Constance rapped the table. “Right, let’s get a proper plan organized. What we propose is to capture the three magpies and exchange them for the hostages. No army can survive without supplies, and Ironbeak knows this. He wouldn’t be able to keep his followers here if they were starving. This way we can save Redwall and get the hostages back. But how do we capture the magpies?”

The Abbot held up a paw. “I used to be the Abbey fishermouse before I was Abbot. Could we not snare them with fishing nets? We’ve got lots of big nets.”

“Well said, Abbot, but magpies are not fishes. How would you snare them into nets?” Constance asked.

Ambrose Spike poked his snout out of the ale beaker. “Find out where they get their food supplies and put down bait.”

“I think they get their supplies from our orchard,” John Churchmouse said, licking pie from his paw.

Little Sister May was highly indignant. “I’m certain they do, Father Abbot! Only today I saw them from the infirmary window, those three dreadful birds, stealing from our orchard. Anything that falls ripe from a bush or tree, they carry off. It’s theft, that’s what it is.”

“Durty ol’ burdbags, oi was a-wonderen whurr all they ripe strawb’rries was agoin’.”

“Exactly, Mr. Foremole.” Sister May wagged a reproving paw. “At one time it was only you and Mr. Stag Hare who used to steal them, but those three birds, gracious me! You’d think we were growing strawberries just for their benefit. I watched them guzzle down a great load before carrying off as much as they could with them. Disgraceful!”

Foremole covered his eyes with a huge digging paw. “Hurr hurr, Sister. Oi was only a-testin’ they berries. It were mainly young Mattimeo an’ that Tim’n’Tess wi’ thurr squirrel pal as scoffed most o’ them. Hurr hurr, young roguers!”

“You’re right, Foremole,” John Churchmouse sniffed. “I only wish they were still here to do it. I for one wouldn’t grudge them the odd strawberry from the patch.”

There were murmurs of agreement from all.

Little Sister May blew her nose loudly. “Well, talk like this isn’t getting many dishes washed. I’ve got an idea. Suppose we gather the ripest strawberries and sprinkle them with some sort of sleeping potion, then we could put them in one place in the orchard and lie in wait with the nets.”

“Sister May, I’m shocked and surprised at you!” Abbot Mordalfus shook his head in amazement. “What a good idea. But I’m not sure we know enough about sleeping potions. That’s the sort of thing the masked fox used on us. You can look to villains for that sort of thing, but we are only simple Abbey dwellers.”