Chapter Forty-Six

King Jenner made it a point to rise before dawn no matter how late he'd
stayed up the night before. Today this was more important than ever. Jenner was
expecting some very important guests. Normally he wouldn't have given a whit
about the aesthetics of a sunrise; but today he was glad that, even though the
pre-dawn mid-Autumn air was still quite crisp, the few high cirrus clouds still
in the sky didn't obscure the few stars still flickering.

From his vantage point on the castle's perimeter overlook Jenner had a
commanding view of the City of Londontown, a place he utterly despised. He'd
always seen cities, towns, and villages as an utter waste of land and material.
In his considered opinion; and he WAS the King after all, thus the only opinion
that REALLY mattered; the animals of Britain could serve him and his friends
best by tilling, tending and harvesting the land in the Spring, Summer and
Autumn to keep them well fed and digging for coal in the Winter to keep them
warm. If a few peasants starved or froze to death because the Winter got to be
a bit too harsh; well, so be it. Didn't peasants, after all, have a tendency to
breed (how did the old saying go?) like rabbits? Jenner shrugged to himself.
Such was not his concern, he decided smugly. Sympathy wasº for the weak. His
main interest was Power.

The oddest; and, admittedly, most frustrating; thing about Power, he'd discovered
in his youth, was that it was so easy to GET (if one knew how and was willing
enough to use that knowledge and, if necessary, a bit of dirty tricksterism to
get it) but so hard to KEEP unless one was willing to USE copious amounts of it
(along with its "kissin' cousin", Money) to keep it. This apparent
dichotomy inside of a contradiction had puzzled him to no end for years until
he eventually gave up trying to figure out the "why" of it and had
begun concentrating on its more practical, not to mention rewarding, aspects.

His reverie was interrupted by the sight of a line of lanterns approaching
from one of the cobblestone streets that radiated from the castle. He hurried
into the building and through various dark passageways (by his strict orders
candles were carefully rationed; they did, after all, cost money!) and down a
flight of stairs and out a door to the courtyard. He slowed his fast walk to a
more dignified stroll. Waiting for him at the castle entrance was the Troop of
his Guard that he'd ordered turned out for this momentous occasion. Jenner
nodded to the Captain-of-the-Guard; a tough, battle-scarred lynx named Sykes;
who in turn nodded to the Gate-keeper, who shouted an order into a window of
the turret that towered above them. With a creak of rusted iron on ancient
stone, the portcullis began to rise from the grooves cut for the razor-sharp
strips that the structure was constructed out of.

When the formidable-looking gate was completely open, the lamps and those
who held them resumed their stately march; even if for only the distance that
would bring them safely inside.

Once inside, the marchers halted and placed their lamps on the brown,
Autumn-wilted grass. Also lowered was a very large, very ornate sedan-chair
which was being toted by eight almost equally large and very rare; on these
temperate shores at least; rhinoceri.

Jenner walked to the curtained entrance and waited for its occupant with a
wide, proud, anticipative smile.

Within moments, the heavy gold-broccaded velvet drapes parted and a large
be-ringed hoof presented itself.

Jenner delicately took the hoof and helped its owner (strictly
ceremoniously, of course; the body to which the limb was attached weighed in
excess of four-hundred-stone!) out of the conveyance.

When the former occupant alighted (so to speak) onto the ground; planting
the tip of a thick, jewel-studded cane into the cold earth; Jenner knelt before
the grossly obese figure and kissed the back of its still-outstretched hoof.
(This display elicited a number of startled looks and whispered comments from
the ranks of the Guards, but a harsh glance from Captain Sykes brought them
back to attention and silence.)

"Grandmaster." Jenner said in a half-reverent, half-excited
near-whisper.

"Majesty." The hooded figure wheezed. To the casual listener the
tone of voice would probably have sounded pleasant, even benevolent; but had he
or she been able to see into the eyes of the speaker, he (or she) would have
sworn that they had just looked into the deepest, most wretched pits of Hell.

Jenner stood and motioned the guest toward the courtyard entrance to the
castle.

The hooded figure nodded slightly and the two slowly began walking, the
Guards and the guest's coterie maintaining a discreet distance.

"Grandmaster," Jenner began, "Mere words cannot convey to you
how honored I am by your presence." He stated, his voice still reverent as
if he were talking to the spirits themselves.

"Nor mine by yours." The ancient boar grunted. With his free hoof
he slid the hood of his robe off of his bald head. He wore a robe of the finest
velvet; the surface of which shimmered in the light of the stars, which were
already beginning to dim from the light of the soon-to-rise sun.

Jenner bowed his head and smiled. "We have much to discuss." The
lion stated, trying to keep his excitement to a reasonable level.

