Chapter Forty-Nine

Jenner was pacing the Courtyard Overlook going over the various reports that
he'd heard from the Sheriffs and Guildmasters in his mind. Even the bitter wind
and low Sun did not distract him from his gleeful ruminations. His plans for
Britain were progressing as well as, and in many cases better than, he could
ever have hoped when he'd "appropriated" the crown from his accursed
"brother". Brother to Nicodemus. Even at this moment the thought that
such a thing had been made him sick to his stomach. Nicodemus had been
physically strong, of that there could be no doubt. And he'd even shown a
modicum of intellectual accomplishment in a rather diverse number of subjects.
What was the term? A mile wide and an inch deep?

But they had all been the WRONG subjects. Science and History instead of
Power and Control. Art and Philosophy instead of Money and Manipulation.
Nicodemus was forever wasting time and money trying to make his subjects happy
and comfortable and trying to improve their lot in life, as if a bunch of
relatively worthless animals ever deserved such consideration. No, Nicodemus
had been an utter fool. And now it was time to correct his errors.

From behind, Jenner heard a quiet scuffling on the stone floor. He turned
and saw the Grandmaster silhouetted against the faint light emanating from the
door that opened onto the overlook.

"I would speak with you." The Grandmaster wheezed.

Jenner smiled and nodded. "It would be my honor to hear your
words." He said.

With a rhythmic shuffling of hooves and the tap of his cane the old boar
joined the lion. They walked to the wall and gazed at the imminent late-Autumn
Sunset. After a short silence the Grandmaster asked. "Do you remember a
young boar whom you sent to exile some months ago?"

"Yes." Jenner answered disdainfully, wrinkling his nose. "One
Eustace Scrubb by name. Why do you ask?"

The Grandmaster regarded Jenner through half-closed eyes. "I was
wondering if Your Majesty might possibly consider rescinding the exile
order."

Jenner continued to stare impassively at the darkening sky but his voice was
as cold as the bitter wind as he asked. "Is he a relative of yours?"

The Grandmaster shook his head, causing his jowls and multiple chins to flap
about. "No. His parents have petitioned me on his behalf. I merely convey
their appeal for His Majesty's permission that he be allowed to return."
The Grandmaster replied.

"Tell me, old friend, did Eustace's parents fully explain to you the
circumstances of his exile?" Jenner inquired, no hint of emotion in his
voice.

"They told me that he, shall we say, illicitly coerced a number of
peasants to carry him in his sedan-chair and was robbed in the process. I
assume that had he not been robbed he would not have been caught." The
boar offered, choosing his words carefully.

"Indeed." Jenner said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "And
did they bother to inform you as to the, shall we say, 'tool' that he used as
his method of coercion?" He asked.

The Grandmaster raised a suspicious eyebrow. "I'm afraid they never
volunteered such information, Your Majesty, nor did I think it important at the
timeto ask." He said.

Jenner smiled grimly. "You may be forgiven your lack of
inquisitiveness, my friend." The smile instantly transformed to an angry
scowl. "But Eustace Scrubb CANNOT be forgiven his appalling lack of
discretion." Jenner then turned and confronted the Grandmaster eye-to-eye
with such intensity as to make the old boar flinch. "That senseless idiot
used a WHIP on those peasants!" He hissed. "All that we worked for,
all that we planned for was nearly destroyed because that fool wished to save a
few Talents; which he could easily have afforded to part with; rather than hire
a few convicts from the Sheriff. I had no choice BUT to punish him in the
manner that I did! My power as King was not fully consolidated at the time and
my hold on the Throne was, at best, tenuous. Had I done nothing, I would no
doubt be in exile myself or; worse yet; at eternal rest with my 'dear' brother
and his Chancellor

because of some petty peasant uprising." He shivered a bit in the wind
of the fast-approaching night, but whether from the cold or; perhaps; the
thought of what could have been those many months ago the Grandmaster had no
way of knowing. "The supreme irony is that it was my brother's
Captain-of-the-Guard who brought Eustace's 'excesses' to my attention."
Jenner said somewhat more calmly. "The thought that, to a certain extent,
I have him to thank for keeping me on the Throne is, needless to say, a less
than comforting one."

The Grandmaster nodded sympathetically. "I can understand why." He
said.

