Shocked and horrified Dibbuns unloaded strawberries from their smock pockets back into the baskets, stunned by the fate of the gluttonous Dibbun in that far gone season. Then they rushed from the kitchens, squeaking and shouting as they headed for the dormitory stairs where the incident was reputed to have taken place.

When they had gone, Cregga popped a strawberry into her mouth, chuckling. “Haha! That story works every summer. I wonder what that bright red mark on the stairs is, though? It feels quite smooth. Probably a lump of quartz in the stone.”

Nutwing watched Cregga feel around in the basket beside her for another large strawberry. “Hmm, mm. I’ve seen it. A bit too big for a Dibbun. Must’ve been a greedy badger who wouldn’t stop pinchin’ strawberries, eh?”

Tragglo Spearback the Cellarkeeper, an immense hedgehog, lumbered in. Stuffing both paws in his wide canvas apron pocket, he grinned and winked at Nutwing. “Aye, may’aps ’twere a badger. Now then, ole Butty, which ones are mine? Make sure they’re good’n’juicy enough to brew into a barrel o’ strawberry fizz.”

Friar Butty did his rounds of the baskets, sniffing and prodding gently at the fruit they contained, and marking certain ones with a charcoal stick.

“Those should be enough for you, Tragglo, a dozen good baskets. Sister Sloey, you take this one, to sweeten up those herb potions you give to sick Dibbuns. Brother Melilot?”

A fat dormouse emerged from an unlit oven with scrubbing brush and pail in his paws.

“Last time I let moles make damson jam in my oven. Sticks like glue when it bubbles over. Did y’want me, Friar?”

Butty indicated the unmarked baskets. “These are all yours. What d’you plan on making? Strawberry tarts, obviously. I noticed a pot of redcurrant jelly cooling on the windowsill as I came in.”

Melilot took off his greasy apron and began tying on a freshly laundered one. “Strawberry tarts for sure, with good shortcrust pastry and lots of whipped meadowcream on top. I’ll probably do some strawberry and pear flans too, and a big strawberry trifle if you’ll be good enough to help me, Friar.”

Butty agreed willingly. “Oh, yes, an extra big trifle, with plums and raspberries in it too.”

Everybeast began contributing its ideas of what made the perfect trifle.

“An’ lots o’ flaked almonds an’ hazelnuts sprinkled on top!”

“Aye, with a good beaker of elderberry wine poured in.”

“Be sure to set it in blackberry jelly.”

“With lots of honeysponge slices t’make it nice an’ soggy!”

“Sweet arrowroot custard too, good’n’deep!”

“Burr hurr, an’ gurt globbets o’ clotted meadowcream atop o’ that!”

The discussion was interrupted when a stocky older squirrel strode in, a younger one in his wake, both carrying pails in either paw. The older squirrel, Rusvul, was obviously hot and rather irritated.