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** Second Chapter**

To Ruskebó and back

*

"You see Art, dear relative, the armed forces are in need of it. Expansion that is," Cinnabar explained as the two friends rolled the wheelbarrow towards Ruskebó. Or rather, Cinnabar rolled it, while Arthur Rusk kept him company, walking next to him on the beaten track which ran alongside the purling Bruckebrook. Their goal was the General Community Store, and the weather was splendid so far this morning - cotton clouds scudding over a blue sky, a landscape covered with dew, lit by golden sunrays.

"What you think, Art?" Cinnabar inquired.

Art moved the harmonica away from the corner of his mouth. He often kept it there even though he seldom played with it. One never knew where his mother might be.

"I don't know, Cinnie," he said thoughtfully, wrinkling his snout. "If we get a larger army, doesn't it mean we'll have war?"

Usually, Cinnabar would have been angry upon hearing such a question, but this was Art. Now the sturdy youth just chuckled for himself while turning towards his friend.

"Poor gullible Art," he said in a loving-condescending tone. Art looked up and raised his ears.

Cinnabar continued. "With a stronger army, the Enemy Nations would not dare to attack the Republic. What is our standing force now again?"

"I don't know," Art replied and peered out over the hay fields which danced in the mild morning breezes. Far above them, the silhouettes of the moons were visible beyond the deep blue skies.

"Seven thousand in the Rim Guard," Cinnabar replied. "Two thousand in the Rear Guard. Nine thousand all is all. During the Hasslas, the army was sixty thousand, and the population was a third of the current number. Even if we increased the army to almost a hundred thousand, we would still have a smaller army to feed than during the Monarchy."

"B-but," Art mumbled, his ears lowering, "if the army turns bigger than during the... Monarchy, how could it be smaller? Help me Cinnabar... I'm probably too dense to work my way around this."

Cinnabar stopped rolling the wheelbarrow for a moment, and gave Art a jovial pat on the back.

"The population was at most half what it is today during those days, dear Art! That means that if we Leporians back then could muster a force of sixty thousand, we can mobilise one hundred and ten thousand today and yet we'll have a smaller army to feed. For every male Leporian under arms would need a number of farmers to feed them - and that has not changed for the last two hundred years."

"Wow!" Art let out. "You're bright, Cinnie!"

"Well, not as bright as I'll hope," Cinnabar grunted with false humility.

Art looked down, his ears hanging low. "Me on the other hand... I'm not good at anything! I'm not strong, I'm not bright. I'm very scared. How you do to be so good at everything, Cinnie?"

Cinnabar took up a radish from a wheelbarrow in a market stand, and started to crunch on it.

"I just guess I'm born this way, Art."

There were few other travellers out this time of the day, especially from the opposite direction as few had any reasons to walk from Ruskebó itself to its adjacent colonies. Most of those meeting the odd couple walking downstream turned away and moved their ears in a disapproving manner. Cinnabar decided to ignore the insults - he had not wronged them, he had just caused Owin Sal to think_that he had been wronged. It had not however been Cinnabar's _intent to destroy the shelves with flowers.

His beef was with Owin, not with the entire Sal clan. His mother had however explained to him that the Sals might think otherwise and take offense, and that it if was left unredeemed could affect the standing of the Rusks in the community, since it could give the impression that the Rusks did think so low of the Sals that they saw no reason to respect their limits.

Thence the Wheelbarrow. Thence Ruskebó. The target was the General Community Store, and the goal was to buy twenty or so flower pots, as a first step of consolation. Art had followed because Cinnabar had picked him up outside of his home - which handily enough was located next-door to Claudia's apartment. The entire fifth floor of the colony was entirely inhabited by Rusks, of which all were of high standing in Ruskebó. Claudia Rusk - Cinnabar's mother - was one of the seven councillors for the District of Ruskebó. Art's mother, Cynthia Rusk (next-next cousin to Claudia) was, apart from being a councillor as well, the Priestess of the Shrine of the Summer Goddess - the highest spiritual position in Ruskebó.

Despite that Cinnabar and Art belonged to the same clan, they were as different as day and night.

Art was the smallest of his litter, a mere thirteen inches in body length from the crown of the head to the feet. He was also so skinny that his ribs were visible underneath the skin while he was breathing. He was vanilla-coloured, with white patches on his belly and around his nose and mouth, and a brownish patch around his left eye. His fur was thin but ragged and rough. The ears were large, and it surprised Cinnabar how they could stand up. For the day, he wore his straw-hat which was kept on its place by holes for the ears, shadowing his large and sensitive yellow eyes and the brittle vanilla thatch between the ears. If he hadn't been shaking in his knees, he would almost have looked aloof and cool. He also carried with him a sack where he used to hide his harmonica.

In all these manners, Cinnabar could not be more different from him. He stood almost eighteen inches tall, and his girth swelled out on all sides - a bit flabby he had to admit it, but most of it was definitely muscles. He had thick legs and arms, his shoulders were broad. His cheeks were puffy and his ears hung down at his sides all the time, short and rounded. Unlike Art, who had somewhat crooked incisors (and had lost a sister whose damaged teeth had killed her shortly after birth), Cinnabar's teeth were perfect. His fur was bountiful but short, crimson-brown in tone with white patches under his neck and over his chest and belly. His eyes were dark brown and glowing with determination and intelligence. They were surrounded by white fur, though his eyelids were black. On the top of his head, a curly red mop of hair grew like flames. In the light of dawn, it was almost cinnabar-coloured, thence his name. It was more than that however, he moved with a natural confidence and inviting charm, his voice was clear and concise, and his wit knew no equal in all of Ruskebó.

