The Screamhole was dark and slimy. Martin, Dinny and Log-a-Log landed with a splash in muddy water. The mole slipped upon a smooth bulky object.

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

“Don’t hang about down there, matey. Here, reach up and I’ll give you a lift.”

The voice belonged to Gonff!

Martin and his friends looked up. They could not see daylight or hear the toads. Above them was a hole in the pit wall; Gonff stood at its entrance, holding a firefly lantern in his paw. The little mousethief looked dirty and wet, but as cheerful as ever.

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

Their long-lost companion shook with silent mirth as he held up a cautionary paw. “Shush, matey. Not so loud. You’ll wake up the big feller. Here, grab this vine and I’ll pull you up.”

Gonff hauled Martin up; together they pulled Log-a-Log and Dinny to safety. All three shook water from their coats and warmly hugged the little mousethief.

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

“Nay, ’ee toaden took’m all.”

Gonff looked disgusted. “Oh, that warty lot. I might’ve known.”

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

“But how did you come to get down here?” he asked curiously. “We thought you were dead for sure when we lost you at the waterfall.”

Gonff puffed his chest out indignantly. “Me, dead! Not likely. When I went over the falls I must have been washed right underneath the mountain by the currents. Next thing I knew, I woke up with the snake and the lizard standing over me. Foul reptiles, they’d bound me tail and paw. I was taken up in front of old Greenfrog, or whatever they call him. Huh, the filthy old swamp-hopper, he’d been listening to the snake and the lizard, and wanted to know where I’d hidden you three. Of course I told him to go and roast his fat green behind. That was when he lost his temper and had me chucked in here with old Snakefish.”

“What’s this Snakefish thing supposed to be?” Martin interrupted.

“Be? He’s not supposed to be anything, matey. Snakefish is a giant eel. Big, you never saw the like. He’s like a wriggling tree trunk. Here, watch this.”

Gonff prised a rock loose from the clay. Leaning out, he hurled it at what looked like a smooth boulder sticking out of the water. In the dim light, the brown muddy mess churned; boiling, as thick coils looped and weaved; thrashing about with untold might.

Gonff shuddered. “That rascal nearly had me. I was saved by the vine hanging from this cave. Good job I’m a prince of climbers. I still keep checking the tip of my tail to make sure it’s there—that’s how close it was. Still, he’s not a bad old sort, providing he keeps his distance. Oh yes, we’ve even had a conversation, Snakefish and me. He was the champion toadscoffer in this part of the country, until they laid a trap for him and he fell in here. Poor old Snakefish can’t get out now. Still, they keep him happy enough by slinging the odd enemy in here—the occasional fish, maybe a dead bird, passing travelers too, of course. Old Snakefish wallops the lot down, doesn’t bother him.”

Gonff leaned out, calling to the eel, “I said, it doesn’t bother you, does it, big matey?”

The surface of the dim water parted with a whooshing upheaval and the head of Snakefish appeared. It was something out of a nightmare: thick, wide, silver-black, and the color of yellow ivory beneath. A massive slablike head hissed and swayed, revealing countless teeth, pure white and needlelike. Two savage jet eyes watched them with unblinking intensity. Coils of flexible steely muscle rippled and undulated with a life of their own.

Snakefish spoke.

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

Dinny saluted with his digging claw. “Let’s ’ope ’ee do, zurr. You’m scoff a few for uz. ’Spect you’m passen fond of ’ee toaden.”

Snakefish clouded his eyes dreamily. “Aaaaahhhh meeeee. There’s nothing so tasty as a brace of plump toads. Unless it’s two brace.”

Log-a-Log shifted his paws nervously. “Er, right first time, sir. Look at us, all string and fur. Ugh! Why don’t you slip out for a toad supper?”

Snakefish reared up, pushing his coils against the smooth walls of Screamhole. There was no purchase for the great eel. He slid back into the water.

“See, I have given up trying,” he said sadly. “Each attempt only makes these walls more smooth and slippery. Strength alone is useless down here.”

