Chapter Forty

"Sir, wake up please."

Sullivan groaned. He couldn't remember when he'd last gotten a decent nights
sleep. He mumbled something to whoever was shaking him.

"Sir, are you awake?"

Sullivan opened his eyes. "Yes, dammit, I am now." He growled, his
anger too diffused by the fog of sleep to actually inflict on the guard who had
awakened him any of the violence that he would have liked at that moment. He
sat up, rubbed his bleary eyes and examined the night sky through the window of
his bedroom. While he could see from the positions of the stars that it was
almost morning, he could not see any hint of light blue on the horizon that
would have told him that the sun was about to rise. "What the hell is so
important that you wake me up before dawn?" He demanded.

"His Majesty wishes to see you immediately, Sir." The guard
replied. "He told me to bring you as you are."

Sullivan sighed, grabbed his robe from a bedknob of his headboard and
followed the guard from the barracks.

As he walked across the Castle's courtyard he could hear shouting from the
direction of the throneroom.

When he arrived he found Jenner pacing the floor, angrily dictating a letter
to one of his scribes; an overweight hedgehog that everyone called Iggy.

"...such behavior will NOT be tolerated while I rule this Kingdom! And
furthermore..." Jenner stopped when he saw the new arrival. "That
will be all for now. We can resume this later." He told the scribe, his
icy tone sending a chill down Sullivan's back to the tip of his tail.

The scribe bowed as far as his belly would permit and waddled from the room.
Sullivan could not help but notice the tears streaming from his eyes.

Jenner, meanwhile, had stalked to the throne and planted himself on it. From
one of the armrests he took a scrolled document and tossed it at Sullivan. It
landed short of its intended recipient and Sullivan was forced to bend down and
pick it up. "Read!" Jenner commanded.

Sullivan unrolled the pages and read through it. That the Sheriff of
Nottinghamshire could compose such a document came as no real surprise to him.
Of all the Sheriffs of the various Shires of Britain, he had struck Sullivan as
potentially the most reluctant to accept the price of Jenner's ascension to the
Throne. That Jenner HAD actually exacted that price must have come as an
immense shock to them. Jenner had not, after all, been terribly explicit about
the method by which he would depose his adopted brother. Probably they, like
himself; Sullivan imagined; were caught by surprise that he would actually be
so brazen as to commit murder. It was an irony that even Sullivan could
appreciate: The top law enforcement officers of the land abetting the murder of
THEIR boss, even if it WAS a conspiracy of omission rather than commission.

"Well?" Jenner asked, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

Sullivan shrugged. "What can I say, Your Majesty? He wants out? I say
'Good riddance.'" He replied.

Jenner made a sour face. "Fine time for that ursine idiot to get
ethical on me!" He spat. "I had plans for Nottinghamshire and needed
someone of his reputation and organizational skills to help me carry them
out!"

"So? You're the King!" Sullivan said, "Your word is law! Just
appoint a new Sheriff!"

"Exactly why you're here!" Jenner said, a smile slowly crossing
his lips.

"Huh?" Sullivan grunted, suddenly confused.

Jenner alighted from his Throne and fairly skipped over to where Sullivan
was standing and placed an arm firmly around his shoulder. "Why, who else
would I appoint to be my new Sheriff of Nottingham? You've been my most
faithful servant through these harsh past few months; and I've been so remiss
in rewarding that loyalty and devotion!"

"If only you knew!" Sullivan thought to himself nervously. Over
the Summer he'd maintained sporadic contact with the so-called "Society to
Maintain the Rule of the King", often pronounced "smirk" by
those few animals who knew of its existence. While he had not met with
"The Voice" since the meeting at the inn several weeks ago, he was
kept apprised of their status by notes slipped betweenhis pillow and pillowcase
every few weeks by, he assumed, themaid who had introduced him to them. But
this development would, however unwittingly on Jenner's part, endanger that
relationship. "Uh, gee, Your Majesty. I, uh, I must admit I'm flattered,
but I'm sure that there're others FAR better qualified for that Office than I
am. After all, I'm a soldier, not a lawman." He said, picking his words as
carefully as possible.

