Mossflower

BOOK TWO

Salamandastron

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Skipper hobbled into the dining room at Brockhali. He sat down with a sigh of

relief, rubbing his tail and paws.

Fortunata and Mask were clearing away the lunchtime dishes. The sly vixen

nodded toward Skipper and winked at her companion. Mask looked slightly

bemused, but Fortunata winked again as she sauntered over to the otter.

"What seems to be the trouble, sir?" she asked solicitously. "Is it an old

injury?"

Skipper shook his head and continued rubbing. "No, it's these pains I get in

me paws and tail. The minute I come out of the water, or even after a

rainshower these days, it starts throbbing right into me old bones. Ooh, the

pains, matey. It's agony!"

Fortunata crouched in front of Skipper. "Here, allow me to take a look, sir.

I'm a healer of pains.''

First she stroked the fur on Skipper's paws, then she probed , and tested with

her claws. The otter put on a fine display of anguish.

"Ow, ooch," he exclaimed. "That's it, right there. You touched the very spot."

The vixen stroked her whiskers, looking very professional. *'Hmm, yes, I think

you've got a touch of the stiffeners," she told him.

Skipper expressed concern. "The stiffeners? Float me tail, is that bad?"

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Fortunata shook her head gravely. "It will be, if you let it get any worse.

I've seen otters bent double with the stiffen-ers. Very, very, painful

indeed.'*

"Can you cure me, Besomtail?" he asked.

Fortunata leaned against the table. "Feverfew, wormwood, extract of nightshade

leaf to stop the pain, that's what you need. Plus, of course, a few other

items that I don't normally carry with me."

"But you can get them?" Skipper asked hopefully.

Fortunata smiled at Mask. "Well, I suppose so. Though I'll have to go out into

the woods to gather them. What d'you say, Patchcoat?"

Mask had caught on to the scheme. "Right, Besomtail," he said. "We'd better go

out into the woodlands and hunt for the stuff. After all they Ve done for us

here, it'd be a shame to watch this poor otter suffer when we can help him."

Fortunata kept her voice light and casual. "Of course we'd need a couple of

helpers, creatures that aren't needed for other duties. What about those two

little hedgehogs? I'll bet they'd love a romp in the woods."

Spike and Posy (disguised as Ferdy and Coggs) were eager to help. Goody

Stickle wiped their snouts with her apron corner.

"Now mind you, don't go a botherin* the healers," she warned them. "Behave

yourselves like two liddle gen-tle'ogs."

Fortunata patted them gingerly on their heads. "Oh, they'll be just fine with

old Patchcoat and me, marm."

The healer and her assistant strode off, in the wake of the two small

hedgehogs who scampered playfully ahead. Mask hitched the medicine bag around

his neck as he trudged along with the vixen.

"Here, Besomtail, what are you up to now?" he asked. "I thought we were

supposed to escape back to Kotir and tell this Queen of yours where the

woodlanders are hiding out."

Fortunata ducked an overhanging branch. "That's exactly what we're going to

do, Patchcoat, but there's no harm in bringing back a couple of escaped

prisoners while we're about it. You wait and see. It'll be an extra feather in

both our caps,

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though I'd hate to be one of those young hedgehogs when Tsarmina has them back

under her claws."

Mask felt a cold hatred for the cruel vixen, but long practice had taught him

to keep a straight face.

Fortunata watched the two little ones tussling happily in the loam. "We'll get

the credit for them, eh, mate."

"You'll get what's coming to you today." Mask's voice had sunk to a grim

whisper.

Fortunata only half-heard her strange companion. "Eh, what's that?"

Mask looked around him. "I said, I'm not sure if this is the way."

"Oh no, don't tell me we're lost," Fortunata groaned.

Mask pointed to a fork in the trail. "No, wait a moment, it's one of these two

paths. Listen, I'll take this path to the right and keep an eye on these

hedgehogs. You take the one to the left. If it's the real trail, you'll come

across a fallen beech. Give me a call. If I find the beech on my trail, I'll

give you a yelp."

Fortunata parted from them, calling out to the hedgehogs, "Be good, little

ones. Stay with Uncle Patchcoat. I'll see you later."

When the vixen was gone, Mask sat on a chestnut stump. He gave Spike and Posy

a sugared hazelnut each.

"You're not really our Uncle Patchcoat, are you?" Posy giggled.

Mask patted her gently. "No, I'm not. And Besomtail isn't your aunt. But I

don't think we'll be seeing her again."

Spike stared gravely at the otter. "Can we call you Mr. Mask again?"

Mask gave them his canteen to drink from. He wiped nut fragments from their

faces with his false tail.

"Not until we're saie back at Brockhall tonight," he said firmly. "Pretend for

now that I really am your Uncle Patch-coat."

Posy hugged the false tail to her comfortingly. "You're a nice old Uncle

Patchcoat."

Beneath his disguise Mask blushed with pleasure.

Fortunata spotted the fallen beech ahead. She leaned against it with a sigh of

relief.

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"Phew! Thank the fang this is the right trail," she said aloud. "Soon as I get

my breath back, I'll give Patchcoat a call."

"You've done all the calling you're going to do, traitor!" Lady Amber and ten

squirrels dropped from the trees and stood blocking the vixen's path, each

with an arrow notched on a drawn bowstring.

Instinctively Fortunata knew her plans had gone badly astray. She cowered down

with drooping ears.

"It was Patchcoat," she whined. "I wasn't going to harm the little ones. He

forced me to go along with his wicked plans. He said that—"

"Silence, fox!"

Lady Amber dropped her bushy tail flat along the ground.

Ten bowstrings strained tighter.

The squirrel leader pointed an accusing paw at the trapped spy. "We knew who

you were from the moment you entered these woods," she rasped. "When you left

Brockhall today I was only a treetop away from you. I heard every word that

passed between you and Mask.''

Fortunata crouched low, trying to offer as small a target as possible.

"No, you've got it wrong, he's Patchcoat the mercenary," she argued. "I don't

know any creature called Mask. Wait, yes I do, there's another fox named Mask.

He lives over by Kotir—a real evil creature. He's the one you want. I'll take

you to him."

"Spare me your lies, fox." Amber's voice was flat and harsh. "You have lived

the life of a traitor and earned the reward of treachery. Tell your deceitful

tales to whoever meets you at the gates of Dark Forest."

Amber's tail flicked upright like a banner.

Ten arrows flew straight and true!

O for the life of a sailormouse,

It's better than Kotir gaol,

A rest for the weary traveling paws,

With the wind to drive our sail.

There's a shrew for skipper

Two mice for mates,

And a mole for a cabin boy.

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t

When we sight Salamandastron,

•

We'll shout out loud, Ahoy!

Midafternoon on the waters of the Great South Stream saw the friends learning

to handle the boat that Log-a-Log had named Waterwing. Martin was taking a

turn at the tiller under the shrew's guiding paw, while Gonff charged about

playfully trying to air his new-found nautical knowledge.

"Keep her downwind, me lads. Steady at the tiller there. Watch your larboard

side, Cap'n Log-a-Log. Bring the helm a point to starboard. Steady as she

goes!"

Dinny was definitely not cut out for a sailor's life. The young mole lay

amidships clutching his stomach.

"Burr oo, 'ush 'ee, Gonffen. This yurr pore mole be a-dyen. Yurr, c 'n oi goo

ashore an' walk apiece, 'twould stopp *ee wurld goen round."

Log-a-Log produced some herbs for Dinny to chew upon. After a while he felt

better, but he kept up a steady stream of comments.

"Oi'd as soon be a gurt burdbag flyen in 'ee sky than sailen on this yurr

streamer."

Martin watched the stream carefully. The mountains towered right over them

now, blocking out the sky ahead.

"Log-a-Log, have you noticed the current? It's very swift here and getting

heavier. We're moving along a bit too fast for my liking."

"Aye, I've noticed the stream is starting to take a steep downward course,

Martin.'* The shrew looked worried yet Spoke calmly. "Here, Gonff. Let's see

you take the sail in and drop the mast. Better lend a paw, Martin and Dinny.

I'll take the tiller."

-. As they worked, the water began to get very choppy. Crested foamheads

began appearing around rocks which stuck up like jagged teeth in the swirling

flow. Log-a-Log was

; stretched to his limit holding the tiller and maneuvering Wa~

I terwing. The little craft began to buck and tilt; water was

; Splashing in heavily over the forward end.

"Leave the mast." The shrew's voice boomed out above

, the roar of water. "As long as the sail's down, bale her out

£ before we're swamped. Hurry!"

§ Waterwing leaped about like a frenzied salmon. The thun-

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der of the stream rose, echoing from the mouth of a dark tunnel forming

overhead. Hanging bushes and vegetation clawed at the small crew, while rocks

pounded dangerously at the sides of the boat. Without warning, they were swept

deep into the tunnel. The stream became a waterfall.

In a mad torrent of boiling white water they were hurled over the brink of the

chasm. Waterwing hung for a second in space, then plunged into the abyss. The

mast struck the mountainside. It snapped with a resounding crack and came

crashing down onto them.

Tsarmina stood in her usual position at the high chamber window, Cludd waiting

dutifully at one side.

"Spring vegetables aren't much use, Cludd. Find out what the birds like to

eat, and scatter some of it about. Set some traps and get the archers out. Fat

woodpigeons, a juicy thrush or two—that's the sort of thing we need."

"Yes, Milady, I'll see to it right away." The weasel Captain trudged oif

obediently.

Tsarmina leaned farther out the window, scanning the wood fringe. "No, wait!"

A strange-looking fox emerged from the undergrowth, tugging two little

hedgehogs along on a rope. It was plain to see he was in a hurry. Behind the

trio, a band of otters and squirrels came dashing in pursuit. Looking backward

at his pursuers, the fox tripped over the rope. The woodlanders dashed forward

and pounced upon him.

Tsarmina shoved Cludd to the door. "Quick, quick. Get down there and grab the

nearest troops. Help the fox. Hurry!"

The wildcat Queen raced back to the window yelling aloud, "Hold on, fox. We're

getting help out to you. Keep hold of those hedgehogs!"

The stranger put up what appeared to be a good fight. Unfortunately, he was

outnumbered. One group of woodlanders kept him busy defending himself, while

several squirrels slashed the rope from the captive hedgehogs, bearing them

oif into the trees, away into thick wooded Mossflower.

Late again! Tsarmina slammed her paw hard against the windowsill.

Down below, Cludd and a party of soldiers raced toward

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die melee. The woodlanders broke off the attack, vanishing like smoke into the

undergrowth.

Tsarmina was standing in the entrance hall as Cludd escorted the newcomer in.

She peered closely at the odd-looking stranger.

Mask panted heavily, slumping down on his haunches. "Whew, those squirrels and

otters fight like madbeasts!"

Tsarmina circled him. "You didn't do too badly yourself." There was grudging

admiration in her voice. "What's your name? How did you come here?"

Mask looked up at the wildcat. "I'm called Patchcoat. You must be Queen

Tsarmina of the Thousand Eyes. Fortunata told me about you."

"So, you've met the vixen. Where is Fortunata now?"

Mask shrugged. "Probably lying in the woods, full of squirrel arrows. She was

too slow to keep up. I could have beaten those woodlanders to here easily if

it hadn't been for that great dozy lump."

Stupidly, Cludd stepped forward. He prodded the strange fox with his spear.

"You still haven't told Milady why you're here, fox."

With a deft movement, Mask grabbed the spear, thudded the butt into Cludd's

midriff, bowled him over, and was standing on his chest with his dagger

pressed against the weasel's throat.

"Listen, fatguts," he growled dangerously. "I'll make you eat that spear if

you ever poke it at me again. Remember that. My name's Patchcoat the

mercenary, see. I sell my blade to the highest bidder."

Mask stood on Cludd's nose with one paw and executed a neat turn to teach the

weasel a painful lesson. Without even looking to see the result he turned to

Tsarmina.

"Ha, you could do with some proper fighters, Queen. Es-'pecially if that oaf

and Fortunata are a specimen of what you keep around here."

Tsarmina showed her great fangs in an approving smile.

"Well, at last a real warrior. Welcome to Kotir, Patchcoat.

Ita sure you'll do well here. Cludd, get up off the floor and

give this fox your Captain's cloak to wear. From now on

/you'll take orders from him."

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Sullenly Cludd undid his cloak, flinging it to Mask.

Ashleg stumped in with a band of soldiers. He threw a healer's bag upon the

floor.

"We tried tracking those woodlanders, Milady," he reported sadly. "But they're

well away. I found Fortunata east of here, full of arrows. Her body is out on

the parade ground."

"Dead?"

"As a doornail, Milady."

• ' 'Then what do I want with a slain fox?'' Tsarmina asked impatiently.

"Throw it out in the woods for the eagle."

Tsarmina started back up the staircase. "Patchcoat, I'll be up in my chamber.

Come up later. I'm sure we have plenty to discuss together.' *

Mask fastened on the cloak of Captaincy. ' 'Aye, later, Milady. First I want

to inspect these cells Fortunata told me about. Maybe I can discover how two

young hedgehogs escaped from them so easily.''

Tsarmina climbed the stairs pensively. This strange fox was certainly a lucky

find.

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Time stood still. Martin imagined he was back under the river in Mossflower

being towed along by an otter. Everything was pitch-black and ice-cold. A

million thoughts rushed through his brain, bringing memories flooding back:

his father leaving to fight the sea rats . . . Tsarmina snarling at him ...

the kind face of Bella at Brockhall. . . Dinny chuckling as he wrestled with

Gonff . . . Everything whirled together into one great maelstrom of crashing

water, then there was silence.

Martin felt mossy ground against his wet back.

"Not dead, bring medicine, medicine," a sibilant voice was saying somewhere

close.

The warrior mouse felt some vile-tasting liquid being poured between his lips.

He opened his eyes.

He was lying on a broad ledge, which was covered in velvety moss. Soft light

cast flickering luminous water patterns around the rock face. A mouse was

standing over him, another crouched nearby. Martin took a second look. Surely

these creatures could not be mice? They had very little fur, black leathery

skin and, oddest of all, wings!

The one nearest pushed the bowl toward Martin with a black claw.

Martin smelt the putrid medicine and pushed it away. "No more, thank you. I'm

all right now. Where am I? Who are you?"

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"Lie still, lie still. We are the tribe of Lord Cayvear who is ruler of Bat

Mountpit. You will not be harmed, not be harmed," the creature assured him.

Martin sat up, he felt wet but unhurt. "My name is Martin the Warrior. There

"were three others with me—a shrew, a mouse and a mole. Where are they? Have

they been rescued from the water?"

