of tracing your family history I
suppose that's a moot point. Usually this power, if you will, begins to
manifest itself when the possessor reaches mating age; although I do remember
one case in my early days where a six-year-old rabbit fell from a window in his
home. He was not seriously injured, just a bump on the head that left him
unconscious for a few minutes and required several stitches. A few days later,
his mother told me that he dreamt that a ring lay buried in their garden and
that, when they dug it up, they found that it belonged to a local Noblewoman
who had lost it several years before when it fell from her finger during a
coach ride. The rabbit was amply rewarded and began using his 'gift', as he
called it, to find lost objects for a modest fee. Eventually, though, his gift
began to fade and he had to live like a regular rabbit. I submitted a case
study to my Medical Guild and forgot about it until now."

"Then it's possible that these nightmares won't last?" Mrs.
Brisbee asked.

Ages shrugged. "I don't honestly know. Some cases seem to fade over
time; others have been known to last until the death of the recipient."

Jeremy, who had been listening attentively, exclaimed, "The Gift of the
Bards! That's what it is! Remember, many of the ancient singers were rabbits
with the gift of prophecy!"

Ages thoughtfully rubbed the stubbly fur on his chin. "I never looked
at it quite like that before, but it's too intriguing a theory to dismiss out
of hand."

Mrs. Brisbee, a hint of frustration in her voice, said, "C'mon, you
two, this is a little boy, my son, we're talking about! Not some medical
experiment or museum artifact! My main concern is for his well-being!"

Timothy, who had been listening in silence, yawned and crawled across the
couch to where his mother sat. He wriggled his head under her arm and lay his
head on her lap and promptly fell asleep.

Jeremy snickered softly and said, in a professorial manner, "I do
believe our learned colleague has rendered his considered opinion of our
debate." Ages smiled and sighed. "My father always said that 'There's
nothing like the simple wisdomof a child to make the most educated of us look
like total fools.' I realize now exactly what he meant."

Mrs. Brisbee smiled and, as she gently picked up her youngest son, playfully
chided them, whispering, "It's nice to know that even you two egotists can
be taught a little humility." She then whispered her goodnights to them
and crept silently up the stairs to the attic to put her son and herself to
bed.