Constance scratched her headstripes. “Loamscript, what in the name of fur and feathers is Loamscript?”

“Tut, tut, Constance,” Mordalfus said, without taking his eyes from the stone tablet. “I see you have forgotten all the history lessons you learned as a young one. Who was your teacher and what were you told about the beginning of Redwall history?”

Constance frowned. She drummed paws on the tabletop and looked at the ceiling for inspiration. It was not too long in coming. “Er, er, it was Sister Garnet. No, it was Methuselah. Ah yes, good old Brother Methuselah. Haha, he used to look at me over the top of his glasses just the way you do, Abbot. I remember he often tweaked my whiskers if I dozed off on a sunny afternoon at lessons in the orchard. Ah, but that was more seasons ago than I care to remember.”

The Abbot smiled fondly at Constance. “Then let me refresh your memory, you dozy badger. Redwall Abbey was founded after the war of the wildcats by Martin the Warrior, who came from the northlands, and Abbess Germaine, who travelled with a band of woodland mice from a place called Loamhedge. Apparently they were driven from there by some sort of plague. Old Methuselah had a book written by one of Germaine’s followers in Loamscript. Now, as I remember there was only one other creature who was clever enough to learn Loamscript from Methuselah. A little churchmouse named John. . . .”

Cornflower sprang up. “What? You mean John Churchmouse, our recorder?”

The Abbot folded his spectacles away into his wide sleeve, chuckling. “The very same! Cornflower, do you think you could go and rouse him?”

Winifred picked up the snoring form of baby Rollo from his chair. “I’ll come with you,” the otter volunteered. “It’s time this bundle o’ mischief was tucked away for the night.”

They hurried off to the dormitories.

*   *   *

John Churchmouse came down with Cornflower and Winifred. He nodded almost apologetically to those around the table.

“Couldn’t sleep, y’see. I don’t sleep much these nights, thinking of my Tess and Tim and wondering if Matthias and the others have found them yet.”

Mordalfus slid the tablet across to him. “Sit down, John. Here’s something that may help to bring your young ones back. It’s written in Loamscript. Can you read it?”

John stroked his whiskers. “Well, it’s a long time since I read any Loamscript. Many, many seasons ago. Haha, that was when Methusaleh used to tell me about this sleepy young badger in his class, what was her name now . . . ?”

Constance tapped the table with a blunt paw. “Never mind, prize scholar. Get on with it.”

John winked at Cornflower. “Righto, I’ll give it a try. Could I borrow your glasses, please, Father Abbot? I left mine by the bedside.”