The other bat shuffled over. "I am Rockhanger. This is Wingfold. We have found

the angry one and the strong tun-neller, but no other creature, no other

creature."

Martin stood and leaned against the rocks. His head was aching and he felt a

large bump between his ears.

"The other mouse is called Gonff. You'll know him easily. He's a cheeky little

thief who loves to sing. He's my friend, and we must find him," he said

anxiously.

Rockhanger felt with the edge of his wing across Martin's face and body.

Martin recoiled and then stood still. Rock-hanger was blind.

The bat chuckled; it came out like a dry hiss.

"No creature is blind who sees by touch. If I tried hard enough I would see

you with my eyes, but the tribe of Bat Mountpit gave up the use of eyesight

long ago. We can feel in the dark, feel in the dark."

The bats led Martin away from the ledge with its constant sound of falling

water. They made their way along a network of caves connected by a series of

passages. In the first cave they entered Martin found Log-a-Log and Young

Dinny.

"Yurr, Marthen. Woip wet ofF'n 'ee." The mole tossed him a heap of soft dried

moss.

The warrior mouse dried himself vigorously, bringing the warmth back to his

body.

"Has there been any news of Gonff?" he asked his friends.

Log-a-Log squinted in the pale light that diffused throughout the regions of

Bat Mountpit.

"None at all," he said sadly. "We've lost Waterwing too, after all the work I

put in on that boat."

Dinny wrinkled his snout. "Ho urr, c'n allus make 'nother bowt, but thurr be

on'y one Gonffen."

A bat came in carrying food for them. "I am Darkfur. Eat, eat. Our tribe are

searching for your friend, for your friend.''

The three companions took the edge off their hunger with

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the food of the bats. There was hot mushroom soup and a drink made from some

salty-tasting waterweed. The rest was not easy to identify, though it was

quite palatable.

Martin ate automatically. A great weight hung upon his spirit. He could not

imagine life without his mousethief friend at his side.

After the meal they rested awhile to recover from their ordeal. When Martin

awoke, Log-a-Log and Dinny were still sleeping. There was an enormous bat

standing over them. The stranger touched him lightly with a wingclaw.

"You are Martin the Warrior. I am Lord Cayvear, High Chief of the dark places.

Welcome, welcome."

Martin stood up and bowed. "Thank you for looking after our safety, Lord

Cayvear. Is there any news of our friend Gonff?"

"Not yet, not yet, but sometimes no news is good news," Lord Cayvear said

reassuringly. "My scouts are searching, searching."

Martin paced the cave anxiously.' 'Lord Cayvear, I cannot stay here feeling

helpless while my friend may be in great danger.''

The great bat folded his wings. "I know, I know. You would not be a true

friend if you did, Martin. Come with me. We will search together. Let these

two sleep on; it will do them good, do them good."

Mask strode down to the cells with a businesslike air, his Captain's cloak

swirling splendidly.

"Hey, where d'you think you're off to?" a weasel on sen-•; try duty in the

corridor challenged him insolently.

The disguised otter rounded on the unfortunate guard, stamping his paw down

hard in fine military fashion.

"Stand to attention when you address a Captain, you .scruffy idle mud-brained

scum."

The weasel gulped, coming swiftly to attention. "Sorry, Captain. I didn't

realize ..."

; Mask stood, paws akimbo, sneering contemptuously. "Chin in, chest out,

eyes front, spear straight, shield up. Up, SI said. So, you didn't realize. It

strikes me there's been quite &a bit of 'not realizing* going on down here.

You probably didn't realize it when the prisoners escaped. Well, let me tell

I, my mangy-furred laddo, things are going to be different

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around here. You'll learn to jump when you hear the name of Captain Patchcoat

in future. Either that, or you and your cronies will find out what double

duties in full pack on half-rations mean. Do I make myself clear?"

The weasel banged his spearbutt resoundingly against the floor. "Very clear,

sah!"

"Right. Lead me to the wildcat's cell, then get back about your duties," Mask

ordered sternly.

"Follow me, sah!"

Gingivere heard the rapid paws marching down the passage. With practiced ease

he slung Ferdy and Coggs up into their haversacks and sat on the floor,

looking forlorn.

The wildcat gaped vacantly through the bars at the evil-looking fox on the

other side of the door grille.

When the sentry departed, Mask held up a paw to forestall questions. "I am the

Mask. The Corim sent me to free you. Are the hedgehogs with you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then be ready tonight."

"You mean we're getting out tonight?" Gingivere asked incredulously.

"Aye, if I can swing it. Tell Chibb there must be a good force of woodlanders

waiting in the thickets on the east side. I Ve got to go now. Be ready

tonight." Mask strode off down the passage, every inch the Captain of Kotir.

Ferdy and Coggs made the haversacks dance and wriggle.

"Hooray, we're going home tonight!"

"Who was that, Mr. Gingivere? Was it a fox?"

"You tell me, little Coggs. How the Corim could employ any creature so

evil-looking, is beyond me."

"Look at me, Mr. Gingivere. Do I look evil?" Ferdy called, sticking his snout

out of the haversack. "I can, you know. All I do is shut one eye and pull my

snout to the left, like this."

"By the fur, you're frightening the life out of me, Ferdy. Best leave your

snout alone or it'll stick like that."

"Can we come down to play, Mr. Gingivere, please," Coggs pleaded.

"Not right now. Try and get some sleep up there. I'll call you when Mr. Mask

gets back tonight. We'll need to be

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bright and alert if we're to make it back to your friends and family in

Mossflower."

Martin was astonished by the size of Lord Cayvear's domain. Bat Mountpit was

vast and impressive, with chasms, tunnels, streams, caves, waterfalls, and

underground lakes. Lord Cay-vear pointed out his tribe. Those not searching

for Gonff were farming great areas of edible roots, mushrooms and subterranean

plants, while others fished the lakes.

But there was still no trace of Gonff the mousethief. Having climbed upward in

the search, they spanned the high cave galleries, leading off a central

pathway that rose steeply. At the top Lord Cayvear stopped. He turned, barring

the path with outstretched wings.

"We go no further, no further," he stated.

Martin pointed upward. "But, Lord Cayvear, I'm certain I can see the glimmer

of daylight up ahead.''

The great bat was unmoved. "So you can, Martin. So you can. The outside world

may be reached from up there, but none may venture further. There is a large

bird of prey roosting higher up, far bigger than any bat. It is a killer. Many

of my bats who went up that way were never seen again, never seen again."

• Martin gave one last dejected look at the slim shaft of light and

turned back.

The little bats were curious and delighted with Dinny. They were under the

impression that the mole was a fat bat without wings. Dinny liked the idea.

"Ho urr, batmousen. Oi do fly under 'ee soil. That's as *ow oi wore moi wings

out wi' all that diggen."

The little bats laughed. "Mr. Dinny, you are funny, ftmny!"

Martin called Dinny and Log-a-Log together to discuss . their position.

"As I see it, there's one way into Bat Mountpit, and that's the way we came

in. As for the way out, it's a high passage with an opening, but it's barred

by some large bird of prey. Even Lord Cayvear fears to go up there."

"Burr, do 'ee say wot sort of burdbag it be?" Dinny asked.

-. Martin shrugged. "That I don't know, Din. I only hope

I

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poor Gonff wasn't taken by it. Listen, we must find a way past that bird to

continue the quest. Gonff would have wished it."

Log-a-Log was not optimistic. "If the big bird could kill Lord Cayvear, what

chance would we have?"

Martin unwound his sling. "Still, we've got to give it a try."

"You'm caint do it wi* slings, Marthen. But if yon burdbag is 'igh up, then oi

knows an ole mole trick to cave 'im out," Dinny promised.

Lord Cayvear materialized out of the gloom. "How would you do it? What is your

plan, your plan?"

"Urr, oi get'n b'neath *im an* dig away 'ee nest, then push so it fall

out'ards down 'ee mounting," the mole explained.

Lord Cayvear flapped his wings and flew upward, hanging upside down by his

claws.

"Can you do it, do it?" His voice was an excited hiss.

Martin patted Dinny on the back. "Lord Cayvear, if this mole says he can do

it, then rest assured, he can. Come on, we can given him some assistance."

Darkness had scarcely fallen over the woodlands. Treetops were touched by the

fires of the setting sun, and evening birdsong was thinning out to the last

few warblers. The thickets at the east side of Kotir were packed with

squirrels and otters, each one personally paw-picked by Skipper and Lady

Amber. The two leaders listened to reports coming in.

"Squirrels ready, marm; archers in the low branches. Beech and Pear along with

Barklad and Springpaw, waiting to whirl the young uns off through the treetops

to Brockhall."

"Full crew standing by, Skip. Bula and Root to one side in case we need

decoys. All otters fully loaded—slings and javelins. We'll give 'em plenty to

think about if it comes to a fight."

They lay in wait, watching the night grow older.

Bella and the Stickles, plus the Loam hedge mice, had stayed behind at

Brockhall, the Co rim decision being that this was a mission for the swiftest

and most warlike.

Inside Kotir, Mask made his way down to the cell areas. Inwardly, the otter

shuddered after his interview with the

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v wildcat Queen. Tsarmina's grisly plan for victory over the woodlanders did

not bear thinking about: enslavement, death and imprisonment. Nor did the

expression of fiendish delight upon her face every time she talked of

separating woodland families, locking infants in cells as hostages, wreaking a

murderous revenge on otters and squirrels, putting the old and infirm out to

the fields as enforced labor.

Mask went about his perilous game with a new determination.

Torches glittered in the brackets on the walls of the dismal cell passages.

The stoat on sentry duty had been warned of the bad-tempered Captain

Patchcoat. He had prepared himself well, even sweeping his part of the passage

with a broom.

At the sound of the Captain's approach, the stoat came smartly to attention,

awaiting orders. Mask came briskly along the passage.

"Hmmm, that's a bit more like it. Straighten that spear up " a touch," he

said, inspecting the sentry. "Good, anything to report?''

"All in order, Cap'n."

"Right. Get your keys out. The Queen wants a word with the traitor Gingivere."

"But Cap'n," the sentry gulped nervously, "Her Majesty gave strict orders that

he was never to be mentioned again, only fed and kept under lock and key.

That's what she said."

"Well, she's the Queen, mate," Mask chuckled, patting

the stoat's paw. "If she decides to change her mind, who are

you and I to say different? We're only common soldiers. But

I like your style; you've a lot more sense than the buffoon

who was on duty here earlier. You take your orders from me,

i soldier, and I'll see to it that you wear a Captain's cloak

before long. Tell you what: you give me the keys. That way

I'll take all the responsibility. You go and get your supper

and have a game of shove acorn with your mates."

; The stoat surrendered the keys willingly to Mask. Who

- said this new Captain was a bad-tempered fox? He saluted

smartly.

"Thanks, Cap'n. Give me a call if you need help."

Mask marched off down the passage, calling over his .£ shoulder, "No need,

mate. You carry on. I can take care of I

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a crazy half-starved cat anytime, or my name ain't Patch-coat."

Gingivere was ready with Ferdy and Coggs as the key grated in the lock. The

door swung open to reveal the strange fox with the evil countenance.

"Quickly, now," he whispered, holding a paw to his muzzle. "There's no time to

lose. Gingivere, you walk in front of me, I'll have my dagger out as if I'm

marching you up to the Queen's chamber. Ferdy, Coggs, get behind me, under my

cloak, and keep as close to me as possible. Don't make a sound; your lives

depend upon it."

To the casual observer, it looked as if there were only two creatures walking

along the passage, Gingivere and Captain Patchcoat. Ferdy and Coggs were

completely hidden beneath the Captain's cloak. They negotiated the cell area

successfully. Twice they passed guards who, knowing Captain Patch-coat's

reputation, saluted smartly, keeping their eyes to the front. Mask nodded

curtly to them. The escapers carried on up two flights of stairs and into the

main entrance passage.

Cludd strode out of the mess hall with another weasel named Brogg just as Mask

and Gingivere were passing. Cludd was still smarting from his demotion. "Watch

this, matey," he winked cunningly at Brogg. "I'll make old cleverwhiskers jump

through the roof. You'll see."

Mask's bushy imitation tail protruded from the bottom of the cloak that had

once been Cludd's pride and joy. Sneaking up behind Mask, Cludd stamped his

paw down hard and heavy on the tail, expecting to see Mask leap in the air and

roar with pain. Instead, Mask carried on walking. The tail had fiallen off; it

lay trapped under Cludd's paw. The weasel stared open-mouthed at the false

tail, its end covered with pine resin and two cunning twine fasteners.

It took the slow-witted Cludd a moment to catch on.

"Hey, you, Patchcoat! Stop! Stop him. He's no fox!"

Cludd ran forward. Mask tore down a wall hanging, throwing it over the head of

his charging enemy. Cludd fell, stumbling and wriggling to unhamper himself.

Gingivere swept up the two small hedgehogs and dashed for the main door, with

Mask close behind. Together they charged the main

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door, both creatures slamming their weight against it. The door flew open,

bowling Ashleg over as he stumped in.

The fugitives sped across the parade ground as the hue and cry was raised

behind them.

"Escape! Escape! Stop them quickly. Kill them if you have to!"

The upper galleries were crowded with the tribe of Lord Cay-vear. Martin stood

ready with a heap of rocks and his sling. Log-a-Log was beside him, his shrew

dagger drawn.

It was a tense moment as Dinny went up silently, paw by paw, until he was

directly under the crack of light.

"What is your friend doing now?" Lord Cayvear whispered to Martin. "There is

soil and moss up there, but many rocks, many rocks."

Martin watched the soft earth and small rocks beginning to slide down the

incline. "He's digging inward then downward. That way, whatever is above will

collapse and hopefully fall outward."

More moss, rock and earth came down in a moving scree. Dinny came with it,

sliding on his back and keeping an eye on the light shaft. The young mole

dusted his coat off.

"Hurr, hurr, clever oi. Marthen, see if 'ee c'n get summat to lever your 'ole

with."

Martin turned to Lord Cayvear. "Have you got a long stout timber we could use

as a lever?"

The bat chieftain conversed quietly with a band of his followers. They saluted

and winged off from the high galleries.

"Be lot quicker an more suproisful wi' a gurt lever," Dinny explained to Lord

Cayvear.

There was not long to wait before the bats returned bearing a stout piece of

wood.

Log-a-Log fondled it, with tears in his eyes. "It's the keel of Waterwing, my

lovely boat!"

Sure enough, the stout curving timber was the original birchwood keel of

Waterwing; the bats had salvaged it from the falls.

