Driving Wuddshipp inland against the flow of the River Moss was a difficult task.

All paws manned the oarbanks, and Martin sat alongside Timballisto.

“Phew! I never realized rowing was such heavy work,” Martin groaned.

“Pull, my friend, pull. It’s twice as bad when you have to do it on half-rations with a sea rat’s whip cracking about your ears and you chained to the oar.”

The vessel had been built for coast raiding. Though it was a large craft, it had a flat bottom for taking shallow draught; thus it was able to travel upriver without a deep keel sticking in the shallows.

Inland they traveled, sometimes aided by a breeze when the sails were hoisted. Other times saw two teams dragging her forward on headropes from the riverbanks.

It took a day and a half of hard work to get across the flat beach and into the dunes, where the river was tighter-channelled and flowed faster against them. Log-a-Log solved the problem by using the long galley oars from the deck. Two crew to each oar, they punted and pushed Wuddshipp through the dunes, keeping her head upriver with great difficulty. Gradually the dunes gave way to hilly scrubland and the sand began to disappear.

It was a weary crew that sat upon the bank that night, watching the ship riding at anchor.

Gonff hurled a clod of earth at the fast-flowing water. “We’ll never make it this way, mateys. Why not abandon ship and march the rest of the way?”

Harebell and company smiled sweetly.

“Oh, you are a silly, Mr. Gonff. We must take the ship.”

“The river flows back to the sea, you see.”

“And we may need that to make a quick getaway if we are pushed.”

Martin winked at Gonff. “The ladies certainly know their strategy. By the way, has anyone seen Log-a-Log Big Club?”

As if in answer, the shrew strode up out the gathering gloom. “Aye aye. I’ve been scouting ahead. Found the old village, too. Come on, you lucky lot. There’ll be a hot meal and a warm bed with a roof overhead tonight. Banksnout, you wouldn’t recognize your little ones now—they’re taller than me. Oh, Martin, I forgot to tell you, we’ve gained another hundred able-furred recruits.”

*  *  *

Delight awaited them at the shrew village as families were reunited amidst cheering and shouting.

“Daddy, Daddy, it’s me, Emily, your baby shrewlet.”

“Hoho, look at you! You’re bigger than your mum.”

“Sharptail, you said you were going for acorns. That was four seasons ago! Where have you been?”

“Sorry, m’dear. Sea rats y’know. What’s this, grandshrew babies?”

“Aye, you’re a grandpa shrew now.”

“By the fur! Here, give me a hold of that little fat feller.”

“Gluggabuggaluggoo!”

“Haha. See, he knows me already.”

The hares joined Martin and the others around a fire. Two plump shrews served them with hot fruit pie, dandelion salad and bowls of fresh milk. Gonff sang around a mouthful of hot pie,

He had to sing it twice again whilst the shrews danced a hornpipe with the hares.

As the fires burned low, they settled back with full stomachs and renewed hope for the morn.

Martin and Timballisto slept side by side beneath the stars, each wrapped in a colorfully woven shrew blanket.

Dinny dug a flattish hole for the hares.

“Oh, thank you kindly, Mr. Mole.”

“Such charming manners and swift digging.”

“Ooh, and that beautiful velvety fur and strong claws.”

Dinny wrinkled his face and tugged his snout, slightly embarrassed. “Burr, bless ’ee, baint nought but an owd ’ole, missies.”

The moon rose like a white china plate over the peaceful scene on the banks of the River Moss.

*  *  *

Tsarmina faced the troops gathered in the large mess hall. She had specially arranged the gathering by sending Bane’s former mercenaries in first; her own soldiers, led by Brogg in his red velvet cloak, ringed the mercenaries by jostling them to the center of the floor. Brogg held up Bane’s curved sword for silence as the wildcat Queen addressed the assembly.

“Bane is dead. Those who served under him have nowhere left to go now. Move from here, and you do it without supplies or weapons. Besides, those woodlanders out there would take care of you in short order. Any creature want to say something?”

There was silence.

“Right,” she continued commandingly. “From now on you take your orders from me. Brogg will see that you get rations and a billet each. Later I’ll see about appointing more officers and getting you some proper uniforms. Take over, Brogg.”

The weasel Captain stepped up, twirling his new sword. “Altogether now. Hail Tsarmina, Queen of Mossflower!”

The response was less than enthusiastic.

Tsarmina made them repeat it until she was satisfied. “That’s better. You can learn my list of titles later.”

They stood in awkward silence, not knowing what to do next. In the hush that followed, Tsarmina’s ears rose visibly. Something was beginning to disturb her.

“Dismiss, all of you. Brogg, you stay with me.”

When the hall was emptied she turned to Brogg with haunted eyes.

“Listen, can you hear it?” she asked fearfully.

“I can’t hear a thing, Milady.”

“Listen! It’s water, flowing, dripping, spilling somewhere. Ugh!”

