It was the evening of their second day upon the mountain, and still the hunters had not sighted any sign of their quarry. Vallug Bowbeast sat shivering over a small fire made from odd twigs and dead heather. He stared out at the tracks of his own party, crisscrossing the snowfields that ran up toward the peak. His stomach made a squirling noise. It needed food, but there was none whatsoever to be had. Eefera was the first to show over the high ridge. He trudged down to the glimmering fire, long bluish shadows of eventide creeping down after him. White steamy breath issued from his mouth as he sat down beside Vallug.

“ ’Tis difficult to catch yer breath up ’ere. Huh, I see you packed in searchin’. ’Ow long’ve ye been squattin’ ’ere warmin’ yer paws?”

Vallug stared into the paltry wisps of flame. “Long enough t’do some thinkin’.”

The weasel glanced sideways at the big ferret. “Thinkin’, eh? Tell me about it.”

The Bowbeast nodded up at the peak. “Ain’t no vittles up ’ere, we never brought robes or cloaks. We could freeze or starve t’death, an’ nobeast of the Juska clan would ever know wot became of us.”

Eefera thrust his paws closer to the fire. “Aye, there’s some truth in that. We’ve been on this stinkin’ mountain almost two days now, an’ not a track, nary a single pawmark that the otter’s been even near the place. Vallug, do ye think that ’e could’ve put one over on us? I mean laid a false trail along that riverbank, jus’ to make it look as if ’e was comin’ ’ere?”

Vallug said what his companion was thinking. “An’ give us the slip so’s ’e could go elsewhere?”

Eefera shrugged. “But where’s ’e gone?”

Vallug lowered his voice as if eavesdroppers were about. “That’s wot I been thinkin’ about. You remember ole Grissoul mutterin’ about omens an’ prophecies? She was the one who saw the Taggerung at the river ford where it ran across the long path. Sawney told me somethin’ about a big place with bells. ’Twas a long time back, but I can recall it. Sawney didn’t want t’go near that place, said it was dangerous an’ filled with warriors.”

Eefera nodded impatiently. “Aye, I remember all right. Redwall, ’e called it. Grissoul spoke about the red place like ’twas magic. Wot d’you think, Vallug?”

The Bowbeast curled his lip scornfully. “There ain’t no such thing as magic. I never seen nobeast that one o’ my arrows couldn’t stop. I think that otter I slew, the liddle one’s father, I think that ’e came from the Redwall place. I’ll tell yer wot else I’m thinkin’. I’ll wager that sometime in ’is seasons with the Juskarath, that Taggerung ’eard of Redwall too. If’n that otter’s laid a false trail fer us t’follow, then ’e’s bound for Redwall, the place where ’e was born!”

Eefera had been listening so intently that his paw strayed into the flame. He drew it back sharply and rubbed snow on it.

“Right, Vallug. Yore right! So, wot’s the plan?”

Vallug picked up his bow and shouldered it. “We go after ’im. I don’t mean those other fools an’ Gruven. Leave ’em ’ere on the mountain. Like I said, they’ll freeze or starve t’death up ’ere an’ nobeast will ever know, ’cept us.”

Eefera smiled wickedly. “An’ we won’t tell, will we. They was all killed, Gruven too. By pikes, serpents, drownded, all of em. Sad, ain’t it, mate?”

It was Vallug’s turn to smile. He nudged Eefera. “Aye, ’twas an ’ard job, tryin’ to save ’em. We was lucky to get back alive, me’n’you, but we slayed the otter between us, eh!”

Vallug spat on his paw and offered it to Eefera. “No sense in ’angin’ ’round ’ere, mate. Let’s git goin’ afore those other block’eads come back. I couldn’t stand another night of Gruven’s company, braggin’ one moment, whinin’ the next . . .”

Eefera spat on his paw and gripped Vallug’s to seal their pact. “Yah, the cold an’ ’unger’ll take care of ’em. Come on, back t’the sunny woodlands an’ a chance o’ some decent vittles!”

