* * *

Skipper patted the rough timber frame. “What do you call this thing again, mate?”

Timballisto was helping squirrels and otters to lay the next boulder in the cradle.

“A ballista, Skip. I built them in the wars up north many a time when I was young. Great idea, isn’t it?”

Skipper shook his head admiringly as the system of pulleys and counterweights creaked under the winding handles, a long throwing arm fashioned from three silver birches strained and bent against the brake lever.

“You’re a cunning old wardog, Timballisto. Ha, a baby hedgehog could operate this big catapult.”

Young Dinny jumped up and down, clapping his paws. “Let oi do et. Oh, please give thiz young mole a shot, zurr.”

Timballisto shut one eye, sighting along the line the rock would take when it was fired.

“Aye, why not? Be my guest, Young Din,” he agreed.

The mole could hardly release the lever pin for chuckling. He threw himself face down in the grass as the lever snapped back, the long arm pitched forward as the rock shot away overhead.

“O joy, O arpiness! Whurr’d et go? Wot’d oi ’it?”

The watchers on the shore saw the tower shudder. A hole appeared as the rock hit Kotir with tremendous force. Rubble and masonry showered into the water as another gap was made.

A loud cheer went up from the woodlanders.

Tsarmina turned from the battlements to give an order to her soldiers, but they were gone. The roof was deserted.

Below in the water were foxes and weasels, ferrets, stoats and rats. Some were swimming, others were hanging onto doors they had hacked off with their weapons. Wooden window shutters, tables, benches, anything that could float was being utilized by the fleeing army.

The rooftop shook from yet another assault by the siege catapult.

Brogg stood faithfully at the head of the stairs.

“You had better come down, Milady. The whole building is starting to crumble inside. Hurry, before the stairways collapse,” he advised.

Tsarmina turned left then right. She ran to the battlements, looked over and ran back in agitation.

“You’ll see, we’ll win yet. It’s that traitor brother of mine, Gingivere. He must still be alive. A single mouse couldn’t have thought all this up. I should have killed them both and made sure they were dead when I had the chance,” she ranted.

Leaping the spaces where the stairs had been demolished, the Queen and her Captain made their way to the high chamber. It was still intact. Beneath their paws, Kotir rumbled and crumbled in its death throes. The whole place was beginning to disintegrate into the massive, rapidly rising lake which surrounded it.

Brogg lifted a table and slid it out of the window. It did not have far to go before it splashed into the water.

“Hurry, Milady. We can both make it out of here on the table!”

Helped by Brogg, Tsarmina made an undignified scramble over the window ledge. She lowered herself onto the upturned table. It rocked crazily in the water, but stayed floating.