Still smiling, the three friends turned to the parchment the old Recorder had translated from the washed-out, ink-stained journal of Abbess Vale, a wise creature who had ruled Redwall in the far-off seasons. Dippler was no great scholar, and he stared at the Friar’s neat rows of writing blankly. “What does it all mean?”

Friar Butty flicked the pages of the ancient book. “As far as I can make out it was written by a squirrel called Samkim in his latter seasons. He must have been a tricky creature, though—he wrote directions to the Great Lake in the form of a riddling rhyme. Listen to this.

“At the rear of redstone wall,

Find me o’er where breaks the day,

You cannot, shall not walk at all,

Just follow as I run away.

Discover the speechless hidden mouth,

Alas, my friends, our ways part there,

Go down green tunnel, bounden south,

Through trees with blossoms in their hair.

Then when the sky shows blue and light,

And clear down to the bed you gaze,

Be not deceived by rainbows bright,

Beware tall stones and misted haze.

Leaping boiling, stealing breath,

None can stand against this might,

Which sweeps the traveler down to death,

In caves of grim eternal night.

And should you live to seek the lake,

Watch for the fish of blue and gray,

Betwixt those two’s the path you take,

Good fortune wend you on your way!”

Dippler scratched his fur beneath the weighty chain-mail suit. The young Guosim shrew was still puzzled by the cryptic words. “Sounds pretty enough, but I still ain’t got a clue, mates.”

Friar Butty smiled at Dippler’s inexperience. “Fiddley dee, young feller, you’d be the wisest creature around if you did. Riddling poems are not written so that we may solve them at a glance, right, Song?”

The pretty young squirrel nodded as she scanned the verse. “That’s correct, Friar. We need to study this thing hard, take it a line at a time and concentrate upon the words.”

Dann settled his chin on both paws, staring hard at the puzzle. “Hmm. By the look of it this doesn’t mention anythin’ about Marlfoxes.”

Dippler struggled out of the chain mail, which had finally become too uncomfortable for him. “Maybe it doesn’t, Dann, but it might lead us to know ’em better—where they come from, why they made such a journey, an’ so on.”

Friar Butty patted his young friend’s back heartily. “Well said, Dippler! I think you’ve the makings of a great scholar.”

*