The Sable Quean

Marjoram looked suddenly lost. She stared blankly at the Otter Chieftain. "Brother Tollum dead? It's not possible. I'll go and get Sister Fumbril myself!"

Bartij stopped her hurrying from the attic room. Taking Marjoram's face in both paws, the big hedgehog assured

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her softly, "Take Skipper's word, marm. Pore Tollum's already gone to the quiet meadows. Let's take a look at the other one. We need to get some information out of him, even if'n 'e is hurted."

Marjoram pulled herself together resolutely. "Yes, you're right. I'd best see what we can do for him. I need to talk with that one."

Globby was lying in a crumpled heap, footpaws twitching, forepaws clasped tight to his chest. The Abbess turned him over carefully, calling to Bartij, "Go and bring something for him to drink."

She lifted the young stoat's head. He coughed, a harsh, rattling noise from his blood-flecked lips.

Marjoram came right to the point. "Globby, what's happened to our two young ones, a squirrelbabe and a tiny mole? Where are they, d'you know? Have they been taken?"

Globby peered up at the Abbess; his eyes were drooping. His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out.

Something told Marjoram that the stoat's life was ebbing fast. She continued more urgently, "You must tell me--where have the little ones gone? Say something, Globby, speak!"

The Ravager stared at her. He shook his head weakly.

Martin's words flashed through Marjoram's mind. She leaned close to Globby, whispering desperately, "Corim, Althier--does that mean anything to you? Think! Corim ... Althier?"

The young stoat seemed to recover momentarily. He moved as if trying to sit up straight, his eyes wide as he pointed a shaking paw toward the open window. "Althier ... Althier ... Sable Quean!"

Then he gave one last bubbling sigh as the life fled from his broken body.

Accompanied by Bartij, Sister Fumbril hurried in. She took a flask from her satchel of medications, but Marjoram shook her head.

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"He's gone, just like Brother Tollum."

Fumbril nodded sadly. "I passed Skipper on the landing--he was carryin' Tollum downstairs. An awful thing, Mother Abbess, dreadful! I know 'tis not the time t'be askin' questions, but did the vermin give ye anythin' to go on about our missin' Dibbuns?"

Marjoram relinquished the limp form of Globby. "He never said anything about them. Then I asked him if he knew what Corim Althier meant."

Fumbril covered the young stoat with a blanket. "Oh, an' did he?"

The Abbess answered, "Well, he didn't seem to know anything about the word Corim, but it seemed he was trying to tell me something--he looked frightened, pointed to the outside through the window. Althier, Althier, Sable Quean!' That was all he managed to say. Then he slipped away before I could ask him anything more."

Sister Fumbril shouldered her bag. "More reason to speak with our Recorder. Let's go and find Granvy."

Vilaya the Sable Quean stared distastefully at the head of Grullba Deathwind fixed onto the pike point. She turned her attention to Kodra, the river rat who was bearing it.

"Who told you to bring that thing into my chambers?"

The big dull rat looked up at the head, as if expecting it to reply. He spoke haltingly. "Er, Lord Zwilt brought me 'ere, said to show Grullba ter yew. Er, 'e'll be 'ere soon."

A moment later, Zwilt the Shade appeared, dragging a laden sack behind him. Signalling to the sentries, he snapped curtly, "Give these to Thwip and Binta. Have them put with the others when they waken!"

Zwilt's manner changed completely as he turned to Vilaya. A rare triumphant smile lit up his sinister features. "Majesty, did I not say that I would bring you the head of Grullba Deathwind? Well, here it is, along with every beast he commanded--they are with our Ravagers, at the camp in the woodlands."

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The old rat Dirva wrinkled her nose in disgust, pointing to the pike bearer. "An' who is that big clod, eh?"

Zwilt directed his reply at Vilaya. "That's Kodra. He's going to be one of my captains."

The Sable Quean's glittering dark eyes turned to the big stolid river rat; her voice was like silk over ice. "Put that dirty thing down and come here, Captain Kodra."

Laying the pike and its grisly burden down, Kodra approached. He stood stiffly to attention in front of Vilaya. She exchanged a sly smile with Dirva, then beckoned Kodra closer. "Now, kneel and bow your head before me, then repeat these words: T will serve you until I die.' "

The river rat obeyed Vilaya, kneeling and repeating the oath. He flinched slightly as she patted the exposed back of his neck. Dirva sniggered, but fell silent at a glance from her Sable Quean, who issued further orders.

"Go outside now, find a stream in the woodlands, and wait until you hear my call, Captain Kodra."

The river rat marched off with a proud smile on his oafish features. Zwilt was curious.

"I've never seen you do that before, Majesty ... ?"

Vilaya showed her small, sharp teeth angrily. "That's because you've never brought strange vermin to Althier. How many more of your new recruits have you told about this place? Fool!"

Zwilt was unused to being addressed in this manner. He knew how dangerous his position might become. So he answered courteously. "None of the others know about Althier. Don't worry--I'll have a word with Kodra. He'll keep his mouth shut, I'm certain."

Dirva sniggered again, and Vilaya shook her head slowly at Zwilt's ignorance. When she spoke again, her voice was a savage hiss. "Oh, Kodra will keep his mouth shut forever--I've made sure of that. He won't be talking to anybeast!"

Zwilt was puzzled. "Majesty?"

The Sable Quean held up her paw, the one that had

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patted Kodra's neck. Lying flat upon it was her small dagger tipped with the poisonous adder venom. She returned it to the crystal sheath, which was filled with the deadly fluid. Vilaya exchanged another meaningful glance with the old rat, Dirva.

"Well, he did promise to serve me until his death. How long do you think that'll be?"

Dirva cackled. "Not long, my Quean, not long at all!"

Vilaya turned to two of her Ravager guards. "Pick up Kodra's trail. When he's dead, push him into the stream, 'twill save burying the idiot. Take that head with you and throw it in after him. Go!"

As they hurried off, she turned her attention back to Zwilt. Obviously flustered by events, he shrugged lamely. "Majesty, accept my apologies. I didn't think--"

The Sable Quean leaned forward, claws bared, clutching the sides of her throne, eyes blazing and fur bristling. "Althier is my own secret place, d'you hear? If you ever bring ragtag newcomers here, then I vow you'll be following them to wait by the stream. Nobeast must know of Althier--all my plans hinge upon it!"

Zwilt the Shade bowed his head in acknowledgement.

Dirva waited for him to look up again before speaking. "What was in the sack you brought? More young uns?"

The tall sable looked to his Quean for approval. "Two hares, very young creatures."

Vilaya toyed with her necklace of snake fangs. "I did not know there were hares in this area."

Zwilt made his report. "As I was bringing the river rats back, I came across what looked like a small farm. These were the babes of the two hares who were working the land there. I slew the father and wounded the mother, but left her alive to tell the tale."

Vilaya's manner changed, her voice became silky. "You did well, my faithful Zwilt. I see you are carrying a new blade. Show me--and the medallion, too."

Zwilt swept aside his cloak. "Majesty, there is nothing I

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could hide from one so keen as you." He took the medallion from his neck, passing it over by the scarlet and black woven cord.

The Sable Quean inspected it, reading the engraved word, Blademaster, noting the picture of a paw holding a sword aloft. " 'Tis of little use to me. Blademaster, eh? Do you consider yourself a Blademaster, Zwilt?"

The Shade drew the broadsword. He twirled it, allowing the lantern light to reflect along its length. "I was always the best with a broadsword, Majesty. Though only now do I truly feel like a Blademaster. My former weapon was nought but a crude lump of metal compared to this wonderful blade. Whoever forged this sword was an expert with steel. Look at the quality of it, the balance, the edge, the length. Truly wonderful!"

Vilaya placed the cord over Zwilt's blade, letting the medallion slide back down to him. "Keep the trinket. How will you use your new sword?"

Zwilt saluted skilfully with the blade. "Only in the service of Vilaya, my Sable Quean!"

She nodded. "Well spoke, Zwilt. You may go, but I will soon use you and the sword when I make my move."

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BOOK TWO Go Find the Babes!

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10

One thing was certain, the Flitcheye had never faced two battle-crazed Salamandastron hares before. It soon became clear that the furtive vermin had bitten off far more than they could chew. The Guosim shrews, headed by Jango Bigboat, were fearless. They waded into the ragged, prancing enemy with rage and vigour, yodelling, "Logalogalogaloooooog!"

Not to be outdone, Oakheart Witherspyk seized a blazing log from the fire, laying about him like a madbeast, whilst being joined by the rest of his troupe. What they lacked in warrior's skill they made up for in energy and enthusiasm--they invented their own war cries.

"Haharr, strewth an' have at ye, stinky vermin!"

"Zounds an' batter pudden, ye rascally snivellers!"

"Raxilly snivvers!" (That was baby Dubdub's contribution.)

Diggs got to the truth of the matter when he walloped a loaded sling over a Flitcheye head. He shook his quarry like a rag doll, until all the trailing weeds, clinging vines, leaves and a barkcloth mask fell from the beast, exposing it for what it really was.

Diggs shouted, "What'n the name o' raggedy trousers is

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this? I say, you chaps, these cads are nought but runty little weasels. You impudent rogues, c'mere, tatty bum!"

In a remarkably short time, the Flitcheye found themselves being soundly trounced by hares, shrews and hedgehogs. None of their assailants seemed the least scared of them. Even Trajidia found herself throttling one of them and declaiming, "For shame, you dreadful scruffy midget--trying to pass yourself off as an ambushing warrior, eh? Take that, you snotnosed impostor, and that, an' that'n'that'n'that! Now, are you ready for another walloping?"

Caught twixt the blazing campfire and the stream, the would-be ambushers found themselves severely punished. Their numbers were swelled when Sniffy and his band drove in the Flitcheye from the woodlands. These were the beasts who had been creating the noxious smoke.

The travellers had battled so wildly that all the fight had been knocked out of their enemies. Surrender was total.

The defeated vermin fell down, grovelling for mercy amidst agonised sobs.

"Yowwwooooow! Spare us, kind gennelbeasts!"

"Ye wouldn't 'ave me kil't, would ye, sirs? I gotta pore mother an' ten liddle uns ter look arter!"

Young Rambuculus pointed the pleader out to his sister. "Hah, ye could take lessons from that rascal, Trajidia!"

Buckler restored order, bawling out in fine parade-ground manner, "Silence, you horrible lot! Next beast to make a sound gets slain forthwith. Now shut up!"

This had the desired effect. The Flitcheye fell quiet, apart from the odd groan, sob or sniffle.

Dymphnia Witherspyk glanced fearfully at Buckler. "What do you plan on doing with these unfortunate wretches?"

Baby Dubdub echoed her--"Affortunate wrenches!"-- and went back to sucking his paw.

Diggs twirled his loaded sling nonchalantly. "Aye, thought up any blinkin' dreadful fate yet, old lad?"

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Jango Bigboat interrupted, with the age-old solution: "Wipe 'em all out, mate. They'd have murdered us--aye, an' not swiftly either. I've 'eard tales o' Flitcheye deeds that don't bear thinkin' about. Right, Sniffy?"

The Guosim scout tested the point of his rapier. "Right, Chief. The only good vermin's a dead un!"

Oakheart protested, " Ton me spikes, sirrah, you don't mean that we should slaughter them all? It's unthinkable!"

Oakheart's mother, Crumfiss, a shrewd old hedgehog, looked to Buckler, who was obviously in command. "What's your opinion, Longblade?"

The young hare stared at the quivering, prostrate vermin. "I'm with Oakheart. It's one thing slaying a foebeast in the heat of battle, but defeating 'em then killing the survivors isn't right. That'd make us murderers, an' no better than the Flitcheye. Where I come from, that sort o' thing just ain't done. It's against any true warrior's code."

Jango nodded. "Ye may have a point there, Buck. But wot are ye goin' t'do, eh? We can't just turn 'em loose."

A sudden idea came to Buckler. "Give the Flitcheye a taste of their own medicine."

Rainbow, the only mole in the Witherspyk troupe, chuckled gruffly. "Ahurrhurr, you'm mean to make ee vurrmints sniff en they'm own narsty smoke, zurr?"

Diggs backed his friend up to the hilt. "I say, what a super wheeze, Buck. Send the filthy blighters off for a jolly long snooze, wot. That'll teach the little rotters. Ha wha wha w!"

The plan seemed to catch the approval of everybeast, even Jango and Sniffy. Buckler set the scheme into action, calling out orders. "Take all their weapons and chuck 'em in the stream. Get them all out of those scary rags an' face masks--burn the lot! Sniffy, scout along the streambank. See if you can spot a couple of willows near the edge. Jango, Oakie, get all their supplies of those herbs they use to create the knockout fumes!"

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It took a while, but finally everything was in position. Stripped of all their barbarous apparel, the Flitcheye were exposed for what they really were, a pathetic, primitive tribe of stunted weasels. They stood in sullen silence as Guosim logboat crewbeasts bound them securely, neck to neck, tail to tail and paw to paw.

Both hares and the Witherspyks escorted the hobbling gang along the bank. Sniffy had chosen well. Three big weeping willows growing side by side spread their leafy canopy down to touch the stream current. To both sides and the rear of the willows, Jango and his Guosim were piling up mounds of dried brush, dead leaves and damp loam.

The Flitcheye wailed and moaned as they were bound to the trunks and branches of the willows.

"Ayaaaaah! No, no, please, sirs. Mercy!"

Diggs wrinkled his nose at them. "Oh, stop blubberin'. A few days' sleep an' a bloomin' big headache when ye wake should do you rotters the flippin' world o' good, wot, wot. Cheer up now, chaps!"

The entire supply of the dreaded herbs was spread on the mounds. Jango was allowed the privilege of setting light to the fires. The Guosim Log a Log was in jovial spirits as he tossed lighted brands onto the heaps of combustibles, grinning from ear to ear.

"Sweet dreams, ye stinkin' villains! C'mon, now, all together, breathe deeply.... In an' hold, an' slowly out! There, that's the style, an' I hope ye'll wake with a headache that'll last ye a half season, ye scurvy vermin. Now, how does that feel, mateys?"

Standing clear of the fumes, everybeast waded into the shallows to watch what would happen. The overhanging willows acted like an enveloping canopy, catching the smoke and holding it as it grew more dense. Dimly, they could see the Flitcheye being punished for their misdeeds. With eyes streaming, the vermin stood bound to the willows, some trying to hold their breath, others weeping

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and moaning as they slumped into a nightmarish pit of dreams.

Buckler shouldered his blade. "Justice done, eh, Jango?"

The Shrew Chieftain clasped his paw warmly "Aye, done, an' seen t'be done, matey!"

Diggs winked at Sniffy. "Y'see, old scout, there's more ways to skinnin' a frog than feedin' it 'til it bursts, wot. Come on, let's go, but quietly, please--don't want to disturb those chaps from their snooze!"

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. They took a quick breakfast in the dawnlight and set off upstream with the flotilla of logboats and the raft. The woodlands were still enclosed in the gloomy green-tinged half-light as they turned off down the sidestream.

The water was foul and stagnant, because it terminated, further up, in a dead end. Much to the relief of everybeast, the tree foliage thinned out, exposing blue sky and sunlight overhead.

Log a Log Jango called a halt, whilst one of the Guosim produced an earthenware jar full of an evil-smelling unction.

Diggs sniffed it and gagged. "Phwaw, what a bloomin' pong! Is it some sort of secret weapon for chuckin' at the blinkin' enemy?"

Taking a pawful, Sniffy began smearing it on his face. "This is shrewgoo, mate. Ain't you ever 'eard of it? Lissen, we're goin' t'be sailin' through all sorts of stingy insecks soon. Wasps'n'ornets, zingers'n'biters. The blighters'll eat ye alive if'n you ain't got shrewgoo on yore face."

Jango began daubing the stuff on his head. "Sniffy's right. Those insecks don't like the ole shrewgoo--they won't bother ye if'n ye smear some on."

Taking the Guosims' advice, all the travellers applied the anti-insect unction to their faces, though not with any great relish.

Trajidia wailed pitifully, "Alas, this fair maid will never

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again smell like a dawn-dewed rose. Creatures will run a mile from me!"

Auroria, Oakheart's other daughter, leaned over the rail of the raft. "Whooohoops! I think I'm going t'be sick, dreadful pongy shrewgoo!"

"Shooey pongroo!" was baby Dubdub's comment.

Diggs watched in horror as Buckler smeared his face. "Good grief, Buck! You ain't actually puttin' that confounded stuff on your han'some young fizzgog, wot? Keep it well away from me, chaps. I'd sooner put up with the jolly old zingers. Hah, I ain't smellin' like a mouldy old toad's midden on a rainy day. Not me!"

Jango's wife, Furm, shook her head at Diggs. "We'll see, my friend. We'll see!"

Though the trees had thinned out, the reeds, bulrushes and wraterweed thickened up drastically. Travelling in single file, the logboats had to force a passage through for Streatnlass.

Then the insects struck. The still, hot air buzzed and thrummed as they attacked in myriads. Clouds of winged tormentors rose from the disturbed waters of the side-stream.

Dymphnia, carrying baby Dubdub, urged her daughters, Furm, Crumfiss and the other ladies into the blockhouse on the raft. They slammed the door and let down the shutters. It worked rather well, so they lit a smoky fire, which poured out of the little chimney, giving some relief to the paddlers. Diggs was in a pitiful condition, his whole head, from eartips to throat, covered in angry swellings.

Buckler assisted Jango to push him into the blockhouse, even though Diggs was protesting.

"Ab aw bwight, chabs---lee me balone!"

Jango hustled him roughly inside, calling to the ladies, "Take care o' this young idjit. His mouth is so badly stung he can't even talk proper!"

It was midnoon before they lost the insects, owing to the tall trees closing in on them again.

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Buckler sat down on the raft deck, sighing with relief as he stared up into the green-tinged gloom. "I'd sooner face a vermin horde than have t'go through that again. We'd best go an' see how our wounded warrior's doing, eh, Oakie?"

The irrepressible Diggs was surrounded by females dabbing him with soothing salves of dockleaf, sanicle and foxglove. He gave them a lumpy smile, winking one swollen eyelid as he supped up warm vegetable soup through a hollow reed.

"Hewwo, chapth. I bee alwight thoon, woth woth!"

A shudder shook the raft as Jango called from outside, "That's as far as we goes. Make fast all vessels, fore an' aft. Sniffy, see everythin' is well covered with branches'n'bush. Form up on the bankside. We'll be movin' out soon!"

They sat on the banks of the cul-de-sac making their last meal that day. Buckler thanked Dymphnia and her daughters as he tucked into vegetable soup, a hazelnut bake and some cold plum duff.

Trajidia fluttered her eyelashes furiously as she giggled. "Think nothing of it, sir. 'Tis the least we could do after the way you steered us through that pestilence!"

Dymphnia chided her daughter. "Stop that outrageous flirting and get busy serving vittles to these hungry beasts!"

"Vikkles to 'ungry beaks!" Dubdub echoed.

Packing all they needed, the travellers set off at a leisurely pace into the woodlands. Jango walked up front with Buckler.

"I don't reckon we'll make Redwall Abbey tonight. Still, no hurry--we'll take brekkist in the Abbey tomorrow mornin', if'n we gets an early start. Then we'll talk to Abbess Marjoram an' her elders about the problem of our young uns. I'm sure she'll be able to 'elp us."

Buckler ducked an overhanging yew branch. "You seem to have confidence in Redwall an' its creatures, Jango."

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The Guosim Chieftain smiled. "Aye, an' so would you, if you'd ever visited the Abbey afore, mate."

They trudged steadily onward. In his mind, Buckler was going over all that had happened to him and Diggs since they had left Salamandastron. Lord Brang was right, travel was an adventure, and there was more to come!

Much more.

