Chapter Text
The sun had barely risen over the top of Mossflower woods when Gingivere awoke. Or was woken up, rather, by a robin frantically banging his talons against the glass windowpane.
“Wake up, Gingivere! Get up, it’s time to move! It’s urgent!”
Instead of responding, Gingivere turned over and clamped a pillow around his ears.
Chibb paused a second to curse under his breath before redoubling his efforts. “I MEAN IT, MY LORD! NEWS! REALLY NEED TO TELL YOU IT! NOW!”
A pillow sailed across the room before hitting the window and falling to the floor. A moment later the window swung open, and Chibb was face-to-face with a very tired and very angry wildcat.
“Alright, fine, I’ll listen. Even though I was up until maybe four hours ago trying to make sense of how the law of Camp Willow works.”
“Oi, it’s not my fault your law codation thing –”
“Codification.”
“Whatever! As I was saying, it’s not my fault you hit a rough spot right before those mice you lot’ve been worried about came marching into Mossflower woods.”
Still half-asleep, it took a moment for Gingivere to register the news. Then suddenly he blinked, the sleep vanishing from his eyes. “What? They’re here?”
“Almost. Sleekfeather was flying East of Brockhall on patrol when he saw them.” For once, Chibb was completely serious. “I came as fast as I could, and I mean that.”
“Thank you. Now if they’re out past Brockhall, then they’ll likely be here by midday, you think?”
“Maybe a little later – Sleekfeather said they’re moving pretty slowly and resting a lot.”
“Right, so more like mid-late afternoon.” Gingivere looked back at his room, seeing how unkempt it was. “Shit. I’d been really hoping for more time before they got here.” He turned back to Chibb, looking the Robin straight in the eye. “May I ask a favor? I’ll give you as many candied nuts as it takes.”
“I’ll do it for free, just this once. What do you need?”
“I need you – and any other birds you can gather up on short notice – to go around Mossflower and gather the Corim. Timballisto, Skipper, Amber – all of them. After that, get word out to Moss Town and as many settlements as you can that nobeast is to set paw East of Brockhall for the entire day. Still willing to do this all without getting any candied nuts?”
“Well…maybe a small bag?”
“You get it done, and I’ll get the bag prepared myself.” Gingivere held out his paw. “Do we have a deal?”
“Aye.” Chibb laid his wing on the paw. “I’ll get ‘em all rounded up for you.”
The Robin turned and took flight, heading straight for Timballisto’s lands. Gingivere closed the window, took a large swig of fresh water to finish waking up, and then threw on a set of underclothes before opening the door. Automatically Gingivere started upwards to wake his father up, but after a few steps he paused, filled with doubt. Father’s probably fast asleep, and if I’m being honest I’m not sure his wits’ll be there enough for this.
All the same, there was a big part of Gingivere that wanted him to go up anyway, hoping against hope that his father would be able to solve this problem just as Lord Verdauga had solved all the problems in the past. But that part of him was wrong, Gingivere knew; he’d need to face this crisis, at least in the very beginning, without his father to guide him.
Of course, there still is ONE creature I can turn to for a bit of wisdom…
So instead of going upwards Gingivere ran downwards, sprinting as fast as he could, taking the steps two at a time and practically vaulting around the corners, until he was outside of the guest chambers he’d given over to Bella. Sunflash, I really owe you for persuading your mother to stay a bit longer. The door was unlocked, so Gingivere just went ahead and pushed it open.
Bella was sitting at her table, already dressed and with her fur tidied up, sipping on tea from a cup that was far too small for her giant paws. Her head whipped around as the door opened and Gingivere entered. “Gingivere? You’re, ah, looking like you just rolled out of bed.”
“That’s – that’s because I d-did.” Gingivere leaned against the door frame, panting. “Ch-Chibb…got me up. They’re here. The – the Loamhedge Mice. A bit past Brockhall. Chibb’s getting the Corim at the moment. We’ll meet as soon as they all arrive.”
“And I’m guessing you want me there?”
“Yes. Any advice I can get, I – I want.” Gingivere straightened up, no longer breathing nearly as hard. “Will you be there?”
“Of course.” Bella smiled. “Anything you need, My Lord.”
“Thanks, Bella. I’ll tell Ditchpaw to fetch you when we’re about to start.” Gingivere nodded before turning and sprinting back up to his room.
Hang on a moment, he realized as he fought to tame the fur on the top of his head, she called me ‘My Lord.’ Never heard her do that before. What’s THAT all about?
