Martin leaned back against the fireplace. “Phew! That’s a right old riddle and no mistake.”

* * *

Back in Bella’s study, they sat pondering the evidence. A long time passed and still they could not even begin to unravel the complicated thread of the poem. Gonff was becoming disgruntled. He lay on the floor, drumming his paws against the armchair.

“Huh, woods and trees and bread and cheese, rainy days and castles and forts. What a load of old twaddle!”

Dinny had commandeered the armchair again. He sat back with eyes closed lightly as if taking a nap.

“Keep ’ee paws still, Gonffen, oi be a-thinken.”

Bella pursed her lips and crinkled her brow. “‘Boar is badger named after wood.’ I never knew my father was named after a wood.”

Gonff rolled over onto his back. “If he was named after the wood, he’d be called Mossboar or Boarflower or Mossboarflower . . .”

Martin silenced the mousethief with a stern look. “Please, Gonff, we’re supposed to be solving the riddle, not fooling about. The second line tells you that Boar is not named after the forest, but after the trees.”

“Oi baint never ’eard of no Boartrees, nor oi ’spect ’as moi granfer,” Dinny chuckled.

Bella agreed. “Neither have I, there’s elm and birch and sycamore and all kinds of trees, but no Boartree. I wonder if that’s an old nickname for some type of tree?”

Gonff sat up. “Say that again, Bella.”

The badger looked at him, puzzled. “What, you mean about Boar being a nickname for some kind of tree?”

“No, I think I see what Gonff means,” Martin interrupted. “You said there were all kinds of trees, like elm, birch, sycamore, and so on. Dinny, where d’you think you’re off to? I thought you were helping us to solve this riddle.”

The young mole trundled out of the study, calling over his shoulder. “Burr, that be ’zackly wot oi’m a-doen, goen t’get they owd leafs wot you’m founden afor.”

“Of course! The leaves!” Gonff leapfrogged over Dinny’s back before he was out of the door. Dashing back into the main hall, he scrabbled about collecting the leaves while Dinny followed up, berating him.

“Yurr, that be moi idea, zurr Gonffen, ’ee gurt mousebag.”

They brought the leaves back to the study between them. All four looked at the dried, withered specimens despondently.

“They’re only dead leaves, many seasons old, but what are they supposed to mean?”

Bella touched them lightly with her paw. “Well, let’s see. There’s four leaves here—an ash, an oak, a rowan, and a beech. There’s nothing written or sketched on them. What do you make of it, Martin?”

The warrior mouse inspected the leaves. He arranged them in patterns, turned them over and rearranged them, shaking his head.

“I don’t know. Ash, beech, rowan, oak; rowan, oak, beech, ash. Search me.”

Gonff smiled in a highly superior way. “Listen, matey, it’s a good job I’m a Prince of leaf-puzzle solvers. Try this: beech, oak, ash, rowan!”