On Dinny's instructions, it was borne upward by an army of bats. They waited

until he had clambered up and positioned himself at the hole, then slowly they

fed the strong timber in, under the mole's guidance. When the timber was

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fixed to Dinny's satisfaction, he wedged it on either side and underneath with

three rocks. Then the mole slid back down to his friends. Martin looked up;

what Dinny had accomplished was a deep hole beneath the light shaft, with the

boat keel sticking out of the excavation at a slightly upward angle.

Log-a-Log scratched his chin. "What happens now, Dinny?"

"Hurr, now 'ee baths fly oop thurr soilent loik and perch on yon lever's end."

Lord Cayvear began signaling his legions. Two by two the bats flew silently as

cloud shadows, then perched on the end of the lever.

When eight of them were perched securely, the keel grated, moving fractionally

downward. They shifted and tightened clawholds.

Two more bats landed on the keel. It stayed still.

Yet another two landed. This time it moved visibly.

Dinny turned to the assembly. "Hoo arr, arf duzzen more'll do *ee. Best coom

out o* way whurr it be safer."

Another two bats had landed, then another two. There was more shale and rock

sliding down as the final two bats landed on the end of the overcrowded keel,

proving Dinny's calculation totally accurate.

Suddenly the hole gave way and collapsed, pushed outward by the keel bearing

down. The entire rock face shifted under the leverage. Bats flew in all

directions. Through the dust the small shaft of light widened into a hole as

big as a fair-sized cave entrance.

There was a screeching and hooting, and through the debris Martin glimpsed a

huge tawny owl winging its way west then south.

Amid the rubble of the landslide, the bats raised a sibilant cheer. Dinny was

carried above them up the scree to the opening, Martin and Log-a-Log helping

to bear their friend.

The three travelers were breathing deeply in the cool sweet evening air when

Lord Cayvear flapped up gracefully. He bowed deeply.

"My thanks to you and your friends, Martin. Against the bigeyes we were

totally helpless, totally helpless."

"I know, Lord Cayvear," Martin nodded understandingly.

200

"Even we could not have fought off a tawny owt that size-he was a real

monster. Well, thanks to our Dinny, we can continue the quest and your tribe

can live in peace and safety."

Log-a-Log offered some good advice. "What you must do is to bar the entrance

with wood and make a door. Leave some small holes in it, and station sentries

night and day. Then if any large birds try to roost, you can push them off

with spears and long poles. I will tell you how this door can be made."

For the first time Martin and Dinny looked over the edge to the outside world

below. There was nothing to see except heavy gray evening mist in layers on

the ground.

Martin stepped back from the edge. "We couldn't attempt to climb down there at

night, Din. Let's stop here with our friends tonight and continue the quest

tomorrow. Oh, Dinny, if only Gonff had been here to see this."

201

The escapers ran toward the outer gates in the perimeter walls, hotly pursued

by Cludd, Ashleg and a band of soldiers.

Tsarmina, keeping her usual vigil at the upstairs window, had armed herself

with bow and arrow in the hope that she might spot Argulor disposing of

Fortunata's remains.

When the hubbub broke out down on the parade ground; without hesitation she

fitted an arrow to her bow and took aim at Gingivere's back. Coggs slipped

from Gingivere's pawhold. He rolled into a ball, hitting the parade ground

harmlessly. Gingivere bent to pick him up, as Mask dashed up behind to see if

he could help.

The Queen of the Thousand Eyes had already loosed the deadly shaft. As

Gingivere picked Coggs up, he heard Mask grunt behind him. Thinking the otter

was urging him to hurry, the wildcat dashed for the gates with his precious

burden. He knocked the bar aside and pushed one gate open.

The woodlanders flooded in. Ferdy and Coggs were passed from paw to paw until

they were out of the danger zone. Freed of his burden, Gingivere turned to see

his rescuer staggering slowly across the parade ground as the Kotir soldiers

closed in on him. With a fearsome cry and a bound, Gingivere was at Mask's

side. Holding him up, he supported the injured creature through the gate,

while the otters and squirrels stood fearlessly in line on the open parade

ground, driv-

202

ing Cludd, Ashleg and the soldiers back to the barracks under a hail of

arrows, javelins and rocks.

Tsarmina joined Cludd in the main hallway with a band of reinforcements at her

back.

"Come on," she shouted furiously. "They're easily outnumbered. We're not going

to retreat from our own parade ground. Get out there!"

Cludd was enraged at being taken by surprise on his own territory. With a

bellow he dashed, recklessly out into the open.

Encouraged by Queen and Captain, the forces of Kotir flooded out across the

open ground. Madly Tsarmina raced ahead of them, spurred on by her own fury.

Skipper and Lady Amber decided it was time to make a tactical withdrawal.

Their mission was accomplished as far as getting the escape party out of Kotir

was concerned; besides, the woodland troops were far outnumbered by the hordes

of Tsarmina's soldiery. The far side of the parade ground was black with

soldiers who swarmed forward regardless of missiles. The woodlanders fired a

parting volley then ducked out behind the doors.

"Lively now, mates," Skipper roared. "Follow Gingivere and Mask. Make sure

they get home safe. Amber and me'll slow 'em up a bit here."

As the gates opened outward, it was but the work of a moment for the otter and

the squirrel to place two sizeable wooden wedges beneath each gate and bang

them home firmly with rocks.

Thinking ahead, Tsarmina guessed that the gates would have been barred to slow

her progress. Standing on the backs of several soldiers, she sprang up, gained

a clawhold on top of the gates and vaulted over with great agility. Tearing

out the wedges with feverish energy, she pulled the doors open.

The woodlanders had had no time to cover their tracks, so it was plain to see

which route they had taken. Tsarmina pointed east into Mossflower. "Follow me,

stay together and obey my commands. We might not catch them, but there's an

even chance these tracks may lead to their hideout!"

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Deep in the woodland shade, Mask and Gingivere were traveling slowly. The

otter was breathing, laboriously, often halting to lean against trees, but he

insisted on walking unaided.

Gingivere was puzzled and concerned for his rescuer. "Mask, what's the matter,

friend? Are you hurt?"

The strange otter gave a wry grin and shook his head. "I'm all right. Listen,

that must be Skipper and the crew coming this way."

The otters were boisterously recounting their victory over Kotir.

"Ha, soldiers! Vermin, more like."

"Aye, it took two score our number to make us back oif, eh, Skip."

"I must have used two pouches of rocks on their thick skulls."

"Hoho, I could throw one of 'em further than they could hurl their own

spears."

"What a bunch of blunderers! Good job they've got the cat to lead 'em, or

they'd be lost in their own headquarters."

"Hey, you two. What are you doing hanging about here?" Skipper bounded up,

twirling his sling. "Mask, me old ship.-mate. You did us proud back there."

"I think he's been hurt," Gingivere whispered in Skipper's ear.

Mask straightened up and began walking doggedly forward. "Leave me alone, I'll

be all right."

"Look, Skip, it's his back!" Bula pointed to the wet patch spreading across

Mask's cloak.

Mask staggered a few paces, then fell heavily.

Skipper dashed across and knelt by Mask. Gently, he drew back the cloak to

reveal the broken arrow shaft protruding from the otter's gray fur. Tsarmina's

arrow had found its mark, not in Gingivere as she intended, but deep in the

back of Mask.

Skipper supported the wounded otter's head as he said encouragingly, "Hold on,

matey. We'll get you back home atid patch you up in a brace of shakes. Strike

me colors, one measly arrow isn't going to stop a freebooter like you."

Mask shook his head, a slow smile playing on his lips. "Someone at the gates

of Dark Forest must have put my name on that arrow. At least I made it back

into Mossflower.''

204

Hot tears sprang into Skipper's brown eyes. "Don't say that, messmate. It

wouldn't be the same without you."

Mask leaned close to Skipper's ear. "Do me one last favor, Skip."

"Anything. You just name it."

"Promise me that you won't tell little Spike and Posy about this. Say that

Uncle Mask has gone to live far away."

Skipper wiped Mask's brow gently with his paw. "On my affidavit, brother."

The gray otter nodded slowly. His curious eyes clouded over as he lay back

peacefully and went limp.

Skipper stood up. He sniffed, grubbing grimy paws against his eyes. "Listen,

crew. We're taking him back to the River Moss. He liked it there. We'll stow

him under a willow on the bank, and that way he'll always be near the sound of

the water he loved. Tie some slings together and make a stretcher, mates."

Gingivere stepped forward. He picked Mask up from the earth, holding him

firmly in his strong paws.

"Please let me have the honor of carrying him. He rescued us from Kotir

prison. Ferdy, Coggs and myself, we owe him our lives."

Skipper turned away. "So be it."

Thus passed the Mask, the strange one who lived alone in Mossflower, the otter

who was master of many disguises.

205

Dawn had scarcely broken when Log-a-Log put the finishing touches to the main

frame of the gate. Martin peered down from the edge of the hole in the

mountainside, holding tight to Dinny beside him.

"So, this is what the other side of the mountain looks like, eh, Din."

"Ho urr, baint much to be seen tho, Marthen."

The sloping side of the mountain was visible, but beyond that the bottomland

was a bed of thick white mist, as far as the eye could see.

Lord Cayvear joined them.

"What lies below, I do not know," he told them. "Thank you, Log-a-Log. Thank

you for your good work. Soon my tribe will be safe once more. We will be

complete masters of all Bat Mountpit, Bat Mountpit."

Log-a-Log patted the heavy timber frame, made mainly from the wreckage of

Waterwing.

"Aye, no sign of that owl now, though this gate should keep it away. That, and

a few sharp prods in its feathery bottom. Don't like owls myself."

The sun was up and shining brightly within an hour, but instead of clearing

the mist it seemed to make it thicker. Martin and his friends were eager to

continue the quest. Politely they refused entreaties from the bats to stay as

long as

206

they wished, though with a tinge of regret because of the kindness and

hospitality shown them by the tribe of Bat Mountpit.

Lord Cayvear presented them with haversacks of fresh food and drink. The great

bat stayed inside the darkness of the exit hole with his tribe, away from the

glaring sunlight.

Martin shook him heartily by the paw. "Now, put that barrier up as soon as we

leave. Better safe than sorry, my friend."

The little bats clung to Dinny. "Fly back through the earth and visit us one

day, visit us one day," they begged.

The mole was visibly moved. "Doant 'ee fret, little bat uns. Thiz yurr mole'll

see 'ee sumtime."

Log-a-Log gave final instructions as to the care and main" tenance of the

gate. All three then stood for a moment in the awkward silence that often

marks the parting of friends. Martin was about to say that Gonff would have

composed a ballad for the occasion, but he turned away with a sigh. Adjusting

the sword hilt about his neck, he faced the outer world.

They began the sloping descent with Lord Cayvear's whispered farewell in their

ears.

"Our spirit flies with you. May you find what you quest for, what you quest

for."

The going proved not too difficult. They dug their paws into the loose scree

and shale, half-walking, half-sliding.

"If only Gonff were here," Martin could not help remarking. "He'd remember the

exact words of the Skyfurrow poem. Let me see, now. 'Land lost in mist and

gray-brown treachery1—or something like that. I can't recall it properly."

Dinny braked himself against a boulder. "Nay, nor do oi. Proper owd pudden

'eads us be, hurr hurr."

Log-a-Log took a chunk of rock and tossed it outward. It fell down into the

mist, vanishing completely.

"Usually some kind of swamp or marshland under mist like that. We'd best keep

our wits about us down there," he warned.

It was midday when they finally reached the bottomland. The mist was dense and

high above their heads. It blocked out the sky, leaving the travelers in a

world of swirling fog. Dark squelchy moss and slimy weeds carpeted the ground,

207

dotted with wide areas of evil-smelling fungus. Here and there rivulets ran,

as if trying to find a way out of this oppressive region.

Dinny gazed into the mist. "Yurr, be that summat moven over yon?"

They stopped to peer. Log-a-Log rubbed his eyes. "It might be. Then again, it

might be the mist playing tricks. If you let your imagination run away with

you, ail sorts of shapes start popping up."

The travelers leaned against a large humped rock to take their noon meal.

Martin broke off some bread. "I've got the strangest feeling that we're being

watched," he said, chewing as he spoke.

Dinny tapped the rock. "Diggen claw be a-tellen oi that too, Marthen."

Suddenly, behind them, six huge toads bearing the ends of a twisted reed net

leaped from the top of the rock. Passing right over the travelers' heads, they

landed square on the ground, neatly trapping the three friends tightly

underneath the net.

One toad poked a trident at them.

"Krryoik glogflugg glumbatt. Catchincaught threehere!"

Tsarmina pushed her party hard into the fastnesses of Moss-flower. She halted

frequently to sniff the earth or trace the pawprints in soft ground.

"No mistake, this is them, all right. Look here: my traitor brother, carrying

something heavy, by these deep prints. Keep going. Dawn can't be too far off;

we'll give those woodland-ers a breakfast they won't forget.''

High in a tree above Tsarmina's force, Barklad the squirrel sat muttering to

himself, "Too many heads to count. Looks like most of Kotir has been mobilized

to track us down."

He_ vaulted off across the high green terraces to make his report.

Cludd pointed with his spear. "Blood spots, Milady." The wildcat Queen

inspected sticky dark red flecks brushed

off on the leaves of a lilac bush.

' 'Otter. That must be the one who tricked us into thinking

208

he was a fox—Patchcoat. He took the arrow that was meant for Gingivere."

Cludd ground his teeth. "Patchcoat, eh? I want that one myself, wounded or

not. He's wearing my Captain's cloak."

Tsarmina pushed onward. "Take who you please, but Gingivere's mine. Leave him

to me," she ordered.

The soldiers marched forward confidently, made brave by sheer weight of

numbers.

Not far from Camp Willow, the ancient gnarled tree that was its namesake bent

lithe boughs over the clear flowing river. Beneath its branches the dawn light

filtered through onto the party who had gathered round the last resting place

of the Mask. Smooth river boulders in a cairn marked the spot; flowers and

decorated otter slings were laid on the grave in tribute to a fallen comrade.

Skipper sighed heavily, turning away to join Lady Amber, who was listening to

Barklad's report. Cold fury had overtaken the otter leader's grief; at his

insistence there would be none but otters to face the oncoming hordes of

Kotir. Lady Amber wisely acceded to her friend's wishes, but not before she

had outlined a few plans of her own.

"Do what you have to, Skipper, and good luck to you. The whole of Kotir is

abroad in Mossflower, so be careful. However, this is an opportunity we must

not miss. I have sent messengers to Brockhall. No doubt the Foremole and his

crew would welcome a chance to inspect Kotir while the cat's away. I will take

my force to make sure they get there and back in safety. Agreed?"