"Nonsense!" Jenner said with a dismissive wave of his beringed
paw. "The only qualifications for that post now are loyalty to me and the
ruthlessness to carry out my plans for that particular Shire. Think of it, my
friend, you'll have power far beyond giving marching orders to a few
Troop-Captains! You'll have a whole Shire at your command!" He exclaimed,
his voice rising with excitement.

"I don' know," Sullivan said dubiously. "After that
Repossession Decree, I'm not gonna be the most popular public figure..."

"Pfagh!" Jenner exclaimed derisively. "Popularity has nothing
to do with law enforcement! Even some of my 'dear' brother's own laws were
unpopular!" ("Sure!" Sullivan pointedly thought to himself.
"They were unpopular with the TRUE criminal element; not ordinary
subjects!") "The line between soldier and police official is much
thinner than most of your future colleagues would have you believe." A
half-sneer came to Jenner's lips and his voice became a cold whisper. "In
fact, I've been considering 're-evaluating' the appointments of several of the
other Sheriffs. I'm beginning to have my doubts as to where THEIR loyalties
lie."

Inside, Sullivan resigned himself to the inevitable. To refuse Jenner's
offer, while not necessarily a career-ender, would make the lion think twice
about Sullivan's own loyalty to him; and Sullivan needed Jenner to see him as
someone in whom he could have the highest degree of trust so that when the
opportunity presented itself, Sullivan could take advantage of that trust and
use that opportunity to eliminate Jenner. "Well," Sullivan said with
the merest hint of reluctance, "I guess you're looking at the new Sheriff
of Nottingham."

"Excellent!" Jenner exclaimed. "Make whatever arrangements
are necessary to leave this morning. You'll also want to paw-pick a group of
Deputies to take with you. I'll swear you all in just before you leave."
He instructed.

"What about a new Captain-of-the-Guard?" Sullivan asked.

Jenner waved the question off. "Oh, I don't know." He said.
"What about the Captain of Third Troop? Gil..."

"Gisbourne, Your Majesty?" Sullivan corrected, cleverly disguising
it as a question.

"Yes. What about him?" Jenner asked.

"He's a bit young." Sullivan said, surprised by Jenner's choice.
"Clemm and Sykes have more experience and they'd probably be more than a
little ticked off that someone ten years their junior got fast-tracked on a
whim."

Jenner's countenance darkened. It wasn't like Sullivan to show initiative.
While he didn't exactly want unadulterated sycophancy (such behavior tended to
quickly degenerate into insufferably irritable sniveling) he also didn't want a
mind potentially capable of independent thought that might later "get
ethical" and begin to question orders. But he also prided himself on being
smart enough to recognize those boundaries that could be safely crossed, and
those best left undisturbed. Sullivan no doubt knew his soldiers well enough
that he was probably right about their reaction to the promotion that had just
been proposed; and while "divide and conquer" was Jenner's usual, not
to mention most effective,s trategy, "united we stand" also had its
own advantages. As quickly as it had come, the beginnings of Jenner's frown was
gone. "Perhaps you're right, old friend." He said. He would interview
all of the Troop-Captains anyway just to get an idea of what kind of loyalty he
could expect from them. "I'll no doubt have made a decision by the end of
the day." He said noncommittally.

The first rays of the dawn light were now beginning to creep through the
window of the room. Jenner dismissed Sullivan and called for the scribe, who
quickly appeared; looking more frazzled and exhausted than usual; and waddled
back into the throne room. After the door had closed, Sullivan could hear
Jenner resuming the tirade that he'd been dictating when Sullivan had been
summoned. For only the second time in his life, Sullivan felt genuine sympathy
for a fellow creature.

