Janglur took the ax from the slain Marlfox’s limp grasp, passing it to Tragglo Spearback. “This weapon’s seen enough evil. Put it t’work in yore cellars choppin’ up ole barrel staves. Skip, get those slain rats.” He hooked a paw in Gelltor’s belt and dragged him outside the wallgate, where he dumped the dead Marlfox on open ground. “Put ’em out ’ere wid their master. I told them they could bury their own when they started this.”

When the gate was secured, they started back for the Abbey, Skipper and Janglur supporting Bargle, who sported a makeshift bandage on his wounded leg. Rusvul ruffled the shrew’s ears fondly. “That’s a wound to show yore grandshrews, mate!”

The tough Guosim limped forward with all speed. “Hah! Never mind that! Is the feast still goin’ good? Me’n’my crew bin waitin’ on a relief since nearly noon, an’ we’re starvin’!”

Florian called down anxiously from the walltop. “I say, old chap, if y’see a half-finished woodland trifle puddin’, well, it’s mine, so don’t put a blinkin’ paw near it, wot!”

“Righto, mate,” Bargle called cheerily back. “I swear I won’t touch yore trifle. Can’t say the same thing for Mayon, though. ’E loves ’is trifle, that ’un does!”

“Cads! Trifle-burglars! Have you no sense of honor, sirs? Leavin’ a poor creature up here in charge of your jolly worthless hides while you plunder his trifle, this’ll go on your record, I warn you, great shrewfaced vittle-vulture!”

Mayon began ragging Florian ruthlessly. “Are yer partial to mushroom and cheese flan, sir, or anythin’ o’ that sort? Jus’ you tell us wot dishes are yer favorite, mister Florian.”

The hare’s reply was tinged with hopefulness. “Well, thank the seasons for a decent type o’ shrew, wot! Yes, mushroom’n’cheese flan, that’s jolly nice. Oh, let me see now, I like summer salad with hazelnuts, blueberry pudden, hot scones with meadowcream, lashin’s o’ the stuff! Er, apple pie, plum tart, heavy fruitcake with a wedge of cheese, anythin’ like that!”

Mayon nodded, as if making a mental note of it all. “Well, don’t you fret, sir, we’ll remove all that jolly ole temptation outta yore way, so that yore breeches’ll still fit yer. Don’t forget t’put that on our records, sir!”

They went inside chuckling, with the air ringing to Florian Dugglewoof Wilffachop’s invective. “Blisterin’ salad-swipers! Confounded purloiners of puddens! You mop-pawed ragheaded bread’n’cheese bandits, I hope y’all scoff too much an’ explode, see if I’ll care? Hah, pish’n’tush I’ll say, fiddledy hey an’ serves ’em right! Why, I’ve a good mind t’go to sleep an’ allow the flippin’ place t’be overrun with water foxes an’ Marlrats an’ what have you . . . er, I mean, forterwoxes an’ ragmats, yes, that’s what I mean . . . er, no ’tisn’t . . .”

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