Half the Guosim were left on the water meadows with the fighting crews, while the old and very young were conveyed toward Redwall in the logboats. Twilight was upon the land as they paddled upstream. Not too far off, Redwall could be seen, framed by Mossflower Wood on its north and east sides.

The logboats lay in a small cove, where the stream took a bend on the heathlands before turning back to the woodlands. Gurgan waddled ashore, leaning on a long puntpole he had brought along. “This looks as close as we’ll hove to yon Abbey. Best leave the boats here an’ walk the rest o’ the way. Come hither, young Blodge, an’ quit messin’ about there!”

The young Waterhog Blodge had jumped ashore ahead of the rest and was poking about with a stick at the foot of a hillock by the stream bank. Waving the stick, she came scurrying along. “Look ye, I finded water comin’ out o’ yonder hill, sir!”

Log-a-Log and Gurgan went to investigate. Blodge had found a trickle of cold fresh water seeping out of the mound and flowing into the stream. She probed it with her stick until it became a tiny fountain, spurting from the hillside.

Log-a-Log took a drink. “Good water, sweet’n’fresh, cold too. It must be comin’ from some underground stream, runnin’ fairly fast, by the look o’ it.”

Gurgan Spearback placed his long pole against the water. It sprayed out either side of the butt. “Ah’ve ne’er seen ought like this,” he said, shaking his great spiky head. “Stand aside there, I’ll give it a good prod.”

They stepped out of his way and he pounded the pole home into the hole with several powerful thrusts. Water squirted everywhere from the enlarged aperture, soaking them. A warning rumble from somewhere underground caused Log-a-Log to grab Blodge and leap back aboard the logboat, yelling, “Come away, Gurgan, mate! Quick!”

The rest of his warning was lost as the hill burst asunder with the awesome pressure of water building up inside it. Mingled with rocks, soil, pebbles, and sand, a mighty geyser of roaring water smashed sideways, demolishing the hillock and immediately swelling the stream to twice its size as it ate up the banks and the land close around.

Skillfully the Guosim oarbeasts rode the flood, turning their boats in midstream and beaching them on the farther side. Shouting and screaming, the young Waterhogs scrambled ashore, away from the danger. Gurgan Spearback was picking himself up and trying to wade upstream, when he was clouted flat by a mud-covered mass, shot from underground like a cannonball. Blowing mud and water from nostrils and mouth, the sturdy Waterhog fought to get the weight off him; it was pinning him down in the shallows, threatening to drown him.

Log-a-Log and several shrews came rushing to his rescue and grappled with the great muddy object, managing to free Gurgan.

Waist deep in icy water, Log-a-Log wiped his eyes and gasped, “Are you all right, mate? Yore not bad injured, are ye?”

“Ho don’t fuss now, I’ll be all right when I cough up this mud, matey!”

Gurgan looked at Log-a-Log. “Who said that?”

Skipper of Otters staggered to the bank, grunting under the weight of a dead yellow eel whose coils were still wrapped tightly around his sodden frame. He collapsed on dry land.

“I said that! Well, don’t stand there gettin’ wet an’ gogglin’, lend a paw t’get this slimy h’animal off me, mates!”

Log-a-Log was never one to panic. He took the situation in his stride. Relieving Skipper of Tammo’s dirk, he began prising the stiff coils apart, talking to the otter in a matter-of-fact way.

“Ahoy, Skip, it’s been a season or two since I clapped eyes on ye. So this is what yore wearin’ these days, a serpent fish. What’s the matter, ain’t a tunic good enough for ye anymore?”

*

It was not often that the Abbey bells rang aloud once night had fallen, but Skipper’s return proved the exception. Ginko the Bellringer swung on his bell ropes, sending out a joyous clangor across the land until his paws were numbed and reverberations hummed through both his ears.

The new arrivals were welcomed into Great Hall, while the heroic Skipper was carried shoulder high by the hares and his otter crew, down to Cavern Hole. He sat stoically as Sister Viola and Pellit cleaned, stitched, and salved his wounds, answering the volley of questions, of which Tammo’s was the first.

“Did you bring my dirk back, Skip? How was it?”

With some reluctance, the otter returned Tammo’s weapon. “I tell you, matey, that piece o’ steel saved my life. “Tis a blade t’be proud of an’ I’d give ten seasons o’ me life to be the owner of such a fine thing!”

The young hare polished his dirk hilt proudly before restoring it to his shoulder belt.

Shad poured hot mint tea for his friend. “I’ll wager that ole snakefish kept you busy, matey?”

Skipper held his head to one side as the Sister ministered to a muddied slash the eel’s teeth had inflicted. “Aye, he did an’ all. A real fighter that beast was, a shame I had t’slay it. The snakefish was lost an’ ’ungry; ’twas only his nature t’seek prey. Yowch! Go easy, marm!”

Sister Viola placed an herbal compress on the wound. “I’m sorry. There, that’s done! It was extremely brave of you to act as you did, sir. Little Sloey owes you her life. I don’t often say this to fighting beasts, but it has been an honor to treat your injuries.”

Captain Twayblade pounded the table enthusiastically. “Well said, marm, we can’t afford to lose a beast as perilous as the Skipper. I propose y’make him an Honorary Member of the Long Patrol, eh, what d’ye say, Major?”

Amid the roars of approval, Abbess Tansy entered. Smiling through her tears, she clasped the otter’s paw affectionately. “So, you old rogue, you came back to us!”

Skipper stood slowly, flexing his brawny limbs experimentally. “Of course I did, Abbess, marm, an’ I’ll thank ye next time I’m gone that y’don’t cancel the feast in me absence. Beggin’ yore pardon, but y’didn’t finish all the ’otroot soup, did ye?”

Shaking with laughter, Rockjaw Grang strode off to the kitchens, saying over his shoulder, “Sithee, riverdog, sit ee there, I’ll fetch ye the whole bloomin’ pot if y’ve a mind to sup it!”

*

Gurgan Spearback peeped around the door of the spare dormitory where the young Waterhogs had been billeted. “Hoho! There they be, fed’n’washed an’ snorin’ respectfully. My thanks to thee, goodbeasts.”

Mother Buscol shuffled out, carrying a lantern, followed by Craklyn, who was holding a paw to her lips. “Hush now, sir, we’ve just got the little ’uns to sleep.”

Gurgan carried the lantern for them as they went downstairs. “Thy Abbey be full o’ babes—Dibbuns, my Waterhogs, three liddle owls, even a badgerbabe. How came you by him?”

Craklyn kept firm hold of old Mother Buscol’s paw as she negotiated the spiraling steps. “That’s our little Russano, he’s very special to us.”

Log-a-Log interrupted them as they entered Great Hall. “Council o’ War’s to be held in Cavern Hole straight away!”