Gingivere hacked away at the cell wall. As soon as the guards had gone, he set about trying to communicate with the prisoners on either side of him. From the damp mortar between the stones of his cell he had prised loose a spike that had a ring attached to it for securing unruly prisoners. Armed with the spike, the wildcat selected a damp patch on one adjoining cell wall, and worked furiously at the mortar around a stone which was not quite so big as the others forming the barrier. Soon he had it loose. Digging and jiggling, he pulled and pushed alternately until the rock slid out, aided by a shove from the prisoner on the other side. A small wet snout poked through.

“Hello, Coggs. It’s me, Ferdy.”

Gingivere smiled, glad to hear the sound of a friendly voice. He patted the snout encouragingly.

“Sorry, old fellow, it’s not Coggs. I’m Gingivere—a friend. Coggs is in the cell on the other side of me. You stay quiet and I’ll see if I can get through to him.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gingivere. Are you a wildcat?”

“Yes I am, but no need to worry. I won’t harm you. Hush now, little one, let me get on with my work.”

Ferdy stayed silent, peering through the hole at Gingivere, who was hacking stolidly at the opposite wall. It took a long time. Gingivere’s paws were sore from grappling with the stone, chipping the mortar, and pulling this way and that until the rock finally gave and shifted. With Gingivere pulling from one side and Coggs pushing from the other, the wallstone plopped out onto the floor.

“Hello, Mr. Gingivere. I’m Coggs. Is Ferdy there?”

The wildcat shook the paw which protruded from the hole. “Yes, Coggs. If you look you’ll see him through the hole from his cell.”

The two little hedgehogs looked through at each other.

“Hi, Coggs.”

“Hi, Ferdy.”

“The guards will be coming shortly with bread and water for me,” Gingivere interrupted. “I’ll share it with you. Go back into your cells now and stay quiet. When Chibb arrives tomorrow I’ll let him know you two are here.”

Gingivere replaced the stones without much difficulty. He sat awaiting the guards with his daily ration of bread and water, realizing for the first time in a long and unhappy period that he was able to smile again.

“Gonff, will you stop prancing about and caterwauling while we’re trying to solve this chart? Dinny, chuck something at that fat little nuisance, will you, please?”

Martin scratched his head as he and Bella turned back to the scroll. Young Dinny obliged by hurling an armchair cushion that knocked the mousethief flat upon his bottom.

“Thurr, thad’ll keep ’ee soilent apiece, zurr Gonffen. You’m a roight liddle noisebag, stan’ on moi tunnel, you’m arr.”

Gonff lay on the floor, resting his head upon the cushion; he hummed snatches of further new verses he was planning. Martin and Bella pored over the writing on the scroll, gleaning the information and writing it upon a chart with a quill pen. The wording was in ancient badger script that only Bella could translate.

Young Dinny called out from Bella’s armchair, where he was ensconced, “Wot we gotten so furr, Marthen?”

Martin read aloud:

Here Martin had marked a star with the word thus: *Salamandastron.

Gonff came across and stared at the scroll. “Well, old wotsisname Skyfurrow was nearly as good a bard as me. Bet he wasn’t half as clever a thief, though, matey.”

Martin shook his head. “It’s certainly a strange route to follow, given in goose song, written in ancient badger, and translated into common woodland. Do you think we’ve missed anything, Bella?”

The badger looked indignant. “Certainly not. It’s all there, word for word. I’ll have you know that female badgers are great scholars, though I must say it all looks very cryptic to me.”

Young Dinny clambered out of the armchair and squinted at Martin’s neat writing.

“Urr, triptick, wot be that? Stan’ on moi tunnel, it be wurse’n maken ’oles in watter, ho urr.”

Gonff stifled a giggle. “You certainly have a way with words, Din. Ah well, let’s get our thinking caps on and imagine we’re all Skyfurrows.”

Martin clicked his paws together. “Right! That’s exactly what we have to do. Imagine the ground from up above as if we were birds.”

*  *  *

Tsarmina stood watching the dawn break over Mossflower from her chamber window. Mist rose in wisps from the treetops as the sun climbed higher in a pale blue cloudless sky. The wildcat Queen was highly pleased with her latest plan; the woodlanders must have realized the two baby hedgehogs were missing, and they would send out search parties. Tsarmina detailed Cludd and another weasel named Scratch, acting as his deputy, to patrol the woods, along with a picked group of twenty or so. They would travel light, unhampered by the usual Kotir armor. They could act as a guerilla force, lying in wait to capture any woodlanders they came across and sabotaging resistance wherever they encountered it.

She watched them slip out of the perimeter gate, armed with their own choice of weapons and equipped with rations. The wildcat Queen curled her lip in satisfaction. There was no need to try interrogating her two prisoners further at the moment; let them stay in their cells until they were starving. It was always easier to interview creatures who had not eaten for a few days. Two small hedgehogs trying to pit their wits against the Queen of the Thousand Eyes—what chance did they have?

*  *  *

Scratch was a fairly observant weasel. He jabbed skyward with his dagger.

“See that robin, Cludd?”

Cludd noted that Scratch had omitted to call him Captain. He looked up, but Chibb had flown from view.

“What robin? Where?”

Scratch sheathed his dagger. “You’ve missed him now. I could have sworn it was the same bird I’ve noticed hanging about outside the barracks a few times. Always ends up somewhere near the ground, hidden.”

Cludd was reluctant to believe that Scratch was more alert than he.

