part where Castle Kotir’s northwest walltower stood. So after all these seasons the ground has decided to give way, and
that hole we were looking down must be the inside of Kotir’s wall-tower. It would be fascinating to climb down there
if it was dry and safe enough.”
Orocca’s head appeared around the partially open cupboard door. “You’ll beg my pardon saying, Abbess, but I
wish you’d stop all your noisy yammering and go now. These eggchicks need their sleep!”
Tansy began gathering up the remains of the meal carefully. “I’m sorry, Orocca. Right, let’s away to our beds.
We’ll take a look down there first thing in the morning. Shad and Fore-mole will go with us, I’m sure.”
As dawn shed its light over the flatlands west of Redwall, Major Perigord sat up in the dry ditch bed where he had
passed the night. Captain Twayblade was balancing on a thick protruding root, scanning the dewy fields in front of her.
Perigord reached up and tugged her footpaw. “My watch I think, old gel. Any sign of ’em yet?”
Twayblade climbed down from her perch. “Not a bally ear-tip. Where d’you s’pose they’ve got to, sah?”
The Major drew the rags of his once-splendid green velvet tunic about him and yawned. “Who knows? Torgoch
an’ Mono are a blinkin’ law unto themselves when they’re on the loose together. I say there, come on, Taunoc, you
jolly old bundle of feathers, up in the air with you an’ scout the terrain, wot!”
Taunoc peered from under his wing, then struggled from beneath the fems where he had been sleeping, and
blinked owlishly.
“Strictly speaking, I am a nocturnal bird, not widely given to flapping about in dawnlight like a skylark. What is it
you want?”
With a flourish, Perigord drew his saber and poked at the sky. “I require your fine-feathered frame cleaving the
upper atmosphere, lookin’ out for any sign of our friends. That too much trouble?”
With a short hopping run the little owl launched into flight. “After a night in a ditch, nothing is too much trouble.”
He soared high, wheeling several times before dropping like a stone. “Your Sergeant and Lieutenant are coming
now, west and slightly south of here. I suggest you wave to denote your presence, Major.”
Perigord climbed out of the ditch and waved his saber. It glittered in the early sunlight as he hallooed the two
hares. “What ho, you chaps, what time d’you call this to come rollin’ back home? Come on, Torgoch, on the double
now!”
Sergeant and Lieutenant came panting up to the ditch. Throwing themselves flat in the damp grass, they lay recov-
ering breath.
Mono raised himself up on one paw, his normally saturnine face glowing with pride. “We found the place, sah, day
an’ a half’s march sou’west o’ here. There’s a rock stickin’ up like an otter’s tail top of a rollin’ hill range, and beyond
that a valley with a gorge runnin’ through. Looks somethin’ like this,” In the bare earth of the ditch top he scraped out
a rough outline with his knifepoint.
Twayblade nodded approvingly. “Well done, chaps, looks a great spot for a picnic, eh, wot?”
Perigord studied it, obviously pleased by what he saw. “Aye, we could shell a few acorns there! Stretch our forces
along the ridge and send out a decoy party t’lead ’em into the valley from the south side. If we can get ’em with the
gorge at their backs and the hill in front, ’twill be an ideal battle-ground. Taunoc, time for you t’do your bit, old lad.
Fly out an’ scout this place. When you’re satisfied as to its location, seek out Rockjaw Grang and tell him exactly
where the battlefield is to be. Got that?”
Once again the little owl heaved himself into the air. “I think I am reasonably intelligent enough to understand you,
Major. After all, I am an owl, not a hare!”
When the owl was well away, Sergeant Torgoch grinned at Twayblade. “Well curl me ears, marm, there goes an
’uffy bird if ever I saw one. Bet ’e counts ’is feathers regular!”
“You, sir, would find yourself counting your ears after an encounter with me, I can assure you!”
Torgoch almost leapt with fright as the owl landed beside him. The bird stared accusingly at Perigord. “You gave
me the location and told me to whom I should deliver the inforraation, but you did not mention when the battle is to
take place.”
The Major bowed courteously to Taunoc. “Beg pardon, I stand corrected. Shall we say three days, or however long
after that the Rapscallions can be delayed? We need to play for all the time we can get. My thanks to ye, sir!”
Long after the owl had flown, Sergeant Torgoch looked mortified. “I really opened me big mouth an’ put me
footpaw in it there!”
41
Abbess Tansy and her party were ready for the descent into the pit beneath the south wall. Friar Butty was armed
with a stout copper ladle, his chosen weapon. Foremole Diggum and Shad the Gatekeeper had lengths of rope,
lanterns, and a fine rope ladder that Ginko the Bellringer had loaned them. Tansy and Craklyn had donned their oldest
smocks, and between them they carried a hamper of food.
It was a good hot summer morning. Tare and Tuny of the Long Patrol were pushing a wheelbarrow about on the
lawn. Three little owlchicks and the badgerbabe Russano sat on a heap of dry straw in the barrow, taking their daily
perambulation.
Tansy waved to them as they passed. “See you later. Bye bye!”
Waving back, the babies repeated the word they used most often. “Nut! Nut!”
Craklyn fell about laughing. Shad opened the food hamper and tossed a pawful of candied chestnuts into the
barrow for them. “Bye bye, hah! These Eiddle tykes know wot’s good for ’em!”
Having lit the lanterns, Friar Butty strung them at regular intervals upon a long rope and lowered it into the depths,
providing illumination all the way down. Shad secured the rope ladder and let it unroll into the void. “I’ll go first,” he
said. “Butty next, then Abbess an’ Craklyn. Foremole, you follow last. Remember now, take y’time an’ step easy!”
One by one they descended into the silent pit, lantern light and shadows dancing eerily around the rough rock walls
mat surrounded them. Scarcely a quarter of the way down, Fore-mole pointed a digging claw at the wall in front of
him.
“Yurr, thurr be’s ee writin’ that Bunto see’d!”
Foremole Diggum had remembered that Bunto, one of his mole crew, had seen writing carved upon the wall.
Craklyn studied it “See these broken rock ends and bits of shattered timber? There must have been a spiral
stairway running from top to bottom of the walltower once. There’s a space that may have been a window, all blocked
with earth now. This carving is beside it—probably some vermin soldier did it while he was idling away the hours on
guard duty at that very window.”
Tansy tweaked at her friend’s footpaw, which was directly above her head on the ladder. “Never mind the
architecture, what does the writing say?”
The Recorder’s voice echoed boomingly as she read out aloud.
“Turn at the lowest stair, Right is the left down there, Every pace you must count, At ten times paws amount, See
where a deathbird flies, Under the hunter’s eyes, Radiant in splendor fair, Ever mine, hidden where?
Verdauga, Lord of Kotir.”
Clinging to the ladder, Tansy looked up at her friend as the echoes faded to silence in the strange atmosphere.
“Sounds like some sort of riddle to me. Craklyn, what are you doing up there—writing?”
“Scrap o’ parchment and a stick of charcoal always come in useful,” the old Recorder muttered busily as she