Skipper greased his sling with slippery bark and checked the rows of

dangerous-looking otter javelins sticking point down into the bank.

"Agreed!"

Ashleg was first to sight the river, heavily swathed in morning mist from bank

to bank.

"We've been here before, Milady," he reminded her. "This is where we lost

Gloomer. Surely this isn't where they have their headquarters?''

The Queen of the Thousand Eyes peered into the mists

209

ahead. "No matter. This is where the trail leads; here is where they'll be.

What's that?"

Cludd stood forward brandishing his spear. "It's that otter, Milady. Look, the

insolent hound is still wearing my cloak. Let me at him!"

Tsarmina nodded toward the spectral figure that stood wreathed in the mists.

"Get to it, Cludd," she commanded. "Obviously they know we've been following.

I'll check around for surprises. We won't be fooled a second time. Oh and

Cludd—"

"Yes, Milady?"

"See you finish the job properly, if you want to wear that cloak as a Captain

again."

Hefting his spear Cludd advanced on the cloaked figure. "You just leave it to

me, Majesty. Right, Patchcoat, let's settle this once and for all," he

challenged.

Skipper stepped out of the tendrils of mist, shedding the cloak. "I'm ready

for you, weasel. The one you called Patch-coat was my brother. You're not fit

to lick his paws. I will give you your cloak back to take with you to the

gates of Dark Forest; they have a special place for cowards there."

Stung by the insult, Cludd bellowed with rage as he charged.

Skipper allowed himself a grim smile of satisfaction. Flexing his powerful

limbs, he hurled himself like an uncoiling spring at the oncoming weasel.

Disregarding weapons, the two creatures locked together on the ground,

snarling and tearing at each other like savage beasts.

Martin, Dinny and Log-a-Log struggled helplessly, floundering about in the net

like fish out of water. The more they moved, the tighter they were entwined.

Martin realized this, and lay still.

"I am Martin the Warrior," he called out. "These are my friends Dinny and

Log-a-Log. Why have you done this to us? We mean you no harm. We are only

travelers passing through. Turn us loose, please."

The toads turned to each other. They made unintelligible clicking and

golloping noises, seeming to find the whole business highly amusing. Their

leader jabbed warningly at

210

the captives. "Krrglug, yukyuk! Quietnow, furmouse. Dampwatchsay comenow.''

The prisoners were dragged unceremoniously along the muddy ground. Other toads

came out of the mist to join the procession. When they finally reached their

destination, the captives were surrounded by a veritable army of the

creatures.

The leader threw the net ends over a stake driven into the ground. He spread

his webbed claw membranes. "Krrplok! Seehere, onemole twomouse, Marshgreen say

what?"

Seated on a huge fungus carved into the likeness of a high throne was a toad

bigger than the rest. Far more repulsive, too. It had no warts and was a slimy

wet green color. Its great translucent eyes filmed over as it blinked at the

captives. Fireflies danced in opaque plant-holders, and four more toads stood

guard around the throne with tridents. The big toad gave an ungainly hop down

to the ground and stood in front of the trio, blinking ceaselessly, its great

wobbly throat pulsating.

"Krrklok! Goodfind, Dampwatch. Furmouse makehappy Marshgreen."

Martin decided that politeness was at an end. They were being treated like

trophies. The warrior mouse's voice was loud and angry. "See here Marshgreen,

or whatever they call you. You've no right to treat us like this. Now set us

free, this instant!" he demanded.

The assembly of toads gave a bubbly cry of shock at the blatant disrespect to

their ruler.

Marshgreen inflated his throat until it swelled like a balloon. His eyes

bulged like button mushrooms.

"Splakkafrott! Mouthshut mousefur. Cheekybeast. Take-three, throwin

Screamhole."

The company of toads waddled and hopped excitedly, brandishing their tridents.

"Krrplakoggle! Screamhole, throwin Screamhole!"

"Look over there," Log-a-Log whispered to Martin. "I might have known it

wouldn't be spring without those two weeds sprouting again."

It was the newt and the grass snake, Whipscale and Death-coil. The unsavory

pair saw they were noticed and grinned wickedly.

211

"D'you fancy standing on my tail again, shrew?"

"Oho, you three are in for it now."

Dinny shook the net. "Goo boil yurr 'eads, sloibeasts."

Deathcoil stood almost on the tip of his tail. "Not until we've seen you

thrown into the Screamhole with the Snake-fish."

Before they had a chance to find out what Deathcoil was talking about, the

trio were dragged along in the net once more. The journey was not so long this

time; it was far speedier because the net was hauled by many more toads.

They halted at what appeared to be an overgrown well. Its large circular bore

disappeared deep into the earth. Thick ferns drooped about the edges, growing

down into the pit.

Marshgreen came waddling up with the snake and the newt. They were flanked by

toads carrying firefly lanterns on their trident forks.

"Krrpook! Snakefish feedwell, Marshgreen bringyou fur-mouse," the toad ruler

called down the dark wellhole.

A toad presented Marshgreen with an elaborately carved trident. He jabbed it

ceremoniously at the captives in the net, then jabbed it three times toward

the well. The assembled toads flattened themselves against the ground,

chanting, "Snakefish mightyone, stayin Screamhole, eatup furmouse, leavealone

Dampwatch!"

Martin and his friends lay apprehensively listening as the chant grew louder.

Suddenly it stopped. The toads holding the net spilled it open, tugging it

backward vigorously.

Martin, Dinny and Log-a-Log were shot forward through the tracery of

overhanging fems. Deep into the Screamhole.

Tsarmina had detailed her archers to scatter volleys into the trees and brush

in case of concealed woodlanders. They fired off a desultory salvo, then all

else was forgotten as they broke off to watch the battle between Skipper and

Cludd at the water's edge.

Jaws locked, the combatants rolled over and over. Loam and sand flew in all

directions as they bit, grappled and kicked, raking each other with heavy

claws. The very ground shook

212

at their wildness. Fur hung on the dawn air. Blood spattered into the river.

It was not too long before Cludd realized he was outmatched by the power and

fury of Skipper; now he was fighting for his life. The weasel tried to pull

free from the maddened otter, but to no avail. His breath sobbed raggedly in

his throat as he strained to reach the spear he had dropped in the first

charge.

Skipper, aware of what Cludd was up to, squirmed over, rolling him in the

opposite direction to the weapon. Suddenly Cludd grabbed a pawful of sand and

ground it into his opponent's eyes. Temporarily blinded, Skipper furiously

tried to clear his vision, unwittingly freeing Cludd. Seizing his chance,

Cludd bounded up and snatched the spear. With a savage scream he charged at

his floored adversary, leveling the point at Skipper's unprotected neck.

Through a sandy haze, Skipper saw the weasel coming. He rolled to one side. As

he did, his paw came in contact with the Captain's cloak he had shed upon the

bank. Sweeping it up and over in one continuous movement, the otter netted

Cludd, head and haunches. Falling over backward, Skipper felt the breeze of

the spearpoint pass his ear.

He thrust upward mightily. All four paws connected squarely with Cludd's body.

The weasel shot high in the air, enveloped by the cloak, landing with a cry of

shock. His fall had been broken upon the otter javelins that stood fixed in

the ground.

Otter javelins are pointed at both ends!

Chaos broke loose. Tsarmina hurled her troops forward at Skipper. A band of

otters broke cover, stopping them with javelins and slingstones. Skipper

bounded gracefully tail over ears into the river, followed by his crew, who

took the liberty of rattling a last furious salvo at the soldiers of Kotir.

Pushed on by those behind, several of the front ranks spilled into the water.

Tsarmina was among the first to go headlong into the river. Panic overtook the

wildcat as she floundered in the water. "Out, get me out," she screamed.

"Quick, before they loose the pike!"

Hurriedly she was dragged up onto the bank.

213

Further upstream, there was a barking laugh of victory as Skipper's head broke

the surface. "The weasel got his cloak back, cat. It's pinned to him."

The river closed with a swirl on the last of the otters. Tsarmina raced up and

down the bank, snatching spears from her soldiers, hurling them vindictively

at the water.

"Come out, woodlanders, stand and fight!" she challenged.

Brogg, the weasel companion of Cludd, had taken the opportunity of extracting

the cloak from the javelins and his friend's body. He squatted at the river's

edge, washing it through.

Few rips, bit of blood; still, it should clean up nicely, he thought.

Suddenly the cloak was being pulled into the water, dragging Brogg along with

it. Ashleg kicked him soundly on the bottom.

"Leggo, fool. TheyVe got the pike out."

Brogg had never let anything go so quickly.

Bella appeared on the opposite bank. "Stay out of our woods, cat," she said,

pointing a blunt claw at Tfcarmina. "lake your vermin away from Mossflower and

leave us alone, or you will be defeated someday.' *

Tsarmina ran to the water's edge, but halted at the sight of a dorsal fin

patrolling the river. Her voice was a hoarse scream.

"I am the Queen of the Thousand Eyes. I rule all Moss-flower. One time I might

have shown you mercy, but not now. This is war to the death—your death,

badger! Archers!"

Before an arrow could be strung, Bella had gone.

214

The Screamhole was dark and slimy. Martin, Dinny and Log-a-Log landed with a

splash in muddy water. The mole slipped upon a smooth bulky object.

"Yurr, wot be that?" he wondered aloud, as he spat out fetid water.

"Don't hang about down there, matey. Here, reach up and I'll give you a lift."

The voice belonged to Gonff!

Martin and his friends looked up. They could not see daylight or hear the

toads. Above them was a hole in the pit wall; Gonff stood at its entrance,

holding a firefly lantern in his paw. The little mousethief looked dirty and

wet, but as cheerful as ever.

Martin was overjoyed. "Gonff, you old thief, is that really you?"

Their long-lost companion shook with silent mirth as he held up a cautionary

paw. "Shush, matey. Not so loud. You'll wake up the big feller. Here, grab

this vine and I'll pull you up."

Gonff hauled Martin up; together they pulled Log-a-Log and Dinny to safety.

All three shook water from their coats and warmly hugged the little

mousethief.

"Bring any rations with you, matey?" Gonff was hungry.

"Nay, 'ee toaden took'm all."

215

Gonff looked disgusted. "Oh, that warty lot. I might've known."

Log-a-Log sat in the dryest spot he could find.

"But how did you come to get down here?" he asked curiously. "We thought you

were dead for sure when we lost you at the waterfall."

Gonff puffed his chest out indignantly. "Me, dead! Not likely. When I went

over the falls I must have been washed right underneath the mountain by the

currents. Next thing I knew, I woke up with the snake and the lizard standing

over me. Foul reptiles, they'd bound me tail and paw. I was taken up in front

of old Greenfrog, or whatever they call him. Huh, the filthy old swamphopper,

he'd been listening to the snake and the lizard, and wanted to know where I'd

hidden you three. Of course I told him to go and roast his fat green behind.

That was when he lost his temper and had me chucked in here with old

Snakefish."

"What's this Snakefish thing supposed to be?" Martin interrupted.

"Be? He's not supposed to be anything, matey. Snakefish is a giant eel. Big,

you never saw the like. He's like a wriggling tree trunk. Here, watch this."

Gonff prised a rock loose from the clay. Leaning out, he hurled it at what

looked like a smooth boulder sticking out of the water. In the dim light, the

brown muddy mess churned; boiling, as thick coils looped and weaved; thrashing

about with untold might.

Gonff shuddered. "That rascal nearly had me. I was saved by the vine hanging

from this cave. Good job I'm a prince of climbers. I still keep checking the

tip of my tail to make sure it's there—that's how close it was. Still, he's

not a bad old sort, providing he keeps his distance. Oh yes, we've even had a

conversation, Snakefish and me. He was the champion toadscoffer in mis part of

the country, until they laid a trap for him and he fell in here. Poor old

Snakefish can't get out now. Still, they keep him happy enough by slinging the

odd enemy in here—the occasional fish, maybe a dead bird, passing travelers

too, of course. Old Snakefish wallops the lot down, doesn't bother him."

Gonff leaned out, calling to the eel, "I said, it doesn't bother you, does it,

big matey?"

216

The surface of the dim water parted with a whooshing upheaval and the head of

Snakefish appeared. It was something out of a nightmare: thick, wide,

silver-black, and the color of yellow ivory beneath. A massive slablike head

hissed and swayed, revealing countless teeth, pure white and needlelike. Two

savage jet eyes watched them with unblinking intensity. Coils of flexible

steely muscle rippled and undulated with a life of their own.

Snakefish spoke.

. "One day I will find my way out of here, then I will taste the toadflesh

again."

Dinny saluted with his digging claw. "Let's "ope 'ee do, zurr. You'm scoff a

few for uz. 'Spect you'm passen fond of 'ee toaden."

Snakefish clouded his eyes dreamily. "Aaaaahhhh meeeee. There's nothing so

tasty as a brace of plump toads. Unless it's two brace.''

Log-a-Log shifted his paws nervously. * 'Er, right first time, sir. Look at

us, all string and fur. Ugh! Why don't you slip out for a toad supper?"

Snakefish reared up, pushing his coils against the smooth walls of Screamhole.

There was no purchase for the great eel. He slid back into the water.

"See, I have given up trying," he said sadly. "Each attempt only makes these

walls more smooth and slippery. Strength alone is useless down here."

Martin had the glimmer of an idea forming in his mind. He decided to risk

broaching the matter.

"Listen, Snakefish, I have a proposition to put to you. Suppose we helped you

out of here, would you leave us to go our way in peace without harming us?"

The great head submerged momentarily, emerging again beneath the hole. Martin

felt that if Snakefish really tried he could reach them. The eel slid back a

little to reassure them.

"If you could free me, I would leave you to go at liberty where you will," the

eel promised. "I would rather eat toad than mouse. Besides, I need to take my

revenge on the tribe of Marshgreen. But you had better decide quickly; before

the passing of another day I will need to eat. Do you understand me?"

The warrior mouse replied for them all.

217

"We understand perfectly, Snakefish. Now, will you leave us alone while we

formulate a plan. I'll give you a call the moment we are ready."

The sinister giant slid noiselessly back into the murky waters.

Gonff giggled nervously, "Right, mateys. Thinking caps on, or it's mouse,

shrew and mole pie for dinner tomorrow."

Kotir was deserted. The entire garrison had been .mobilized to pursue the

woodlanders.

Abbess Germaine and Foremole stood at the window of Tsarmina's high chamber,

looking out over the forest.

