Dawn brushed pale streaks of pink and gold through the gray mist on the calm sea waters.

Rasping sounds from a file could be heard on deck from the oarbanks below. Gonff was freeing the slaves.

Martin and Dinny assisted the pathetic creatures onto the deck. Some of them had not seen daylight in seasons. They were a mixed bunch, ragged shrews and emaciated mice, together with some bedraggled hedgehogs and the odd gaunt squirrel.

How could any creature treat another in this cruel manner? Martin wondered. It made his blood boil as he tended them.

Dinny was doling out food from Bloodwake’s well-stocked pantry. “Yurr, get sum vittles down ’ee, us’ns fatten ’ee up.”

Martin was supporting a tough mouse who seemed on the verge of collapse.

“Thank you, Martin son of Luke,” he said, nodding gratefully at the young warrior.

Martin’s paws gave way. He sank to the deck of Bloodwake, taking his burden with him. They sat staring at each other. Martin could find only one word to say.

“Timballisto?”

Tears ran freely down the mouse’s whiskers. “Martin, my friend.”

A shrew who was gnawing at a ship’s biscuit came and sat by them. “Martin, the young warrior mouse, eh? Timballisto here was always talking about you.” Timballisto threw a paw about his friend’s shoulder. “How did you know I was aboard this floating rat trap?”

Martin hugged him. “I didn’t, you old wardog. I thought you’d gone to the gates of Dark Forest long ago, fighting enemies off outside our caves in the northlands.”

As they sat talking, Log-a-Log came from Ripfang’s cabin aft. He was studying some sailcloth charts. Immediately a great shout went up from the shrews who had been freed.

“Log-a-Log! Chief, it’s us, the old gang from the village!”

Preoccupied with something he had discovered among the maps, the Shrew Chief waved distractedly to them. “Ha, hello, you lot. Well, eat up and get fit again. The boss is back now. Told you I’d rescue you, didn’t I.”

Gonff heaved himself up from the galleybanks below. “Whew, matey! It could do with a good scrub down there. Hey, Log-a-Log, found some booty?”

The shrew spread charts upon the deck. “Look, it’s all here—the way home.”

Martin could make little of the charts. “Show me.”

“Righto. It’s simple really. See here, that’s Salamandastron,” Log-a-Log explained. “Keep the setting sun to your left and follow the coastline until we sight a river flowing into the sea from the right. It’s the River Moss, see, flowing from east to west.”

Dinny’s digging paw tapped the canvas. “Hurr, well oi never did, stan’ on moi tunnel! It be our river as flows thru Mossfl’er. Lookit, thurr be ’ee woodlands marked up over yon. Burr, ’ee ratbag knowed it all.”

Log-a-Log pinned the canvas down against a breeze that was springing up.

“I’ll say he did. That’s how he came to capture my tribe. There’s our village marked up on the northeast fringes of Mossflower. Banksnout, shin up the mast and keep your eyes busy for the river flowing in from landward. Gonff, take the tiller and hold it seaward a point to bring us closer into shore. Shrews, break out all sail so we catch this good breeze.”