Ferahgo slumped down and began thrusting his skinning knife into the ground in high bad temper. “It’s like I’ve always said, if you want anything doing then do it yourself, don’t rely on others. Fools and clods!”

Klitch curled his lip scornfully. “I did all the spying, me and Goffa. We brought them here—all you had to do was surround them.”

“You young whelp!” Ferahgo stood up, leveling his knife meaningly. “Are you saying that it was me who let them escape?”

Klitch’s sword appeared swiftly; his eyes were hard as blue ice. “I’m just stating the facts, old one!”

The Assassin quivered with rage. He twirled his knife so that he was holding it in a throwing position. “Old one, eh!”

Klitch moved forward, closing in so that the chance of a knife-throw was ruined, his sword point virtually touching Ferahgo’s throat. “Aye, old one—and you won’t live to be much older if you try anything with that frog-sticker!”

Two pairs of angry challenging blue eyes faced each other for a moment, then Ferahgo snarled and sheathed his blade. “Aaah, what’s the use of fighting between ourselves? Where’s the profit in that? All our hiding and spying is blown now, so we’ll muster the whole horde and march on Salamandastron tonight!”

10

The Redwallers had deserted the feasting table, leaving the two gluttonous stoats, who were loath to leave food uneaten.

“Wahoo, I’m burstin’, mucker. Toss me another cob o’ that Great Wall cake!”

A half-finished apple turnover fell from Dingeye’s mouth as he shoved the remnants of the Great Hall cake in Thura’s direction. He belched loudly and poured October ale into his mouth from an oversized jug. “Huh, you’re burstin’? Lookit me, stoat! Aaaawww me stummick’s like a big bass drum. ’Ow we’re goin’ ter manage all this scoff atween us is a mystery!”

Cramming the cake into his mouth, Thura reached for a flagon of old blackcurrant wine. “It’s our pore upbringin’, I tell yer. I can’t stop eatin’. ’Ere, I wonder wot Ferahgo’d say if’e c’d see us now, mucker!”

Dingeye choked on his drink, spraying October ale across the table as he seized another vegetable pastie. “Dontchew dare mention that name! Waddya wanna do, bring bad luck on the pair of us? Don’t even think of that blue-eyed villain. Any’ow, stop gabbin’ an keep scoffin’, mucker. We gotta finish all this lot yet!”

Thura massaged his swollen stomach as he thrust a ladle into a bowl of meadowcream. “Waaaaw, it’s torture, mucker, plain ol’ torture!” Sloshing the meadowcream over several redcurrant muffins, he dug his paws into the mixture and continued eating.