Spitting pebbles and dust, Foremole Diggum worked furiously in the darkness. When the tunnel collapsed, he had been thrown partially clear, but he was trapped below the waist by the mountain of debris that stretched from floor to ceiling. The mole’s powerful digging claws tore at the rubble, showering stone and mortar either side until he pulled himself free. His head struck the lantern; it had gone out. Grabbing the cover off, Foremole blew gently on the smouldering wick, and a spark showed. Slowly he coaxed the flame back to life.
“Ahoy there, mate, move aside, I’m comin’ down!” Shad the otter emerged from the top of the pile and slithered carefully over the slope of the cave-in, favoring his injured paw. “C’mon, let’s git diggin’ fer the others!”
Glittering pieces of booty sparkled in the lantern light. Shad seized a heavy gold platter and, using it as a scoop, he attacked the pile.
Foremole dug alongside him, calling out, “Whurr are ee, you’m gennelbeasts? Call out naow!”
A muffled but urgent cry came back at them from inside the pile: “Go easy, there’s only a beam protectin’ us. Dig careful, friends!”
Shad grunted as he tunneled into the jumble of earth and stone. “Take care o’ miz Craklyn an’ the Abbess, young Butty—we’ll soon have ye out o’ there!”
They hauled aside a block of masonry between them, and pulled and tugged at timbers and rock slivers. Foremole flinched suddenly. “Yowch! Oi be stabbed in ee tail!”
Shad held up the lantern to see what it was. An ornate silver spearhead, studded with peridots and tasseled with silk, was poking out of the debris, its point waving and shaking.
“In here, we’re in here! Hurry, the air’s runnin’ out!”
Shad held on to the spearhead while Foremole dug swiftly around it. The good mole was an expert digger, and he soon had a small tunnel through to the three trapped creatures. Shad began enlarging it, scooping aside earth with his gold platter.
There was an ominous creaking of timber, then the sound of Abbess Tansy’s voice calling to them, “You’d best be quick—Craklyn’s been knocked senseless and I think this beam is about to break under the weight of rubble!”
Shad thrust the lantern through and squeezed in after it. Bent double, he sized up the situation.
The cave-in had fallen around a huge baulk of timber, leaving a small space. Butty and Tansy were crouched in it, supporting the limp form of Craklyn. Suddenly, unable to bear the weight of collapsed material, the beam gave a splintering crack, showering them with soil and mortar dust:
Foremole scrambled in alongside Shad. Moving Tansy aside, he took her place so that he and Butty were supporting Craklyn. “Hurr, et be gurtly bad in yurr, marm. Do ee get owt quick loik!”
Shad assisted Tansy into the escape tunnel, and the timber beam began to groan like a living thing as it shifted. The hefty otter threw caution to the wind. Wedging his back beneath the beam, he strained upward and took the weight upon himself.
“Get ’em out, Diggum, mate. Don’t argue. Go!”
They scrambled out, dragging Craklyn between them, through choking dust and a rain of pebbles.
Foremole and Butty grabbed the silver-headed spear, thrusting the pole back toward Shad, who had been forced almost flat. Butty shouted instructions: “Grip tight to the spearpole, mister Shad. You push, we’ll pull. Ready, one, two, push!”
Shad held the spearpole like a vise as, forcing himself free of the beam, he gave a mighty shove. Foremole and Butty heaved on the other end, knowing their friend’s life depended on it.
Covered in earth and battered by stones, Shad flew out of the tunnel as the beam broke and everything collapsed inward behind him. He was practically shot out of the hole like an arrow from a bow, landing in a heap atop his rescuers.
Butty found the remains of a flask of elderberry wine, which had been thrown clear. While Tansy bathed Craklyn’s brow with it, Shad took stock of their situation.
“Well, messmates, that’s wot we get fer goin’ treasure ’untin’. We’re blocked in this passage better’n if we’d been walled in by builders. Still, we’re alive, an’ the air is fit to breathe.”
Licking her lips, Craklyn came back to consciousness. “Mmm, I taste like elderberry wine, that’s strange. What happened? Is everybeast all right?”
Tansy breathed a sigh of relief and hugged her old squirrel friend fondly. “Everyone is fine, though you were knocked out when the tunnel collapsed. How do you feel?”
Craklyn stood up and dusted off her gown. “Fine, never felt better! Dearie me, looks as if we’re trapped down here, though. What in the name of seasons are you up to, young Butty?”
The squirrel Friar pointed proudly to the small heap of glittering objects he had gathered from the rubble. “Collectin’ treasure, marm. “Tis rare pretty stuff!”
Foremole wrinkled his snout at the precious trove. “Phwurr! Pretty is all et be. Us’n’s caint eat et, hurr no, so ’tis of no use at all down yurr!”
Craklyn ignored the mole. She dug out of her pocket the rhyme she had copied, shaking her head knowingly. “I thought so. Treasure, that’s what we missed. Look at the first letter of each line, reading downward.
“Turn at the lowest stair,
Right is the left down there,
Every pace you must count
At ten times paws amount,
See where a deathbird flies
Under the hunter’s eyes,
Radiant in splendor fair,
Ever mine, hidden where?”
She folded the scrap of parchment triumphantly. “So that’s the riddle solved. Treasure! And we’ve found it!”
Shad picked up the empty wine canteen. “Well good fer us, marm, but Foremole’s right, treasure ain’t goin’ to feed us or get us out o’ this mess. So, wot next?”
Craklyn and Butty gathered up the treasure and wrapped it in a cloak—having found it they were not about to leave it behind. The young Friar gazed at the heap of debris blocking the passage. “We’ll take this with us. Hmm, bet there’s lots more of it buried in there, pity we can’t dig it out.”
Abbess Tansy tweaked Butty’s ear playfully. “You greedy young wretch! Come on, let’s explore farther down this passage and see where it leads. Bring the lantern, Shad.”
There was neither dawn nor dusk far beneath the earth; time had no meaning. It was only by hunger and thirst that the five companions could judge how long they had been down there. Long, dark and dreary, dry, dusty, and silent, the passage wound on a downward slope. Occasionally they arrived at a cave-in that had not quite blocked the way, and then they found themselves scrambling up hills of broken stone, forcing their way through narrow apertures close to the tunnel ceiling.
Foremole tapped the walls regularly and probed the tight-packed earth at window and door spaces, but without any great success. Being the strongest of the party, he and Shad forged ahead in front of the others, to make sure the way was safe.
The big otter was wearied from his exertions fighting the crushing beam. “I don’t like it, Diggum,” he murmured in a low voice to Foremole. “Looks like we’re goin’ nowheres down ’ere. We ain’t got food nor drink, only the air we breathe, an’ that lantern light ain’t goin’ to last forever.”
Dust rose from his back as the mole patted it. “Hurr, oi knows that, ole riverdog, but us’n’s be bound t’put ee brave face on, lest ee froighten an’ scare ee uthers. Coom now, let’s set an’ rest awhoile.”
They waited for the others to join them, then all five sat with their backs against the wall, tired and dispirited, each with his or her own thoughts, which were rather similar. Green grass, sunlight, fresh air, clear water, and the happy world of Redwall Abbey, so far above them that it all seemed like a dream.