Martin chuckled as he watched Columbine from the corner of his eye. The pretty young fieldmouse was laughing merrily, obviously taken by Gonff’s roguish charm. Martin encouraged her by putting in the odd word or two on his friend’s behalf.

“Be careful of that fellow, Columbine. He’s not one of your Loamhedge order. If you don’t watch Gonff, he’ll steal the whiskers from under your nose.”

Columbine’s eyes went wide with amazement. “Would he really?”

Gonff winked at Martin. Cartwheeling suddenly, he shot across Columbine’s path so close that he brushed by her face. With a squeak of shock she put up her paws. Martin shook his head seriously.

“You see, they don’t call Gonff the Prince of Mousethieves for nothing. Have you counted your whiskers?”

Columbine put her paws up then dropped them smiling. “Oh really, you two!”

Gonff bowed and produced two thin strands. “What do you think these are, O wise beauty?”

Columbine’s mouth fell open. “But, I didn’t feel a thing.”

Billum had caught up. He chuckled and scratched his snout. “Nor oi wagers you didden, missie. They whiskers is offen Gonff. Tha’s ’ow you’m never feeled owt.”

Lady Amber pointed at a long-dead elm covered in ivy. She held up her paw for silence. “Hush now. This is Chibb’s home. We don’t want to frighten him off. Gonff, you do the talking.”

Gonff rapped upon the trunk of the elm and shouted up toward a hole left by a broken branch, “Hey, Chibb! Come out, you old redbreast. It’s me, Gonff.”

There was no response, Gonff tried again. “Come on, matey. We know you’re in there. What’s up? Don’t you want to earn some candied chestnuts?”

Billum opened one of the bags and selected a large nut. “Harr, may’aps you’m roight, Gonffen. Us’ns could ate chesknutters an’ do ’ee job ourselfs.”

The mole popped the dark sugar-glazed nut into his mouth, licked the sweetness from his digging claws and chomped away with an expression of rapture on his homely face. “Umff, gurr, oo arr, mmmmm!”

Much to Columbine’s amusement, Gonff did likewise, imitating perfectly the mole speech and gesture.

“Hurr, oo arr, Billum, these yurr be furst-clarss chesknutters. Hoo arr, that they be.”

They had eaten a nut apiece when a bout of nervous coughing erupted from the branches of a nearby rowan. “Err, harrumph, ahem hem!”

Chibb puffed out his chest importantly, ruffling his feathers to increase his stature. He paced a branch with wings folded behind him in a businesslike attitude. Politely he cleared his throat once more before speaking.

“Harrumph, ahem, ’scuse me. Let me warn you before we proceed any further, if anyone eats another nut I will judge it an insult, then of course you will have to take your business elsewhere, ahem.”

“Please consider what I say before answering.” Martin responded in an equally formal tone. “I have been authorized to make you an offer. Here are our terms: you, Chibb, will spy on Kotir and find out what plans are being made by Tsarmina against the woodlanders of Mossflower. The Corim wish to know all details of any reprisals or attacks directed at our creatures. For this you will be paid two bags of candied chestnuts now and a further two bags upon bringing back your information. Is that agreed?”