Mokkan picked his teeth with a fishbone, sneering at Gelltor. “See, for the moment we’re robbers, not killers. Haven’t you got it into that thick skull of yours? High Queen Silth must be surrounded by beauty. Rich, wonderful things, that’s what we need to bring back to the island. Imagine what she’d do if we staggered back to Castle Marl with half our number dead because we’d started an all-out war with the beasts of Redwall?”

Gelltor slumped against a tree, nursing his wound. “Aarh! I don’t see the sense to it, trampin’ round the woodlands just to rob stuff to please that crazy old relic. It’s daft!”

Ascrod, who had remained silent until now, spoke up. “Listen, brother, we’re storing up these valuables for ourselves. Remember, one day our mother will be dead—maybe sooner than we think, considering her age. When that day comes we will rule the island together. Castle Marl, everything, will be all ours!”

Ziral chuckled mirthlessly. “Not according to Mokkan. He says we’ll kill each other off until there’s only one left to rule, right, Mokkan?”

Mokkan shrugged. “Who can tell? I say let the future look after itself, and for now we concentrate on that Abbey. Listen, I’ve got a plan that’s a lot wiser and less warlike than Gelltor’s was. Let’s get the rats on the march to Redwall. I’ll explain to you as we go.”

Mokkan was the toughest and most resourceful of all the brothers and sisters. Even Gelltor went along with the scheme when he heard it.

7

7

Tragglo Spearback and his cellar helpers were good carpenters. By midday they were fitting hingelocks to the wallgates, bolts that doubly secured the doors and could only be opened from inside. Rusvul and Janglur were in conference with Log a Log, Skipper and Cregga, deciding what the next move should be in the light of that morning’s attempted break-in. The Wandering Noonvale Companions were rehearsing out by the pond, watched by the Abbey Dibbuns. Dann was strolling in the grounds with Song and Dippler when Grandma Ellayo passed them, hobbling toward the gatehouse. Song and her friends took the old squirrel’s paws to assist her.

“You’re in a bit of a hurry, Grandma. Where are you off to?”

“I’m goin’ to the gate’ouse, Song m’dear. Yore dad said Friar Butty needs me t’tell him all I know about those Marlfoxes.”

“Oh, can we come too? I love to hear you telling tales!”

The old squirrel looked at the three eager young friends. She paused a moment as if undecided, then gave in to the request. “Oh, if’n y’wish, but y’must sit still an’ don’t fidget, I can’t abide fidgety beasts. Oh, one of you nip back an’ tell that nice Brother Melilot that we’ll all be takin’ lunch in the gate’ouse!”