“We were about to send search parties out looking for you. Mara, you are untidy. Where in the name of seashells have you been?”

Pikkle waved a paw airily. “Oh, here an’ there, y’know. Thither an’ yon, as they say . . .”

Windpaw silenced him with a frosty glare. “You can tell that to Lord Urthstripe, young Ffolger. First you’d both better come with me. Have you eaten today?”

Mara indicated the ferret and the weasel. “Meet our friends Klitch and Goffa. They’ll need food too.”

Windpaw shook her head doubtfully at the thought of a ferret and a weasel entering the fortress. She looked them up and down, then snorted. “Hmm, they look young and hungry enough, I suppose. Follow me.”

Klitch bowed gracefully, putting on a smile that would have charmed a bird from its nest. “Thank you kindly, beautiful lady.”

Windpaw sniffed. She led them through a concealed entrance. “The dining room is down that passage. There’s a bowl of water and towel as you go in. Make sure you wash your paws before sitting down to eat.”

Klitch winked at his companion. “We wouldn’t dream of eating with dirty paws, would we, friend Goffa?”

The ferret winced as Klitch kicked his paw. “Ouch! What, er, oh no, of course not!”

*   *   *

There was good hot mushroom soup, vegetable pasties, a flagon of mountain pear cordial, salad, and a beechnut cake preserved in honey. They ate with full and hearty appetite, Pikkle Ffolger putting away twice as much as the others.

Lord Urthstripe and Sergeant Sapwood entered the dining room just as the meal finished. The badger’s jaw tightened at the sight of his two visitors. Sapwood crossed his paws behind him and held his breath. Both Pikkle and Mara fiddled about needlessly with their empty bowls, keeping their eyes fixed firmly on the tabletop to avoid the badger Lord’s fearsome gaze.

Showing flawless good manners, Klitch rose, nudging Goffa to do likewise. The weasel’s blue eyes shone with sincerity as he spoke.

“Lord Urthstripe, I believe. I hope I find you well, sir. I am Klitch and this is my friend Goffa, and we both wish to thank you for your good food and kind hospitality.”

For a long time there was silence. Urthstripe was staring at the weasel strangely, as if trying to remember something. Pikkle dropped his spoon, and the clatter of wood on stone seemed to restore the badger Lord to the present. He bowed his head in curt acknowledgment of the weasel’s compliment, though the distaste in his voice was plain.

“This is my mountain, Master Klitch. While you are here I must treat you both as guests. If you have finished eating, my Sergeant will show you to a room where you will spend the night. After breakfast tomorrow you must both leave Salamandastron. You will be given food for your travels. Now I bid you both a good night. Sergeant!”