Then why was it that some people seemed to dislike him?

Cinnabar had come to the conclusion that they simply were jealous. This included his litter sister Cornelia, who had called him a 'stuffed up ball of fat who knew of two things, chattering and eating'. He had pinched her snout as a punishment and she had dragged his ears - then their mother had intervened and punished Cornelia. The only two people who understood Cinnabar were his mother and Art.

"Art?" Cinnabar wondered.

"Yes?"

"Well, well," Cinnabar said and put his arms around his back, "I have a question to you, my dear Art. If I am so good at everything, why don't the other youths like me? Why are Adrian, Julian and Roland fighting with me?"

"B-Because they're jealous!" Art let out with a shrill voice and started to lower his shoulders. Art was very afraid of Roland Thál, even hearing of his name made the little Leporian shrink and become even smaller.

"Yes!" Cinnabar sighed theatrically. "I know that I am better at most things, belatedly not sports or dancing! But yet you know me Art, is there anyone more humble than me, tell?"

"N-no! No one!"

"Well, there you hear Art. You said it yourself! So why... isn't she looking at me?"

With 'she', Cinnabar referred to Lyra Mársk. His lily-white, pink-nosed beauty. The girl of his dreams. The two friends walked over a wooden bridge over where one of the irrigation ditches from the Bruckebrook flowed over the landscape. Cinnabar was still walking with the arms behind his back, sunk in his own thoughts. Hardly surprising, Art was struggling to keep up, balancing the wheelbarrow and half-running behind his best friend.

"M-maybe you should... ehm... talk to her Cinnie?" Art suggested while panting.

"Oh Art!" Cinnabar complained. "You very well know that I do not have anything to say to her... for daring to tell her about the fire she ignited in my chest I do not!"

"Maybe...," Art said and released the handles of the wheelbarrow, "Maybe... just maybe, you should write her a poem. You know 'my heart is twee-twee-tweeting like a little bird, my very soul you've stirred, my mind's blurred for I don't have a word', you know?"

Art's squeaky voice had gotten a lot happier as he told the story. He raised his head, and his eyes cracked with tears and joy. Cinnabar almost expected him to make a binky with his legs.

"What you say... ehm Cinnie?"

Cinnabar felt how his heart started to race. Could he reject Art's proposal out of hand? If he did so, maybe Art would think less of him? Was his 'best friend' forcing him into a situation where he had to show what he went for before Lyra?

"I don't know...," Cinnabar said and raised his head, peering towards the moons. "Will that really work?"

Art bounced up and down three times. "Yes it will! Yes it will! She will love you sing your love to her... and then she'll fall in love with you at first glance and the entire world will be beautiful and... and... and sweet and bright, as if the Summer Goddess Herself came down with her starry crown and her wreaths!"

The tiny Leporian pretended to swoon and fell back on the trimmed grass next to the path.

Cinnabar turned towards his little friend and gave him his hand. "You are right, Art," he said as he helped him up. "I will write her a poem. And it will be the most beautiful poem ever written. But on one condition - that you listen it through when I read it aloud the first time, and tell me your mind."

"Oh!" Art let out. "You want... me to listen to you rehearsing your poem to her? You really want it? And you want to hear me say to you what I think of it? Really?"

"Yes."

Art jumped up high into the air, almost thrice his own body length, he made a binky moving his feet together and turning around mid-air, landing on his back. His hay hat sagged down slowly after him, riding on a warm breeze. He lied on the ground, wavering his legs wildly, his mouth open with an expression of pure joy. He laughed, tears flowing from his eyes.

"Oh thank you so much, Cinnie! Thank you so very, very, very much!"

Cinnabar had taken a few steps back. "For what?" he asked, puzzled.

"That I'm given the honour! You're my best friend ever, Cinnie!"

Passers-by turned their heads around, watching the little boy jump around in the air and shaking their heads.

*

Ruskebó was a lush green town located at the place where the Bruckebrook flowed together with the Lingenwassern, forming the Ruskenbrook which flowed into the northern part of rlangen - an enormous lake which united the northern part of the Flower Valley to Glennenmór.

The eastern and western sides of the town were shielded by the river, while it on the northern side had been somewhat demarked by a line of flower bushes. Since that, building units had been constructed outside of the bushes.

Most buildings had been erected in dirt and dried mud which had been smoothed out and pressed until it was compact. The wooden shutters of the windows were open now, to allow for ventilation, much like many of the doors. Most of the dwelling units were colonies, between seven and up to sixteen feet tall. They were built like Cinnabar's and Art's home colony of Pfilerhém - rounded staircase pyramids with several individual apartments. Most of these colonies were squared in by fences, and had their own community gardens.

Then, there were the public buildings - the largest of which was the Shrine of the Summer Goddess - a building which was extensively decorated with white and yellow pebbles, so much that it completely concealed the mudbrick walls. Towards the main street - a trampled up path - it show-cased it's wooden gates, above which a window of stained glass depicting the Goddess with hair like radiant sunbeams. The building was constructed like an octagonal, with four long sides and four short sides, the gate being on the eastern short side. From each of the three other short sides, three massive towers which ended in extensively decorated spires stretched towards the skies. The tallest of them was above twenty-five feet tall. On the top of the main building, squared in between the towers, a dome which had been decorated like the patterns of cones had been structured up.

