The Sparra Queen closed her eyes, remembering the locations and types of bird. “Backa roof, hawkbird. This side, gooseflier. Other side, owlbird. That side, crow-bird. All wormbird stone, you see.”

Cornflower took a few paces back and pointed upwards. “I can see a wild goose carved this side. I can just make it out. Look, it leans outwards with its wings spread. Funny, I’ve never noticed it before.”

The Abbot settled his paws into his wide sleeves. “There are a great many things about Redwall that we do not know. It is an ancient and mysterious place. The longer I live here the more I see how everything our ancestors built into it has a story or a reason. It is all part of the Mossflower tradition and history. The goose is facing west towards the sunset and the great sea. That is the way they travel each late season. I think the hawk must face north. It is a warlike bird, and the northlands were always troubled by war. The owl, I guess, will face east to the dense forest and the rising sun. That only leaves one way for the crow to face.”

The party walked round to the remaining side of the Abbey. John Churchmouse adjusted his glasses and pointed.

“South, the crow points south! What can’t fly, yet has a beak? The crow made of stone, of course. We’ve found it! If only Jess or Sam Squirrel were here, they could climb up and investigate it.”

Queen Warbeak puffed out her feathers. “Why squirrel climb? Sparra fly, me ’vestigate um crow stone.”

The Sparra Queen was off like an arrow. From below, she looked like a small black speck as she hovered around the crow statue, which protruded from the high eaves. Warbeak did not stay long. She fluttered about, then winged down, landing with a sprightly hop on the gravelled path.

“Much wormsign, go this way, go that way, up, down, round, round.”

“Just as I thought,” John Churchmouse groaned. “There’s writing on the statue, but sparrows cannot read at all.”

Mordalfus nudged him. “Hush, John. We don’t want to offend Queen Warbeak. She’s doing all she can to help. We’ll just have to think of a way to get a copy of that writing down here.”

Warbeak watched them talking. She knew what they were discussing. Cocking her head to one side, she winked her fierce bright eye. “How you do that. Sparra no can carry mouse, too wormfat, too big. Sparra no read um wormsign like old mouse Abbot do with book. Plenty problem.”

The Abbot stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. “Indeed it is, Queen Warbeak, but we must help Matthias.”

“Teach those birds to do a rubbin’.” Ambrose Spike stepped forward with parchment and charcoal sticks. “I’ve often done it meself on some of the old barrel carvin’s in the wine cellar. Pretty patterns they got carved on ’em.”