The shrew stood staring at the spot where the rat had gone down. “Yore right, Swifteye. Let’s go an’ get some sleep. Mayhap we’ll find the answer to all this when we reach the Abbey of Redwall.”

*

The Wandering Noonvale Companions’ cart was stuck up to its axles in mud. Florian wrung rain from the hems of his frock coat and bellowed mournfully.

“Oh, calamity, folly and woe unto us! Abroad on a night like this in the midst of a hurricane, nay a typhoon, a veritable deluge! And now, to cap it all, we are sinking slowly into the muddy oblivion of a bottomless quagmire. Brave hearts and faithful friends, ’tis a night for lamentations. Ooooh, lack a bally day, wot!”

Runktipp tried unsuccessfully to block a rip in the canvas of the covered cart with a pennant he had plastered with mud. “Aye, we could do with lackin’ this day right enough. Pesky rain’ll drive me off my spikes if it don’t stop!”

Borrakul, who was caked in mud up to the waist from trying to get the cart unstuck, grinned mirthlessly. “Cheer up, we’re only lost, starvin’ an’ likely to be drowned by mornin’. At least there’s plenty o’ water t’drink out there.”

Roop twitched his nose at the otter. “Oi bain’t thursty, thenkee, zurr, tho’ ’tain’t ee weather oi’m wurried over, ’tis Dwopple. Ee young maister’s gone vurry quiet, an’ oi doan’t loik et!”

Deesum instantly leapt to the defense of her charge. “You’re quite heartless, mister Roop. See, the dear little chap is slumbering innocently.”

Elachim, the other otter brother, who was trying to sleep at the same end of the cart as the mousebabe, shifted his position, muttering, “Slumberin’ innocently? The wretch is snorin’ like thunder, an’ he keeps tryin’ to eat my tail in ’is dreams!”

Muggle flung her soggy turban at the otter. “Gurr! Doan’t ee menshun eatin’ again. Moi pore stummick is a-growglin’ an’ a-rowglin’ loik thunner an’ loightnin’!”

Dejectedly, Florian pulled out his battered one-string fiddle and plucked at it experimentally. “Tchah! Confounded wet weather’s knocked it all out o’ tune, wot!” Nevertheless, he scraped away at it with a tattered bow and began singing a song that he composed as he went along.

“Deah mothah I am hungry, hungry,

An’ starvin’ as well to boot,

Oh to be back home in your orchard,

So full of delishowus froot.

If I perish’n’die before maaaawnin’,

My last thought will be of yewww,

An’ the smile on Father’s whiskers,

An’ a whackin’ great bowl of stewwww!

Are Grandpa’s teeth still missin’,

The way I’m missin’ yooooooou?

You’re the nicest ma a son could have

An’ I’ve had quite a feeeeeewwww.

Fare thee well my dearest parents,

For quite soon now I must die,

But if I get home before midnight,

Don’t let Grandma eat all the pie!”