On the western side of the Shrine, there was a beautiful green garden sealed off by a high wall. There, the seven sacred rabbits dwelled inside a wooden barn. They were white-furred creatures that were cared for by the adepts of the Goddess, brought only the finest hay and carrots and attended to in a meticulous manner. They were to be paraded through the town during the Summer Solstice.

The Town Hall was located on a natural hill and consisted of a semi-circle of pillars made from wood and covered with dried mud. Above them, a crescent-shaped arc had been erected. It was an open area, modelled after the Great Hall of Glennenmór, and illustrated the values of the Republic. All decisions would be made out in the open, where the public ear could listen and take part in the decisions made (Cinnabar had often scoffed for himself, for he knew that a lot of decisions had been taken in his mother's living room).

There was also a very large park next to the spiritual and secular seats of power. Beyond it, there was the granary - a large egg-like dome, brown like manure and on the inside strengthened by several wooden floors containing the supplies during winter. It was also from there that Ruskebó sent their taxes. Next to it, there was the Office, a square building with dirt walls upheld by external and internal wooden scaffolds moving around the building. The upper floors contained the offices where two bureaucrats from Glennenmór oversaw the district's economy and taxes and wrote reports to the central government on clay tablets.

The lower half of that building was the General Community Store, a government-operated institution where merchants with cargo ferries brought tools and equipment from the capitol to Ruskebó. At this time of day the GSC was mostly empty, apart from three customers from Ruskebó, Valence Iskér (the shopkeeper and bureaucrat) and the two Rusk relatives from the Pfilerhém Colony.

"What can I do for you two young gentlemen?" Valence had purred contently as she had stood behind the desk.

"Excuse me, miss," Cinnabar had answered. "Can you possibly point the way to the flower pots?"

"Ah," Valence had chuckled for herself while adjusting the reading glasses that rested over her snout, "making amends with the Sals, heh?"

"Where do you keep the pots, miss?" Cinnabar had repeated, not without a hint of irritation in his voice.

"Oh... I am sorry young Mr Rusk! You will find them in Section Three, near the left exit."

Grunting and keeping his hands in his vest pockets, Cinnabar had ventured into Section Three, followed by little Art who pushed the wheelbarrow forward with a not insignificant struggle.

The halls were illuminated by large open windows above the shelves, which were equipped with rolling ladders. Even though Art wanted to stroll around the shelves and study the more decorative plates and pots, those which were dyed white, black and blue and displayed engraved rustic sceneries, Cinnabar wanted to have this chore done as quickly as possible, so he focused in on a shelf displaying traditional brown pots in smooth standard form, made at the General Mud-Processing Plant in Glennenmór and shipped once every month to Ruskebó.

He chose twenty-seven identical pots, placed the set in the wheelbarrow and went back to the desk, this time moving the darn thing himself. Art was not strong enough, and was instead tasked with paying for the goods. It was probably for the better that Art did so, since Cinnabar never would have accepted to pay the nine Résa that Valence nonchalantly asked for. Art gave away the money sooner than Cinnabar could intercept the transaction, and he did not want to argue so accepted what was lost as lost and proceeded to roll the wheelbarrow out from the store.

It was there they were ambushed.

*

Roland Thál had probably heard that Cinnabar had arrived in town. He and his co-conspirators had placed themselves under the bushes flanking the entry to the Store, and then jumped out at a given signal (probably the hooting sound that the two friends had heard less than a second before, which had made Art jump).

Those leading the encirclement were Roland and his litter brother Berg, both tall and lanky and brown, holding on to sticks which they rhythmically were tapping against the ground. Then there was Philip Wassén, grey-speckled and squint-eyed. There was Elliot Lange, short, squat and long-furred, with huge incisors.

And then there was Julian Sal, light-furred with black tail and ear-tips, garbed in a green jacket. He held on to a piece of rope. He was a relative of Owin.

Roland crossed his arms, still holding on to his club.

"So, Cinnabar Rusk," he said, "you're sticking your nose into Ruskebó again? Pleasure to meet..."

Cinnabar lowered his head and broadened his shoulders. "The pleasure," he grunted, "is on my side, for this town is still wearing my family name. Step out of my way, Rol', and nobody will get injured."

Art had taken cover underneath the wheelbarrow, his entire body shivering.

Elliot pointed towards the little Leporian. "Look!" he laughed cruelly. "The Fat One's girlfriend's taken cover!"

Cinnabar let out a growl and took one step forward. "What_did you say, Elliot? Did you... call me... _fat?"

Elliot instinctively took a step back, but did not move his eyes away from Cinnabar's.

Roland and his brother closed in, once again beating their clubs against the ground. Cinnabar evaluated their options strategically. Philip blocked their most obvious retreat way, back into the General Community Store, while the four others effectively would prevent them to move on. There was also another thought which disturbed him - if they dare cause a scene so near the Store, it means they have, or think they have, the approval of some elders. Is it maybe so that the Lange clan has finally sought a vendetta with us Rusks?

Anyway, he could flee from here - nobody would find it dishonourable if he escaped, for he had tried to make amends. The trouble was, he would then have left his friend behind enemy lines, and Roland and his brother had found some kind of pleasure in tormenting poor Arthur, who already had more than enough to deal with his mother.

He had to make a stand. To defeat and drive away the tormentors, or at least stand his ground until the adults came in and interrupted the fight. He threw a quick glance at Art, and concluded that he would fight this one alone.

He prepared his fists for the confrontation, moved his feet in battle pose and fixed in on Philip.