Brogg gave careful ear. Suddenly he brightened up. “Haha. Yes, I can hear it now, Milady. You’re right. There is water about somewhere. Damp d’you think?”

The sound of water produced so distressing an effect upon Tsarmina that she forgot to chide Brogg. She cowered in a corner, paws covering her ears to shut out the dreaded noise. Flowing water, seeping water, creeping water, dark, icy, swirling water!

“Brogg, quick, get as many troops together as you can,” she ordered desperately. “Find out where that water is coming from and stop it. Stop it!”

Brogg saw the terror on his Queen’s face and fled the room.

The whole of the garrison searched high and low. But not too low; nobody, including Brogg, was overkeen to venture beneath the cells. Down there it was dark and cold; down there was the lake where Gloomer used to be kept.

And goodness knows what else!

*  *  *

That night, as Tsarmina sat huddled in her chamber, dripping water echoed in her imagination, never letting up. When the fear of water was upon her, the daughter of Verdauga was no longer Queen of Mossflower, Lady of the Thousand Eyes or Ruler of Kotir.

She was reduced to a crazed, terrified kitten, trembling at the sound of dripping water in the darkness, longing for morning light to come stealing over the horizon.

*  *  *

Something had gone radically wrong with the flooding.

Bella slumped in the grass by the river with Skipper.

“No joy, marm?” he asked solicitously.

“I’m afraid not, Skipper. There seems to be only a trickle going down the tunnels.”

Lady Amber joined the pair. “Aye, it seemed to be going so well at first. D’you think it’s because it’s summer and we haven’t had much rain?” she suggested.

Skipper chewed a blade of grass. “Maybe so. There’s not a lot we can do about it, anyway.”

“Maybe we could dam the river?” Bella offered tentatively.

“Impossible, marm,” the Skipper of otters snorted. “Dam the River Moss? Stow me barnacles, you couldn’t hope to stop a river that size from flowin’ to the sea.”

Columbine stopped by to join the discussion.

“Perhaps it will fill gradually.”

“Aye, missie,” Skipper chuckled drily. “We could all sit here growing old and watch it doin’ just that. No, we’ll give it a bit more time, then if things are still the same we’ll have to think of another scheme.”

Lady Amber whacked her tail down irritably.

“After all that underwater digging and tunneling, then there’s the lives that were lost, too. Huh, it makes me mad!”

The river carried on flowing its normal course, only a thin trickle diverting down the flood tunnels.

*  *  *

It was the evening of the following day. Abbess Germaine and Columbine were helping Ben Stickle to take the little ones out for an evening stroll along the river bank. Ferdy and Coggs played with Spike and Posy, together with some young mice. They were sailing miniature boats that Ben had made for them.

Germaine watched fondly as the young ones dashed boisterously up and down the bank, bursting with energy after being confined to Brockhall the past few days.

“Be careful, Spike. Watch you don’t fall in,” she called.

“See my boat, Abbess. It’s faster than Coggs’s.”

“Ooh look, Ferdy is cheating. He’s pushing his boat with a stick.”

“No, I’m not. It’s the wind. Mine has a bigger sail.”

“Columbine, mine has gone down the hole. Can you get it back for me, please?”

“Sorry, Spike. It’s gone for good now. Never mind, I’m sure Ben will make you another.”

Ben Stickle crouched to look down the hole where the boat had vanished. He stood up, wiping his paws and shaking his head.

“Flood tunnels, they’re about as much use as an otter in a bird’s nest. How far d’you suppose they’ll have filled up the lake under Kotir? A paw’s height? A whisker’s level?”

The Abbess watched the rays of the setting sun through the trees. “Who knows, Ben. One thing is certain, though: Kotir still stands, dark and evil as ever it was. What a shame that Foremole and Old Dinny’s plan never worked.”

They turned back to Brockhall.

“Bella says there’s no likelihood of rain; the weather is staying fine,” Ben added.

Ferdy tucked the boat under his small spines.

“Maybe they should have done it in the winter, Ben,” the Abbess observed unhelpfully.

Ben ruffled Ferdy’s head. “Maybe frogs should have had feathers. Come on, young ’uns. Get your boats. Back to Brockhall and wash up for supper.”

*  *  *

It was a warm night. As the Corim sat about in the main room, an air of defeat hung over the company.

Bella yawned, stretching in her deep armchair.

“Well, any more suggestions?”

There were none. The badger searched one face then another. “Then we must explore the possibilities open to us. But let me say this, I do not want to hear any more plans of mass attack or open war.”

Skipper and Lady Amber shifted uncomfortably.

“Foremole and Old Dinny still think that the flooding will work, if they can figure out certain alterations to the original plan,” Bella continued. “I know a lot of us do not agree with this, but personally I think that the flooding is our only hope. With this in mind, I propose we visit the site tomorrow morning. Maybe with all the Corim there we might come up with a good idea. If not, then there is only one other sensible thing to do.”

