Ben Stickle crouched to look down the hole where the boat had vanished. He stood up, wiping his paws and shaking his head.

“Flood tunnels, they’re about as much use as an otter in a bird’s nest. How far d’you suppose they’ll have filled up the lake under Kotir? A paw’s height? A whisker’s level?”

The Abbess watched the rays of the setting sun through the trees. “Who knows, Ben. One thing is certain, though: Kotir still stands, dark and evil as ever it was. What a shame that Foremole and Old Dinny’s plan never worked.”

They turned back to Brockhall.

“Bella says there’s no likelihood of rain; the weather is staying fine,” Ben added.

Ferdy tucked the boat under his small spines.

“Maybe they should have done it in the winter, Ben,” the Abbess observed unhelpfully.

Ben ruffled Ferdy’s head. “Maybe frogs should have had feathers. Come on, young ’uns. Get your boats. Back to Brockhall and wash up for supper.”

* * *

It was a warm night. As the Corim sat about in the main room, an air of defeat hung over the company.

Bella yawned, stretching in her deep armchair.

“Well, any more suggestions?”

There were none. The badger searched one face then another. “Then we must explore the possibilities open to us. But let me say this, I do not want to hear any more plans of mass attack or open war.”

Skipper and Lady Amber shifted uncomfortably.

“Foremole and Old Dinny still think that the flooding will work, if they can figure out certain alterations to the original plan,” Bella continued. “I know a lot of us do not agree with this, but personally I think that the flooding is our only hope. With this in mind, I propose we visit the site tomorrow morning. Maybe with all the Corim there we might come up with a good idea. If not, then there is only one other sensible thing to do.”

Goody Stickle wiped her paws on her flowery apron. “What might that be, Miz Bella?”

“To move all the woodlanders and everything we can carry away from here. We would travel east to Gingivere’s new home. I have told you that he and Sandingomm will accommodate us. We would find a welcome there, far away from Kotir.”

Skipper jumped up, unhappiness written on his tough features. “But that’d mean the cat has won.”

Cries of support rang out for the otter leader.

“Yes, why should we be driven out?”

“We already left our homes to come to Brockhall.”

“It wouldn’t be the same in a strange place.”

“I was born around here. I’m not moving!”

Abbess Germaine banged a wooden bowl upon the table to restore order, but it broke in two.

“Silence, friends, please. Let Bella speak,” she shouted above the din.

Bella picked up the two halves of the bowl, and smiled ruefully at Germaine.

“Thank you, Abbess. Friends, there is more to my plan than first meets the eye. If we were to make this move I am speaking of, then think of its effect upon Kotir. Tsarmina would not have won; she would not have chased us through the woods—we would have left of our own free will. Now, what would it accomplish? Imagine for a moment if we stayed in the east until next summer, or even spring. All the time we were gone the water would continue to run down the flood tunnels. In autumn there is more rain and the wind drives the river faster. Winter would see the current run under the ice, and on warm days the snow would feed the river and swell it. Finally when the thaw arrived in spring, the river waters would flood, mighty and unchecked, then we would truly see the lake rise beneath Kotir. One other thing. Between now and next spring my father, Boar the Fighter, may arrive. He alone can face Tsarmina and defeat her. That is all; I have spoken my piece.”