“Squirrels ready, marm; archers in the low branches. Beech and Pear along with Barklad and Springpaw, waiting to whirl the young uns off through the treetops to Brockhall.”

“Full crew standing by, Skip. Bula and Root to one side in case we need decoys. All otters fully loaded—slings and javelins. We’ll give ’em plenty to think about if it comes to a fight.”

They lay in wait, watching the night grow older.

Bella and the Stickles, plus the Loamhedge mice, had stayed behind at Brockhall, the Corim decision being that this was a mission for the swiftest and most warlike.

* * *

Inside Kotir, Mask made his way down to the cell areas. Inwardly, the otter shuddered after his interview with the wildcat Queen. Tsarmina’s grisly plan for victory over the woodlanders did not bear thinking about: enslavement, death and imprisonment. Nor did the expression of fiendish delight upon her face every time she talked of separating woodland families, locking infants in cells as hostages, wreaking a murderous revenge on otters and squirrels, putting the old and infirm out to the fields as enforced labor.

Mask went about his perilous game with a new determination.

Torches glittered in the brackets on the walls of the dismal cell passages. The stoat on sentry duty had been warned of the bad-tempered Captain Patchcoat. He had prepared himself well, even sweeping his part of the passage with a broom.

At the sound of the Captain’s approach, the stoat came smartly to attention, awaiting orders. Mask came briskly along the passage.

“Hmmm, that’s a bit more like it. Straighten that spear up a touch,” he said, inspecting the sentry. “Good, anything to report?”

“All in order, Cap’n.”

“Right. Get your keys out. The Queen wants a word with the traitor Gingivere.”

“But Cap’n,” the sentry gulped nervously, “Her Majesty gave strict orders that he was never to be mentioned again, only fed and kept under lock and key. That’s what she said.”

“Well, she’s the Queen, mate,” Mask chuckled, patting the stoat’s paw. “If she decides to change her mind, who are you and I to say different? We’re only common soldiers. But I like your style; you’ve a lot more sense than the buffoon who was on duty here earlier. You take your orders from me, soldier, and I’ll see to it that you wear a Captain’s cloak before long. Tell you what: you give me the keys. That way I’ll take all the responsibility. You go and get your supper and have a game of shove acorn with your mates.”

The stoat surrendered the keys willingly to Mask. Who said this new Captain was a bad-tempered fox? He saluted smartly.

“Thanks, Cap’n. Give me a call if you need help.”

Mask marched off down the passage, calling over his shoulder, “No need, mate. You carry on. I can take care of a crazy half-starved cat anytime, or my name ain’t Patchcoat.”

* * *

Gingivere was ready with Ferdy and Coggs as the key grated in the lock. The door swung open to reveal the strange fox with the evil countenance.