Hot tears sprang into Skipper’s brown eyes. “Don’t say that, messmate. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Mask leaned close to Skipper’s ear. “Do me one last favor, Skip.”

“Anything. You just name it.”

“Promise me that you won’t tell little Spike and Posy about this. Say that Uncle Mask has gone to live far away.”

Skipper wiped Mask’s brow gently with his paw. “On my affidavit, brother.”

The gray otter nodded slowly. His curious eyes clouded over as he lay back peacefully and went limp.

Skipper stood up. He sniffed, grubbing grimy paws against his eyes. “Listen, crew. We’re taking him back to the River Moss. He liked it there. We’ll stow him under a willow on the bank, and that way he’ll always be near the sound of the water he loved. Tie some slings together and make a stretcher, mates.”

Gingivere stepped forward. He picked Mask up from the earth, holding him firmly in his strong paws.

“Please let me have the honor of carrying him. He rescued us from Kotir prison. Ferdy, Coggs and myself, we owe him our lives.”

Skipper turned away. “So be it.”

Thus passed the Mask, the strange one who lived alone in Mossflower, the otter who was master of many disguises.

Dawn had scarcely broken when Log-a-Log put the finishing touches to the main frame of the gate. Martin peered down from the edge of the hole in the mountainside, holding tight to Dinny beside him.

“So, this is what the other side of the mountain looks like, eh, Din.”

“Ho urr, baint much to be seen tho, Marthen.”

The sloping side of the mountain was visible, but beyond that the bottomland was a bed of thick white mist, as far as the eye could see.

Lord Cayvear joined them.

“What lies below, I do not know,” he told them. “Thank you, Log-a-Log. Thank you for your good work. Soon my tribe will be safe once more. We will be complete masters of all Bat Mountpit, Bat Mountpit.”

Log-a-Log patted the heavy timber frame, made mainly from the wreckage of Waterwing.

“Aye, no sign of that owl now, though this gate should keep it away. That, and a few sharp prods in its feathery bottom. Don’t like owls myself.”

* * *

The sun was up and shining bright within an hour, but instead of clearing the mist it seemed to make it thicker. Martin and his friends were eager to continue the quest. Politely they refused entreaties from the bats to stay as long as they wished, though with a tinge of regret because of the kindness and hospitality shown them by the tribe of Bat Mountpit.

Lord Cayvear presented them with haversacks of fresh food and drink. The great bat stayed inside the darkness of the exit hole with his tribe, away from the glaring sunlight.

Martin shook him heartily by the paw. “Now, put that barrier up as soon as we leave. Better safe than sorry, my friend.”