Fur combed down as best as he could managed it, Gingivere changed into clothing that was a bit more presentable, grabbed a small helping of bread from the bowl at his desk, and gulped it down before descending to the Corim meeting room.
It took roughly another two hours for the rest of the Corim to arrive at Kotir, two hours that Gingivere mostly spent debating whether he ought to sit in the chair he usually did or in the great seat his father had used during the rare times he actually was able to participate in meetings. As the acting Lord of Mossflower Gingivere supposed it was his right to sit in the great seat, but at the same time sitting in it just felt wrong somehow, like he was somewhere he shouldn’t be. And yet sitting in his normal seat also felt wrong, particularly in light of how important today’s meeting was going to be, so Gingivere found himself constantly switching from one chair to the other.
The rest of them all filed in while he was sitting in the great seat, so Gingivere supposed he would have to spend the meeting there. He stood up as they all went to their own seats, and once Ditchpaw had closed the room’s doors Gingivere cleared his throat to speak.
“My apologies for calling you all this early in the morning, but thank you for coming all the same. Now let us sit.” Gingivere continued once everybeast had settled into their chairs. “Now, I’m assuming that you’ve all been told why I gathered us all this morning?”
“Aye.” Skipper nodded. “So the Loamhedge Mice are here at last?”
“Almost. As of two hours ago they were still just inside the Eastern border of Mossflower proper.”
“That’s why those birds were telling everybeast not to head near Brockhall, then?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Why?” Timballisto asked. “Certainly they don’t pose us a threat.” He looked at Bella. “You’ve had dealings with Loamhedge before, right? What are they like?”
“Loamhedge was a community of peace.” Bella explained. “An abbey devoted entirely to contemplation and prayer, filled with Mice dedicated to a nonviolent way of living. Like as not, almost none of them will have even used a weapon before in their life.”
“So then why order everybeast to stay away? I don’t understand it.”
Gingivere felt the sweat gather under his collar, and tried to tell himself that Timballisto was only asking questions, not challenging his authority. “We don’t yet know what they’re trying to escape. Perhaps they’re fleeing some hostile army, or maybe disease.”
“Or famine, maybe?” Skipper suggested.
“I doubt it.” Amber shook her head. “If they were merely trying to find somewhere more hospitable there’s no reason they would’ve traveled as far West as Mossflower. No, there’s something that they’re trying to put as much distance between themselves and where they used to live as possible.” She turned to Gingivere. “Want me to send out a scouting party? I can have ten squirrels ready to head out in about three hours.”
“That would be most helpful.”
“Understood.”
Bella was the one to bring up the next question at hand. “What about when they do reach Mossflower? What do you all intend to do with them?”
“Gingivere asked us to begin setting up a temporary camp for them a month and a half ago, or thereabouts, near the main settlement in my lands.” Timballisto replied. “It’s been coming along nicely.”
“I thought it might help ease the transition into Mossflower if they’re surrounded by their fellow Mice. And if they decide to keep moving, it’s also fairly close to the border itself.”
“Ah. Clever.” Skipper gave a small nod of approval. “Wouldn’t have thought of that myself.”
“I’ve also been preparing a list of names for Thousand-Eyes we could send up there if there’s need for extra security.” Amber took a paper out of her sleeve and passed it to Gingivere. “Tried to choose those who would be more adaptable to whatever sort of challenges taking in a community of refugees might bring.”
“Good thinking.” Gingivere looked over the list before rolling it up and tucking it into his pocket. “Now, with any luck we can –”
The door burst open before he could continue. It was Chibb, followed shortly behind by Whegg and an elderly mouse Gingivere had never seen before. She had an air of authority, he noticed, along with the sort of deep-seated grief he’d come to identify as coming from creatures that had seen too much death. One of the Loamhedge mice, he assumed, maybe even their leader. But what’s she doing here? I thought they were a lot farther out?”
“Really, really, really sorry about this,” Chibb started to explain, “and I know I said they were a lot farther out, but I guess that Sleekfeather must’ve missed her. Saw her wandering into town as I was heading back to Kotir, and Whegg was the first creature I came across that I thought could help so I asked him to help escort her here.”
“Asked’ my paw.” Whegg grumbled. “You just turned up and shouted at me to follow you!” Gently steering the old mouse forwards with one paw, the Rat used the other to gesture around the room. “Now, care to introduce yourself to the rest of these creatures, ma’am.”
“No need.” Bella rose from the table and walked over to the two. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Abbess Germaine.”
