TRAPPED

Suddenly, a voice nearby whispered urgently, “Missie, don’t turn round, stay has you are. You an’ Pikkle ’ave got ter get away from ’ere sharpish. It’s a trap!”

Startled, Mara opened her eyes and leaned around the rock. “Sergeant Sapwood, what are you doing here?”

Goffa sprang up. He came dashing over, spear at the ready. “Wot’s goin’ on ’ere? Who are you talk—”

Sapwood leaped out in front of him, poised for action. With a yell the ferret thrust the spear forward. Sapwood neatly sidestepped, kicking the spear adrift with his long hind legs. Goffa tried to make a grab for it but he was confronted by the champion boxing hare of Salamandastron. In swift succession two neat left pawhooks thudded to the side of his head, followed by a powerful straight right paw, smack dab on the chin. Goffa crumpled to the ground, senseless.

Pikkle came dashing over, puzzlement and concern on his face. “I say, steady on, Sappers ol’ boy . . .”

Sergeant Sapwood seized him by the ear. “Liddle block’eads, there’s a whole harmy of vermin jus’ over you ’ill. Yore in a trap. Run for yore lives!”

THE REDWALL BOOKS

Redwall

Mossflower

Mattimeo

Mariel of Redwall

Salamandastron

Martin the Warrior

The Bellmaker

Outcast of Redwall

The Pearls of Lutra

The Long Patrol

Marlfox

The Legend of Luke

Lord Brocktree

Taggerung

Triss

Loamhedge

Rakkety Tam

High Rhulain

Eulalia!

Doomwyte

The Sable Quean

The Great Redwall Feast (picture book)

A Redwall Winter’s Tale (picture book)

OTHER BOOKS

Seven Strange and Ghostly Tales

Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

The Angel’s Command

The Tale of Urso Brunov (picture book)

The Ribbajack and Other Curious Yarns

Voyage of Slaves

Urso Brunov and the White Emperor (picture book)

Title Page

Map

The dormouse was a jolly plump old fellow, clad in a rust-colored jerkin, his white beard curled and trimmed neatly. An infant mole, who could not sleep because of the onset of spring, sat beside him on a mossy beechlog in the orchard. Together they shared an early breakfast of oatcakes, hot from the kitchens, and two of last autumn’s russet apples. Dawn was touching the earth with its rosy paws, promising sunny spring days as a compensation for the long winter Redwall Abbey had endured. Soft white clouds with golden underbellies hung on the still air, dewdrops glistened on new green grass, budding narcissus and snowdrop awaited the coming of the sun-warmed day.

The dormouse nodded sagely. “Soon be pickin’ a Nameday for this good season, aye, soon.”

The small mole chewed slowly at his oatcake, wrinkling a black button snout as he gazed up at the elder.

“You’m said you’m tell oi a story, zurr.”

The dormouse polished an apple on his jerkin. “D’you like my stories, Burrem?”

The little fellow smiled. “Burr aye, oi serpintly do, zurr!”

His friend settled down comfortably on the grass, propping his back against the log.