Chapter Twenty-Eight

Heather awoke slowly and opened one eye, then blinked both open.

"G'morning." Stabb said quietly. He was leaning on the sill of a
broken-out window frame, staring into the morning's first light. They had found
the abandoned building, an inn by the look of it, late the previous afternoon
and made themselves as comfortable as possible under the circumstances in an
upstairs room; gathering enough wildfruits, nuts and seeds to make a modest, if
rather bland, meal.

"Is Will still asleep?" She asked, careful to keep her voice low.

"He left a little while ago t' see if he could get us some food an' a
few supplies. Said he'll be back sometime soon." The weasel said.

Heather nodded and then began digging around in her pack.

Stabb regarded her curiously as she brought out her sketch pad and a pencil
and began to sketch him.

Heather smiled. "Could ye please look out th' window, Mr. Stabb? It
makes ye look s' handsome when th' light shines on ye just so. Bye-the-bye, me
father knows a Cecil Stabb in Wales. Are ye related?" She asked.

Stabb thought a moment then shrugged. "I dunno. Possibly." He
said, "Might be a very distant cousin 'r something. Far as I know, I'm the
last of my clan; the Blacktails. The rest died in the wars and the Plague years
ago."

Heather stopped her sketching and nodded. "Aye, me grandfather used t'
tell us about his service in th' Plague Camps. Said it was th' most fright'nin'
time o' his life."

"The wars an' Plague touched everybody." Stabb said, his voice
heavy with regret. "I can't count the number of families that I deprived
of a father, a brother or a son. I suppose that in my youthI was full of fire
an' thought I could take on the world. But now I'm old, an' tired of fightin'
an' the killin' that goes with it. If I have anymore years left in me I want t'
live 'em in peace without havin' t' look over my shoulder t' see who's tryin'
t' stick a sword in my back."

Heather looked downcast. "I hope ye get your wish." She said
softly.

"That's up to the spirits I suppose." he replied. Then his face
brightened a bit. "Let me see your handiwork, girl. No one's ever
immortalized me on paper before."

"Give me a few minutes t' add some finishin' touches." She said.
She resumed her work and for several minutes her pencil flew over the page as
she captured every detail she could, Stabb watching with interest the range of
emotions that unconsciously brightened and darkened her face. She then got up
from her ersatz bed, some ragged quilts and blankets left by the former
occupants, and walked over and showed him the result of her labor.

"Not bad!" He said, amazed at how a bunch of; to his untrained
eyes at least; lines and squiggles could be made to coalesce into a fairly
detailed portrait. He noted that she had even correctly defined the exact shape
of an old scar that ran down one side of his face from forehead to cheek.
"May I keep this?" He asked. Heather nodded. Stabb carefully rolled
the drawing up, fastened it with a piece of string and placed it into the
wallet that hung from his belt.

"I still have plenty t' learn, believe me." She said modestly.
"I'm only in me third year o' classes." She then sighed and went to
her backpack and began carefully putting her belongings into it. "But now
that tha' tyrant Jenner's closed all bu' th' agricultural an' engineerin'
schools, I'll have t' find some other way t' finish me education."

Stabb genuinely wished that there was something that he could say or do to
help this young innocent. But he knew far more about leading troops into battle
than consoling fledgling artists.

At that moment, in the distance, a stick could be heard being broken
underfoot. Stabb motioned Heather to silence and kept watch through the
dilapidated window-frame. A few minutes later Will appeared, laboring under a
large canvas sack and three bedrolls that had been tied together.

"'Sall right." He told her. "It's just th' hayseed."

They went down and helped the fox bring his load up to their room.
"Whew! I di'n't think I'd make i' back!" He said, sitting down
against a wall and gasping for air. "This stuff gets pretty 'eavy aft'r a
while!"

Heather began emptying the sack as Stabb untied the bedrolls. "Where
did ye get all o' this stuff?" She asked, lining each item from the bag up
for a spot-inventory.

"One o' my uncles on my mum's side lives a ways from 'ere an' when I
'splained our fix..."

"You TOLD him we're on therun?" Stabb asked, appalled by this
development. "We're out here lookin for an outlaw! Hell, boy, we may
already be outlaws ourselves!"

