Cheek sprang forward and tugged Basil's paws with gusto. "Heave ho, old Sir Hare. Out you come, now."

"Yaggh! Beastly young blighter, you're standin' on me ear!"

Orlando put his strong back against the rock that was trapping Basil. He gave a mighty grunt as he threw his weight against it. "Grrumph! That's it. Hurry now, I can't hold this much longer."

162.

Jabez and Jess helped Cheek. As Matthias dug furiously, they gave a good long heave. Basil popped out like a cork. The big badger let the rock go. There was another cloud of dust and a rattling of pebbles as the heap of hillside rubble settled.

Basil stamped his paws experimentally. "Bit stiff an' all that. Still workin' hunky dory, though. Well, what a load of old ninnies we are, eh, lettin' ourselves get bamboozled like that."

"Lef s not start blaming ourselves," Matthias cut in sharply. "What we did seemed a good idea at the time. The thing now is, how do we get out of this fix? Has any creature got flint or tinder to make light?"

Jess Squirrel wiped a paw across her brow. "Not a very good idea, Matthias. Haven't you noticed if s getting quite warm in here? That means we're using up the air. If we start making fire we'll use it up double quick and suffocate."

Orlando slumped back against the cave wall. "You're right, Jess. Those slavers meant this to be our tomb and they've done a good job of it, worse luck. Give me a moment or two to rest, then I'll see if there's any possibility of digging our way out, or at least making a small hole so that fresh air can come in."

"If s this dark I can't stand, not bein' able to see anything, all hot an' covered in dusty muck with a whole hillside on top of us. I can't even see me paw in front of my eyes!" Cheek's voice sounded close to panic.

Basil patted him firmly. "Now men, young otter m'lad, chin up. There's nothin' to get in a funk over. When I was with the border patrol we were in lots of tighter places than this one, wot? Never say die, Cheek, Ha! I'll betcha we'll be out of here before the night's over. Don't worry young waterdog, you'll be wallopin' about in the river by tomorrow night."

Cheek sat close to Basil and waited while Jess and Orlando took first shift to dig a way out of the landslide.

163.

Around the friends the air seemed to grow darker and heavier as they lay trapped in the bowels of the hill.

On the outside, Mattimeo scrabbled furiously at the loose shale and earth, alongside Auma. The others dodged around the heap, trying to find a likely spot to dig. Auma grunted and strained as she tried to dislodge a huge boulder.

"It was my father, Orlando the Axe," she told Mattimeo. "I'd know his battle cry anywhere. Oh, please let him be all right."

Mattimeo stopped digging for a moment as he watched the loose earth slide swiftly in to take the place of the boulder Auma was moving.

"I saw my father, and heard him too. Even in the night, I think I recognized Jess and Basil, There were a few others too, but it was all over too fast to see who they were. Bah! We're getting nowhere like this. Look, every time you dig out a bit, the earth slides in and fills the gap again."

Cynthia Bankvole sat down and let the loose earth run through her paws. "It's no use, what can we do against all this? It would take ten teams of moles a full season to move all this earth, and some of these boulders look as big as a cottage."

Sam Squirrel shouldered her roughly aside. "Doesn't matter. My mum's in there, so we've got to keep trying. Come on, Cynthia, up on your paws and get digging."

"Jube, look about for a big branch or something I can use as a lever against these rocks," Auma called out. "How are you doing, Matti?"

Mattimeo straightened up. "Not very well. I suggest we all dig in the one spot."

Tess came hurrying over. "Look, I've found some flat slatey pieces. They'll do to dig with."

Dawn's first light glimmered in the east, a soft rosy glow dispersing the night from the deep greenery of Moss-164 flower Woods. The sun rose steadily, drying the dew from leaf and flower as the young woodlanders dug wearily in the shifting ma.s.s of debris.

Slagar lay on top of the gorge, watching them as he murmured, "Keep digging, my little slaves. Tire yourselves out so that you won't run and dodge. I can see my slavers threading their way through the forest yonder. They'll soon be here. Dig away, you young fools. You'll never see your friends or parents again."

165.

In the summer peace of the beautiful old Redwall Abbey orchard, a group of creatures sat taking alfres...o...b..eakfast among the fruit trees. Abbot Mordalfus presided.

"Let us put our minds together, friends. If we wish to help Matthias and our young ones, we must solve the riddle of this poem." The Abbot tapped the stone tablet. "Where does the poetry end and the dues begin?"

John Churchmouse put down his bowl of mint tea and placed his paw in a very certain manner between two lines of verse.