The next second, he and Roland jumped into one another, grabbed each-other's vests and started to roll around one the ground so the air was filled with dust. Roland slugged his club against Cinnabar's head, while Cinnabar tried to shelter his temple with his arm. He grabbed the club with his teeth and pushed it aside, then rolled over so Roland was underneath him, jabbing his fists into the face of the Thál youth so saliva was cascading around. Berg was standing behind him, jamming his club over the back of Cinnabar's head, while screaming 'die you bastard, die'. Cinnabar ignored it and pummelled his fists against Roland's cheeks until the dominant Thál brother regained his composure and grabbed Cinnabar's hands with his, moving them away. Cinnabar turned around his attention to Berg and kicked him in the crotch, while he received a lash from Julian's rope.

Philip and Elliot on their turn were hunting Art around the wheelbarrow, giving him kicks and hits while jeering at him. Art was screaming. A terrifying high-pitched sound which echoed throughout the streets, making the few strollers stop in their paths and fix in on the fight.

The group of three surrounding Cinnabar had dissipated. They circulated around him from a distance, looking for an opening, while he stood his ground, holding his hands in a boxing pose. Roland, who still was recovering from the good beating he received earlier moved back, mounting for a kick with his feet. He ran towards the sturdy Rusk youth, jumping up and mounting for a massive kick with his leg. Cinnabar ducked with surprising agility and grabbed Roland's tail (he had tried to grab the leg), and then proceeded to smack him down the ground, taking Roland's club and giving him a hit over the back so the club broke in two.

Sudden pain. A red stripe emerged on the arm. It had been Julian Sal, he waved his rope around. Cinnabar captured his next slash with the rope and moved it away from his hands before smacking the rope around indiscriminately; marking Berg over the muzzle of the snout so he started bleeding all over his nose and mouth. It fitted him well, Cinnabar thought with satisfaction. He rushed towards the wheelbarrow, emptying it over Philip.

Roland rushed after him. Without thinking, Cinnabar mounted a kick against Roland's belly so he bowed down his head with a moan. Then, the son of Claudia Rusk, descendants of a long generation of Rusks, crushed one of the flower pots over Roland's head.

Roland stood up and blinked with one of the eyes. He tried to form his hand into a fist and mount a hit on Cinnabar.

He fell down backward, laying on the ground shaking a little, his mouth open and his tongue pointing out. He was coughing out a stream of saliva.

For a moment, the fight died out. All eyes turned back and forth between Roland and Cinnabar, dazzled, confused, terrified.

Then Berg let out a roar.

"Brother!" he screamed and stomped on the ground with his leg. "You've killed my brother! You will pay for this, fatso! May the Thief take you!"

"I AM NOT FAT!" Cinnabar replied and plunged a pot against Berg, missing as the Thál youth rushed forward on all four against him. Cinnabar gave out a whimpering scream as he and Art rushed into the General Community Store. After less than a moment of doubt, the four remaining bullies ran after them into the store.

The destruction was imminent and horrifying.

Garden tools, knives, spoons and shears were thrown around the main hall. Kitchen equipment fell against the floor. Cinnabar had grabbed a rake in panic-infused rage and proceeded to slam it around while his enemies jumped around evading it, flying into shelves so their contents were spread around the floor.

Art had taken shelter underneath the desk, but Philip found him there and grabbed him over the tail, lifting him up so his legs panicked. They gave Philip a kick over the belly so the squat kid rolled back, beating his head into one of the wooden pillars. Cinnabar's rake had broken and he was wrestling around with Berg on the floor, while Julian and Elliot took turns kicking him.

Cinnabar gave Elliot a bite in the leg while grabbing Julian's balls under the tunic with his hand and kicking Berg in the groin. They all joined together in one fight on the floor, rolling around from shelf to shelf, kicking and crushing goods as they rolled around like a whirlwind. Then they ran each to their separate corner, before joining in together again.

At the entry, Roland was stumbling in, swinging his arm around, before he fell forward on his belly, his tongue hanging out from his opened mouth.

Art on his side had climbed up on a top shelf, where the shop receipts were written on clay tablets. Philip tried to climb up the ladder, but Art downed him with a tablet, crushed against the floor. It had made the squat bunny lose his balance and trip down the ladder. Then Art had given out a scream of sudden triumph, before starting to pelt receipts around the floor, forcing Philip to take cover under the counter.

Valence had not even tried to stop the fight, instead she had vanished.

When Cinnabar was cornered, holding on to a frying pan like a shield and preparing to defend himself with a strainer, bleeding from five wounds and groggy, that the fight was forcefully ended by the intervention of the Rim Guard. By that point, everyone had their clothes ripped to shreds and were covered in blood.

Three Guardians came in riding on clucking capercailzies, terrible beaked riding beasts which were kept at the barrack pens at the eastern end of the town. They proceeded to point the tips of their spears at the boys, and blow their whistles until it all calmed down.

Cinnabar gave out a roar and ran towards one of the birds with his trusty strainer raised for a confrontation. He was beaten down with the butt of the spear and then restrained by two of the guards. The third one had moved up on the counter desk and signalled to Art to climb down, to no avail.

Art had fainted.

*

The seven boys had been brought under custody under the barracks, locked into two adjacent cells with hard wooden bars (which nevertheless had been badly damaged by teeth) which were located in a cellar filled with barrels, discarded saddles and for some reason a stuffed owl, standing like a ghastly statue in the middle of the dark hallway. Roland's band had been brought up first, all boys casting angry glances at Cinnabar and Art - all except Roland himself who was supported by the shoulders of Berg and Julian.