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

“Listen, Snakefish, I have a proposition to put to you. Supposing we helped you out of here, would you leave us to go our way in peace without harming us?”

The great head submerged momentarily, emerging again beneath the hole. Martin felt that if Snakefish really tried he could reach them. The eel slid back a little to reassure them.

“If you could free me, I would leave you to go at liberty where you will,” the eel promised. “I would rather eat toad than mouse. Besides, I need to take my revenge on the tribe of Marshgreen. But you had better decide quickly; before the passing of another day I will need to eat. Do you understand me?”

The warrior mouse replied for them all.

“We understand perfectly, Snakefish. Now, will you leave us alone while we formulate a plan. I’ll give you a call the moment we are ready.”

The sinister giant slid noiselessly back into the murky waters.

Gonff giggled nervously. “Right, mateys. Thinking caps on, or it’s mouse, shrew and mole pie for dinner tomorrow.”

*  *  *

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

Abbess Germaine and Foremole stood at the window of Tsarmina’s high chamber, looking out over the forest.

They had discovered little. Kotir was as grim and mean as any self-respecting woodlander could imagine it—damp and oppressive, riddled with dank crumbling rooms and passages where feeble torches guttered fitfully against fungus and moss-clad masonry. As to supplies, it was useful to know that they were at a low ebb in the fortress.

Foremole tugged his snout reflectively. “Hurr, marm. Baint even wurth a-carryen off they mangeful vittles.”

Moles and mice had searched the stronghold thoroughly; it was an empty carrion nest.

*  *  *

Columbine wandered through the deserted armory with Old Dinny. All the weapons had been taken off by the soldiers of Tsarmina.

The Loamhedge mouse curled her lip in disgust. “Oh, what’s the point of wandering around a filthy evil jumble like this?”

The venerable grandsire of Young Dinny was too busy carrying out his own research to answer. He sniffed the floor between paving cracks, tapped upon walls, dug his claws into rotten beams, all the while muttering to himself, “Burr, oi’m getten a feelen in moi diggen claws ’bout this yurr fort’ication. Oi’m bound to ’ave a sniff round yon cells.”

Columbine went up to join the Abbess in Tsarmina’s apartments. She could not help noticing the vast difference between the luxurious trappings of the Queen’s quarters in contrast to the squalor of the barracks.

“Abbess, I think I’d sooner live wild in the woods than endure this dreadful place. Have you seen the way she treats her soldiers?”

The Abbess ran a thin paw over the tawdry hangings and stained rugs, which Tsarmina had spoiled in her rages. “Yes, child. Now you know the difference between the way these animals live in comparison to honest woodlanders.”

Foremole had only one word to express his disgust: “Durtbags!”

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

“Columbine, this place is deserted. Why couldn’t we take it?”

“Goodness, is this our peaceful Abbess speaking?” the young Loamhedge mouse replied, with a twinkle in her eye. “Actually, I was thinking the same thing myself earlier. The answer is that we are not warriors, and our forces are split; the otters and squirrels are out in the woodlands. Besides, we would find ourselves in the position of being unarmed and without food supplies. How long could a little party like ours last out?”

The old mouse shook her head wonderingly. “Goodness, is this our little Columbine speaking? Strategies, supplies, lack of weapons, divided forces . . . Maybe you missed your true vocation, young maid. Perhaps you would have fared better as an army commander. I bow to your superior military knowledge, General Columbine.”

The young mouse laughed heartily and curtsied.

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

“Hullo, Old Din. My, my, you’ve got a light in your eye.”

Columbine clapped her paws. “Oh, you’ve found something. Do tell us, please!”

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

“Do you’ns foller oi now. Oi’ll show ’ee a gurt new way outten thiz stink.”

Mystified, they followed him. As they walked, they talked, and Old Dinny imparted a plan to Columbine and the Abbess.

*  *  *

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

Amber tapped the ground impatiently. “Where in the name of acorns have they got to?”

“Shall I take a party in and bring ’em out, marm?” Barklad asked, noting her anxiety.