“Just call me Germaine now, Bella.” Smiling, Germaine let Bella clasp her paw. “I don’t exactly have an Abbey to be Abbess of anymore.” After Bella let Germaine’s paw go, the Mouse walked to the front of the Corim table and bowed. “My name is Germaine, former Abbess of Loamhedge Abbey. Forgive me for intruding upon your domain.”
“No trouble, My Lady.” Gingivere went over to the Mouse and kissed her paw. “We heard of your coming some time ago, and have been preparing to receive you and yours ever since. Incidentally, I am Gingivere Greeneyes, currently acting Lord of Mossflower.”
“I am honored to meet you, My Lord Greeneyes.”
“So what brings you all this far West?” Bella asked. “We’ve all been curious for some time.”
All the warmth visibly fled Germaine’s body upon hearing the question, and the gentle, wise smile she’d been wearing since greeting Bella promptly dropped into a frown. “It was no longer safe to stay in Loamhedge. If we did not leave, we would all have died.”
“But why?” Whegg leaned over. “I doubt that you lot just up and started wandering here on a lark.”
Amber shot the Rat a dirty look. “What my subordinate means to ask is: what were you fleeing from? It’s important to know, so that we can prepare Mossflower in case it follows you here.”
“Yes, yes of course.” Germaine drew her wimple tightly around her head. “It was a plague. It struck us with terrible swiftness last autumn, claiming young and old alike.”
“What sort of plague?” Skipper asked.
“Dryditch fever.”
They all went silent. The room seemed to grow colder and darker, as if night had fallen. Dryditch. Gingivere thought, suddenly feeling faint. Dryditch. Of course. Of. Fucking. Course. Dryditch Fever was a disease that had always been blissfully rare in Mossflower, and they had not seen any cases since one tiny outbreak at the very beginning of Verdauga’s reign, yet the name alone was still enough to send as many shivers down a creature’s spine as the name of the vilest warlord. For even if the disease itself rarely touched Mossflower, the stories about it were infamous: stories of how the disease spread like wildfire in the lands it attacked, killing indiscriminately, slowly, and painfully. There were only a few cures, supposedly, and even then, the only cure they knew to be reliably effective was one that could not be found anywhere near Mossflower.
In short, if Gingivere could have chosen between facing Dryditch and facing an enemy horde, he would have really, really preferred the rather.
Timballisto was the first to find his voice. “And…are you sure that none of the creatures you brought here are infected?”
Please say yes, Gingivere prayed, please, PLEASE say yes.
“No.” Germaine said. “I cannot be sure. I have done my best to isolate anybeast showing symptoms, and it’s been some time since we lost a creature to Dryditch on the march, but there’s always the possibility that somebeast is still infected.”
“I see, then. Well, I suppose that means I’ll have to warn my Mice to stay away from you all.” Timballisto sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “Keeping their curiosity down’s going to be a bit difficult, but that can’t be helped. Are there any changes in how we should escort the Loamhedge mice to their temporary settlement, Amber?”
“They’re not going there.” Gingivere spoke without really meaning to, acting almost on instinct.
Every single face in the room snapped to the Wildcat, looking at him with mixed expressions of horror, confusion, and anger. “I’m sorry, what?” Amber’s face was perhaps the most confused. “Where are we going to put them, then? Surely you’re not going to drive them out of Mossflower?”
“Gather up all the tents you can and get ready to distribute them to the Loamhedge Mice. We’ll set up a camp for them near the River Moss upstream from Camp Willow. Nobeast will be able to enter without my leave, and nobeast will be able to exit.
“But we’re refugees!” Germaine protested.
“What you are is a group that could very well still be carrying one of the most dangerous sicknesses in the world.” Gingivere shot back, far more hotly than he meant to, filled with shame and guilt. “I don’t like it, My Lady, believe me, and I wish that we didn’t need to, but until we know – and I mean know for sure – that nobeast is infected, it’s too dangerous to let you near other creatures.”
Bella started. “Gingivere –”
“ENOUGH!” Gingivere slammed the table hard enough to spill the inkwell by his seat. “The risk is too great, Bella. As acting Lord of Mossflower, I say this: while we will take every step available to care for the Loamhedge Mice, as of now every one of them is to be treated as though they have the Dryditch fever. Every. Single. One.” He looked all those present straight on. “I will not let Mossflower fall to the Dryditch.”
And yet, at the same time, a tiny kernel of doubt took root in Gingivere’s stomach, and he wondered whether he was making a massive mistake, and what his father would have done in his place.