They had discovered little. Kotir was as grim and mean as any self-respecting

woodlander could imagine it—damp and oppressive, riddled with dank crumbling

rooms and passages where feeble torches guttered fitfully against fungus and

moss-clad masonry. As to supplies, it was useful to know that they were at a

low ebb in the fortress.

Foremole tugged his snout reflectively. "Hurr, marm. Baint even wurth

a-carryen off they mangeful vittles."

Moles and mice had searched the stronghold thoroughly; it was a empty carrion

nest.

Columbine wandered through the deserted armory with Old Dinny. All the weapons

had been taken off by the soldiers of Tsarmina.

The Loamhedge mouse curled her lip in disgust. "Oh, what's the point of

wandering around a filthy evil jumble like this?"

The venerable grandsire of Young Dinny was too busy carrying out his own

research to answer. He sniffed the floor between paving cracks, tapped upon

walls, dug his claws into rotten beams, all the while muttering to himself,

"Burr, oi'm getten a feelen in moi diggen claws 'bout this yurr fort'ica-tion.

Oi'm bound to 'ave a sniff round yon cells."

Columbine went up to join the Abbess in Tsarmina's apartments. She could not

help noticing the vast difference between the luxurious trappings of the

Queen's quarters in contrast to the squalor of the barracks.

"Abbess, I think I'd sooner live wild in the woods than

218

endure this dreadful place. Have you seen the way she treats her soldiers?"

The Abbess ran a thin paw over the tawdry hangings and stained rugs, which

Tsarmina had spoiled in her rages. "Yes, child. Now you know the difference

between the way these animals live in comparison to honest woodlanders."

Foremole had only one word to express his disgust: "Durt-bags!"

The Abbess looked pensive; an idea was forming in her mind.

"Columbine, this place is deserted. Why couldn't we take it?"

"Goodness, is this our peaceful Abbess speaking?" the young Loamhedge mouse

replied, with a twinkle in her eye. "Actually, I was thinking the same thing

myself earlier. The answer is that we are not warriors, and our forces are

split; the otters and squirrels are out in the woodlands. Besides, we would

find ourselves in the position of being unarmed and without food supplies. How

long could a little party like ours last out?"

The old mouse shook her head wonderingly. "Goodness, is this our little

Columbine speaking? Strategies, supplies, lack of weapons, divided forces . .

. Maybe you missed your true vocation, young maid. Perhaps you would have

fared better as an army commander. I bow to your superior military knowledge,

General Columbine."

The young mouse laughed heartily and curtsied.

Old Dinny came shuffling in. The Abbess noticed he was looking highly pleased

about something.

"Hullo, Old Din. My, my, youVe got a light in your eyes."

Columbine clapped her paws. "Oh, youVe found something. Do tell us, please!"

The old mole tapped a paw in his snout, winking broadly.

"Do you'ns foller oi now. Oi'll show 'ee a gurt new way outten thiz stink."

Mystified, they followed him. As they walked, they talked, and Old Dinny

imparted a plan to Columbine and the Abbess.

Lady Amber stood in the thickets with Barklad. Together they watched the east

gate.

219

Amber tapped the ground impatiently. ' 'Where in the name of acorns have they

got to?"

"Shall I take a party in and bring 'em out, marm?" Bark-lad asked, noting her

anxiety.

Amber looked up to the high chamber window. "No, give it a little while yet.

But I tell you, Bark, I don't like hanging about this place. Look, they've not

even posted sentries or lookouts at the window. How are we supposed to let

them know if the cat and her troops are on their way back? Oh, where have they

got to?"

"Roight yurr be'ind 'ee, marm!"

Startled, the squirrel swung round. There was Foremole, the Abbess too, and

Columbine—everyone that had gone into Kotir, down to the last mole and mouse.

"By the fur, where did you lot spring from?"

Columbine stroked her friend's gray head. "It was Old Dinny—he found a secret

way out. We went beneath the cells. It's a sort of cavern with a lake in it.

We, or should I say Grandpa Dinny, found a moving slab, and underneath it was

a tunnel that traveled along for a while then went up. We followed it and came

up into a hollow oak stump—that one right behind you."

Lady Amber curled her tail in amazement. "Well, I'll be treebound!"

The Abbess gave a wry chuckle. "If we put your discovery together with Old

Dinny's plan, we may have a final solution to the problem of Kotir.''

Columbine could not help interrupting. "I'll bet Gonff, Young Dinny and Martin

will have the solution too when they return from their quest with Boar the

Fighter."

"No doubt they will, child," the Abbess nodded. "But they have been long gone.

Who knows when they will return. Bella has said that it is a long journey

fraught witfi danger. Besides, how do we know that Boar the Fighter still

lives? I do not wish to alarm you by saying this, but, all things being equal,

we must have plans of our own. Merely sitting waiting on Boar's return will

not help Mossflower; we must all act to the best of our abilities. Wherever

your Gonff is at this moment with Martin and the young mole, you can wager

that they will be giving of their utmost. Let us hope that they will be both

safe and successful in their quest."

220

They made their way back to Brockhall that fine spring noon, unaware that they

were passing on a parallel course to Tsarmina and her returning army.

The wildcat Queen was in a foul temper. "I wouldn't give a pawful of mouldy

bread for the lot of you, standing gawping while your Captain gets slain by an

otter."

From somewhere in the jumbled ranks a voice murmured impudently, "Huh, I

noticed you didn't leap forward to help Cludd."

Tsarmina whirled on the troops in a fury. "Just let me catch the one who said

that! You bunch of buffoons couldn't even get a single arrow off at that

badger. Oh no, you stood there like a load of frogs catching flies."

As she turned to press on, the voice continued muttering, "Well, youVe got the

biggest bow. Why didn't you use it?"

Tsarmina grabbed her unstrung bow from the pine marten and flailed

indiscriminately about her.

"Ashleg, I want that cheeky beggar found," she shrieked.

**Ita the Queen, d'you hear? I'll make an example of whoever it is."

The pine marten dropped back. Marching at the rear, he bobbed up and down to

see if he could catch the cheeky one unawares.

When the army straggled wearily back into Kotir at midday, Tsarmina's temper

had not improved.

"Ashleg," she commanded. "Dismiss this load of nincompoops. Send them to their

barracks. I'll be up in my chambers."

Ashleg was stumping his way round to the front when the voice was heard again.

*'Oh, that's nice, lads. Wish I had comfy chambers instead of a damp

barracks.''

Tsarmina turned to confront the sea of blank faces, but she stifled her reply

and contented herself by elbowing her way savagely through the ranks to the

main door.

*'Dinny, I was thinking—could you burrow upward through the side of this

cave?"

The mole tested the walls with his digging claws.

221

"Loik as not, Marthen. But 'ee'd need diggen claws loik oi to foller upp'ard

if we'n all t'get outten 'ere."

Martin patted his friend's velvety back. "Good mole, Din. We only need you to

reach the surface, then you can lower something down so we can all climb out."

Dinny wiped his paws. "Stan' outten this yurr mole's way. Yurrgooi!"

With a mole's undoubted digging skills, Dinny was soon burrowing inward and

upward.

Martin reported the plan to Snakefish as Log-a-Log and Gonff backpawed the

freshly dug earth out of the way into the pit below.

Night and day were of little consequence in the misty world of the marshes.

The toads had lingered awhile on the edge of Screamhole, but there was little

to see, and their enjoyment was marred by the fact that no screams issued from

the well. One by one they drifted off, back to the Court of Marshgreen.

Deathcoil and Whipscale stayed, however. They sat by the Screamhole, waiting

to hear the cries of their foes as Snake-fish did his grisly work.

The newt felt the stump of his new growing tail.

"What's happening down there? Has the Snakefish gone to sleep?" he snarled.

Deathcoil stretched leisurely on the ground. "Patience! Have you ever known

any -creature to escape what happens in the Screamhole? Snakefish is probably

feeling sluggish from lying in that muddy water for so long. He'll liven up

when the hunger drives him. You'll see. Sit down here and wait a bit."

The unsavory pair stretched out side by side.

They had been dozing for some considerable time when the earth beneath them

began trembling.

Deathcoil pulled to one side, rearing up. "Did you feel that? The ground's

shaking."

The newt scampered out of the trembling area. "Quick, let's get out of here."

His companion slithered behind. "No, wait, it's only in that one spot," he

called out. "The ground is quite still over here. Let's get behind that rock

and see what happens."

In a short while, two digging claws and a moist snout broke

222

through the ground surface. Young Dinny emerged from the earth, shaking soil

from his coat. Going to the edge of the Screamhole well, he called down,

"Doant wurry, soon 'ave ee outen thurr, ho urr."

The spies behind the rock slithered away to inform Marsh-green and his toads

of what they had seen.

Tsarmina slept heavily after the night spent in Mossflower Woods. The

nightmare visited her dreams again; once more she was engulfed by cold, dark,

rushing water. It flooded her senses as she fought feebly against the muddy

engulfing tide that filled nostrils, ears and eyes. At the very moment when

she felt all was lost and drowning was inevitable, she came awake with a

start. Stumbling heavily, she slumped on the floor, pawing the solid stones to

reassure herself. Stone was real; it was good. These stones belonged to her,

Queen of the Thousand Eyes. She looked gratefully at the floor.

That was when she saw the pawprints in the dust.

Two mice and two moles!

Fortunately, Ashleg was halfway up the chamber stairs when he heard the Queen

screeching his name. As quickly as his wooden limb would allow, he hop-skipped

the remainder of the distance. Bursting into the chamber, Ashleg found himself

confronting a Tsarmina he had not encountered before. The wildcat sat on the

floor, hunched up in a cloak that had once belonged to her father. She was

rocking back and forth, gazing intently at the stone floor.

Ashleg closed the door and bowed apprehensively.

"Your Majesty?"

Tsarmina did not look up. "Mice and moles. Search this room for mice and

moles."

"Immediately, Milady."

Ashleg did not stop to question the order. Knowing how dangerous Tsarmina's

mood could become, he set about the task. Peering into the cupboards, looking

beneath the table, behind the wall hangings and drapes, the pine marten

searched the entire room thoroughly.

*'No mice or moles here, Milady," he reported.

Tsarmina sprang up, pointing imperiously at the door. *'Then go. Search the

whole of Kotir!"

223

Ashleg saluted and hobbled swiftly to the door.

"No, wait!"

He halted, not sure of which way to turn next. Tsarmina was smiling at him.

Ashleg gulped visibly as she put a paw about his shoulders.

"Ashleg, where is Gingivere?"

"He escaped, Majesty. You followed him yourself," he replied, puzzled.

"Oh, come now, you don't fool me," Tsarmina chuckled, almost good-naturedly.

"First it was those two hedgehogs that escaped—but they didn't really, they

were here ail the time. Then there was the fox who was really an otter. Now my

very own room is covered in the tracks of woodlanders. Come on, out with it,

old friend, you can tell me."

Ashleg began to be very frightened. "Milady, I'm sorry, but I don't know what

you're talking about. I'm only Ashleg. I served your father faithfully and now

I obey and serve only you."

Tsarmina smiled knowingly. "Completely loyal to all my family, eh, Ashleg?"

"Oh yes, indeed, Milady."

The murderous claws shot out, burying themselves into the pine marten's

shoulder through the feathered cape he wore. Tsarmina's whiskers brushed

against his face as she snarled, "So, that's it. You're helping my brother

now. Gingivere never really escaped, did he? It was all a trick. He's still

here with those woodlanders. They're turning my army against me. Maybe he was

with me all the time I was in the forest looking for him. Ha, he's a sly one,

that brother of mine. I'll bet it was him who pushed me into the water when

the otters loosed the big pike . . . Ugh!"

Ashleg's face was a mask of frozen agony. The claws dug deeply in him, blood

was staining his cloak.

Suddenly Tsarmina released him and scrubbed furiously at herself with the

cloak she was wearing.

"Uuuuuhhhh, deep, cold, slimy, dark water," she muttered incoherently.

Ashleg backed quietly out of the chamber. The wildcat was oblivious to his

departure; she was battling the watery torrents in her imagination.

224

As the pine marten hobbled swiftly down the stairs, his Queen's ravings echoed

about the spiral stairwell.

"Stay away! Stay away! You won't get me. I won't come near the water.''

Ashleg's mind was made up: he could not stop a moment longer. Tsarmina was a

mad Queen. Kotir was a place of danger to those who stayed there.

The late afternoon sun poured down over the ramparts of Kotir. Silence made it

frightening to the departing Ashleg; the large areas of dark shadow and sunlit

stillness unnerved him. He had cast aside the plumed scarlet cape, exchanging

it for a dull brown homespun cloak. Hurrying across the deserted parade

ground, Ashleg slipped through the gates and began walking south—away from

Tsarmina, Mossflower and dreams of ambitious conquest. Maybe there was

somewhere under a different sky where he could find a new way of life; maybe

somewhere there were friends waiting who knew how to live simply, without

delusions of grandeur.

Perched in his high spruce, Argulor opened one eye. Never too proud to

scavenge, the eagle had satisfied his hunger with the results of the

confrontation at the river. Argufor's eye closed again lazily. Feeling full

and tired, he slept on in the mistaken hope that everything comes to him who

waits.

Ashleg had flown the coop; that is, if a pine marten with a wooden leg does

ever fly.

Dinny counted himself lucky. He had found the woven rush net that had carried

them to Screamhole. Securing one end to a tree root, he pushed the remainder

over the edge of the pit.

"Yurr below, grab'n old of 'ee net, Marthen."

Unfortunately the net fell short of the travelers' grasp.

From above, the mole's voice was calling urgently, "Burr, 'asten now. Oi 'ears

they toadbags a-cummen."

Gonff jumped up and down with frustration. "Think of something quick, mateys!"

Snakefish poked his massive head up. "Sit on my head. I think I can reach it!"

"What? Not likely!" Log-a-Log backed into the cave.

225

"Urry, they'm nearly yurr!" Dinny called.

Sitting at the edge of the cave, Martin placed his paws on the huge reptilian

head and braced himself against the skull ridge beneath the smooth skin.

"Push me up, SnakefishE"

The great eel thrust upward, slid back slightly, then with a colossal effort

reared out of the water and shot up like a bolt. Martin grasped the net,

keeping his purchase on the eel's head.

"Quick, bite!"

Snakefish's teeth clamped onto the bottom of the net. He hung there a moment,

then began bunching his coils, the rough underskin finding contact with the

fibers as he weaved his sinuous body into the meshes of the net.

Martin pulled upward. Snakefish secured himself, and called, "I can make it

easily. Show yourselves, you two below. I'll loop my bottom coils around you

and lift you up with me."

