He thrust upward mightily. All four paws connected squarely with Cludd’s body. The weasel shot high in the air, enveloped by the cloak, landing with a cry of shock. His fall had been broken upon the otter javelins that stood fixed in the ground.

Otter javelins are pointed at both ends!

* * *

Chaos broke loose. Tsarmina hurled her troops forward at Skipper. A band of otters broke cover, stopping them with javelins and slingstones. Skipper bounded gracefully tail over ears into the river, followed by his crew, who took the liberty of rattling a last furious salvo at the soldiers of Kotir. Pushed on by those behind, several of the front ranks spilled into the water.

Tsarmina was among the first to go headlong into the river. Panic overtook the wildcat as she floundered in the water. “Out, get me out,” she screamed. “Quick, before they loose the pike!”

Hurriedly she was dragged up onto the bank.

Further upstream, there was a barking laugh of victory as Skipper’s head broke the surface. “The weasel got his cloak back, cat. It’s pinned to him.”

The river closed with a swirl on the last of the otters. Tsarmina raced up and down the bank, snatching spears from her soldiers, hurling them vindictively at the water.

“Come out, woodlanders, stand and fight!” she challenged.

Brogg, the weasel companion of Cludd, had taken the opportunity of extracting the cloak from the javelins and his friend’s body. He squatted at the river’s edge, washing it through.

Few rips, bit of blood; still, it should clean up nicely, he thought.

Suddenly the cloak was being pulled into the water, dragging Brogg along with it. Ashleg kicked him soundly on the bottom.

“Leggo, fool. They’ve got the pike out.”

Brogg had never let anything go so quickly.

Bella appeared on the opposite bank. “Stay out of our woods, cat,” she said, pointing a blunt claw at Tsarmina. “Take your vermin away from Mossflower and leave us alone, or you will be defeated someday.”

Tsarmina ran to the water’s edge, but halted at the sight of a dorsal fin patrolling the river. Her voice was a hoarse scream.

“I am the Queen of the Thousand Eyes. I rule all Mossflower. One time I might have shown you mercy, but not now. This is war to the death—your death, badger! Archers!”

Before an arrow could be strung, Bella had gone.

The Screamhole was dark and slimy. Martin, Dinny and Log-a-Log landed with a splash in muddy water. The mole slipped upon a smooth bulky object.

“Yurr, wot be that?” he wondered aloud, as he spat out fetid water.

“Don’t hang about down there, matey. Here, reach up and I’ll give you a lift.”

The voice belonged to Gonff!

Martin and his friends looked up. They could not see daylight or hear the toads. Above them was a hole in the pit wall; Gonff stood at its entrance, holding a firefly lantern in his paw. The little mousethief looked dirty and wet, but as cheerful as ever.