"Don' worry!" Will said, unfazed by Stabb's concern. "'E's as
much mad a' th' King as we are!Seems 'is Greediness 'as decreed tha', wi' a few
excepshuns, all lands in private paws are now proper'y o' th' Crown. 'E cou'n't
wai' t' 'elp us fin' this Just'n fella!"

"Wait! Wait!" Stabb exclaimed, "Jenner'd be crazy to do
something like that! He's risking a civil war!"

"'Ey, I saw a copy o' th' decree m'self! Crazy or no', 'e's serious
abou' i'!"

"You two can argue politics some other time!" Heather said
sharply. "We'd better be leavin' this place 'r someone's bound t' discover
us!"

Will and Stabb looked at the rubble-and-junk-strewn floor in chagrined
silence. "She's right, y'know." Stabb muttered, "Sun's gettin'
higher every minute."

Will nodded and the trio began to quietly repack the various items that Will
had brought backamong themselves.

A short time later, Will and Stabb replaced what was left of the door to the
building on its broken and rusty hinges and continued their search for the, so
far, elusive Justin.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Justin had been on the move since well before sunrise. He had awakened with
a start during an incredibly vivid dream. In it, he had been pursued by an
unknown but incredibly evil force. When he'd attempted to draw his sword, he'd
found the scabbard empty. He had then turned to confront it and had found
himself face-to-face with a monstrous creature that looked like some vile,
unholy fusion of both himself and Jenner. When he'd tried to run again, the
creature had used a long whip to entangle his legs and bring him down hard to
the ground. Then he'd tried to untangle the whip from his legs, but it had
taken on a life of its own and entangled his wrists as well. He'd struggled
desperately to free himself as the demon-creature approached, saying, "YOU
HAVEN'T THE COURAGE TO FACE ME! I SHALL DESTROY YOU AND THAT WHICH YOU MOST
CHERISH!" A sword, which Justin recognized as his own, then appeared in
the creature's paw and he raised it as if to strike. All of a sudden, he'd
found himself standing at the helm of a sailing vessel in a tranquil sea;
Marian at his side. She gazed at him questioningly, her expression a mixture of
both sadness and joy. He knew without asking that she wanted to know why he had
left her in the manner in which he had. But her expression had also told him
that she knew the purpose of this voyage and that she understood why it had to
be made. He had tried to tell her that he would return as soon as he was able,
but her image had begun to fade out of sight.

"Don't worry, mother understands." A voice that sounded like
Timothy's stated. "I told her that you're safe."

He'd then found himself sitting bolt-upright in his bedroll, sweating
profusely in the cool of the pre-dawn night. He'd tried to get himself back to
sleep, but he'd been so unnerved by the night-time vision that he decided that
movement, even in the darkness of the forest, was preferable to lying awake
until sunrise.

He'd covered quite a bit of ground in the last few hours even though he'd
stayed away from all signs of civilization. The Sun had risen, but the forest
floor received only a meager amount of its light. But his surroundings were
very familiar and he knew that he was close to his destination. He followed a
barely visible path to a small stream and followed the stream to a cleared
heath. At the far end, he could see a tiny thatched-roof cottage. A curl of
smoke from the chimney told him that its residents were awake.

He noislessly made his way to the door and gave it a soft knock.
"Linney, are y'home? It's me! Justin!" He called out as quietly as
possible. He heard footfalls on the bare wood floor and then the rough-hewn
door opened.

"Justin! Is that really you?" Asked the female fox, staring at him
through sightless eyes.

"Yeah, Sis, in the fur. Where's Galen?" Justin asked, placing his
paw in his adoptive older sister's when she reached out.

She quickly brought him inside and sat him in a nearby chair in front of the
fireplace. "Would you like something to eat or drink? Tea perhaps? Or some
veggie stew?"

"I suppose I could use some stew. I didn't get to eat breakfast."
Justin said politely.

"I'll be just a few moments." She replied and headed toward the
kitchen.

Linnette, the oldest of Justin's adoptive sisters, had been born during the
height of the Plague and had contracted a serious case of it before her first
year. Miraculously, she had survived; but by her third birthday she had gone
completly blind. This had not meant that she had been left helpless. Far from
it, in fact! Linney had been as rowdy as any of the other children in the
extended family that Justin had been adopted into and had played, fought and worked
just as hard. A few adaptations in lifestyle had been called for, but Justin
had always treated his sister with a certain unnameable combination of love,
loyalty, awe and; on those extremely rare occasions when she had tried to use
her blindness to gain some unfair advantage over her siblings and cousins or
wallow in self pity; a small amount of playful disrespect.

