Florian pulled a wry face at the stout Tragglo, who had placed himself in front of the scones. “Over by the north wall, great old three-topped oak, half dead but amazin’ly thick. Those bally villains are hackin’ away at it with axes. They want to fell it so that it’ll fall against the wall an’ provide a road into the Abbey for them. Fiddley dee! It’ll take ’em all season t’chop that monster down. I say, what’re you chaps smilin’ at? Nothin’ to be happy about, really. If that tree falls you’ll have a mob o’ vermin in here pinchin’ your breakfast scones, wot!”

Tragglo put down his honey jar and spoon. “Big halfdead ole three-topped oak at the north wall, d’ye say?”

“Rather, great blinkin’ hunk of a thing. Must be nigh on a squillion seasons old!”

Friar Butty relinquished the crystallized fruit. Still smiling broadly, he wiped both paws on his apron. “Tell me, how long have they been chopping at the old oak?”

“Oh, not too long really. Couldn’t say for sure. Why?”

Tragglo was making for the door, a huge grin on his face. “Come on, Butty, we got to see this!” The old Recorder followed him eagerly.

Florian pursued them, snatching two scones from a tray. “Wait f’me, chaps. Ooh, ooh, these scones are scorchin’ hot, wot!”

Janglur Swifteye paced the ramparts, arrow on bowstring, quivering with frustration. “Can’t see the scum to get a clear shot, Rus!”

Rusvul Reguba sat down, covering his ears with both paws. “Chop chop chop. The sound o’ those confounded axes is drivin’ me mad, matey!”

Butty, Tragglo and Florian climbed the north wallsteps, with Cregga, Foremole Gubbio and his mixed crew of moles and Noonvalers following behind. Tragglo peeped over the battlements and laughed aloud. “Hohoho! Any moment now they be in for a real surprise!”

Janglur looked at the Cellarhog strangely. “I don’t see nothin’ funny in all this, mate. Neither’ll you if that oak falls atop the wall!”

Cregga placed a placating paw on the angry squirrel. “I’m sorry, friend. Let me explain. That old tree is rotted right through its middle due to big stinging termites. If it weren’t night you could see the hive too, in the fork where the three tops meet. The largest honeybee hive in all Mossflower rests in yonder oak, but we’ve never been able to get at the honey because of the bees and termites. The bees guard their hive and the termites guard the tree. As soon as the vermin strike soft wood they’re in big trouble!”

Foremole Gubbio shook his head. “They’m bumblybees and turmiters be a-takin’ ee arter solstice nap. Hurr, woe to ’e who wakes ’em up, zurr, burr aye!”

Borrakul peeped over the walltop, his curiosity aroused by the news. “When can we expect somethin’ t’happen, marm?”