"Then you can also understand why I must refuse to lift my Judgement
against Eustace. I have no feelings one way or the other for those peasants;
but I do have certain standards of good order, common sense and discipline that
I expect even my friends to adhere to. Eustace violated those standards, and
therefore my trust, and I had no choice but to mete out a just punishment to
him, as I would to any other." Jenner stated flatly.

The Grandmaster nodded again. That Jenner could on the one hoof care nothing
about the pain that had been inflicted upon his subjects since his ascent to
the Throne, but on the other hoof dispense severe punishment for what, in the
long run, amounted to nothing morethan a simple error in judgement; didn't
surprise the Grandmaster in the slightest. In fact, the boar was fairly
bursting with pride (among other things) that his favorite student had learned
his lessons so well.

The Grandmaster (he'd once had a name, but since his own ascension to his
present office it had gone so long unused as to be forgotten) remembered the
young, stubborn, arrogant, petulant cub who'd been sent to him to be tutored in
the arcana of mercantile economics by his adoptive father. Unlike his
well-behaved adoptive brother the Crown Prince, the Prince-Regent had been an
utter terror; playing cruel jokes on the household servants, bullying his
colleagues' children and once even tearing pages out of an active account book
and using them to start his morning fire. But while the young Prince-Regent's
brattish behavior had been intolerable to others, The Grandmaster had; at first
sight; recognized a yearning, a greed, for power and money and a
self-absorption that matched his own and had, over these many years, encouraged
and taught the cub how to most effectively use intimidation, manipulation and;
yes, when necessary; murder to get whatever his heart (or whatever happened to
pass for it) desired. But he'd also added another important ingredient to this
volatile mix. Patience. The Grandmaster had painstakingly taught his
ever-willing acolyte that there were times in any given situation when the best
course of action was simply to wait. And while Jenner had been forced to wait
for the Crown for a long time indeed, no thanks to the meddling of a
now-deceased Chancellor and a fugitive ex-Captain-of-the-Guard and ex-King's
Physician, he could now enjoy the nearly endless bounty soon to be supplied by
his subjects; and the Grandmaster and others would, to use the hoary old
expression, feed from the same trough.

The Grandmaster smiled inwardly at the result of his efforts as the last
rays of the setting sun gave way to the twinkling of the stars. "You did
what had to be done. I will inform the Scrubbs of your decision." He said.
He then added, keeping his tone as neutral as possible, "I must say that
you've learned your lessons well."

A bit of a smile...or was it a smirk (?) replaced the scowl on Jenner's
face. "I was taught by a master." He said impassively. Then his eyes
narrowed and his head tilted slightly. "Tell me, old friend, would you be
adverse to moving your operations to the castle for the time being?" He
asked.

The Grandmaster raised a questioning eyebrow. "I suppose not. But for
what reason?" He inquired.

Jenner shrugged. "Ever since I imprisoned or discharged my brother's
court and the majority of his housekeeping staff I've had no one other than
Captain Sykes and, on occasions such as this, you to bounce my ideas off of. I
need someone who'll give me a necessary perspective on how best to efficiently
maintain my rule. Sullivan was well suited to that task but unfortunately I had
needs of his particular talents in Nottinghamshire." He stated. (The
Grandmaster thought that he heard a hint of uncharacteristic sentiment in
Jenner's voice, but decided to let the matter pass.)

"I suppose that such a transfer as you mention could do no harm."
The Grandmaster said evenly, but his mind had shifted into overdrive. The royal
residence was the seat of both governmental and political power over all of
Britain. While the Grandmaster was certainly aware that his influence over the
royal mind was, to an outsider, staggering; it was by no means, to be truthful,
absolute and, considering Jenner's own formidable instincts for manipulation
and power-politics, would probably never become as total as the Grandmaster
would have wished. But the Grandmaster knew that, at it's most basic, power is
a matter of perception. Jenner had power over the animals of Britain because
the animals of Britain perceived that he had power over them because he wore
the Crown and sat on the Throne that all the previous rulers of Britain had
worn and sat on for the past several generations. The animals of Britain, in
actuality, could probably overthrow their King if properly motivated, the
Grandmaster knew, but the mere perception by them that their King held the power
of life and death over them would be more than enough to keep the vast majority
frightened into passivity. Also, the Grandmaster realized that his own power
(or rather, the power that others perceived him as having) would be
substantially increased by his proximity to that of the King's. The Mercantile
Guilds on the continent would perceive him as having the direct imprimatur of
his King and the Grandmaster would be able to exploit that perception (with
Jenner's approval of course, but he rather doubted that this would be a
problem) and would be able to negotiate better trade deals on behalf of his own
Guilds. "If Your Majesty wishes, his humble teacher and servant could move
in this very evening." The Grandmaster said, trying his best to keep his
voice from quavering with the almost uncontrollable glee that he felt.

