Martin's fece was grim. "Listen, you two. You dont frighten us. We're travelers and we aren't carrying anything of value, but we'll fight if we nave to, so you'd better stand clear."

The snake lowered his head onto the rope, glaring wickedly at them. "Hsss, fools, one bite from my fangs means death. If you have no valuables, then go back and get some-tiling to pay our toll with."

Martin yanked down on the taut rope, letting it go with a tw.a.n.g. The line sprang upward, vibrating. The snake was hammered on the lower jaw several times before he was tossed flat on the bank. "How's that for starters, worm," GonfF laughed. "Stand up straight, and I'll give you a taste of my dagger when I get ash.o.r.e. Come on, Din."

The mole waved a hefty digging paw. "Oi'll make knots . in *ee, then oi'll teach yon glizzard sum manners." ' The three friends bounded up on the bank, dripping but de-'termined. Martin advanced, wielding his broken sword; Gonff ;drew his dagger as he and Dinny spread in a pincer movement; ; (he mole whirled a pack loaded with plants and roots.

As they closed for combat, the snake flicked his coils at Martin. "Hsss, you'll leave your bones on this bank, mouse!"

175.

Fortunate was becoming irate with her traveling partner. "By the fang, Patchcoat, I'm certain we've pa.s.sed this same yew thicket three times today. What are you playing at, in the name of foxes?"

Patchcoat whirled upon the vixen, pulling out a long rusty knife. "Are you calling me a liar, Besomtail? Think I don't know where I'm going?"

The vixen backed off, licking dry, nervous lips. "Of course not, friend. I'm sorry, this forest looks all the same to me. I'm a healer, not a pathfinder, you know."

Patchcoat grunted, as he sheathed his knife. "Huh, I'm no trailmaster myself. I'm a mercenary by trade. I'd swap a good barracks for this lot any day. Never mind, not far to go now.''

Fortunata pushed aside an overhanging branch. "A mercenary, eh? Soldier for hire. Well, you do right by me and I might be able to find you a good barracks. I could have you made into a Captain."

"A Captain, you say. Where at?"

The vixen winked. "Tell you some other time. Are we nearly there?"

"See that big oak?" Patchcoat asked, pointing. "It's got a hidden door between the main roots. Follow me."

At the sound of knocking, Bella opened the door of Brock-hall the merest crack. Skipper and Amber craned their necks 176.

to see the visitors as the badger called out gruffly, "Who are you? What do you want?"

Fortunata made a fawning bow. "My name is Besomtail. This is my a.s.sistant, Patchcoat. Are there any among you who require the services of a healer?"

Lady Amber showed her teeth. "We don't need your mumbo-jumbo, fox. Now clear off, quick!"

"Oh, please have pity on us," Mask whined pitifully. "WeVe fallen upon hard times. Foxes are always driven off, even when they have traveled far, seeking honest work. We do not mean harm to any creature. We are starving."

Skipper winked at the badger. "Oh, let em in, Miz Bella. Surely we can manage a bite and a sup for these two cruising fleabags?"

Bella opened the door wide. "Come in, foxes. But mind you behave, otherwise you may find yourselves hanging by the tails from a high branch."

Once inside, Fortunata's eyes roved ceaselessly, noting every detail of her surroundings. Abbess Germaine entered the room, accompanied by two small hedgehogs dressed in blanket cloaks and cooking-pot helmets.

"Ferdy, Coggs, take these two travelers to the kitchen," she ordered them. "Ask Goody to feed them, please."

Goody Stickle fed the unsavory duo some leftover spring vegetable soup with bread and cheese. They ate ravenously.

"Dearie me, it looks like you two ain't eaten since last harvest," Goody remarked. "I'll cut more bread V cheese, then you can earn your keep by scouring some pots and pans before you eat us out of house and home altogether. That'll save my old paws a job."

Reluctantly the foxes finished their meal. Afterwards they faced the formidable stack of dirty kitchenware heaped in bowls of water.

The vixen curled her lip in disgust. "You wash and I'll ;wipe."

Mask shook his head. "Oh no. A healer needs clean paws. : You wash, and I'll do the wiping."

As they worked, Mask whispered to Fortunata, "What jd'you make of this place, Besomtail?"

"Well, they've certainly got a comfy den here," she re- 177.

plied. "Well-stocked, too. But hark, Patchcoat, they're soft and innocent as new bread. Look how easily we got in here."

Mask tapped his nose knowingly. "A right bunch of woodland b.u.mpkins, eh? One good squad of soldiers could tie their whiskers in knots."

