The Abbot called for order. “Please! Our first concern is the safety of every creature here. We must stay where it is safe. There are plenty of stores. The cupboards and larders are well stocked, there is ample food in the kitchens and we have the entire stock of the wine cellar available. I have spoken to Brother Trugg and the only shortage will be fresh water. It must be used only for drinking. Bathing, washing and other uses are forbidden.”

There was a lusty cheer from Rollo and some other young ones camped beneath the table.

“I’m glad someone approves,” Constance smiled. “Well, if that’s all we’ll just have to put up with the situation for a while.”

“Put up with the situation indeed!” John Churchmouse snorted indignantly.

Cornflower laughed aloud. “Oh, John, you sounded just like my Matthias then.”

At the mention of the Warrior’s name a silence fell.

“I do hope our young ones are safe,” Mrs. Churchmouse fretted. “When I think of my Tim and Tess and Sam Squirrel and Mattimeo and Cynthia, where they may be now, or what those villains may do to them. . . . Oh, I do hope Matthias brings them back safe to us.”

She broke down in tears.

“There, there, m’dear,” John said, patting her gently. “Don’t you cry, they’ll be all right.”

Baby Rollo began patting her skirt from underneath the table, clucking in an imitation of John Churchmouse. “There, there, me dear. Don’t oo cry, be all right.”

Every creature laughed, and even Mrs. Churchmouse managed a smile through her tears.

Ambrose Spike lifted Rollo up onto the table. “That’s the stuff, old Rollo. You get all these wet blankets cheerful again. Right, what’s next, you little ruffian, eh?”

The tiny bankvole wrinkled his nose, uttering a single word: “Plans!”

The hedgehog shook his head in admiration. “There y’are, out of the mouths of baby beasts an’ innocent creatures. Plans! That’s what Matthias would have said if he were here, stiffen me spikes. He wouldn’t want us mopin’ an’ cryin’.”

Cornflower stamped her paw down hard. “You’re right, Ambrose. Let’s get our thinking caps on. That’s if we ever want to walk freely around our own Abbey and pick our own fruit from our own orchard, or even just sit on the walls in peace and watch the sunrise over Redwall. I say, let’s not be beaten by a flock of birds!”

Constance touched a paw to her snout. “Ssshh! Let’s do it quietly. You never know who may be listening.”

*   *   *

While the badger was speaking, Winifred the Otter crept to the foot of the stairs that separated Cavern Hole from Great Hall, picking up a small turnip that baby Rollo had been playing with. Tip-pawing halfway up the stairs, she paused a moment then flung the turnip as hard as she could.

Bonk!