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11

The two fox jailers, Thwip and Binta, usually struck fear into the hearts of their little prisoners at Althier. Wielding whip and rod, they would swagger about, snarling and threatening the young creatures, reducing them to quivering wrecks.

However, this was not the case with the shrewmaid, Petunia Rosebud--or Flib, as she had named herself. The instant she was unbound from the spearhaft she had been carried on, she flew at her captors, attacking them savagely.

"Ya scrinjee-gobbed babe robbers, git yer filfy paws off a me or I'll rip yore 'eads off!"

Thwip cracked his lash. "Hoho, a tough un, eh?"

Binta came at Flib, swishing her cane. "Get in there with the others afore I beat the hide from yore back.... Eeeyah, she bit me!"

The shrewmaid had her teeth into Binta's ear. She hung on, growling like a wild beast. Thwip could not use his whip for fear of striking Binta. He grabbed Flib, trying to pry her loose from the other fox's ear.

"Right, I'm goin' to teach ye a lesson yer won't forget missy ... gnnarrrrgh!"

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Two well-aimed kicks from Flib smashed into his mouth.

"Yeeeh yeeh! Guards! 'Elp us ... 'eeeeelp!"

It took four other Ravagers to subdue Flib. Swiftly binding her paws, they managed to fling her into the gloomy holding cavern.

Thwip held three broken teeth out to the guards. "Look wot she did ter me! That un's crazy mad, I tell yer!"

One of the guards passed Binta a pawful of dried moss. "Git that on yore lug, afore ye bleeds t'death."

The vixen could taste her own blood--it was running down the side of her muzzle. She spat out spitefully, "No vittles or drink for two days--that goes for 'em all! Maybe that'll calm 'er down, when the others see it's 'er fault they ain't gettin' fed!"

One of the guards, a stern-faced ferret, spoke. "That ain't fer you t'say, Binta. Our orders come from the Sable Quean, not from you. Now go an' get their grub ready."

Flib stared at her younger brother and sister in the badly lit cave. "Midda, Borti, wot are youse two doin' in 'ere?"

Borti began crying. Midda covered his mouth. "Shush, baby--look, it's our big sister!"

Flib was simmering with rage. She gnawed at the cord binding her paws, snapping at her younger sister, "Why'd ye let 'em capture Borti, eh?"

Midda snapped back at her, "If I'd run off an' left Borti, I might have got away You were on yore own--why did you let 'em capture you?"

Flib never answered. She bit away madly at her bonds, staring around at the pitiful groups of young beasts who cowered in the wall shadows. As she did, her temper became more unreasonable. She snarled at them, "Wot are yew lot starin' at? Why don't ye all try to escape, instead of jus' mopin' round?"

Flandor, the young male otter, gave her the answer. "Right, we charge the vermin without a weapon twixt us. A pile of young uns, some who can just about toddle,

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an' some with little uns to look after, like yore sister. Have ye got any more bright ideas, shrew?"

Flib finished chewing through her bonds. She flung the cord away angrily. "No, riverdog--have yew?"

Flandor dropped his voice. "I'm rackin' my brain for a way out of here, but it ain't that simple. Most of 'em in here are too hungry t'think of plans. They're more worried about where their next meal is comin' from an' if it's goin' to be enough t'live on."

Tura the squirrelmaid sided with Flandor. "Aye, we heard the way you fought Thwip an' Binta out there. Very brave of ye, I'm sure. But think about this--they'll prob'ly stop our vittles as a punishment."

Even Midda was in agreement with Flandor and Tura. "Us older ones can stand a few days' hunger, but what about these poor babes? There's not just Borti. Infant mice, squirrels, hedgehogs, moles, even two little hares arrived just afore you did. How long d'ye think any of those can last without vittles?"

Flib was in no mood to be reasonable. She carried on rebelliously. "They can't stop the vittles. Let's all tell 'em so. C'mon, all of ye shout, We want vittles! Right, all together, now. One, two ... we want vittles!"

At first there was only Flib shouting. She began seizing others and shaking them. "Shout out, will ye? We want vittles. Shout! Shout!"

For some unknown reason, everybeast obeyed. Not only did they cry out, but they repeated, louder and louder, "We want vittles! We want vittles!"

The stern-faced ferret guard bellowed back at them, "Alright, stop that noise. The vittles are on their way!"

Flib felt triumphant. Her mood changed to one of optimism. She grinned at Flandor.

"See? I told ye so. If'n ye shout loud enough, they gotta do somethin' about it. Ahoy, wot's that you've got?"

Flandor held up a small wooden spoon. "It's my spoon. I had it with me when I was captured."

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Flib took the spoon. She inspected it carefully before putting out a general question to all the prisoners. "Who else has a spoon, or any thin' like one?"

Several creatures had spoons, but the one who caught the shrewmaid's eye was a young mole. She had what looked like an old broken knife made of iron. "Et wurr moi ole granfer's, but et bee'd broked, so ee give'd et to oi."

Flib took it, along with several other spoons that were strongly made and a fork carved from some type of thick bone.

Midda cautioned her sister, "Hide 'em. The foxes are here with our vittles!"

Thwip had armed himself with a spear. He waved it at Flib. "Keep yer distance, shrew. I ain't servin' yer. Wot's left in the cauldron after they've all been served will do fer you!"

Flib silently joined the back of the line. When it was her turn, she scraped out the remains of the meagre meal. Plopping it on the piece of slate which Midda used as a plate, Flib said gruffly, "I don't want any o' that bilge. Give it t' Borti."

When the meal was over, the foxes removed the cauldron and the water tub, leaving the captives alone in the gloomy cavern.

Flib posted Jinty and Jiddle Witherspyk at the entrance. "Youse two, keep yer eyes peeled an' yer ears open. If'n ye hear anybeast comin', let us know, sharpish! Flandor, fetch me those tools--the knife'n'fork an' those spoons I picked out."

Tura the squirrelmaid watched Flib going to the rear of the cavern. "What are you goin' to do?"

The Guosim shrewmaid stared at the walls speculatively. "I was keepin' me eyes open when they carried me 'ere hangin' from that spearpole. I think this whole place is built underneath an ole giant of an oaktree. Look up. Can ye see the great thick roots runnin' all ways above us? My guess is right, eh?"

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Flandor passed over the eating implements. "Maybe so, but wot does that prove?"

Flib explained, "No tree as big as an oak could grow on solid rock. Trees need earth, soil to grow in. Now, you there, molemaid, wot's yore name?"

The molemaid who had donated the broken iron knife curtsied, introducing herself. "Oi'm Gurchen, marm."

Flib could not help smiling. "Well then, Gurchen, yore a mole--take a look round this place an' tell me, where's the softest spot t'start diggin'?"

"Hurr, oi'd say roight yurr whurr oi be a settin'." It was Guffy, the Redwall Dibbun.

Gurchen toddled over. She scratched the caveside where Guffy sat. "Burr aye, ee'm coorect, 'tis gurtly soily!"

Flib dug the broken knife in. It went easily, right up to the hilt. She chuckled happily.

"Good enough! This is where I starts diggin' the tunnel. Seein' as we can't fight our way out o' the front entrance, we'll dig our way outta the back!"

This news caused shouts of joy. Tura waved her paws frantically at the young ones.

"Hush! Be quiet all of ye, we don't want the vermin to know. Flib, we're all with ye, friend. Now, what can we do to help?"

The shrewmaid was in full charge; she began issuing her orders. "The two liddle moles kin 'elp me. Flandor, I want you to make a cover. Use moss, beddin', anythin' that we can disguise the hole with. Tura, get some o' the others to 'elp ye. When the soil comes out, it'll need spreadin' over the floor, so it ain't noticed."

Midda approached; she was hugging Borti, who was weeping softly for his mother. "Petunia ... sorry, I mean Flib, wot can I do to help ye?"

Flib smiled as she stroked little Borti's head. "Just keep the babe from cryin' for his ma. Much more o' that, an' I'll be weepin' meself!"

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Tassy the Redwall Dibbun smiled prettily at Flib. "Fank yoo for 'elpin' us all, nice shrew!"

Flib wiped a paw roughly across her eyes. "Don't thank me yet, darlin'. Not 'til we're outta this mouldy ole place."

Tura murmured to Flandor, "I don't think anybeast'd snitch to the vermin to get extra vittles, d'you?"

The young otter wagged his rudder. "Certainly not. Look at 'em--you can see hope in their eyes. Hope, at the chance o' freedom!"

Subaltern Meliton Gubthorpe Digglethwaite was consumed by a longing to be at Redwall Abbey as soon as possible. By that token, so were his travelling companions. Accordingly, they were all awake and on the march long before dawn. The prospect of breakfast at the Abbey lent a spring to their steps.

Young Auroria Witherspyk began singing--she was noted in the troupe for her sweet voice. It was not a particularly rousing marching song, but the beauty of it soon took effect. Everybeast felt lightpawed, dreamy almost, as the hogmaid's clear tones rose to the softly dawning day.

"When gentle dawn bedecks the land, through woodlands green I roam, where friendly trees stirred by the breeze, shed deep their leafy loam.

Small birds sing sweetly to the sky,

'Pray turn dark night to day'

By copse and hill, o'er brook and rill,

I wend my happy way.

"For there 'mid joyous scenes like these, a heart finds rest and ease.

"Where moss and fern and forest flow'rs, of every rainbow hue,

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play host to bee and butterfly

all bathed in early dew.

Whilst hawthorn, oak and sycamore in every quiet glade

do please the eye of passersby, with dappling sun and shade.

"For there 'mid joyous scenes like these, my heart finds rest and ease."

The last tremulous notes of the lovely melody had scarce died in the pale dawnlight when Diggs roared out, "There 'tis, there 'tis! Wot ho, chaps, Redwall Abbey! The very place, wot!"

He was pointing through a break in the trees at a dim, distant shape.

Log a Log Jango confirmed the sighting. "Aye, that's the Abbey rooftops ye can see. When we gets closer, ye'll see the belltower alongside it."

Old Crumfiss shook her greyspike head. "I doubt we'll be in time for brekkist. 'Tis too far off yet. These paws o' mine can't go any faster. Unless ye all want to run along an' I'll follow."

Oakheart Witherspyk would hear of no such thing. "We all go together, Mother dear, even if I have to carry you on my back!"

Buckler drew his long blade. "There's no need for that, Oakie. Here, you Guosim, let's see if we can't make a litter. Let's lop some good branches off that fallen hazel!"

The combined swords of Buckler and four shrews had soon hewed six useful branches. These were bound, two to either side, with the remaining two spaced crossways to form a stretcher. Oakheart volunteered his tattered cloak as a seat.

They pressed on, with Crumfiss perched comfortably. Diggs, Buckler, Oakheart and Jango, with the assistance of several stout Guosim, shouldered the old hogwife. Not

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missing an opportunity, Dymphnia passed the hogbabe Dubdub over to Crumfiss.

They bobbed along, with Dubdub repeating the end of his grandmother's sentences.

"My my, this is comfy!"

"Comfee comfee!"

"It'll rest my ole paws, indeed it will!"

"Deed 'twill, deed 'twill!"

The going was good, with other volunteers taking the bearers' places. They trotted at a fair rate. Buckler was striding along in the van when he discerned a figure upon the walls, which had grown much closer.

"Look, there's somebeast pacing the walltops yonder!"

Oakheart stood on tippaw, peering keenly. "Hah, 'pon me spikes, there's only one as tall as that at Redwall, as I recall. I'll hail him, eh?"

Being a member of the acting profession, Oakheart prided himself upon his vocal powers. He winked at Buckler. "Projection, sirrah--that's what 'tis all about!"

Drawing forth his funnel-shaped bark hailer, the portly troupe leader boomed majestically forth, "Ahoy, there! Is that a rascally riverdog a-beatin' the bounds? Somebeast name o' Skipper?"

When put to the test, the Otter Chieftain was no slouch at the bellowing game. Leaping up on a battlement, he waved vigorously and gave voice. "Haharrharr! Is that an ole pincushion rollin' this way? Why, salt me rudder, 'tis Oakie Witherspyk 'imself. I'll tell 'em to hold brekkist for ye!"

He vanished with a backward leap. Diggs waggled his ears admiringly at the hedgehog. "You have my thanks, sir. Anybeast who can delay breakfast 'til I jolly well get there is an absolute star amongst creatures, wot!"

Word had spread around the Abbey like wildfire: a travelling troupe, Guosim visitors and two strange hares. Skipper guarded the open north wall wickergate with

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good-natured banter for the press of Redwallers who had gathered there.

"Give 'em a chance to get in, mates. Move back there, Granvy. Here they come, now--stand back. Let the Abbess greet 'er guests!"

Abbess Marjoram took Oakheart's paws warmly, knowing it was not always wise to embrace large hedgehogs.

"May I be the first to welcome old friends, the Witherspyk troupe and our stout Guosim allies!"

Sweeping off his floppy hat, Oakheart bowed low. "Faith, ye can indeed, but let's not stand on ceremony. I'm still Oakie, if you're still Marjy!"

Dubdub piped up, "Still Marjy, still Marjy!"

Amidst the laughter which followed, the Abbess took the hogbabe from Crumfiss's lap. "Well, good morning, little nutnose--and what's your name?"

The infant pointed a chubby paw at himself. "I Dubdub!"

Log a Log Jango nodded to Skipper. "Sorry t'say this, mate, but we're here on business. Bad business--some of our young uns are missin'."

Abbess Marjoram left off tickling Dubdub. "Aye, we've got the same problem. Two of our Dibbuns ain't nowheres t'be found."

Marjoram waved her paws for silence. "Please, friends, the day is still young. There's time aplenty for bad news later. But for now let's all go to breakfast together, be introduced to those we haven't met and mayhaps hear a bit of good news. Follow me to the orchard--it's all set out there."

Picnic mats had been arranged on the grass, laden with food to suit every taste.

Diggs was almost incoherent at the sight. "I say! Burn me blinkin' scut an' rip me old auntie's pinnyfore! It's ... it's ... oh, corks!"

Skipper checked the tubby glutton from diving in head

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first. "Ahoy, young feller, let the Abbess say the grace afore ye start vittlin'."

Marjoram spoke quietly in the silence.

"All hail upon this summer morn, thrice welcome to ye all, who visit us in friendship here, good comrades of Redwall!"

Skipper chuckled. "That's what I like--short'n'sweet!"

He released Diggs, who, at a sharp nudge from Buckler, sat down sedately on the grass and passed a beaker of dandelion and burdock cordial to Trajidia. That done, he fell like a famine-stricken wolf on the food.

Buckler introduced them both to the Abbess. "Pie's Subaltern Digglethwaite, an' I'm Blademaster Buckler Kordyne, from Salamandastron, marm. Call us Diggs'n'Buck, everybeast does."

The Abbess smiled fondly. "Ah, Salamandastron! Tell me, Buck, how is my old friend Lord Brang?"

Buckler loosed his long blade, setting it beside him. "Lord Brang is as mighty as he ever was, marm. He sends his compliments an' good wishes to ye. Oh, an' a pair of new bellropes woven by his own paws. He said they are to replace the old uns. Diggs, pass me that rope."

Diggs was too far gone sampling the delights of mushroom, spring onion and gravy pasties. So his companion had to retrieve the rope from him.

Marjoram ran her paws slowly across both ropes. She produced a kerchief and wiped her eyes. "Poor Brother Tollum would have appreciated these fine gifts. I'll tell you more about that later. Big Bartij, our Gardener and Infirmary aide, has taken over as Bellringer to the Abbey now. Bartij, what d'you think of Lord Brang's present to us--look!"

The sturdy hog inspected the ropes admiringly. "What a pair o' beauties, Mother! Just look it the weave o' these

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ropes, all gold'n'green, too. With fine carved elmwood handles on 'em. Hoho, these'll make ole Methuselah an' Matthias sound out o'er our Abbey like honeyed thunder. I'll fix 'em up right after brekkist. Thank ye, Buck, thank ye kindly!"

Several Dibbuns had gathered around to watch the gluttonous Diggs foddering up. They gazed wide-eyed at the tubby hare, who winked roguishly at them.

A tiny molemaid threw her frilly apron over her face. "Boi 'okey, whurr bee's ee a putten et all?"

Diggs relinquished a hefty fruitcake for a brief moment. "Hollow legs, little beauty--least that's what our regimental cooks says I've bloomin' well got."

Jango's wife, Furm, looked up from her mint tea. "Aye, an' hollow stummick, tail, ears an' head. Invite an 'are-beast t'dinner an' ye'll regret it all yore days. That's wot my ole ma used t'say."

Sister Fumbril was feeding Dubdub his second bowl of arrowroot cream pudding. She grinned. "Land sakes--it looks like this liddle rascal's about t'catch Mister Diggs up, ain't ye, young master?"

The hogbabe echoed her dutifully, "Younger masta!"

The morning was almost half gone when the guests sat back, replete and sighing. Even Diggs was heard to remark, "Hope they hold off with the bally lunch for a while, wot!"

Abbess Marjoram called for their attention. "Now, let's address our problems. Oakie, who have you lost from your family?"

Oakheart sighed. "Two, alas--our lovely little twins, Jiddle an' Jinty, scarce four seasons old. There's another, too, a young shrewmaid, calls herself Flib."

Log a Log Jango made his report. "We lost three, if'n ye count the one Oakie just mentioned. She's a daughter o' mine, y'see."

Furm, the mother of all three shrews, sobbed, "Petunia Rosebud, the one who calls 'erself Flib, is the eldest

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o' the three. She's always wanderin' off an' gettin' into scrapes. Flib can take care of 'erself, but the other two, Midda an' Borti, ain't never gone off afore. My Midda's very young, but she always looks after Borti, pore liddle mite--'e's only a babe. Oh, I 'ope my Borti ain't come to any 'arm!"

Furm broke down weeping; Jango could only stand awkwardly by. Guosim Log a Logs are not supposed to cry, though he did wipe a paw roughly across his eyes.

"Now, now, me ole darlin', don't worry, we'll find 'em sooner or later. You say you lost young uns, marm?"

Marjoram placed a comforting paw around Furm. "A little squirrelmaid called Tassy and a molebabe, Guffy. They've been gone half a day and a night now."

Buckler commented, "Hmm, seven young uns in all just vanished into thin air. There's got to be an explanation. Mother Abbess. Has anything unusual happened round Redwall lately? Have ye spotted any strangebeasts lurkin' about?"

Skipper spoke. "Aye, we caught a vermin, a young stoat, early yesterday. Sittin' as pretty as ye please, stuffin' 'im-self with vittles in Friar Soogum's kitchens."

The good Friar piped up, "Huh, typical vermin, made a right old mess--food scattered everywhere. Skipper caught the villain, though. Gave 'im a right ole pastin' with an oven paddle an' made him clean it all up!"

Diggs heaved himself upright, stifling a belch. "Just as the blighter deserved, wot. Do ye still have the rogue? Me'n Buck should have a word with the blighter."

Marjoram explained, "Alas, no. The Dibbuns went missing, so we all went off to search for them. The stoat escaped and hid himself up in the attics. He was seen, and we went up there to get him. That was when the tragedy occurred. Poor Brother Tollum and the wretched stoat were killed in the attempt to recapture him."

Buckler paced up and down, deliberating. "The vermin

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must've had an accomplice outside the walls. Whoever it was is the one who took your babes!"

Foremole Darbee nodded his velvety head sagely. "Hurr, wee'm figgered that owt already, zurr. But wot do us'ns doos abowt et?"

Abbess Marjoram interrupted. "May I say something? Coming from Salamandastron, no doubt you've heard of our Abbey founder, Martin the Warrior. Now, I know this is hard for you to grasp, Buck, but Martin spoke to me in a dream."

The young hare shrugged. "Nothing new, Mother Abbess. Our Badger Lords have been known to have many visions that can't be explained. What did Martin say?"