One hour later, Art - who was the only one completely unharmed - and Cinnabar, who had gotten scrape wounds on his feet, arms, the back of his head, his snout, and on top of that a black eye, were led up by one of the corpsbucks.

They were led through the exercise yard, Art shaking in his entire body while Cinnie moved forward with his usual domineering pose, wagging slowly and moving his attention around from the capercailzies bound to their trays to the sparring dolls and the arrow targets. The barracks which surrounded the training yard were single-to-two-floor units, erected in a mixture of coarse sand, dried mud and smoothed dirt. They were formed like slightly smoothed rectangles, and were joined together by large arcs connecting all the units to one another. The training yard itself was filled by reddish dirt, according to what Cinnabar had learnt brought from the southernmost crater of the Valley.

They were led into the arced doors of one of the barracks. Through a narrow corridor dimly illuminated by small barred windows, up to the second floor and then into an office which contained a half-empty bookshelf, a badly chewed wooden desk, a map of the Valley on the Wall and the banner of the Republic hanging over the other wall. The Republic's banner consisted of two rabbits, one red and one white, which ran around one another, over a red background. A homage to the pre-sapient ancestors of the Leporians.

Cinnabar let out a sound of happy surprise and lost his composure.

On a simple rocking chair behind the desk, with his two black feet thrown over the desktop, captain Rudder Knapp sat and reclined nonchalantly, sniffing on a pipe while chewing on black tobacco. His green uniform jacket was opened, and the belt with the iron shortsword in its sheath dangled towards the floor. He had a mostly white fur with an upper head covered by brown and black speckles which continued down the back of his neck. The massive white moustache was completely covering his browning incisors. Four fleshy scars leapt diagonally over his head, narrowly missing his right eye - a result of a direct confrontation with a ferocious wild badger, or had it been a bobcat?

Two wooden seats were brought forth to Art and Cinnie, and they were told to sit down.

"Julian Sal," Rudder began and spat out a big black gob of saliva-drenched tobacco towards a clay bowl on the floor, "he'd said you made a terrible mess out'a good Mr Owin Sal's convenience shop, Cinnabar Rusk? Is that true?"

Cinnabar was still surprised by the reality of it. There was Rudder Knapp, the legendary commander of the Northern Rim Corps, who've led no less than twenty expeditions to the other side of the Rim.

"Is it true," Cinnabar began, half-whispering, the tip of his tail vibrating with anticipation, "as they say, that the good captain Sir killed three Lucaean chiefs last year at the other side."

Rudder stretched his thin neck.

"Rather," he said and picked his left ear with the narrow end of the pipe, "it was one Lucaean bandit chief, another Lucaean, and then five Canaeans serving 'em! I've made me a necklace of their ears, but a very special lady took it as a memory, 'n I would be fool for mentionin' her name! Curse me then, Goddess! I took me a tail, from the last Lucaean, but she escaped cross the icy Lake Karm! The tail now hangs from my lance!"

One of the guards moved around the desk and whispered while pointing at Cinnabar and Art.

"Well," Rudder said and leaned over the table. "Is it true, ehm? Did you demolish Mr Owin's convenience shop? Answer, kid!"

"No, Sir!" Cinnabar let out, stood up and made a salute by smacking his fist against his chest three times. He was forced down again by the guards. "I admit a shelf was damaged, but it was an accident!"

"Good lad!" Rudder noted and chewed off another piece of tobacco. "What did you lads have in Ruskebó to do?"

"Buy pots to compensate Mr Owin for his loss, Sir!" Cinnabar explained. "Sir yes sir!"

The corners of Rudder's mouth moved up.

"That's a good lad! Why did you start a fight with the town boys then?"

"Because they surrounded us Sir!" Cinnabar replied. "They also threatened us with clubs and whips, and they insulted us!"

"So you attacked them?" Rudder noted, while absent-mindedly puffing on his pipe, held against his nostril.

"Yes."

"Why? They're five. You're two."

"That's the answer Sir!" Cinnabar exclaimed. "If I'd allowed them to attack us immediately, they would overwhelm us. So I did... like you did a Dresérren, good sir! I took them by surprise by attacking them first!"

"Dresérren," the captain smiled, as his eyes became moistly. "Three years ago! Me and my three lads, against nine Canaeans - large bumpkins and marauders! We all fell over 'em, and those dumb brutes folded and fled! We took two tails that day, and we've only lost one buck! They made a song 'bout it!"

Cinnabar started to sing, while nodding to Art to clap the rhythm. It was a song very popular in outside halls serving alcoholic beverages made from various flowers and saps, and it sounded the way.

"Oh Rudder the scarecrow buck, hee-hee

He rode down hills at Dresérren, hee-hee

Nine pups, nine pups he saw, he saw

At Dresérren

Oh Rudder, ye big ole' fool, hee-hee

Ye tripped over some elken stool, hee-hee

A terrible noise ye made, hee-hee

And the pups, the pups, they Rudder saw, hee-hee

But Rudder he grasped, he grasped

Trusty old Stain, hee-hee

'N he scream'd 'n flew 'em over

The pups 'ey yelped, hee-hee

'N they ran, they ran, over for cover!

Hee-hee! Hee-hee!"

Rudder applauded and laughed, bouncing his rocking chair so much Cinnabar almost feared he would fall down.

"You're brave, lads," he said, "and would make fine soldiers. But you'll never be!"

Cinnabar tilted his head and opened his mouth a little. "Why you say so, good sir?"

Art began to shiver once again.

"You've run into the Store. Not mine decision... no no! But you destroyed government property!"