Vallug stood to one side deferentially. “Good idea, mate. After you.”

Eefera did a mock bow, but stayed where he was. “Nay, friend, you go first.”

They stared hard at one another, eye to eye, then both broke out into false hearty laughter and strode off together. Neither of the two vermin wanted to expose his back to the other.

*

The stream did as many turns as a switchback, rambling and meandering hither and yon. Tagg and Nimbalo were not in any hurry, each enjoying the other’s company. Eventide of the second day found them camped on a grassy spur where the waterway forked, one branch disappearing into the flatlands and the other rounding a fairly swift-flowing bend that took the water back into the base of the mountain.

Tagg tested the flow with his footpaw. “Shall we go this way tomorrow? It looks as if the current flows into some underground caves. Would you like to try it, mate?”

The harvest mouse threw more turf on the fire. “ ’Twill be a bit of a bumpy ole ride on our log. Aye, let’s try it. In the mornin’, though; we’ll rest tonight. Y’know, these fruit loaves wot Ruskem gave us, they’re pretty good. I like ’em!”

The otter cut a chunk from one with his blade. “Ruskem’s dandelion an’ burdock cordial’s very tasty too. Try some.”

Nimbalo took hold of his friend’s paw as he passed the flask. “Where’d ye get that mark on yore paw from? It’s like the shape of a speedwell flower. Is it a tattoo?”

The otter glanced at the mark, then ran a paw over his heavily marked face. “No, I think ’tis some sort of birthmark. These on my face are tattoos, put there long before I can remember. They’re clan marks, to show I belong to a certain tribe.”

He allowed Nimbalo to touch the tattoos. The mouse snorted. “Bit silly, ain’t it? If’n ye ever want to leave the tribe, then yore stuck wid yore face all marked with a big black stripe an’ red dots an’ the blue lightnin’ flash on yer left cheek.”

Tagg’s paw strayed to feel the flash. “Juska law says that the only time you leave the tribe is when you’re dead. I’m marked for life now, but at least I can get rid of these!”

Tagg pulled off his woven wristbands, unsnipped the big gold earring from his ear, and flung them into the stream. Nimbalo smiled sympathetically at his big friend. “You ain’t ’ad much fun runnin’ ’round with that tribe, ’ave yer? Well, never mind, Tagg me ole tater, you got a new life now, an’ you got Nimbalo the Slayer as a pal, so come on, cheer up!”

Tagg lay back, gazing up at the stars. “I’m tired, pal. Play something for me, a peaceful tune.”

Nimbalo tootled his reed flute and played awhile, then, putting it aside, he quietly sang a traditional harvest mouse ditty.

“When the corn is so heavy it bends on the stalk,

See the berries are purple with bloom,

And the wild oats do rustle as if they could talk,

There I watch for the gold harvest moon.

Then if you will help me friend,

Stay here oh do not roam,

And we’ll sit by the fire,

In my harvest mouse home.

There’ll be lots of good food when the work is all done,

And a barrel of old barley beer,

Mellow cheese and fresh bread, for everyone,

While the babes sleep in peace without fear.

We’ll gather the fruit,

And the sweet honeycomb,

And some wood for the fire,

Of my harvest mouse home.”

Nimbalo put aside his flute and lay down with a long sigh. “Aaaah. I forget the rest. Pretty, ain’t it, Tagg? Nothin’ like the real thing, though. My life ain’t been no bed o’ roses, oh no. Let me tell yer about wot I went through, mate . . .” He glanced over and saw his otterfriend was already fast asleep. “Oh well, maybe some other time.”

The fire burned low as four little shadowy figures watched the camp. Three of them wore new belts about their tiny waists, Tagg’s two wristbands and his golden earring, which had landed on the wristbands as they floated off downstream. The one who was minus a new belt whispered to his three companions, “Yik yik, ’arvest mousey gotta nice belt. Jus’ fitta me!”