“Hmm, it might be summat or nothing. Woodlanders don’t usually have much to do with birds. Still, we’d best be on the safe side. Hoi, Thicktail, make your way back to Kotir and tell Milady about that robin. Don’t breathe a word to anyone else, though. I don’t want Ashleg or that fox stealing any of my credit.”

Thicktail saluted, and jogged off in the direction of Kotir.

Scratch looked at the thickly wooded area they were in. “Perhaps we’d better lie low here awhile. That way we can have a rest while we keep our eyes and ears open, eh, Cludd?”

Cludd knew the idea was a sensible one, but Scratch was beginning to annoy him with his insubordinate manner.

“Aye, I was just thinking the same thing myself. Right, lads, pick good hiding places and keep your eyes and ears open. But just let me catch anyone snoozing and I’ll have his tail for a bootlace. That goes double for you, Scratch.”

As the special patrol dispersed among the trees, Scratch stuck out his tongue at Cludd’s back, muttering beneath his breath, “Cludd the clod thick as mud.”

*  *  *

Thicktail did not like being out in Mossflower alone, even in broad sunny daylight. The stoat scurried through the trees looking furtively from left to right; as he went he repeated Cludd’s instructions aloud to himself, “Tell the Queen that there’s been a robin redbreast hanging about Kotir grounds. It flies down low and vanishes near the floor. Cludd thinks that it might be something to do with those woodlanders. Now, I’m to say nothing to Fortunata or Ashleg. Huh, if they ask me I’ll just tell them that I had to come back because I sprained my paw. I’d better practice limping on it just in case.”

Argulor was making a wide sweep from Kotir over the forest; this way he could fool anyone at Kotir into thinking he had flown away. He was about to circle back when he heard the voice below him and saw a stoat limping about in the undergrowth.

“I must tell the Queen that a robin has seen Cludd hanging about. No, that’s not right. I must tell the robin that Cludd has been hanging the Queen . . .”

Argulor did not require perfect sight to tell him where his next noisy meal was. He dropped like a stone to the forest below.

A stone with talons and a curving beak.

*  *  *

Bella’s study was still awash in a litter of old documents. They slid from the desk, which still had its secret drawer hanging askew. Several food trays stood balanced here and there amid the dust. The scroll and four leaves that had led the friends to the route lay on the arm of the big armchair, where Dinny sat snuggled in its deep cushioned seat. Bella leaned against the desk. She did not mind the young mole borrowing her favourite chair, though he did seem to be growing rather fond of it. Martin paced up and down. At each turn he had to step over Gonff. The little mousethief lay stretched out on a worn carpet that covered the study floor. Martin was having trouble imagining himself as a bird. The mere mention of heights made the ground-loving Young Dinny feel sick and dizzy. Gonff, however, was displaying a fine aptitude for a mousebird.

“Ha, ‘I look below to see a place of wood with plumage green that breezes move like sea.’ It’s as plain as the whiskers on your face, mateys. He means good old Mossflower Woods, right where we are.”

Bella closed her eyes, picturing herself in flight. “Hmm, I suppose that our woods would look like water moving in the wind from above. Carry on, Gonff. What’s next?”

“Er, ‘Behind me as the dawn breaks clear, wood-pigeons come awake’.”

“Burr, doant you uns see, dawnbreak, sunroise. Gooseburd be a-tellen us’ns to traverse westerly,” Young Dinny called out from the armchair.

Martin shook Dinny’s paw. “Good mole! Of course, if the sun rises in the east and dawnbreak is behind him, then he must be traveling due west. Well solved, Young Dinny.”

The mole gave a huge grin, settling deeper into the armchair. “Ho urr, this yurr young mole ain’t on’y a digger. Oi seed they woodenpidger waken at dawnen, gurr, turrible noisebags they be, all that cooen. Goo on, wot’s next bit o’ poartee?”

Gonff continued, “The poetry says, ‘See brown dust roll twixt green and gold, unwinding like a snake.’”

Bella nodded knowingly. “Aha, friend Olav gave me an easy one there. I know the very place. Between the woods and the flatlands south of Kotir, the road has a twist in it. I’ve walked down it many times and thought it was just like a snake trying to slough its skin.”

Gonff shuddered at the mention of snake. “So, mateys, we walk through the woods, heading west, and cross the path below Kotir. Then there’s only one way we can go. Straight out across the flatlands and the open plains, like the poem says, ‘O’er the golden acres’ to where the ‘snake of blue’ lies—brr, snakes.”

“That’s no snake, Gonff,” Martin interrupted. “It’s the same as Bella’s winding road, but this one is blue—it’s a river. What puzzles me is the teeth of land eating the wool of sheep line.”

Bella stretched and yawned. “Whoo! I think we must be going stale sitting around this dusty old room. Sheep and land, wool and teeth . . . Ah well, maybe we can’t see the wood for the trees, but whatever it is, you’ll know it when you see it. What do you want to do? Sit here half a season solving riddles, or follow the clues you already have and work the rest out as you go along? The supplies are packed and ready, you have your weapons, wits and youth to help you along—what more do you want?”

Gonff supplied the answer. “A good matey to walk by your side through thick and thin.”

“You’ns baint leaven this yurr mole behoind.”

Martin and Gonff laughed heartily, Bella bowed apologetically to the mole.

“Forgive me, Dinny. I did not know you wished to go questing.”

The young mole heaved himself up onto his hind paws. “Burr, you try ’n’ stop oi, Miz Bell. Tho’ oi do ’ate to take leave of yon armchurr.”