Marjoram repeated the words carefully. "Corim Althier--just those two words. I don't know what they mean. However, just before the stoat died, I repeated the words to him. He didn't seem at all familiar with the first word, Corim. But when I mentioned Althier, he looked very frightened. Globby--that was the stoat's name--sat up and pointed to the open attic window. Then he said, 'Althier ... Sable Quean!' That was all. He went limp and died. So that's what we know. Corim, Althier, Sable Quean. What d'you make of it, Buck?"

Buckler stopped pacing. He remained silent awhile, thinking hard. Then he gave his verdict. "Well, I don't know what either Corim or Althier means. You say the vermin looked frightened when you said Althier, then he said Sable Quean. To my mind, Sable Quean must be the title for some vermin ruler. So it follows that she has others in her service. Many others, that's why she's a Quean. The young ones were stolen from three different areas. So for some reason unknown to us, she's stealing small woodlanders. Hedgehogs, shrews, a mole and a squirrelmaid. Right?"

A sudden thought occurred to Diggs. "Right you are, old scout. D'ye recall when we first met young Flib she

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was being attacked by those two vermin bullies? They had a rope round her--the cads were tryin' to jolly well haul her off!"

Buckler picked up his sword. "So they were. You see? That proves there's a whole band of vermin roamin' the countryside, taking young prisoners!"

Granvy the Recorder scratched his chin. "So what can we do, except lock our gates, an' keep close watch on our Dibbuns?"

Skipper thumped his rudder down with such force that he startled the old scribe. "Well, we couldn't do much afore now, but we've got an army o' Guosim an' two warrior hares alongside us. We'll form a band o' fightin' searchers!"

Buckler was in total agreement with the Otter Chieftain. "Aye, that's the right move. We'll leave Redwall during the night, in secret. Then we'll hunt through Mossflower woodlands until we meet up with some o' these vermin. We'll ambush the scum and take some prisoners of our own. I'm sure if we ask 'em nicely, they'll tell us all about Althier and this Sable Quean!"

Diggs fondled his loaded sling lovingly. "Oh, I'll ask the blinkin' bounders nicely, you can jolly well rely on that!"

Oakheart Witherspyk declared stoutly, "Well said, sirrah. Me an' my gallant troupe are with ye!"

Log a Log Jango shook his head. "Sorry, Oakie. Yore lot are actors, not fighters. Ye'd just be in the way out there. Best thing you can do is stay 'ere an' defend Redwall."

Abbess Marjoram noted the crestfallen look on her old friend's face, so she seized his paw anxiously. "Please say you will, Oakie. I can't abide the thought of my Abbey lying undefended!"

Oakheart Witherspyk gave her paw a squeeze. "Fear not, gentle Marjy. My troupe and I will guard Redwall with our very lives. To defend this wondrous place will be my honour and privilege!"

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Baby Dubdub tried, but got the words muddled. "Op-pener rivilege!"

Under cover of darkness that night, the party headed out into the woodlands by the small east wickergate. Skipper and Buckler headed the column, with Sniffy a way out front, scouting the land. Diggs and Jango brought up the rear.

Everybeast was on the alert as they stole through the silent fastness of the woodland depths. A pale half-moon rode the scudding clouds over the breeze-swayed treetops. Behind them, the twin bells of the Abbey boomed the midnight hour.

Diggs could not resist smirking a bit as he nudged Jango. "D'ye hear that, old lad? A marvellous sound, ain't it? Couldn't have been done without the new bellropes y'know. I carried 'em all the way from Salamandastron on me own. Indeed I did! Lord Brang entrusted 'em to me, of course. 'Diggs,' he said, 'Diggs, you make sure that these bellropes reach Redwall safely. You're the only one I can bally well trust with 'em!' "

Jango hissed in the garrulous hare's ear, "An' did yore Lord Brang tell ye to get me killed when we're out huntin' vermin, by chunnerin' on aloud all the time?"

The tubby hare replied huffily, "No, he didn't, actually!"

Jango nudged him sharply in the ribs. "Then shut up, or I'll shut ye up!"

They had been on the go for quite some time when Sniffy came stealing back through a fern bed. He cautioned the leaders, "Somebeast ahead blunderin' about in a stream. I think there's only one, but I can't be sure. Couldn't get close enough without bein' seen."

Buckler's long rapier swished as he drew it from across his shoulder. "Right, Skip. Let's take whoever it is."

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12

Thwip the fox jailer leaned against the door which separated him from the young prisoners in the cavern. Trailing the tip of his whip in the dust, he gnawed at a grimy claw.

His partner, the vixen Binta, saw his furrowed brow. "Wotsa matter with ye? Yer look like you lost a goose an' found a wren. Wot's up? C'mon, tell me."

Thwip nodded at the prison cavern. "Somethin's brewin' in there, I'm sure of it, Binta."

The vixen shrugged. "They seem all right t'me. Huh, always 'ungry or cryin' for their mothers. Same thing as usual. Hah, yore worryin' over no thin', mate!"

The brutal fox shook his head. "No I ain't. There's some-thin' goin' on in there, an' I just can't put me paw on it. Look, I'll show ye."

Drawing Binta close to the door, he whispered, "Ye can always hear those liddle nuisances in there, movin' about, whimperin' an singin' daft songs about their homes an' families. Lissen close--there's not a sound comin' from in there ... right?"

The vixen took her ear from the door. "Right, but wot does that mean? They're prob'ly sleepin'. Captives ain't got much else t'do."

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Thwip lifted the lock bar silently, carefully. "Now, watch this!"

He flung the door open wide, almost knocking two small hedgehogs flat. He glared at Jinty and Jiddle, the Witherspyk twins.

"Wot are yew two doin' stannin' there like that, eh?"

Jinty was a good actress. She rubbed her stomach sadly. "We was on'y waitin' for ye t'bring us vittles, sir. Will ye bring us some, please? We're all 'ungry!"

Binta took a practised glance around the interior. All she saw was huddled groups of young ones lying about on the floor and the low ledges at the rear of the badly lit cavern. She drew Thwip to one side, muttering out the side of her mouth at him, "Y'see? I told yer there was nothin' wrong. They all look sleepy an' down'earted. Must be through all the time they've spent in this gloomy 'ole. Huh, you'd be the same if'n ye was one of 'em. Bein' short o' vittles, too, I'll wager that breaks down any spirit they once 'ad. C'mon, let's get outta this dungeon, afore it starts t'get us down, too!"

Thwip took a moment to peer about at the captives. "I don't see nothin' o' that fierce liddle shrew, d'you? P'raps we'd best take a count of 'em, eh?"

Binta was beginning to lose patience with her mate. "If'n that mad shrew's gone off in a corner an' died, well, who's bothered? Less trouble fer us, I say. An' as fer takin' a count, d'yer know 'ow many are in 'ere?"

Thwip coiled his whip up reluctantly. "No. Do yew?"

Binta gave an exasperated sigh. "No, I don't, an' I ain't about t'start countin' 'em. Wot's the matter wid yew, are ye goin' soft?"

Shoving Jinty and Jiddle to one side, Thwip stalked out, turning on his mate as she barred the door. "Lissen, smart-mouth--don't yew start talkin' t'me like that in front of the prisoners. I'm not 'avin' it, so there. Just keep yer clever remarks to yoreself!"

Binta was in no mood to continue the argument. "All

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right, keep yer brush on. Cummon, we'd better go an' get the vittles. That lot's gotta be fed, ain't they?"

Back inside the cavern, Flandor, the young otter, hurried to the shield of grass, mud and woven twigs which disguised the tunnel entrance. Calla and Urfa, the two little leverets, were sitting with their backs against it.

Lifting the two baby hares out of his way, Flandor removed the shield and called into the hole, "You can come out now--they've gone!"

The Dibbun Guffy and his friend the molemaid Gurchen scrambled out, rubbing soil from their faces.

Guffy spat out a fragment of wood. "Zurr, ee Flimbeast bee's stuck unner a gurt root in thurr, we'm bee's a-tryen t'pull hurr owt!"

The young otter thumped his rudderlike tail impatiently. "Not again. That's the fifth time she's gotten herself jammed by roots!"

Gurchen was a well-mannered molebabe. She curtsied prettily before replying. "Burr, thurr bee's more rooters than ee cudd shake a stick at en thurr. Et b'aint gunner be no h'easy job, oi tells ee, zurr h'otter!"

Flandor wriggled into the tunnel entrance, muttering, "I'm gettin' a bit fed up o' pullin' little missy trouble out o' roots. Ah, well, here goes!"

Tura and Midda stood by, giggling as they heard Flib being hauled out backward by Flandor.

"Yaargh! Ya great clod'oppin' riverdog--yer rippin' me tail out by the blinkin' roots. Leggo!"

"Oh, go an' boil yore head, shrew. If'n ye tried pushin' harder, I wouldn't 'ave to tug like this. Stop moanin', I'll have ye out soon!"

"Well, 'urry up, planktail, afore I suffercate!"

They tumbled out together just as Jiddle called from the door, "Here comes the vittles. I can 'ear the foxes outside!"

There was no time for Flandor and Flib to clean

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themselves up, so to cover their dishevelled state, they staged a fight in the middle of the floor. Actually, they were so mad at each other that there was little need for play acting. Thwip rolled the cauldron in on its trolley, followed by Binta with the water tub.

The vixen grinned, pointing at the pair tussling in the dust. "There's yore mad shrew, tryin' to slay that otter!"

Thwip curled his lip. "Hah, leave 'em an' let's 'ope they kills one another! Come on, yew lot. Line up 'ere if'n ye wants to eat!"

Binta broke off serving water and set about the fighters with her water ladle, beating them hard. "Break it up, now. Stop this fightin', d'er 'ear me?"

Thwip sighed ruefully. "Yore right, mate. If'n anythin' 'appens to 'em, 'tis us that gets it in the neck from the Sable Quean. You, shrew, any more trouble an' ye don't get vittles or water. Is that clear?"

Flib snarled at her jailer, "No vittles, eh? Lissen, foxy-face, yew try that an' I'll stuff that whip down yer gullet an' make yer eat it!"

Thwip cracked the whip, making Flib jump back. "Ye can wait'll the last t'get served fer that!"

Zwilt the Shade sensed that there was something in the wind when Vilaya sent for him. Standing in her presence, he knew it was not bad news for him, or a reprimand. The Sable Quean invited him to eat with her.

Two plump, freshly grilled rudd lay on a bed of dandelion leaves in front of her. The aroma of the cooked fish was mouthwatering. Allowing her servant Dirva to pour out goblets of pale cider, she smilingly beckoned Zwilt to sit at her side.

"Ah, my faithful commander, I have things to tell you. Come, eat with me and enjoy!"

Vilaya uttered a low, melodious chuckle, as the other sable looked hesitantly at the two fish. "Dirva, eat a small

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bit from each of these rudd, just to assure my brave friend that they are not poisoned. Take a sip from both gobiets also."

The ancient rat sampled the fish, washing the fragments down with a sip from each drink. She cackled, showing the stumps of her gnarled teeth. Zwilt drew back as she clutched the hem of his cloak.

"Heehee, still not sure, noble warrior? I'll take your portion, if you so wish."

The Sable Quean smiled, dismissing Dirva. "Enough. See my cooks and get one for yourself."

Using a dainty rosewood spike, she speared a piece of fish, then swallowed it gracefully.

"Now comes my time of triumph. Zwilt, you have served me well, but there is yet more to be done."

The fish was delicious. Zwilt cleared his mouth with a draught of the fine pale cider. "More, Majesty?"

Vilaya's glittering eyes held him entranced. "My army is ready now. We have a sufficient number of Ravagers but not to fight with--war is a fool's game."

The Shade did not share his Quean's view of things, but he nodded, eager to hear more. "Majesty, what do you intend doing with all these warriors at your command? They are trained and seasoned fighters."

Vilaya's small pointed teeth showed; she leaned forward. "I know you trained them well, Zwilt. Nothing escapes the eyes of your Sable Quean. Listen now--go to the Ravagers' camp. Make them ready to march tomorrow morn. Be sure they are well armed, as my personal bodyguard should be. It will be a display of my power and ferocity"

Zwilt bowed his head. "I hear and obey, Majesty. But why are you doing this?"

Vilaya spat out a fishbone. She held it up, inspecting it. "Because tomorrow we go to the Abbey of Redwall." Ignoring Zwilt, she turned to her servant, Dirva. "Go and select three of my young prisoners. They will accompany me."

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The old rat hobbled off, cackling hoarsely, "So now the game begins!"

Silent as night shadows, the Otter Chieftain and the Salamandastron Blademaster crept through the darkened woodlands. Skipper halted, keeping in the shelter of a small pine grove. He pointed with his javelin.

"Stream ahead. Can ye see anythin', Buck?"

The young hare nodded. "Aye, there's a bit o' movement by those bushes skirtin' the bank."

Any further discussion was cut short by an agonised groan and the sound of somebeast falling heavily into the shallows. They hurried forward, weapons ready and all their senses on the alert. Whilst Buckler guarded his companion's back, Skipper waded into the water. A moment later, he was hauling something up onto the bank, calling hoarsely, "Ahoy, Buck, lend a paw, will ye? It's a hare!"

Between them, they heaved the limp form onto dry land. Buckler identified her immediately.

"It's Clarinna, my brother Clerun's wife!"

Jango came hurrying up with his Guosim warriors--he was mystified. "I thought all the other hares were back at yore badger mountain. Wot's she doin' here, mate?"

Jango's wife, Furm, made a quick inspection of the unconscious Clarinna. "She's been wounded in two places, through the left shoulder an' at the back of 'er skull. Looks as if she was like this for quite a while afore she finally passed out. If'n I was you, Buck, I'd get this pore beast back to Redwall an' take 'er to Sister Fumbril."

Skipper agreed with Furm. "That's good advice, marm. Jango, you'll have t'go on alone with the search. Buck, me'n you'll get Clarinna back to the Abbey."

Buckler began chopping down two sapling sycamores. "A stretcher's what we need. Diggs, you carry on with the Guosim. No need for you to go back to Redwall."

"Right y'are, old scout. I'd best take flippin' charge around here, wot!"

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Jango thrust out his chin belligerently. "I'm Log a Log round 'ere. Now get in line an' cut out the chatter. Move!"

Diggs was about to make an outraged riposte, but Buckler gave him a hard stare. "Best do as he says, chum. See you when ye get back."

It was not yet dawn when Granvy came out of the gatehouse to open the main entrance for them. He grabbed a lantern and escorted them across to the main building. Abbess Marjoram, Drull Hogwife and Sister Fumbril rushed Clarinna up to the Infirmary.

As the good Sister attended to her patient, Buckler explained the situation. "My brother Clerun and his wife, Clarinna, left Salamandastron some while back. I think they set up a small farm somewhere east of here. Neither of them were cut out to be warriors. They just wanted the quiet life, tending the soil an' growin' crops."

Marjoram rubbed Clarinna's paw as she showed signs of reviving. "We didn't know they were out in the woodlands. They'd have both been very welcome to visit Red-wall at any time."

Buckler heaved a sigh of frustration. "Well, that's my brother Clerun for ye, stubborn an' stolid. She's the same. That's what prob'ly attracted 'em to one another. A real pair of loners. Abbess, you'll have to pardon me, but I think I'd better get back on the trail an' find this farm of theirs. I'll need to see Clerun!"

Skipper placed a paw about Buckler's shoulder. "Ye'd be better waitin' a bit, matey. See, she'll soon be conscious-- mayhap she'll have a tale to tell. Then ye can decide for yoreself before da shin' off."

Having bandaged and poulticed as much as she could, Sister Fumbril revived Clarinna with a few drops of old elderberry wine, which she kept for medicinal purposes. The harewife sat up, coughing and weeping.

Marjoram spoke soothingly to her. "There, there. You're

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safe amongst friends now, at the Abbey of Redwall, and look who's here. Buckler!"

Clarinna clasped Buckler's paw tightly. "Oh, Buck, they slew Clerun and took our babes!"

There was shock and disbelief in Buckler's voice. "Slew Clerun? Who was it? Tell me, tell me!"

Drull Hogwife patted the young hare's back. "Easy, now. Don't frighten 'er, sir. Tell us more about wot 'appened, Miz Clarinny."

Then the whole story came out. Though she was greatly distressed, Clarinna gave them chapter and verse.

"Clerun and I were tending some apple seedlings; our babes, Calla and Urfa, were in a basket lined with moss taking their nap. Clerun was going to make them two little cradles from a nice pine log he had found. But now he'll never make it or see our little ones grow up...."

She broke off, weeping bitterly.

Buckler waited for her tears to subside, then spoke softly. "Clarinna, tell us exactly what took place. Was it vermin that attacked you?"

Her eyes went wide with horror at the recollection. "They came out of nowhere--we were surrounded. A big gang of rats led by a tall, dark-furred beast. One of them carried a rat's head stuck on a pike. The tall, dark one, he drew a broadsword, taunting Clerun until he was forced to draw his own blade. Then this strangebeast said that he would fight Clerun. I'll remember his words for the rest of my life. He said, 'Defeat me and your mate, the brats and yourself will go free. But nobeast has ever bested Zwilt the Shade, so vou'll die!'

"Poor Clerun, he didn't stand a chance, though he tried his best. The one called Zwilt toyed with him, wounding and taunting before he cut Clerun down. Then he took the medal, which Clerun had given me, from my neck. He gave his sword to one of the rats and took Clerun's blade. He said it was far superior to his own. Then he used it to

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wound my shoulder and strike me over the back of my head. I went down. He must have thought he had slain me, too. I heard him say to the others that he had struck a blow for his Ravagers and the Sable Quean. I must have passed out then.

"When I woke, it was late evening. Our babes were gone, Clerun was lying there dead, and the little home we had built together was in ruins, robbed and plundered. I staggered off into the woodlands, calling out for my little ones. After that, I don't recall anything else, until I woke up here. Oh, Buckler!" She broke down grieving again.

Buckler was rigid with sorrow and rage. He loosed his paw from Clarinna's, gritting out through clenched teeth, "Ravagers, eh! And there's that name again, Sable Quean! Hah, now we have another one to add to the list. Zwilt the Shade, carrying my family's broadsword and the Coin!"

Clarinna fell back upon the pillow, wailing, "My babies. What would anybeast want, stealing two tiny leverets, little helpless things!"

Buckler's long rapier swished as he drew steel. Dry-eyed and stone-faced, he kissed the blade. "I swear that Zwilt the Shade and his Ravagers--aye, and the one they call the Sable Quean--will die by my paw. Nor will I rest until the babes are safely back with their mother, the wife of my brother Clerun. I will wear the Coin of the Blade-master and pass on my brother's broadsword to his son. I take this oath upon the honour of the Kordyne family. This is my word!"

The high, bright sun was up and dawn well broken when Log a Log Jango led his Guosim in by the main gates. Buckler and Skipper took breakfast on the west walltop, watching them troop in.

The Otter Chieftain called out, "Ahoy, Jango--did ye have any luck out there?"

The shrew shook his grizzled head. "Nary a vermin

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whisker in sight, but don't worry. Soon as we're rested, we'll set out agin, matey. Oh, how's the hare lady farin'?"

Buckler replied, "She's not too good, mate. Bring your breakfast up here an' I'll tell ye the whole tale. Er, where's Diggs? I don't see him with your lot."

Jango came striding up the wallsteps. "I chased him off. Don't know where the nuisance is."

Buckler nodded. "I might've known that'd happen. Ole Diggs takes some gettin' used to. Was he chunnerin' again? Nothin' can silence that fat rogue."

Jango stamped a footpaw on the ramparts. "Chunnerin', is that wot ye calls it? The rascal never stops--he's like a babblin' brook, goin' on an' on. I kept warnin' Diggs to shut up, but he wouldn't. I told 'im he was endangerin' us all with the noise he was makin'. Enny'ow, one thing led to another, an' I told 'im to get lost. I think yore Diggs took my advice, 'cos we haven't seen 'im since."

