Chibb noted that he was near something which looked like a drain outlet, a hole cut into the wall at floor level. He hopped inside, peering about curiously. It went slanting downward as far as he could see. Nibbling the nut daintily, the fat robin explored the tunnel. It was quite dry underclaw.

Chibb cocked his head to one side, listening to the sounds of ragged breathing from further down the tunnel. “Ahem, hem, must be somebody still asleep.”

Working his way further down, he found his progress arrested by three vertical iron bars set into the tunnel. This was no drain; it was the upper window of a cell. Chibb edged up to the bars and peeped down. He was looking into the burning eyes of an emaciated wildcat seated below upon the damp stones.

“Humph, harrumph, hem, ’scuse me.”

Gingivere shaded his eyes, staring upward at his strange visitor. “Please don’t fly away. I won’t harm you. My name is Gingivere.”

The robin cocked his head airily on one side. “Ahem, humph. You’ll excuse my saying so, but you don’t appear to be in any position to harm me. Er, ahem, must go now. I’ll drop by and see you another time.”

Chibb beat a hasty retreat back up the tunnel. The wildcat with the staring eyes had quite unsettled him. At the edge of the tunnel the robin ate the last of his nut, then flew off back to Brockhall to report his findings.

The day promised to be fine and sunny. Chibb flew high, knowing that the sun in the east would shine in the eyes of predators looking west. He took not the slightest interest in the woodland floor far below. Had he flown lower, he would have noticed Ferdy and Coggs lying in a patch of open sward, fast asleep, their paws about each other, blissfully unaware that a short distance away Cludd was making an early start at the head of his patrol.

* * *

Bella was up and about early that morning, being a light sleeper. She received Chibb’s information about Gingivere being imprisoned. This was already known to the Corim through Martin and Gonff, yet it gave Bella pause for thought; Kotir was now definitely ruled totally by the cruel Tsarmina.

Martin joined her for an early morning stroll in the woodland before breakfast. The badger had matters to discuss with the warrior mouse.

“War is coming to Mossflower, Martin. I can feel it. Now that we are all at Brockhall, the defenceless ones are safer, but I listen to the voices at Corim meetings. The squirrels and otters are not satisfied with merely resisting Kotir’s rule—they want to challenge it.”

Martin felt the broken sword hanging about his neck. “Maybe that is no bad thing, Bella. Mossflower rightfully belongs to the woodlanders. I will do all I can to help my friends live without fear.”

“I know you will, little warrior, but we are not strong enough. We have few who are trained in the art of war. If Boar the Fighter, my father, were still ruling here, there would be no question he would fight and lead us to certain victory.”