morning in the Summer of the Golden Plain. Who would think that evil is abroad on a day like this?
Redwall is safe, yet it is in great danger if the future of its young ones is threatened. Help me to help
Matthias. Which way will he go? What paths must he travel? Where is the hooded fox and his band bound
for? I am the Abbot, but at heart I am only Brother Alf the pond-keeper. At times like this the burden of
our Abbey and its creatures is too much for my old back to bear.”
Mordalfus groaned slightly as he sat down upon the floor, an ancient mouse in his nightshirt. The rays
of the warm sun caused his eyes to droop lower as he strove to concentrate upon the picture of Martin the
Warrior. Gradually the likeness began to waver and sway in front of Mordalfus. Was it Martin he was
gazing at? Or was it Matthias? Though it looked a lot like young Mattimeo. Strange, the tricks that two tired
old eyes can play on their owner. His head drooped lower. Now he had no need to look up at the tapestry,
for Martin was right in front of him. From far away, as though it were through the mists of summers long
dead and gone, the Warrior’s voice came softly across the roof of time:
“Seek the Founder in the stones where the little folk go.”
“Father Abbot, I’m surprised at you, sleepwalkin’ in your nightshirt!”
“Eh, what, who?” Mordalfus came awake to find Constance the badger shaking him.
“Better not let Sister May catch you dressed like that, or she’ll dose you with herbs against the cold.
Come on, old feller, up on your paws now.”
The Abbot rubbed his eyes with shaky paws as he allowed Constance to stand him upright. “Constance,
oh, it’s you! Ooh, I’m stiff. Couldn’t sleep a wink all night, so I wandered down here at dawn to have a
word with Martin.”
The badger chuckled as she escorted the Abbot to breakfast at Cavern Hole. “Yes, I often have a word
or two with our Warrior myself, though he never says anything to me. Still, it’s a comfort sometimes to
think that he’s probably listening.”
The Abbot halted. After cleaning his tiny spectacles on his sleeve he donned them, looking over the tops
at the badger.
“Ah, but he spoke to me, just before you woke me.”
Constance felt a cold prickle along the back of her neckfur. “Indeed, and what did he have to say to
you?”
“Seek the Founder in the stones where the little folk go.”
“Was that all?”
“Every single word.”
“I wonder what Martin meant by that,” Constance mused.
“So do I, friend. Let’s have breakfast and think about it.”
Ambrose Spike and Brother Rufus had prepared the breakfast. The Abbot and Constance took their place at
the large table with other Redwallers. Gossip flowed freely as bowls were passed to and fro, butter,
oatcakes, fresh fruit, cinnamon toast, honey and pitchers of fresh cold milk. In the bell tower, baby Rollo
and John Churchmouse had begun tolling the twin bells. Cornflower passed toast to Mrs. Churchmouse.
“Your John is a far better teacher than you or I. Listen, baby Rollo’s actually pealing in time with him,”
she remarked.
Mrs. Churchmouse toyed with the toast and honey. “It’ll take them some time to be as good at it as my
Tim’n’Tess, though. Poor mites, I do hope that fox isn’t making them suffer.” A tear fell into the bowl of
milk alongside the little mousemother.
Cornflower put a brave face on. “What, those two rascals! If I know anything, they’ll have him run
ragged. The things these two get up to with my Matti and Sam Squirrel!”
“Seek the Founder in the stones where the little folk go.”
Silence fell upon the table. Ambrose Spike turned to the Abbot. “Funny thing to say. What does it
mean?”
Constance shrugged. “We don’t know. Martin the Warrior spoke to the Abbot a short while ago, and
that’s all he said: ‘Seek the Founder in the stones where the little folk go.’ ”
Mordalfus stood up. “I’m going to get dressed. See if any of you can make head or tail of it. It may be a
message to help us find our young ones.”
Winifred the otter shook her head. “But Matthias, Basil and Jess are out looking for them. They must be
far away by now. Supposing we did find any clues, how would we let them know when we don’t even
know where they are?”
Constance wagged a toast crust thoughtfully. “Good question. I’ve had an idea. The rain has cleared
now and the weather is good, so why don’t we send Warbeak and the Sparra warriors out? There are
enough of them, and if they fly off in different directions following the general path Matthias took, surely
they must find them sooner or later.”
Cornflower poured milk for herself. “Sooner, I hope.”
Mrs. Churchmouse got up busily from the table. A look of resolution had replaced the sadness upon
her face. “Well, at least we can be doing something instead of sitting around moping and leaving it all to
Matthias, Basil and Jess. Everybody search, hunt, seek, high and low. Try and find something out about
Martin’s words. What were they?”
“Seek the Founder in the stones where the little folk go,” Constance repeated.
A short time later, Cavern Hole lay deserted. Paws sounded upon stairs, doors slammed, walls were
tapped, and all round Redwall Abbey voices echoed:
“Seek the Founder in the stones where the little folk go. ”
Chapter 17
Though the captives were hurried along, the going became easier. Thick forest gave way to grassy clearings,
and rocks were much in evidence now, with here and there a large stony hill rearing out of the woodlands.
As they marched, Mattimeo and his friends were able to gather fair quantities of cloudberry and
pennycress, supplemented with hard pears and crab apples. Slagar was becoming more cautious, forever
watching ahead and detailing guards to cover their tracks from the rear.
Vitch caught up with Threeclaws. “What’s the fox watchin’ out for, more slaves?”
The weasel curled his lip at the undersized rat. “What he’s lookin’ out for is his own business and none
of yours, noseywhiskers. You just keep your eyes on those prisoners.”
“Ha, you’re only sayin’ that ’cos you don’t know yourself,” Vitch sneered. “Bet you don’t even know
where we’re going.”
Slagar had heard Vitch. He stood still until the unsuspecting rat caught up with him. Then the sly one
stepped on the rat’s tail, stopping him short.
“So, you want to know where we’re going, eh, Vitch?”
The rat gulped and shrugged nervously. “Er, no, not really.”
The silken mask sucked into a hideous grin. “Then that’s good, Vitch, good. Because it’s no use asking
this thick shower of tramps and scavengers. They don’t know. Only one creature knows where we’re going:
me. When we get these slaves to their destination, you’ll either end up very rich … or very dead, if you
keep asking about things that don’t concern you.”
Slagar strode off, leaving Vitch dumbfounded but thankful that he had only received a verbal
reprimand for his curiosity.
“Did you hear that?” Mattimeo whispered to Jube. “Have you any idea where we’re going?”
The young hedgehog nodded. “South. That’s the way that slave caravans always go. My dad an’ mum
said it’s evil in the south. We never go there.”
Shortly before noon they were in sight of two hills. Slagar called Threeclaws and Halftail.
“We’ll camp in the canyon between those two hills. Take the slaves up to the south end of it, there’s flat