Gruven strode along confidently. He had gradually come into his own since the journey from the mountain. Granted, there had been setbacks. He had lost some face, having to flee the Taggerung, but there was no sign of the otter now. Doubtless he had perished along the way, or got lost. Then there had been the incident with those hedgehogs. He dismissed it from his mind. There had been too many of them and they were experts at stone slinging. It could have happened to any Juska warrior, caught waist deep in a stream, pelted by a mob. He probed with his tongue at a loose back tooth. There was no shame in retreating from that lot. He would go back there one night, when he was clan Chieftain, and burn them alive in their cottage. Other than that, things had worked out well. They had feasted on the best of food from the hog who lived on the flatlands, aye, and left him to die, trapped inside a mudball. Then, just as provisions were running low, they had found the belligerent old harvest mouse and his farmhouse. Gruven had enjoyed that, he liked inflicting pain on others, though he had granted Dagrab the privilege of slaying their victim when the time came to move on. A pity they had not captured the hogs at the latest camp. He harbored a deep-rooted hatred for the spike creatures after his last encounter with them. But again, things had turned out well enough. Having wrecked the place, they had left carrying valuable supplies of food. Not only that, but it was he who rediscovered the trail of Eefera and Vallug, which Dagrab had lost some time before out on the flatlands. Gruven was the one who was showing the way; it was he who was in undisputed charge of the other two. Dagrab and Rawback obeyed his every command, without question.

He exerted his authority now, pointing to a small pool set in a clearing, a welcome oasis in the thick woodlands. “We’ll camp ’ere awhile. You two get some vittles ready!”

Dagrab put down her battleaxe and took the sack of supplies from Rawback. Between them they gathered firewood and found a flat stone, and then Dagrab made a fire whilst Rawback ground a paste from nuts, wild oats and barley, taken from the Forthrights.

“This’ll make some good flatcakes for us, Chief. I’ll bake ’em over the fire on this flat stone. You’ll like my flatcakes.”

Gruven ignored Rawback’s comments and concentrated on what lay ahead. He told himself that he had no fear of Vallug or Eefera. They were the only creatures who could prevent his gaining leadership of the Juskazann, therefore they would both have to die, preferably by ambush. Dagrab and Rawback he could dispose of easily, leaving the field clear for him to return to the clan, with a harrowing tale of the hunt. How his brave companions had all met their deaths, leaving only him, Gruven Zann, to slay the traitor Taggerung and return to claim his rightful place as Chieftain. Gruven Zann Juskazann!

His train of thought was interrupted by Dagrab, tapping him hesitantly on the shoulder. “Can’t yer see I’m tryin’ to think?” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Go away, leave me alone.”

But she persisted. “Lissen, Chief . . . lissen!”

Gruven rose moodily, sneering. “Lissen to wot, yore slobberin’ mouth?”

The rat cupped her ear to one side. “Bells! Can’t you ’ear ’em? ’Tis bells, I tell ye!”

Gruven paid attention then. His ears caught the warm brazen tones of two bells from afar. Rawback had finished his baking. He jiggled two hot flatcakes in his paws, announcing triumphantly, “Lookit these beauties, Chief. I done a whole batch of ’em!”

Gruven drew his sword, pointing in the direction of the tolling bells. “No time fer that now. Pack ’em up in the sack, we’ll eat as we go. C’mon, you two, follow me. Keep yer mouths shut an’ do as I say, an’ hold yer weapons ready!”

*

Friar Bobb came scurrying from the kitchens into the Great Hall, panting and scratching his stomach distractedly, peering into corners. Mhera, Broggle and Fwirl were making for the main door when the Friar spotted them.

“Hi there, have you seen a Dibbun about? We’ve lost one!” He came trundling over to them, mopping at his brow. “Mhera, your mother an’ I were watching the little ’uns. We took them to the kitchens and were showing them how to make strawberry flan. Great seasons, those Dibbuns take some watchin’. We’d not got the pastry rolled when your mama realized that little Trey had vanished. Anyhow, she’s searchin’ the kitchens with Brother Hoben, whilst I’m taking a look up here. Ooh, that Trey, the scamp! There’s no tellin’ where he’ll get to next.”

Mhera reassured the anxious Friar. “Trey won’t have gone far. Mama will probably find him hiding in the larders and stuffing himself. You keep searching ’round here, and we’ll take a look outside. I’ll have a word or two to say to Trey if he’s out there. All Dibbuns have been told to stay indoors while there’s vermin in the woods firing arrows over.”

Fwirl swung the main door open. “Mhera, you and Broggle search out in the grounds. I’m going into the treetops to scout out the woodlands and see if those two painted blaggards are still roaming about by the walls.”

Broggle patted his friend’s paw. “Watch yourself out there, Fwirl. We’ve already had one injured. Be very careful and don’t stay out there too long!”

Fwirl gave him one of her prettiest smiles and saluted. “Yes sir, got it sir, watch m’self sir and don’t stay out too long sir. I hear and obey your orders, sir!”

Cregga was sitting in the old wheelbarrow at the orchard entrance, dozing in the late-noontide sun. Mhera could not help shaking the ancient Badgermum a bit sharply. “Marm, what are you doing out here?”

