* * *

Tsarmina stood in her usual position at the high chamber window, Cludd waiting dutifully at one side.

“Spring vegetables aren’t much use, Cludd. Find out what the birds like to eat, and scatter some of it about. Set some traps and get the archers out. Fat woodpigeons, a juicy thrush or two—that’s the sort of thing we need.”

“Yes, Milady, I’ll see to it right away.” The weasel Captain trudged off obediently.

Tsarmina leaned farther out the window, scanning the wood fringe. “No, wait!”

A strange-looking fox emerged from the undergrowth, tugging two little hedgehogs along on a rope. It was plain to see he was in a hurry. Behind the trio, a band of otters and squirrels came dashing in pursuit. Looking backward at his pursuers, the fox tripped over the rope. The woodlanders dashed forward and pounced upon him.

Tsarmina shoved Cludd to the door. “Quick, quick. Get down there and grab the nearest troops. Help the fox. Hurry!”

The wildcat Queen raced back to the window yelling aloud, “Hold on, fox. We’re getting help out to you. Keep hold of those hedgehogs!”

The stranger put up what appeared to be a good fight. Unfortunately, he was outnumbered. One group of woodlanders kept him busy defending himself, while several squirrels slashed the rope from the captive hedgehogs, bearing them off into the trees, away into thick wooded Mossflower.

Late again! Tsarmina slammed her paw hard against the windowsill.

Down below, Cludd and a party of soldiers raced toward the melee. The woodlanders broke off the attack, vanishing like smoke into the undergrowth.

* * *

Tsarmina was standing in the entrance hall as Cludd escorted the newcomer in. She peered closely at the odd-looking stranger.

Mask panted heavily, slumping down on his haunches. “Whew, those squirrels and otters fight like madbeasts!”

Tsarmina circled him. “You didn’t do too badly yourself.” There was grudging admiration in her voice. “What’s your name? How did you come here?”

Mask looked up at the wildcat. “I’m called Patchcoat. You must be Queen Tsarmina of the Thousand Eyes. Fortunata told me about you.”

“So, you’ve met the vixen. Where is Fortunata now?”

Mask shrugged. “Probably lying in the woods, full of squirrel arrows. She was too slow to keep up. I could have beaten those woodlanders to here easily if it hadn’t been for that great dozy lump.”

Stupidly, Cludd stepped forward. He prodded the strange fox with his spear. “You still haven’t told Milady why you’re here, fox.”

With a deft movement, Mask grabbed the spear, thudded the butt into Cludd’s midriff, bowled him over, and was standing on his chest with his dagger pressed against the weasel’s throat.

“Listen, fatguts,” he growled dangerously. “I’ll make you eat that spear if you ever poke it at me again. Remember that. My name’s Patchcoat the mercenary, see. I sell my blade to the highest bidder.”

Mask stood on Cludd’s nose with one paw and executed a neat turn to teach the weasel a painful lesson. Without even looking to see the result he turned to Tsarmina.