Florian grabbed the paddle and tried to wrestle it away from the mousebabe, who was quite proud of his weapon and not prepared to give it up without a struggle. As he fought for possession of the paddle, the hare kept shouting orders.

“Steady in the ranks there! Stan’ up straight, you chaps, pick up those weapons! No squabblin’ at the back, that’s an order! Where’n the name o’ seasons are you three goin’, eh?”

“Hurr, us’n’s got to set ee tables furr vittles, zurr!”

“Oh, quite. Gimme that paddle before you lay everybeast low, you fiend!”

“You lerra paddle go, mista Florey. It mine!”

“Mutiny is it? I’ll have ye locked up in the vegetable cupboard!”

“Mister Florian, how can you shout so heartlessly at a tender babe after all he’s been through? Fie an’ shame on you, sir!”

“Deesum marm, don’t interfere or you’ll be locked up with the blighter. Stand fast there, you lot, I haven’t told you to move!”

“Dormitory duty. Beds won’t make themselves, y’know!”

“Dishwashing. Brother Melilot needs clean pots’n’ pans!”

“Ale an’ cordials to be brought up from the wine cellar.”

“Candles and lamps need attendin’ before evenin’.”

Dropping their makeshift weapons, Redwallers scurried off, left, right and center. Florian managed to drag the paddle from Dwopple, who threw himself on the floor, kicking all four paws and howling inconsolably at the loss of his beloved weapon.

“Wahaaaah! Rotten ole rabbit pincha Dwopple’s paggle. Wahaahaahaa!”

Deesum picked him up, comforting Dwopple and castigating Florian in the same breath. “There there now, my little soldier, did the cruel rabbit steal your paddle, nasty wicked beast!”

“Madam! Cruel, nasty an’ jolly well wicked I may be, but I am a hare, marm, not a rabbit!”

“Indeed, sir? Well, you show all the sense of a rabbit, a two-day-old one. You are not fit to command that paddle you have stolen!”

Florian sat down dispiritedly upon the floorstones, staring about at the empty hall. “Huh! Bloomin’ paddle’s about all I’ve got left to command, wot!”

*

Evening shades were stealing over the western horizon, scarlet sunrays reflecting off the undersides of heavy dark clouds drifting eastward. Skipper ducked low as he led a party of Redwallers along the ramparts. Meeting Bargle, the otter beckoned at the group he was heading. “Evenin’, mate. Brought the rest o’ yore Guosim an’ some Redwallers to relieve the sentries. Wot’s ’appenin’ out there?”

Bargle took a quick final glance over the parapet. “Oh, nothin’ much. They’re shootin’ off the odd arrow t’keep our heads down, but apart from that ’tis fairly quiet. Wot’s for vittles?”