The badger twitched a fly from her muzzle. “Just catching a little nap in the fresh air. It’s nice out here.”

Mhera wagged a stern paw at her friend. “Maybe, but it’s not showing much of an example to other Redwallers. Nobeast is supposed to be outside, except the guards!”

Cregga’s sightless eyes turned in the ottermaid’s direction. “Then what are you and Broggle doing out here, may I ask?”

Broggle looked disappointed. He had hoped the badger had not noticed his presence. “Trey the mousebabe has gone missing, and we’re searching for him. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed him, marm?”

Cregga chuckled. “He’s over yonder in the strawberry patch. I was going to catch him on the way back and take him inside. Oh, talking of which, would you help me back inside, please, Broggle?”

Mhera began helping Cregga from the barrow. “Here, I will.”

The Badgermum placed her hefty paw on Broggle’s shoulder. “No, you go and get Trey. Broggle can help me. Come on, my favorite assistant cook, help an old beast to the dining room. It’s almost time for tea.”

Mhera found Trey sitting happily in the strawberry patch, covered in juice and berry pippins. She hoisted him up as he continued stuffing his mouth.

“What were you told about coming outside on your own, you rascal!”

Trey grinned and popped a strawberry in the ottermaid’s mouth. “Saved a big ’un for you, Mura. I no on me own, Badgeymum sayed Trey could pick strawbeez.”

Mhera hid a smile, glad that the little fellow was safe. “Oh did she, now! Well, I’ll have a word or two with Lady Cregga. Just look at the mess of you! Don’t wipe your face on that dirty smock. Use your kerchief, you mucky mouse!”

Trey pulled out a strip of green home-woven fabric and began scrubbing at his juice-stained mouth. Mhera took it from him. It smelled of lilacs, and the word KITTAGALL was written on it in the same unmistakable capitals.

“Where did you get this? Tell me, Trey.”

The mousebabe wrinkled his brow and whispered furtively, “Dat cloff was hid inna strawbee leafs. I finded it!”

Matching his secretive manner, Mhera whispered back, “Very clever of you, Trey. Did you see who put it there?”

Pulling a large fat strawberry out of his smock sleeve, Trey put his nose up against Mhera’s and explained, as if she was the Dibbun and not him, “Frybobb an’ F’lorn not let Trey eatta strawbeez inna kitchen, say no, no, they for makin’ a flans wiv. So Trey comes out inna strawbee patch t’look for strawbeez. Not look for cloffs, ho no, cloffs jus’ there inna leafs, all hided. I no see who purra there.” He shoved the big strawberry into his mouth and refused to talk further.

Mhera carried Trey inside, her mind in a turmoil. Who could have placed the green cloth in the orchard, and why had they chosen that spot? Passing through the dining room on her way to the kitchen, she saw Cregga sitting alone in a corner.

“Cregga, can I ask you something?”

The Badgermum yawned. “Won’t let me take my nap, outside or inside. Yes, Mhera, yes, you may ask me something. What is it, O curious one?”

“Besides Trey, did you notice any other creature go into the orchard while you were sitting in the barrow? Think hard, it’s important.”

Cregga gave the impression she was thinking hard, then answered, “Yes, there was one other Redwaller who entered the orchard.”

Mhera clasped the badger’s paw urgently. “Who?”

“You!”

*

Vallug Bowbeast centered his shaft on the figure striding the north battlements and let fly. Eefera watched as the Redwaller fell back onto the parapet.

“Good shootin’! You got it. Wasn’t that the squirrel who slung stones at us yesterday?”

Vallug fixed another shaft to his bowstring. “She won’t be throwin’ no more stones. I think I dropped ’er good, but I’m not certain. Right, let’s get their attention!” He sighted on the bell tower’s top arched window, where the two bells could be seen, and gritted his teeth as he pulled the big bow to its full stretch. “Sittin’ target, can’t miss. This’ll wake ’em up!”

The arrow hissed off upward. It struck one bell, bouncing off the metal and causing a sharp clang. Another arrow followed swiftly, striking the other bell. Ding! The pair dashed off to the northeast wallpoint, shifting their position to avoid slingstones.

As the bells rang, Boorab, who was having an afternoon doze in the gatehouse, came hurtling out. He took the north wallsteps three at a time, bounding up to the ramparts and yelling at the top of his lungs, “Redwaller down! Bearers over here! Quickly now, everybeast lie flat! Redwaller down!”

Mhera heard the bells and came hurrying out, with Cregga, Filorn, Broggle and Friar Bobb in her wake. Dibbuns poured out after them, shrieking and milling about, frightened by the noise. Gundil, Foremole Brull and four of her moles came scuttling down the wallsteps. Between them, on a stretcher made from window poles and drapes, they carried Fwirl. Broggle bellowed hoarsely, as if the arrow had found him instead. The sight of Fwirl laid out with the shaft still in her side was more than the poor assistant cook could bear. He ran alongside the stretcher, holding his friend’s paw and stroking her brow. “Fwirl! They’ve killed Fwiiiiiiirl!”

