now that I really am your Uncle Patch-coat."
Posy hugged the false tail to her comfortingly. "You're a nice old Uncle
Patchcoat."
Beneath his disguise Mask blushed with pleasure.
Fortunata spotted the fallen beech ahead. She leaned against it with a sigh of
relief.
185
"Phew! Thank the fang this is the right trail," she said aloud. "Soon as I get
my breath back, I'll give Patchcoat a call."
"You've done all the calling you're going to do, traitor!" Lady Amber and ten
squirrels dropped from the trees and stood blocking the vixen's path, each
with an arrow notched on a drawn bowstring.
Instinctively Fortunata knew her plans had gone badly astray. She cowered down
with drooping ears.
"It was Patchcoat," she whined. "I wasn't going to harm the little ones. He
forced me to go along with his wicked plans. He said that—"
"Silence, fox!"
Lady Amber dropped her bushy tail flat along the ground.
Ten bowstrings strained tighter.
The squirrel leader pointed an accusing paw at the trapped spy. "We knew who
you were from the moment you entered these woods," she rasped. "When you left
Brockhall today I was only a treetop away from you. I heard every word that
passed between you and Mask.''
Fortunata crouched low, trying to offer as small a target as possible.
"No, you've got it wrong, he's Patchcoat the mercenary," she argued. "I don't
know any creature called Mask. Wait, yes I do, there's another fox named Mask.
He lives over by Kotir—a real evil creature. He's the one you want. I'll take
you to him."
"Spare me your lies, fox." Amber's voice was flat and harsh. "You have lived
the life of a traitor and earned the reward of treachery. Tell your deceitful
tales to whoever meets you at the gates of Dark Forest."
Amber's tail flicked upright like a banner.
Ten arrows flew straight and true!
O for the life of a sailormouse,
It's better than Kotir gaol,
A rest for the weary traveling paws,
With the wind to drive our sail.
There's a shrew for skipper
Two mice for mates,
And a mole for a cabin boy.
186
t
When we sight Salamandastron,
•
We'll shout out loud, Ahoy!
Midafternoon on the waters of the Great South Stream saw the friends learning
to handle the boat that Log-a-Log had named Waterwing. Martin was taking a
turn at the tiller under the shrew's guiding paw, while Gonff charged about
playfully trying to air his new-found nautical knowledge.
"Keep her downwind, me lads. Steady at the tiller there. Watch your larboard
side, Cap'n Log-a-Log. Bring the helm a point to starboard. Steady as she
goes!"
Dinny was definitely not cut out for a sailor's life. The young mole lay
amidships clutching his stomach.
"Burr oo, 'ush 'ee, Gonffen. This yurr pore mole be a-dyen. Yurr, c 'n oi goo
ashore an' walk apiece, 'twould stopp *ee wurld goen round."
Log-a-Log produced some herbs for Dinny to chew upon. After a while he felt
better, but he kept up a steady stream of comments.
"Oi'd as soon be a gurt burdbag flyen in 'ee sky than sailen on this yurr
streamer."
Martin watched the stream carefully. The mountains towered right over them
now, blocking out the sky ahead.
"Log-a-Log, have you noticed the current? It's very swift here and getting
heavier. We're moving along a bit too fast for my liking."
"Aye, I've noticed the stream is starting to take a steep downward course,
Martin.'* The shrew looked worried yet Spoke calmly. "Here, Gonff. Let's see
you take the sail in and drop the mast. Better lend a paw, Martin and Dinny.
I'll take the tiller."
-. As they worked, the water began to get very choppy. Crested foamheads
began appearing around rocks which stuck up like jagged teeth in the swirling
flow. Log-a-Log was
; stretched to his limit holding the tiller and maneuvering Wa~
I terwing. The little craft began to buck and tilt; water was
; Splashing in heavily over the forward end.
"Leave the mast." The shrew's voice boomed out above
, the roar of water. "As long as the sail's down, bale her out
£ before we're swamped. Hurry!"
§ Waterwing leaped about like a frenzied salmon. The thun-
187
der of the stream rose, echoing from the mouth of a dark tunnel forming
overhead. Hanging bushes and vegetation clawed at the small crew, while rocks
pounded dangerously at the sides of the boat. Without warning, they were swept
deep into the tunnel. The stream became a waterfall.
In a mad torrent of boiling white water they were hurled over the brink of the
chasm. Waterwing hung for a second in space, then plunged into the abyss. The
mast struck the mountainside. It snapped with a resounding crack and came
crashing down onto them.
Tsarmina stood in her usual position at the high chamber window, Cludd waiting
dutifully at one side.
"Spring vegetables aren't much use, Cludd. Find out what the birds like to
eat, and scatter some of it about. Set some traps and get the archers out. Fat
woodpigeons, a juicy thrush or two—that's the sort of thing we need."
"Yes, Milady, I'll see to it right away." The weasel Captain trudged oif
obediently.
Tsarmina leaned farther out the window, scanning the wood fringe. "No, wait!"
A strange-looking fox emerged from the undergrowth, tugging two little
hedgehogs along on a rope. It was plain to see he was in a hurry. Behind the
trio, a band of otters and squirrels came dashing in pursuit. Looking backward
at his pursuers, the fox tripped over the rope. The woodlanders dashed forward
and pounced upon him.
Tsarmina shoved Cludd to the door. "Quick, quick. Get down there and grab the
nearest troops. Help the fox. Hurry!"
The wildcat Queen raced back to the window yelling aloud, "Hold on, fox. We're
getting help out to you. Keep hold of those hedgehogs!"
The stranger put up what appeared to be a good fight. Unfortunately, he was
outnumbered. One group of woodlanders kept him busy defending himself, while
several squirrels slashed the rope from the captive hedgehogs, bearing them
oif into the trees, away into thick wooded Mossflower.
Late again! Tsarmina slammed her paw hard against the windowsill.
Down below, Cludd and a party of soldiers raced toward
188
die melee. The woodlanders broke off the attack, vanishing like smoke into the
undergrowth.
Tsarmina was standing in the entrance hall as Cludd escorted the newcomer in.
She peered closely at the odd-looking stranger.
Mask panted heavily, slumping down on his haunches. "Whew, those squirrels and
otters fight like madbeasts!"
Tsarmina circled him. "You didn't do too badly yourself." There was grudging
admiration in her voice. "What's your name? How did you come here?"
Mask looked up at the wildcat. "I'm called Patchcoat. You must be Queen
Tsarmina of the Thousand Eyes. Fortunata told me about you."
"So, you've met the vixen. Where is Fortunata now?"
Mask shrugged. "Probably lying in the woods, full of squirrel arrows. She was
too slow to keep up. I could have beaten those woodlanders to here easily if
it hadn't been for that great dozy lump."
Stupidly, Cludd stepped forward. He prodded the strange fox with his spear.
"You still haven't told Milady why you're here, fox."
With a deft movement, Mask grabbed the spear, thudded the butt into Cludd's
midriff, bowled him over, and was standing on his chest with his dagger