Martin heard Gingivere’s voice trying to say something, but it was immediately drowned out by Ashleg and Fortunata starting a chant that the soldiers took up at full pitch. “Long live Queen Tsarmina. Long live Queen Tsarmina!”

As the mob passed by Martin’s cell again, he drew back. Above the roars he heard Tsarmina, close by the door, speaking to Ashleg. “Bring October ale and elderberry wine from the storerooms. See that there is plenty for everyone.”

Shutting his ears against the sounds of the revelers, Martin lay upon the straw with the sword handle pressing against his chest. Now that his last hopes were gone, it looked like being a long hard winter.

Across the lea, beneath the leaves,
When countrylands wake up to spring,
Hurrah here comes the Prince of Thieves,
Hear every small bird sing.
So daring and so handsome too,
He makes a wondrous sight,
But if he comes to visit you,
Lock up your treasures tight.

Sunlight sparkled on the chuckling stream that had lain iced over and silent all winter. Snowdrops nodded agreeably to crocus on the warm southerly breeze. Spring was everywhere. Golden daffodils and their paler narcissus relatives stood guard between the budding trees of Mossflower Woods; evergreens that had endured the dark winter took on a new fresh life.

Gonff was returning from another successful visit to Kotir. The wine flasks bumped and banged against his broad belt as he skipped nimbly through the flowering woodlands, singing aloud with the heady intoxication of springtime.

Cuckoo, cuckoo, good day, my friend, to you.
O sly one you know best.
To lay in others’ nest,
Is a trick you often do.
But I am smarter, sir, than you,
Cuckoo, my friend cuckoo.

The blood coursed madly through Gonff’s young veins like the waters of a brook, gurgling happily and generally making him so light-headed that he turned somersaults. Every so often he would pull a reed flute from his tunic and twiddle away with the sheer joy of being alive on such a morning as this. With a great whoop Gonff threw himself into a thick tussock of grass and lay with the perspiration rising from him in a small column of steam. Overhead the sky was a delicate blue with small white clouds scudding on the breeze. Gonff imagined what it would be like to lie upon a small fluffy white cloud and allow himself to be buffeted about in the sunny sky.

“Whooooaaa, look out, zoom, bump, whoof! Out of the way you big clouds.” The little mousethief held tight to the grass, swaying from side to side as he played out his game of makebelieve.

He did not notice the two weasels dressed in Kotir armor until too late. They stood over him looking grim and officious.

Gonff smiled impudently, aware of his clunking wine flasks. “Er, aha ha. Hello, mateys, I was flying my cloud, you see . . .”