Fortunata pa.s.sed a large pan to be wiped. "How would you like to be in charge of that squad, Patchcoat?"

"Would this have anything to do with that Captain's job you mentioned earlier?" Mask whispered out the side of his mouth.

Fortunata wiped her paws on a towel. "Aye, it would. I've been watching you, Patchcoat. You're a fox after my own heart. Now listen carefully and stick by me. We can both come out of this as two rich and powerful foxes if we play both ends against the middle."

A fraction before both sides joined in combat there was a deep gruff shout from the reeds. "Wnoooaaahhh, gerroutofit!"

A small, ferocious shrew, armed with a heavy hornbeam club, hurled himself roaring onto Deathcoil and Whipscale. He belabored them mercilessly with swift hard blows.

"WhatVe I told you two filthy reptiles?" he shouted. "Gerroff my bank. Here, take this with you, and this, and this too!"

The snake and the lizard were thrashed into the stream.

"Ouch, ow, no, please, owoo, ooff!" they cried.

The bad-tempered shrew slammed his club down hard on Whipscale's tail. It flew off into the air, and he batted it into midstream with an expert flick.

In the water, a pattern of dirt floated away from Deathcoil, showing that under the dark bruises he was only a common gra.s.s snake.

The shrew turned to Martin and his friends, gesturing toward the unlucky pair in the stream. "See, a gra.s.s snake and a newt. Pair of nuisances, I've warned 'em before about threatening honest travelers. Go on, clear off you snotty vermin. Just let me catch you around here again, and I'll make you eat each other's tails!"

The snake and the newt were carried off by the current, hissing dire threats now they were out of reach of the shrew and his club. "You wait, you'll pay for this, you haven't seen the last of us."

178.

A well-aimed stone from Gonff's sling bounced off the snake's head; another from Martin stung the newt's severed tail stump.

The shrew nodded approvingly. "Slingmice, eh? Good shots. This club's my weapon. They won't be back for another dose of this."

Martin smiled. He liked the shrew's truculent manner. "Thank you, sir," he said warmly. "I am Martin the Warrior. This is Gonff the thief, and this Young Dinny, our mole friend. We are travelers, as you see, bound on a quest to Salamandastron."

The shrew shouldered his club. "Sala what? Oh, you mean that big place t'other side of the mountains. Well, I'm called Log-a-Log Big Club. I own the ferry round here. You should have given me a shout, like this."

Log-a-Log cupped his paws around his mouth, bellowing out in a deep voice which echoed off the mountains. '' Logalogalogalogalog!''

Gonff put his sling away. "We would have if we'd known, matey. Do you live around here?"

Log-a-Log parted the reeds, revealing a cave hewn into the bank. "Aye. I live alone. I expect you're hungry; travelers always are. Come inside. I'll tell you all about it."

Inside the cave was a nest of untidy odds and ends. Fishing nets draped the walls, a fire smoldered in one corner, many tools lay all about a large, skillfully made boat that dominated , the living area. An old black water beetle sat by the fire.

The travelers found seats amid the jumble, and Log-a-Log served them steaming bowls of freshwater shrimp soup with .arrowhead bread and spring radishes. He sat stroking the bee-

'tie's back.

*j-- "I call this fellow Grubwhacker. He lives nearby, comes in .;-.' and out of here for his food, just like a pet. That there is my

boat. It's about finished. I was going to try it soon in the stream.'' / Martin felt the st.u.r.dy polished hull. "It's beautifully

rafted, Log-a-Log. You know about boats, then?" I?': The shrew picked up a spokeshave. He took a sliver off the

'ern. "Ships, friend, ships. Though I'm a ferry-puller, like SAll. my family, we used to live with our tribe on the banks of

the River Moss, far to the north of here. One day, several isons ago, we were invaded by sea rats who sailed inland.

179.

They took many of us captive and put us to the oars of their galley. Some died there, but I escaped. One night I slipped my chains and went overboard, just south of Salamandastron. I swam ash.o.r.e. Do you see those mountains? Well, I couldn't cross them, so I walked around them. Ha, that took a season or two, I can tell you. Eventually- I found my way to this place-the Great South Stream, I call it. One day I'll go back to my village, where the sh.o.r.es and flatlands meet the woods on the River Moss. Until then, well, here I am."

Martin put down his bowl. "Then you've seen Salamandastron?"

"Oh aye, pa.s.sed it a few times when I was in the galleys," Log-a-Log agreed. "Big mountain, fiery at night. Sea rats don't like it, though."