"Indeed we do, my young acolyte, indeed we do. But first I'm afraid I
must bring a certain matter to your attention." The boar said.

"You have but to ask." Jenner replied.

"You are aware, are you not, that a certain segment of the population
has made, shall we say, profound objections to the recent issuance of a certain
royal decree?" The Grandmaster asked.

"Yes, yes," Jenner sighed. "But you and I anticipated such a
reaction when we began planning this whole sordid affair." He said.
"So far, all has gone exactly according to plan."

The boar flicked his eyes in Jenner's direction, his expression hardening
and his brow wrinkling slightly. "Then you are also aware that a group of,
shall we say, dissenters has taken refuge in the Shire of Nottingham with the
express purpose of opposing this reform and deposing you from your rightful
place on the Throne of Britain?" The Grandmaster asked; a small, venomous
anger creeping into his voice.

If Jenner had noticed this anger, he didn't show it; in fact, he smiled
sardonically and waved a dismissive, be-ringed paw. "Yes, yes. I got a
report of a rumor to that effect last night from my new Sheriff. If there's
anything to it I have the utmost confidence that he'll deal with the problem
with all due speed and ruthlessness." He stated confidently.

"Good." The boar replied with rather-too-much emphasis. "I
have many plans, as I'm quite sure you do, that depend on a, shall we say,
tranquil population in order to work. I'd hate to have those plans delayed or,
worse yet, spoiled simply because some peasant rabble was unwilling to make the
necessary sacrifices to the Glory of their King."

Jenner nodded his agreement. "You needn't be concerned, Grandmaster."
The lion reassured him. "As I said; the problem, if it exists at all, will
be dealt with in the fastest and harshest terms."

A smile crept to the Grandmaster's pale lips. "Excellent!" He
half-sneered. "Now," He said as they entered the castle proper,
"How long until breakfast? Plotting the destruction of others tends to,
shall we say, enhance my appetite."

Jenner, well aware of the Grandmaster's appetites; both for food and for
zero-sum gamesmanship; bowed and with a sweep of his paw indicated the way to the
royal dining room.

A little more than an hour later, as the Sun began to cast the full light of
a new day on a troubled land, Jenner rapped a gavel on the table around which
he and several other animals were seated. All were well known to him. Aside from
the Grandmaster of the Mercantile Guilds who was still delicately (the others
at the table would have said "effeminately") wiping the remains of
his not insubstantial morning meal from his lips, were also seated the Masters
of several of the other important, at least for Jenner's purposes, Guilds and
several of the more ambitious or corrupt Sheriffs that he'd been able to seduce
with promises of unlimited wealth and power. One of the chairs, however, was
conspicuous by its emptiness. "I now call this meeting to order." He
announced. "I will remind everyone that, due to the nature of the topics
that we'll be discussing, no minutes will be read and the taking of notes is
strictly forbidden." Most of the other animals smiled at this; Jenner's
Number 1 rule of Criminal activity was: "LEAVE NO EVIDENCE!"

One by one, the various animals stood and gave summaries of their efforts to
enrich themselves and their king.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Justin stared through the small breathing hole that he'd burrowed with his
nose and muzzle through the many layers of blankets that held him in their warm
embrace. Galen had not been kidding when he'd warned him and Marian that, as
long as the hole in the kitchen remained unrepaired, the whole manor-house
would be impossible to keep warm during the gradually worsening nights. Even
with Marian next to him, it had been an uncomfortably cold while before he'd
been able to drift off to sleep.

Only moments ago, he'd struggled up from the depths of his own fatigue of
the past several days. Marian had, reluctantly of course, related the events
that had occurred after he'd left to find this place. Of all of them, he'd been
most concerned about her inability to get an adequate night's sleep. Bad enough
that Timothy was still having the occasional nightmare (although his
"waking dreams" seem to have ended when Stabb, Heather, Will and Lady
Kluck arrived; whether this would last, no one was prepared to say) but poor,
dear little Cynthia wasn't doing much better either. They'd tried to place her
in the common nursery that Linnette had organized, but she'd raised quite a
fuss (Justin could think of at least one choice word that would have better
described the tantrum) screaming for her "Mister Bear". It took quite
a while before anyone could figure out that it was not a doll that she wanted,
but the former Sheriff of Nottingham. At first a bit embarrassed by the nature
of this nocturnal disturbance (a Public House brawl he was more than equipped
to deal with, but a homesick child?), Brutus gamely met the challenge and,
after a few minutes and some consoling words and the heartfelt promise of a
repeat performance whenever she felt she needed it and it didn't interfere with
his duties, she was asleep in his arms. With a certain mistiness in his eyes, Brutus
had then handed the little rabbit over to her mother and fled the room.