The biggest of the four clipped him soundly over the ear. “Shushyerrupp! Yew wakey da biggin an’ we get all eated up!” He patted his new gold earring belt thoughtfully before delivering the noisy one a clip across his other ear. “Go gerrem ole Bodjev, tellim bring alla Cavemob. Go go!”

He sloshed resentfully off along the streamshallows, calling back in a loud whisper, “Doncha pinch d’mousey belt while I’way!”

The larger one sent him on his way with a kick in the tail. “Go on, go on, shout louder, nip’ead. Wake alla mounting up!”

One of the two wearing a wristband belt held a paw to his mouth. “Shushyer, Alfik, dey wakey up an’ us don’t gerra no likkle snakeyfishes, fryken ’em alla way!”

Within a short while, Bodjev, the tiny fat Chieftain of his pigmy shrew tribe, returned with a large bunch of his warriors, each bearing a pine club, tipped with flint shards, over his shoulder. He threw himself down alongside Alfik, his son, hissing with shock as he caught sight of Tagg.

“Wow wow! Whereja find dat monister? Lookarra size of ’im!”

Alfik wrinkled his long nose in a show of careless bravery. “Ho, I jus’ finded d’beast, sleepyin’ ’ere. Warra us do now, Daddy?”

Bodjev glared at his son and clipped him a good one on the ear. “You norra Squidjee nomore. Worr I tellya? Chief’s name Bodjev, only Daddy when you was likkle. Bodjev now, ’member dat!”

One of the Cavemob tribe called out a warning as Tagg groaned and rolled over in his sleep. “Y’be shushed or d’big fella come awakey!”

Bodjev could not identify the voice, so he satisfied himself by dispensing clipped ears to any shrew within reach. “Who you tella to shushed? Talk t’me like dat! All shushed now, wait for da snakeyfishes to come. Den after dat we catcher d’mousey anna bigga monister!”

Tagg glimpsed the mouse warrior with the beautiful sword, wandering through the corridors of his mind. He pursued him, but, unable to run, he floated helplessly through a warm pink mist, calling out the mouse’s name. “Deyna! Deyna!”

The warrior mouse halted and turned, shaking his head and smiling. Touching a paw to his armored breastplate, he spoke one word. “Martin!” Then he disappeared, leaving the sleeping otter mystified. If he was Martin, then who was Deyna?

Further dreams were shattered. Both Tagg and Nimbalo leaped up amid a sea of slithering silver. They slipped and fell flat as the slim shining shapes slid over them. Wild squeaks rent the dawnlight. Pigmy shrews were everywhere, striking wildly at the silvery threadlike mass with small clubs and shouting to one another.

“Dink a dink! Gerra snakeyfishes!”

“Yik yik, chukkem inna water!”

“Dink a dinky dink dink! Plenny snakeyfishes, brudders!”

Tagg grabbed Nimbalo. Kicking his way through the wriggling mass, he made it to the top of a rocky mound and stared in wonder at the scene around him. Nimbalo knew what the glimmering threads were. He had seen them once before on the flatlands.

“Elvers, mate! Those are little tiny eels. They travel on the dewy grass, shoals an’ shoals of ’em. They can go fer many a league. But where’d all the baby shrews come from?”

Tagg watched the shrews as they raced about killing the elvers, dispatching each one with a quick blow to the head from their flint-tipped clubs. Dead elvers were tossed into the water and washed away downstream into the mountain caves. As they struck out with their clubs, the shrews squeaked triumphantly.

“Dink! Gorra nudder one!”

“Dink a dink! I gorra two snakeyfishes!”

Expertly they flicked the dead elvers into the water with their clubtips. Tagg shook his head. “They aren’t babies. Some of them have grey whiskers. Those are fully grown shrews. I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Nimbalo was taller than the tallest shrew by more than a head. He stood on tip-paw and puffed out his chest scornfully. “Huh, I knew that, mate. Crowd o’ liddle nuisances if y’ask me, wakin’ us up jus’ so they can stock up their larders with elvers!”