Goody Stickle wiped her paws on her flowery apron. “What might that be, Miz Bella?”

“To move all the woodlanders and everything we can carry away from here. We would travel east to Gingivere’s new home. I have told you that he and Sandingomm will accommodate us. We would find a welcome there, far away from Kotir.”

Skipper jumped up, unhappiness written on his tough features. “But that’d mean the cat has won.”

Cries of support rang out for the otter leader.

“Yes, why should we be driven out?”

“We already left our homes to come to Brockhall.”

“It wouldn’t be the same in a strange place.”

“I was born around here. I’m not moving!”

Abbess Germaine banged a wooden bowl upon the table to restore order, but it broke in two.

“Silence, friends, please. Let Bella speak,” she shouted above the din.

Bella picked up the two halves of the bowl, and smiled ruefully at Germaine.

“Thank you, Abbess. Friends, there is more to my plan than first meets the eye. If we were to make this move I am speaking of, then think of its effect upon Kotir. Tsarmina would not have won; she would not have chased us through the woods—we would have left of our own free will. Now, what would it accomplish? Imagine for a moment if we stayed in the east until next summer, or even spring. All the time we were gone the water would continue to run down the flood tunnels. In autumn there is more rain and the wind drives the river faster. Winter would see the current run under the ice, and on warm days the snow would feed the river and swell it. Finally when the thaw arrived in spring, the river waters would flood, mighty and unchecked, then we would truly see the lake rise beneath Kotir. One other thing. Between now and next spring my father, Boar the Fighter, may arrive. He alone can face Tsarmina and defeat her. That is all; I have spoken my piece.”

Foremole rose and came to the table. Taking the two broken halves of the wooden bowl, he held them up.

“We be loik this hobjeck—splitted up we’m baint much use. But if’n us sticken t’gether, then we’m useful, hurr.” He pressed the two halves together for all to see.

Old Dinny seconded him. “Foremole be roight, Miz Bell. ’Tis wunnerful molesense.”

Columbine was allowed her say.

“Let us do as Bella suggests. Tomorrow we will go to the flood tunnels, then if nothing can be done we will follow her plan.”

Immediate agreement followed.

“See, Columbine,” the Abbess said, picking up the broken bowl in her frail paws, “old and weak as I am, yet somehow I managed the strength to perform a small bit of magic. Let us sleep now. It is late, and tomorrow we can tidy up here and wash the dishes—all except this one.”

The Abbess placed the broken halves carefully on the table.

“Maybe a lesson in mole logic would not be a bad thing for a wildcat Queen to learn.”

*  *  *

Log-a-Log was in his element as leader of his tribe once more, he roused the entire village an hour before dawn to get the ship under way. With a hundred extra shrews to help, Wuddshipp fairly flew along the river. When they were not rowing, they were punting, pushing or hauling on ropes.

“Come on shrews, hoist sail,” Log-a-Log commanded. “Two of you on this tiller. Make yourselves busy. Double up on the oars there. You two in the crosstrees, stir your stumps, the Chief is back. Let’s show these bunny rabbits how to move a craft up our own River Moss.”

“I beg your pardon, old Log-a-Thing.”

“Steady on with the name-calling there, O Mighty Leader.”

“Indeed, we’re hares, not bunny rabbits, d’you mind.”

T. B. sat on the deck sharpening pikes. “Odd lot those hares,” he remarked.

“Seasoned warriors though,” Martin said, as he counted swords and daggers. “Boar the Fighter taught them personally. Don’t let their silly talk fool you. I wouldn’t have them as an enemy at any price, and I was proud to fight alongside them against the sea rats.”

Gonff sniffed the air. His whiskers twitched in the predawn darkness that shrouded the riverbanks.

“Trees, Din. We must be in Mossflower. Dawn will soon tell.”

The young mole was painting a crude sign to cover the name Bloodwake. It bore the legend Wuddshipp. He shook his head admiringly, wiping paint from his paws.

“Hurr, Gonffen, we’m ’ome again, oi’m a-feelen it.”

The gruff voice of a shrew in the crosstrees confirmed Dinny’s words. “Sun arising eastward, trees growing close, we’re in the forest.”

“Keep her head straight,” shouted Log-a-Log, standing out for’ard. “Furl those sails in before they snag on the branches. Lively there!”

Martin joined him at the prow.

“At this rate we should make Camp Willow around midday. I never noticed us navigating the ford that crosses the path.”

Log-a-Log patted the rail. “I chanced it in the dark. Good sailoring, see. Old Wuddshipp skimmed the shallows with her flat bottom. Nice and deep here though, easy going on the oars.”

The sun rose above the woodland mists, revealing another hot summer day. Patterns of water light played along the bulkheads, leaf and branch shadow mottled the decks. The oars pulled strong against the deep slow current as the big ship nosed its course, further into the depths of Mossflower.