Smiling happily, Winifred and Cornflower congratulated the moles. “Well done, Foremole. Thank you, team, you did work hard. We could never have moved such a stone without you.”

If a mole could have blushed, it would have been the Foremole. He and his crew stood about, awkwardly kicking the loose earth with their blunt digging paws.

“Hurr, bless ee, marm, it wurr a nuthin’, glad to be o’ survice.”

With Cornflower in the lead, they made their way through the hole. The torch was guttering low. Winifred bade them stand still. Moving around the walls, the otter found dried brushwood torches in rusting metal sconces. She touched each one with her own torch as she passed, and she soon had the whole place illuminated.

*   *   *

It was a large square rock chamber with an earthen floor. In one corner there was a massive anthill reaching halfway up the wall. They skirted it, taking care not to disturb the little folk. Cornflower’s breath caught in her throat at the sight that confronted them. It was a beautiful redstone statue of a wise old mouse, sitting on a simple chair of wrought stone, one paw upraised, the other holding open a stone book which lay in her lap.

Winifred gazed at the kindly old face. It had a wrinkly smile, small square spectacles perched on the end of its nose and drooping whiskers which gave it a homely look. “By the fur! She seems to be watchin’ us. I wonder who she was?”

Cornflower instinctively knew. “That’s old Abbess Germaine, the designer of Redwall. I’m sure of it. She looks so peaceful and gentle sitting there.”

Foremole brushed dusty earth from the base of the statue. “Lookit yurr!” he called.

In the flickering torchlights, Cornflower stooped to read the inscription carved on the base plinth:

“Germaine, first Abbess of Redwall. I came from home to find a home. The seasons were good to me. Here I will rest with the little folk.”

Winifred nodded in admiration. “That’s how it should be. She looks a nice old cove, sittin’ there with her specs an’ her book.”

Foremole mounted the base and ran heavy expert paws over the statue. “Creatur’ oo carven this’n were a maister, mark moi word. It be a gurt piece o’ work, hurr.”

“Yes indeed,” Cornflower agreed. “Look, there’s even a little stone ant crawling up the pages of the book. But what are we supposed to be looking for?”

Winifred shrugged. “Blowed if I know. Seems we’ve gone to a lot of trouble just to find a wonderfully carved statue. Very nice, but not much help.”

They began searching the chamber carefully from earthen floor to stone ceiling, checking each stone in the walls without success.