The shrews did not let up their mass kill until a good while later, by which time most of the elvers had passed. They slid away like mobile tinsel, the morning sun reflecting off their packed masses as they glided into the distance. Their countless numbers were scarcely affected by the slaughter.

Alfik and Bodjev approached the mound, clubs at the ready. The Chieftain’s son wiggled his nose ferociously at Tagg. “We be’s Cavemobs, my daddy a Chief. Who be’s you?”

Tagg was about to reply when Bodjev clipped Alfik’s ear. “Wot I tellya, nit’ead? My name be’s Bodjev!” He shook his head almost apologetically at Tagg. “Norra brains, norra manners. Yik yik, younger shrews dese seasons alla same. No respecks!”

Nimbalo bristled at the father’s treatment of his son. “No need t’be whackin’ ’is lug like that, mate!”

This gave Tagg an idea. Very gently he kicked Nimbalo’s bottom and rolled his eyes expressively at the pigmy shrew Chieftain. “I know exactly what you mean, sir. They’re always speaking when they’re not spoken to. Put a latch on your lip, young Nimbalo!”

Bodjev held his fat stomach as he chuckled. “Yikyikyikyik! Go make playplay, yew two’s. I be’s Bodjev. Wot be’s your name?”

Tagg held out his paw courteously. “Pleased to meet you, Bodjev, sir. My name’s Tagg.”

Bodjev grinned as he looked the otter up and down. “Tagg? Yikyik, be’s a likkle name for a big fella. So, Tagg, you an’ your son be likin’ snakeyfish pie?”

Tagg kept a polite smile on his face as he shook the shrew’s paw. “Never tasted it, sir, but I’m sure ’tis delicious!”

Bodjev put his head on one side as he tried to pronounce delicious. “Lishus! Lishus! Yikyik, good, eh? You come a me, bring de likkle son, we alla ’ave snakeyfish pie. Plenny good!”

Tagg waded through the shallows, with Nimbalo on his shoulders. The harvest mouse was boiling with ill-concealed temper at the treatment he had been shown. “Yore son? That flap-’eaded wiggle-snouted pudden-bellied beast thinks I’m yore son? An’ another thing. Wot did you think y’were doin’, kickin’ me tail like that? Who gave you the right—”

Tagg’s paw stifled any further remarks. “Safety first, mate. I was only protecting us by making friends with the Chief. Look, I know they’re only tiny shrews, but there must be thousands of them, all carrying stone-tipped clubs. We might get a lot of them in a fight, but they’d bring us down in the end, just by their weight of numbers!”

Nimbalo yanked Tagg’s paw from his mouth, unappeased. “So ye let ’im whack his son an’ yer kicked me tail, just t’make friends. That’s very nice, izzenit? We could’ve battled our way through, betcha an acorn to an oak we could. I remember one time when I fought me way outta a nestful of crows. Hah, slew a good few of them I did, an’ I got away safe!”

The otter turned his face to Nimbalo, a no-nonsense look in his eyes. “Where’s the point in fighting and slaying if you can make a friend out of anybeast instead of a foe? From now on, while we’re the guests of these creatures, we might have to do a few things we don’t like. But that’s the way it is, mate, and I’ll hear no more argument about it. Now straighten your face and smile. You look like a beetle with a bruised brow!”

The harvest mouse kept a grin pasted on his face as he replied, “An’ you look like a blackbird with a boiled behind!”

Tagg smiled sweetly, answering from between clenched teeth, “And you look like duck with a webful of custard!”

“Well, you look like a stoat with a stink up ’is nose!”

“In that case you look like a bumblebee with a boil!”

“Hoho, well, you look like a . . . a . . . a hedgehog with a head h’ache!”

“A head h’ache?”

The two friends burst out laughing.