Amber looked up to the high chamber window. “No, give it a little while yet. But I tell you, Bark, I don’t like hanging about this place. Look, they’ve not even posted sentries or lookouts at the window. How are we supposed to let them know if the cat and her troops are on their way back? Oh, where have they got to?”

“Roight yurr be’ind ’ee, marm!”

Startled, the squirrel swung round. There was Foremole, the Abbess to, and Columbine – everyone that had gone into Kotir, down to the last mole and mouse.

“By the fur, where did you lot spring from?”

Columbine stroked her friend’s gray head. “It was Old Dinny—he found a secret way out. We went beneath the cells. It’s a sort of cavern with a lake in it. We, or should I say Grandpa Dinny, found a moving slab, and underneath it was a tunnel that traveled along for a while then went up. We followed it and came up into a hollow oak stump—that one right behind you.”

Lady Amber curled her tail in amazement. “Well, I’ll be treebound!”

The Abbess gave a wry chuckle. “If we put your discovery together with Old Dinny’s plan, we may have a final solution to the problem of Kotir.”

Columbine could not help interrupting. “I’ll bet Gonff, Young Dinny and Martin will have the solution too when they return from their quest with Boar the Fighter.”

“No doubt they will, child,” the Abbess nodded. “But they have been long gone. Who knows when they will return. Bella has said that it is a long journey fraught with danger. Besides, how do we know that Boar the Fighter still lives? I do not wish to alarm you by saying this, but, all things being equal, we must have plans of our own. Merely sitting waiting on Boar’s return will not help Mossflower; we must all act to the best of our abilities. Wherever your Gonff is at this moment with Martin and the young mole, you can wager that they will be giving of their utmost. Let us hope that they will be both safe and successful in their quest.”

They made their way back to Brockhall that fine spring noon, unaware that they were passing on a parallel course to Tsarmina and her returning army.

*  *  *

The wildcat Queen was in a foul temper. “I wouldn’t give a pawful of mouldy bread for the lot of you, standing gawping while your Captain gets slain by an otter.”

From somewhere in the jumbled ranks a voice murmured impudently, “Huh, I noticed you didn’t leap forward to help Cludd.”

Tsarmina whirled on the troops in a fury. “Just let me catch the one who said that! You bunch of buffoons couldn’t even get a single arrow off at that badger. Oh no, you stood there like a load of frogs catching flies.”

As she turned to press on, the voice continued muttering, “Well, you’ve got the biggest bow. Why didn’t you use it?”

Tsarmina grabbed her unstrung bow from the pine marten and flailed indiscriminately about her.

“Ashleg, I want that cheeky beggar found,” she shrieked. “I’m the Queen, d’you hear? I’ll make an example of whoever it is.”

The pine marten dropped back. Marching at the rear, he bobbed up and down to see if he could catch the cheeky one unawares.

When the army straggled wearily back into Kotir at midday, Tsarmina’s temper had not improved.

“Ashleg,” she commanded. “Dismiss this load of nincompoops. Send them to their barracks. I’ll be up in my chambers.”

Ashleg was stumping his way round to the front when the voice was heard again.

“Oh, that’s nice, lads. Wish I had comfy chambers instead of a damp barracks.”

Tsarmina turned to confront the sea of blank faces, but she stifled her reply and contented herself by elbowing her way savagely through the ranks to the main door.

*  *  *

“Dinny, I was thinking—could you burrow upward through the side of this cave?”

The mole tested the walls with his digging claws.

“Loik as not, Marthen. But ’ee’d need diggen claws loik oi to foller upp’ard if we’n all t’get outten ’ere.”

Martin patted his friend’s velvety back. “Good mole, Din. We only need you to reach the surface, then you can lower something down so we can all climb out.”

Dinny wiped his paws. “Stan’ outten this yurr mole’s way. Yurr go oi!”

With a mole’s undoubted digging skills, Dinny was soon burrowing inward and upward.

