Brogg saw the terror on his Queen’s face and fled the room.

The whole of the garrison searched high and low. But not too low; nobody, including Brogg, was overkeen to venture beneath the cells. Down there it was dark and cold; down there was the lake where Gloomer used to be kept.

And goodness knows what else!

* * *

That night, as Tsarmina sat huddled in her chamber, dripping water echoed in her imagination, never letting up. When the fear of water was upon her, the daughter of Verdauga was no longer Queen of Mossflower, Lady of the Thousand Eyes or Ruler of Kotir.

She was reduced to a crazed, terrified kitten, trembling at the sound of dripping water in the darkness, longing for morning light to come stealing over the horizon.

* * *

Something had gone radically wrong with the flooding.

Bella slumped in the grass by the river with Skipper.

“No joy, marm?” he asked solicitously.

“I’m afraid not, Skipper. There seems to be only a trickle going down the tunnels.”

Lady Amber joined the pair. “Aye, it seemed to be going so well at first. D’you think it’s because it’s summer and we haven’t had much rain?” she suggested.

Skipper chewed a blade of grass. “Maybe so. There’s not a lot we can do about it, anyway.”

“Maybe we could dam the river?” Bella offered tentatively.

“Impossible, marm,” the Skipper of otters snorted. “Dam the River Moss? Stow me barnacles, you couldn’t hope to stop a river that size from flowin’ to the sea.”

Columbine stopped by to join the discussion.

“Perhaps it will fill gradually.”

“Aye, missie,” Skipper chuckled drily. “We could all sit here growing old and watch it doin’ just that. No, we’ll give it a bit more time, then if things are still the same we’ll have to think of another scheme.”

Lady Amber whacked her tail down irritably.

“After all that underwater digging and tunneling, then there’s the lives that were lost, too. Huh, it makes me mad!”

The river carried on flowing its normal course, only a thin trickle diverting down the flood tunnels.

* * *

It was the evening of the following day. Abbess Germaine and Columbine were helping Ben Stickle to take the little ones out for an evening stroll along the river bank. Ferdy and Coggs played with Spike and Posy, together with some young mice. They were sailing miniature boats that Ben had made for them.

Germaine watched fondly as the young ones dashed boisterously up and down the bank, bursting with energy after being confined to Brockhall the past few days.

“Be careful, Spike. Watch you don’t fall in,” she called.

“See my boat, Abbess. It’s faster than Coggs’s.”

“Ooh look, Ferdy is cheating. He’s pushing his boat with a stick.”

“No, I’m not. It’s the wind. Mine has a bigger sail.”

“Columbine, mine has gone down the hole. Can you get it back for me, please?”

“Sorry, Spike. It’s gone for good now. Never mind, I’m sure Ben will make you another.”