Justin, after exchanging an astonished and puzzled glance with Mrs. Brisbee,
had followed the bear and found him sitting in a remote alcove, head in his
paws, sobbing.

"Brutus, what's wrong? Are you feeling okay?" He'd asked as he
took a seat next to the former Sheriff and placed a concerned paw on one of his
massive shoulders.

"No." The bear had sobbed, his voice so tiny and choked with
emotion that he reminded Justin of nothing so much as a small child.

"Then what's wrong?" Justin had asked again.

Brutus; after wiping his tear-filled, blood-shot eyes with the back of his
paws; had looked pleadingly at him. "Every time I look at that beautiful,
innocent young child I'm reminded of how I placed her in this dreadful
situation by my own slimy, shallow-minded greed!" He'd cried. "I
thought that once I'd taken your oath against Jenner and resigned my office,
that that would be the end of whatever guilt or dishonor I'd brought upon
myself, my Office and my name. But if that's so, why the hell do I feel so
bad?" He'd implored.

Justin had shaken his head. "I don't know." He'd answered
truthfully. "Duty has ways of reminding us that it's the smallest details
that are the most important. A week ago you told me that we're fighting a war
and that wars are about killing and destruction. Well maybe that beautiful,
innocent young child brought home to you the fact that if we're unsuccessful in
our endeavor SHE could end up as one of those casualties."

Brutus had nodded sadly. "Now I understand how you must feel." He
whispered. He'd then met Justin's eyes with a desperate, haunted look.
"What if she understands my part in her father's death?" He'd asked,
shaken by the thought. "I could never forgive myself if that's true!"

"First of all, even assuming that she DOES understand it; and I've seen
no sign that that's the case; she seems not only to have forgiven you, but also
seems to want to embrace you as a friend." Justin had told him
reassuringly. "If there IS any guilt left," He'd continued, "I
think that it's probably something that you need to work on forgiving YOURSELF
for. And, while it may take some time, I have the feeling that if a certain
beautiful, innocent young child can find it in her heart to forgive the slimy
shallow-mindedness of a certain former Sheriff of Nottingham; I certainly think
that, someday at least, that former Sheriff will be able to find it in his own
heart to forgive himself."

"Perhaps." The bear had said, a wan smile coming to his mouth and
a far-away look to his eyes. Brutus had then excused himself to make one last
patrol of the Estate grounds before retiring to bed.

Justin smiled to himself under the many layers of blankets. "One morale
crisis averted." He thought to himself.

"Good Morning, Sleepyhead." A familiar voice called softly.

"Only my sister calls me that, Marian." Justin said, still
smiling. "By the way, what time is it?" He inquired.

"About an hour after sunrise." Mrs. Brisbee answered.

"An hour...!" Justin exclaimed, suddenly struggling to free
himself from his cocoon. "The meeting...!"

"Will wait for you." Mrs. Brisbee said patiently. "Your
sister and I agreed that you should be given some extra time to sleep because
you're going to need a clear head today. So take your time getting bathed and
dressed and your breakfast will be brought to you in about a
half-an-hour." She explained.

Justin, who now sat upright with the pile of blankets gathered at his waist
nodded and Mrs. Brisbee bent over, planted a quick kiss on his forehead and
left the room.

Chapter Forty-Eight

The congregation gathered for the meeting was actually rather small,
occupying barely two-thirds of the Grand Dining Hall. (Even taking into account
those who preferred to watch from the upper-level railings and Grand
Staircase.) On the newly-cleaned Main floor, a large raised platform had been
erected to one side of Jonathan Locksley's memorial marker (the moldy, damaged
rug had been declared beyond help and had been disposed of) and several chairs
and stools had been placed in a rough three-quarter circle on it. To one side
of a large; almost opulent, presently empty; wingback chair (rescued at the
last moment from a pile of furniture marked to be turned into firewood) sat
Mrs. Brisbee and her children (she, Cynthia and Timothy in a smaller chair
while Martin and Theresa fidgeted on a pair of stools to either side), and
Linnette and Galen; who were dressed, respectively, in an attractive
peasant-style costume dress and shawl (rather than her usual plain housedress
and apron) and scarlett military Dress-tunic. (With all insignae except
decorations and rank removed.)

To the other side sat the former Sheriff (in a chair almost as large as, if
much more spartan than, the one in the center), Ezekiel Stabb (who now wore
civilian clothing rather than the Guard uniform that Mrs. Brisbee had become
used to seeing him in), Clyde Pegg and Dr. Ages.