Log-a-Log and Gonff stood clutching each other, their eyes shut tightly as

they felt themselves enveloped in steely coils and lifted effortlessly.

Marshgreen and his toads loomed out of the cottony mists. Three of them

waddled forward, trying to capture Dinny as the mole flayed about with heavy'

digging claws.

"Gurr, 'ee doant cum near oi, sloimy toadbags," he warned.

Deathcoil and Whipscale noticed too late the net fastened at the edge of the

Screamhole. Martin came leaping over the edge, loosing stones from his sling,

fast and accurate. He bounced a rock off Marshgreen *s head, knocking him

flat.

Gurgling screams of horror greeted the next arrival from the pit. The head of

Snakefish appeared, dripping like some primeval monster from the abyss,

slitted eyes and white rows of teeth confronting the terrified assembly.

"Toadflesh!" With a bunching serpentine motion, the slayer of the swamps

pulled himself clear of the pit, shedding his passengers in the same movement.

Gonff and Log-a-Log sprang up, battling despite their bruised ribs.

Pandemonium took over as Snakefish struck like a thunderbolt into the nearest

group of toads. Regardless of

226

tridents and firefly lanterns, the giant eel went about the business of

satisfying his immense hunger.

Martin turned away, sickened by the grisly spectacle.

"Are you all right, Din?" he called anxiously. "Quick, Gonff, Log-a-Log. Let's

get out of here right now."

Gonff stared wildly into the mists. "Aye, but which way, matey?''

"Hoo arr, this'n '11 show 'ee." Young Dinny had a fierce headlock on the

groggy Marshgreen.

Martin grabbed a trident and poked the toad Chief.

"Good mole, Din. Come on, you. Lead the way due west, or I'll stick you on

this oversized dinner fork and feed you to Snakefish."

Marsfigreen waddled off pleading mournfully, "Krrgloik! Mousefur notkill

Marshgreen, showyou waytogo."

In a short space of time they were blanketed on all sides by a mist so heavy

it drowned out even the far-off squeals of Snakefish's victims.

Log-a-Log watched the green bulk of the toad waddling ahead. "Well, at least

he seems to know which way to go. What's next in your rhyme, Gonff?"

Without hesitation, Gonff reeled off Olav Skyfurrow's lines,

O feathered brethen of the air, Fly straight and do not fall, Onward cross the

wet gold flat, Where seabirds wheel and call.

Martin prodded Marshgreen lightly with the trident. "Do you know that place?"

The defeated toad Chief turned, blinking his eyefilms. "Krrploik! Notfar

notfar, shorebad, seabird eatyou eatme."

Martin leaned on the trident. "Oh, stop moaning, Green-bottom. We'll let you

go when we're free of this mist. Though it's more than you deserve."

Eventually they reached a clear running stream. They drank

some water while Dinny dug up edible roots.

"Gurr, rooten. They baint no deeper'n ever pie, no zurr." Gonff perched on a

rock. "Don't worry, matey. If we ever

227

come out of all this in one piece I'll steal the biggest pie in all

Mossflower, just for you."

Dinny closed his eyes dreamily. "Urr, a roight big'n an' all furr this yurr

mole."

Gonff broke into song.

It will be great, I'll watch you, mate,

And you can dive right in.

But don't sing with your mouth full,

"This pie is all for Din."

A crust as light as thistledown,

And filled with all you dream:

Fresh vegetables, the best of fruit,

All floating round in cream.

Dinny lay upon his back, waving stubby paws. "O joy, 0 arpiness, an' all

furoi, 'ee say."

The trek was long and wearisome; time stood still in the land of the mists.

Martin longed to see natural daylight again, be it bright and sunny, or

clouded and rainy.

They were negotiating a particularly soggy stretch of ground when Log-a-Log

remarked to Gonff, "Here, d'you reckon things have gone a bit darkish?"

Gonff jumped onto a tussock of dry reeds. "That's prob'ly because nighttime's

coming on, matey."

Martin pointed. "Look, I can see the sky."

Sure enough, the mists were beginning to thin. Pale evening sky was plainly

visible from where they stood.

Gonff made a further discovery. "See, on the other side of this grass, there's

sand. Looks like miles of the stuff."

Hurriedly they jumped onto the tussock to confirm Gonff's sighting. Behind

them, Marshgreen picked up the trident and waddled off, back into his domain

of swamp and mist.

The questors gazed in wonder at the scene before them. On the horizon the sun

was sinking in a sheen of pearl gray and dusty crimson. Martin's paw shot up,

pointing northwest. "Look, the flames of Salamandastron!"

228

That same evening, the Corim assembled in the main room of Brockhall. There

was much to be discussed. Goody Stickle bustled about laying the table, with

Coggs firmly attached to her apron strings. The little hedgehog did not

complain; besides, speaking through a mouthful of hot acorn scone dripping

with fresh butter and damson jam was not quite the form for budding warriors

and daring escapers. He waved in passing to Ferdy, who was seated in a deep

armchair with Ben Stickle.

Between bites of his scone, Ferdy related a highly colored version of their

adventures.

"So me and Coggs broke the door down and pounced on these three weasels—or was

it stoats? No, they were weasels. Anyhow, there was six of them, great ugly

vermin. Hoho, did we ever give them what for! The wildcat Queen was there, but

she took one look at us and ran away. Good job, too! D'you know, Ben, me and

old Coggs there, we had to carry four squirrels off through the trees—or was

it otters? No, it was squirrels, I'm sure. Saved them from those Kotir

soldiers, though."

Ben Stickle wiped jam and crumbs from Ferdy's mouth.

"Must have made the pair of you powerful hungry. You haven't done anything but

eat since you got back, except talk, that is. Are you sure you never chattered

any of those stoats to death?"

229

When the table was laid, silence fell as Bella entered the room.

"My hall is your home," she said. "Please fill your platters and eat the

excellent food. Thank you, Goody Stickle, for this splendid table."

There was an immediate clatter of serving and good humor.

"Pass that deeper V ever pie. Mind you don't fall in."

"Hoho, is that leek and onion broth I smell?"

"Mmm, fruit pie. Ouch, it's hot!"

"Here, cool it down with some of this cream."

"Pass the butter, please."

"Nut pudding! My old mum used to make this."

"Aye, I remember Gonff pinching it from her oven."

"Hahaha. Here, have a go at this quince and apple crumble."

"Hey, who's used all the cream?"

' 'I say, Goody, you must give me the recipe for your plum pudding."

"Ask your gran—she gave it to me."

"Now, which will I have, October ale, cider or buttermilk?"

"None. You're fat enough, Ben Stickle."

A pleasant time was passing eating the celebratory supper.

When the dishes were cleared away, Abbess Germaine stood up.

"Pray silence for our host," she called.

Bella took the floor. "Where are Ferdy, Coggs, Spike and Posy?"

Ben pointed in the direction of the dormitory. "Well abed and snorin' like

champions, marm."

Bella bowed her head. "Then let us give a moment of silence and thought to the

memory of a very brave otter, the Mask, without whom none of tonight's joy

would have been possible."

A respectful silence followed, broken only by an audible sniff from Skipper.

Bella took a sip of buttermilk, then she wiped her eyes on the back of a heavy

paw.

"Now to business. First let me say it has been a good day

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in many ways, mainly because Ferdy and Coggs are back safe with us. Also

because we have a new friend in our midst—-Gingivere. I am sure you will all

join me in saying that our home is his for as long as he chooses to stay

here."

"Thank you, Bella, and you too, my friends. But this cannot be," he said

sadly. "Tsarmina is a very dangerous creature; my presence here would only

endanger you all. I would never forgive myself if any of you suffered because

of me. Tonight I will stay with you, but tomorrow I will leave at first light

to go eastward through Mossflower, far away from Kotir and all it stands for.

I could not stay here, knowing that I would be adding to your problems. If

Tsarmina knew that I was here with you, she would go mad for revenge on us

all, and who knows what evils her dark mind could think up. Somewhere beyond

Mossflower I will make a fresh start. Thank you for all your help and

kindness. All my life, wherever I am, I will carry the memory of my woodland

friends deep in my heart. If the time should arrive when I can return the good

treatment you have shown me, then rest assured, you will not even have to ask.

I will help in any way possible, for I owe the woodlanders of Mossflower a

deep debt of gratitude."

The wildcat sat down amid silence, which suddenly gave way to loud applause

for his noble words.

Ben Stickle shook him firmly by the paw.

"Mr. Gingivere, sir, it'll break Ferdy an' Coggs' liddle 'earts to know you've

gone away. But one day I'll tell 'em when they're old enough to understand.

Thankee for looking after my liddle 'ogs, sir."

Bella banged upon the table.

"As you are aware," she continued, "our friends from Loamhedge and the

Foremole's crew risked life and limb to find out about Kotir. Old Dinny, I

believe you have something to tell us?''

The ancient mole tugged his snout to Bella, then spread a barkcloth scroll

across the table.

"Hurr, now this yurr's Koateer, see. We'm been a commen an' goen all the wrong

ways. See yurr, this'n's a map of b'low cells. They's a gurt cave an* lake

under Koateer, also a tunnel wot'll lead 'ee out into an 'ollow stump in

woods."

231

There were murmurs of wonderment from the onlookers. Old Dinny rapped a

digging claw on the tabletop.

"Foremole an' oi bin a-plannen.'Ee'll tell about it; oi baint one furr

speechen."

Foremole threw up his paws and announced in a clear no-nonsense tone, "Fludd

'er out. Charmania woant stay in no floaten 'ouse."

Hubbub broke out. Columbine rushed to Foremole's side, waving the scroll

aloft.

"Please, listen to what I have to say," she shouted over the noise.

Abbess Germaine looked proudly at her ward as she began to speak.

"I was with Foremole and Old Dinny when we made the plan. Let me explain.

First, it relies on the fact that Kotir lies in a land depression. Mossflower

Woods itself is actually on much higher ground. The moles have studied the

landfall."

Columbine laid the scroll out, pointing at two areas of the table as if

referring to a larger map.

"Over here and over here, the River Moss runs on a northeast course through

the woods, then takes a sharp bend to the west. Sometime in the past there

must have been a large lake where Kotir now stands, but this dried up when the

river changed its course. We have since found the remains of that lake in the

cave beneath Kotir."

Lady Amber did not see the point. "But how does that help us, Columbine?"

"Let the maid tell it," Skipper whispered in her ear. "I think I've guessed

the plan, though."

"If the moles were to dig from where the river is closest to Kotir," Columbine

continued, "they could make flood tunnels from the banks of the River Moss

down to the lowland and straight into the cave beneath Kotir.''

Realization dawned upon Lady Amber. ' "Then the old lake bed would fill up

again!"

Excited shouts rang out.

"They'd be flooded!"

"Kotir would sink beneath the lake!"

"Good riddance too, I say!"

Skipper bounded up onto the table. "If we can make

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sluicegates, me and my crew will sink them on the riverbank to hold the water

back until the tunnels are complete,"

Lady Amber leaped up beside him. "Leave it to the squirrels, Skip. We'll build

your floodgates. You just see to it that they're sunk properly into the

banks."

Foremole was not the greatest of leapers, but he clambered up on the table

besides Amber and Skipper.

"Ho urr, an' us moles'll dig 'oles. We'll tunnel for 'ee, boi 'okey, us will!"

Columbine thought the cheering and paw-thumping would never stop. All around

her, woodlanders were dancing, hugging each other and whooping at the top of

their lungs.

Bella had to pound the table for a long time until order was restored.

"Congratulations, Corim. I think it is a good plan," she announced. "Best of

all, it will save open warfare and loss of life. Now, does every creature

present agree to the plan?"

There was a mass shout of approval. Every paw in the room shot up.

"Aye!" "Then we shall carry out this plan. We must, for I fear that Martin and

his friends are long overdue on their return. Having said that, I do not wish

any of you to feel downhearted, for who can calculate the journey to and from

Salamandastron? We must hope and keep the faith in our friends' promise to

carry out their mission. Maybe one day not too far from now I will see my

father, Boar the Fighter, come striding through Mossflower Woods—along with

Martin, Young Dinny, and Gonff—to lead us to victory. Wherever the questers

and my father are this day, let us wish them good fortune."

A rousing cheer rang through Brockhall as Bella sat down and crossed paws with

the Corim leaders.

Abbess Germaine had the final word at this meeting.

"Yes, friends, good fortune to those who traverse afar and good fortune to us

all. I think the plan is a good one," the frail old mouse told the assembly.

"Even I and my brothers and Loamhedge, unused to fighting and war, can see

that this will avoid unnecessary bloodshed on both sides, for friend and foe

alike. A death is always a death. Bloodshed is an awful thing. What we are

striving for is peace—keep this thought uppermost in your minds. If I had a

wish, it would

233

be that we lived in harmony with those at Kotir. But this cannot be. So let me

say again, good fortune to the lovers of peace and right. Let liberty and

freedom be the legacy that we leave to those who follow us in the seasons to

come. May they find true peace in Mossflower."

There was a reverent silence for what was, indeed, a heartfelt prayer.

The four travelers were hungry.

They had risen before dawn and were on their way through the low sand dunes

where little else grew but tough sand grass. Belts were tightened after the

previous night's meager supper'of a few roots which Dinny had managed to

forage. The mole tried digging in the sand for edible material. He rubbed grit

from his eyes with weary paws.

"Gurr, baint no gudd diggen in this sloidy sarnd. Moight as well try diggen

'oles in a river.''

Gonff wiped a dry paw across his mouth. "I'm thirsty more than anything,

mateys. What I wouldn't give for a good old beaker of cold cider right now."

Martin trekked on doggedly. "Look, it's no good going on about what we haven't

got. We'll just have to keep our eyes peeled until food comes along. Here, let

me show you an old warrior trick my father taught me." He rummaged some smooth

pebbles from his sling pouch. "Try sucking one of these. I know it isn't as

good as a drink, but a pebble will keep your mouth moist and stop you drying

up."

Being woodlanders, they were not used to traveling through soft sand. Even

Log-a-Log, who had made such a journey before, found the constant sinking of

paws into dry shifting grit very tiring. All four soon sat exhausted on top of

a dune. Martin picked up some sand. Letting it run through his paws, he

scanned the distance to where the mass of rock stood, but there was no light

issuing from it in daytime.

Gonff spoke his thoughts aloud. "There stands Salaman-dastron, mateys. And

here we sit, as far away from it as ever. Not a crust nor a drink between us,

and sand all around. It's certainly hard going."

Log-a-Log stood up, brushing his fur free of sand.

"Wait here. IVe traveled in sand before, I may be able to help."

234

He scrambled off among the dunes.