"That would be most desirable." Jenner said. "I'll have the
household staff set up a full apartment for you and your servants will be given
their own quarters. I'll also make sure that you have full access to the
kitchen anytime, day or night. Is this acceptable to you?"

"Absolutely, Your Majesty!" The Grandmaster replied, fairly
shivering with ecstatic anticipation.

"Excellent." Jenner said, sweeping a paw toward the castle door.
"Come, old friend, I imagine that supper awaits our presence. Let's see if
my cook can, for once, make something resembling an edible meal."

As they started across the worn stones, the Grandmaster asked, "If Your
Majesty is so unhappy with the quality of his own chef, why do you still retain
him?"

Jenner shook his head. "Because no one else will work as cheaply as
he." He said bitterly.

"Need I remind you that you are the King of Britain?" The
Grandmaster asked sharply, somewhat surprised by what he'd just heard.
"Have I not taught you that as a King you must live as a King and not as
an alms-seeker?"

Jenner nodded, somewhat browbeaten by the stridency of his mentor's tone of
voice. "Yes, Grandmaster, I suppose you're right. If tonight's meal
doesn't meet with your approval I'll discharge the cook tonight and hire
someone better suited for the job." He said.

"Perhaps you could hire MY personal chef?" The Grandmaster
proposed as they entered the warmth of the castle. "He's never failed to
make my meals the most enjoyable experience of my day." The boar tried to
laugh, but instead it came out as a series of self-satisfied snorts.

Jenner smiled humorlessly. "Perhaps." He said distantly.
"Perhaps."

Chapter Fifty

Ignatz was at his wit's end. He could deal with Jenner's cruelty no longer.
As frightened as he was, he'd made his decision and now he would have to stick
to it; for his own sake and that of his family. There would be NO turning back!

He, his wife and his nine children; two with a husband and wife each and
children of their own; had waddled (for this was the only truly accurate
description of how hedgehogs walked [and running was out of the question] on
their short legs) through Londontown's darkest and meanest alleyways in search
of the place where they were to meet their only hope of escape from the madness
that was quickly descending on Britain.

The note had not been terribly specific about the exact location, let alone
the exact time, that the meeting was supposed to take place. It had simply told
him that he was to be in one of the alleys off Northminster Circle about two
hours after sundown. It had also told him to bring those family members whose
lives he valued but nothing more.

The note. He'd been given the day off (this, in itself, was a rarity) so
that Jenner could have a private meeting (rumor had it that His Majesty was
going to reward those who had aided him in his ascent to the Throne) and found
it perched atop the months-old overflow of bureaucratic paper and parchment
that littered his desk in the main workroom of the offices of the King's
Scribe, where all official documentation pertaining to royal affairs were
transcribed or written. Iggy had almost tossed it onto the desk of one of the
other scribes but had noticed that his name had been scrawled across the paper
by an unfamiliar paw. When he had unfolded the note, a piece of parchment; from
His Majesty's own private stock; had fallen out. After he'd nervously unfolded
and read what was on the parchment he'd nearly died right then and there of a
heart-attack. It was an order for the arrest and execution of himself and as
many of his family members as could be found, and it was signed by Jenner
himself! He'd had to read the order twice more to convince himself that it
could possibly be authentic, but there was simply no mistaking the elegant
script of the signature to which he'd become accustomed over these many (too
many, to be honest!) months. Through the tears of his shock and dismay he'd
read the note; written in a separate, also unfamiliar paw; into which the
arrest/execution order had been folded and found a seed of hope.

It had been an offer of aid to escape from the City.

