you sure you can tell me no more, Seer?”
Midge shook his head several times. “Nothin’ except a certain victory for you an’ yore army.”
Damug strode to the entrance of the dwelling and summoned two guards; then he turned to Tammo and Midge.
“So be it. Pray to the fates that you have seen truly. These two guards will watch you and never leave your side until
Redwall is mine. If you have tried to play me false, I will have you both skinned, roasted, and fed to my army.”
He fixed the two guards with a cold stare. “If either of you let these two out of your sight for a moment, I will
make you curse the day you were born. Is that clear?”
Sneezewort and Lousewort (whose turn it had been to stand guard duty) bobbed their heads vigorously as they
croaked, “‘Er, er, yes Sire!”
Immediately after Damug had left, the two rats leveled the heavy guard spears they had been issued with at
Tammo and Midge. “Sit still an’ don’t bat an eyelid, you two, or yer dead-beasts!”
The two hares sat with spearpoints almost touching their throats, knowing that the nervous rats were capable of
anything in their highly strung state. Tammo stared beyond them. Outside he could see Rinkul and his gang lurking. In
a barely audible whisper, he said to Midge, “Touch an’ go, old chap, wot?”
Midge blinked his eyes in agreement. The situation was extremely dangerous. If they escaped the guards it would
be like jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. Yet they had to escape and take Fourdun with them before dawn,
when the Rapscallion army would break camp and march west.
“Time t’put the old thinkin’ caps on, bucko!” he murmured back to his friend.
44?
Spitting pebbles and dust, Foremole Diggum worked furiously in the darkness. When the tunnel collapsed, he had
been thrown partially clear, but he was trapped below the waist by the mountain of debris that stretched from floor to
ceiling. The mole’s powerful digging claws tore at the rubble, showering stone and mortar either side until he pulled
himself free. His head struck the lantern; it had gone out. Grabbing the cover off, Foremole blew gently on the
smouldering wick, and a spark showed. Slowly he coaxed the flame back to life.
“Ahoy there, mate, move aside, I’m comin’ down!” Shad the otter emerged from the top of the pile and slithered
carefully over the slope of the cave-in, favoring his injured paw. “C’mon, let’s git diggin’ fer the others!”
Glittering pieces of booty sparkled in the lantern light. Shad seized a heavy gold platter and, using it as a scoop, he
attacked the pile.
Foremole dug alongside him, calling out, “Whurr are ee, you’m gennelbeasts? Call out naow!”
A muffled but urgent cry came back at them from inside the pile: “Go easy, (here’s only a beam protectin’ us. Dig
careful, friends!”
Shad grunted as he tunneled into the jumble of earth and stone. “Take care o’ miz Craklyn an’ the Abbess, young
Butty—we’ll soon have ye out o’ there!”
They hauled aside a block of masonry between them, and pulled and tugged at timbers and rock slivers. Foremole
flinched suddenly. “Yowch! Oi be stabbed in ee tail!”
Shad held up the lantern to see what it was. An ornate silver spearhead, studded with peridots and tasseled with
silk, was poking out of the debris, its point waving and shaking.
“In here, we’re in here! Hurry, the air’s runnin’ out!”
Shad held on to the spearhead while Foremole dug swiftly around it. The good mole was an expert digger, and he
soon had a small tunnel through to the three trapped creatures. Shad began enlarging it, scooping aside earth with his
gold platter.
There was an ominous creaking of timber, then the sound of Abbess Tansy’s voice calling to them, “You’d best be
quick—Craklyn’s been knocked senseless and I think this beam is about to break under the weight of rubble!”
Shad thrust the lantern through and squeezed in after it. Bent double, he sized up the situation.
The cave-in had fallen around a huge baulk of timber, leaving a small space. Butty and Tansy were crouched in it,
supporting the limp form of Craklyn. Suddenly, unable to bear the weight of collapsed material, the beam gave a
splintering crack, showering them with soil and mortar dust.
Foremole scrambled in alongside Shad. Moving Tansy aside, he took her place so that he and Butty were
supporting Craklyn. “Hurr, et be gurtly bad in yurr, marm. Do ee get owt quick loik!”
Shad assisted Tansy into the escape tunnel, and the limber beam began to groan like a living thing as it shifted. The
hefty otter threw caution to the wind. Wedging his back beneath the beam, he strained upward and took the weight
upon himself.
“Get ’em out, Diggum, mate. Don’t argue. Go!”
They scrambled out, dragging Craklyn between them, through choking dust and a rain of pebbles.
Foremole and Butty grabbed the silver-headed spear, thrusting the pole back toward Shad, who had been forced
almost flat. Butty shouted instructions: “Grip tight to the spearpole, mister Shad. You push, we’ll pull. Ready, one,
two, push!”
Shad held the spearpole like a vise as, forcing himself free of the beam, he gave a mighty shove. Foremole and
Butty heaved on the other end, knowing their friend’s life depended on it.
Covered in earth and battered by stones, Shad flew out of the tunnel as the beam broke and everything collapsed
inward behind him. He was practically shot out of the hole like an arrow from a bow, landing in a heap atop his
rescuers.
Butty found the remains of a flask of elderberry wine, which had been thrown clear. While Tansy bathed
Craklyn’s brow with it. Shad took stock of their situation.
“Well, messmates, that’s wot we get fer goin’ treasure ’untin’. We’re blocked in this passage better’n if we’d been
walled in by builders. Still, we’re alive, an’ the air is fit to breathe.”
Licking her lips, Craklyn came back to consciousness. “Mmm, I taste like elderberry wine, that’s strange. What
happened? Is everybeast all right?”
Tansy breathed a sigh of relief and hugged her old squirrel friend fondly. “Everyone is fine, though you were
knocked out when the tunnel collapsed. How do you feel?”
Craklyn stood up and dusted off her gown. “Fine, never felt better! Dearie me, looks as if we’re trapped down here,
though. What in the name of seasons are you up to, young Butty?”
The squirrel Friar pointed proudly to the small heap of glittering objects he had gathered from the rubble.
“Collectin’ treasure, marm. ’Tis rare pretty stuff!”
Foremole wrinkled his snout at the precious trove.”Phwunr! Pretty is all et be. Us’n’s caint eat et, hurr no, so ’tis of
no use at all down yurr!”
Craklyn ignored the mole. She dug out of her pocket the rhyme she had copied, shaking her head knowingly. “I
thought so. Treasure, that’s what we missed. Look at the first letter of each line, reading downward.
“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?”
She folded the scrap of parchment triumphantly. “So that’s the riddle solved. Treasure! And we’ve found it!”
Shad picked up the empty wine canteen. “Well good fer us, marm, but Foremole’s right, treasure ain’t goin’ to feed
us or get us out o’ this mess. So, wot next?”
Craklyn and Butty gathered up the treasure and wrapped it in a cloak—having found it they were not about to