"Right there, I'm sure of it. Listen: 'Through the seasons here 1 lie, 'neath this Redwall that we made. Solve the mystery, you must try. . . .'"

John tapped his paw down decisively. "There, right there. I couldn't sleep for thinking about it. Here's where the real clues begin: 'Graven deep it will not fade. Somewhere 'twixt our earth and sky, Birds and gentle breezes roam. There's a key you might espy, To that place I once allied home.'"

166.

The Abbot toyed with a slice of apple. "I think you're right, John. In fact, part of the answer leapt out at me as you recited those words. It was the line that went: To that place I once called home.' Right, if this was written by old Abbess Germaine, then the place that she called home before she built Redwall was Loamhedge. However, that was all so far away and long ago in our history that the location of Loamhedge had been forgotten long before my time and that of many Abbots and Abbesses before me."

John nodded agreement. "Of course, old Loamhedge. That must be the place where the fox is taking our young ones, there or somewhere in the Loamhedge area. I can recall asking Brother Methuselah where Loamhedge was, but even he didn't know. How are we supposed to find it?"

Cornflower pointed at the stone tablet. "Obviously the answer is in the rhyme, because it says: Take this graven page and seek. What my words in stone could mean.' Surely that's a start."

"Burr, 'scuse me rnarm, oi thinks it be afore that, even: 'Somewhere 'twixt our earth'n'sky, burds an' gentle breezes roam.' Whurrs that?"

"Thafs where we might espy the key, accordin' to that there," Ambrose Spike chuckled. "Best look about for a key floatin' round in midair. Silly, I calls it."

John looked severely over the top of his gla.s.ses. "Silly it may sound, but it's a serious business, Spike."

"No need to get huffy, dear," Mrs. Churchmouse interrupted hastily. "Lef s all look up and see what we discover between earth and sky."

Winifred Otter summed it up in a word, "Treetops."

They sat looking at the treetops. Mrs. Churchmouse was just beginning to regret her foolish idea when Cornflower said, "The top of our Abbey, maybe?"

A slow smile spread across the Abbot's face. "Very clever. Cornflower. What better place for our Founder to leave a due than at the top of the very building she 167.

designed. So, I'm looking up at our Abbey. Tell me, somebeast, what am T looking for?"

The answers came back.

"Something graven deep?"

"Words in stone?"

"Something that can't fly but has a beak?"

"How about mixed-up letters evergreen?"

"Two Bees and two Ohs?"

"What does an Oh look like?"

"Well, I know what two bees would look like."

John Churchmouse banged his beaker upon a wooden platter. "Quiet! Quiet, please! All this shouting is getting us nowhere. Cornflower, will you kindly stop baby Rollo playing with that stone tablet!"

Cornflower sat upon the gra.s.s with Rollo, who was running his paws over the slim stone.

Mrs. Churchmouse tried to pacify her husband. "Don't shout, dear. I'm sure Rollo won't harm it."

Cornflower was shaking with silent laughter. John was not amused. "I'm sorry, but I fail to see what's so funny about it, Cornflower."

"I'm not laughing at you, John, I'm laughing at baby Rollo. Here we are puzzling our brains out and Rollo has found the answer again."

"Where?"

"Right here on this stone," Cornflower explained. "Come and look. I didn't notice it until I watched Rollo pa.s.sing his paws over the writing. Watch him, you'll see he stops his paw every time he finds a letter in green."

The Abbot hurried over to watch Rollo. "By the fur, you're right, Cornflower. Good baby, Rollo. Mixed up letters evergreen. Come on, little one, show me. Your eyes are better than mine. John, get that charcoal and parchment. Take the letters down as I call them out to you."

Obligingly Rollo began dabbing at various letters with his chubby little paw. Mordalfus relayed them to John Churchmouse. "First one letter B, second one letter B."

Ambrose Spike scratched his snout. "Will somebeast 168.

tell me what in the name of acorns is going on here? Two green bees, letters graven in stone, I always thought bees were yellow and brown."

The Abbot looked skyward patiently. "Come here. Ambrose, let me show you. Look at the poem. Can you see that certain letters have been filled in with green vegetable dye? Right. I've just given John the first two. They are letter Bs not actual bees. See, here are more green letters."

It was still all a bit above Ambrose. He stared at the letters, shook his head and trundled off. "Huh, I've got work to attend to in the cellar. I can't hang about playin' word games. You can't drink stone messages, but good October ale, thafs a different matter. You lofd look sick without my casks of berry wine, mark my words!"

