“We can’t stay here long!” Martin panted as he felt about in the darkness and found Gonff’s paw.

“Don’t worry, matey. Get ready to make a bolt when I shout.”

There was no further opportunity for conversation, as the door banged open. Tsarmina pushed her creatures before her and closed the door. She was licking her wounded paw. Fortunata, who had suffered a loss of dignity, tried not to rub at her wounded rump. Ashleg stumped about, trying to sound helpful.

“At least we know we’ve got them cornered in here somewhere.”

“Somewhere,” echoed Fortunata. “But where?”

Tsarmina lowered her voice as she called the other two close. “We don’t know how much those mice overheard. They must not leave this room alive. Let us search every corner thoroughly.”

Stretched out flat beneath the bed, Martin could see the paws of their pursuers. He watched as they dispersed in separate directions, then turned toward Gonff.

In the name of mice! That little thief was the absolute limit. Gonff had actually closed his eyes and appeared to be napping. Martin prodded him urgently. The three hunters were getting closer to the bed as other hiding places were discounted.

“Ashleg, have you checked those wall hangings properly?”

“Yes, Milady. Maybe they’re up on top of the bed canopy.”

The pine marten was actually leaning against the side of the bed now. Gonff patted Martin reassuringly as he wriggled silently past him. The warrior mouse could only watch in dumb suspense as his daring little friend went to work.

Gonff carefully pulled the end of Ashleg’s long cloak beneath the bed, slitted it expertly with his blade and crawled a short way toward the bedhead, where a tall, heavy folding screen stood to one side. Working quickly, he tied the slit ends of the unsuspecting marten’s cloak around one leg of the screen.

Gonff did three things almost in one movement. He pricked Ashleg’s good paw viciously with his blade, grabbed Martin and shot from beneath the bed, roaring as they went.

“There they go! Stop ’em!”

Pandemonium ensued. Ashleg screamed and lurched forward. The heavy screen went with him; it tottered and fell. Tsarmina managed to leap out of the way, but the vixen was not so lucky, she was struck by the screen. Half-stunned, she pushed it away. The cumbersome screen toppled sideways into the fireplace, falling directly into the grate, which held the embers of a previous night’s fire. In a trice the room was a thick choking mess of ashes, cinders, dust and smoldering embers.

Martin and Gonff pushed the door open. Two weasel guards who had heard the noise in passing came thundering into the room as Martin and Gonff hurried past them out into the hall. Behind them the shouts reached a crescendo as unprotected paws came in contact with a floor strewn with red-hot embers.

This time Martin took the lead as they went straight down the hall and through the door at the opposite end.