Skipper grinned at the tough little shrew, whose stomach was growling thunderously. “Sorry I never sent any tucker out to ye, but I couldn’t chance no pore kitchenbeast gettin’ hit by an arrer. Don’t worry though, messmate, there’s food aplenty for you an’ yore shrews: leek’n’celery soup, tater’n’mushroom turnover, sweet cider an’ plum duff.”

Bargle grimaced longingly as he tightened his belt another notch to quiet his rumbling gut. “Did I ’ear you mention plum duff, mate?”

Skipper winked. “Aye, with sweet arrowroot sauce.”

Bargle grabbed the otter’s paw fiercely. “Plum duff’n’sweet arrowroot sauce. Don’t say another word, Skip, or me stummick’ll perish afore I make it t’the table!”

Each shrew who left the wall was replaced by a relief sentry. Skipper did the rounds of the walltop, whispering words of advice and encouragement. He gave special attention to Friar Butty, who was positioned at the center of the north wall.

“Are ye sure y’can keep yore eyes open all night, Friar? Y’won’t drop off t’sleep, will you, sir?”

The old squirrel patted his friend’s sturdy paw. “I’ll be fine, Skip, you just leave me here. Funny, but I don’t feel the least bit sleepy tonight. I couldn’t face a night alone in the gatehouse without Nutwing. His snores always lulled me into a slumber. Ah, lackaday, I miss the feathery old rascal.”

Skipper looked away and blinked. “So do I, Friar. We all miss ’im.”

He was distracted by Florian, waving from the battlements over the south wallgate. Skipper scurried across to the hare. “Keep yore ears down, mister Florian sir, or they’ll spot yer.”

The hare ducked and seated himself, gesturing over the wall. “Somethin’ rather odd goin’ on down there. Vermin chaps dashin’ back an’ forth, carryin’ bits’n’pieces an’ whatnot.”

Skipper crouched, alert. “Bits’n’pieces o’ wot, sir?”

“Oh, I dunno, twigs, brush, wood an’ what have you. Must be out o’ their bally minds. They’re dumpin’ the stuff in front o’ the wallgate an’ scamperin’ off. What’d they want to do that for?” Florian looked around, but Skipper was gone, rushing along the ramparts and down the wallsteps to the small wicker gate in the center of the south wall.

Janglur and Rusvul were already there. The two warrior squirrels had been carrying out their usual patrol of the inner grounds. Skipper joined them, keeping his voice down to a whisper. “What’re those vermin up to, mates?”

Janglur watched the door through half-closed eyes as he replied, “Me’n’Rusvul were passin’ here when we smelled vegetable oil and pine resin, then we ’eard those rats pushin’ dry brush an’ wood up against the door. You know wot that means, Skip?”