Martin felt the sturdy polished hull. “It’s beautifully crafted, Log-a-Log. You know about boats, then?”

The shrew picked up a spokeshave. He took a sliver off the stern. “Ships, friend, ships. Though I’m a ferrypuller, like all my family, we used to live with our tribe on the banks of the River Moss, far to the north of here. One day, several seasons ago, we were invaded by sea rats who sailed inland. They took many of us captive and put us to the oars of their galley. Some died there, but I escaped. One night I slipped my chains and went overboard, just south of Salamandastron. I swam ashore. Do you see those mountains? Well, I couldn’t cross them, so I walked around them. Ha, that took a season or two, I can tell you. Eventually I found my way to this place—the Great South Stream, I call it. One day I’ll go back to my village, where the shores and flatlands meet the woods on the River Moss. Until then, well, here I am.”

Martin put down his bowl. “Then you’ve seen Salamandastron?”

“Oh aye, passed it a few times when I was in the galleys,” Log-a-Log agreed. “Big mountain, fiery at night. Sea rats don’t like it, though.”

Martin nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard about the sea rats. My father went off to fight them up north. He was never heard of again. Tell me, Log-a-Log, do you know the way to Salamandastron?”

The shrew pointed with a ladle. “Over those mountains and due west.”

Dinny was stroking Grubwhacker. “Hurr, can ’ee go thurr by stream, Gloglog?”

The shrew paced the cave with his lips pursed. Silently they watched him. Finally he stopped alongside Dinny and the beetle. Taking a loaf and a piece of cooked fish, he placed them upon Grubwhacker’s back, where they could be carried without falling off. Log-a-Log patted his pet affectionately.

“Go on Grubwhacker,” he told him. “Back to your missus and the little uns.”

The beetle trundled off obediently.

The shrew turned to Martin and his friends. “Right. Load the boat up with supplies. I’ll get the mast and sail ready to rig up.”

Gonff stood up. “Why, matey, what are we supposed to be doing?”

Log-a-Log grunted as he heaved a heavy mast timber from the back of the cave. “We’re going to see if that old stream will take us under the mountain. That’s the shortest route to Salamandastron. I wouldn’t chance it on my own, but now that I’ve got a crew . . .”

BOOK TWO

Salamandastron

Skipper hobbled into the dining room at Brockhall. He sat down with a sigh of relief, rubbing his tail and paws.

Fortunata and Mask were clearing away the lunchtime dishes. The sly vixen nodded toward Skipper and winked at her companion. Mask looked slightly bemused, but Fortunata winked again as she sauntered over to the otter.

“What seems to be the trouble, sir?” she asked solicitously. “Is it an old injury?”