As it had instructed, Iggy had memorized the contents of the note and burned
it. Also per instructions, he'd placed the arrest/execution order into an
unmarked envelope and placed it into his belt-pouch. Then, he'd brazenly
waddled through the castle gate that he'd entered just minutes before; telling
the slightly bewildered guard-on-duty that his family would have first priority
on his time that particular day. He'd then made his way home as quickly as his
legs would carry him and showed his family the arrest/execution order (deciding
that the possibility of panic among his kin would simply HAVE to be risked) and
explained the plan of their unknown benefactor and had then waited until the
appointed hour to bring his family to the appointed place. Or at least to as
close a proximity as could be determined from the instructions.

"Are you sure that this is where the note told you to bring us?"
His wife, Zoe, whispered anxiously.

"It's as close to the description as I can come." Iggy whispered
back. "The note was anything BUT specific."

"That's how we intended it." A voice in back of the group intoned.

All the hedgehogs wordlessly froze in stark terror; except for the baby that
Zoe held in her arms, which began to cry softly.

The owner of the voice stepped out of the shadows that had concealed him
from view just feet from where the hedgehogs now cowered against a building. He
was a wolf, tall and quite handsome. Iggy also saw a distinct resemblance to
the Captain of the Third Troop of The King's Guard. "Are-Are you Giles
Gisbourne's brother?" Iggy stammered, his curiosity overriding his fear
for the moment.

"The wolf nodded. "Geoffrey Gisbourne at your service." He
said quietly. "Now if you'll follow me..."

"Waitaminnit!" Iggy exclaimed angrily. "First of all, what
the hell is this all about?" He dug out a blank envelope from his
belt-pouch.

"I assume that you're referring to the arrest and execution order
signed by His Majesty last night." Geoffrey said calmly.

"Damn right I am!" Iggy said, stepping forward defiantly.
"I've served the court faithfully for almost twenty years and I simply
CANNOT believe that my King would betray me and my family like this!"

Geoffrey regarded the scribe, his eyes narrowing. His brother had described
the hedgehog as a shy, weak-willed and downright cowardly type. But the
creature that stood recalcitrant before him was obviously less craven than
Giles had portrayed. If such were true and the hedgehog's fortitude (and that
of his family) were not simply play-acting for his benefit, then perhaps an
escape from the City was not such a far-fetched idea as Giles had warned him
about after all. "I can assure you that the order," He nodded toward
the parchment in Iggy's paw, "Is quite ⁄genuine." He said, a
small amount of sympathy detectable in his otherwise impassive voice.

"But why?" The hedgehog implored, his voice reflecting the genuine
fear and incredulity that was now in his eyes. "I've served His Majesty
loyally, even while he's treated me like...like..." Tears now began to
flow down Iggy's cheeks as he fell, sobbing, to his knees. His wife, who by now
had stopped her child's crying, pushed the bundle into the paws of one of her
daughters and began trying to comfort her husband.

Geoffrey began glancing nervously down each direction of the alleyway.
"Please, Ma'am; we must leave here as soon as possible. One of Jenner's
spies may very well be nearby." He said, urgency and exasperation now in
his voice.

She turned on the wolf, her eyes blazing with anger and welling with tears
of their own. "Have you no decency? Have you no compassion?" She
hissed in indignation. "My husband has been trying to hold this family
together in spite of all the abuse that King Jenner has been heaping on him;
and now to find out that we've been betrayed like this? I believe that some
kind of explanation is the very least that you owe us!" She squeaked in
rage.

The wolf stared at them impassively for a few moments. This assignment was
definitely NOT going according to plan! These hedgehogs were supposed to follow
him out of the City without question, grateful to have escaped with their
skins; if not their actual lives; intact. But his father, font of wisdom that
he'd once been, had told him long ago that even the most intelligent souls
could act irrationally in situations that were outside of their normal realm of
their experience. He mentally shrugged, telling himself that a summary
death-sentence from one's own employer probably fit that particular bill.
"Alright," He said, "Maybe my father can help you in that
regard. But the longer we hang around here, the greater our chances of getting
caught."

Geoffrey then led the family of hedgehogs through the dark and now
oppressive streets of Londontown, several times doubling back on the route or
hiding his charges in a deserted building or alleyway until he was sure that
they weren't being followed. When he'd decided that all was safe for the moment
he led them to a modest two-story brick house in one of the poorer sections of
the City near the Western City Gate. He knocked quietly at the door, which was
answered by a pretty teenage female wolf.