Martin reported the plan to Snakefish as Log-a-Log and Gonff backpawed the freshly dug earth out of the way into the pit below.

*  *  *

Night and day were of little consequence in the misty world of the marshes. The toads had lingered awhile on the edge of Screamhole, but there was little to see, and their enjoyment was marred by the fact that no screams issued from the well. One by one they drifted off, back to the Court of Marshgreen. Deathcoil and Whipscale stayed, however. They sat by the Screamhole, waiting to hear the cries of their foes as Snakefish did his grisly work.

The newt felt the stump of his new growing tail.

“What’s happening down there? Has the Snakefish gone to sleep?” he snarled.

Deathcoil stretched leisurely on the ground. “Patience! Have you ever known any creature to escape what happens in the Screamhole? Snakefish is probably feeling sluggish from lying in that muddy water for so long. He’ll liven up when the hunger drives him. You’ll see. Sit down here and wait a bit.”

The unsavory pair stretched out side by side.

They had been dozing for some considerable time when the earth beneath them began trembling.

Deathcoil pulled to one side, rearing up. “Did you feel that? The ground’s shaking.”

The newt scampered out of the trembling area. “Quick, let’s get out of here.”

His companion slithered behind. “No, wait, it’s only in that one spot,” he called out. “The ground is quite still over here. Let’s get behind that rock and see what happens.”

In a short while, two digging claws and a moist snout broke through the ground surface. Young Dinny emerged from the earth, shaking soil from his coat. Going to the edge of the Screamhole well, he called down, “Doant wurry, soon ’ave ee outen thurr, ho urr.”

The spies behind the rock slithered away to inform Marshgreen and his toads of what they had seen.

*  *  *

Tsarmina slept heavily after the night spent in Mossflower Woods. The nightmare visited her dreams again; once more she was engulfed by cold, dark, rushing water. It flooded her senses as she fought feebly against the muddy engulfing tide that filled nostrils, ears and eyes. At the very moment when she felt all was lost and drowning was inevitable, she came awake with a start. Stumbling heavily, she slumped on the floor, pawing the solid stones to reassure herself. Stone was real; it was good. These stones belonged to her, Queen of the Thousand Eyes. She looked gratefully at the floor.

That was when she saw the pawprints in the dust.

Two mice and two moles!

*  *  *

Fortunately, Ashleg was halfway up the chamber stairs when he heard the Queen screeching his name. As quickly as his wooden limb would allow, he hop-skipped the remainder of the distance. Bursting into the chamber, Ashleg found himself confronting a Tsarmina he had not encountered before. The wildcat sat on the floor, hunched up in a cloak that had once belonged to her father. She was rocking back and forth, gazing intently at the stone floor.

Ashleg closed the door and bowed apprehensively.

“Your Majesty?”

Tsarmina did not look up. “Mice and moles. Search this room for mice and moles.”

“Immediately, Milady.”

Ashleg did not stop to question the order. Knowing how dangerous Tsarmina’s mood could become, he set about the task. Peering into cupboards, looking beneath the table, behind the wall hangings and drapes, the pine marten searched the entire room thoroughly.

“No mice or moles here, Milady,” he reported.

Tsarmina sprang up, pointing imperiously at the door. “Then go. Search the whole of Kotir!”

Ashleg saluted and hobbled swiftly to the door.

“No, wait!”

He halted, not sure of which way to turn next. Tsarmina was smiling at him. Ashleg gulped visibly as she put a paw about his shoulders.

“Ashleg, where is Gingivere?”

“He escaped, Majesty. You followed him yourself,” he replied, puzzled.

“Oh, come now, you don’t fool me,” Tsarmina chuckled, almost good-naturedly. “First it was those two hedgehogs that escaped—but they didn’t really, they were here all the time. Then there was the fox who was really an otter. Now my very own room is covered in the tracks of woodlanders. Come on, out with it, old friend, you can tell me.”

Ashleg began to be very frightened. “Milady, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m only Ashleg. I served your father faithfully and now I obey and serve only you.”