They skirted a small pool, with a little stream from up in the mountains spilling into it, the cascade hiding the entrance to the pigmy shrews’ cave. Dodging through the miniature waterfall, Tagg and Nimbalo emerged into what appeared to be a cathedral-like cavern. It was lit by scores of firefly lanterns and torches and populated by literally thousands of pigmy shrews. The stream continued into the cavern, where it ran into a central lake. Halfway down the stream a net had been stretched under and above the water. Shrews dipped sievelike paddles in and pulled out the dead elvers. These were taken away on a small cart to the kitchen, which was merely lots of cooking fires under wide rock ledges. The cooks there were busy doing all manner of things with the young eels: stewing, baking, roasting and frying. All activity ceased at the sight of Tagg. Every pigmy shrew stood gaping wordlessly at the giant who had entered their domain. Bodjev waddled over to the cooking fires and began boxing ears left, right and center.

“Worra you stan’ there for? Thissa my frien’ Tagg anna likkle son. You be cookin’ lotsa snakeyfish pies for us, quicknow!”

A fat little pigmy shrew pulled a batch of pies out of the crude rock oven with a large wooden paddle. No sooner had she placed them on a cooling shelf than she swung the paddle and caught Bodjev a sharp whack on his behind, shouting fiercely, “Doo a this, doo a that! Kachah! Thissa my kitchen, Daddy Bodjev. You keep ’way, likkle fat lump!”

Bodjev did a tip-pawed dance, rubbing his smarting rear. A combined snigger arose from the cooking staff. The Chieftain backed off, replying savagely, but not too loudly, “One day I bake you inna pie, Chichwife!” He turned to Tagg and Nimbalo with a rueful smile. “Yikyik, my Chichwife, always makin’ joke. She love me muchmuch!”

An alcove in the cavern was sumptuously furnished, by pigmy shrew standards, for Bodjev’s family and high-ranking friends. He took Tagg and Nimbalo there to dine, away from the main population of Cavemob shrews. The otter could see them from where he sat on a thick mat of springy fernmoss. Their table manners were little better than atrocious. Amid the echoing din of insult and argument, they stole food from their neighbors and engaged in pie fights of amazing savagery.

Bodjev clapped his paws officiously. Four very pretty shrewmaids appeared with lunch, and he nodded at them. “Move youselfs, daughter. Serve, serve!”

His four daughters were quite taken with Nimbalo. Ignoring their father, they served the harvest mouse, fussing about him.

“Thissa rosehip an’ almond flower tea, special cold. Yikyikyik!”

“Pies good? Our Chichmum a fine fine cooker, eh? Yikyik!”

Bodjev banged his fork against his empty bowl. “Stoppa gigglin’, missies. Poor Daddy be’s starvin’!”

Nimbalo was glad when the four shrewmaids left him alone to serve Bodjev and Tagg. He straightened his ruffled headfur and applied himself to the food. The rosehip and almond flower tea was refreshingly cold, obviously made with snow from the mountaintop.

If anybeast had told Tagg that he would enjoy snakeyfish pies before he had tasted the dubiously named dish, he would have declared them mistaken. But the pies were absolutely delicious, round and flat with a soft white pastry crust and a filling that did not resemble anything that looked, smelled or tasted like an elver. It had a texture of oatmeal and a flavor of salt, parsley and sage. Much to the awe of his host, Tagg ate six. Bodjev’s wife Chich beamed pleasurably when she was told, and came straight over to the alcove.

“Daddy Bodjev, these goodbeasts you bring here. Big fella’s mighty eater. Yik yik, goldie one very hamsing. Chich like him!”

Nimbalo did not know where to put his face. Evidently his light golden brown fur appeared quite attractive to pigmy shrew females. He applied himself to some leftover piecrust. “Thankee, marm. Yore very, er, hamsing y’self!”

Chich threw her apron up over her face and giggled. “Yikyikyikyik! Lissen, big fella, when you go ’way from here, take fatty likkle Bodjev alonga wid you an’ leave hamsing goldie here wid Chich. I cook lotsa snakeyfish pies for that ’un!”

Tagg smiled mischievously. “I’ll certainly think about it, marm. What d’you say, handsome goldie?”