Clearly confused, she asked, "Geoffery, what are you doing back so
soon?"

The older male jerked a thumb back in the direction of the line of hedgehogs
waiting fearfully behind him.

The girl's eyes widened with astonishment. "Geez, Geoffrey, you shouldn't
have brought THEM here! Dad'll have a stroke!" She exclaimed.

"What's going on out there!" A voice like the lowest notes from an
organ demanded.

Geoffrey pointed a clawed finger directly into his sister's face. "You
leave dad to me, Gillian!" He said sharply. He then pointed at the
hedgehogs. "Get our guests some food and take 'em to the living room while
I get him."

Gillian glared angrily at her brother for a moment but then stepped aside
and let him and the unexpected visitors in.

A few moments later, Geoffrey had raced up the stairs and was at the door to
his father's room. "Dad," He said in his best no-nonsense manner as
he knocked on the door, "We've got a MAJOR problem!"

"Well come on in, dammit! What'd you screw up THIS time?" The
voice on the other side asked sarcastically.

Geoffrey opened the door and with a sigh and a mixture of melancholy and
bitter anger stepped inside. The room was tiny; with only a bed, a
chest-of-drawers and a small desk from which a candle-lamp cast a dim and
flickering light. On the bed under several layers of quilts lay the ill and
wasted form of his father, Gilbert. In his youth he'd been very handsome, a
trait quite evidently passed on to the present generation of his family. The
elder Gisborne was Master of the Small Business Guild and, at least until
Jenner had taken the Throne, a well-respected advisor to the House PenWallace.
But over the past several months, ever since the tragic deaths of his friends
King Nicodemus and Sir Jonathan Brisbee, his health had rapidly declined until
all that was left was the pathetic bed-ridden wreck that was stretched out
before his eldest son. But while his physical body was apparently beyond help,
or so many of the doctors who had seen him recently had said, his defiant
spirit, reflected by the constant, virulent anger in his eyes and his unalloyed
contempt for King Jenner, was such that even Death itself seemed to have
decided that this was a visit best postponed until a later day.

"Well?" The venerable wolf barked in exasperation.

Geoffrey mentally shook himself out of his reverie. "I didn't screw up
anything, dad." He said as calmly as his rapidly frazzling nerves would
allow. "The scribe that Giles told you about, the one that Jenner's
sentenced to death, has demanded an explanation and I, for one, happen to agree
that we owe him at least that much."

Gilbert's jaw dropped in astonishment and he attempted to lift himself to a
sitting position with his elbows. "Dammit, boy, are you insane?" He
snarled, baring his fangs. "If Jenner's spies find him here, his name's
not gonna be the only one on that execution order!"

"Don't worry, dad, I made sure that we weren't followed." Geoffrey
stated calmly. "And besides, no one except Jenner, the King's Scribe and;
of course; us even knows about the order; thanks to Giles; so we'll still have
plenty of time to get him and his family out of the City before it was
scheduled to be carried out." He explained.

Gilbert glowered coldly at his son through diamond-hard eyes. "I hope
to hell you're right, boy, or everything we've managed to accomplish up to now
is a wasted effort." He grumbled. He then grabbed a robe draped over a
bedknob of his headboard and, with great effort, struggled into it, refusing
his son's offer of help. Geoffrey then gathered his incapacitated parent and
the blankets that covered him into his arms and brought him carefully down to
the living room where Gillian had served Iggy and his family some soup and lay
him down on a well-worn couch near the just-stoked fire. Gilbert frowned his
disapproval at his daughter, but she merely shrugged and indicated with a scowl
of her own that she wasn't going to be intimidated by him. "So, Scribe,
what's so special about you that you think you have the right to endanger my
family by makin' my son bring you here instead o' just lettin' him take you
outta the madhouse that this City's becoming?" He sneered as he tried to
make himself comfortable.

"Dad!" Geoffrey exclaimed, horrified by his father's bad behavior
toward their guests, even if those guests were uninvited.

