As the little group passed through the Great Hall more lightning flashed outside, throwing cascades of bright pattern from the colored stained glass onto the worn stone floor. A fire was burning in the Cavern Hole where all the Redwallers were gathered, towels flapping wetly about and steam rising from damp fur. Sister Sloey and Gurrbowl Cellarmole dried the two Dibbuns off, none too gently. Wugger’s head shook from side to side as the Sister rubbed at it, scolding, “Time and time again you’ve been told not to go up on that walltop to play. So what were you both doing up there, eh? Speak up!”

“Hurr, us’n’s was on’y talkin’ to they funnybeasts in ee woods, marm.”

“Funnybeasts? What funnybeasts?”

“Thurr wurr two of ’em, marm. They was whoit’n’blarck’n’blue, a-wurrin’ gurt cloakers!”

Dannflor had trouble keeping a straight face. Wugger was obviously making up some kind of story to justify his visit to the walltop. “Two funny creatures, all white and black and blue, wearing great cloaks? What did you say to them?”

“Us’n’s din’t say nowt. They’m arsked if oi’d cumm down an’ open ee likkle wallgate furr ’em.”

“And what did you say?”

“Hurr, us’n’s was a-goin’ to, when ee rain cummed, then us’n’s was too affrighted t’move.”

“So, what happened to the two funnybeasts?”

Wugger spread both paws and blinked. “They’m gonned! Jus’ vanished loik that, zurr!”

Dannflor smiled and winked at Tragglo, who nodded understandingly at the molebabe as if it all made sense.

“Ho, right you be, Wugger. The two funnybeasts just vanished, y’say?”

Wugger nodded, his little face completely serious. “Aye, zurr, that’s roight!”

Sister Sloey wagged a severe paw under his nose. “You’ve eaten too many strawberries and made yourself ill. Straight up to bed for you, young mole—you too, Blinny. Both of you have had quite enough for one day, pinching strawberries, playing on the wall in that thunderstorm and telling a pack of fibs. Now not another peep out of either of you. Straight upstairs this instant!”

Looking the picture of dejection, the two tiny moles, fur still standing up from their toweling, were led off to the dormitories by Sister Sloey.

Friar Butty smiled at Nutwing. “Black, white an’ blue creatures with great cloaks that vanish into thin air. What’ll they think of next?”

The owl dried his spectacles off on a towel corner. “Hmm, mm. I blame their elders, telling tales of strawberry thieves who just went bang and were never seen again save for a red patch on the stairs. Little wonder that Dibbuns grow up telling fibs after hearing stories like that!”