Skipper fled past her, tugging Janglur with him. “Put a move on, matey. Dann an’ Dippler an’ yore Song ’ave taken over Cregga marm’s room, so we’d better git there afore she does an’ shift those young ’uns out sharpish like!”

*

Baby Dwopple was wide awake and none the worse after his ordeal. He elbowed his way in between Blinny the molebabe and Florian at the dining table for lunch. “Where a vikkles? I starven!”

The hare rescued his summer salad and apple pie, scowling at Dwopple. “Have a care there, young wretchlet, I need all the nourishment I can lay me flippin’ paws on. Recoverin’ from a nasty cart accident, y’know. I say, is that beechnut sponge I see? Chuck it this way, will you, m’good mole, wot!”

“I needs feedin’ too. I ’scaped! I fighted off those badbeasts! I frighted mista Stickabee . . .”

Cregga felt her way up the stairwell and gave the unlatched door of her room a light push. As it swung open, the badger entered, feeling about with outstretched paws. “Somebeast’s there. Come on, who is it?”

Janglur’s reply was tinged with foreboding. “Only me’n’ Skipper, marm, but I ain’t certain wot’s goin’ on.”

Cregga lowered herself into her favorite armchair as he continued.

“Last night my Song was put in ’ere with young Dann an’ the shrew Dippler. You ’eard about wot ’appened to ’em, they was injured. But they ain’t ’ere no more, an’ Skipper sez that Martin’s sword is missin’ from the wall yonder.”

The badger mused over this information for a moment before replying. “Hmm. It sounds a bit strange, but let’s not dash into anything. They must be about somewhere, probably still within the Abbey.”

Janglur was not convinced. “But wot if they ain’t?”

The door behind them began creaking slowly shut before a slight draft. Skipper pointed to it. “There’s some markin’s scratched on that door!”

Janglur inspected it closely, telling Cregga what he could see. “Fairly fresh scratches, marm, done quick like with a sharp point. ’Tis only four letters. G an’ T an’ G an’ T.”

Skipper opened the door. “I’ll go down an’ see if they’re at lunch, or they might be in the orchard. You two try an’ figger those letters out.”

Cregga rose from her armchair. “Wait!” Crossing to the door, she pressed her muzzle gently against the scratches, sniffing as she moved over the markings. “G . . . T . . . G . . . T! I’ve a feeling those marks were made hastily by the last one to leave this room, carrying Martin’s sword. He or she scratched them. G . . . T . . . G . . . T!”