Iggy held up a paw to silence the younger Gisborne. As afraid as he was for
himself and his family, Iggy decided that he wasn't going to play the wolf's
game. "Isn't the REAL question: What makes me so special that your son
would endanger himself to help my family and me escape at all?" He asked,
struggling to keep his voice from breaking. "It must be something
extremely important to both of you and," He slipped the blank envelope
with Jenner's order out of his belt-pouch, "I think that we," He
waved the envelope toward his kin, "deserve to know why Jenner would
betray us in this fashion."

Gilbert sniffed disdainfully. "What do I look like, a
mind-reader?" He asked. "All I know is that my other boy, Giles,
comes to me and asks if Geoff and I would help him smuggle a certain scribe out
of here 'cause Jenner wants him dead. I only agreed to help because I'm
thinkin' that maybe, just maybe, you might have information that we can use at
some later date." His voice then became more sad and resigned. "Now
I'm forced to help you simply because you know who we are and our connection to
Giles." By now, Gilbert's breathing was becoming labored and his eyes were
starting tobecome unfocused.

Geoffrey got up and adjusted his father's covers. "Don't worry, dad,
I'll make sure our secret stays safe." He said gently.

"Damn you, boy." He groaned without emotion. "Just get 'em
out of here." The elder wolf then fell into a restless slumber.

Geoffrey then told his sister to stay with their father until he returned
from helping the hedgehogs make their escape. Then, by the light of a small
lamp he led them in the dark, cold night through the most deserted alleyways of
the City and into a graveyard that adjoined the City wall. He stopped at a pair
of unmarked graves. "This is where King Nicodemus and Sir Jonathan Brisbee
are buried." He said wistfully. "Because this is a 'potter's field',
Jenner won't let anyone put a marker or monument up to honor their names."
He then set the lantern down between the heads of the graves and had Iggy and
his family sit in a circle around them. "I'm afraid that this is as far as
I go. I've made it a habit over the past several months to come and pray for
Nicodemus and Jonathan's souls, so the guards who patrol here won't pay much attention
to the light and we shouldn't have to worry about anyone interrupting us."

"But how do we get out of the City, and where do we go? You're note
said not to bring anything with us. How are we supposed to survive?" Iggy
asked.

"There's an old gate in the wall hidden behind a stand of bushes a
stones-throw Northeast of here. Giles showed it to me last Summer. It's open
just enough that you should be able to squeeze through it. I hid several packs
with food and a map in each under a pile of leaves just a few hours ago so they
should still be there. Once you're out of here head North to Nottinghamshire;
Giles says that he's heard rumors that there's a resistance group forming to
try to stop Jenner. Maybe it's true, maybe it's not; either way you're safer out
in the countryside than you'd be if you stayed here because we can, for a while
at least, trick him into believing that the execution order," Geoffrey
pointed to the hedgehog's belt-pouch, "Has been carried out." He said
calmly.

Iggy nodded, then asked. "Why are you doing this? You've put yourself
at terrible risk for a family that you don't even know. And I couldn't help but
notice how displeased your father was, and it was more than just because you
brought us to see him." He said sympathetically.

Geoffrey stared into the dim light cast by the lantern. "Dad and I both
oppose Jenner's rule, but we have different reasons and different opinions as
to the best methods of achieving our common aim. He's convinced that Jenner
somehow poisoned him just before he killed Nicodemus and Jonathan and he wants
to see Jenner dead before he himself succumbs to whatever it is that's killing
him." He said impassively.

"And you?" Iggy asked.

"I want Jenner dead as well." Geoffrey stated flatly. "But I
want to do it in a manner that exposes the lies and deception on which he and
those who helped him to kill his brother and his brother's Chancellor built
their power and which will humiliate them so badly that they'll be forced to
face the Justice that they so richly deserve."

"But what of your brother? He's one of the King's own Guards!"
Iggy exclaimed. "He's responsible for PROTECTING Jenner!"

A grim smile crossed the wolf's face, the light from the lantern giving it a
slightly demonic cast. "Until recently my naive, idealistic sibling really
believed that Nicodemus and Jonathan's sudden demise actually WAS the
'assassination by unknown parties' that Jenner's propaganda has been telling
Britain it was; he's even managed to implicate Jonathan's poor, innocent widow
and Nicodemus's former Doctor in this supposed 'plot'; but when he found the
order for your execution on the King's Scribe's desk he realized Jenner's true
nature and brought it to me and we enlisted dad's help in hatching this plan
to, hopefully, get you and your loved ones to safety."