Dinny scooped a small hole. He watched it fill up again. "Moi oP granfer

Dinny'd never b'lieve thiz, stan* on moi tunnel."

Martin stretched out upon the dune. "Well, at least we've come this far. Don't

worry, mates. We'll make it somehow."

Log-a-Log returned carrying four thick pieces of wood-branches he had found at

the edge of the dunes.

"Here, trim these up," he told diem. "They'll make good walking staves to help

us through the sand."

They set about trimming the branches with teeth, claws and knives.

Then they set off again. With the staves, the going was slightly better. Every

once in a while they spotted a small toad or a frilled newt from a distance,

but the creatures would either ignore them or scuttle off among the sandhills.

There was also the odd small bird, which had to be shooed off with staves when

it became too inquisitive.

Log-a-Log found some soft grass with a milky sap, and they chewed it as he

conjectured what lay ahead.

"Pretty soon we'll be out of these dunes and onto the firm sand. Maybe then

I'll find something to eat. No water, though. Trouble is that most things on

the shore taste salty, and that makes you want water even more. Oh, test the

sand with your staves as we go. Here and mere you may find sinking sands.

Watch out for those big seabirds too—gulls and such. They'll gobble up

anything at all. Show them you're not afraid; whack out at them with your

staves, then they'll leave you alone. Now, if you see any pools of water,

don't drink from them—it's all seawater, full of salt, tastes very nasty. One

last thing, stick together and don't wander off."

"That all, nothing else?" Gonff laughed and waved his staff. "Good, then what

are we lagging for?"

To their amazement, the mousethief skipped off singing,

I mustn't drink the water,

And there may be nought to eat.

Those gulls may see a mousethief

As just a tasty treat.

I step out bravely on the quest,

Across this funny land,

235

And when I disappear they'll say, "He's found the sinking sand."

"Nothing keeps our Gonff down for long," Martin laughed. "Come on, let's press

on,"

They came out of the dunes at midafternoon. Before them stretched the shore:

flat solid sand, dotted with small rocky outcrops. The sun glinted like gold

leaf on the shimmering sea.

Log-a-Log ignored it and walked on. His three companions, however, could not

help stopping momentarily to stare in awe at the distant reaches of mighty

water. It staggered the imagination of woodlanders who had never witnessed

such a spectacle.

Dinny could scarce credit his first sight of the sea.

"Hurr, oi sees it, but oi doant berleeve it. Whurr do it all come from,

Gloglog?"

"They say it's always been there," the shrew shrugged. "Like the sky and the

ground. See this sand here with ridges on it like little waves? Well, that's

where the tidewater comes up to. You'll probably see it flooding in soon. Keep

your paws on the smooth sand, here, this side of all these shells and

suchlike. That's called a tideline."

Dinny was fascinated with the shells. He picked lots of them up; when he could

carry no more he would throw them away and start his collection afresh.

Without warning, a black-headed gull swooped down at them. All four fell flat

upon the sand. Log-a-Log lashed out with his staff, catching it on the beak,

and as it soared away, Martin hit it hard on the wing with a sling stone.

The gull wheeled, screaming angrily, then more seagulls flew in to

investigate. Soon the four friends were hard-pressed defending themselves

against aerial invaders.

Waving his staff at an oystercatcher, Martin called to Log-a-Log, "I thought

you said they'd go away if we showed 'em we weren't afraid of seabirds?"

Log-a-Log thwacked a common gull across its webbed claws.

"You can never tell with these birds. Quick, let's make a run for it. There's

some rocks over yonder!"

236

Waving their staves furiously, they dashed along the beach to where a rocky

outcrop thrust up from the sand. Finding a fissure between the rocks, they

huddled in together.

The gulls wheeled and circled awhile, screeching threateningly, diving toward

the rocks, but sheering off at the last moment. Finally they gave up and flew

off in search of other, easier prey.

Martin poked his head out into the open. "All clear, they've gone now," he

reported.

Log-a-Log climbed swiftly to the top of the rocks. "Look, mates—a rock pool.

Get the fishing tackle out,"

Locked tightly in by the rocks there was a beautiful miniature lake of deep

seawater, crystal clear. They sat on the edge, gazing into the colorful

depths.

"Look, there's shrimp, just like Skipper and the crew get from the River

Moss," Gonff exclaimed. "What's that, Log-a-Log?"

"Where? Oh, that. I think it's called a starfish. Not very good to eat,

though. See here, attached to the rock? These are limpets. They're a bit chewy

to eat, but they'll keep us going."

Dinny shook his head. "Nay, Gloglog, them's shells loik *ee picken up out of

sarnd."

The mole was surprised when Log-a-Log managed to prise one lose with his

knife. He scooped the flesh out and cut it up, giving them each a portion.

*"Chew on this," he invited them. "Go on, it's not poison."

Gonff pulled a face at the unappetizing limpet flesh, but bravely he popped it

into his mouth and began chewing.

"Tastes very salty," he commented. "I bet you could chew this until next

harvest came around and it'd still be bouncing off your teeth. Best swallow it

in one gulp."

Martin found some seaweed that tasted quite mild.

"Hey, try some of this! It's like Goody's cabbage with a bit too much salt on.

Not bad though."

Between them, they explored the different tastes of rock pool vegetation. The

shrimp were proving too difficult to catch, though Gonff sat determinedly, his

line hanging in the water, baited with a piece of limpet. Gradually it was

taken by something which pulled it beneath an underwater ledge.

237

"Haha, mateys, I've got a bite," he shouted excitedly. "Look out, here comes

supper!"

Assisted by Martin, he pulled and tugged at the line. Finally they hauled up a

small spidery object with a soft shell and two tiny claws.

"Throw it back. It's a crab!" Log-a-Log called urgently to them.

Martin shook hold of the small crab as Gonff tried to unlatch its claws from

the segment of bait. There was a scrabbling and clattering noise at the

poolside, and a huge carapace emerged.

Log-a-Log slashed the line with his knife, leaving the baby crab to enjoy the

bait.

The water splashed away, displaced by a considerable bulk. Four blackish-gray

armored legs clawed their way over the edge of the rock.

It was a fully grown crab!

The monster stood in front of them, its eyes roving hither and thither on long

stalks. Two large plates opened, revealing a downward-slanting mouth that shed

water and gaped open at them. But it was the creature's claws that caused the

most concern. Large powerful pincers, held high, snapping open and shut with a

noise like steel hitting stone, they were studded with horny nodules that

resembled teeth.

"Back off. Don't try to fight it, you'll lose," Log-a-Log said, not taking his

eyes from the angry crab. "Keep backing off until we're on the sand. Then

we'll really have to run for it. Crabs can scuttle sideways very fast."

They retreated carefully. The big crab blew a bubble from its mouth, lowered

its claws, snapped them viciously at the intruders and charged like lightning.

Now that Cludd was gone, Tsarmina needed a new Captain of the Guard, so she

promoted Brogg the weasel.

At first Brogg enjoyed his position of power. But of late he was sorry he had

ever donned the cloak of Captaincy, particularly when he was called up to be

interviewed by the Queen in her chambers.

"Brogg, I made you Captain. You must find Gingivere. He has kidnapped Ashleg."

"Yes, Majesty."

238

"Find yourself another Captain. That stoat, Ratffank—he'll do," she suggested.

"I want you to go through the entire army one by one."

"Go through the army, Milady?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yes, jellybrains. You and Ratflank take them one by one to the ceils."

"Yes, Milady."

"Will you stop interrupting me and listen! All anyone ever says around here is

'yes, Milady* or 'no, Milady.' "

"Yes, Milady."

"Shut up!" Tsannina shouted irritably. "Get them one by one in a cell, pull

their whiskers, then check their fur. Is their tail their own tail?"

"Er, is it, Milady?"

"That's what I want you to find out, nitwit."

"Oh yes. But why, Milady?"

Tsarmina paced the room, her voice rising to a cracked crescendo. "Because one

of them is Gingivere in disguise, you clod. He's here, in my fortress,

plotting against me. Get out and find him!"

Later Brogg sat at a barrack room table, joined by Ratflank

and several other cronies. They were reduced to eating hard

bread and woodland plants. Brogg sipped from a flagon. "Huh, at least there's

still a drop of cider left. I tell you,

mates, the Queen has definitely taken a funny turn."

"Oh, I don't know," Ratflank smirked. "She's still got

the sense to recognize a good stoat when she sees one. Look

at me, I'm a Captain now." One of the ferrets spat out a moldy crust. "Is that

some kind of ceremony you carried out, Brogg?"

he asked.

"What ceremony, what are you talking about, Dogfur?" "Well, the way you took

Ratflank down to the cells and

twitched his whiskers, then you pinched his fur and twitched

his tail before you gave him the Captain's cloak."

"Oh no. Matter of fact, youVe all got to have it done." "What, you mean we're

all going to be made Captains?" "Caw, I wish old Lord Greeneyes was here now,

mates,"

Brogg sighed gloomily as he cupped his head in his paws.

**Or even the other one, Gingivere."

239

# * *

Warm sunrays cascading through the leaves mingled in harmony with the peace of

Mossflower Woods. Somewhere a cuckoo was calling, and young ferns curled their

tendril tops toward blossom on the bramble.

Gingivere had traveled east since early morning, never once turning his head

to look back toward Brockhall. He sat with his back to a sycamore and opened

the satchel of food given him by the woodlanders. The very sight of a homely

oatcake brought a lump to his throat at the thought of the good fnends he had

left behind, especially of little Ferdy and Coggs.

With unshed tears bright in his eyes, Gingivere wrapped the food up. He

continued walking east through the peaceful flowering forest.

240

33

Martin leaped to the fore as the crab came charging forward. "Hurry, get down

to the sands," he shouted urgently. "I'll try to hold this thing off. Go on,

get going!"

The three travelers would not run and desert their friend. They backed away

slowly to the edge of the rocks, while Martin, facing the crab as a rearguard,

followed them.

The crab would make a scurrying attack then back off, suddenly changing tack

to shuffle in sideways. Not having time to use his sling, Martin hurled

several well-placed stones at the maddened creature. They made a hollow

clunking noise as they bounced off the tough crabshell. Each time it was hit,

the crab would halt, pulling its eyes in on their long stalks. Holding one

claw high and the other out level toward them, it advanced—for all the world

like a fencer minus his sword. The huge claws opened and shut, clacking

viciously.

From the top of the rocky outcrop where they stood to the sand below was a

forbiddingly long drop. Log-a-Log teetered on the brink, shutting his eyes

tight at the dizzy height. Without a second thought, GonfF grabbed the shrew's

scrubby coat with one paw, held tight to Dinny's digging claw with the other,

and jumped.

As Dinny felt himself being pulled from the smooth rock surface, he seized

Martin's tail with his free digging claw.

The crab dashed forward, only to find its pincers nipping nothing. Clutching

paw to fur to claw to tail, the travelers

241

sailed out into midair and plummeted downward, narrowly missing the jutting

rocks that projected from the main mass.

Bump!

They landed flat upon the beach sand with a dull thud that knocked the breath

from their bodies.

Martin was first to recover. He sat up, rubbing his back, feeling as if his

tail had been dragged out by the roots. Dinny lay facedown. He lifted his

head, snorted sand, and looked up at the rock face.

"Hoo arr. Lookout, 'ee commen doawn!" he warned.

Sure enough, the crab was scrambling and scuttling sideways down the rocks

toward them with surprising agility.

Ignoring his injuries, Martin ran to face the armored menace as his friends

recovered from the fall. Grabbing a stave, he hit out strongly at the

creature.

With a loud clack, the crustacean caught the flailing stave between both its

claws, immediately locking tight onto it, wrenching the weapon from the

warrior's grasp.

Martin felt totally helpless as he readied himself for the crab's next move.

Whirling and prancing about on the sand with its slitlike mouth gaping and

frothing, the crab clutched madly at the stave. Martin could only stare in

amazement at the dancing monster as it jigged about, holding the stave high in

its murderous claws.

Log-a-Log tugged at the warrior's paw. "Come on, Martin. Let's get going while

we can. That crab doesn't seem to want to let go of the stave!'*

"Ha!" Gonff snorted. "It's not a case of wanting. It hasn't got the sense to

release the stave. Can't you see?"

As if to prove his point, the little mousethief joined the crab and actually

began dancing along with it. Round and round they went, Gonff comically

following his strange partner's every twist and turn. Furiously the crab

waggled its stalked eyes, opening and closing its mouth as it pranced crazily

around, still clasping the stave tightly.

Martin and his friends nursed their arching ribs, trying not to laugh too

hard. Tears streamed down their cheeks at Gonff's antics.

"Oh hahahahooohooo. Stoppit, Gonff, please," Martin

242

begged. "Heeheeheehahaha. Come away and leave the silly beast alone.

Hahahaha!"

Gonff halted; he doffed a courtly bow at the enraged crab, "My thanks to you,

sir. You truly are a wonderful dancer."

The crab stood glaring at Gonff, with a mixture of ferocity and bafflement as

the mousethief continued his polite compliments.

"Oh, I do hope we meet again at the next annual Rockpool Ball. Those shrimps

are such clumsy fellows, you know. They tread all over one's paws. They're not

half as good as you. Incidentally, who taught you to dance so well? Keeping

all those legs going together, you didn't trip once. My, my. We really must do

this again sometime."

The crab stood stock-still with the stave held high. It watched the four

travelers depart along the shore, their laughter and jesting mingled on the

breeze.

"Hahahaha! Wait'111 tell Columbine. Maybe he'll give her dancing lessons if we

ever chance this way again, hahaha!"

"Burr, 'ee'm a wunnerful futt tapper."

"What about you, Din? You could have joined them for a threesome reel."

It had been an eventful day. Now, as the noon shadows began lengthening, the

tide flooded in. The friends wended their weary way along the interminable

shoreline. Saiamandastron stood firm in the distance, never seeming to get any

closer.

Tired and dispirited, they trekked onward, feeling the pangs of hunger and

thirst. Apart from the odd seabird whose curiosity had to be fended off

forcefully, they were completely isolated.

Log-a-Log shielded his eyes, pointing ahead. "Look, what are those birds up to

over yonder?''

Some distance further on, gulls were wheeling and diving. There were two black

shapeless objects upon the sand. The birds were concentrating their attack on

the smaller of these.

Eager to see what was happening, the travelers broke into a trot. As they drew

near to the scene, it became apparent that the gulls were harassing a living

creature. Not far from where it lay there was a ramshackle lean-to.

Martin whirled his sling as he began running.

243

"Come on, mates. Let's drive those scavengers off. Charge!"

