Consternation reigned at Kotir.

A luckless stoat had been “volunteered’ from the cell guards by Fortunata and Cludd, and he was pushed unwillingly into Tsarmina’s chamber.

“Er, your Maj of the green Queenest, er upper of all ruler and lower Moss. Er, er . . . The prisoners have gone!”

“Gone! What do you mean, gone?” The wildcat Queen left her seat in a single bound and picked the stoat up by his throat.

“Yuuurrkkgghhaaaarrr . . . ’Scaped.”

Tsarmina threw the gurgling heap to the floor. Her voice echoed in the stairway as she dashed down to the cells.

“Escaped? Impossible! Guards, get down to the cells quickly.”

The cells were searched.

The corridors were scoured.

The outer walls were surrounded.

The parade ground was gone over inch by inch.

The barracks were turned inside out.

Not a room, passage, cupboard, chamber, kitchen, guardhouse, or scullery remained unprobed.

Gingivere, however, was officially nonexistent. His cell was not searched. Nobody thought of looking in a prison cell that was already bolted and barred.

Except maybe Tsarmina.

*  *  *

Columbine sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Was it night or day? she wondered. How long had she slept in this warm dry cavern? Everything seemed so quiet and peaceful after the noise and panic of the battle she had witnessed. There was an old patchwork quilt covering her. She pushed it to one side as a little molemaid entered.

“Mawnen to ’ee. Wellcum t’Moledeep. Brekkist be ready.”

She followed the mole into a larger cave, where Ben Stickle and the woodlanders who had been injured sat with the Loamhedge mice and the mole community.

Foremole waved her to a place between himself and a grizzled old mole whose fur was completely gray.

“Set ee by yurr, maid. This be Owd Dinny, t’other young rip’s granfer.”

Old Dinny nodded and continued spooning honeyed oatmeal.

Obviously the moles liked a good solid start to the day. There was a variety of cooked roots and tubers, most of which Columbine had never seen before. All of them tasted delicious, whether salted, sugared or dipped in honey and milk. (Some of the moles did all four.) The bread was wafer thin and tasted of almonds, small cakes patterned with buttercups were served warm. There were fluffy napkins and bowls of steaming rosewater to cleanse sticky paws. As Columbine nibbled at a rye biscuit and sipped fragrant mint tea, she could not help asking Foremole where all the huge deeper ’n’ ever pies and solid trencherfood the moles seemed to favor were.

Foremole chuckled. He gestured at the table with a massive digging claw. “Ho urr, Combuliney. This yurr be on’y a loight brekkist for ’ee an’ yurr friends. We’m fancied it up a bit for ’ee. Moles be only eaten solid vittles at even toid when they’s ’ungered greatly.”

Columbine nodded and smiled politely, trying to hide her amazement. “Oh, I see, just a loight brekkist, er, light breakfast.”

As Columbine ate, she remembered Gonff. If only he were here amid this friendly company with her! She mentally wagered with herself that he would know the name and taste of every dish (and probably be jokingly chided for having stolen many of them in bygone days). She pictured her mousethief jesting with everybody, imitating molespeech and singing ballads as he composed them.

The young mousemaid heaved a sigh into her mint tea. It dissolved in a small cloud of fragrant steam. Where, oh where, was Gonff on this beautiful morning?

It was nearly midmorning when the “light breakfast’ reached its conclusion. Then, guarded and guided by the mole community, Columbine and her friends made their way back to Brockhall by a secret woodland route.

*  *  *

Martin, Gonff and Dinny were wide awake by daybreak. They crouched in the small cave, eating breakfast as they watched a gray drizzly dawn. Packing the food away, the travelers stamped life back into their numbed paws. Surprisingly, Gonff was first to step outside.

“Come on, mateys. It’ll brighten up by mid-morning. You wait and see—I’m a Prince of Predictors.”

Striding out, they left the low hills behind, to face yet more flatlands. Wakened grouse whirred into the damp morning air at their approach.

Sala-manda-stron,
Look where we’ve come from,
Three of Mossflower’s best,
Marching out upon our quest:
Sala-manda-stron.

Scratch sighted the three dim forms through the layers of drizzling rain.

“There they go. Come on, you two. I’ve got a feeling that today’s the day we catch ’em. Come on, move yourselves. The sooner it’s done, the quicker we’ll get back to Kotir. Aye, good solid food again, a long rest, and maybe a bit of honor and glory.”

“Huh, I’m soaked right through!” Splitnose complained. “Me too,” grumbled Blacktooth. “I never slept a wink again. Sitting out on top of a hill, miles from anywhere in the pouring rain, stiff all over, cold, hungry, shiver—”

“Shuttup!” Scratch interrupted bitterly. “Put a button on your driveling lip. Look at me, I’m weary, saturated and starved, but do you hear me whimpering on about it all the time? Up on your paws, and try to look like you’re the Queen’s soldiers from Kotir.”

They trekked westward, pursuing the travelers.

Splitnose was muttering as he kicked a pebble along in front of himself. “Honor and glory, huh. Cludd’ll get all that, and he can keep it, too. Now if it was honor cake and a mug of hot glory, that’d be a different thing.”

“Honor cake and hot glory drink? Don’t talk such rubbish, soggyhead,” Blacktooth laughed.

“Soggyhead yourself, drippynose.”

“Crinkleclaws!”

“Greasyfur!”

“Beetlebottom!”

“Stow the gab and get marching, both of you!” Scratch told them.

*  *  *

True to Gonff’s prediction, the rain ceased. Above the plains the sun came out to watch fluffy clouds sailing about on the breeze across a lake of bright blue sky.

Dinny sniffed the air, wiggling his claws. “Buharr, they’s watter nearby, likely a pond or tarn. May’ap us’ll catcher a liddlefish. Be gudd eaten, hurr.”

Martin looked sideways at Gonff. “How does he know there’s water near? I can’t smell a thing.”

The mousethief shrugged. “Neither can he, matey. Moles probably feel it through the earth with their digging claws.”

Dinny nodded wisely. “O arr, us’ns do smell lots o’ things wi’ us claws.”

Gonff winked at the warrior mouse. “That’s the nice thing about moles, they always have a sensible explanation which we can all understand.”

The three friends laughed aloud. Dinny proved as good at predicting as Gonff. Midday found the travelers at the edge of a large pond. Bulrushes and reeds surrounded the margin, small water lilies budded on the surface. The glint of silver scales beneath the water promised good fishing. At first Martin was loth to stop but, realizing the valuable addition a fish would make to their supplies, he called a halt. While his friends went about fishing, the warrior posted himself on guard to watch for their pursuers.

Dinny sat on the edge of the bank, immersing his paws in the shallows with exclamations of delight.

“Oo arr, oo bliss ’n’ joys. Hurr, this be the loif, Gonffen!”

The mousethief had cast a line baited with a tiny red mudworm. In seconds it was snatched by a voracious stickleback. “Ha, look, matey,” he called. “I’ve got a bite! Come to Gonff, old greedyguts.”

Martin crept up behind them. He placed a paw gently on each of his friends’ shoulders as he whispered to them, “Ssshhh. Listen to me. We are in great danger. Don’t make a sound, if you value our lives!”