Iggy was stunned. He was by no means unaware of all the intrigues and
backbiting that went on inside of any large, bureaucratic organization like the
King's court; but to be suddenly thrust into the middle of these events with
one's own life at stake by mere caprice was utterly incomprehensible. And the
question that still haunted him the most had yet to be given a satisfactory
answer. "But why ME? What's so important about me that Jenner would want
me dead?" He asked desperately.

Geoffrey shook his head sadly and shrugged. "I'm afraid that only
Jenner knows the answer to that particular question." He said quietly. He
then began ticking off points on his fingers. "Maybe he thinks you know
something that you're not supposed to? Maybe he thinks you've been disloyal to
him? Hell, maybe he's decided he simply doesn't like you any more! I just don't
know." He sighed heavily, then gazed intently into the faces of the
hedgehogs with whom he sat. "I just know that I cannot, in good
conscience, let an innocent family like yours suffer the way mine is being
forced to." He then pointed off into the darkness. "You should get
going now. The next patrol will be by soon and I've got to be seen alone or
they'll get suspicious." He said.

Zoe placed a comforting paw on his arm. "Thank you so much for helping
us." She said softly. "We'll keep you and your family in our prayers
from now on."

Geoffrey nodded impassively and the hedgehogs got to their feet and waddled
as quickly as possible toward the direction of the gate.

Chapter Fifty-One

Linnette took in the enticing, wonderful smell. Following her nose and the
system of ropes that her husband had laid out she quietly and carefully traced
the exquisite aroma. According to the rough map that she'd drawn in her mind
over the past week she was in the second-floor hallway somewhere in the
West-end of the manor-house near what used to be the library. (Though none of
the books remained.) She crept down the hall until she heard what might have
been the sound of a cup being placed on a saucer in a nearby room. She then
made her way to the source of the sound and feeling the familiar lines of a
closed door, softly knocked.

"Yes?" A familiar voice answered.

"Marian?" She asked, somewhat surprised.

"Yes, Linnette." The voice said with a detectable edge of
weariness. "Come on in, doorknob's on your left."

Linnette quickly found the knob, opened the door and stepped in.

"To your right, along the wall about five paces. Table's just to your
left, couch'll be dead ahead of you." Mrs. Brisbee told her.

Linnette followed her instructions and was soon seated next to her.
"Thanks for the help." She said warmly.

"Your husband told me earlier that you hadn't yet memorized the layout
of Locksley Manor. It's the least I could do." Mrs. Brisbee said.
"Would you like some tea?" She asked.

"Please!" Linnette said, not bothering to hide her enthusiasm.
"I smelled it a few minutes ago and followed the scent here." She
explained.

Mrs. Brisbee frowned. "I'm sorry if I woke you," She said quietly
as she poured a second cup and set it and a saucer into Linnette's waiting
paws. "But ever since Jonathan's death I haven't been sleeping very
well."

Linnette offered a consoling paw and Mrs. Brisbee placed it on her arm. The
older vixen felt a familiar smoothness in the material of the robe that she
knew the younger one was wearing. "I quite understand." She said,
then after a brief pause observed. "I notice you're wearing mom's
robe..."

"I'm sorry!" Mrs. Brisbee said hastily. "I'll give it back
immediately! I had no right to..."

"It's okay! It's okay!" Linnette reassured her. "I'm guessing
that Justin gave it to you and, quite frankly, I can think of no one else that
I'd rather have wear it to honor my memories of her."

"Thank you." Mrs. Brisbee said.

They both drank in silence for several minutes until Linnette asked,
"Marian, may I make a personal observation?"

"Yes, I suppose." Mrs. Brisbee replied distantly, as if
preoccupied by her own thoughts.

"For some reason," She began, "Other animals tend to believe
that because I can't see, I'm somehow not aware of my surroundings or what's
going on around me. Fortunately for me, though probably not for them if they
were to experience what I do during an average day, nothing could be further
from the truth. While my remaining senses are probably no more or less acute
than yours or anybody elses, because I don't have the luxury of taking them for
granted I'm probably somewhat more attuned to what they're telling me from one
moment to the next." She explained, pausing a moment to gauge how Mrs.
Brisbee would react. Sensing nothing, she continued. "Ever since we met
I've been perceiving a certain tension from you whenever my brother is
nearby." She said, carefully measuring her words. Again she paused and
waited.

