Constance took a quick glance around to check nobeast was observing her. Swiftly she unlocked the gatehouse door and slid inside with the armour. The door closed behind her. Ironbeak could see the key still sticking out of the lock. Seizing his opportunity, he rose and glided silently across to the gatehouse. The deed was accomplished in a trice. The raven leader slammed the door. Sticking his beak into the handle ring of the heavy iron key, he gave it a swift turn and withdrew it from the lock. There was a scrambling noise from inside, then the sound of paws pounding against the solid timbers of the door as the badger called out, “Cornflower, is that you? Stop playing about and open this door. Come on, I know it’s you!”

Ironbeak soared off jubilantly with the key looped on his beak. Now that the enemy he feared so much was out of the way, there was nobeast strong enough to withstand a sudden attack. Truly Mangiz’s visions were becoming reality.

*   *   *

Inside the gatehouse, Constance had her eye to the keyhole. She could see nothing. Whoever had locked her in was gone, for it was quiet outside. The badger ran to the window. Redwall Abbey was a long distance from the gatehouse. It stood serene and peaceful across the lawns, beyond the pond. The window was too small for a fully grown badger to break and crawl through, so she began exploring the place. Other small windows in each of the bedrooms proved useless. Constance noted the chimney vent in the cosy hearth, but it was out of the question; a badger of her dimensions would be jammed right away. She tried the door again. It was solid, with florin spikes and iron bands fixed to the stout oak timbers.

After exploring every possibility, Constance resigned herself. There was a jug of water and plenty of dried fruits in the cupboard. She sat at the living room window, watching and waiting for help to appear.

*   *   *

“Stryk Redkite wanna fly ’gain. Must fly, Sissimay!”

Sister Mary scrubbed her paws wearily. “No, no, you naughty bird. You must rest until the wing heals. Now be still, or you get no supper.”

“Don’ wan’ supper, wanna fly.”

The Abbot and Brother Rufus sat with John Churchmouse, taking their supper at a barrel top. John rubbed the back of his neck. “Whew, I wish that bird was a sparrow instead of a great red kite. It would have been much easier.”

Abbot Mordalfus took a long draught of October ale. “It was difficult, John, but I think it was worthwhile. You did a marvelous job putting those new pinion feathers in place. Did you take all your instructions from Methuselah’s book?”