Eventually, she had married a farmer, Galen, and they had moved to this
isolated heath.

"Galen's at our field." Linnette said from the kitchen. She and
Galen, along with several otherpoor families, had bought a small plot of land
and shared in the work in exchange for an eventual share of the harvest. She
quickly returned and handed Justin the bowl of stew and a spoon. "I'm
going out there later to take him his lunch. You're welcome to come along if
you wish." She said as she made her way to her chair and sat down.

"No." Justin said, "But I do have something very important to
tell you." He then related the events of the past several months, including
his discovery of his true parentage and his desire to find the Locksley Estate.
He read her passages from Dr. Ages biographies of himself and Jonathan as well
as his mother's letter, and he let her hold the Birthday locket.

"I-I'm not sure what to say." She stammered, a tear running down
one cheek. "I mean, I'm glad that you've found your real parents; I know
it's something that you'd wanted all your life. And I'm glad that you
have..." She paused a moment to correct herself. "Had a half-brother,
even if the time that you got to spend together was far too short. And I think
it's wonderful that you're taking the responsibility for protecting his widow
and children."

"Then why are you sad?" Justin asked.

"I suppose I'm just afraid that in this excitement to find who you
might have become, you'll forget who you actually are. True, mom and dad
weren't Jonathan and Emma Locksley or Lawrence Brisbee; but even though our
family never lived in the lap of luxury I can't remember a night when any of us
went to bed without a full belly and the promise that, no matter what kind of
problem might befall us in the future, mom and dad would be there to listen to
us and help guide us through it and, most importantly, love us for who we
are."

Justin got up from his chair and knelt in front of his sister and took her
paws in his own. "Linney, I could no more forget or forsake my adoptive
family than I could forget my own name. I'm doing this to enhance my knowledge
of my past, not to replace my past. My debt of gratitude to mama, papa and you
and all the Ωothers for all the love that you've given me over the years
is unrepayable."

Linnette slid one of her paws from her adoptive brothers clasp and began
gently stroking the soft fur of his muzzle and face. "No, little brother,
you've repaid such a debt; if it ever existed at all; many, many times over. I
don't know why they never showed you the box or the locket or the letter;
perhaps the thought of losing you was simply too much for them to bear. I can
still remember that first night when you were away after they'd enlisted you in
the King's Guard. None of us could sleep because we missed you so much. Mom and
dad cried in each others arms and more than once dad questioned the wisdom of
his decision. But they knew that you needed an education in order to have the
kind of future that you truly deserved." Linnette then stood and, after
helping Justin to his feet, lovingly hugged her adoptive brother.
"Whatever you may think of mom and dad for keeping your past before your
adoption a secret, I hope you'll always remember that they never, ever meant to
hurt you."

"I know." Justin said, "A wise old soul recently pointed out
to me that even if I had known whoI really am it probably wouldn't have changed
anything. Mama and papa had no reason to believe that my real mother was still
alive and looking for me."

He then picked up the now-empty bowl and spoon and handed them to Linnette.
"I don't suppose you could spare s'more stew for this hungry vagabond, eh?
Us wanderers never know when we'll be able to get a decent home-cooked
meal."

Linnette giggled. "Flattery will get you everywhere, little
brother." She playfully chided him. She then went to the kitchen and
returned with Justin's bowl, as well as one for herself, and they spent a while
reminiscing about the joys of simpler times in a large and loving family.

Finally, Linnette reminded Justin that she had to take her husband his
lunch. Justin gave his sister one last hug and good-bye kiss and, feeling much
refreshed, continued his journey with a renewed sense of mission.

Chapter Thirty

Pain. Such pain. The pounding in Brutus's head was just more than he could
bear. He tried to open his eyes but the blinding light of the room only made the
pounding and the pain that much worse. He let out a long, loud groan.

"Ah, sir, you're awake." A familiar voice said.

Brutus groaned again. One by one, his rational thought processes began to
kick themselves into activity. He tried again to open his eyes, but once more
the light overwhelmed him. "Deputy." He grunted.

"Sir?" The voice asked.