In the surrounding sea of faces Mrs. Brisbee could see various animals she
recognized. A few rows back from the platform Will Scarlet, who wore his
acrobat costume, and Heather Kilcannon, resplendent in a blue velvet formal
gown borrowed from Wilbur Splitbranch's oldest daughter, sat paw-in-paw engaged
in dreamy-eyed conversation; seemingly oblivious to the dull roar of the crowd
around them. She caught a glimpse of the two ferrets; Tom Binns and his older
brother Robert, whose front paw still lay immobilized in a cast and sling; who
had been introduced to her by Dr. Ages after he had arrived with his family late
the night before. Almost the whole Grand Staircase and most of a section of the
floor below was taken by the Sheriff's former Deputies and their families,
including every member of the Waning-Crescent Clan of weasels. Up in the
rafters Jeremy sat dozing (or brooding, in the pensive sense of the word), a
dark broad-brimmed hat that he'd found somewhere pulled low over his eyes, his
black feathers and dark tunic melding with the shadows. Lady Kluck had
volunteered to watch the nursery along with a few of the younger mothers and
would be apprised of the decisions made at the meeting afterward.

All conversation stopped and the Hall fell silent as a lone figure began to
make his way, through a roped-off aisle, down the Grand Staircase. A moment
later, from somewhere in the back of the room, someone began applauding.
Quickly, other animals began taking up the applause; and by the time Justin
reached the platform the crowd was roaring, whistling and clapping its
approval.

As soon as he stepped onto it, Justin raised his arms and began to signal
the assembly to quiet. He looked much-refreshed after a good night's sleep and
hot bath and the light from the candles of the main chandelier glinted off of
the just-polished gold of his Guards rank-pin. Also; during the week that he'd
been away from the Estate to bring back Mrs. Brisbee and the others, the female
contingent of Nottingham had somehow found the time and material to make him a
new shirt and uniform vest.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." He said after silence was
restored. "I know," He began. "That many of you already know at
least a few bits and pieces of the story of what has brought us here to this
particular place on this particular day. But for the sake of clarity I believe
that a summary of the complete story would do much to give a better picture of
both our present situation and the events that have led up to it." He
said.

Justin then gave a detailed narration of Jenner's plottings against his
adoptive brother, King Nicodemus; his work with his own half-brother and Dr.
Ages to keep the Crown and Amulet (all eyes turned their gaze to the stone that
hung around Mrs. Brisbee's neck at it's mention, much to her embarrassment) out
of Jenner's grasp; Jenner's murder of King Nicodemus and Sir Jonathan and his own
hasty flight from The City with the Chancellor's widow and children; his
mourning of the deaths of his Sovereign and best friend (not a few animals
cried during his description) and his weeks of effort to stop the worst abuses
by Jenner's friends; the arson and attempted murder of himself, Ages, Mrs.
Brisbee and her children and Jeremy (He was especially effusive in his praise
of Jeremy's near-self-sacrifice in his effort to save Timothy, after which
Jeremy took a good-humored bow and tipped his hat); the revelation of his
relationship to Sir Jonathan (again eliciting more than a few tears) and his
efforts to find his origins; his encounter with Brutus and the meeting and oath
against Jenner in the Heath; and finally, his arrival and the news that Sullivan,
the actual doer of most of Jenner's dirty work, was now the chief
law-enforcement officer of the Shire. (This news, of course, provoked an outcry
from the congregation.)

He then had Mrs. Brisbee, Brutus, Ezekiel Stabb and Dr. Ages tell their
stories in turn and implored his rapt audience to reflect on the facts that had
just been related, after which the meeting was ajourned for lunch.

After getting his bowl of delicious-smelling pepper-bean soup, a plate of
breadand a mug of mulled apple-cider; Justin hurried to the circle where the
Brisbee's, the Talbot's, Tom Binns and his wife Jennifer (Robert and his nieces
and nephews were eating not far away), Dr. Ages, Jeremy, Brutus, Ezekiel Stabb,
Will and Heather, and Liam and his wife, Sian, were gathered. After various
necessary introductions were made, Justin sat at a spot reserved for him
between his adoptive sister and his half-brother's widow.

"I'd say you caught their interest." Brutus commented just before
gulping down some of his cider.

Justin shrugged as he broke a slice of his bread. "I should hope
so." He said. "These folk need to know just what they're up against.
I'd be derelict in my duties as their possible leader if I withheld any of the
facts from them."

"'Possible' leader?" Jennifer Binns asked. "I was under the
impression that you already had that position pretty well nailed down."
She said.

Justin smiled politely and shook his head. "No, Ma'am. I'm not like
Jenner, come to order you or your husband and sons and daughters into battle
from on high for my own glory or; worse yet; to satisfy some desire for revenge
on my part." He dipped the piece of bread into his soup and took a bite.
After swallowing he continued. "If I'm to be a credible leader to youall,
I must be approved by everyone in this building. If I haven't the trust or
respect of even one animal who's joined me here, I'm as much a pretender to the
leadership of this cause as Jenner is to Britain's Throne."

