Looking about, Martin could quite believe it. Gonff danced on ahead with two otters who did a hornpipe as he sang.

I’m a mouse with a very long tail,
With a heart and voice to match.
I’ve escaped from the pussycats gaol.
They’ll find me hard to catch.
So, away, through the grass, the flow’rs and leaves,
Like smoke on the breeze, the Prince of Thieves.
Let’s cheer for the day when we will see
The Mossflower country safe and free.

Martin was tapping the happy tune from paw to paw when he saw that Skipper had dropped back a few paces. The otter was standing with an air of intense concentration, swaying from side to side, sniffing the breeze. At a sign from him, Gonff stopped singing and the entire crew grew silent.

Skipper said in a gruff whisper, “Some beast’s a-comin’, mates. Not from astern, mind. Over yonder there. Birds stopped singin’ over that way first. Ha, I’ll wager it’s the cat.” Skipper pointed. They could soon make out shapes moving from tree to tree. As the intruders drew nearer, it was plain to see they were Kotir soldiers in full armor, led by Tsarmina, a barbaric figure wearing a splendid cloak and a helmet that covered her head completely except for slitted eye, ear and mouth apertures.

At Skipper’s growl of command, the otter crew spread themselves out in fighting formation, faces grim, weapons at the ready. Skipper stood fearlessly out in the open where Tsarmina could see him, paws folded across his chest, a sling hanging from the right one, loaded and ready. Tsarmina halted a short distance away. She stretched out a paw, letting a wickedly sharp claw spring dramatically forth to point at Martin and Gonff.

“The mice are mine, otter. I will take them from you.”

Skipper’s voice was hard as flint. “Back off, cat. You’re on my quarterdeck now. This is Mossflower, not Kotir.”

“All the land belongs to me.” Tsarmina said imperiously. “I am Tsarmina, Queen of Kotir and Mossflower. These mice are escaped prisoners. Give them to me now, and I will not punish you. Your creatures will be allowed to go unharmed.”

A thin smile played about Skipper’s mouth. “Go and chase your mangy tail, pussycat!”

The breath hissed from between Tsarmina’s teeth at the otter’s fearless impudence. She raised a paw to her soldiers, who began fitting arrows to bowstrings. As they did, some sixth sense tingled through the wildcat and she looked up. Lady Amber stood in a tall elm, in her paw a light javelin poised for throwing. Reacting instinctively, Tsarmina grabbed the nearest soldier to her—a ferret.

There was a swish and a thud. She felt the impact as the luckless soldier took the javelin that was intended for her.

The squirrel Queen concealed her disappointment at the lost opportunity by aiming another javelin and calling out, “Unstring those bows quick, all of you. She can’t hold him in front of her for long, and this next one will get her between the eyes if you don’t obey me right now!”