Tsarmina smiled knowingly. “Completely loyal to all my family, eh, Ashleg?”

“Oh yes, indeed, Milady.”

The murderous claws shot out, burying themselves into the pine marten’s shoulder through the feathered cape he wore. Tsarmina’s whiskers brushed against his face as she snarled, “So, that’s it. You’re helping my brother now. Gingivere never really escaped, did he? It was all a trick. He’s still here with those woodlanders. They’re turning my army against me. Maybe he was with me all the time I was in the forest looking for him. Ha, he’s a sly one, that brother of mine. I’ll bet it was him who pushed me into the water when the otters loosed the big pike . . . Ugh!”

Ashleg’s face was a mask of frozen agony. The claws dug deeply in him, blood was staining his cloak.

Suddenly Tsarmina released him and scrubbed furiously at herself with the cloak she was wearing.

“Uuuuuhhhh, deep, cold, slimy, dark water,” she muttered incoherently.

Ashleg backed quietly out of the chamber. The wildcat was oblivious to his departure; she was battling the watery torrents in her imagination.

As the pine marten hobbled swiftly down the stairs, his Queen’s ravings echoed about the spiral stairwell.

“Stay away! Stay away! You won’t get me. I won’t come near the water.”

Ashleg’s mind was made up: he could not stop a moment longer. Tsarmina was a mad Queen. Kotir was a place of danger to those who stayed there.

*  *  *

The late afternoon sun poured down over the ramparts of Kotir. Silence made it frightening to the departing Ashleg; the large areas of dark shadow and sunlit stillness unnerved him. He had cast aside the plumed scarlet cape, exchanging it for a dull brown homespun cloak. Hurrying across the deserted parade ground, Ashleg slipped through the gates and began walking south—away from Tsarmina, Mossflower and dreams of ambitious conquest. Maybe there was somewhere under a different sky where he could find a new way of life; maybe somewhere there were friends waiting who knew how to live simply, without delusions of grandeur.

*  *  *

Perched in his high spruce, Argulor opened one eye. Never too proud to scavenge, the eagle had satisfied his hunger with the results of the confrontation at the river. Argulor’s eye closed again lazily. Feeling full and tired, he slept on in the mistaken hope that everything comes to him who waits.

Ashleg had flown the coop; that is, if a pine marten with a wooden leg does ever fly.

*  *  *

Dinny counted himself lucky. He had found the woven rush net that had carried them to Screamhole. Securing one end to a tree root, he pushed the remainder over the edge of the pit.

“Yurr below, grab’n ’old of ’ee net, Marthen.”

Unfortunately the net fell short of the travelers’ grasp.

From above, the mole’s voice was calling urgently, “Burr, ’asten now. Oi ’ears they toadbags a-cummen.”

Gonff jumped up and down with frustration. “Think of something quick, mateys!”

Snakefish poked his massive head up. “Sit on my head. I think I can reach it!”

“What? Not likely!” Log-a-Log backed into the cave.

“Urry, they’m nearly yurr!” Dinny called.

Sitting at the edge of the cave, Martin placed his paws on the huge reptilian head and braced himself against the skull ridge beneath the smooth skin.

“Push me up, Snakefish!”

The great eel thrust upward, slid back slightly, then with a colossal effort reared out of the water and shot up like a bolt. Martin grasped the net, keeping his purchase on the eel’s head.

“Quick, bite!”

Snakefish’s teeth clamped onto the bottom of the net. He hung there a moment, then began bunching his coils, the rough underskin finding contact with the fibers as he weaved his sinuous body into the meshes of the net.

Martin pulled upward. Snakefish secured himself, and called, “I can make it easily. Show yourselves, you two below. I’ll loop my bottom coils around you and lift you up with me.”

Log-a-Log and Gonff stood clutching each other, their eyes shut tightly as they felt themselves enveloped in steely coils and lifted effortlessly.

*  *  *

Marshgreen and his toads loomed out of the cottony mists. Three of them waddled forward, trying to capture Dinny as the mole flayed about with heavy digging claws.

