“Here, matey, how’s that for October ale? Columbine, try some of this hot root punch. How d’you like seedcake? Try some of this, both of you. Come on, have a wedge.

“Hey, Martin, d’you reckon you’d get the better of one of these toffee pears? Come on, get stuck in, stuck in, hahaha.

“Put that hot root punch down, Columbine. You look as if your face is on fire. Try some of the maple tree cordial.”

Ferdy and Coggs sat nearby, hero-worshipping Martin and Gonff.

“Tell you what, Coggs. If ever I come across a broken sword I’m going to hang it round my neck, just like Martin the Warrior.”

“Huh, fancy trying to keep old Gonff locked up in Kotir! I’ll bet he could come and go with both paws tied. You know, I think I look a bit like Gonff.”

“Of course you do. I look like Martin—pretty quiet and very brave—or I will be when I’m older. Just wait and see.”

“Come on, matey. We’ve eaten enough. Let’s go off together and invade Kotir before we get sent to bed. We can slip away quietlike.”

In the hubbub and confusion of the feast, nobody noticed the two baby hedgehogs take their leave.

A crescent moon hung over the warm spring night, casting its cloak over the light early foliage of Mossflower Woods. Indifferent to the woodland floor carpeted with dark green grass, dotted with bluebell and narcissus, Fortunata stopped in her tracks and held up a paw for silence. Immediately she was bumped by Brogg and Scratt, two weasels who did not stop fast enough. Ferrets and weasels in their turn blundered sleepily into each other.

Fortunata bared her teeth impatiently. “Stand still, can’t you. I think I hear something.”

The patrol held its collective breath and listened intently. Scratt dropped his shield with a clang. They all jumped with fright. Fortunata cursed at the hapless weasel, but he was tired and weary of listening to pointless orders.

“Ahh, what’s the difference, fox? We’re on a right fool’s errand in this jungle, I can tell you. Huh, tramping about all day in full kit and armor, without anything to eat, and not a sight or sound of a living thing, except the sign of our own pawtracks that we keep coming across. What are we supposed to be doing out here, anyhow? That’s what I’d like to know.”

There were murmurs of agreement. Fortunata cut in quickly to stem any ideas of mutiny. “All of you, get the soil out of your ears and listen to me. Can you imagine what will happen if we march back to Kotir empty-pawed? Well, can you? By the claw, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Imagine the Queen—d’you think she’ll say: ‘Oh, you poor creatures. Didn’t you find any of those naughty woodlanders? Well, never mind, come in and take off your armor, sit by the fire and have a bite to eat.’”