Vale threw her paws up to her ears. “Honestly, if I hear that name once more I’ll tan the little villain’s tail!”

The little villain in question was hatching a conspiracy, together with Thrugg, MacPhearsome, Friar Bellows and several others. It had been brewing for three days. Secret meetings in the cellars with Foremole and Tudd Spinney standing guard, clandestine gatherings in the dormitory with Brother Hollyberry watching the door, and whispered conferences in the orchard were becoming the order of the day at Redwall. Dumble made the participants swear deathly oaths that Abbess Vale and Mrs. Faith Spinney should not know a thing until the time was ripe.

The kitchen fires burned late, heating the ovens as extra cakes, pies, flans and pasties were baked to a golden turn. Bands of moles plundered the orchard regularly, and young ones were seen coming and going, muttering furtively to each other as they covered for others who wheeled great cheeses from the storerooms, lugged forward big barrels of October ale and strawberry cordial from the cellars and grunted beneath mysterious bulky sacks as they strove to move them in secret.

*   *   *

Around lunchtime the wind dropped, and so did Abbess Vale’s head. She fell asleep in the armchair by the fire. Faith Spinney covered her with the quilt they had been working on and stole quietly out of the gatehouse.

The sun was breaking through scudding cloud masses as the Wild King MacPhearsome flapped his wings and did a short run. The golden eagle nearly collided with Faith as she came out of the gatehouse. He pulled up short and stalked off huffily to the start of his intended launch. Faith followed him.

“Sorry, Your Majesty. Did I disturb your exercises?”

MacPhearsome sniffed the air, hopping from one foot to the other. “Och no, wee lady, Ah’m just off for a stretch o’ the wings, ye ken. Mah fithers need a guid wind rufflin’ ’em.”

Swaying from side to side, he dashed forward and launched himself into the air. Faith shook her head in bewilderment as she watched the huge bird soar gracefully.

“Whatever you say, I’m sure! Dearie me, I wish I could understand one single word from that bird’s beak.”

*   *   *

Hollyberry watched from the sickbay window, explaining the scene to Foremole, who was sitting on a bed tucking into a huge wedge of yellow celery-studded cheese.

“He’s about to start his second run now—hold on, he’s talking to Faith Spinney. I can’t hear what he’s saying. There he goes, up into the air! Faith’s looking up and saying something. Let’s hope MacPhearsome hasn’t given the game away to her.”

Foremole wrinkled his nose. “Missus Spinney doant unnerstand heagly burds. They’m can’t talken propply. Doant ’ee wurry, zurr Berry’olly.”

*   *   *