John Churchmouse donned his spectacles and dusted off a slim volume. “Hmm. Old Methuselah’s Index of Bird Ailments and Remedies. What d’you think, Father Abbot?”

The Abbot looked up from a tome he was studying.

“Aye, that’s a good one, John, though there’s much to recommend this fine book, Sister Heartwood’s Compleat Category. It contains nearly five chapters on birds.”

Brother Rufus helped Sister May as she raised Stryk’s broken wing. Then she wiped her paws busily upon a clean white apron.

“Oh dear, that is a nasty-looking break. Mr. Spike, would you roll one of those small firkins over here so we can keep this wing in the right position?”

Ambrose grumpily complied with the request. “It don’t do much for the clearness of beetroot portwine to be messin’ an’ rollin’ it about. Here, I ’ope you’re not goin’ to feed that great feathered lump on my best beetroot portwine.”

“I should say not, Ambrose,” John Churchmouse chuckled. “Though we may need a drop or two of it ourselves before we’re finished here.”

“Then I may’s well stay here an’ help you,” the hedgehog cellar-keeper grunted.

The broken wing was propped up on the barrel top and weighted securely with books. Abbot Mordalfus inspected the wingtip.

“Look, there’s a pinion feather missing. Sister May, will you check the bird’s tailfeathers and see if there’s one the same size as the final outward pinion on the other wing? Ambrose, would you have a look in the kitchen for any good strong fishbones. Oh, and we’ll need fine greased twine and some dried onionskins, and have a scout round for that jar of rivermud compound we use on burns. I have great faith in the healing powers of that stuff.”

They called their requests after Ambrose as he trundled off:

“Fetch the finest sewing needle that Cornflower has got.”

“And don’t forget the witch hazel.”

“Some almond oil, too.”

“Then nip into Cavern Hole and pick up my herbal bag, please.”

Ambrose shrugged his spikes moodily. “I don’t suppose you’d like me to fetch your lunch, dinner, tea’n’supper too. Huh!”

“Oh, and Ambrose, would you ask Winifred to fetch our lunch, dinner, tea and supper out here? This is going to be a long job!”

*   *   *

Ironbeak left off tugging a worm from the lawn as Mangiz approached. He saw the crow was alone and glared severely at him.

“Yakk! Well?”

“My General, what has happened is none of my doing. If you peck me and claw me you will be doing me a great wrong.”

Ironbeak’s bright eyes shifted back and forth between the Abbey and the crow.

“I will peck the tongue from your foolish beak if you do not stop babbling and tell me what is happening.”