Farran nodded then held out a paw. Ferahgo understood. Standing alongside the Poisoner, he drew close to his ear and whispered in a voice so low that none of the others heard: “Your fee is half the badger’s treasure. Is it a bargain?”

Farran’s nod was final; the pact was sealed. He gave Ferahgo one long last glance, then padded off silently.

There was a loud sigh of relief when he had gone. Ferahgo turned to the others. “Now do you think my plan will work?”

They all nodded agreement, even Klitch.

Ferahgo sheathed his skinning knife. “Then tonight is the night. Here is what you must do . . .”

18

“Towels, more towels. Damp them down with rosewater, please!”

Brother Hollyberry bustled about the beds that had been set up in the upper gallery, mopping a brow here, administering a dose there, tucking blankets in firmer.

“Please lie still, Burrley. Plenty of cool drinks and sweat it out under those blankets, there’s a good mole!”

Sister Nasturtium looked up from the table where she was working with bowl and pestle and wiped her brow. “We’re running low on dried motherwort and lemon verbena, Brother. This is the last of it I’m using.”

Thrugann put aside a napkin she was dipping in rosewater. “Leave that t’ me, Sister. I’ll take a trip into Mossflower Woods right now an’ gather some. Anythin’ else you need while I’m in the woodlands, Brother?”

Hollyberry scratched his chin. “Hmm, nightshade berries—light red ones if you can, the dark red berries are far too squashy. Perhaps you can take a look around for Dumble while you’re there, Thrugann.”

“That liddle snippet.” The otterlady shook her head and chuckled. “I told you once nor a dozen times he’s gone off with that brother of mine. Dumble an’ Thrugg are close as peas in a pod, you take my word for it.”

“Oh, I do hope you’re right.” Abbess Vale left off laying out clean sheets and sat down on the side of a truckle bed.

A small mole named Droony took a large sucking swig of cold mint tea and half sat up.

“Oh, she’m be roight, marm, never’ee fear. Oi see’d Dumble meself, just afore ’ee went off, an’ ’ee said as ee’d fetch me back Oicetor Flowern t’ make oi better, so ’im did, hurr.”

Sister Nasturtium ground the pestle hard into the bowl. “Droony, you naughty liddle creature, why did you not tell us this before now?”

The small mole let his head fall back on to the pillow. “Oi’m surry, Sister Aspersium, oi wurr sick as an owd frog.”

Nasturtium hurried over and drew the blankets gently up to his chin. She wiped the furry little brow with a napkin. “Yes of course you were, Droony. I didn’t mean to be sharp with you. Forgive me.”