Nimbalo scowled as Tagg chucked him under the chin playfully. “Don’t even think about it, ye treacherous riverdog!”

The incident was forgotten as a pigmy shrew began battering a huge bronze gong, which reverberated through every corner of the massive cavern. All the Cavemob shrews set up a pitiful wail, then fell silent. Tagg looked to Bodjev. “What’s that all about, friend?”

“Izza ole Cavemob law,” the Chieftain explained in a subdued voice. “Us gotta make goodsure snakeyfish come back nex’ time.”

Nimbalo poured himself more iced tea. “Hmm. ’Ow d’yer manage t’do that, mate?”

Bodjev pointed upward at the high cavern ceiling. It was smooth limestone rock, with one long stalactite hanging down. All the pigmy shrews had drawn back to the cave walls, leaving the area beneath the stalactite, not far from the deep lake’s edge, completely clear. In the total silence a drop of water fell from the tip, falling through the air for several seconds.

Plock!

The sound echoed about as Bodjev went on to enlighten the visitors. “Waterdrop will fall on chosen Cavemob shrew.”

The gong was struck again, and an old shrew in long robes cried out, “Make snakeyfish line. Dance, now!”

All the shrews formed an immense line, long enough to trail around the cavern interior three times. Bodjev rose and nodded to his family. “Us go now, join line. Fortune keep us ’eads dry!”

“Yo Karr, fortune keep us ’eads dry!” Chich, Alfik and his four daughters repeated solemnly.

Nimbalo took hold of the shrewmum’s paw. “What’n the name o’ fur’n’feathers is goin’ on ’ere, Chich?”

She dabbed her apron at her eyes and sniffed. “Everytime snakeyfishes come, Cavemob must choose one to meet Yo Karr, or snakeyfishes come no more. Drop of water fall on shrew head as we dance. That shrew meets Yo Karr.”

Bodjev’s family went and joined the line, splitting up and each finding a separate place among the others. The shrews began chanting. “Yo Karr, Yo Karr, Yo Karr!” The line moved off, slowly shuffling, swaying from side to side. As they passed under the stalactite, each shrew shut its eyes tight, paws sliding along through the wet area.

Tagg shrugged. “Probably some silly old ritual that goes back as far as anybeast can remember. Look, the ones who’ve passed under it are going off to stand by the walls again.”

Nimbalo watched with growing interest. “Aye, ’cos the drop didn’t fall on ’em. I wonder wot Yo Karr is? Must be some kind of award, eh?”

Tagg saw the relief on the faces of those who had passed under the stalactite and come away dry. He noticed the looks of fear on those whose turn was yet to come. “Huh. It doesn’t appear to be an award anybeast wants to gain.”

Plock!

A mighty cry arose from the pigmy shrews as the line broke. “Yo Kaaaaarrrrr!”

One of Bodjev’s pretty daughters stood rooted to the spot, the fat drop of water running down her brow to mingle with her tears. An uneasy feeling had been building up in Tagg’s chest. He stood up.

“Come on, mate. Let’s go out there and see what’s going to happen!”

Huddled together, the shrewmaid’s family hugged one another and wept. Tagg pulled Bodjev away from them. “Listen, friend, I don’t like this. Now tell me once and for all, what’s going on? Why are you all blubbering like this, eh?”

Tears ran openly down the fat little Chieftain’s face. He pointed to the deep lake near the cavern’s center. “It is law. You look, you see.”

Picking pawfuls of dead elvers from a bowl, the old robed shrew who had beaten the gong hurled them into the lake. From the bluegreen translucent depths something came rushing up and broke the surface. Tagg felt himself go stiff with fright. A gigantic eel glided about, its needlelike teeth snapping the elvers into its ugly mouth. It swirled back under, lying just beneath the surface, its thick olive-hued back and dirty amber underside clearly visible as it waited on more food.