“Gurr, ’ee doant cum near oi, sloimy toadbags,” he warned.

Deathcoil and Whipscale noticed too late the net fastened at the edge of the Screamhole. Martin came leaping over the edge, loosing stones from his sling, fast and accurate. He bounced a rock off Marshgreen’s head, knocking him flat.

Gurgling screams of horror greeted the next arrival from the pit. The head of Snakefish appeared, dripping like some primeval monster from the abyss, slitted eyes and white rows of teeth confronting the terrified assembly.

“Toadflesh!” With a bunching serpentine motion, the slayer of the swamps pulled himself clear of the pit, shedding his passengers in the same movement.

Gonff and Log-a-Log sprang up, battling despite their bruised ribs. Pandemonium took over as Snakefish struck like a thunderbolt into the nearest group of toads. Regardless of tridents and firefly lanterns, the giant eel went about the business of satisfying his immense hunger.

Martin turned away, sickened by the grisly spectacle.

“Are you all right, Din?” he called anxiously. “Quick, Gonff, Log-a-Log. Let’s get out of here right now.”

Gonff stared wildly into the mists. “Aye, but which way, matey?”

“Hoo arr, this’n ’ll show ’ee.” Young Dinny had a fierce headlock on the groggy Marshgreen.

Martin grabbed a trident and poked the toad Chief.

“Good mole, Din. Come on, you. Lead the way due west, or I’ll stick you on this oversized dinner fork and feed you to Snakefish.”

Marshgreen waddled off pleading mournfully, “Krrgloik! Mousefur notkill Marshgreen, showyou waytogo.”

*  *  *

In a short space of time they were blanketed on all sides by a mist so heavy it drowned out even the far-off squeals of Snakefish’s victims.

Log-a-Log watched the green bulk of the toad waddling ahead. “Well, at least he seems to know which way to go. What’s next in your rhyme, Gonff?”

Without hesitation Gonff reeled off Olav Skyfurrow’s lines,

Martin prodded Marshgreen lightly with the trident. “Do you know that place?”

The defeated toad Chief turned, blinking his eyefilms. “Krrploik! Notfar notfar, shorebad, seabird eatyou eatme.”

Martin leaned on the trident. “Oh, stop moaning, Greenbottom. We’ll let you go when we’re free of this mist. Though it’s more than you deserve.”

*  *  *

Eventually they reached a clear running stream. They drank some water while Dinny dug up edible roots.

“Gurr, rooten. They baint no deeper’n ever pie, no zurr.”

Gonff perched on a rock. “Don’t worry, matey. If we ever come out of all this in one piece I’ll steal the biggest pie in all Mossflower, just for you.”

Dinny closed his eyes dreamily. “Urr, a roight big’n an’ all furr this yurr mole.”

Gonff broke into song.

Dinny lay upon his back, waving stubby paws. “O joy, O arpiness, an’ all fur oi, ’ee say.”

*  *  *

The trek was long and wearisome; time stood still in the land of the mists. Martin longed to see natural daylight again, be it bright and sunny, or clouded and rainy.

They were negotiating a particularly soggy stretch of ground when Log-a-Log remarked to Gonff, “Here, d’you reckon things have gone a bit darkish?”

Gonff jumped onto a tussock of dry reeds. “That’s prob’ly because nighttime’s coming on, matey.”

Martin pointed. “Look, I can see the sky.”

Sure enough, the mists were beginning to thin. Pale evening sky was plainly visible from where they stood.

Gonff made a further discovery. “See, on the other side of this grass, there’s sand. Looks like miles of the stuff.”

Hurriedly they jumped onto the tussock to confirm Gonff’s sighting. Behind them, Marshgreen picked up the trident and waddled off, back into his domain of swamp and mist.

The questors gazed in wonder at the scene before them. On the horizon the sun was sinking in a sheen of pearl gray and dusty crimson. Martin’s paw shot up, pointing northwest. “Look, the flames of Salamandastron!”