Chapter Forty-One

The Noon Sun shone brightly as Mrs. Brisbee stood at the back door and
looked out onto the field where her children and Jeremy were working. The
harvest was pretty much over now, the only work remaining being to plow under
the old roots and stems and other waste that would serve as fertilizer for next
years plantings. Over the past several days, she'd been taking careful
inventory of what had been reaped from the garden and had not liked what she'd
seen. Because it had been mid-Summer when the garden had been planted, some of
what was now in the root-cellar was not yet ripe; nor was there enough of it to
feed everyone in the group for the whole winter. Jeremy had assured her that,
if worst came to worst, he could temporarily resume his minstreling career.
When she'd pointed out that he had no lute to sing with, he'd shrugged and said
that he could always trade his crossbow for one. "After all," He'd
stated confidently, "It's not as if this is the only crossbow in all of
Britain."

Another problem was that Timothy's dreams and nightmares were becoming more
and more troubling because they were now beginning to manifest themselves when
he was awake. At any time during the day or night he would slip into a trance
and describe events that were either apparently happening in distant places but
at that moment; or would supposedly happen sometime in the future, usually
related to the previous dreams about the eventual battle that she believed
would be fought between Justin and Jenner. Over the past several weeks she'd
even taken to writing down the contents of the dreams; but it was of little
help. Most of them were cloaked in an obscure symbolism by Timothy's young
mind; no doubt created as a form of self-protection, she decided, otherwise
he'd probably have gone insane from fear months ago.

The smell of lentils reminded her that lunch was on the stove. She went back
to the kitchen and stirred the steaming pot of soup. She was just about to set
the table and call the others in when Cynthia rushed in through the door.

"Mommy! Mommy!" She exclaimed breathlessly. "Doctor Ages came
back! An' he's brought some new friend's with him!" The little rabbit
quickly grabbed her mother's paw and dragged the vixen outside. At the far end
of the field, Jeremy and the other children were talking to Ages, a weasel
dressed in the uniform of the King's Guard, a young and handsome; if not
particularly well-dressed; gray fox, a beautiful young skunk and, most
surprisingly of all, a face that Mrs. Brisbee instantly recognized. She let go
of her daughter's paw and ran as fast as her own legs could carry her and threw
her arms around the neck of the chicken, tears of joy streaming from her eyes.

"Oh, Klucky! You don't know how glad I am to see you!" She cried.

The hen warmly returned the hug. "Och, lassie! No' as glad as I am t'
see you!" She said.

"How's your mother?" Brisbee asked. "Is she..."

Lady Kluck shook her head. "She's in the care o' th' spirits now,
lass." She put a wing on Mrs. Brisbee's shoulder when the vixen bowed her
head in sorrow. "Don't look so down, dear. Mother lived a long an' happy
life. I'm sure tha' she appreciates the thought."

Mrs. Brisbee had met Lady Kluck's mother several times as a young girl at
Court. While the elder Kluck had, on the outside at least, been rather haughty
of manner; when she'd been in more relaxed surroundings, she'd shown a genuine
charm that Mrs. Brisbee had tried hard to emulate.

Ages then introduced Stabb, Will, and Heather; and Mrs. Brisbee introduced
herself, the children and Jeremy. She then invited them in for lunch.

After Mrs. Brisbee and Heather served the soup and they were all seated at
the table; Ages had Stabb, Will, Heather and Kluck give brief accounts of their
journeys and why they had risked becoming outlaws to find both Mrs. Brisbee and
Justin.

"Y'see, Ma'am," Stabb said. "Jenner's hurt us all in some
way. An' he'll keep hurtin' you, me,..." He swept a paw across the table
to emphasize his point. "...all of us, all of Britain until he gets what
he wants."

"But what DOES he want?" Asked Martin, irritation plain in his
voice. "He's the King! He already has everything!"

Ages chuckled. "In Jenner's mind 'everything'; power, property, money,
adoration; isn't enough. He and those who hang onto his cape believe that, by
virtue of the mere fact that they have a lot of money or political power, they
should be able to control the smallest aspects of the lives of those whom they
consider 'inferior' to them." Ages explained.