John Churchmouse glared over the top of his gla.s.ses at tile retreating cellar keeper.

"Now, where were we? Two letter Bs. Whaf s next, Abbot?"

'Two letter Os, John. Wait, I think RoHo has found more. Yes, there's a letter C. Well done, young un. Any more?"

Baby Rollo was enjoying himself. He waved his paw dramatically, stabbing it down as the Abbot called out the letters he indicated. "Take these down, John. T, A, P, W, E, R, and a letter Y. There I've translated the old letters pretty well. Is that the lot, Rollo?"

* The infant waved to them and pursued Ambrose to the Wine cellar.

"Aye, thafs it," Cornflower chuckled. "What have we got, John?"

"B, B, O, O, C, T, A, P, W, E, R, Y. Twelve letters in all, though they're fairly well jumbled. I can't make head nor tail of it. Why couldn't Abbess Germaine have written What she meant dearly?"

The Abbot stood up and stretched. "Because then it Would not have been a secret. Those letters are the key. Once we get them in the right order, we'll know what the next move is to be."

169.

In the darkness of the cave, Orlando choked and coughed as he sought wearily about until his paw touched Matthias.

"Listen, friend," Orlando said, keeping his voice low so that the others would not hear, "I don't know how much rubble has fallen across this cave mouth, but I think we both know if s far too much for us to move. We're becoming weaker, Matthias. The air is running out in here. I keep feeling dizzy and wanting to lie down to sleep."

Matthias clasped the big badger's paw. "Same here, Orlando. But don't let the others know. Young Cheek will only panic and Basil will start jumping about trying to dunk up schemes to get us out. I know it's hard, but we'll just have to sit here and try not to fall asleep."

"Do you think there's anybeast outside?"

"The only ones I can think of are Slagar and his gang. We'd be in no condition to fight them, even supposing we could get out."

"I wish we had a strong mole with us."

"Aye, and if wishes were fishes there'd be no room in the river for water."

"I'm sorry, Matthias. I was only thinking aloud."

"Pay no heed to me, Orlando. It's this terrible darkness, the heat and the lack of air-"

"And this confounded dust in me ears, laddie budd"

"Basil! You were listening to us."

"Say no more, old lad, say no more. Backs to the wall and all that, I say, I don't suppose anyone's got a bite to eat stowed on 'em?"

Even young Cheek managed a faint laugh. 'Trust you to think of food at a time like this, mate."

"Sony, Basil, we left the supplies outside so they wouldn't hamper us in the ambush," Jess Squirrel called from the far side of the cave.

Jabez Stump yawned. "Some ambush, eh? We've got ourselves rightly scuttled, you mark my spikes. Best thing is to sit quiet, think hard and breathe light."

A gloomy silence fell as they acted on the hedgehog's good advice.

Mattimeo dug and scrabbled wildly at the huge ever moving landslide. The sun was reaching its zenith and the digging was becoming more heated and futile. Grunting with exertion, he straightened up and pa.s.sed a paw across his brow as a pile of loose earth rattled around his ears. Mattimeo's quick temper snapped. He seized a pawful of pebbles and flung them at Tim, who was digging higher up the pile.

"By the fur! Can't you stop loading muck down on top of me every chance you get?" Mattimeo grumbled.

Tim straightened up. "Sony."

"Sony's not good enough," Mattimeo snorted. "Just watch where you're chucking that stuff, will you!"

Tess pa.s.sed Mattimeo a broad leaf containing water she had scooped from the stream. "Here, drink this and cool down. We'll get nowhere yelling at each other."

Mattimeo dashed the leaf from her paw, his face livid with anger. "It's all right for you to talk, your father isn't buried in there, is he? Where in the name of the claw has that hedgehog got to? It's going to take him half a season to find a branch so we can lever these rocks out-"

"Over here, little hero. We've got your friends over here!"

Bageye and Skinpaw had Jube and Cynthia tied by their necks on a rope.

Still flushed with temper, Mattimeo grabbed a chunk of rock. "Come on Auma, Sam, lef s charge them!"

They had reached the lower edge of the rubble when Slagar's voice rang out mockingly behind them, "My, my, aren't we the bold ones? Go ahead, try it."

Mattimeo whirled about to face Slagar and half a dozen Others who had circled round to join him. They were all heavily armed. The young mouse, still driven by rage, haded a rock. Slagar dodged it easily and drew out his fearsome weapon. The three leather thongs whirred as 170.