"The people's property!" Cinnabar protested. "The government only stores it! They buy it from merchants, and then sell it to the people! What good do the government have for rakes and pots, for casseroles and nails? Plates? For what good is that?"

Rudder shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Well," he said. "I don't care for that, but the law's the law! You've attacked the Republic, lad! Expect some trouble ahead at court!"

Once again Cinnabar stood up. "But good Sir! This is a travesty of justice! What should've we done, when Roland and his thugs forced us to take shelter in the store? This is not fair!" he protested and crossed his arms.

"What's not to be fair? Life?"

Art looked up as he shivered. "W-w-w-w..," he half-whispered.

"What are you trying to ask, little Buck?" Rudder let out and stood up.

"I... I don't know, b-b-but, w-w-w-W-w-what p-p-punishment we'll g-g-get!?"

"You're a defiant little one, aren't you?" Rudder gruffed and turned his back towards the lads.

"Well," he said, coughing a little, "I don't know what punishment you'll get, but since you destroyed government property... it won't be an issue for the peace judge here but for the top judiciary in Glennenmór!"

"You see," Cinnabar grinned towards Art, "Dad will get us out from this mess in no time! My father's a lawyer - the best one in the Capitol! The government has listened to his advice!"

"Well, well," Rudder shrugged his shoulders. "I do not care, if it works that way it works that way... I've done my business..."

The door flew up, and in flew Claudia Rusk, her eartips vibrating with anger. Despite that she had gained some weight, she was smaller than her son. She wore her councillor's tunic with a striped sash moving from her left shoulder down to her waist. Her fur was deep red, with a white front and tail, and the tips of the ears were black and almost pointy. She had a black mop of hair on her head, almost as black as her eyes which glowed with fury.

"Oh, there is my beloved son!" she said, sighing with relief. "Think, I thought you had put my innocent angel-boy in the cells!"

"Mother!" Cinnabar complained. "You think a little cell can break..."

"SHUT UP!" Claudia yelled at him so he shuddered back, before she turned towards captain Rudder, who mostly seemed preoccupied rocking on his chair.

"Captain,where's the constable!?"

"He's up at Vinegar Ridge," Rudder said and used a flint-igniter to put fire under his pipe again. "Someone had seen weird shining birds there, and a burrow had been demolished by something. A family gone, apart from a little one. He was strewn around an area, his guts and liver everywhere! I say it, it was a mess!"

"Isn't that the job of the Rim Guard to deal with that, captain?" Claudia snorted, her eyes narrowing. "And don't you dare telling my son of these things! He's a very sensitive being!"

"Yeah... and I've got ten lads around there. Not my fault constable Marthijn wanted a look for himself, m'lady! Might be a demented murderer sneaking around..."

"You would never - never - dare address me like that if you worked for the District, captain!"

Rudder put up his feet on the desk again, leaning back on his arms. "Well, m'lady," he said and poked his ear with the pipe. "I'm working for the Armed Forces, and the Rim Guard..."

"Yes!" Claudia whined. "And that's why you have no authority to lay your filthy soldier hands on the innocent head of my son!"

"If I hadn't lied my 'filthy soldier hands' on the lad, he would've been ripped to shreds by now..."

"You should've apprehended those little monsters!" Claudia let out. "They are always... always tormenting my sweet little flower! How should I dare set him free!"

"Mother, I am six!" Cinnabar protested angrily, trying to make his voice more deep and menacing.

"SHUT UP, CINDY!"

Cinnabar sank down, burning with rage and embarrassment. He hated when his mother called him that, especially before other adults. For once, he was glad he hadn't straight, normal ears - for they would have lowered now if he had them that way.

Claudia moved to Rudder's side of the desk, leaning in over the little cavalry commander, staring at him.

"You've should not have apprehended my poor sweet boy! I will write a letter to General Haythorn Lange and tell him what happened!"

Rudder whistled between his teeth. "I'm beyond retirement age anyway, m'lady! And it was Valence who called for me - it was real brutal that fight! I'm hearing that young lad Roland's at Dr Celeste's clinic, what a concussion he got!"

"Excuses! You apprehended my boy! You should've sent him to the doctor! I mean look at him! He's full with bleeding wounds! Everywhere! Look at his eye! I don't want my son to get blind in one eye!"

Cinnabar sighed. "Mother! I'm fine..."

"SHUT UP! You see, captain, your actions were beyond deplorable!"

"Yeah, I'm just a stupid military grunt, councillor," Rudder said slowly and stood up. "And a brute at that. But let me tell you one thing, councillor Claudia - without us in the Rim Guard, you would not be here pampering your little fighting beast! You would shudder in some burrow when the Lucaeans and the Mustelans stalk around your dreams! You would be ensnared by some Vulpean wench, or tore limb from limb by Canaeans! To not speak of what the Gulans are doing with their victims. So, councillor-doe Claudia, scream all what you want, but remember that the armed forces - and the Rim Guard in particular - are what keeps the Flower Valley safe at night!"

"Safe from what!?" Claudia grimaced. "A few scabby Canaeans, an occasional lone Ursian, and sorry Vulpeans! You people are moochers, an antique institution which should've been abolished a hundred years ago! You just sit on your asses most of the year, and then venture out on a few expeditions here and there! No, what this country need is a national militia, not a 'professional army' which neither is professional or an army!"

Cinnabar sank down and felt as if he wanted the Earth to swallow him. He was ashamed, on behalf of his mother!

"National militias," Rudder scoffed. "Well, entertain that thought m'lady, for you never be as close to the Oak Chair as when you visit your kin in Glennenmór!"