Stabb nodded sadly. "That's what it comes down to. Control." He
said. "Jenner and his friends know that if and when they can take total
control of the land, they'll control what and how much food is grown and can
use that food as a way to force us..." Again he used his paw to indicate
those seated around the table. "...to support their lifestyle."

"Y'mean they want to turn us into slaves." Martin said glumly.

"In so many words, Yes." Stabb stated.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence as the gravity of Stabb's words
weighed upon the group.

Chapter Fourty-Two

Linnette Talbot was less than impressed by the Locksley Estate. While she
was sure that, visually, the building must have represented untold splendor;
she, being unable to see, was concerned about more practical aspects of her and
Galen's move from their tiny cottage on the heath, such as navigating her way
around the massive edifice. It had taken her several weeks to become completely
comfortable with the layout of the cottage; and this even though Galen had
designed and built it specifically with her visual impairment in mind.
Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the manor-house. In the few hours
that she'd spent there she'd gotten lost in the sprawling structure more times
than she cared to think about. Finally, in utter frustration, she'd demanded in
no uncertain terms that Galen either postpone his efforts to supervise the
rebuilding of the collapsed kitchen wall and guide her through the building
himself, or; if he was unwilling or unable to do this; provide either a guide
or some other means that would give her free access throughout the building
without her worrying about getting lost or tripping over something and breaking
her neck. Galen had stood silently and unflinchingly during this dressing down,
afterwards ordering several of the workers to rig a temporary system of ropes
that his wife could use to guide her through the building until she had
familiarized herself with the layout. When one of the workers had made a crack
about who wore the pants in the family, Galen had angrily suggested that HE try
to navigate a building this large while wearing a blindfold and pointedly
reminded them all that the "blindfold" that his wife wore was one
that could NEVER be removed after such an excercize. He then ordered that the
worker who'd made the remark guide her through the house for the rest of the
day. The worker had vehemently protested, but Galen pointedly reminded him of
his vow to Justin and had made it clear that Justin would not take such
mistreatment of his adopted sister lightly. The worker, cowed into a sullen
silence, dutifully escorted her through the manor-house until the end of the
work-day.

After dinner she and Galen withdrew to the small apartment that they had set
up within two interior rooms of the building, settling themselves in front of a
small fire in the fireplace.

"Honey, I want to apologize for that scene that I made in front of your
workers earlier today." She said. "I had no right to embarrass you
like that."

"No, Linney, you were absolutely right. I should have remembered how
hard it was for you when we moved into the cottage and realized that a place
this big would present it's own problems." He said. "Hopefully the
ropes that we've strung throughout the manor will help some; and tomorrow I'll
try to figure out some way to let you know what room you're in at any given
time."

"I'm going to miss the Heath." She said wistfully. "Once
other animals start moving in, we cankiss anymore moments like this
goodbye."

"I don't see why. Even if we end up moving into a single room we'll
still have a measure of privacy." He said. "And besides, we both come
from large families; it's not as if we're not used to living in some rather
cramped quarters." He added.

Linnette pouted a bit. "I know," She said, a hint of regret in her
voice. "But I was really beginning to enjoy the feeling of being able to
go through a day without someone else offering to help me do this or that
chore. I kinda liked that..."

"Independence." He finished the sentence for her.

She nodded. "As isolated as we were, I really thought that it was a
splendid isolation because I knew that it would always be one that I would
share with you for the rest of my life." She said, her voice a hushed
whisper.

Galen smiled and gently wrapped his muscular arm around his wife's
shoulders, snuggling as closely as possible to her. "Don't worry, Honey.
Even if all we end up sharing here is a bed, a couple of pillows and a few
quilts; as long as we have each other, that'll always be more'n enough for
me." He whispered into her ear.

"Promise?" She purred.

"On my honor as a soldier, lover and husband." He said.

"Not in that order I hope." She said with a school-girlish giggle.

"In any order you wish!" He said.

She took his paw and playfully pulled him from the couch and, after giving
him a hug, began leading him to their bedroom. "C'mere lover! Let's see
how good you are at keeping your promises!"