From outside came the faint sound of many voices. They seemed to be squabbling and arguing. One voice came clearly to them down the narrow aperture. It was gruff and commanding.

“Who are you? State your name and tell us if you are of the Guosim?”

Matthias leaned back and gave a sigh of relief. “The Guosim! Thank goodness, they’re friends.”

Orlando climbed up the rubble beside Matthias and Basil. “Guosim, who in the name of stripes are they?”

“Careful what you say,” Matthias cautioned the big badger. “Leave the talking to me. Guosim are the Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower. They can be very touchy and argumentative, and everything they do is governed by their own union rules and laws. Keep quiet now and let me be spokesbeast.”

“If you are the Guosim, then let me talk to your Log-a-Log,” Matthias called down the hole.

Several voices came back at him.

“Who are you?”

“How do you know we have a Log-a-Log?”

“Are you a friend or foe?”

There was a scrabbling noise and more sounds of dispute. This time the voice that came through was strong and louder than the rest.

“Out of my way! Give me room. Stand back, I say! Hello down there. I am the Log-a-Log. What do you want of me?”

Even in the urgency of the situation Matthias could not help smiling as he answered. “Log-a-Log, you old bossywhiskers, it’s me, Matthias of Redwall!”

The reply was a gruff chuckle. “Well, crumble my cake! Matthias, you old swordswinger, I should have known that Redwall accent. Ha, you’re in a pretty pickle, no mistake. Don’t worry, friend, I’ll soon have you out of there, but first I’ve got to settle a small dispute out here. Some of these shrews seem to think they know more about Guosim rules than their Log-a-Log. Leave it to me, I’ll soon straighten them out. Meanwhile, you just sit tight. We’ll need digging tools and rocks and timber for shoring. This rubbish keeps sliding and moving. It’ll be a tricky task, but don’t worry, I’ll have supper ready for you when we haul you out of there. How many are you?”

“Six altogether, Log-a-Log, a hedgehog, a badger, a young otter, Jess Squirrel and Basil Stag Hare.”

“What? That old scoffin’ windbag. I’m sorry I mentioned supper.”

Basil’s ears stood up indignantly. “I say, steady on, you scurvy little log-floater. Scoffin’ windbag indeed!”

Jess Squirrel stifled a giggle. “I’d say he wasn’t far wrong there, eh, Matthias?”

*   *   *

It was late afternoon when the shrew digging party broke through. The friends had sat in darkness most of the day, listening to digging and shoring interspersed with orders and arguments. Suddenly they were showered with rubble as a small head broke through framed by light.