“You in there . . . lissen! D’ye hear me . . . lissen!”

Cregga held up both paws for silence, whispering to Brull, “Get her up to the infirmary, right away. Silence, everyone!”

Rough and gratingly loud, the voice from over the wall rang out. “Are ye lissenin’? Answer me!”

Mhera sped up the wallsteps and threw herself down beside Boorab, who was lying flat beneath the battlements. “Answer him, go on!”

Boorab called out, loud and curt. “We’re listenin’. Who are you and what d’you want?”

Vallug’s voice came back a moment later. “Never mind who we are. Send out the Taggerung!”

Boorab looked at Mhera, who gave a mystified shrug. “What in the blazes d’you mean?” he shouted back.

This time it was Eefera’s voice that replied. “We’ve come fer the Taggerung!”

The hare had been binding his kerchief to the end of the ladle he carried about as a swagger stick. He sprang up waving it. “Truce, chaps, truce!” He sidestepped smartly, but was not quick enough to stop Vallug’s arrow slicing a wound in his cheek as it zipped by.

“No truce, rabbit. Send the Taggerung out to us, or yore all deadbeasts, that’s all!”

Vallug fired two more arrows over the wall. “That should give ’em summat t’think about fer today.”

Eefera led the way as they retreated into the woodlands. “Aye, we’ll kill another tomorrer. They’ll soon send ’im out!”

*

Sister Alkanet cut the barbed head from the arrow and pulled the wooden shaft out of the wound in Fwirl’s side. She gave the arrowhead to Brother Hoben and set about mixing herbs and powders from her infirmary shelves. “It went right through. Never hit anything vital, or this pretty one would be dead. I can clean and dress this while she’s still unconscious. Good thing the shock and pain knocked her out. Would you see if that arrowhead is poisonous? Vermin often do that to shafts. This squirrel won’t be up and about for a while, but she’ll live. You can go and give Broggle the good news.”

In the passage outside the sickbay, Foremole Brull, Drogg Cellarhog and Gundil had tight hold of Broggle, who was struggling and pleading with them.

“Let me go and see Fwirl. I must be with her, I must! Please!”

Brull had a strong but kindly paw about the squirrel’s neck. “Naow, zurr, doan’t ee fret yurrself. You’m h’only be inna way an’ ee Sister wuddent never ’ave that, burr nay, she’m surpintly wuddent. You’m be a guddbeast an’ be ee still noaw, maister!”

The door opened and Brother Hoben came out. He smiled at Broggle. “Fwirl’s not dead, my friend, merely senseless. She’ll be fine provided that this arrowhead isn’t poisoned.”

Drogg Cellarhog took the arrowhead. He licked it and smacked his lips thoughtfully. “ ’Tain’t poisoned. Any good cellar’og can taste badness after a lifetime o’ brewin’ all manner o’ drinks. Nah, that’s clean. Cummon, Broggle, me ole bushtail, smile. Yore Fwirl will be right as rain afore the season’s out.”

Blinking away his tears, Broggle smiled hopefully. “Does that mean I can go in and see her?”

Drogg threw a sympathetic paw about the squirrel’s shoulder. “Put one paw in there an’ ole Alkanet’ll physick the tail off ye, young feller. Best come with me t’the cellar, an’ I’ll give ye a flask of me special tearose an’ violet cordial. When miz Fwirl feels brighter, y’can pick ’er a nice bunch o’ flowers an’ take ’em up with the cordial.” They went off together down the stairs, Broggle talking animatedly.

“Is it good stuff, this cordial? Will Fwirl like it? Now, what kind of flowers should I pick? Er, pansy, marigold and celandine if there’s any still about. She likes golden-colored flowers.”

Foremole Brull nudged Gundil. “Hurr, so does oi, but et be’s a long toime since oi ’ad any.”

Gundil smiled from ear to ear. “Hurr hurr, oi’ll goo an’ pick ee summ, marm. Keep Broggle cumpany.”

On his way downstairs, Gundil passed Mhera, assisting a reluctant Boorab up to the infirmary.

“Oh, pish tush, m’gel, nothin’ a plum pudden won’t cure, wot. I’d sooner have a plum pudden than a blinkin’ physick off that stern-faced poisoner. I’ll bet there’s chaps gone in there an’ never come out again after one of Sister Alkanet’s potions was poured down their flippin’ faces. I’ll just nip down t’the kitchens. Nothin’ a beaker of October Ale an’ the odd bucket o’ salad won’t take care of, wot wot?”

Mhera kept a firm grip on the hare’s ear. “Come on, you great fusspot, that wound needs dressing. I’ll see that you get extra supper after she’s finished with you.”

The suggestion of extra food heartened Boorab considerably. “Oh, well, have it your own way, miz. By the way, d’you know what a Taggerung is? ’Cos I’m jolly well blowed if I do.”

Mhera’s face was grim as she knocked on the sickbay door. “No, I don’t know what a Taggerung is, but just let one show its face around here. Mayhap we’ll find out more at the elders’ meeting tonight. Surely somebeast has heard of a Taggerung.”