An unmistakable sound, that of the chubby subaltern, rent the morning air. "Halloooo! I say there, you rotters, are you goin' to open this bloomin' gate an' let us in, wot?"

The shouts were coming from beyond the east wall.

Skipper and Buckler ran around there by way of the walltops. There was Diggs, looking up at the battlements, grinning like a demented frog. He had with him a ferret, whom he whacked with his loaded sling every time the vermin made a move.

Skipper smiled down at him. "Ahoy, young Diggs. Who's that scallywag ye have in tow?"

The tubby hare kicked the prisoner's tail end cheerfully. "C'mon, don't stand there like last season's leftover pudden. Tell the nice chap your flippin' name--smartly now, laddie buck!"

"Gripchun, sir, me name's Gripchun!" the unhappy captive shouted.

Two Guosim unlocked the east wickergate, and Diggs swaggered in, kicking the ferret before him.

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Jango glared at the garrulous hare. "Where did ye get that un?"

Diggs waggled his ears at the Shrew Chieftain. "Oh, nowhere, really, old Log a Thing. I just came across the blighter prowlin' round the shrubbery, so I surrounded him an' chunnered him into submission, wot!"

Jango glared at him sourly and stalked off.

Buckler clapped his friend on the back. "Good old Diggs! A captive, eh? I'll make him talk!"

Diggs threw a headlock on the wretched ferret. "Rather y'didn't, Buck. Leave old Gripchun t'me. I'll soon have the blighter talkin' faster'n me." He applied the headlock tighter. "Ain't that right, my stinky old friend? Dastardly Diggs the Terrible Torturer, that's what they call me!"

Assisted by Fumbril and Marjoram, Clarinna was escorted into Great Hall, where Diggs had bound Gripchun to a sandstone column.

Buckler pointed to the ferret. "Was this one of the vermin who attacked you, Clarinna?"

She shook her head. "No. They were all large rats, except for the dark-furred one, Zwilt. He's not one of them, I'm sure."

Diggs made a great show of rolling up his tunic sleeves. "Right ho, then, Gripchun, me foul old vermin. Let's find out a little bit about you, wot! Now, there's no sense in beatin' round the jolly old bush, so we'll get right to it. Can some kind creature please bring me a large sharp axe, the larger'n'sharper, the better? Oh, an' some boilin' water, about a cauldron full. Hmm, I suppose we'd better have a few iron pokers an' stuff to light a good roarin' fire. That'll do for now, wot. No good interrogatin' victims without the proper stuff!"

Abbess Marjoram was horrified. "Mister Diggs! Surely you're not planning on torturing this beast inside my Abbey?"

Diggs saluted cheerily. "Pardon me, marm. I'll take the

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scoundrel outside, if the noise bothers you, wot. These rascals do screech an' wail a bit, y'know!"

Turning his back on the ferret, Buckler tipped Marjoram a huge, mischievous wink. "You leave it to Diggs, marm. I've never known a vermin that wouldn't talk after a session with him!"

Marjoram knew then that it was all a ruse to loosen Gripchun's tongue. She kept up the pretence. "Well, take him outside, over to the west wall steps. I'm not having this Abbey messed up with the result of axes, pokers, boiling water and fires!"

Diggs bowed, making an elegant leg. "My thanks t'ye, marm. It shouldn't take too long."

Skipper chuckled. "Oh, I think it will--ole Gripchun's just fainted clear away with fright. Look at him!"

They carried the ferret out to lay him on the wallsteps, then waited until he stirred.

Buckler watched him closely, remarking to Diggs, "I think he should sing like a skylark now. Leave this to me-- you go and find something to eat, mate."

The tubby hare needed no second invitation. At the mere mention of food, he scooted off kitchenward.

Buckler borrowed a beaker of water from the gatehouse. He sprinkled it on Gripchun until the ferret was awake once more. Wide eyed, he lay there, not daring to move.

"That fat rabbet, Diggs, 'as 'e gone, sir?"

Buckler nodded. "Aye, but I can bring him back if ye so wish--"

The ferret let out a wail. "Noooooo! Don't let 'im near me, sir, please. I'll tell yer wot ye wants ter know, on me 'onner I will!"

Buckler patted his tear-stained muzzle. "That's the stuff--but trust me, I'll know if you're lying. So I want straight answers. Now, who is this creature they call the Sable Quean, and what is she doing here in Moss-flower?"

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Gripchun swallowed hard. "I've never seen 'er, sir, on me life I ain't. I'm just one of the Ravagers. Zwilt gives all the orders, an' we just carries 'em out."

Buckler nodded. "So this Sable Quean prob'ly gives Zwilt his orders, and he passes 'em on to you?"

The ferret's head nodded vigourously. "That's right, yer 'onner. There must be about tenscore of us Ravagers by now. Zwilt brought in a mob o' new beasts, river rats, they are."

Buckler exchanged glances with Skipper, who was sitting on a higher step, taking it all in. He put his next question to the prisoner.

"An' what exactly are your orders?"

Gripchun replied obediently, "To take any youngbeasts we comes across, liddle woodlanders. We catches 'em an' passes 'em over to Zwilt. I don't know where 'e takes 'em though, I swear!"

Buckler leaned closer, staring hard at the ferret. "Don't you have any idea where the young ones go to?"

For answer, Gripchun spat on his pawpad, then dabbed it on either eartip--a vermin habit to show that he was speaking truly. "If'n I knowed, I'd tell ye, sir."

The young hare tried another tack. "Tell me more about this beast, Zwilt the Shade. Who is he? Where did he come from? How did he choose you to become a Ravager?"

The vermin became more animated with his reply "I ain't seen nothin' like Zwilt, sir. 'E's tall an' slim but real strong, very fierce, too. Ye never knows where Zwilt's goin' to turn up. Some says 'e's magic, appearin' an' vanishin' jus' like that! But I tells yer, Zwilt'd slay ye soon as look at ye. I never seen one so quick wid a blade as Zwilt is with that big sword 'e carries under 'is cloak--pure murder, 'e is!"

Skipper interrupted. "So how did ye meet up with him?"

Gripchun shrugged. "I used t'roam far north o' Moss-flower wid a gang o' weasels, stoats an' ferrets like meself. Our chief was Gadra the Spear, a real warrior, expert killer 'e was. Then one night, Zwilt jus' turns up at our camp an'

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tells Gadra that we're all gonna be Ravagers an' that 'e's the new chief."

Skipper raised an eyebrow. "I'll wager ole Gadra didn't like the sound o' that, eh?"

Gripchun continued, "Gadra challenged Zwilt to a fight, right off. Huh, pore Gadra, Zwilt made 'im look like a fool--'twasn't nice ter watch. Zwilt tore Gadra t'bits with the big sword, laughin' an' tormentin' 'im like a snake wid a worm. Once 'e finished with Gadra, we was left wid no choice but ter follow Zwilt the Shade. So, that's 'ow I came t'be a Ravager, sir."

Skipper murmured to Buckler, "Zwilt the Shade sounds like a reg'lar terror t'me." A dangerous look entered the hare's eye. "We'll see how much of a terror Zwilt is when he meets a warrior who can fight back!"

Oakheart Witherspyk had been patrolling the walltops, a part of his duties as protector of Redwall. He marched grandly down the wallsteps. "Well, well, 'pon me spikes an' snout, what have we here? A fiendish vermin, eh!"

Buckler felt that he wanted to talk over the information he had gleaned with Skipper. So he delegated charge of the prisoner to the portly hog. "I know he doesn't deserve it, Oakie, but I want you to take this rascal over to the kitchens an' see that he's fed'n'watered. Keep an eye on him, though!"

The big hedgehog took his responsibilities seriously Gripchun found himself seized tightly by ear and tail. Oakheart frogmarched him off, admonishing the vermin sternly, "Zounds, one rascally move out o' ye, sirrah, an' I'll belt ye from here to suppertime an' back!"

Buckler called out, as the unhappy ferret was hauled off, "If that villain gives you any trouble, just turn him over to Diggs--he'll know what t'do!"

Shaking his head, Skipper expressed an opinion to Buckler. "If'n that Sable Quean an' Zwilt have a crew of over tenscore vermin, I think we'll have to secure the Abbey. Armed guards patrollin' all walls, an' others watchin' all

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four gates. You an' Diggs should be able t'help there. We need warriors like ye, mate, Salamandastron trained."

Buckler strode to the walltop. Leaning on a battlement, he stared out over the western plain. "Oh, we'll do the best we can for ye, Skip. But what bothers me is the stolen little uns. What d'ye think this Sable Quean intends on doin' with 'em?"

The Otter Chieftain shrugged. "That I don't know, Buck. It's a puzzle, ain't it? Pore young things, it don't bear thinkin' about, wot a crowd o' vermin scum could do to them."

Even though it made him shudder at the thought, Buckler tried to address the problem logically. "Hmm, one thing we can be sure of, the Sable Quean isn't stealin' the young uns just to slay 'em."

Skipper agreed. "Aye, mate. I'll wager me rudder they're all alive someplace.... But where?"

His companion smote a paw on the battlement. "Somewhere out there in Mossflower, this Zwilt rascal is hidin' 'em. Right, let's see if we can squeeze some more information out of that ferret who Diggs nabbed. Vermin usually know more'n they'll tell you."

The Otter Chieftain clenched his strong paws. "I think we'd best git him up 'ere on the walltop. We don't want to upset any gentlebeasts. Squeeze him, d'ye say? I'll squeeze the blaggard until he sings like a brace o' nightingales!"

Gripchun was feeling much better since he had been taken to the kitchens and given good Redwall fare. The absence of Diggs added to his well-being; he felt his natural vermin insolence returning. It came as an unpleasant shock when Skipper strode in and seized him by the scruff of his neck.

Gripchun tried to wriggle free, snarling, "Git yer paws off a me, riverdog. Who d'ye think ye are?"

The brawny otter pinned him to the wall with one hefty paw. He began clouting the ferret's ears with the other.

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Skipper explained who he was, accentuating each word with a stinging smack.

"I'll tell ye who I am, Dibbun robber! I'm the beast who's goin' to knock yore head off if'n ye tell any lies, or give me any more of yore lip!"

Gripchun began sobbing relentlessly. "Please, sir, don't 'it me no more. I've told ye all I know, I can't tell ye no more, honest I can't!"

Diggs ambled in, munching on an oversized vegetable pasty. "Oh, hello, Skip old scout. What's that rascal been up to, wot? I say, d'ye mind holdin' my pasty whilst I give him a few smacks? I feel sort of responsible for the scoundrel, havin' captured him an' all that!"

Skipper left off cuffing Gripchun's ears long enough to explain, "Me'n'Buckler thinks this un knows more'n he's sayin'. I'm takin' him back up to the walltop so we can question him without upsettin' everybeast."

Diggs brushed pasty crumbs from his chubby cheeks. "Good idea. I'll lend a blinkin' paw--you take one ear an' I'll take the other, wot!"

They went off with Gripchun, hobbling tippawed between them and wailing pitifully, "Owowow--leggo, you'll pull me lugs off!"

Oakheart joined them as they left the kitchen. " 'Pon my word, does that wretch never stop bleating?"

Halfway across the lawn, they met Granvy, who enquired where they were taking the captive. On being told, he decided to tag along.

Gripchun cowered against the battlemented wall, nervously licking dry lips as he looked from one to the other of his interrogators.

Diggs was finishing off his pasty; Skipper was flexing his paws. Oakheart had taken the liberty of bringing along a wooden oven paddle, which he was tapping on the rampart stones. Granvy had sat down, taking from his belt pouch a piece of bark parchment and a thin charcoal stick. He smiled at the ferret.

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"Just to take down anything you tell us."

However, it was Buckler who was causing the captive some real apprehension. The young Blademaster was honing his long rapier blade on a whetstone. Without looking at Gripchun, he spoke, testing the keen edge against his paws: "I want you to think very carefully. I must have an answer to every question I ask."

A lump appeared in Gripchun's throat as he swallowed hard. He nodded furiously.

Buckler continued in a level tone, "Are the young uns alive and well?"

The ferret kept nodding as he found his voice. "They're all still livin', as far as I knows, sir."

Log a Log Jango Bigboat came bounding up the wall-steps. "I heard a kitchen helper sayin' you was tryin' t'make this scum talk. Has he said anythin' yet?"

Granvy looked up from his writing. "He says the little uns are all still alive, as far as he knows."

The Shrew Chieftain's blade was out in a flash, its point a hairsbreadth from the vermin's throat. Jango's voice was shaking with rage. "As far as ye know? I'm the father o'three of those youngsters! So ye'll have to do a bit better'n thinkin' ye know. If'n they're alive, yore chief must be keepin' 'em hid somewhere...."

Jango's voice rose with his rage. He drew back the short Guosim rapier, readying it for a thrust. "I'm right, ain't I? My liddle uns are bein' held prisoners. Where? Tell me where, ye useless cob o' flotsam. Tell me or die!"

Gripchun gave a hoarse screech as Jango swung the blade. Fortunately, it was knocked to one side as Buckler deflected it with a deft flick of his long rapier.

The ferret threw himself flat on the walkway, sobbing hysterically. "I keeps tellin' ye, I don't know nothin'. All I does is carries out Zwilt's orders. I ain't got a clue where Althier is, on me oath I ain't!"

Oakheart bounded forward. Heaving the vermin up

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right, he shook him like a rag, bellowing into his face, "Althier, what d'ye mean, Althier?"

Gripchun rattled on like a babbling brook. "I 'eard Zwilt sayin' it, an' I didn't think nothin' of it at the time, honest I didn't, sirs. But just now the name came into me mind. Althier, I think that's the name of the place where they keeps yore little uns!"

Oakheart dropped the hapless vermin. "Well, well. What d'ye make o' that, friends?"

Granvy ceased writing. He whispered to Skipper, "I believe him, but let's not frighten him into telling lies to save his skin. Leave this to me. Maybe I can persuade a bit more out of him."

Diggs gave the Recorder a broad wink. "Aye, but first allow me to jolly well scare the blighter a bit more. Then you can come in, all blinkin' kind'n'gentie, eh, wot!"

Diggs dived at the ferret, hauling him up once again and bellowing aggressively, "So then, you mouldy rotter, you were fibbing when y'said you'd told me every bloomin' thing. Hah, an' I was tryin' to be nice to you. Right, that's it! No more good old Uncle Diggs for you, m'laddo, c'mere!"

Even though he was tubby, Diggs was a hare of some strength. With a grunt, he swung Gripchun over his head and held him above the battlements.

"One thing a chap can't abide, an' that's a fibber! So it's over the wall for you, mudface. You're free t'go--though it's a bit of a way down from the top o' these flippin' walls. Hah, your pals will prob'ly need three sacks an' a spade to shovel you up an' carry you off, wot!"

The vermin screeched despairingly, "No, noooo, mercy, sir, I begs ye! Owoooo 'elp!"

That was when Granvy interceded. He pulled Diggs back, managing to take possession of the prisoner. "Mister Diggs, sir, there's no need for all this violence. I'm sure this creature would sooner talk to me, right?"

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The ferret began kissing Granvy's footpaws. "Right, sir, yore right. I'll talk to ye, fair'n'square, honest I will, sir. Just keep that fat rabbet off me!"

Diggs was about to fetch him a good clout for his insolence when the old Recorder held up a calming paw.

"Please, friends, go away. Let me take charge of this beast."

Buckler nodded. "He's right, mates. Let's go and take tea in the gatehouse. Just shout if y'need us, Granvy."

The Recorder smiled meekly. "Thank you so much."

They went off down the wallsteps, with Diggs chunnering indignantly "Bloomin' nerve o' the blighter. Fat rabbet is it, wot? One more word out of that scoundrel an' I'll fat rabbet him. Squashed ferret, that's what he'll jolly well be. I say, you chaps, if we're havin' tea, I'll just nip off t'the blinkin' kitchens an' see if I can't conjure up a few scones, or a spot o' piecrust!"

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13

It was a terrifying moment for the young prisoners in the gloomy cave, and it happened swiftly. One moment they were lying about listlessly, wondering how long it was until their next meal, some dozing, others just gazing blankly into space. Then the door to the dungeon slammed open. Thwip, Binta and Dirva swept in with an escort of guards, all carrying lighted torches.

There was an immediate hubbub, with the little captives shielding their eyes against the sudden invasion of flaring lights. Dirva pointed to the closest three creatures. "They'll do--take 'em!"

Flandor the young otter grabbed a stoat who was shoving the Dibbun squirrelmaid, Tassy, into a big sack. "Leave her alone, you dirty villain!" He dealt the stoat a good punch to the right eye.

That was where the resistance ended. Flandor was set upon by guards and beaten senseless with spearbutts. Thwip was cracking his lash, snarling, "Get back! Back, I say all of ye!"

Screams and cries of young creatures echoed round the dungeon walls as the raiders speedily retreated with their victims. As quickly as it had started, the incident was over. The door slammed and was bolted tight, leaving the

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prisoners blinking in the sudden darkness. Everybeast was wailing and sobbing at the sudden violence of the raid.

Flib came tumbling out of the escape tunnel, followed by her two small mole assistants. The Guosim shrewmaid spat dust, wiping the back of a grimy paw across her eyes. "Wot'n the name o' bludd'n'boulders is goin' on?"

Midda grasped her sister Flib's paw. "They took three of us, jus' barged in an' took 'em!"

Flib wiggled a paw in a dust-filled ear, shouting, "Will ya shut that noise, all of youse! I can't 'ear meself thinkin' for all the weepin' an' wailin'. Now, shut up, d'ye hear me? Be quiet!"

The din subsided into faint moans and sniffles.

The young squirrel, Tura, spoke out. "I think they've killed Flandor--look!"

Flib ran to the fallen otter's side and turned him over. He groaned softly. Midda managed to unhook one of the dim lanterns from the prison wall. She held it over Flandor as Flib inspected him.

"Flandor ain't dead. Anybeast got a drop o' water t'spare?"

A small quantity of the precious fluid was donated. Midda tore off a strip of her kilt, soaking it and bathing away blood from a cut on the otter's brow. She forced the remainder of the water between Flandor's lips. He spluttered, trying to sit up, but Flib pressed him back down.

"Stay put awhile 'til yer feel stronger, mate. Now, who was it did all this?"

Tura answered, "The two foxes an' that ole scrinjy rat. They burst in with a load of guards carryin' torches an' weapons. Shoved three little uns into sacks an' took 'em away. Wasn't much we could do, it all happened so sudden. Y'can see wot they did to pore Flandor, beat him terrible, they did!"

Flib nodded grimly. "So, who did the cowardly scum take?"

Midda replied, "One was the Redwall squirrel, Tassy."

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Jiddle the Witherspyk hog sobbed, "They stole my sister Jinty put her in a sack!"

Flib patted his head gently "There, there. No good cryin', mate, at least they never took you. Who else?"

Gurchen the molemaid had been taking a look around. "Burr, oi think they'm tukken ee likkle hurr babbie, ee wun called Urfa. She'm gone frum 'er bruther."

A mousebabe began wailing, "Wahaaah, they're goin' to eat them, we'll be next. Wahaaaah!"

Flib tugged the mouse's tail, silencing him. "Don't talk stoopid. If'n they was goin' to eat us they woulda done it long ago, while we was all still fat an' 'ealthy "

Midda picked up Borti, who had been wakened by the mousebabe's cries. She rocked him to and fro. "Then what d'you suppose they plan on doin' to 'em?"

Flib raised her voice bad-temperedly. "Well 'ow am I s'posed to know, eh? They took 'em, an' that's all there is to it, see? We'd better be ready to fight 'em off if'n they comes back t'take more of us."

Tura shrugged. "An' how are we supposed to do that?"