"But what of your vow?" Linnette asked.

Justin sighed. "I'd still be honor-bound to keep it to the best of my
ability." He said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "I'd simply
have to try and do so under whoever these folk picked to be their leader."

"Well I, for one, think you'll make a fine leader." Jennifer said.
"From what Dr. Ages has told us, you more than deserve our
confidence."

Justin smiled again. "Thank you, Ma'am. But I would prefer that
everyone here voted their conscience rather than simply try to please me."
Justin then became more serious. "If anybody has a better idea of how to
avoid a confrontation that will; inevitably, I'm sorry to say; lead to
bloodshed, even I would gladly follow him or her. But every action that Jenner
has taken thus far leads me to believe that some kind of opposition to his rule
is not only warranted, but absolutely necessary." He stated flatly.

"Here, here!" Brutus said as Galen, Stabb, Tom and Liam nodded
their agreement.

A while later, after the lunch had been eaten and all of the dinnerware had
been sent to the designated washroom (for use until the repairs to the kitchen
were completed), Justin once again called the meeting to order and submitted
Brutus and Galen's recommendation that a "Council of Elders" be
elected to see to the day-to-day needs of those present and nominated the
former Sheriff of Nottingham as its Chairman. With only token debate over a few
details (mainly how long the term of such an Office would last, the figure
settled on being one year with the next election to be held on that date next;
and the number of Council members, nine being the agreed-upon figure) the
measure was approved unanimously. Next, nominations for Elders were called for,
submitted and eventually voted upon. Elected in short order were Marian
Brisbee, Tom Binns, Ezekiel Stabb, Liam Wyclyffe, Wilbur Splitbranch, Dr. Ages
and Jonah "Blinkey" Baylor.

Election of the ninth member became problematic when Galen refused the
submission of hisname for nomination by several of the farmfolk, explaining
with some passion that his duties to his beloved wife precluded all others
except advising Justin on military matters and helping to train the Army that
would be needed to both defend the Estate and; some day, hopefully; topple
Jenner from the Throne. A number of other names were submitted but no agreement
could be reached. Out ofgrowing frustration, Justin was about to call a recess
when Will Scarlet jumped to his feet.

"Oy nominay' 'Eather Kilcannon f'r th' Counc'l!" He shouted.

Heather (along with several others in the crowd) gasped at this breach of
parliamentary protocol. She grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him back down.
"Will, me love, have ye goneDAFT?" She demanded in an embarrassed
half-whisper.

Will gave a wan, equally embarrassed grin and shrugged. His mind froze, as
did the answer on his lips.

It was Ezekiel Stabb who came to Will's rescue. "I second the
nomination!" He announced proudly. He then turned to Justin. "Captain
Locksley. May I please address this meeting and the presently-elected members
of this Council?" He asked, his eyes bright with emotion.

Justin smiled, bowed and motioned Stabb to the spot where he was standing.
"By all means, Sir." He said, then retreated to his center chair.

Stabb adjusted his clothing, a military-pattern vest and shirt cut from
peasant-style cloth, and hesitated a moment, gathering his thoughts.
"Fellow Britons," He began. "I know that I'm a recent arrival
from the Continent and that you heard my story earlier today. But over these
past several months I have developed a deep love and respect for this land and
its inhabitants even as they have fallen under the tyranny of a King who would
forsake them. But I believe that there is another story that needs to be told.
As I was arresting those children of the King's Orphanage, and; sadly; I can
think of no more accurate term to use, a crowd of students, who I thought to be
nothing more than an irritating rabble at the time, began to gather in protest
of the actions that I'd let myself be manipulated into. Little did I know at
the time, but the protest had apparently been organized by the young skunk who
had taken upon herself the task of guarding the backpack of the young hayseed
who so thoroughly kicked my tail and woke me up to the Evil that I was doing to
those poor kids.

"Later, after we'd made good our escape from The City, she gave me my
first insight; my 'epiphany', if you will; into a gentler side of myself that I
never realized I had. She also taught me that, whatever evils might haunt my
past, redemption was and is still possible even for a foolish old soldier like
me. Her wisdom, a word that I don't use lightly, is far beyond her tender years
and her innocence and optimism made our search for Captain Locksley not simply
bearable but, as I look back upon it, a pleasure that I will remember with a
smile until the day that I'm summoned by the spirits."

Stabb then held an inviting paw in the direction of the spot where Will and
Heather were seated. "Heather Kilcannon, would you join me on the
platform, please?"

