Standing in the kitchen was the very table Bella had told them about. Gonff climbed on top of it and stood looking upward.

“Doesn’t make sense, matey. All I can see is the ceiling. The riddle says: ‘Look up and find the secret is yours.’”

Bella sat in the chair, spreading her paws across the table. “This is it. The answer is in this table somewhere. Look, my grandfather made it from beech, oak, ash and trimmed it with rowan wood. Do you know, I can picture my father sitting at this table just as his father did before him, eating bread and cheese and drinking October ale.”

Martin had not spoken. He was staring at Bella as she sat at the table. It came to him like a flash.

“While you played underneath it. It probably had a table cloth on it then.”

Bella smiled at fond memories. “Yes, a big white one. I would pretend it was my tent.”

The warrior mouse scrambled underneath the table.

“Not Boar the Fighter, though. He’d probably pretend it was a fort or a castle. Ha, here’s an odd thing. Underneath here is covered with a few pieces of chestnut bark. Pass me your knife, Gonff.”

Martin worked away underneath the table, cutting the chestnut bark and tossing it out. The other three inspected each piece of bark for clues without success. Dinny sniffed it and raked it with his claws.

“O foozlum! Thurr baint nuthen yurr.”

“There’s something here though. It’s the map!” Martin’s voice could not conceal his delight. He came tumbling out with a pale bark scroll in his paws. “It was laid between the bark and the table. Look, it’s covered with strange writing.”

Bella took the scroll. “Haha, this is ancient badger script. Right, back to my study. I’ll have to translate it. Thank you, my friends. This is the route to Salamandastron. Once we’ve solved it, you are on your way!”

Gingivere hacked away at the cell wall. As soon as the guards had gone, he set about trying to communicate with the prisoners on either side of him. From the damp mortar between the stones of his cell he had prised loose a spike that had a ring attached to it for securing unruly prisoners. Armed with the spike, the wildcat selected a damp patch on one adjoining cell wall, and worked furiously at the mortar around a stone which was not quite so big as the others forming the barrier. Soon he had it loose. Digging and jiggling, he pulled and pushed alternately until the rock slid out, aided by a shove from the prisoner on the other side. A small wet snout poked through.

“Hello, Coggs. It’s me, Ferdy.”

Gingivere smiled, glad to hear the sound of a friendly voice. He patted the snout encouragingly.

“Sorry, old fellow, it’s not Coggs. I’m Gingivere—a friend. Coggs is in the cell on the other side of me. You stay quiet and I’ll see if I can get through to him.”