Claudia suddenly gave Rudder a hit, but he gripped her wrist and moved her hand away. For a moment, Cinnabar thought that his mother would plunge at the old captain. She showed her teeth and seemed to be prepared to go for a jump. Then she calmed down and took three steps back.

Cinnabar noted that the old guy held a hand on his sword handle. "Good that ye thinking of your son, m'lady! He's a fine lad!" Rudder said, appreciatively.

Claudia stretched her neck. "You are a living relic, Rudder Knapp. Your kind will die out soon. We have not had a war for over two hundred years, and I do not think we ever will have one again. Ever! The Republic is safe, surrounded by the Rim! Come on now, boys!"

"Let's pray to the Goddess for peace, m'lady!" Rudder yelled as they left the room. "I certainly know how dangerous the world outside is! And don't thank me, m'lady, for saving your son's life!"

She slammed the door behind him and they ventured home.

*

"Hzzh!"

"Don't be such a crybaby, Cindy!" Cornelia chastised him as she cleaned the wound on his temple, using medicine made from herbs, resin, ash from white moss applied on a wad made from broccoli.

"Then don't be so rough, sis'!" Cinnabar complained.

"Crybaby!" Cornelia teased him and waved her tongue before him. Cinnabar gave her a hit on her side and she awarded him by grabbing his fist and then pressing it together so it hurt. She had strong hands, Cornelia Rusk.

"Stop bickering now!" Claudia said as she stood at the living room window, her arms crossed. She looked out over the landscape towards Ruskebó.

"Mom!" Cornelia complained. "If Cindy is going to continue like this, I'm not going to clean his wounds!"

"I don't want her to clean my wounds, mom!" Cinnabar protested.

"Shut up both of you, if you don't clean his wounds he'll get a fever and die! Remember what happened with... with your siblings."

When Cinnabar and Cornelia had been two years old, an epidemic of tularaemia had ravaged the Republic. Charlotte and Curio, the litter siblings of Cinnabar and Cornelia, had perished, like a fifth of the colony's population and nearly half the young children. That had taken their mother very hard, especially as she had planned her pregnancy to coincide with a previous tularaemia epidemic, since they used to pass with seven to ten years frequency. Alas, that epidemic had followed a mere three years after the other.

A tear slowly flowed down Claudia's cheek. She wiped it away and raised her ears.

It was said that Cornelia looked like their mother had done when she was young. She was considered a beauty, flawless red-brown fur, black and white around the eyes, perfectly symmetric, and like their mother beautiful elongated ears, ending with white tips in her case. Her tail was white too. She had a white spot on her cheeks. One of the reasons that Roland had a thorn in his side to the Claudia household was that he had been snubbed by Cornelia one year before. She had a perfect figure, the shape of the thighs entirely right. Maybe she was a bit thin, but that was only because she moved so much. She always had to do something - chores, chores, chores. Agriculture. Cleaning. Making food. Helping to construct buildings for the colony. And she never failed to remind Cinnabar what a lazy slob he was. Never.

"We're sorry, mom," Cinnabar and Cornelia said simultaneously, then looking at one another with disgust.

Claudia started to walk around their large, vaulted living room, over the beautifully patterned carpet and leant against their incisor-made table of birch-wood.

"Well children! What's happened has happened. Never cry over spoiled clover, heh? But I have something important to tell you both... do you know who Jazlene Astis is?"

Cornelia wrinkled her nose. Cinnabar stretched up his chubby arm. "She's the Oakenchair. The forty-eight Oakenchair. She's been elected four times by the popular assembly!"

"Very good, Cinnabar, that you have such an excellent head for study!"

Cinnabar raised his head in pride, both because his mother affirmed his superior intellect, and because she referred to him by his full name.

"Now, since you are so bright, I want you to explain what happened when the Monarchy was overthrown. I know that you know it, my son."

Cinnabar breathed in and tapped his fingers. "Well," he said and made an expression as if he was lecturing. Cornelia sighed and made a sanctimonious look.

"It began," Cinnabar began, "when Damon Hassla, the second king of the Flower Valley, decided to forcefully rape Rosinda Astis in public. The Astis matriarchs made a judgement that the King would have to answer before them for the insult, and they sent Marcus Astis and Philip Thál to Hassla as their delegates. Damon proceeded to dig an arena, and placed the two friends there, armed with wooden knives, to fend off against a dozen Canaean prisoners of war. This brought the clans of Astis and Thál into war against the Hassla, who were aligned with the clans Knapp and Staris, and loyally served by my ancestor, Tobias Rusk, son of Anton Rusk. Tobias captured the town of Glennenmór for the monarchy, and Damon ordered him to kill all the Astes in the city - but he pardoned them, because it was a cruel deed and because the spouse of our ancestor Rusk had been Ásta, the ancestor of the Astes. So Astes and Rusks really are descended from the same family which has branched out. Anyway, where was I. Tobias Rusk was demoted by Damon, who proceeded to appoint Cadflynn Weil to massacre the Astes..."

Cornelia lost it. "PLEASE JUST COME TO THE CONCLUSION!" she screamed. "YOU SHOULD REALLY LECTURE AT THE UNIVERSITY SO MUCH THAT YOU LOVE YOUR VOICE!"

Cinnabar grinned. "That's only because you cannot read sis'!"

"That's it!" Cornelia said and began to leave the living room, until Claudia ordered her to stay. The litter sister's ears lowered, and she turned around under protest.

