As Wuddshipp berthed alongside the bank, Timballisto held up his paws laughing heartily. “Hold steady, otter. You must be Skipper. I’m Martin’s pal Timballisto. We’ll answer all your questions soon enough.”

Bella and Lady Amber came aboard, gazing about in awe as they hugged Martin, Gonff and Dinny.

Bella smiled fondly at the warrior mouse as she patted his back. “Martin, you’ve grown. You really look like a full-blooded warrior now. What a beautiful sword that is! Is my father here? Where’s old Boar the Fighter?”

A silence fell over the ship’s crew. Martin gently took Bella’s paw.

“Come into the cabin with me, old friend. I have a long story to tell you.”

* * *

There were many stories told that summer afternoon while Martin and Bella remained in the cabin. Ferdy and Coggs, Spike and Posy sat among a group of woodlanders on the deck. The little hedgehogs wore brass sea rat earrings and carried a round shield each. Their eyes were wide and mouths agape as Gonff related the events which had befallen the travelers since they left Mossflower to go questing for Salamandastron. Ben Stickle, Goody and the Abbess were equally impressed, smiling broadly when Gonff could not get his paw loose to illustrate a point because Columbine was clasping it tight.

“Toads, mateys. You’ve never seen toads as wicked as this lot. But when that eel came slithering out of the Screamhole . . .”

“Was the eel as big as a tree, Mr. Gonff?”

“Twice as big, Spike. He’d have eaten you without even opening his mouth.”

Lady Amber chuckled drily. “Are you sure you saw mice with wings, Gonff?”

“Oh, I never saw them. But Martin and Dinny did. Isn’t that right, Din.”

“Burr aye. Gurt leathery burdmouses, a-flyen about inside ’ee mounten.”

“Was that Salamandastron mountain, Mr. Dinny?”

“Indeed it was not. Batchaps inside our mountain? Never!”

“Fat chance, young feller me hog, what!”

“Only fire, hares and badgers inside our mountain, old lad.”

Gonff looked severely at Trubbs and Company. “Who’s telling this story, me or you?”

“Yes, please be quiet and let Mr. Gonff tell the story, Trubbs.”

“Rather, he’s a much better storyteller than you.”

“Indeed, and isn’t little Columbine pretty.

“Then there was this beach,” Gonff continued enthusiastically. “Huge, big as Mossflower, nothing but sand as far as you could see, besides the water and the crabs.”

“Ooh, what’s a crab, Mr. Gonff?”

“Well, it’s like a spider, only a hundred times bigger, with great nipping claws and lots of hard armor.”

“Did you and Martin slay the big crab, Mr. Gonff?”

“Er, well, no, Ferdy. Actually I ended up dancing with it.”

“Hahahahahaha!”

“Was it a pretty lady crab, Gonff?”

“No, I think it was a jolly sort of male crab, Columbine.”

“Oh, then that’s all right.”

“Here, I nearly forgot, this is a necklace of shells I made for you. Put it on.”

“Oh, thank you, Gonff, it’s beautiful. Are they crab shells?”

“No, missie, them’s shell shells, c’llected ’em moiself, oi did.”