At first Brogg enjoyed his position of power. But of late he was sorry he had ever donned the cloak of Captaincy, particularly when he was called up to be interviewed by the Queen in her chambers.

“Brogg, I made you Captain. You must find Gingivere. He has kidnapped Ashleg.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Find yourself another Captain. That stoat, Ratflank—he’ll do,” she suggested. “I want you to go through the entire army one by one.”

“Go through the army, Milady?” he asked, puzzled.

“Yes, jellybrains. You and Ratflank take them one by one to the cells.”

“Yes, Milady.”

“Will you stop interrupting me and listen! All anyone ever says around here is ‘yes, Milady’ or ‘no, Milady’.”

“Yes, Milady.”

“Shut up!” Tsarmina shouted irritably. “Get them one by one in a cell, pull their whiskers, then check their fur. Is their tail their own tail?”

“Er, is it, Milady?”

“That’s what I want you to find out, nitwit.”

“Oh yes. But why, Milady?”

Tsarmina paced the room, her voice rising to a cracked crescendo. “Because one of them is Gingivere in disguise, you clod. He’s here, in my fortress, plotting against me. Get out and find him!”

* * *

Later Brogg sat at a barrack room table, joined by Ratflank and several other cronies. They were reduced to eating hard bread and woodland plants. Brogg sipped from a flagon.

“Huh, at least there’s still a drop of cider left. I tell you, mates, the Queen has definitely taken a funny turn.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ratflank smirked. “She’s still got the sense to recognize a good stoat when she sees one. Look at me, I’m a Captain now.”

One of the ferrets spat out a moldy crust.

“Is that some kind of ceremony you carried out, Brogg?” he asked.

“What ceremony, what are you talking about, Dogfur?”

“Well, the way you took Ratflank down to the cells and twitched his whiskers, then you pinched his fur and twitched his tail before you gave him the Captain’s cloak.”

“Oh no. Matter of fact, you’ve all got to have it done.”

“What, you mean we’re all going to be made Captains?”

“Caw, I wish old Lord Greeneyes was here now, mates,” Brogg sighed gloomily as he cupped his head in his paws. “Or even the other one, Gingivere.”

* * *

Warm sunrays cascading through the leaves mingled in harmony with the peace of Mossflower Woods. Somewhere a cuckoo was calling, and young ferns curled their tendril tops toward blossom on the bramble.

Gingivere had traveled east since early morning, never once turning his head to look back toward Brockhall. He sat with his back to a sycamore and opened the satchel of food given him by the woodlanders. The very sight of a homely oatcake brought a lump to his throat at the thought of the good friends he had left behind, especially of little Ferdy and Coggs.

With unshed tears bright in his eyes, Gingivere wrapped the food up. He continued walking east through the peaceful flowering forest.