“You never reported a wound. Sit down an’ tell us about it.”

“Er, er, rather not sit down, Ellayo marm,” Florian blustered, backing up to the wall. “Nature of the wound, doncha know, er, haha . . .”

Sister Sloey nodded understandingly. “Oh, I see, you were wounded in the tail area. Why didn’t you come here yesterday?”

“Er, well er, didn’t feel so jolly bad then, you understand, just today though, been givin’ me a bit o’ gyp. Must’ve been a few arrows or a couple o’ spears got me. Forgot all about it in the heat of battle, y’know. Chap doesn’t like to cause a fuss.”

Rimrose began gathering herbs for a poultice. “Oh, you poor creature, you must have been in great pain!”

Florian turned sideways, showing his noble profile and devil-may-care smile. “Oh, ’twas nothin’ really. Stiff upper lip, wot!”

Winking and grinning at everybeast about, Bargle and Mayon entered the Infirmary. Each tossed a broken half of a wooden salad fork on the table.

“Mister Florian, sir, wot’s Brother Melilot goin’ t’say when he sees wot y’did to ’is salad fork?”

“Aye, I’ll wager it smarted a bit when y’fell an’ sat down on it like that. Must’ve give yer a nasty jab in yore backside, sir?”

Over the uproarious laughter from the shrews waiting in line, Ellayo gave the hare a piece of her mind. “You great flop-eared fraud! Wounded by spears an’ arrows durin’ the fightin’, eh? Yore a fiddle-faced fibber an’ a trickster!”

The Infirmary door slammed before Florian could make good his escape. Guosim shrews crowded around the outside, peeping through the keyhole and pressing their ears to the woodwork, to witness what was taking place inside.

“Er, I’ll come back t’morrer, marm. What’re you doin’ with those bally great tweezers? No, please, I beg you. Yaaaah!”

“Bargle, Mayon, hold him still, there may be splinters. Don’t want to leave them in there, do we?”

“Ooooh! I say, go easy there! Yowchouch!”

“Is that water hot enough yet, Rimrose? I want to make a nettle poultice. Can’t be too careful with tail wounds!”

“Yeeeek! Assassins! Help me, somebeast, they’re torturin’ me t’death! Owowowowowowwww!”

“So brave an’ silent, ain’t ’e, Mayon?”

“Whooooooh! Fiends! Gerroff, lemmego! Oohoohooh!”

“Stiff upper lip, mister Florian, that’s the jolly ole spirit. Chin up an’ never say die, ole chap, wot wot!”

Brother Melilot and Runktipp were setting up the banqueting board in the orchard. Gubbio Foremole and Tragglo Spearback upended a cask onto a trestle, and Tragglo knocked home a spigot with his bung mallet. He held a beaker beneath the tap, allowing a small quantity of sparkling pinkish liquid to flow into it. Melilot took the proffered beaker and sipped.

“Best strawberry fizz cordial I ever tasted!”