"Why is it so damn BRIGHT in here?" Brutus demanded. A wave of
agony and nausea enveloped him, making him wish that he could fall back to
sleep. Or die. He didn't really care too much at the moment just as long as it
meant an end to the awful pain.

"Oh! Uh, sorry, uh, I'll...uh, I'll get that, sir!" The voice
exclaimed. The room, whichever room it was that he was in, began growing
perceptibly darker as Brutus could hear curtains or drapes being pulled across
windows.

As soon as the noises stopped, Brutus once again ventured a peek at his
surroundings. He brought a massive paw up to shield his eyes against whatever
excess light remained to lance into his aching brain. He slowly blinked his
tired eyes open and, after an initial twinge, they adjusted themselves to this
more tolerable level. He slowly brought his paw away from his face and took in
his surroundings. To his dismay he realized that he was lying in the holding cell
of his own Jail. The iron bars of the room surrounded him on three sides; while
he knew without having to look that he lay on a large stone slab attached to a
many-feet-thick stone wall. The Deputy who belonged to the voice; a young,
over-eager, wet-behind-the-ears weasel named Wendell Cravenbrook; stood on the
other side of the bars, his pink nose twitching in anticipation.
"Deputy." He grunted again.

"Sir?" the Deputy asked.

"Why am I locked in my own holding cell?" Brutus asked, slowly
lifting himself to a sitting position.

"Oh, gee, sir! Don't you remember, sir?" The weasel began,
"You got into a fight with some of the soldiers from the local troop. I'm
not sure who started it or why, but I heard that you whupped seven 'r eight of
'em single-pawed! I hear one of 'em's even got a broken arm 'r leg..."

"Enough, Deputy!" Brutus exclaimed. It was all coming back to him
now. The Land Repossession Decree had landed on his desk that morning along
with all the otherusual bureaucratic junk that His Majesty's courier delivered
each morning. He had read in disbelief how King Jenner had, with the stroke of
a pen, deprived all but a chosen few of his own subjects of their rightful
property or, worse yet, their livelihood. He'd locked himself in his office the
rest of the day and debated what course of action to pursue. Simply posting the
decree and expecting his constituents to swallow their pride as well as the
loss of their lands was out of the question. In certain instances, a piece of
land might have belonged to a family for several generations. He'd thought
about writing a letter of complaint to Jenner. But he knew that not only would
such a complaint be ignored, but Jenner would rightfully point out to him that,
as Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Brutus himself was not only exempt from the
effects of the decree; but he had acquired plenty of land himself by taking a
percentage of tax foreclosures.

In the end, he'd done what he'd been doing almost every night since about
mid-Summer; he'd had one of his Deputies post the decree and then walked to the
local public house and drank himself into a stupor.

He remembered very little about the fight; other than that one of the
soldiers had made some smart-ass remark about how the peasants would now have
to put up or shut up in respect to their allegiance to the King, which he'd
taken as a personal insult. He could only guess that he'd attacked the
soldiers, apparently inflicting grievous injury on several of them. Then,
somehow, he'd been subdued and ended up in the holding cell.

Brutus hung his head in shame. As Sheriff of his Shire he was sworn to keep
the peace and uphold the laws of the Crown and the King on whose head it
rested. But Jenner was growing more tyrannical by the day and his so-called
"laws" were, directly and indirectly, bringing untold misery to those
under his rule. That Brutus himself had helped Jenner ascend the throne only
added to the pain of the shame that he felt. But now he was becoming no better
than a drunken street brawler.

He tried to stagger to his feet, but his legs were shaking like those of a
cub attempting its first steps. "Deputy." He sighed.

"Sir?" Wendell said expectantly.

With all the patience he could muster Brutus slowly asked, "Would you
please open that DAMN door and help me to my DAMN feet and help me to my DAMN
office?"

A stroke of realization hit the weasel like a lightning bolt. "Oh! Uh,
yeah! Uh, jus' a second!" He scooted over to a nail on the wall above the
watch-desk on which hung a large ring of keys. He then quickly unlocked the
cell door and helped the bear to his office.

Once Brutus had dismissed the Deputy, he scrawled out the letter that he
knew he should have written the day before. He placed it in an envelope and
placed it in the basket of correspondence to be picked up by the King's
Courier. He also wrote out a letter of resignation and placed it in his safe.

He then lay his head on the desk and began weeping softly.