Assisted by Rimrose, Ellayo, Sloey and all the kitchen helpers, Brother Melilot ascended the wallstairs. Each of them carried pan, pail, bowl or any other variety of large container they could lay paws upon. They came up the steps slowly, so as not to spill the contents of their vessels. Rusvul Reguba took a bucket from Sister Sloey’s trembling paws, nodding politely. “Well done, marm. Now stan’ back down those stairs, you’ve done yore bit. Leave the rest to us.”

All along the wall Guosim shrews were taking the vessels from the kitchen helpers and setting them on the battlements anywhere a grapnel was fixed. Janglur took a swift peek over the walltop, moving immediately behind a battlement as a volley of arrows whizzed by. He nodded at Bargle and Rusvul. “Their archers have the walls well marked—we’d best do it smart like. There’s all manner o’ scum comin’ up these ropes.”

Rusvul steadied a large cooking pot with one paw. “All carryin’ lighted torches, I ’ope?”

Janglur winked at his warrior friend. “Aye, matey, pretty as a twinklin’ nest o’ fireflies. Let’s give it to ’em. One, two, three . . . Now!”

On Janglur’s signal, a blend of heated cooking oil, vegetable oil—used as lantern fuel—and any kind of waste oil or grease from kitchen or repair shop was heaved over the top. The outside of the entire east wall lit up with a tremendous whoosh as the hot oil met the battery of blazing torches. Both vermin and ropes went up in a crackling sheet of flame.

Janglur sat beside Rusvul and Bargle in the shelter of the ramparts, eyes streaming from the thick coils of black smoke wreathing about them. The squirrel warrior shook his head regretfully, raising his voice above the agonized shrieks of the vermin. “’Tis a terrible thing to ’appen to anybeast, mates, terrible!”

Florian came scuttling up to join them, bringing a jug of cold mint tea, which they passed from one to the other. The hare wiped his mouth with the back of a paw. “Hmm, dreadful, I agree, but the blighters brought it upon themselves. I say, move over, you chaps, the vermin’ll have somethin’ else on their bally minds soon. Here comes Foremole with his stalwarts to chuck stones on ’em. Hah! Looks like my Noonvalers have joined ’em. What ho, Runk old lad, you taken to bein’ a mole now?”

Roop and Muggle stifled giggles at the thought.

“Hurr hurr, ’twould take summ doin’ t’be a spoiky mole, zurr!”

Runktipp helped the moles to lug large baskets of rock and masonry chunks over to the battlements. He winked at Florian. “I’m as good a mole as the next ’un. We all are. Ain’t that right, Borrakul?”

The otter nodded stolidly as he hefted a basket. “Aye, we certainly are, matey, an’ moles get better fed than performers, I can tell ye!”