Heather shyly stood as the crowd burst into applause and she made her way
through the rows of animals. Stabb and Justin met her at the bottom of the
platform steps and escorted her to its center. By now, tears were freely
flowing down her cheeks and Stabb's eyes were also quite moist. She tightly
hugged Stabb. "Thank ye." She said, her voice a whisper that barely
carried above the cheers of the audience. Stabb looked into her wide,
awe-struck eyes. "No, girl, it's you I have to thank." He said as he
felt a tear slide from his own eye and soak into the fur of his cheek.
"For giving me back a soul that I thought I'd lost so many years
ago." Heather gave Stabb another quick hug and Justin stepped over and
lightly and respectfully kissed the silky black fur of the back of her paw. He
then signaled the congregation to silence.

"Okay," He said. "A nomination has been made and seconded and
an endorsement given. All in favor of electing Miss Heather Kilcannon to the
last seat on the ’Council of Elders’, although if she IS elected we'll be
stretching the definition a bit, (scattered laughter erupted from the crowd at
this remark) signify by a show of paws or wing."

The vote was, of course, unanimous.

While the crowd again made known their approval, Justin escorted her not
back down the steps but to sit at his center chair. He then, once more,
motioned for quiet. "It's now time for probably the most important vote of
the day." He stated, a tinge of hesitation readily apparent in his voice.
"Until now, you have all followed me simply because I was willing to lead
you. This, I suppose, is not in and of itself a bad thing. In times of crisis
we often look to someone who is willing to take great responsibilities upon
him, or her, self (at this point he traded a significant glance with Mrs.
Brisbee) in the belief that this willingness is a sign of strength or wisdom, a
word; by the way; that I also don't use lightly, that is given to just a
privileged few." He paused a moment to let his words soak into the
audience. "Unfortunately, Jenner would seem to be living proof that BEING
a leader or a King and an actual TALENT for Leadership are NOT necessarily one
in the same.

"If I'm to be your leader, fine, I'll gladly accept that position and
whatever burdens or privileges you happen to bestow upon it. But if I'm to
function EFFECTIVELY as your leader, I need to know that I have the unanimous
support of those I lead or, as I told someone recently, I'm no better than the
tyrant that I'm supposed to be leading you all against.

"For myself, the vow that I made a week and a day ago still stands!
Even if, by your vote, you decide that I am NOT fit to lead you, I'm still
Honor-bound to do all that I can to the best of my ability to rid Britain of
the chains of abuse and slavery that Jenner has cruelly placed around the necks
of his subjects. To those of you who took up my vow last week, I now release
you from it so that you can vote your conscience and not feel unduly obligated
to me; the same goes for those who have come to seek shelter from the terror of
Jenner's rule. Brutus, would you please call the vote?" Justin asked as he
stepped to one side.

Brutus stood and said, "By a show of paws or wing, all in favor of
Justin as the leader of this effort to toss Jenner's tail off the Throne of
Britain, please signify!"

Almost before he'd completed the phrase, one paw from each and every animal
in the hall (plus Jeremy's wing in the rafters) shot up.

"Any opposed?" He asked.

A tense silence filled the room for a moment as no one dared to even
breathe.

"Then by unanimous vote of those present I name Captain Justin Locksley
the official leader of this motley rabble of townfolk and farmers!" He
declared with a wide grin.

The crowd erupted instantly into giddy applause and Justin had no real
choice but to adjourn the meeting as a festival atmosphere swept through the
hall. Eventually he managed to corral the members of the Council of Elders,
along with Linnette and Galen Talbot and Will Scarlet; who kept firmly
arm-in-arm with Heather; and led them to what had once obviously been a sitting
room in its better days.

"I apologize for the lack of accommodations," He said, a lopsided
grin on his face. "But a large table isn't exactly high on the
woodwright's priority list at the moment. Until he decides we're worth the
bother, we'll just have to improvise." He then directed the Council
members and his guests to form a semi-circle facing the fireplace, which
radiated heat from a pile of still-glowing embers. "I'll also try to keep
this meeting short so none of us misses too much of the festivities
outside." Justin then noticed Wendell Cravenbrook; portable desk, ink
bottle, pen and a small sheaf of paper in paw; hovering expectantly just
outside the open door. Justin waved the former Deputy in and seated him to one
side comfortably close to the heat of the fireplace.

"The first order of business of the first official meeting of this
Council," He began. "Should be to determine what we should call 'this
motley rabble of townfolk and farmers', as our esteemed Council President so
delicately and diplomatically put it."

From somewhere, a "Harrumph!" was heard.

"Someone has a suggestion?" Justin asked with mild amusement.