"Go on." Mrs. Brisbee said after several uneasy seconds.

"Well, I'm just not sure what to make of it." Linnette said
cautiously. "The love that I hear in your voice as you speak of him when
he's not around is quite obvious. But when he is present, there's something
else in your voice..." She thought hard for a moment, searching for the
right word. "...a sadness I guess, as if you were about to cry and trying
to hold it in."

Linnette was surprised to hear a small sob from where Mrs. Brisbee was
sitting. "Marian, are you alright?" She asked, suddenly alarmed.
Maybe this hadn't been such a good time to bring this subject up after all, she
thought to herself.

"I'm...I'm fine." Mrs. Brisbee said in a choked whisper.

"Are you sure?" Linnette asked with concern. "I didn't mean
to offend you or pry into any sensitive matters between you and Justin."
She said apologetically.

"No." Mrs. Brisbee said, wiping away a tear. "You're right
about Justin and me." She whispered, her voice hollow as if her emotion
had suddenly been drained from her.

"If you want to tell me about it, I'm here to listen." Linnette
offered, placing her cup and saucer on the table in front of her.

Mrs. Brisbee then took the older vixen's paws in her's. "When Justin
helped us escape from the City after Jonathan and King Nicodemus's death,"
She said, "I wasn't sure what I thought about him; I mean I was grateful
that he cared about us enough to risk his life for us, but I don't think that
the reality of the situation had sunk in just yet and after a night of crying I
thought I had put my feelings about Jonathan into the back of my mind so that I
could concentrate on the survival of the children. But while we were taking
refuge at Dr. Ages house and I began to realize that Jonathan wasn't coming
back to us, I found myself worrying more and more about him as the weeks
passed. When he showed up suddenly, only to tell me that he had to leave again,
it brought back all those feelings that I thought I'd buried deep inside. And
when we discovered his true ancestry and relation to Jonathan, I knew that I
did indeed love him with much the same desire that I had loved my dear husband.
We even walked to his secret spot in the creek and...and..."

Linnette laid Mrs. Brisbee's head in her lap and began gently stroking the
fur of her cheek as the younger vixen was wracked by sobbing. "I believe I
understand." She said quietly. "You feel that in a moment of weakness
you may have betrayed your husband's memory."

Mrs. Brisbee nodded, gripping part of Linnette's nightgown in one paw.

Linnette helped Mrs. Brisbee back to a sitting position and embraced her in
a warm, comforting, sisterly hug. "Marian," She said, "Sharing
that moment of intimacy with Justin wasn't a betrayal. You both needed each
other at that particular time and in that particular place. Would Jonathan have
approved? I can't answer that with a-hundred-percent certainty, but deep down I
think that he would, at the very least, have understood how the circumstances
of the moment would have led you and Justin to seek that kind of release in
each other's company. Just because you love Justin now, that doesn't mean that
you'll forget what Jonathan still means to you; infact, it'll probably help you
treasure both of them even more."

Mrs. Brisbee sniffed back her tears and slumped, exhausted, onto the couch.
"Perhaps...perhaps you're right." She whispered softly. "There
are times when I think I would have given up on my life months ago if I hadn't
had my thoughts of the good times that Jonathan and I shared together, the hope
that Justin has instilled within me and the presence of my childrenwho love and
need me to get me through the hard times."

"Well now you have me and Galen to help as well. And since Justin looks
to my husband as he would an older brother, I see no reason why you shouldn't
look to me as you would an older sister." Linnette said happily.

Mrs. Brisbee smiled. "Thank you, Linney. I will." She said warmly.

Linnette then yawned and shivered slightly. "I think we'd better get
ourselves to bed." She said. "Until that kitchen wall's fixed we're
gonna have plenty more cold nights like this one."

Mrs. Brisbee made known her agreement and, after they quickly finished the
dregs of the tea; led Linnette back to the apartment that she and Galen
occupied; and then quickly made her way to the room she shared with Justin,
extinguished the candle she'd used to light her way, and crawled into his bed,
letting their mutual warmth lull her to sleep.