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Chapters (64)
  1. CAPTURED!
  2. Other Books
  3. Title Page
  4. Map
  5. Introduction
  6. BOOK ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. BOOK TWO
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. BOOK THREE
  46. 38
  47. 39
  48. 40
  49. 41
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. What’s next onyour reading list?

Sam Squirrel shouldered her roughly aside. “Doesn’t matter. My mum’s in there, so we’ve got to keep trying. Come on, Cynthia, up on your paws and get digging.”

“Jube, look about for a big branch or something I can use as a lever against these rocks,” Auma called out. “How are you doing, Matti?”

Mattimeo straightened up. “Not very well. I suggest we all dig in the one spot.”

Tess came hurrying over. “Look, I’ve found some flat slatey pieces. They’ll do to dig with.”

*   *   *

Dawn’s first light glimmered in the east, a soft rosy glow dispersing the night from the deep greenery of Mossflower Woods. The sun rose steadily, drying the dew from leaf and flower as the young woodlanders dug wearily in the shifting mass of debris.

Slagar lay on top of the gorge, watching them as he murmured, “Keep digging, my little slaves. Tire yourselves out so that you won’t run and dodge. I can see my slavers threading their way through the forest yonder. They’ll soon be here. Dig away, you young fools. You’ll never see your friends or parents again.”

23

In the summer peace of the beautiful old Redwall Abbey orchard, a group of creatures sat taking alfresco breakfast among the fruit trees. Abbot Mordalfus presided.

“Let us put our minds together, friends. If we wish to help Matthias and our young ones, we must solve the riddle of this poem.” The Abbot tapped the stone tablet. “Where does the poetry end and the clues begin?”

John Churchmouse put down his bowl of mint tea and placed his paw in a very certain manner between two lines of verse.

“Right there, I’m sure of it. Listen:

‘Through the seasons here I lie,

’neath this Redwall that we made.

Solve the mystery, you must try. . . .’”

John tapped his paw down decisively. “There, right there. I couldn’t sleep for thinking about it. Here’s where the real clues begin:

‘Graven deep it will not fade.

Somewhere ’twixt our earth and sky,

Birds and gentle breezes roam.

There’s a key you might espy,

To that place I once called home.’”

The Abbot toyed with a slice of apple. “I think you’re right, John. In fact, part of the answer leapt out at me as you recited those words. It was the line that went: ‘To that place I once called home.’ Right, if this was written by old Abbess Germaine, then the place that she called home before she built Redwall was Loamhedge. However, that was all so far away and long ago in our history that the location of Loamhedge had been forgotten long before my time and that of many Abbots and Abbesses before me.”