Her enquiry seemed to throw Flib into a greater rage. She waved her paws about wildly. "Look, I ain't in charge 'ere. Can't yer think for yoreselves, instead o' sittin' there scrinjin' an' moanin'? At least I'm doin' somethin'--I'm tryin' to dig a tunnel out of 'ere. In fact, that's wot I think I'll do now, carry on diggin'. Cummon, youse two!"

A moment later, she and her two mole helpers had vanished into the tunnel, leaving the rest to their own devices.

Tura took up the wet rag and began wiping Flandor's wound, her jaw set tightly. "Huh, not much good askin' yore sister for help, is it?"

Midda saw that Borti had gone back to sleep. She placed him carefully down on a bed of old dried grass. "That's not very fair, Tura. Flib's doing her best to dig that tunnel so we can all escape. I know she can get a bit moody at times, but she's always been that way. Take my word for

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it, Flib has a good heart. She'll help us in her own way, you'll see."

Flandor sat upright, nursing his head. "Aye, Tura, she's right--hush, did ye hear that? Somebeast's unlockin' the door. Get them all back against the walls. Be ready to fight this time!"

The light of fear banished the dullness from young eyes as everybeast put their backs to the wall and waited with bated breath.

The door opened to reveal Thwip, Binta and two guards with the prisoner's food. Flandor recognised the guards as part of the group who had beaten him with their spear-butts. Despite his injuries, the young otter charged at them with teeth bared.

"Dirty cowards! Only two of ye this time. Well, let's see how brave ye are without yore gang!"

Thwip pushed the cauldron of gruel forward and backed off, cracking his whip. He called to the others, "Binta, leave the water. Let's get out of this place. Leave 'em to feed themselves. That streamdog's gone mad!"

The four vermin hurried from the scene, slamming the door and peering through the grating. The other captives, urged on by Flandor's example, hurled themselves at the locked door, banging on it, shouting insults and threats at their jailers.

"Yah, dirty rotten stinky cowards!"

"Give us back our three friends."

"Yore too scared t'come back in here an' face us!"

"Burr, you'm muthers shudd be unshamed of ee!"

Avoiding a pawful of soil which rattled through the grating, Thwip laughed harshly. "Eat hearty, me liddle friends. That's the last vittles ye'll get off us. We'll see how brave ye are after a few days without food'n'water!"

Any further threats from the fox were cut off by a loud rumbling noise from inside the dungeon. It was from the vent of Flib's escape tunnel. With a boom and a crash, a big boulder shot out like a cannonball. This was followed by

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a shooting slide of debris, soil, pebbles, pieces of tree root and thick sandy dust.

Binta fell back, coughing and spitting as the dust came through the grille. "Wot'n the name ... wot's 'appenin' in there?"

One of the guards, who had wisely stood aside, missing the choking debris, commented ironically, "Go an' see, if'n ye wants to. I'm gettin' outta here afore the roof caves in on me!" He took off in a hurry, with the other three following him.

Flandor waded paw-deep through the mess which had enveloped half of the cavern. "Tura, Midda, are ye alright? Get the little uns up on that side ledge--make sure they're all safe!"

Anybeast who was unhurt came to help the shrewmaid and the young squirrel. It took a while for the dust to settle and for the few lanterns to be set right. Fortunately, no life had been lost, and nobeast was seriously injured. Once the babes were made safe on the ledge and the remainder of their food and water had been salvaged, Flandor took a look around.

The tunnel had vanished completely. There was only a sloping hill of debris where it had once been. Midda immediately threw herself upon it, digging furiously with her bare paws. "Flib's in there. Help me--she might be injured!"

Flandor overpowered her, pulling her clear of the wreckage. "Come away, mate. Nobeast could've lived through that. There's been some massive kind o' collapse, maybe an earthshift of some kind. You won't do any good tryin' t'dig through that lot."

Midda struggled in the young otter's grasp, then gave up. She sat on the hill of rubble weeping. "Oh, Flib, poor Flib! What a way to die, crushed under all that rock and earth. Oh, my poor sister!"

Tura shook her head sadly. "Aye an' those two moles who were with Flib, they'll be dead, too."

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The Witherspyk hog, Jiddle, wiped dust from his eyes. "They'd be the lucky ones, goin' quick like that. Look at us trapped in here, an' they ain't comin' back to feed us, I wager. We've been left here t'die slow."

Jango Bigboat was not a beast to sit about in the gatehouse drinking hot mint tea and nibbling scones spread with damson preserve. Diggs appropriated the Guosim Log a Log's share as he watched Jango leave the table.

"Hah, jolly bad form, leavin' scones t'go stale like that. Where are you off to, old lad?"

The Shrew Chieftain gestured upward. "Goin' to take a look up there, see if ole Granvy's gettin' any information out o' that vermin. You comin'?"

The irrepressible Diggs waggled his ears. "Oh, by an' by, m'friend, by an' by. Soon as I've nourished me tender young body. You run along like a good chap. We'll be up presently, wot!"

Oakheart Witherspyk shared Jango's scones with Diggs. The big hedgehog really enjoyed his food. "Rather toothsome, this Redwall cuisine, y'know. One could develop a real taste for it."

Diggs watched him devour the last scone. He gazed mournfully at the empty tray. "Oh, really? Y'don't say!"

They were distracted by Jango yelling from the walltop, "Ahoy, mates, come up 'ere an' take a look at this lot!"

Buckler, Skipper and Oakheart were up on the ramparts in the twinkling of an eye.

Jango was pointing to a vermin horde arrayed on the west flatlands in front of the Abbey. It was the full complement of Ravagers, everybeast armed to the teeth, headed by the Sable Quean and Zwilt the Shade.

Buckler muttered quietly to Granvy, "Get back down to the Abbey quick. Tell the Abbess to send every able-bodied Redwaller up here an' make sure they look as if they're armed. Go!"

Trying to put a bold face on things, Diggs turned his

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back upon the vermin throng, commenting lightly, "Hmm, looks like we've got visitors, chaps. What d'you suppose that mangy mob want, wot?"

Skipper played along casually. "Well, they ain't come to swap scone recipes an' take tea on the lawn. What d'ye think, Oakie?"

The big Witherspyk hog sniffed disdainfully. "I think they should assemble downwind from us, sirrah. Ton my word, the smell's enough t'make a dead frog sick!"

Zwilt and Vilaya stood motionless, as if awaiting some reaction from the walltop. However, the creatures on the ramparts continued ignoring them and chatting coolly amongst themselves.

Jango placed a footpaw on Gripchun, who was sitting out of sight with his back against the wall. Pressing the ferret firmly in place, the Guosim Chieftain murmured to him, "If'n ye want to stay alive an' healthy, mate, stay where ye are an' don't move. Unnerstand?"

The vermin nodded vigorously. One look at the shrew's fierce eyes, and he understood.

Without warning, the twin Abbey bells began booming out the alarm. Redwallers, Guosim and Witherspyks came hastening up the wallsteps and onto the battlements. Buckler sighed ruefully as Granvy saluted him.

"They're all here, just as you asked."

The young hare returned the salute, adding, "There was no need for alarm bells. It could've been done without all the fuss, just t'show the vermin we're not anxious or concerned."

Abbess Marjoram spoke. "Don't blame Granvy. 'Twas my decision to sound the bells. I'm sorry if I did the wrong thing. But we've never had a situation like this to my knowledge. My apologies to you, Buck."

Buckler bowed gallantly. "Accepted, Mother Abbess. Now, if you aren't used to facing vermin hordes, then perhaps you'll leave this to me?"

Marjoram touched his paw. "Willingly, my friend."

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Buckler gave orders quietly. "Log a Log Jango, would you split your force? Take half the Guosim to the southwest gable and send the rest to the northwest corner, please."

Jango nodded to Sniffy the Tracker. "You take half our tribe an' cover the nor'west end. I'll take the rest and stand at the sou'west corner."

They moved off promptly as Buckler continued with his strategy. "Diggs, Skipper, stay with me at the centre threshold. Oakie, Foremole, spread everybeast the length of this west wall, but send six to watch the other walltops. Two to the east, two to the south and two to the north. They can give the warning if the vermin start sending beasts round the walls. Wait, now--before you go, listen to what I say."

He looked at the Abbeybeasts and woodlanders, who, apart from the well-armed Guosim, were carrying a variety of makeshift weaponry--spades, digging forks, hoes, window poles, wood axes and kitchen knives. "All of you, stay in clear view holdin' your weapons so they can be seen. But don't do anything until we give the order. Above all, stand silent. Don't start threatening and shouting war cries. Right, go to it!"

There was an air of tension pervading the warm summer noon as both sides faced each other in complete silence. All that could be heard was a few larks on high over the western flatlands beyond the walls.

Buckler used an old unsettling tactic, addressing a Ravager at random. Pointing to one at the left flank, he enquired, "You, what d'ye want here?"

As the dumbfounded vermin stared up at him, Zwilt stood out, answering sharply, "If you have anything to say, you'll speak to me!"

Buckler leaned on a battlement, replying casually, "I've got nothin' t'say at the moment, except for what I asked that other clod. What d'ye want here, an' who are ye, eh?"

Zwilt stiffened, his paw seeking the longsword beneath his flowing cloak. "I am Zwilt the Shade, Commander of

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the Ravagers, and I wish to speak with your leader, the one who rules this place!"

Buckler twitched his ears, smiling easily "Well, ain't that a pity? You'll just have to speak t'me. Buckler Kordyne at y'service, Blademaster of Salamandastron."

Zwilt looked about to speak, when Buckler halted him with an upraised paw. "Zwilt the Shade, eh? I've heard of you. Aren't you the one who sneaks around the countryside stealin' babes from their mammas' paws? A real brave warrior!"

A loud snigger from Diggs was heard clearly as Buckler continued. "I don't think I want to bandy words with a coward like you. No, I'll speak with her, Vilaya the Sable Quean, who lives at Althier."

The young hare could tell by the look which passed betwixt Zwilt and Vilaya that his remark had hit home. How did he know of Althier?

Vilaya answered him, "I did not come here to play guessing games and exchange insults. No doubt you are wondering what has become of your young ones?"

Abbess Marjoram could hold herself back no longer. She leapt forward, shaking a clenched paw. "You filthy Dibbun thief--it was you!"

Before they could be stopped, Oakheart's wife, Dymphnia, and Jango's wife, Furm, were yelling at the Sable Quean.

"What've ye done with our babes, you wicked scum?"

"Give us our little uns back. How could ye do such a bad thing?"

Whilst he felt sorry for both mothers, Granvy rounded on the pair, muttering fiercely, "Shuttup, both of ye. It's not doing any good, insulting a vermin Quean like that. You'll only bring more trouble on the little ones. Leave it to Buckler--he knows what he's doing!"

They fell back and were comforted into silence by Sister Fumbril and some molewives. Buckler felt that the vermin had got the better of that exchange. This set him to try

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another tactic. He called out challengingly, "How do we know you've got the young uns. Where's yore proof?"

The Ravagers brought forward three large sacks which, on a signal from Vilaya, they turned out. The little Witherspyk hogmaid Jinty, Tassy the Redwall squirrelmaid and Urfa the baby leveret tumbled forth, blinking in the sunlight.

Skipper ground his teeth, whispering to Sister Fumbril, "Keep their mothers out o' sight. Don't let 'em see the little uns, I beg ye, marm!"

Diggs moved swiftly up alongside Buckler. "Let's find out what the rotters do when they see we've got one of their crew, wot?"

It was a standoff. Buckler realised he would have to take the gamble. He nodded. "There's nothin' else we can do. Try it, mate!"

Grabbing Gripchun roughly, Diggs hauled him up onto the battlements.

Buckler shouted, "This is one of yours--Gripchun, I believe. Harm any one of those babes, and he'll pay!"

Zwilt whispered to one of the Ravagers, who passed the word on to some others. The tall sable called to the prisoner on the walltop, "Gripchun, friend, how would you like me to free you from those creatures?"

The ferret's head bobbed rapidly "Aye, sir, I'd like that!"

Zwilt was smiling as he raised his paw, then let it drop suddenlv.

j

There was a buzzing noise, like several angry hornets, as three arrows zipped out from the horde. One went wide, but the other two found Gripchun, He gave a startled gurgle, then went limp. Falling from Diggs's grasp, he hurtled from the battlements to the path in front of the main gate.

The three little captives were swiftly returned to their sacks. On the walltops, most of the defenders were ducking below the parapet, fearing further arrows would follow. But none came.

Zwilt had a brief whispered conference with Vilaya,

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then drew his broadsword, signalling a retreat. "We will be back here before too long. Do not try to follow or discover where Althier lies. It would be very sad for your young ones if ye did!"

Buckler tore down the wallstairs and unbarred the main gate, calling to Diggs, who had followed him, "Bar the gate behind me, stay in here--that's an order, Subaltern!"

Drawing his long rapier, he crossed the path. Taking the ditch in a single leap, he roared, "Eulaliiiaaaaa!"

Marching at the front of the Ravagers, Zwilt and Vilaya both heard the hare's war cry. She nodded to the tall sable.

"Go back and warn that fool off--and don't get into a fight with him. He could be a dangerous beast."

Buckler was waiting as Zwilt came striding over the flat-land, brandishing the broadsword. "I've been given orders not to slay you, longears. What is it that you want? Speak!"

Buckler did his best to provoke Zwilt to fight. "You rotten, stinkin', murderin' coward! That sword you hold is my brother's blade. How did ye kill him, yellow guts? By stabbin' him in the back?"

Buckler drew his long rapier; Zwilt took a pace backward. He opened his cloak to reveal the medal hanging about his neck. Showing his teeth in a malevolent smile, he replied, "Your brother, was he? Stupid, clodhoppin' soil plougher! No need to stab that one in the back--I cut him to ribbons with one paw behind my back. I took his pretty medal, too. D'ye like it, longears?"

The young hare's steel made the still air thrum as he came at the tall sable.

"Put up that blade or the young ones die!" Vilaya had dropped to the rear of her Ravagers. Her eyes glittered with menace as she hissed, "I warn ye, do you want their blood on your head?"

Buckler sheathed the rapier back over his shoulder.

The Sable Quean called to her commander, "Leave him, Zwilt. Don't waste your time with the fool. Come on."

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Buckler was quivering from ears to tailscut. He had trouble keeping his voice level. "We'll meet again, vermin, and when we do, 'twill be your death day. I swear on my oath!"

Zwilt sneered. "Big words for a rabbet with a skinny blade. When we meet again, I'll do to you what I did for your big clumsy brother, but I'll do it slower so you'll suffer longer. Now, run back and hide behind those walls with your friends." Turning his back upon the hare warrior, Zwilt strode off to join the horde.

Filled with an incandescent rage, Buckler took a pace toward Zwilt as the world turned red in front of his eyes. What he would have done next he would never know. Vilaya's voice stopped him short.

"Do as he says, or you will die before the young ones do. Look, fool, and obey me!"

As his vision cleared, Buckler saw what she meant. He was facing six vermin archers with shafts drawn full-stretch on their curving bows. There was nothing more he could do.

Turning, he began walking slowly back to the Abbey, where the defenders were watching him from the wall-tops. Suddenly an arrow skidded by his neck, furrowing a shallow wound. He heard mocking laughter from behind him and Zwilt calling, "Faster, rabbet, or we won't get the chance to meet again--they'll kill you!"

Shafts were zipping all around Buckler. He felt one cut sharply into his footpaw, and he fell. Picking himself swiftly up, he staggered and stumbled in a zigzag path until he reached the Abbey.

Diggs and Skipper flung the gate open, hauling him inside. Log a Log Jango shouted from the walltop, "The treacherous blaggards! Guosim, string yore bows!"

Buckler roared back at the Shrew Chieftain, "No! No! Don't fire at them. They'll kill our young uns. Don't do anything!"

Reluctantly, Jango gave his archers orders to stand

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down. Everybeast flocked about the young hare. Dymphnia Witherspyk and her daughter Trajidia supported him to the Abbey building where Sister Fumbril took over.

"Bring him to the Infirmary. Those vermin arrows may be tipped with poison--hurry now!"

Trajidia looked aghast. "Poison! Oh, the foul fiends, and you were so brave out there, Mister Buckler, so valorous! Facing all those foebeast single-pawed. Alas, only to be fatally pierced by poison weapons!"

A swift kick in the tail from her grandmother caused her to yelp indignantly. Crumfiss pushed her onward.

"Don't let him go, missy. Keep tight hold or he'll fall. An' ye can stop all the drama. Save yore moanin' and wai-lin' for the proper time!"

Skipper watched the ladies escorting Buckler upstairs, commenting to Oakheart, "Ye won't get near Buck, not with that lot. He's in more danger of bein' nursed, cared for an' fed t'death than he is from bein' slayed by vermin. See!"

Drull Hogwife and the Abbess hurried by, bearing a tray of food and drink as they followed the others.

Diggs sat down on the bottom stair, chunnering. "Huh, I should've gone with old Buck. Blinkin' chap could starve t'death round here if he's not been jolly well wounded, wot!"

Jango turned to Granvy. "Bad luck, losin' yore vermin prisoner like that. Ye won't get no more out o' him."

Granvy looked over the top of his rock-crystal glasses, nodding sagely. "Oh, really, d'ye think so? Well, let me tell you, my friend, I learned enough from Gripchun to put a few things together myself. You don't get to be a Recorder of Redwall by letting your brain go idle."

The others were immediately intrigued by this statement.

Skipper thumped his rudder excitedly "Things? Wot sort o' things, matey?"

Oakheart whispered confidentially, "No secrets here, sirrah--you can tell us."

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The old scribe chuckled. "Later, perhaps, when Buckler gets back from the clutches of Sister Fumbril. I'm afraid I don't know everything yet, so I may need a bit of help and some quick-witted ideas."

Diggs brightened up slightly. "Chap t'help with quickwitted ideas, d'ye say? Hah, you're lookin' at the very fellow, old lad. My quick-wittedness is legendary at Salamandastron, wot wot!"

Jango chuckled. "I'll wager it is--tryin' to work out how t'get more vittles than the rest, figurin' how ye can pinch pies from the cookhouse an' so on."

Diggs wrinkled his ears at the shrew. "Steady on, there-- that's a jolly hurtful thing t'say about a chap, y'know. Still, I wish I knew where I could pinch a bloomin' pie or two right now. Most unusual for me, but I do feel a bit bloomin' peckish."

Granvy smiled. "Right, then, shall we say after supper let's all meet in the gatehouse?"

Diggs nodded. "Supper, a capital idea!"

Abbess Marjoram pushed the tray of untouched food toward Buckler as Sister Fumbril tended to his wounds. He hardly glanced at it.

She chided him jokingly, "Tuck in, young sir. Even warriors have to eat, you know."

Buckler did not even flinch as Fumbril washed his neck wound with hot water and herbal cleanser. He sat on a sickbay bed, gazing bleakly at the wall.

Dymphnia Witherspyk looked up at him as she began bathing his footpaw. His dark mood was plain to see. "Don't take it to heart so much, Buck. You did all you could have done. 'Twas very brave of you."

There was a bitter edge to the young hare's voice. "Did all I could've done? Huh, I had to run away like a frightened babe. Very brave, I'm sure!"

Log a Log's wife, Furm, passed him a bowl of hot summer

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vegetable soup, commenting, "Oh, I see, you'd 'ave much sooner stood yore ground and gotten shot full of arrows. That would've made ye feel better, eh?"

Buckler's eyes, still hot with seething anger, swept the ladies. "That Zwilt ... that piece of filth! He was wearing my dead brother's medallion--aye, an' wielding his sword, too. That tiny leveret, the one they had in a sack, I've never set eyes on it before, but I'll take my oath that the babe's my nephew. Where else would they get a little hare around here?"

Trajidia clasped her paws, declaiming dramatically, "Oh, the agonies you must have suffered, sirrah, standing there helpless in front of your tormentors!"