"More like an objection!" The otter who called himself
"Blinkey" replied with a scowl.

"Which is?" Justin asked.

The otter stood. "Why shou'd we have t' call aurselves anythin'?"
He asked. "We're just a bunch o' folk who've decided that we won't be
pushed aroun' b' tha' idjit King no more! We don' need no name fer tha'!"
He declared.

Justin shrugged. "Perhaps you're right." He said. "But tell
me, weren't you a sailor before retiring to Nottingham to become a
farmer?" He asked, his tone neutral and polite.

The otter rolled his one eye impatiently. "Aye, tha' I was, Boy. Bu'
wha's tha' go' t' do wi' anythin'?" He asked.

"Well," Justin began, drawing out his pronunciation of the word.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," He said airily. "But didn't the ships
that you crewed aboard usually have a name of some sort? You know; an Important
Historical Personage, a Mythical Figure, a Captain or Builder's Wife or
girlfriend..."

"Aye! So?" The otter asked, clearly irritated.

"So you were loyal to those ships and their names, were you not?"
Justin asked.

"I shou'd 'ope so! A crew is loyal t' its ship an' each other! Tha's an
unwritten Law o' th' Sea!"Blinkey proudly declared.

"My point exactly!" Justin exclaimed. "We have to name our
effort against Jenner for the same reason that you would name a ship, to
instill an unbreakable bond of loyalty between our cause and between each
other! If a Ship's Captain dies in mid-voyage, will the crew suddenly, aside
from the burial-at-sea, just stop and not do their duties to the ship and for
each other?" He asked pointedly.

Blinkey didn't hesitate a moment before answering. "No, Sir." He
stated, for the first time a genuine respect in his voice.

Justin pressed on. "Even if, the spirits forbid, I should be killed in
my efforts to keep the vow that I've made to you; isn't it reasonable to assume
that the rest of you will pick up where I left off?"

A dozen heads solemnly, unhesitatingly, nodded in unison.

"Then this cause, OUR cause, must be looked at as a ship that has just
embarked on a most perilous journey." He declared. "If, for whatever
reason, I'm unable to complete the voyage then I expect someone to take my
place as Ship's Captain and sail on until those who've survived me have reached
a peaceful shore."

By now, tears were streaming from Blinkey's good eye and his head was bowed
and he held his sea-hat, fidgeting with it like a child waiting to be punished.

Justin cocked his head quizzically to one side. "Have I said something
wrong?" He asked, concern evident in his voice.

"No Sir." The otter said in a voice somewhere between a whisper
and a sob. "Bu' I realize now," He continued, "Tha' I been
showin' you a disr'spec' you ain't been d'servin' o'."

Justin shrugged. "If you mean your skepticism of my leadership
abilities, I'm sure that you're far from the only one. I have the feeling that
those few that I DO possess are going to be in for a fair amount of testing and
questioning in the weeks and months ahead." He sighed and walked to the
otter and put a consoling arm around the sailor-turned-farmer's sharply sloping
shoulders. "It's inevitable that, over time, someone, at some point, is
going to disagree with me over this or that detail; or even just get fed up
with me barking out orders all day. It's just something that I've resigned
myself to and can't let drive me crazy." He then turned the otter to face
him and gazed into his eye. "Please don't EVER feel hesitant to point out
any mistakes that you might think I've made. I'm not perfect and I expect to
make plenty of them while I'm doing this so I'll need your help and everybody
else's to keep me humble. Deal?" He asked, raising his eyebrows and giving
the otter a good-natured grin.

Blinkey hesitated for a few moments, but finally matched it with a somewhat
broken-toothed smile of his own. (This amazed Galen. The only expression that
he'd ever seen on Blinkey was an ever-present scowl.) "Deal!"he said.
He then spit into his paw and offered it to the fox.

Without hesitation, Justin spit into his own paw and they both shook to seal
their bargain.

The debate over what to call the effort to fight Jenner didn't actually last
very long. Several suggestions were made and rejected. But it was, of all
things, a side "argument" between Martin and his mother that inspired
the name that was eventually chosen. The Brisbee children had been patiently
sitting through the meeting until the sounds of the party outside started Ωbecoming
more prominent. Martin tugged on the well-worn hem of his mother's travelling
cape but couldn't seem to get her attention. He then managed to snag one of the
leaves of paper and a pencil that Wendell had brought with him and had written
something on it and shown it to her. Irritated by the interruption Mrs.
Brisbeehad written an answer below, shown it to him and then placed the page
back by where the young weasel was scribbling furiously away as suggestions
were tossed out for consideration. Unconsciously, Wendell reached down and
picked up the piece of paper and was about to shove it to the back of his sheaf
when he noticed what the mother fox had written. He then handed the paper to
Justin; who scanned it quickly as his eyes widened and jaw dropped in
amazement.

