The undersized rat looked up. “Where’s Slagar and the others?” he asked.

Threeclaws pointed with his dagger. “Inside the church. What’ve you been doing to yourself?”

“Keep your snout out of my business, fatty,” said Vitch, dodging nimbly past Threeclaws into the church.

Weasels and a few ferrets and stoats lay about sleeping on the floor. Slagar sat with his back against the painted cart. He scowled at Vitch.

“You took your time getting here. What in the name of the fang kept you?”

Vitch flung himself wearily on a tattered hassock. “Washing dirty pots and greasy pans, scrubbing floors and generally getting meself knocked about.”

Slagar crouched forward. “Never mind all that. I put you in there to do a job. When is the feast to begin?”

“Oh that. One more moonrise, then the early evening following.”

“Right, did you fix the bolts on the small north wallgate?” asked Slagar.

“Of course. That was the first thing I attended to. They’re well greased and fit for a quick getaway. You can keep that Redwall place, Slagar. I’m not goin’ back there again.”

“Oh, why’s that, Vitch?” The fox’s voice was dangerously gentle.

“Huh, it was hard enough tryin’ to pass meself off as a mouse. That young one, wotsisname? Matty something - he smelt a rat right away. I had a fight with the little nuisance. He’s strong as an otter. Then I was pulled up by a big badger. She gave me a right old tellin’ off. Peaceful creatures, my front teeth! I was lugged off and made to scrub dirty pots for some fat old cook. He had me up to my tail in greasy dishwater, standin’ over me and makin’ me scour and cl—”

“Ah shut your trap and stop snivelling, rat. This little mouse, was he called Mattimeo, son of Matthias the Warrior?”

“Aye, that’s him, but how do you know?”

Slagar touched the red silk skull cover, baring his fangs viciously. “Never mind how I know. He’s the one we’ll be taking away with us, him and any others we can lay our paws on.”

Vitch brightened up. “Maybe I’ll get a few minutes alone with Mattimeo after we make our getaway, when he’s chained up good and proper.”

Slagar watched the small rat’s face approvingly. “Ha, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Heehee, like it, I’d love it!” Vitch’s eyes shone malevolently.

The fox leaned closer. “Vengeance, that’s the word. I tell you, rat, there’s nothing in the world like the moment when you have your enemy helpless and you can take revenge.”

Vitch was puzzled. “I can’t imagine a little mouse like that being able to hurt you, Sly One. What did he do that you seek revenge upon him?”

Slagar had a faraway look in his eyes, and beneath the mask his breath hissed roughly.