“Radiant in splendor fair,
Ever mine, hidden where?”
Young Friar Butty hunched his shoulders, shivering slightly. “I couldn’t imagine anythin’ radiant or splendidly fair
down here, but if there is I’ll bet ’tis behind the carvin’l”
Shad took out his knife and stood up on the sill. “Well, let’s see, shall we!”
He tapped with the knife handle, rapping the corbels and the surrounding wall, finally hitting the lintel several
smart raps. “Aye, yore right, Friar. Sounds as if there’s a cavity wall above this lintel. Pass me the lantern.”
The light was passed up to Shad. He dug and scraped away with his blade until they were forced to vacate the sill
beneath him.
“You’m sendin’ daown a tumble dust, zurr. Wot be you’m a doin’?”
“Oh! Sorry ’bout that, mates, but there’s a big stone that’s stickin’ out a bit up ’ere. I’m just diggin’ out the mortar
wot’s holdin1 it in. I reckon wot we’re after lies be’ind it.”
“Yurr, oi’ll coom up an”elp ee. Lend oi yore young shoulders thur, Butty, let oi git moi diggen claws worken on
et.”
Butty stood on the sill, grunting as Foremole Diggum clambered up onto his shoulders.
Shad and Foremole blinked mortar dust from their eyes as they dug, tugged, and probed. The otter grasped the
lantern ring in his mouth to leave both paws free.
Craklyn watched them anxiously. “Do be careful now, mind your paws don’t get jammed in the cracks.”
“Stan’ asoide, lukkee owt naow, yurr ee comes!”
With a few mighty heaves the two creatures pulled the big oblong wallstone free and dropped it.
Boom!
It shattered a section of the paved floor as it fell, sending up a choking dust cloud, through which Shad could be
seen, one paw rummaging deep in the hole as he held out several glittering objects with the other.
“Ahoy there, hearties, lookit wot I found! Owowooh! Me paw!”
There was a rumbling, crumbling sound as the stones above collapsed down, trapping the paw Shad had buried in
the wall space. He hung there awkwardly, gritting his teeth against the pain. Then everything happened without an
instant’s notice.
Foremole slipped from Butty’s shoulders and fell backward as, with a dull roar, the entire wall and ceiling
disintegrated in an avalanche of stone, mortar, and thick choking dust!
42?
Vermin snored and muttered in their sleep, fighting imaginary battles, some of them even singing snatches of songs
as they lay around their campfire embers in the warm summer night. The guards of the cage were still at the fire of the
stoat Bluggach, within easy distance of the prisoner they were supposed to be watching. Like Bluggach, they too were
flat on their backs, mouths open wide to the sounds of then—painful rasping snores.
The old squirrel watched the two ragged figures’ silent approach to his cage. He grabbed at the food they pushed
through the bars to him, and his throat moved up and down as he gulped water from a canteen, drinking until the
vessel was empty. With his head bent low he gave a long sigh of satisfaction, then began chewing the food slowly,
while Midge whispered questions at him.
“What do they call you, and how did y’come to be here?”
“My name is Fourdun. I live alone in Mossflower. They took me by surprise—I must be gettin’ old.”
Midge passed the small knife through to him. “We’re both Long Patrol hares. I’m Midge, he’s Tammo. Listen to
me, old feller—don’t do anythin’ silly. We’ll get you free. Maybe tomorrow night or the night after, but we’ll do it. So
watch out for us an’ don’t try escapin’ by yourself.”
Nudging Midge, Tammo hissed urgently, “Look out, that big stoat Cap’n’s awake!”
Bluggach woke with a throat that was both sore and dry from snoring. Coughing hoarsely several times, he
staggered down to the stream. Crouching in the shallows, the stoat pawed water into his mouth until he had drunk
enough, then he straightened up and belched.
There was no place for Tammo or Midge to hide—one movement from either of them and they would be
discovered. Midge shoved Tammo toward the stream, muttering to him, “Sit by the water an’ look as if you’re
meditatin’—hurry!”
Tammo walked straight for the stoat, bumping into him as he slumped by the shallows, and stared intently into the
water. Bluggach was about to say something when Midge strolled up.
“Pleasant night to ye, Cap’n. Take no notice of ole Burfal, ’e goes off doin’ odd things any hour o’ the day or
dark.”
The stoat drew his cutlass, eyeing Midge suspiciously. “Wot are yew doin”round ’ere?”
Midge produced the flask of grog he had been about to give Fourdun. “Oh, jus’ keepin’ an’ eye on Burfal, seein”e
don’t disturb nobeast. ’Ere, take a pull o’ this, sir, Warfang’s own private grog. Twill put a throat on ye like a cob o’
velvet.”
Bluggach was still not quite convinced by Midge, but he took a good swig of the fiery grog as he weighed the
ragged beast up. “You’ll be the Seer, then? Some sez yore a magic creature.”
Smiling craftily, Midge moved close to the stoat and reached out. “I ain’t magic, Cap’n. You are, though. Wot’s
this candied chestnut doin’ in yore earlug?”
Grinning widely, the big stoat tossed the nut into his mouth and gave Midge a friendly shove that almost knocked
him flat. “I knew you was magic the moment I clapped eyes on ya, haharrharr!”
Midge laughed along with him, urging Bluggach to drink some more. “Bein’ magic ain’t as good as bein’ a
Rapmark Cap’n like you, sir.”
The stoat warmed to the tattered Seer. Throwing a paw about him, he said, “Ho, ain’t it though? I tell yer, matey,
sometimes I wish I c’d magic some discipline inter this lot. Lookit those two, snorin’ like weasels at a weddin’, an’
they’re supposed t’be on guard! But tell me more about yore magic. Y’know wot I like, haharr, I likes beasts like
yerself who know clever riddles. Go on, do a riddle fer me. ’Tis ages since I ’eard a good ’un.”
Midge tapped a dirty paw against his stained teeth. “Hmm, a riddle, now lemme see ... Ah, ’ere’s a riddle fer ye.
Wot goes gurgle gurgle snuffle trickle blubber ripple scrawf scrawf? D’yer know the answer to that one, Cap’n?”
Bluggach took another good pull at the grog and sat down, narrowing one eye and scratching his head. Midge
beckoned Tammo silently, and together they began moving away. The stoat Captain drank some more, halting them
with an unsteady wave.
“Er, burgle sniffle truckle sprawl, wot goes like that? Hah! That’s a good ’un, mate. I dunno, tell me the answer.”
Midge pointed at the two sentries sleeping by the fire at the water’s edge. “There’s yore answer, Cap’n. Two fat
lazy guards sleepin’ their ’eads off by a stream all night. C’mon, Burfal, time we was goin1.”
They departed as the joke’s punch line dawned on Bluggach, and made their way back to the shelter and their own
fire with the stoat Captain’s laughter ringing out behind them.
“Oh harrharrhair, that’s a good ’un, hohohoho! Wake up, you two, an’ lissen t’this. Harrharrhohoho! Wot goes
grungle snirtle, worf worf an’ sleeps like youse two by the stream all night? Yarrharrhahaha! Betcha don’t know the
answer, do yer?”
Sitting beside their own fire, the two hares discussed their plans.
“If Rockjaw gets a message from the Major tomorrow, we’ll be able to quit this place once I’ve worked more of
my magic on Warfang.”