Martin nodded. "Yes, I've heard about the sea rats. My father went oif to fight them up north. He was never heard of again. Tell me, Log-a-Log, do you know the way to Salamandastron?"

The shrew pointed with a ladle. "Over those mountains and due west."

Dinny was stroking Grubwhacker. "Hurt, can 'ee go thurr by stream, Gloglog?"

The shrew paced the cave with his lips pursed. Silently they watched him. Finally he stopped alongside Dinny and the beetle. Taking a loaf and a piece of cooked fish, he placed them upon Grubwhacker's back, where they could be carried without falling off. Log-a-Log patted his pet affectionately.

"Go on Grubwhacker," he told him. "Back to your missus and the little uns."

The beetle trundled oif obediently.

The shrew turned to Martin and his friends. "Right. Load the boat up with supplies. I'll get the mast and sail ready to rig up."

Gonff stood up. "Why, matey, what are we supposed to be doing?"

Log-a-Log grunted as he heaved a heavy mast timber from the back of the cave. "We're going to see if that old stream will take us under the mountain. That's the shortest route to Salamandastron. I wouldn't chance it on my own, but now that I *ve got a crew ..."

BOOK TWO.

Salamandastron

180.

Skipper hobbled into the dining room at Brockhali. He sat down with a sigh of relief, rubbing his tail and paws.

Fortunata and Mask were clearing away the lunchtime dishes. The sly vixen nodded toward Skipper and winked at her companion. Mask looked slightly bemused, but Fortunata winked again as she sauntered over to the otter.

"What seems to be the trouble, sir?" she asked solicitously. "Is it an old injury?"

Skipper shook his head and continued rubbing. "No, it's these pains I get in me paws and tail. The minute I come out of the water, or even after a rainshower these days, it starts throbbing right into me old bones. Ooh, the pains, matey. It's agony!"

Fortunata crouched in front of Skipper. "Here, allow me to take a look, sir. I'm a healer of pains.''

First she stroked the fur on Skipper's paws, then she probed , and tested with her claws. The otter put on a fine display of anguish.

"Ow, ooch," he exclaimed. "That's it, right there. You touched the very spot."

The vixen stroked her whiskers, looking very professional. *'Hmm, yes, I think you've got a touch of the stiffeners," she told him.

Skipper expressed concern. "The stiffeners? Float me tail, is that bad?"

183.

Fortunata shook her head gravely. "It will be, if you let it get any worse. I've seen otters bent double with the stiffen-ers. Very, very, painful indeed.'*

"Can you cure me, Besomtail?" he asked.

Fortunata leaned against the table. "Feverfew, wormwood, extract of nightshade leaf to stop the pain, that's what you need. Plus, of course, a few other items that I don't normally carry with me."

"But you can get them?" Skipper asked hopefully.

Fortunata smiled at Mask. "Well, I suppose so. Though I'll have to go out into the woods to gather them. What d'you say, Patchcoat?"

Mask had caught on to the scheme. "Right, Besomtail," he said. "We'd better go out into the woodlands and hunt for the stuff. After all they Ve done for us here, it'd be a shame to watch this poor otter suffer when we can help him."

Fortunata kept her voice light and casual. "Of course we'd need a couple of helpers, creatures that aren't needed for other duties. What about those two little hedgehogs? I'll bet they'd love a romp in the woods."

Spike and Posy (disguised as Ferdy and Coggs) were eager to help. Goody Stickle wiped their snouts with her ap.r.o.n corner.

"Now mind you, don't go a botherin* the healers," she warned them. "Behave yourselves like two liddle gen-tle'ogs."

Fortunata patted them gingerly on their heads. "Oh, they'll be just fine with old Patchcoat and me, marm."

The healer and her a.s.sistant strode off, in the wake of the two small hedgehogs who scampered playfully ahead. Mask hitched the medicine bag around his neck as he trudged along with the vixen.

"Here, Besomtail, what are you up to now?" he asked. "I thought we were supposed to escape back to Kotir and tell this Queen of yours where the woodlanders are hiding out."

Fortunata ducked an overhanging branch. "That's exactly what we're going to do, Patchcoat, but there's no harm in bringing back a couple of escaped prisoners while we're about it. You wait and see. It'll be an extra feather in both our caps, 184.

though I'd hate to be one of those young hedgehogs when Tsarmina has them back under her claws."

Mask felt a cold hatred for the cruel vixen, but long practice had taught him to keep a straight face.