The creature was a thin ragged rat. Gulls pecked and tore ruthlessly at it as

it lay unprotected on the sand.

Under the fierce onslaught of stones and staves, the sea-birds took to the

air, screeching and wheeling above the intruders who had robbed them of their

prey, and finally flying off to seek easier victims.

Martin knelt and lifted the rat's head. The creature was very old and

emaciated.

"There, there, now, old one," he said, stroking sand out of its watery eyes.

"We're friends. You're safe now."

Log-a-Log touched the rat's limp paw. "Save your breath, Martin. This one has

gone to the gates of Dark Forest."

"Dead?"

"Aye. Dead as stone. He must have been on his last legs when the birds found

him. Let's get him to his hut."

Between them they bore the rat into the tattered dwelling. Placing it gently

in a corner, they covered the body with an old piece of sailcloth. Then Gonff

explored the contents of the hut.

"Look, mateys, water and supplies," he said triumphantly.

There was a small quantity of dried shrimp and seaweed and a pouch of broken

biscuit, but best of all there were two hollow gourds filled with clean fresh

water. Dinny found a cache of driftwood. He began setting a small fire, using

a flint from Martin's sling pouch and the steel of GonfTs dagger.

"Pore beasten. Oi wunder who'm *ee wurr." The mole shook his head sadly.

Log-a-Log poured water into cockle shells.

"Sea rat. No question of it. He's been chained to an oar, too. I saw the scars

on his paws. Mine were like that once."

Martin found a thick deep shell, blackened by fire on its outside. He began

shredding shrimp and seaweed into it.

"But you said they used other creatures as oar slaves, yet this one was a

rat?"

Log-a-Log poured water onto the ingredients and set the shell on two stones

over the flames.

"Aye, but there's no telling with sea rats. They're savage

244

and cruel. Maybe that one did something to offend his Captain. I've seen them

laughing and drinking together, then suddenly fighting to the death next

moment over some silly little incident."

Night fell purple and gray in long rolling clouds; a stiff breeze sprang up

from seaward as the four companions stood for a moment in silence around the

pitiful canvas-wrapped figure in the small grave Dinny had dug in the sand.

After the brief ceremony, they watched as the mole filled in the hole,

decorating the mound with colored seashells he had found. "Baint much, but far

better'n sea ratten ud do furr 'ee." Salamandastron flared crimson against the

dark sky as Gonff began to sing,

Always the tide comes flowing in. Ever it goes out again. Sleep 'neath the

shore evermore, Free from hunger and pain. Morning light will bring the sun;

Seasons go rolling on. Questing ever far from home, For Salamandastron.

Log-a-Log shivered. He turned to the hut. "Come on, you three. That soup

should be ready now."

Martin bowed his farewell to their benefactor and followed the shrew inside.

"Aye, life must go on," he agreed. "A dry place to sleep, a warm fire, some

food and a night's rest is what we all need. Tomorrow we go to the fire

mountain."

Far to the northwest of Camp Willow, the moles were making ready within sight

of the river bank. The great tunneling was about to begin.

Chibb watched them from a plane tree. The feathered spy was now in

semi-retirement. He had amassed a considerable store of candied chestnuts for

his services. Still, he thought, there was no harm earning the odd extra nut

by standing guard here.

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Foremole and Old Dinny paced and measured, mole digging terms were bandied

about freely.

"Needen furm ground. Roots t'make shorin's too, urr."

"Ho urr, good down'ards gradin' t'make waiter flow roight."

"An* rockmovers, Billum. *Ee be a gurt rockmover."

"Aye, but moind 'ee doant crossen no owd tunnellen. Doant want fludd goen

wrongways, hurr."

Above in the trees, Amber's crew were dropping down timber for the

sluicegates.

"Mind out below!"

"Tip that end up, Barklad."

"Come out of the way, young un."

"Right. Let 'ergo!"

On the ground, Loamhedge mice were stripping, cleaning and jointing the wood.

Abbess Germaine rolled up her wide sleeves and joined in with a will.

"Columbine! Here, child, sit on the end of this log and keep it still," she

called out. "I'll mark it here, where the joint should be."

" 'Scuse me, Abbess. Where do we put these pine branches?" a strong young

mouse asked.

"Take them over there. Mr. Stickle has his little ones pulling the bark and

twigs oif all the new wood."

"Hey, Ferdy, I think I might like to be a carpenter instead of a warrior. What

about you?" Coggs decided.

"Oh, I'm going to be a warrior carpenter, Coggs. Posy, will you stop carving

patterns and strip that bark."

"Ooh, look! Here's Mix Bella with some big stones. My, isn't she strong!" Posy

exclaimed.

"Can I put these stones here, Spike? Whew! I'll have to go back for more now.

I saw Goody coming through the woods—I think it's beechnut crumble and

elderberry fritters for lunch."

"Hurray, my favorite!" Ferdy said delightedly.

"Don't forget to wash those paws in the river before you eat." Bella reminded

them.

"But, Miz Bella, all us workbeasts get mucky paws." Coggs protested. "Shows

weVe been working hard."

"Oh, and what about littlebeasts? They get mucky paws

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just playing. You scrub 'em with some bank sand, young Coggs."

The woodlanders stood by after lunch until Old Dinny was brought to the spot

where the tunnels would begin. Three young champion digging moles were

there—Billum, Soilflyer and Urthclaw. They stood respectfully to one side as

Fore-mole escorted Old Dinny forward. Billum presented the ancient one with a

beakerful of October ale. He quaffed most of it in one gulp. Emptying the rest

on the ground where the work was to take place, Old Dinny recited,

Moles a-tunnellen, deep an' far. Moles a diggen, urr that we are.

Foremole nodded approvingly. Old Dinny was quite a solemn mole versifier. He

raised a gnarled claw to the three champions. They went to it with a will amid

loud cheers. Other teams would follow up, widening and shoring in their wake.

The great tunneling of Mossflower had begun!

Hidden by a screen of leaves in a high elm, a woodpigeon was witness to a very

strange scene in the woods south of Kotir. Tsarmina, armed with a bow and

arrows, was talking to the surrounding foliage.

"I know you're there, brother. Oh, it's no use hiding. The Queen of the

Thousand Eyes will find you, you can be sure."

The woodpigeon remained perfectly still. No point in offering a handy target

to a wildcat with bow and arrows, he decided, even if she were looking for

someone else.

"Come on out, Gingivere. Show yourself. This is between me and you."

Silence greeted the challenge. Tsarmina smiled slyly.

"Think you're clever, don't you? Haha, not half as clever as your sister. I

know your little game. I'll find you!"

The wildcat Queen continued padding through the still forest, sometimes hiding

behind a tree, often doubling back on her own tracks, always on the alert.

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Brogg and Ratflank were sitting in the larder. As Captains, they decided it

was their prerogative to sample some of the remaining rations. The two

officers stuffed bread and guzzled cider from a half-empty cask.

There was a knock at the door. Hastily, they swallowed and wiped their

whiskers. Brogg stamped about kicking sacks and checking casks as he called

out, "Yes? Who is it?"

"It's Squint the stoat, Cap'n," a thin reedy voice piped back at him.

The pair relaxed.

"Come in, Squint. What d'you want?" Brogg asked.

The stoat entered. He stood to attention before his superiors. "I followed Her

Majesty, just like you told me to, Cap'n Brogg."

"Well, where did she go?"

"South into Mossfiower. She took a bow and arrows with her. I kept well out of

sight and watched. Funny though, she kept ducking here and bobbing there,

hiding behind trees and so on."

"What for?"

"Her brother—you know, Gingivere. She kept calling out his name. Went on like

that for ages. I thought I'd better come back here and report to you."

Ratflank wiped a crumb from his paw. "You did well Squint," he began.

Brogg silenced him. "You keep quiet. I'm giving the orders around here."

He turned on the unfortunate stoat. "You thought you'd better come back and

report, eh? Who told you that you had permission to think? D'you realize that

you've left your Queen out there alone in the forest, at the mercy of any

roving band of woodlanders?''

"But Cap'n, you told me to—"

"Silence! Speak when you're spoken to, stoat. Now you get back out there on

the double, me bucko, and don't come back until Milady does, and that's an

order!"

Squint stood bewildered until Ratflank joined in the chastisement.

"You heard Captain Brogg. On the double now. One-two, one-two, one-two. Step

lively, Squint!"

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The stoat double-marched backward out of the larder. Brogg and Ratflank fell

back upon the sacks, laughing.

"Hohohoho, proper thick'ead, that one. Hey, it's not too bad this officer

lark, Brogg."

"I'll say it isn't," Brogg agreed. "Keep the troops on their mettle while I

inspect the larder, eh?"

"Righto, Captain Brogg. I'll go up and turn them all out for an arms

inspection and chuck a few in the guardhouse for having dirty spears. You keep

checking round here."

"Heeheehee. That's it, Captain Ratflank. You make 'em jump."

When his companion had gone, Brogg rooted about under some sacks. He came up

with a stone jar half-full of strawberry jam. Upending it on his snout, he

smacked the bottom with his paw to free the sticky sweet. Some of it actually

went down his mouth; the rest stuck to his nose and whiskers, and he gave a

jammy giggle.

"Heehee, hmmmm, mmmmm. Too good for the troops, this stuff!"

Squint dashed heedlessly through the woods, pushing aside bushes, cracking

twigs and branches as he followed the trail.

Tsarmina was not aware that Brogg had ordered her to be followed. Stealthily

she slipped behind an outcrop of furze, fitting the arrow to the bow as she

followed her pursuer's noisy progress.

"Come to me, Gingivere," Tsarmina crooned softly under her breath. "Run

quickly! Your sister awaits you."

Squint ploughed headlong past the furze bush. The string twanged mercilessly.

He lay facedown with the arrow protruding from the back of his neck. Tsarmina

stood over the fallen stoat, her mad eyes seeing only what they wanted to.

"There's an end to it, brother. You'll never trick me again!"

249

34

The gourds of water had been lashed to both ends of a stave; any other food

that could be packed was carried along. The four travelers had a new spring to

their step, now they were free from hunger and the mountain was much nearer.

Since early morning they had been on the move, glad to be away from the hut

and the memory of its dead occupant. The going was easier and lighter; the

weather stayed fine. Late afternoon found them seated by a shallow rock pool.

Log-a-Log munched a biscuit, keeping a weather eye on a crab lodged beneath a

rock.

"I don't like those things. You never knew when one's going to do a quick

scuttle at you."

Gonff wiggled his paws in the sun-warmed shallows. "Oh, I don't know. I quite

fancy another dancing lesson, if our friend there is in the mood."

They laughed at the thought of their last encounter with a crab.

Martin glanced up at Salamandastron. "Look, you can just see the light

faintly. Whatever it is must burn continuously. D'you suppose it is a fire

lizard, Din?"

"Hurr oi doant be a-knowen of such creat'res. Burr, foir dargons, indeed. Wot

moi owd granfer'd say of 'em oi doant know.' *

"Nor do I, but one thing I do know," Log-a-Log said,

250

nodding toward the mountain. "That place is all that stands between sea rats

and the land. They fear it and hate it."

Gonff dried his paws. "Then why don't they go around ft?"

"Because it's there, I suppose." Log-a-Log shrugged. "It stands as a

challenge. The ship I was on avoided it like the plague. But not Cap'n

Ripfang, master of the vessel Blood-wake; he's the most black-hearted sea rat

of 'em all. Rip-fang's had many battles around Salamandastron. They say he

swore a mighty oath never to rest until he rules that mountain."

Martin stood, stretching his limbs. "But what's up there? What do they fight

against?"

Log-a-Log shook his head, "Some say one thing, some another. Fire dragons,

armored monsters or phantoms that can strike a creature down without touching

it, who knows?"

"There'll only be us to find the truth," Gonff remarked, shouldering the

supplies. "What chance do monsters stand against a Prince of Mousethieves, a

warrior and a champion digger, not forgetting a shrew like yourself, matey.

Come on. Let's get going."

Toward evening, with the mountain burning bright above them, Martin first

noticed they were being watched.

"Do you see anything, Gonff?" he asked, when he'd told his companions.

"No, matey, but I know what you mean. I can feel the hairs on my neck rising.

What about you, Din?"

"Ho urr, moi diggen claws be a-tellen me summat, tho* wot it be oi doant

know.''

Log-a-Log was in agreement, too. "Aye, just a sort of feeling really. D'you

see that lump of something or other out by the tideline? I could swear it

moved a moment ago."

"Don't stare at it," Martin warned them. "Keep going. Shortly we'll make as if

we're camping down for the night, but we'll He down with paws to weapons,

keeping our wits about us. Then let them make their move."

The travelers chose an open spot away from the rocks. They lit a small

driftwood fire and lay around it, feeling very vulnerable.

Martin kept his eyes slitted against the guttering fire.

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clutching his sling in one paw and his sword hilt in the other. Agonizing

moments stretched away; still there was no sign of movement. The friends began

to think that their suspicions had been groundless. Night had fallen and it

was quite warm; there was not even a breeze to disturb the loose sand.

The fire burned lower.

Despite himself, Martin began to feel sleepy. He fought to keep his eyes open.

Dinny's soft snores reached his ears, Gonff was lying too still to be fully

awake.

"I say, did you fellahs do a bunk from the jolly old sea rats?" a voice said

softly in Martin's ear.

"No, we've come all the way from Mossf—" Martin answered in a dozy murmur.

He sprang up, whirling his sling.

Lying amongst them by the fire were three hares.

The warrior mouse was shocked and angry with himself. "Stand up and fight, you

dirty sneaks!" he challenged them.

The nearest hare held up his paws to show they were unarmed. His companions

smiled innocently at the travelers.

"Hello, chaps. I'm Trubbs."

"I'm Wother. Capital W and an O, dontcha know."

"I'm Firing. Double F, no E. Howja do."

The sling dropped from Martin's paw. "Er, very well, thank you. How did you

get here?"

"Oh, this way and that, old chap."

"Dodge and weave, y'know."

"How the dickens do we ever get anywhere?"

Dinny scratched his nose and stared hard at the sand-colored hares. It was

hard to distinguish them from their background.

"Drubbs'n'oo, did 'ee say?" he asked sleepily.

"No, no. It's Trubbs, old sport."

"Wother, at y'service."

"Haha, then I've got to be Ffring, I suppose."

Gonff took the initiative. He saw immediately that the strange trio were

friendly. He made a deep bow.

"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure. My name is Gonff, Prince of Mousethieves. This

is our leader, Martin the Warrior. Here we have Young Dinny, the world's best

digger, with the latest addition to our little band, Log-a-Log, a shrew and an