"Of course! It's so SIMPLE! Why didn't I think of that?" He
blurted so quickly that all in the room were taken totally by surprise.

"What? What's so simple?" Asked Linnette, who'd been trying to
follow the meeting with little success even with the help of a whispered
narrative by her husband.

"We can call our fight 'NO!'!" Justin said, joyfully waving the
piece of paper over his head.

"But what's that supposed to mean?" Wilbur Splitbranch asked
skeptically.

Justin huffed in exasperation. "Isn't it obvious?" He asked.
"It means 'NO!' to Jenner's rule, 'NO!' to his enslavement of his
subjects, 'NO!' to the Repossession Decree..." He began ticking off points
on the fingers of one paw.

"I believe that what my colleague meant was, what will the initials 'N'
and 'O' stand for?" Ezekiel Stabb interjected more calmly.

Wilbur nodded. "What he said." The weasel murmured.

"How about 'Nottingham Organization'?" Brutus asked. "It's
short and catchy." The bear said. "Even the simplest peasant ought to
be able to remember it."

"An excellent idea!" Dr. Ages agreed. "I'll second it!"
He exclaimed.

"Marian?" Justin asked. "What about you? It was, after all,
your idea."

Mrs. Brisbee shrugged with embarrassment. The piece of paper that Justin
held was really nothing more than a request by her eldest son to join the
revelry taking place outside and her refusal to let him; not because she wished
to deny them a well-earned opportunity for some fun, but because she didn't
wish to leave them unsupervised. "I-I guess I have no objection." She
stammered.

"Alright then. All in favor?" He asked.

One of everyone's paw shot into the air, including Blinkey's.

"Well, I guess we've all just become members of the 'Nottingham ΩOrganization'
then." Justin said. "This meeting is adjourned. Now go on out and
have yourselves a good time."

After the others had left the room, Stabb showed Justin the plan that he and
Galen had spenta good part of the night writing which detailed a way to make
contact with Sullivan with minimum risk of capture by the new Sheriff.

"Are you sure this'll work?" Justin asked.

"Frankly, no." Stabb replied flatly. "But it's the best we
could come up with from what little information we could get from the Wyclyffe
boy. Anyway, you know Sullivan better than any of the rest of us; what d'you
think?" He asked.

Justin shook his head, anger mixed with sadness as he exclaimed, "I'm
not sure WHAT to think! I HATE having so few options! I make one wrong decision
and someone's husband, son or brother will probably die because of it."

Stabb nodded his understanding. "Believe me, Captain, I know the
feeling well. But war's are about fightin' an' dyin'. Sometimes for somethin'
you believe in, most times not. We just gotta make sure that we know which is
which an' keep remindin' ourselves why we're fightin' this one." He said
sympathetically.

Justin lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "You and Brutus must share the same
speechwriter. That's pretty much what he told me about a week ago when we
hatched this little plan." He said with a hint of sarcasm.

Stabb smiled a bit, but there was a certain sadness in his voice as he said,
"His is a voice of wisdom while mine is one of long experience. You, my
friend, seem to be blessed with an ample supply of both. Your problem, however,
is that you wish that you could spare all of these folk the pain, suffering and
death that lie in wait for them." Stabb's face then darkened and his eyes
hardened, as did his voice. "But I can tell you right now that you're
gonna have to close your Heart, your eyes an' your ears to the cries of the
wounded an' dying once the blood starts to run an' concentrate on the fight
directly in front of you or it'll drive you to the depths of despair and our
cause,not just the battles we'll have to fight for it, WILL be lost."

Justin was shaken a bit by the vehemence of Stabb's words. "I guess
we'll have to chance your plan." He said grimly. Almost as an afterthought
he asked, "So who's gonna go into town to speak to Sullivan?"

"Missus Talbot tried to volunteer. Said the Sheriff'd never take a
blind person hostage." Stabb said, a mischievous grin coming to his face
as Justin's jaw dropped in horror. "Don't worry, Captain." Stabb
reassured him. "Colonel Talbot an' I nixed that idea right off. Mrs.
Brisbee's friend, that Lady Kluck, has volunteered. Frankly, I think she's our
best candidate. Sullivan may or may not recognize her, but I think he might be
inclined to treat her as a neutral party for the time being." He said.

Justin again raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I rather doubt that
"neutrality" has an entry in his battlefield manual; but you're
right, I don't think that he'll perceive her as any kind of threat." He
said.

"Then it's a 'go'?" Stabb asked.

Justin nodded. "Yeah." He said quietly, praying to the spirits
that he was doing the right thing.