"What my son has said," Claudia summarised, "is that the reason for the foundation of the Republic was that it solved an ancient dilemma. How would twenty-five or so clans, heavily territorial, be able to co-exist on a limited space. Prior to the Settlement, we were a nomadic tribal society. Mathyn, our glorious ancestor, brought us to this land and it was here that we learnt agriculture. That meant that our prosperity grew, but also that clans moved into conflicts with one another, over land and over petty issues. Every colony fended for itself, and brutal clan wars soon became the norm. That invited the Enemy Nations to settle the land - they hunted us to near extinction.

Gilbert Hassla managed to unite us Leporians and throw out the intruders," she summarised, and Cinnabar so wanted to interject that Anton Rusk had also played a pivotal role. "And in order to prevent foreign invasions," his mother continued, ignoring his raised hand, "Gilbert was elected King by the clans. He was a decent King and everyone respected him. His grandson however was a tyrant, and split the clans all over again. A civil war was fought, first for the overthrowing of the tyrant, and then for who was going to replace him. The Astes also led a near-genocide of the Hassla clan. A third of the Flower Valley population died in that war."

She moved around, continuing. "The Republic, instituted by a group of very wise matriarchs, and very weary fighters, was designed so no single clan would dominate the common government, and with the explicit blind eye to our clan structure, through a set of norms and institutions. Let me tell you this Cinnabar, you won't want your father for a lawyer, for he is expected to not argue very hard for your case."

"But why?" Cinnabar protested.

"Because otherwise, as a public servant, your father will be seen as nepotistic, and it will hurt the standing of the Rusks of Glennenmór."

"I knew that!" Cornelia said.

Now it was Cinnabar's turn to show her his tongue. Their mother told them off by a loud shriek and a stomp on the wooden floor. The two siblings straightened up and turned their attention to her.

"Listen now," she said, "the Republic has managed, by a mixture of legalism and underhand compromises, to keep the peace between the clans, by ensuring that no clan is dominating above anyone else. Sadly, for the last eighty years, that system has been destroyed. For the last seventy-three out of eighty-three years, the Oak Chair has been under the asses of the Astes. For the remaining ten of these eight decades - over ten generations - the Chair has been occupied by non-entities loyal to the Astis clan."

Cinnabar felt how his cheeks burnt. Why had he never recognised that pattern? Of course, he had known that the Tulip Party had dominated, but he had never seen them as a tool for Astis domination.

"So?" Cornelia wondered and shrugged her shoulders. She had sunk down on the floor, her legs crossed.

"One unwritten condition for the Republic is that each clan would get de-facto suzerainty over their own original land. That means that it is presumed that a family originating from a particular place should be dominating that place, by controlling the secular and spiritual seats of power, at least by commanding a plurality of councillor seats. That is of course severely limiting to the power of the Tulip Party and the Astis matriarchs who command the threads behind it. So, they strive for every opportunity to tacitly reduce the local power of clans over their ancestral lands."

Cornelia wrinkled her nose. "What does 'tacitly' mean?" she wondered.

You're so stupid, sis', Cinnabar felt he should say, but he feared his mother's wroth so he kept his thoughts for himself and scoffed. Cornelia threw him an angry glance beneath her forelock.

Claudia continued. "I know my Cindy," (mother, why do you have to call me that?), "would never willingly vandalise the General Community Store. It is just a very bad place to choose to fight in, since our family originally opposed the institution of them nine years ago. I remember that because I was at your age then, children. My mother, your late grandmother Jacynta Rusk, who was sitting at the Popular Assembly, was one of the leaders of the opposition."

"But the General Community Stores are good!" Cornelia protested. "Why would anyone oppose them? I can find tools there that are not produced in this District, or in the north at all! Last week, I bought myself a dibber there, very handy!"

"The General Community Stores," Claudia Rusk continued, "are universally popular amongst the people. There you can trade everything that previous generations only found in Glennenmór and Rósebó. But can't you see children... yes Cindy?"

Cinnabar ignored his mother's insult, his arm had been stretched up for a considerable time now. "The General Community Stores are operated by the Republic Government, and therefore they are under Republic Control, and since the Republic is controlled by the Astes, it means that the clan Astis is getting influence over the District of Ruskebó!"

"Oh! What a clever son I have! You're making your mother proud! What a shame you're born with the wrong gender - you would make an excellent Oakenchair!"

Cornelia turned away her head while Cinnabar smiled widely and raised his chest like the proudest peacock in the world.

"Anyway," Claudia said, "I had not intended to tell this before the next year, you children deserve your innocent look at the world. But the provocation today down at Ruskebó proved to me that the Astes have allies amongst the lesser clans having settled here during decades and centuries of peace. That... rubble rabble... are a strange mixture of interbred lowlifes, the Sals, the Sommers, the Mársks, the Tháls, and they love one another and they loooove the Tulip Party - good little voters are they! And the Astes would love to deprive us of our rightful position as the four-leaved clovers of Ruskebó! They may have Glennenmór, but they won't set their grasp on_our_ seat of power! Hmmphf!"

"How can we help, mother?" Cornelia asked.

Claudia moved forward and pat her daughter on the head. "My daughter!" she exclaimed. "Never shall you forget that our clan comes first. If you can, find a good Rusk to breed with, and check his genealogy for diseases or taint by rubble rabble! Be fair and harsh with those of lower standing, but always be generous and open-hearted with another Rusk! Think of our House, and install in your children pride and strength!"

Then she turned towards Cinnabar. "And remember, there is nothing House Rusk cannot conquer or prevail!"