Catching her mother's icy glance, she trailed off into silence. Sister Fumbril bound a neat light dressing of sanicle and dockleaf to Buckler's footpaw.

"There, you're as good as new, matey. How d'ye feel?"

Buckler touched his neck, which was smeared with a healing unguent. He stood up, testing his weight upon the paw. "Better, thanks. I don't have to stay here, do I?"

Abbess Marjoram moved the tray out of his way. "Not if you don't want to. Could I tempt you to take a little food before you leave?"

She spoke as Diggs entered the room. The tubby Subaltern beamed, thinking the remark was addressed to him. "You certainly can, Mother Abbess, marm!"

Plonking himself on the bed, he pulled the tray to him. "What ho, Buck, you look jolly chipper. Still, I was just sayin' to old Log a Thing, takes more'n a couple of mis'rable vermin arrows t'stop a Salamandastron chap, wot!" He swigged off the soup and wiped his lips. When he looked up, his companion had gone.

"Well, now, didn't stop to chat, did he? My word, what'n the name o' fur'n'feathers ails him?"

Furm shook her head. "Huh, warriors. No tellin' wot goes on in their minds. I should know, I'm married to one!"

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Diggs bit into a plum turnover. "Say no more, dear lady. Know exactly what y'mean. Us warriors are a jolly odd lot, wot, wot!"

Supper was a very subdued affair. Everybeast was mulling over what had taken place that day. Most Redwallers were feeling apprehensive following the appearance of a vermin horde at their very gates. They ate in silence, keeping their feelings to themselves.

Skipper finished eating quickly, then nodded to Buckler. "D'ye fancy a stroll over t' the gatehouse with some of us? Ole Granvy reckons he's onto somethin' that might help with our problem."

Buckler had hardly touched food; he stood promptly. "Lead on, Skip. Anythin's better than sittin' round wondering what t'do next."

The Abbey Recorder looked about at the assembly in the little cottage. Skipper, Buckler, Diggs, Jango, Oakheart and the Abbess. He tapped his quill pen on a stack of yellowed scrolls, obviously ancient writings. "Listen now, friends, I've been trying to piece together a few things which might reveal the location of where the Dibbuns are being kept."

Oakheart scratched his headspikes. "Aye, sir, but will it do any good? You may be bringing disaster on our young uns heads. D'ye recall what that scoundrel Zwilt said? If we try to follow them, or find the babes, then they'll harm our little ones."

The sound of Jango's teeth grinding together was clear-- the Guosim Chieftain practically spat out his words. "So wot d'we do, eh? Sit about twiddlin' our paws, an' let those scum have all their own way? Never trust wot a vermin says, Oakie."

Skipper's rudder thwacked the floor. "Aye, yore right there, matey. We should be doin' all we can to free the little uns, an' quick about it, too!"

Buckler had hardly spoken thus far, but now he came

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to the fore, firm and decisive. "Are we all agreed, then-action must be taken?" They called out as one, "Aye!"

The Blademaster nodded. "Good! So, then, Mister Granvy, what've ye got to tell us?"

The Recorder adjusted the little spectacles on his snout. "Right. First things first: I don't think that the Dibbuns are being held more than a day's march from here. Why should the vermin keep them any great distance away? It doesn't make sense. Agreed?"

Abbess Marjoram nodded. "Agreed, that's my feelings. Also he said that they would return to our Abbey before too long, so they can't be far away."

Granvy acknowledged Marjoram. "Thank you, Mother Abbess. Now, this word, Althier, is a strange name, not one we'd know around Mossflower. I kept repeating it to myself-- Althier. You may say that I have a quirky mind, and so I do, friends. So I wrote the name down and tried to decipher it. D'you know, I think it's actually made up from two words. The first one would be probably a word we use all the time-- the! The pond, the Abbey, the orchard, the kitchen. And it's definitely there. So, take away the word the, and what are we left with? Four letters. A ... L ... I... R. What does that suggest to you?"

After a moment's thought, Oakheart spoke out. "Rail!"

Granvy shook his head. "What word might we associate with most vermin, eh?"

Diggs shouted out, "Liar, that's the word. Hah, didn't Jango say that only a moment ago? Never trust a vermin, an' why? 'Cos they're all liars, flippin' liars!"

The solution dawned on Buckler. "Lair. Vermin hide in lairs, that's what Althier means ... the Lair!"

Granvy patted the young hare's back. "Well done, Buck. The Lair. So, what are we seeking?"

Oakheart sounded excited. "A vermin lair within a good march from Redwall!"

Diggs began chunnering. "Dearie me, it must be a jolly

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big lair. Somewhere large enough to take all those bally ravagin' rascals, plus the young uns. Anywhere that bloomin' size you could spot from a flippin' league away. Sounds like a pile of balderdash to me chaps, wot!"

Granvy shook his head. "No, no, you're wrong. Didn't Gripchun say that he didn't know where Althier was? That suggests Zwilt and the Sable creature keep the main body of their army well away from it. There's lots of places in Mossflower where you could set up a camp for a mob of vermin. Doesn't have to be particularly secret--nobeast is going to attack that number of armed vermin. But Althier, now, that's the secret hideout, where only the chosen few are allowed to be. The Quean, Zwilt, some guards and jailers and, of course, the captives."

Jango scratched at his scrubby beard. "You got a point there, scribe, but where is it, where do we start lookin'?"

Skipper tried reasoning. "Well, those Ravager vermin ain't been seen hereabouts until lately. So maybe they ain't had time to build Althier. P'raps they just found it, an' the Quean made it their lair."

Abbess Marjoram was in agreement. "It sounds feasible to me. So, what natural hideouts do we know of around Mossflower Country? Who has a working knowledge of the area? Abbeybeasts mainly stay here at Redwall--- we're not travellers. Jango, maybe you could suggest someplace?"

The Guosim Chieftain pondered. "Hmm, lemme see. I've spent all me life on Mossflower's waterways. Hah, wot about the old quarry? That's full o' caves!"

Granvy pointed a paw at Jango. "You could be right. I read in the records that the quarry was where they took the stone from to build Redwall. That's how it became a quarry. It was said to be a breeding place for serpents, though, poisonteeth adders. D'you think they'd choose that? I'm not so sure, friends."

"Corim, the place of Corim!"

The words had come from the Abbess, but the voice did

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not sound like hers. Granvy stared at Marjoram. "What was that you said? Corim?"

Abbess Marjoram shook her head and rubbed her eyes, as if just waking from a nap. She blinked at Granvy. "I don't know. What did I say?"

Oakheart held out his paw theatrically. "As I heard it, marm, you said, 'Corim, the place of Corim!' I never forget my lines, you see, and neither should you, Mother Abbess. Corim, the place of Corim. Heard it m'self, distinctly-- though I recall, your voice sounded rather different."

Granvy spoke in hushed tones. "That's because it was the voice of Martin the Warrior! It isn't the first time he's spoken through some other creature. Martin's sending us a message."

Jango carried on with his former idea. "I think the ole quarry'd be a likely place--"

"Silence, please!"

Granvy had both his eyes shut tight, his paws clenched. The old Recorder was concentrating hard.

Jango went quiet; they all stared at Granvy. Now he was rocking back and forth, muttering, "Corim, Corim, the place of Corim ... Corim, where have I heard that name before? Corim, a word from long ago ..."

He suddenly leapt up in a fever of elation. "Hahah! Of course! Now I know, 'twas here all the time, here right under our snouts!"

Skipper could stand it no longer. The big otter picked Granvy up and stood him on the gatehouse table. "Corim here? Granvy, me ole mate, will ye stop jump in' about an' talkin' in riddles? Wot's right under our snouts? Now, calm down an' speak plain!"

Granvy sat down on the edge of the table. He took a deep breath, then polished his glasses slowly. "Er, forgive my little outburst--not quite the thing for an Abbey Recorder. However 'twas not without reason. Buckler, d'ye see that bookshelf on the far wall? I'd like you to find me a volume there. I'm not quite certain of the title, though."

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Diggs chunnered. "Not quite certain, eh? That's jolly useful, wot. Confounded great load o' books on those shelves, an' the blinkin' chap doesn't know the flippin' name o' the one he wants. Hah!"

Buckler's paw gagged his voluble friend's mouth as Granvy continued, "I know it's a weighty book, huge, thick thing, probably with a green cover. Or was it red? Something about a journal of somebeast or other. Name began with a G."

Now it was Marjoram's turn to get excited. "The Journal of Abbess Germaine!"

The glasses slipped down Granvy's nose. "How did you know that?"

Marjoram explained, "Because when I was made Abbess of Redwall I borrowed it from you to learn how other Abbesses ruled here!"

Granvy scratched his ears. "Did you, really? Dearie me, I must be getting old. I don't remember. Tell me more, please."

Marjoram did just that. "You were right. It's a thick old green volume, but you won't find it in here. I kept it in my study, you see. 'Twas very wrong of me, because I've never found the time to read it, though I keep promising myself that I will sometime. Shall we go and take a peep at it?"

As they crossed the moonlit lawns, Diggs saw the dormitory lights going out one by one. He yawned. "Only one thing I like better'n' scoffin', an' that's snoozin'. In a snug little bunk with a soft pillow, wot!"

Granvy blinked; Skipper caught him as he stumbled.

"Are you tired, too, me ole mate?"

The hedgehog Recorder shook himself briskly. "Not at all. Lead on, my friend!"

The Abbess breathed in deeply. "Ah, just smell that summer night air. So warm and soft. I love the different scents, fennel, marigold, dandelion and gentian, so delicate, faint almost."

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Jango growled, "Let's get on an' look at this book instead o' yafflin' about goin' to bed an' sniffin' the flowers!"

Oakheart chuckled quietly. "Ah, a true lover of nature and its many wonders."

The study was a neat room. Marjoram could not abide untidiness. The friends began sorting through her books, but she rapped sharply on her writing desk.

"Touch nothing, please. I know exactly where everything is. See, here is the book!"

Granvy immediately opened it, flicking through the yellowed barkpaper leaves.

It was a huge green-bound volume. The Recorder muttered to himself as he leafed through it. "Must've taken Abbess Germaine many seasons to write all this. A good deal is about the time before our Abbey was even built. Goodness knows when that was!"

Abbess Marjoram hovered about the old squirrel anxiously. "Please be careful with the book. It's so old, and very precious. Take care you don't damage it!"

Granvy, however, was paying little attention to her. Knowing what he sought, he riffled speedily through. "Hmm, wildcats, vermin, Martin, Gonff, Bella of Brockhall... Ah, here it is!"

Buckler leaned over his shoulder. "Here's what? Have you found something valuable?"

The Recorder raised a small spurt of dust as he slammed his paw down on the open page. "The answer to our problem, friends. Now I know what Corim means, and Althier, too. This has to be it!"

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14

There are those in Mossflower who would deny the existence of a Warrior mole. None of these doubters had ever met Axtel Sturnclaw. There was not the slightest doubt that Axtel was a warrior. He was also a loner--bigger, stronger and fiercer than any of his species. In his broad belt, Axtel carried a war hammer, which he mainly used for breaking stones when he was tunnelling. Other than that, the big fellow needed no fancy weaponry. Just one glance at his massive digging claws was enough to warn anybeast. Axtel Sturnclaw was not a mole to be messed with. He led a solitary life, wandering the woodlands, furrowing his own workings and, for the most part, shunning the company of others.

Vermin had never bothered him. The few who had tried never lived to tell the tale. He left their carcasses up in the branches of trees for carrion to dispose of. It was Axtel's view that he would not sully good soil by burying vermin in it.

In short, Axtel Sturnclaw was a warrior mole who lived quietly but by his own principles. He was a stranger to the Mossflower woodlands, so he was exploring.

This particular day, he was tunnelling near a gigantic old oak, hoping to find a cave beneath the roots. Having dug

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all day with not much success, Axtel was about to finish and go back up to the woodland surface when something unexpected occurred.

His tunnel collapsed. Not on his head but beneath him. Without warning, he shot downward and was only stopped from falling further by his own prompt action. Feeling the floor going out from under him, the powerful mole grabbed a thick root and hung on. As suddenly as it had started, the subsidence ceased. Axtel hung there in darkness for a moment, puzzled by the turn of events. Then something grabbed him by the footpaw.

The stolid warrior mole did not panic; he was more overcome with curiosity than anything. Reaching down, he grabbed the creature who was clutching him and hauled it up. It was a little molemaid holding a lantern. With a single heave, Axtel lobbed her up into his own tunnel.

Spitting out debris, she nodded. "Hurr, thankee, zurr!"

Axtel eyed her suspiciously. "Yurr, missy, wot bee's you'm doin' daown thurr?"

Gurchen, for it was she, dispensed with long-winded explanations, informing him, "Us'ns got curlapsed in, thurr bee's two uthers a-buried asoide oi. Wudd ee be so koind as to diggen 'em owt, big zurr?"

Axtel took the lantern, hanging it on the oak root. He shook a large digging claw at the molemaid. "You'm stay put, yurr--oi'll gerrum!"

Gurchen leaned over the tunnel edge, shielding her eyes as he shot into the loose soil, like a furry cannon-ball. Everything was still for a short time, then the ground erupted where Axtel had gone down. Gurchen was forced to move aside as he tossed the limp form of Flib up into the tunnel.

Axtel blew soil from his snout. "Did ee say thurr wurr two?"

A nod sent him burrowing back down. Loose earth moved this way and that, then he emerged with little Guffy clinging to his neck for dear life.

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Seizing the root, Axtel passed Gurchen the lantern. He clambered back up into the tunnel. Guffy sprang into Gurchen's paws, weeping with fright after his underground ordeal. The big mole slung Flib across his back, gesturing upward.

"Goo on with ee, back into ee fresh h'air!"

It was dark night in the woodlands. Gurchen and Guffy breathed deeply, overjoyed even though they were moles to be free of the underground, no longer imprisoned in the cave. They both began to chatter, explaining their plight to their huge new friend, but he silenced them with a snort.

"You'm 'ushed naow, whoilst oi see's iffen this young un bee's still aloive!"

Retrieving the gear he had left above ground, Axtel cleared debris from Flib's mouth and nostrils. He poured water between her open lips, until she gurgled and jerked, vomiting sludge and fine root tendrils onto the grass. Axtel sat her up.

"Burr, she'm soon bee's roighter'n'rain!"

Leading them off a small distance, he sat the escaped prisoners in a dry gully Lighting a small smokeless fire from the lantern flame, Axtel dug food from his pack. "You uns must be furr 'ungered'n'thursty."

Guffy threw his paws around his saviour's neck. "Hurr-hurrhurr, thankee muchly, zurr. You'm a guddbeast!"

The Warrior mole had never been around young ones, nor had he ever witnessed a display of genuine affection. He allowed himself to be hugged awhile, then sitting Guffy down with Flib and Gurchen, Axtel covered his shyness, mumbling gruffly as he busied himself.

"Yurr, naow, you'm likkle uns set thurr whoilst oi gets ee summat t'be eaten."

Flib, still spitting up bits of rubble, was unable to eat, though she did drink some of the big mole's excellent dandelion cordial. The two little moles tucked gratefully into acorn and chestnut scones. They had no sooner finished eating and drinking than both Dibbuns fell instantly to sleep.

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Axtel dug an old cloak out of his gear and covered them both. He turned his attention to Flib. "Naow, mizzy, may'aps ee can tell oi abowt 'ow ee cummed to be daown thurr unnergrounds."

The Guosim maid told her story, recounting from the time of her capture up to the tunnel collapse. She described in detail her vermin captors and their regime over the young prisoners, the darkness of the gloomy dungeon, the meagre rations and harsh treatment. Flib mentioned that she had a younger sister and a brother, a mere babe, still held in captivity with the rest. She also told of Thwip and Binta, the cruel fox jailers.

When she had finished her report, Flib watched Axtel Sturnclaw closely. The Warrior mole sat silent, his eyes flickering savagely in the firelight. He picked up a thick dead root end, wrenching it from the earth with one paw. His formidable digging claws snapped the root with a quick swat. Throwing the wood on the fire, he turned his gaze on the sleeping Dibbuns.

"You'm a sayin' ee vurmints gotten gurt numbers o' likkle uns locked away daown thurr, miz?"

Flib nodded. "About a score of 'em. Most been stolen from their families, some babes scarce two seasons old, pore liddle mites."

She fell quiet, afraid to say more. Axtel's teeth were grinding audibly; his eyes had taken on a fearful glaze. Taking the war hammer from his belt, he shook it right under Flib's nose, growling, "Gurt brave vurmints, eh? A-locken up babbies an' keepin' 'em 'ungered! Et b'aint roight, no, miz, et b'aint. They'm villuns got t'be punish-ered! Hurr, bo aye, an' oi bee's ee one who'll do ee pun-ishen, take moi wurd fur et!"

Out in Mossflower woodlands, Zwilt dismissed the main force of Ravagers, sending them back to their camp. Joining Vilaya and Dirva, he accompanied them, his chosen cave guards and the three small hostages back to Althier.

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Even before they reached the entrance in the old oak tree trunk, Dirva began twitching oddly.

The Sable Quean eyed her coldly. "Why all the shaking and hopping about?"

Dirva replied darkly, "I feels it in my bones'n'fur, Majesty--there's somethin' amiss. Althier isn't the same as when we left it!"

Vilaya knew enough to trust her aide's feelings. She commanded Zwilt, "Leave two guards here with the prisoners. Go ahead swiftly--find out what has gone on in my absence. We'll follow on."

When the Sable Quean eventually reached Althier, Zwilt was standing inside the entrance. His Ravagers were holding guards, two of the four who had remained behind with Thwip and Binta.

The tall sable shoved both vermin forward, snarling at them, "Report to your Quean, tell her what happened here!"

The elder of the two swallowed hard. "It was a collapse, Majesty, inside the prisoners' cell. We heard the noise and saw soil comin' out o' the door gratin'."

Both guards quailed under Vilaya's piercing eyes. She pointed to the younger vermin. "Did you see it? Were any of the captives hurt?"

He told her, constantly looking at his companion for reassurance. "Majesty, we didn't see it. We only heard the noise, but we went quickly t'see wot it was. The dungeon door was jammed, with rubble piled up agin it."

The older guard nodded, as if his life depended upon it (which it did). "Aye, Majesty. The foxes saw it. They was there, just outside, all the time."

The younger one added, "Those other two guards, the ones you left with us to mind the prisoners, they was with the foxes. They must've saw it 'appen!"

The Quean held up a paw, silencing them. "Then send them to me, immediately!"

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Zwilt interrupted, "Majesty, they are gone, deserted-- Thwip, Binta and the two sentries."

Vilaya's nostrils flared with wrath. "Find them. Hunt them down and bring them back here to me!"

Zwilt the Shade bowed low. This was work he enjoyed. "Leave it to me, my Quean!" He indicated four guards. "Bring ropes to bind them. Hurry, I must go before the trail runs cold."

After the hunters departed, Vilaya had a seat set up close to the dungeon, where she could direct operations. There was no way of pushing open the dungeon door, with all the debris behind it. She watched awhile as a half-dozen guards tried to force an entrance, then sighed in irritation.

"Break the hinges and pull it down."

Spearpoints hacked at the woodwork until the old iron hinges were exposed. The rusty metal creaked as the guards' spearhafts levered them loose. With a joint heave, the vermin pulled the battered door down. A guard held up a lantern, peering inside through the settling dust.

"There's still many in there, sitting on the ledges mainly. I can't see clearly yet, but there's quite a number of them."

Vilaya sounded irate. "Then get them out before they become buried by another collapse. Guards!"

Shortly thereafter, the young creatures, dusty and bedraggled, were seated on the floor gazing up at their captors. Vilaya questioned the guard who had first sighted them.

"Are they all here, or are any missing?"

The vermin's voice trembled as he answered, "I dunno, yore Majesty. 'Twasn't my job to count 'em."

