pressed against the weasel's throat.
"Listen, fatguts," he growled dangerously. "I'll make you eat that spear if
you ever poke it at me again. Remember that. My name's Patchcoat the
mercenary, see. I sell my blade to the highest bidder."
Mask stood on Cludd's nose with one paw and executed a neat turn to teach the
weasel a painful lesson. Without even looking to see the result he turned to
Tsarmina.
"Ha, you could do with some proper fighters, Queen. Es-'pecially if that oaf
and Fortunata are a specimen of what you keep around here."
Tsarmina showed her great fangs in an approving smile.
"Well, at last a real warrior. Welcome to Kotir, Patchcoat.
Ita sure you'll do well here. Cludd, get up off the floor and
give this fox your Captain's cloak to wear. From now on
/you'll take orders from him."
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Sullenly Cludd undid his cloak, flinging it to Mask.
Ashleg stumped in with a band of soldiers. He threw a healer's bag upon the
floor.
"We tried tracking those woodlanders, Milady," he reported sadly. "But they're
well away. I found Fortunata east of here, full of arrows. Her body is out on
the parade ground."
"Dead?"
"As a doornail, Milady."
• ' 'Then what do I want with a slain fox?'' Tsarmina asked impatiently.
"Throw it out in the woods for the eagle."
Tsarmina started back up the staircase. "Patchcoat, I'll be up in my chamber.
Come up later. I'm sure we have plenty to discuss together.' *
Mask fastened on the cloak of Captaincy. ' 'Aye, later, Milady. First I want
to inspect these cells Fortunata told me about. Maybe I can discover how two
young hedgehogs escaped from them so easily.''
Tsarmina climbed the stairs pensively. This strange fox was certainly a lucky
find.
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Time stood still. Martin imagined he was back under the river in Mossflower
being towed along by an otter. Everything was pitch-black and ice-cold. A
million thoughts rushed through his brain, bringing memories flooding back:
his father leaving to fight the sea rats . . . Tsarmina snarling at him ...
the kind face of Bella at Brockhall. . . Dinny chuckling as he wrestled with
Gonff . . . Everything whirled together into one great maelstrom of crashing
water, then there was silence.
Martin felt mossy ground against his wet back.
"Not dead, bring medicine, medicine," a sibilant voice was saying somewhere
close.
The warrior mouse felt some vile-tasting liquid being poured between his lips.
He opened his eyes.
He was lying on a broad ledge, which was covered in velvety moss. Soft light
cast flickering luminous water patterns around the rock face. A mouse was
standing over him, another crouched nearby. Martin took a second look. Surely
these creatures could not be mice? They had very little fur, black leathery
skin and, oddest of all, wings!
The one nearest pushed the bowl toward Martin with a black claw.
Martin smelt the putrid medicine and pushed it away. "No more, thank you. I'm
all right now. Where am I? Who are you?"
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"Lie still, lie still. We are the tribe of Lord Cayvear who is ruler of Bat
Mountpit. You will not be harmed, not be harmed," the creature assured him.
Martin sat up, he felt wet but unhurt. "My name is Martin the Warrior. There
"were three others with me—a shrew, a mouse and a mole. Where are they? Have
they been rescued from the water?"
The other bat shuffled over. "I am Rockhanger. This is Wingfold. We have found
the angry one and the strong tun-neller, but no other creature, no other
creature."
Martin stood and leaned against the rocks. His head was aching and he felt a
large bump between his ears.
"The other mouse is called Gonff. You'll know him easily. He's a cheeky little
thief who loves to sing. He's my friend, and we must find him," he said
anxiously.
Rockhanger felt with the edge of his wing across Martin's face and body.
Martin recoiled and then stood still. Rock-hanger was blind.
The bat chuckled; it came out like a dry hiss.
"No creature is blind who sees by touch. If I tried hard enough I would see
you with my eyes, but the tribe of Bat Mountpit gave up the use of eyesight
long ago. We can feel in the dark, feel in the dark."
The bats led Martin away from the ledge with its constant sound of falling
water. They made their way along a network of caves connected by a series of
passages. In the first cave they entered Martin found Log-a-Log and Young
Dinny.
"Yurr, Marthen. Woip wet ofF'n 'ee." The mole tossed him a heap of soft dried
moss.
The warrior mouse dried himself vigorously, bringing the warmth back to his
body.
"Has there been any news of Gonff?" he asked his friends.
Log-a-Log squinted in the pale light that diffused throughout the regions of
Bat Mountpit.
"None at all," he said sadly. "We've lost Waterwing too, after all the work I
put in on that boat."
Dinny wrinkled his snout. "Ho urr, c'n allus make 'nother bowt, but thurr be
on'y one Gonffen."
A bat came in carrying food for them. "I am Darkfur. Eat, eat. Our tribe are
searching for your friend, for your friend.''
The three companions took the edge off their hunger with
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the food of the bats. There was hot mushroom soup and a drink made from some
salty-tasting waterweed. The rest was not easy to identify, though it was
quite palatable.
Martin ate automatically. A great weight hung upon his spirit. He could not
imagine life without his mousethief friend at his side.
After the meal they rested awhile to recover from their ordeal. When Martin
awoke, Log-a-Log and Dinny were still sleeping. There was an enormous bat
standing over them. The stranger touched him lightly with a wingclaw.
"You are Martin the Warrior. I am Lord Cayvear, High Chief of the dark places.
Welcome, welcome."
Martin stood up and bowed. "Thank you for looking after our safety, Lord
Cayvear. Is there any news of our friend Gonff?"
"Not yet, not yet, but sometimes no news is good news," Lord Cayvear said
reassuringly. "My scouts are searching, searching."
Martin paced the cave anxiously.' 'Lord Cayvear, I cannot stay here feeling
helpless while my friend may be in great danger.''
The great bat folded his wings. "I know, I know. You would not be a true
friend if you did, Martin. Come with me. We will search together. Let these
two sleep on; it will do them good, do them good."
Mask strode down to the cells with a businesslike air, his Captain's cloak
swirling splendidly.
"Hey, where d'you think you're off to?" a weasel on sen-•; try duty in the
corridor challenged him insolently.
The disguised otter rounded on the unfortunate guard, stamping his paw down
hard in fine military fashion.
"Stand to attention when you address a Captain, you .scruffy idle mud-brained
scum."
The weasel gulped, coming swiftly to attention. "Sorry, Captain. I didn't
realize ..."
; Mask stood, paws akimbo, sneering contemptuously. "Chin in, chest out,
eyes front, spear straight, shield up. Up, SI said. So, you didn't realize. It
strikes me there's been quite &a bit of 'not realizing* going on down here.
You probably didn't realize it when the prisoners escaped. Well, let me tell
I, my mangy-furred laddo, things are going to be different
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around here. You'll learn to jump when you hear the name of Captain Patchcoat
in future. Either that, or you and your cronies will find out what double