The fur on Nimbalo’s neck was bristling with horror and anger as he yelled at the pigmy shrew Chieftain. “Yore not goin’ t’let’em feed yer daughter to that thing, are ye?”

Bodjev hung his head and turned away. “It is law of Cavemob shrews, so snakeyfish will return. Dinat must go to meet Yo Karr.”

The harvest mouse dashed to the shrewmaid’s side and put a protective paw about her shoulders, roaring defiantly, “Not while Nimbalo the Slayer’s ’round she ain’t. I’ll drop the first one who puts a paw on ’er!”

The pigmy shrews rushed him. Tagg bounded into the fray to help his friend. Shrews piled in on the pair until they were completely swamped and subdued. Tagg lay trying to breathe under the masses of small furry bodies, unable to move as much as a single paw. Nimbalo was in the same position. The old robed shrew pointed to the shrewmaid Dinat, then to the lake where the monster eel waited, its long backfin stirring the water. Dinat looked as if she was in a trance as the shrew called out, “Yo Karr waits. Go to Yo Karr. You be chosen!”

Dinat walked slowly forward onto the rock ledge that formed the brief shallows at the side of the deep lake. The eel turned and swam slowly forward, stalking the terror-stricken shrewmaid.

Tagg could feel himself blacking out as the crowded shrewbodies pressed down on him. The mouse warrior was suddenly in front of his mind’s eye.

“Deyna!” The warrior spoke the one word, then bared his teeth savagely, opening his mouth wide and snapping his teeth together.

“Yeek! Yahee! Aaaarr!”

Pigmy shrews were sent hurtling off the pile, some of them with blood showing on backs and paws. Furious energy coursed through the big otter’s muscles and sinews. Between bites he sucked in mighty gulps of life-giving air. His limbs and rudder together lashed out like steel pistons. Nimbalo felt the shrews being kicked from him and began lashing out, yelling, “Go at ’em, mate! Give ’em the ole one-two!”

Tagg was standing upright, like a colossus, shaking off the Cavemob. He roared at the sight of the shrewmaid, locked in the eel’s swirling coils as she was dragged screaming from the ledge. Then he broke free and tore toward the lake, hurtling straight into the air and diving down. He cut the water like a knife, locking all four paws around the huge eel’s head and setting his teeth into the back of its heavy neck. Nimbalo booted aside a few venturesome shrews and ran to the stream. Tearing the elver net loose, he grabbed the nearest shrew, who happened to be Alfik, and shouted in his face, “Don’t jus’ stan’ there! Lend a paw ’ere or I’ll slay ye!” Between them they began dragging the net toward the lake. Bodjev joined them, seizing the heavy net and dragging with them.

Now the eel had its coils around Tagg. It had released Dinat and was concentrating upon its attacker. Arching its head back, it tried biting at the otter, but Tagg clung on like a grim nemesis, clenching his viselike jaws as he bit deeper into the monstrous neck, seeking bone. Down, down they sank, locked together. Tagg felt the air being squeezed from his lungs as the eel tried to kill him by crushing tighter and tighter. The lake was seemingly bottomless and icy cold. Otter and eel sank farther into a world of aquamarine ribboned with scarlet. Bubbles burst in a stream from Tagg’s mouth, and he began to feel certain that he would die in the watery depths with an eel embracing him. Then something brushed against his face. It was the tip of the net.

Freeing his teeth from the eel, he locked them around one of the stone weights woven into the net’s hem. Squirming around, the eel bit his shoulder and clung on. Despite the pain, Tagg bent his elbow around and got the monster in a headlock. They began rising swiftly toward the surface, the otter with his neck and jaw muscles rigid as he gripped the net with all the strength he could muster. Looking downward from the corner of his left eye, he could see the eel’s gold-and-black-rimmed eye staring back at him, his elbow lock preventing its teeth from reaching his outstretched throat.

Then everything was roaring sound, and Tagg’s head broke the surface. He saw Nimbalo and a host of yelling shrews, standing on the shallow ledge, heaving on the net.