The Sable Quean swept the other guards with an icy glare. "One of ye must know. Speak up--how many prisoners were there?"

The old rat Dirva tugged at Vilaya's cloak. "None of these know, Mighty One. Only those foxes, Thwip an'

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Binta, knew, but they're gone. Allow me to try. I'll soon find out."

She confronted the young ones in a calm manner. "Tell me, do ye have any sisters, brothers or friends missin'? Was anybeast lost when the collapse happened?"

Young Jiddle Witherspyk held up a paw. "My sister Jinty's gone, an' Tassy, an' a liddle hare, too. Those vermin put 'em in sacks an' took 'em away. They're bad, wicked villuns!"

Dirva nodded, as if in agreement. She smiled at the small hog. "I'll trade ye, if'n I get 'em back. Will ye tell me who's missin' then, eh?"

Flandor spoke out boldly. "None of us are sayin' a word 'til we sees 'em safe back!"

The Sable Quean signalled a guard. "Bring them here!"

Three Ravagers carried the sacks in. They emptied the little trio out roughly.

Tura carried Urfa to her brother, reuniting the leverets.

Tassy, the Redwall Dibbun, ran to Midda, calling, "Where's Guffy, my likkle molefriend?"

Jinty scurried to Jiddle; they hugged each other tightly.

Midda put a paw about the little squirrelmaid. "There's been no sign of Guffy, or Gurchen an' Flib, not since the collapse."

Tears popped out onto Tassy's cheeks. She blurted out without thinking, "Did the tunnel fall in on them?"

Like a whirlwind, Vilaya was amongst them. She seized Midda, shrieking as she shook the shrewmaid savagely. "Tunnel, what tunnel? Tell me or I'll rip ye apart!"

Flandor charged to Midda's aid. Leaping on the sable's back, he battered at her with clenched paws, roaring, "Git yore paws off'n her, ye slimy bully. Let her go!"

Vilaya almost went down under the young otter's attack. She was saved by her guards. They hauled Flandor off her forcibly. As they dragged him away, he lashed out with his rudder, catching the Sable Quean a smashing blow in her left eye.

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They crowded in on the brave young creature then, subduing him by main force. Vilaya turned on him. Leaping forward, she struck him in the throat. Flandor clapped a paw to his neck and fell. The sable stood over him, covering her injured eye.

She returned the tiny poisoned dagger to its crystal sheath, hissing viciously, "You dare to strike a Quean? Fool, you will never again raise a paw to anybeast!"

Midda was instantly at Flandor's side, holding up his head. The courageous otter smiled dreamily up at her, his eyes starting to droop.

"I'm thirsty, mate ... thirsty...."

He shuddered, then slumped to one side and lay still. The shrewmaid shook her friend's limp form. "I'll get water for ye, Flandor. Flandor?"

Tura realised what had happened. The squirrelmaid ran at Vilaya, shouting, "You've murdered him, you rotten scum!"

The Sable Quean retreated several paces, allowing the guards to intercept Tura, who struggled in their grip.

"You dirty, stinkin' vermin, Flandor was worth ten of you!"

Holding the bunched hem of her cloak over her injured eye, Vilaya stood quivering with rage and pain. She screamed, "Get them out of my sight, all of them! Throw them in a cave where they can't dig their way out. Lock them in there and double the guard!"

The captives were herded off at spearpoint. Midda, Tura and some of the older creatures scrambled to pick up the babes. Frightened and bewildered, the little ones began weeping piteously. Dirva attempted to place a poultice over her mistress's eye; it was swollen and discoloured.

"Hold still, Majesty. This will help with the pain."

Vilaya flung the poultice from her, snarling, "Keep that foul rubbish away from me. Go and stop those brats wailing or I'll take a blade and do it myself!"

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Like most Guosim shrews, Log a Log Jango was no scholar, nor was he gifted with patience. He curled his lip sourly at the Recorder.

"Well, come on--spit it out, matey. Are ye goin' to sit there starin' at yon book like a stuffed frog? When d'ye think ye'll get round to tellin' us where our young uns are bein' held, eh?"

Granvy did not like being hurried or ordered about by gruff beasts. He looked slowly up from the thick, open volume, blinking over the rim of his spectacles. "All in good time, sir. Being rude won't speed me up."

Abbess Marjoram judged by the look in Jango's eye that Granvy had said the wrong thing, so she took charge of the situation without delay. "Friend Granvy, I think that the good time you speak of should be right now. Kindly tell us what you know."

The Recorder was about to speak when the door to the Abbess's room opened. The late Clerun Kordyne's mate, Clarinna, staggered in. The harewife was wearing a flowing nightgown. Her head was in bandages, her paw in a sling and she looked totally distracted.

Making a beeline for Buckler, she seized his tunic, tugging on it as she implored him tearfully, "Where are my poor babes, Calla and Urfa? What have those vermin done, where have they taken them? Oh, Buck, bring them back to me, I know you can! Say you will--oh, my little ones. Help me, please!"

Buckler had never been in such a situation; he was really embarrassed. Clarinna was clinging so hard to him, he could not loosen her grip without hurting her. He felt all eyes in the room on him as he managed to stammer, "Er, yes of course I will, Clarinna, but shouldn't you be resting in the sickbay, after what you've been through?"

Sister Fumbril came hurrying in. The big otter herbalist was carrying a small beaker of medicine. Abbess

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Marjoram exchanged glances with her as Fumbril held up the beaker.

"I only popped into the next room for a moment to make this up. When I got back, there she was ... gone! Pore creature, she ain't well at all. Keeps goin' on about her liddle uns, an' what beast could blame her? I'd be just the same in her position."

The good Sister's voice dropped to a whisper. "She'll fall into a deep sleep if'n I can get this down her."

Surprisingly, Diggs took charge of the medicine. "Beg-gin' y'pardon, allow me, marm!"

Almost casually, he pried Clarinna loose from Buckler, chatting amiably to her. "Retrieve your little uns--I should say so, marm. Why, old Buck an' I were about to dash off posthaste an' do that very thing. Indeed, we'll jolly well have the little blighters back here before y'can say Salamandastron, ain't that right, Buck, wot?"

Clarinna instantly attached herself to Diggs's sleeve. "Oh, thank you, Subaltern Digglethwaite, and you, too, Buckler. Are you going to get them right now?"

Diggs nodded affably. "This very instant, dear lady--but 'fraid we can't leave until you've taken this stuff. Mmmm, smells rather nice, wot, may I taste it?"

Sister Fumbril caught on promptly to the tubby hare's ruse. "Mister Diggs, sir, you give that beaker to Miz Clarinna right away. T'aint for you. She'll need all her strength to care for those babbies once they're back at Redwall."

Clarinna released Diggs. "Yes, I will, won't I? Calla and Urfa can be very lively, y'know. I'd best be ready." Taking the beaker, she drained it to the last drop.

Sister Fumbril put a supporting paw around the hare-wife, nodding to Skipper, who did likewise as Fumbril coaxed her along. "A nice, soft bed an' a quiet room are the best things for ye, dearie. You come with us now."

Log a Log Jango turned to the Recorder after Clarinna

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had left. "Don't let me stop ye, old un. Carry on with what ye was about to tell us."

Granvy tapped the open page of the volume he had been studying. "Thank the seasons for ancient records. Funny how places and events get forgotten after a while--"

Abbess Marjoram cut him off sharply. "Granvy, will you stop dithering and get on with it? What's the matter--don't you want to tell us what you found?"

The old Recorder sighed. "Of course I do, but I blame myself for not studying our Abbey's history. I've always been too busy doing other things."

Marjoram nodded. "I, too, friend--so part of the blame rests with me. Tell us now and all's forgiven."

Granvy looked directly at Jango. "Why are your tribe called the Guosim?"

The Log a Log shrugged. "We've always been known as Guosim. 'Tis a word made from the first letters of wot we're about: Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower. But why d'ye ask? Everybeast knows that."

"Aye, but now I know what Corim means--that's made up of first letters, too: Council of Resistance in Mossflower. Bear with me whilst I explain. In the long-distant past, there was no Abbey of Redwall, just a castle named Kotir. It was ruled by a wildcat, Queen Tsarmina. She commanded a vermin horde, which enslaved the whole country. Well, to cut a long story short, the woodlanders, led by Martin the Warrior, waged war against Kotir and its evil beasts."

Diggs nodded stoutly. "Well, good for them, say I. Must've been jolly excitin'. Did they win?"

Buckler nudged his friend. "Stow the gab and listen."

Granvy paused, then picked up the thread of his narrative. "Martin and his friends had to have somewhere to live, a base to operate from. Fortunately, there was an ancestral badger home, place called Brockhall. A brave badger lived there, Bella of Brockhall. She offered them her home, even fought alongside them. As I've said, it's a very long story. But they were victorious in the end, the

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Corim--that's what they called themselves. Without those gallant creatures, there would have never been a Redwall Abbey. There you have it."

Oakheart Witherspyk stroked his headspikes reflectively. "Hmm, so 'tis possible that Althier an' Brockhall are one and the same place. D'ye have any ideas as to where we might find it, sirrah?"

The Recorder shut the big volume ruefully. "Alas, no. It's so long ago, shrouded in the mists of countless seasons, I'm afraid."

Buckler took over. "Well, let's see what we've got so far. This Sable Quean creature is obviously using it as a hideout. But she doesn't keep her main force, the Ravagers, there. Now, the young uns are probably imprisoned at Althier, and as we've established, it ain't more than a day's march from here. Remember what she said, she's returning here soon. At a rough guess, that's a day for her to get back there, a day's rest, then back here the day after, right?"

Jango nodded. "Aye, an' d'ye recall wot that vermin prisoner said? Most of the Ravager force don't know where Althier is--they're kept away from there by Zwilt the Shade. If'n tenscore vermin were camped at Althier, it'd be pretty easy to track 'em, eh, Sniffy?"

The Guosim Tracker agreed. "That's right, Chief!"

Diggs, who had been taking it all in, gave his opinion. "Indeed, old lad. The dreadful old Sable Quean must have just a bodyguard an' some jailers at her hideaway. That leaves the rest o' the blighters camped out in the blinkin' woodlands somewhere. Any ideas, chaps?"

Skipper had returned; he was standing in the doorway. "Here's an idea for ye. Wherever the Ravagers' camp is, it can't be far from the Quean's hidin' place. Find 'em an' the young uns will be locked up not far away."

Foremole Darbee rapped his digging claws on the volume. "Hurrhurr, roight clever thinkun', zurr. Ee mole cud-dent not've dun better, boi 'okey!"

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Diggs brightened up considerably. "Then alls we've got t'do is find the bloomin' place, wot?"

Buckler shook his head. "Wrong. You've forgotten two important things, mate. First, those vermin aren't stupid, especially the two sables. They threatened to harm the young uns if we were spotted tryin' to follow 'em. Second thing is Redwall itself. We'd be fools to leave it undefended with tenscore armed Ravagers in the neighbourhood. I think we're in a bit of a cleft stick."

Oakheart placed a big paw on the young hare's shoulder. "You're right, sirrah, on both counts. But what's t'be done about our little uns? We can't just leave them at the mercy of those scurvy vermin."

It was a pretty subdued group of friends who were gathered in the Abbess's room, pondering the results of the meeting. Unable to stop himself, Diggs emitted a cavernous yawn. He recovered his composure. "Oops, pardon me, chaps!"

Marjoram looked around the group. "It's late. Without proper sleep, we won't be good for anything. Consider this--the young ones aren't in any immediate danger. The Sable Quean knows they're far too valuable to her alive. She won't be returning here until the day after tomorrow, so this gives us a bit of time to think things out. Agreed?"

Buckler bowed to the Abbess. "Agreed, marm, what you say makes sense. We'd do well to sleep on it for the moment. A rest might refresh our minds."

They broke up then. The Abbess left, followed by Oakheart. Buckler intercepted the others before they could leave. Jango winked at him.

"Yore goin' after 'em, aren't ye?"

The young hare nodded grimly. "Aye, I'm leaving right now. Diggs, will you see to the defence of the Abbey? I'm puttin' you an' Oakie in charge."

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The tubby hare made an elegant leg. "At y'service, sah, leave it t'me. I'll shake this lot into some sort o' Salamandastron shape, by the left I will!"

Jango pulled a face. "I ain't havin' that chunnerin' fat bucket givin' me orders. I'm comin' with you, Buck."

Buckler allowed himself a smile. "I was hopin' you'd say that, mate. We'll need Sniffy, your Tracker, along with us. Are you comin', Skip?"

The brawny otter clasped Buckler's paw. "You try an' stop me, culley. I'll just get me javelin."

Before the Abbey bells had tolled the midnight hour, they slipped away by the east wallgate--Buckler, Jango, Sniffy, Skipper and Big Bartij, the Gardener and Infirmary assistant. They were dressed in muted green cloaks made from old Redwall habits, and armed.

Diggs bolted the east wickergate behind them, whispering, "Good luck, you chaps, an' if ye come across any vermin, give 'em blood'n'vinegar, wot!"

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15

Flib lay alongside Guffy and Gurchen in the dry woodland gully where the Warrior mole Axtel Sturnclaw made his temporary camp. Axtel had gently tucked his old cloak about Guffy and Gurchen, his dark eyes moist as he stroked their heads. The two little moles were sleeping deeply, but despite all she had been through, the Guosim shrewmaid could not rest; Flib was pretending to be asleep. Then she opened one eye and saw the big mole watching her. He grunted quietly.

"Shudden't you'm be asleepen, miz? Ee needs yore rest."

Flib sat up. "I've tried, but it ain't much good. I suppose I'm not in a sleepin' mood."

Axtel covered the dead embers of their fire with soil. "Hurr, then you'm can be keepen watch round yurr."

Flib agreed readily. "Righto, I don't mind keepin' guard if'n ye want a spot o' shuteye."

Axtel thrust the war hammer into his belt. "Shutten eyes b'aint furr oi--you'm watch o'er ee likkle uns whoilst oi bee's gone."

Flib was filled with curiosity. "Where are ye goin'?" Standing upright, the Warrior mole stretched his huge paws. "Back daown yon tunnel, to 'elp yore friends, miz."

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The shrewmaid leapt up. "I'll come along with ye--"

She sat down hard as Axtel nudged her with his paw. He stood over her, wagging a thick digging claw under her nose. "Ho, no you'm b'aint, moi deary. Oi sayed stay yurr an' watch ee likklebeasts, an' oi means et, boi 'okey!"

The look in his eyes, and the set of his powerful body, told Flib that it would be unwise to argue the point.

She tried to appear nonchalant. "Do as ye please. 'Tain't none o' my business. When'll ye be back?"

Axtel crouched down in front of her. He smiled and ruffled her ears. "Oi'm gurtly sorry you'm can't cumm, Miz Flib, but this bee's wurk oi does best alone. Naow, thurr's vikkles an' drinks in moi pack, if'n ee gets 'ungered. Oi gives ee moi wurd, oi'll cumm back yurr soon as oi can."

Flib nodded. "Fair enough, mate, but have ye got a weapon t'leave with me, just in case ... ?"

Axtel went and rummaged in his pack. He chuckled. "Yurr--oi tukken this frum a vermint, he'm won't be a-needin' et no more."

He passed her a long dagger, a typical vermin weapon. It was a stiletto, both edges sharp, with a keen point.

She wielded it, feeling the balance. "Huh, heavy enough t'do a bit o' damage with, eh?"

The mole produced a walking staff and a length of cord. "Ee'd do well t'make a spear of et, miz."

The Guosim maid applied herself to the job. When she looked up, Axtel Sturnclaw had gone.

Flib lashed the cord tightly, securing the dagger by its handle to the pole. Hiding it under some dead leaves within easy reach, she lay down, murmuring to herself, "Hah, any vermin out there plannin' on payin' us a visit, just come on, that's all I've got t'say. Just come on!"

Back down inside Althier, the captives found themselves in a different cavern. It was smaller and had a narrow entrance but no door to keep them locked in. However, there were four guards posted there, tough-looking rats, two armed

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with crude swords, the other two with spears. After a while, as the prisoners were fed and watered, Midda sat with Tura, feeding the babies as they discussed their position.

Midda spooned warm cornmeal to Borti, commenting, "At least the food's better than it was. There's a bit more of it, too, and the water looks fresher."

Tura was trying to feed the two harebabes at once. They fought greedily for each mouthful. The young squirrelmaid nodded toward the guards. "They seem better, too, not cruel like those two foxes."

Jinty, the Witherspyk hogmaid, sitting nearby, huffed, "Better, are they? Well, just you try gettin' by them an' escapin' from here. Huh, you'll see how much better they are!"

Midda cleaned little Borti's face up with a damp rag. "Don't talk about escape anymore, Jinty. Not with Flib and Flandor both dead."

Jinty's twin brother, Jiddle, picked up a pebble and hurled it angrily at the wall. "Well, what are we supposed to do? Just sit down here 'til we die like a pack of silly frogs?"

The pebble he had thrown bounced off the rock wall. It ricocheted, narrowly missing one of the guards, who strode across to Jiddle and jabbed him none too gently with a spearbutt.

"Did yew chuck that stone just now, eh?"

Midda put Borti down. She stood up, facing the rat aggressively. "He never chucked any stone--I did!"

The rat, whose name was Gilfis, was slightly taken aback. "Er, well, don't throw any more stones, see!"

Midda imitated her sister Flib, acting tough. "An' wot'll yew do if'n I don't, eh?"

One of the other rat guards had heard the exchange. He swaggered over, paw on sword hilt. "I'll tell ye wot we'll do, cheekyface. We'll give yer a good hidin', that's wot we'll do!"

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Tura was tugging Midda's sleeve to make her be quiet. However, the shrewmaid was not to be silenced. She thrust her chin out belligerently. "Why don't ye call yore two mates, eh? Between the four of ye, it shouldn't be hard. I'll bet yore good at beatin' up helpless prisoners. Big brave vermin!"

The one called Gilfis pulled his friend away. "Leave it, Fidra. If'n we lay a paw on 'er an' the Quean gets t'find out, we'll both be in the soup!"

They retired to the cave entrance, with Midda calling after them insultingly, "Go on, quick, afore yore scummy vermin Quean finds out. Lissen, rats, I'm a Guosim shrew from a real warrior clan. One Guosim's worth ten of yew scringe-tailed cowards!"

Tura managed to gag Midda's mouth with her paw. "What are you acting like this for, friend? Be quiet!"

Midda pulled her friend's paw away. She chuckled. "I'm enjoying it--my sister Flib was like that. She was a real tough one. I could be just like her, you know."

One of the captives, a mouse of about four seasons, upbraided Midda. "Aye, an' get yourself killed like your sister. Wot'll happen to your baby brother then?"

Midda subsided and clasped Tura's paw. "I'm sorry. I really spoke out of turn there. I won't do it again, promise. It only puts us all in danger, making enemies of the guards."

Tura smiled at her friend. "I'm glad you realise that." Suddenly the squirrelmaid began to chuckle. She had to cover her mouth to hide the merriment as she spoke. "Did you see that vermin's face, though? He didn't know what to do when you challenged him!"

Jiddle was good at impressions; he aped the guard. "Er, well, don't throw stones anymore, see!"

His impersonation was so good that all the captives began laughing. One of the guards called from the entrance, "Belt up in there an' stop that silly laughin'!"

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Jiddle shouted back, repeating the words exactly like the rat guard. Helpless laughter broke out amongst the young captives; even the babies joined in. The one called Fidra stormed in, waving his sword.

"Shuttup, all of ye! Silence, or there'll be no more vittles for ye, not a single bite, d'ye hear?"

Midda was rocking back and forth with baby Borti in her paws. They were both giggling hysterically.

Then Jinty yelled back at the guard, "Go on then--starve us t'death, wot do we care? But I wouldn't like to be you if'n yore Quean finds out. She'll have ye roasted alive, then slain!"

