Gonff.

Here are your tools. Leave by the woodland side of Kotir at the first light of dawn. We will be waiting to cover for you.

Corim.

Gonff laughed quietly as he destroyed the message. “This is what we’ve been waiting for, matey. Of course they don’t know about you. The plan is only supposed to cover my escape, but don’t worry, we’ll sort it out. The council will be glad to have a real trained warrior on their side. Now, d’you see this silly old bit of wire and this little knifeblade? Well, they’re going to get us out of here, matey. These are the tools of an honorable thief.”

Martin clasped Gonff’s paw warmly. “I’m sorry, Gonff. All I did was stand here making stupid remarks. You are the expert. From now on you have an assistant who is willing to learn from your experience. In fact, you’ve got a real mate, matey.”

Gonff laughed and winced at the same time. “Righto, matey, the first lesson is not to break the expert’s paw by crushing it ’cos you don’t know your own strength. Let’s settle down now. When is the next guard patrol due?”

“In about an hour’s time, regular as clockwork since I’ve been here. After that, there’ll be nobody by until two hours after dawn when they bring the bread and water.”

“Good, that gives us time for a little rest,” Gonff said, stretching out comfortably on the straw.

Martin lay down, willing himself to relax against the floodtide of excitement building inside him. Gonff played on his flute awhile, then he began singing softly.

Pickalock pickalock, you’ll regret the day,
When you took a mousethief and locked him away.
Sillycat, look at that, it’s two for one,
The thief and the warrior
By dawn will be gone.

Martin lay with his eyes closed, listening. “Who taught you that song?”

Gonff shrugged as he packed his flute away. “Nobody. Songs just spring into my head. Silly, isn’t it. Sometimes old Goody Stickle says that it’s Mossflower singing through me. Now and then she’ll say it’s a sight of seasons the sun hasn’t yet shone upon.”

Martin savored the phrase as they lay in the straw. “A sight of seasons the sun hasn’t yet shone upon, eh. I like that, matey, your friends sound like nice creatures.”

Gonff chewed on a straw. “You’ll like Goody Stickle. If I did have a mother one time, then she couldn’t be any nicer than Goody. Wait till you taste her spring vegetable soup, or her oat and honey scones, piping hot and oozing butter, or her apple and blackberry pudding with spices and fresh cream, or just her new yellow cheese with hot oven bread and a stick of fresh celery, aye, and a bowl of milk with nutmeg grated on top of it . . .”

The straw slipped from Gonff’s lips. Martin was glad that he had dozed off. All that delicious mention of food had set his mouth watering like a stream. He was positive that he would like Goody Stickle. In fact, she would never be short of a constant admirer if her cooking was half as good as Gonff described it.