“Pull! Pull, ye string-snouted swabs, gerrim up ’ere on the ledge!”

Tagg sensed himself and the thrashing eel being hauled sideways, felt his rudder scrape the ledge and then he was in the shallows. Nimbalo hurled himself upon the eel, kicking, biting and punching. “Ye great slimy son of a greasy rope, let’s see ’ow many pies we can make outta you!”

Wrenching its teeth from the otter, the eel went for Nimbalo. Tagg felt the constricting coils slacken slightly. Like lightning he whipped out his blade and stabbed deep into the creature’s neck where his teeth had been sunk earlier. Suddenly the monster resembled, in truth, the piece of greasy rope Nimbalo had called it. All power left its body, and the bulky coils fell uselessly away from Tagg. It lay hissing softly, its once bright eyes clouding over.

Bodjev waded in and patted it. “Yikyikyik! Make an’ ’undred pies outta Yo Karr; mebbe two!”

Chichwife splashed in and cuffed his ear smartly. “Phwah! I not gonna cook datbeast inter pies. Back inna lake wirrim. Back inna lake, brudders!”

As best they could, Nimbalo, Bodjev and Alfik dragged Tagg from the water onto the cavern floor. He lay there exhausted and watched the shrews roll the eel off the ledge. It sunk limply into the depths until it was lost to sight. The shrewmaid Dinat and her three sisters set about dressing Tagg’s shoulder, and then she clasped the otter’s paw gratefully.

“Thankee much much, big fella, you save this Dinat’s life!”

Nimbalo took the knife from Tagg and cleaned it. “Sorry I took so long gettin’ the net to ye, matey. I ’ad t’pull Dinat out wid it first, an’ by then you’d gone so far down we could ’ardly see yer. I thought you was a goner that time, on me oath I did.”

Tagg grinned. “Well, I’m back now, handsome golden one.”

Taking his blade back, he beckoned to Bodjev. “Yo Karr’s dead now. Listen, friend, you’re the Chieftain here. You should never have let that happen to your own daughter.”

Bodjev looked sheepish. He shrugged awkwardly. “Law. It was ole Cavemob law, always be’d thataway.”

Tagg jabbed his fat stomach with the knife handle. “Don’t let it ever happen again. Sacrificing creatures’ lives! What an awful idea. You’re the Chief, make some new laws. The elvers’ll still come back, you’ll see.”

Bodjev stuck out his stomach and shouted to the pigmy shrews, “Lissen, alla Cavemobs. I Chief make lotsa new law. Nomore Yo Karr, nomore die, snakeyfish still come back, you see.”

Alfik stepped up beside his father amid the cheering. “Nomore Cavemobs die! Good ole Daddy!”

Bodjev cuffed his ear. “Worra I tell you, nit’ead?”

Tagg caught Bodjev’s paw as he raised it again. “And no more ear-smacking, or name-calling. Why not be kinder to one another? It’ll make life a lot nicer.”

Alfik saw his father’s footpaw starting to rise. “An’ nomore tailkick!” he shouted.

Bodjev stared at Tagg in disbelief. “Nomore tailkick?”

The otter shook his head. “No more tail kicks, ear smacks or name calls. The Cavemob will be polite and live happily together. This is the law now. All who wish it this way, raise your paws and shout aye.”

The response was thunderous. Paws waved wildly and roars of “Aye” resounded throughout the cavern. Tagg noticed that Bodjev was looking rather crestfallen, so he waited for the noise to die away and made another announcement.

“This is the new law of Bodjev, mighty Chief of the Cavemob, whose name will be forever remembered among your tribe.”

Cheering themselves hoarse, the pigmy shrews waved their clubs and danced around the big otter as he carried Bodjev shoulder high around the cavern.

“Your biggun be wisefriend,” Alfik whispered to Nimbalo. “Lookit Daddy, he smile an’ smile lots!”

The harvest mouse feigned a yawn and sat himself down. “So ’e should be, mate. I taught ’im everythin’ ’e knows!”