This time there was no reply from the vermin. Tura commented bleakly, "I think they got your warning. But wot's the use of it all? There's no more chance of escape. They can do exactly wot they like with us down here. We might never get out of this place."

Little Tassy sobbed brokenly. "Never see the sun again, or the woodlands, or Redwall Abbey. I couldn't bear it-- I'd sooner just die!"

Midda glared at the squirrelmaid. "Thanks for that, Tura. You've really cheered pore Tassy up. Listen, if'n ye can't say anythin' good, then keep yore mouth closed, that's my advice!"

Tura felt immediately sorry; she hugged the tiny Red-wall squirrel to her. "Hush now, Tassy, don't cry. Why, I'll bet there's all sorts of search parties from your Abbey scouring Mossflower to find us at this very moment. Right, Midda?"

The Guosim maid nodded confidently. "No question about it, mate. Aye, an' wot about my dad, Jango Bigboat? He's a Log a Log Chieftain. Hah, he'll have the woodlands teemin' with Guosim warriors just searchin' for us. They'll find us sooner or later, I'm certain. Come on, dry yore eyes, little un."

Tassy managed a damp smile, snuffling. "I 'ope it's sooner an' not later!"

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For some of them, it really would be sooner. Axtel Sturnclaw was at that moment burrowing his way back into Althier. For an expert digger of his strength, it did not pose any problems. He soon found the place where his tunnel had collapsed under him. Hefty digging claws ripped into the earth, making soil, roots and clay fly out behind him.

Stopping for a moment, he sniffed his surroundings, probed around, then muttered to himself, "Hurr, this'n bee's whurr they'm was a-maken thurr excape."

Straight down he dug, right into Flib's partially excavated tunnel. The rest was pretty much easy going. Axtel widened the tunnel, leaving plenty of room for his departure. Encountering a large boulder blocking his path, he dug around it. Finding a thick section of oak root, he jammed it alongside the boulder to hold it still. Tying a length of cord to the root, he tossed it behind himself, where it could be recovered easily. That done, the Warrior mole pressed on.

Reaching the now-abandoned dungeon, he exercised extreme care. Moving slowly, Axtel inched out over the pile of rubble to the broken door, which lay on top of the heap. The passage running from left to right was illuminated with lanterns and torches. Pulling a torch from its holder, he snuffed it out against the floor. Huddling down, the big mole lay against the wall, hidden in the patch of darkness provided by the missing torch. To any vermin who happened by he would look like a heap of debris, without shape or form.

That was exactly what the weasel Ravager guard who was coming down the passage thought--nothing but a pile of rubble. As he passed it, Axtel sprang up, gagging the weasel's mouth with one big paw whilst pinning him to the passage wall with the other.

The Warrior mole did not waste time. He growled straight into the guard's petrified face, "Whurr you'm keepin' ee young uns?"

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The weasel managed a strangled grunt. Axtel bore forward, shutting his mouth even tighter. "Just point ee way!"

The Ravager pointed to the right. Axtel nodded. "Thankee!"

He slew the vermin guard with a single blow to the neck.

Hurrying silently along the passage, he halted at the sound of voices in low conversation. The four guards at the narrow cave entrance were taken by surprise. Axtel swung his war hammer, braining the one called Fidra. Bulling the other three in front of him, he thrust them into the cavern, roaring, "Cumm ee with oi, quick loik!"

As he shouted, Axtel lashed out, felling another guard and knocking the rat Gilfis flat. With his outstretched paws, he grabbed little Borti and Tassy both.

Gilfis struck with his spear, almost pinning the mole's footpaw to the ground.

The remaining guard slipped past the wounded rescuer. Dashing out into the passage, he screeched, his voice echoing off the walls, "Heeeelp! Attack! The prisoners are escapin'!"

Still holding the two Dibbuns, Axtel limped out after him with the spear stuck clean through his footpaw. He stumbled and the spearhaft struck the wall, breaking off but leaving him still transfixed by the point. Gritting his teeth, he hung on to Tassy and Borti, shuffling down the passage, calling to the captives, "Cumm ee naow, follow oi!"

Midda and Tura quickly urged the others out.

"Hurry up, please--oh, do be quick!"

The very young ones were frightened. Some of them sat where they were, setting up a wailing.

Vermin were charging in from all sides. Vilaya and Dirva could be heard screeching, "Stop them! Guards, block all exits off right now!"

Tura had the two baby hares with her, practically drag

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ging them along, with Midda pushing the rest in her wake. They never even made it out into the passage, as the narrow entrance was blocked by guards wielding weapons.

"Get back or we'll slay ye! Back! Back!" Tura retreated, yelling at Midda, "Back in before they kill us all!"

Axtel made it to the deserted dungeon, where he threw the two little ones in onto the rubble. Turning, he wielded the fearsome war hammer, felling the first three Ravagers to reach him. Limping back, he charged them with a loud war cry.

"Yooohurrrr! Cumm an' meet Sturnclaw! Yooooohurrrr!"

Nobeast wanted to be the next to die. They ran back from the berserk Warrior mole. Taking advantage of this, he scrambled back. Clambering over the fallen door, he gave a loud roar and lifted it up into its former position.

With several mighty shoves, Axtel managed to ram the door at an angle into its former frame. It made grating sounds as the splintered woodwork lodged itself into the rock. Holding it there with the strength of his broad back, he nodded at the two Dibbuns. "H'up ye go into yon tunnel. Oi'll toiler arter ee!"

Borti was not much use at climbing, being only a toddler, but Tassy helped him up into the hole.

"Cummon, likkle Borti, take my paws--good baby, good!"

A spearpoint came right through the shattered door timbers, narrowly missing Axtel's neck. He could feel the door shuddering as the Ravagers threw themselves at it. Vilaya was yelling at them.

"Push, you spineless idiots! Knock it down!"

Axtel abandoned the door then. Trundling awkwardly over the pile of debris, he scrambled into the tunnel entrance. Pushing the two little ones in front of him, he went upward.

The door fell. With the Sable Quean behind them, the

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Ravagers held up lanterns and torches. Dirva pointed to the tunnel in the far wall.

"They've gone in there--after them! They can't get far!"

The vermin had to enter single file, with Vilaya at the tunnel entrance, kicking and beating them with the flat of a sword.

"Move yourselves, they mustn't escape. Move!"

Axtel shepherded Borti and Tassy around the boulder. He could hear the grunts of vermin behind him. Seizing the rope, he gave it a sharp tug, pulling the piece of oak root loose. The big rock made a dull thud as it fell into the shaft behind the escapers, completely blocking it and crushing one of the Ravagers in the process. The Warrior mole gritted his teeth, fighting against the pain of the spearhead embedded in his footpaw.

He inched his way upward, pushing the two Dibbuns in front of him, encouraging them to move forward. "You'm keep a-goin', moi gudd likklebeasts. Oi'm roight ahind ee!"

Tassy kept tight hold of Borti, who was whimpering with fright, rubbing soil from his eyes. "Waaah, want my mamma!"

The young Redwall squirrelmaid pulled him along with her. "C'mon, it's not far now. Soon see y'mamma."

Axtel gave them both a final shove, heaving them out into the nightdark woodland. He crawled out after them, giving an anguished grunt as the spearhead struck a stone, gouging at his wounded footpaw. The Warrior mole lost consciousness then, falling senseless on the grass.

Tassy cleaned the soil from Borti's face. "There now, likkle un, that much a-better, eh!" She turned to Axtel. "Thankee for gettin' us out, sir."

He lay inert. Tassy shook him, but he did not move.

"Wakey up, sir, wakey up, please...."

The squirrelmaid patted Axtel's forepaws, tweaked his snout and forced one of his eyes open. It fell back shut.

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She began shouting in his ear, "Don't be asleep. Wakey up now, please, please!"

Little Borti had recovered from his ordeal. He giggled, imitating Tassy as he chafed the unconscious mole's paw, calling out, "Wakey h'up, wakey h'up, zurr!"

The mole Warrior was still not moving, even though Borti clambered up onto him. Tassy pulled the little shrew off Axtel's still form. She began to cry then, rocking the shrewbabe back and forth as she clutched him to her.

"Oh, Borti, wot we goin' to do?"

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16

Flib was obeying Axtel's orders, watching over Guffy and Gurchen, guarding the little camp whilst the young ones slept. However, just sitting and doing nothing could become tiresome and at times a little disconcerting.

Constantly peering into the surrounding woodland, the Guosim maid started to imagine all manner of things. The trees seemed to close in on her, conjuring up fearsome visions. These turned out to be nothing but a light breeze, stirring the leafy foliage amidst moonshadows. Flib mentally reprimanded herself for being so foolish, remembering that Guosim shrews were made of sterner stuff.

To buoy up her spirits, she began to sing. It was a jolly old Guosim nonsense ditty, which always caused much merriment when sung at a streamfeast or a watermeadow gathering. Flib sang, but not too loud, for fear of waking up the mole Dibbuns.

"A Guosim maid sat by the fire, a-reading a letter one day, with a flea in her ear, and a tear in her eye, at what the sad note had to say, ay aaaaay!

Yore granny is deeply drownded,

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inna river so wild an' rough, rough rough rough!

She should 'ave sailed off in a logboat, but instead she left home in a huff, huff huff huff.

She might have gone off in a temper, but she'd lost that long ago, long long agooooo!

If she'd left in a rush or an 'urry, we'd have all been sure to know.

So I leave you with this lesson, if you must leave home, my dear,

'twill break my heart if you take the cart, an' the wheels will fall off, I fear."

There was another verse, and possibly a chorus, but Flib had forgotten it. She sat there trying to recall the silly little ditty, remembering some of the happy times she had spent with her tribe--the high-summer days, with good food and peaceful surroundings. It all seemed so long ago now, somehow. Her head slowly began to droop, then her eyelids closed. Sleep was finally getting the better of her.

It was a rude awakening when her ear was grabbed roughly and a voice snarled, "Well, lookit wot we got here, our liddle shrewmate!"

A whip cracked in front of Flib's face. She looked up and found herself staring into the cruel eyes of Thwip, her former fox jailer.

His mate, Binta, was nearby. She prodded at the two sleeping mole Dibbuns, snarling nastily, "Aye, an' here's 'er two liddle pals. Chubby young things, ain't they?"

Instead of fear, the Guosim maid was instantly filled with a red rage against herself, for napping whilst on guard, and deep hatred for her former tormentors.

Throwing herself forward, she twisted her ear from the fox's grasp, falling flat in the carpet of dead leaves. Swift as lightning, Flib seized the makeshift spear. Thwip was halfway through swinging the lash at her when Flib lunged with the spear. The whip fell unheeded on the ground.

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Thwip looked puzzled as he stared down at the spear protruding from his midriff. He turned his gaze to Binta. There was a note of complaint in his last words. "She's killed me!"

He fell backward, his paws grasping the spear pole, as if he was holding it there. Binta gave an angry sobbing wail. She ran at Flib, swinging her long willow cane. The shrewmaid tried to pull the spear from Thwip, but it was locked in the fox's death grip.

A stinging rain of strokes hit her--the vixen swung her cane madly, shouting aloud, "You've slain my Thwip! I'll flog ye to death for that!"

The willow slashed down mercilessly at Flib. She huddled on the grass in a futile attempt to protect herself. Then, quite by accident, her paw fell upon the dead fox's whip.

Roaring with pain, Flib leapt up, wielding the lash. It cracked and snaked viciously as the tables turned and the beater became the beaten. The shrewmaid became an avenging fury, belabouring her enemy ruthlessly.

Dropping the cane, Binta ran off into the night, wailing.

The din had wakened the two mole Dibbuns. Gurchen trundled across to Flib, exclaiming, "Boi 'okey marm, ee surrpintly gived ee foxers ole billyoh! Yurr, bee's you'm 'urted?"

Flib shook her head. "Not so much as 'urted--more 'urt-ing than anythin'. I never used a blinkin' whip afore. I hit meself a few times by mistake. It stings more'n that cane. No serious damage though, just welts an' bruises."

Guffy had found Thwip's body. He tried unsuccessfully to pull the spear loose. The little mole shook his head admiringly. "Hurr, miz, you'm gurtly slayed this yurr ver-mint. Ee'm b'aint a-cummen back furr more!"

The pain from her beating, plus the realisation that she had killed another creature, sent Flib into shock. She sat down abruptly, her whole body shivering as she rocked back and forth, whimpering and moaning.

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Guffy stared solemnly at her. "Burr, wot bee's ailin' ee, Miz Fib?"

Gurchen went rummaging through Axtel's pack. "Oi thinks she'm bee'd a-sickened with summat. Yurr!" Opening a small flask, the molemaid sniffed it. "Smells loike summ blacker-bee woine, gurtly strong!"

Wrapping Flib in the cloak they had used as a blanket, the sensible little molemaid forced the flask between her patient's lips, administering the blackberry wine. "Yurr, Guff, see if'n ee can make sum foire t'keep this un warm."

This was an absolute joy to Guffy, who as a Dibbun, had been prohibited by Redwall elders from ever playing with fire. He found flint and an old knifeblade in the pack. Chuckling to himself, he set about his task, piling up dried leaves and grass.

"Hurrhurr, oi'll make Miz F'ib a gudd ole blaze!"

True to his word, Guffy soon had a big fire burning.

Gurchen stopped him from piling on more fuel. "Yurr, you'm rarscal. Oi never asked ee to set all ee wuddlands ablaze. Oi only wants a likkle foire, enuff to keep Flib warmed."

When they had a respectably sized campfire, all three sat by it, the moles either side of Flib. The Guosim maid still seemed very distant, rocking slightly as she stared fixedly into the flames. Gurchen tried to elicit some response by chatting to her.

"You'm gudd'n warm noaw, marm. Hurr, oi 'spec ee gurt Wurrier mole bee's a-comen back soonly."

Guffy began thrusting a twig into the fire. He liked playing with the flames. Gurchen warned him, "Play with foire an' ee'll burn yoreself!"

Almost as she said it, the burning twig broke, dropping a glowing red fragment onto the little mole's paw. He yelped, hopping about and beating at himself.

"Ah, sure, the young uns never listen, do they? I was the same at his age, thought I knew it all, so I did!"

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None of the trio had noticed the water vole. She had appeared from nowhere and was seated by the fire, warming her paws. Grabbing Guffy, she dabbed his paw with some damp moss, nattering away conversationally. "There now, ye liddle scallywag. That'll teach ye t'play with fire. Wot's wrong wid yer friend the shrew, there? Is she in some kind of an ould trance?"

Gurchen answered the question by asking one of her own. "Burr, marm, who moight you'm be, an' whurr did ee cummed frum?"

The water vole was an amiable-looking beast with thick, glossy fur, a chubby face and a blunt snout. She wore an old tattered shawl pulled about her ears like a hood. Leaning forward on a knobbly hawthorn stick, she introduced herself.

"Ah, sure, I'm nobeast of any importance at all, at all. Mumzillia O'Chubbacutch is me given title, though I wouldn't consider meself offended if'n ye called me Mumzy. Now, me darlin', wot do they call you?"

Gurchen rose, performing a small curtsy. "Oi bee's Gurchen. Ee'm likkle rarscal bee's Guffy, an' hurr's Flib. We'm waiten furr our gudd friend to cumm back yurr. He'm ee mole Wurrier, marm."

Mumzy waved her stick at the carcass of Thwip. "An' which one of you bold creatures slayed that un?"

Guffy pointed a grimy paw at Flib. "Et wurr Miz F'ib, marm. She'm vurry brave."

Mumzy rose with a groan. "Sure, me ould back isn't wot it used t'be. Gettin' old is a tribulation, as me fat uncle Shaym used t'say."

She began extinguishing the fire by kicking soil on it. "C'mon now, up off yore tails, me darlin's--let's go!"

Gurchen protested. "But us'ns must wait fur ee h' Axtel!"

Mumzy got Flib standing upright. The shrewmaid did not resist. The water vole beckoned Guffy. "Lend a paw

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here, me liddle sir. Ye can't wait here, not with vermin roamin' the woods. Ye'd end up as dead meat if'n they claps eyes on the likes of ye. I'd be correct in sayin' that yore on the run from them?"

Gurchen just nodded, willing to fall in line with their new friend's advice.

Mumzy prodded Axtel's pack with her stick. "Right, then, bring that along with ye. Me'n' the liddle feller ' ll help Flib. "lis best ye stay out o' sight at my place. 'Tisn't far, only a hop'n'skip over yonder."

They followed her on a zigzag route under bushes, through a fern bed and across some rocks to a stream-bank. There was a rocky outcrop with an entrance beneath it--this was hidden behind a curtain of knotweed, sundew and watercress. Pushing it to one side, the water vole led them in.

"This is Mumzy's Mansions, such as it is. Nothin' fancy, but 'tis good'n'safe, t'be sure. Sit ye down now, an' take a beaker of me own special brew whilst I tell ye of wot I've seen."

The brew was delicious, a hot cordial of coltsfoot, dandelion and pennycress. They sat in the little cave, which was lighted by a small fire. It was very cosy, with moss-and-dried-grass-padded ledges, which could serve as seats or beds.

Mumzy bustled about, tidying up as she informed them, "Those ravagin' villains are about in Mossflower tonight. Earlier on, I spotted five o' the dreadful scum, four weasels led by the big boyo, the one they calls Zwilt, tall sable beast, wears a long cloak and carries a big sword. As if that wasn't enough, they'd no sooner got out o' sight, when I see tracks, two rats an' two foxes. The tracks split--rats went one way, foxes t'other. So I follows the foxes' tracks. That's when I found you three. There's no sense in sittin' on yore tails out in the woodlands with that lot roamin' abroad. You bide 'ere with ould Mumzy 'til the coast clears, eh?"

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Gurchen looked worried. "But wot abowt Axtel, marm?"

The water vole set about pulling hot food from a clay oven at the back of her fire. "If'n Axtel's a warrior, as ye say he is, well, he should be well able o' takin' care of his-self. I'll find him for ye when things quietens down out there. Here, now, have ye ever tasted whortleberry an' chestnut flan? 'Tis a fine ould recipe I got from me good uncle Shaym, an' he was after bein' a top champeen cook, so he was!"

The flan was exceedingly tasty but rather hot.

Flib did not seem to want either food or drink.

Mumzy sat in front of her, staring into the shrewmaid's blank gaze. "Hmm, an' ye say she's a shrew, one o' those Guosim, I'll wager. I spent a few o' me salad seasons with 'em. Sure, they were a grand lot, those beasts. Maybe I can snap Flib out of her mood. Let's try an ould Guosim lullaby Reach me that there vole o'lin, young Guff."

Guffy passed Mumzy the instrument. It was a tiny three-stringed fiddle, which she played by bowing it with a dried water-violet stalk. The water vole had such a pleasant, soothing voice that Guffy dropped off to sleep on a moss-covered ledge.

Gurchen politely stayed awake, though Flib's eyelids began drooping as Mumzy sang the Guosim lullaby.

"When the warm sun sinks gently from out of the sky, hear the tired old breeze sigh a yawn, and the bees cease a-humming, now dark night is coming, to blanket the earth until dawn.

"Then the logboat of dreams drifts away o'er the streams, as we sail on it, baby and me, past meadow and vale, without paddle or sail, we both slumber on down to the sea.

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"Where birds circle silently, winging on high, deep waters run silent and calm,

'neath the soft gentle bloom of a honeydew moon, with no wind or wave to cause harm.

"Then the logboat of dreams will grant wishes it seems, all a little one's heart could require

'til rainbow-hued dawn turns to fresh summer morn, and a world full of hope and desire."

No sooner had the last strains of the quaint vole o'lin faded than Flib blinked, as though waking from a dream. "My ma used t'sing that un. I never bothered learnin' it, but me sister Midda did. She sings it t'Borti--he's our liddle brother."