“Warbeak, whew! Thank goodness you’ve arrived,” Matthias saluted his winged friend and her tribe. “The Abbot and I are completely tuckered out. What d’you think of our fish?”

The fierce little bird spread her wings wide. “Plenty big fishworm, friend Matthias. My warriors take um to fatmouse Friar; he burn um fish good. Sparra like fishworm; we eat plenty at big wormtime.”

As the Sparra folk towed the carp off in the direction of the kitchens, Abbot Mordalfus turned, smiling, to Matthias.

“Good friends, our sparrow allies, though why everything is worm this or worm that I’ll never know. Can you imagine Hugo’s face when Warbeak tells him to burn fishworm good?”

Matthias shook pond droplets from his paws. “It’s just their way of talking, Abbot. Sometimes I wonder who is the harder to understand, a sparrow or a mole.”

Mordalfus glanced up. The sun was piercing the mists, casting a rosy glow over the world of Mossflower with the promise of a hot midsummer day. From the bell tower the sounds of the Abbey bells pealed merrily away, calling the inhabitants of Redwall to rise and enjoy the day.

Constance the badger ambled down to the pond and beached the coracle with one mighty heave.

“Whoof! It’s going to be a real scorcher,” she remarked. “My word, little Tim and Tess are certainly energetic. Listen to them ringing the Methusaleh and the Matthias bells. Still, we mustn’t waste the day, there’s so much to do before we can sit down to feast this evening.”

Matthias yawned and stretched. “Well, I’m for a swift forty winks and a bath after all that night fishing. D’you realize, the Abbot and I have been stuck in that boat since yesterday noon? Right, Mordalfus?”

Constance held a paw to her muzzle. “Ssshhh, he’s fallen fast asleep. Good old Alf.”

The Abbot was curled up on the grassy bank, snuffling faintly, still tackling the carp in his dreams.

Matthias smiled, patting his friend gently. “Aye, good old Alf. I remember him taking me on the pond for my first fish. It was a grayling, as I recall. Hmm, I was even younger than my own son then. Ah well, none of us is getting any younger as the seasons pass.”

“Huh, I’m certainly not,” the badger snuffled. “Neither is Alf. But I’m not sure about you, Matthias. Sometimes I wonder if you’ve aged at all. You go off and get your rest now, and I’ll see to our angling Abbot here.”

Constance quietly scooped the slumbering Mordalfus up on to her broad back and trundled slowly off in the direction of the Abbey dormitories.

*   *   *

On his way over to the gatehouse cottage, Matthias spied Cornflower and Mattimeo carrying flower baskets and pruning knives. He waved to them.

“We landed a beautiful carp. I’ve got to have a nap and a bath.”