“Quickly, now,” he whispered, holding a paw to his muzzle. “There’s no time to lose. Gingivere, you walk in front of me, I’ll have my dagger out as if I’m marching you up to the Queen’s chamber. Ferdy, Coggs, get behind me, under my cloak, and keep as close to me as possible. Don’t make a sound; your lives depend upon it.”

To the casual observer, it looked as if there were only two creatures walking along the passage, Gingivere and Captain Patchcoat. Ferdy and Coggs were completely hidden beneath the long Captain’s cloak. They negotiated the cell area successfully. Twice they passed guards who, knowing Captain Patchcoat’s reputation, saluted smartly, keeping their eyes to the front. Mask nodded curtly to them. The escapers carried on up two flights of stairs and into the main entrance passage.

* * *

Cludd strode out of the mess hall with another weasel named Brogg just as Mask and Gingivere were passing. Cludd was still smarting from his demotion. “Watch this, matey,” he winked cunningly at Brogg. “I’ll make old cleverwhiskers jump through the roof. You’ll see.”

Mask’s bushy imitation tail protruded from the bottom of the cloak that had once been Cludd’s pride and joy. Sneaking up behind Mask, Cludd stamped his paw down hard and heavy on the tail, expecting to see Mask leap in the air and roar with pain. Instead, Mask carried on walking. The tail had fallen off; it lay trapped under Cludd’s paw. The weasel stared open-mouthed at the false tail, its end covered with pine resin and two cunning twine fasteners.

It took the slow-witted Cludd a moment to catch on.

“Hey, you, Patchcoat! Stop! Stop him. He’s no fox!”

Cludd ran forward. Mask tore down a wall hanging, throwing it over the head of his charging enemy. Cludd fell, stumbling and wriggling to unhamper himself. Gingivere swept up the two small hedgehogs and dashed for the main door, with Mask close behind. Together they charged the main door, both creatures slamming their weight against it. The door flew open, bowling Ashleg over as he stumped in.

The fugitives sped across the parade ground as the hue and cry was raised behind them.

“Escape! Escape! Stop them quickly. Kill them if you have to!”

* * *

The upper galleries were crowded with the tribe of Lord Cayvear. Martin stood ready with a heap of rocks and his sling. Log-a-Log was beside him, his shrew dagger drawn.

It was a tense moment as Dinny went up silently, paw by paw, until he was directly under the crack of light.

“What is your friend doing now?” Lord Cayvear whispered to Martin. “There is soil and moss up there, but many rocks, many rocks.”

Martin watched the soft earth and small rocks beginning to slide down the incline. “He’s digging inward then downward. That way, whatever is above will collapse and hopefully fall outward.”

More moss, rock and earth came down in a moving scree. Dinny came with it, sliding on his back and keeping an eye on the light shaft. The young mole dusted his coat off.