what lies beyond the great Southern Plateau. But afore you travel you must eat with us.”
The Stump family lived in a great hollow beech tree that had fallen on its side. They were not very strong
on table manners. Immediately the food was set out, the ten husky daughters threw themselves upon it and
had to be beaten off by their father to make room for the guests. Matthias and his friends thanked them
politely and carried their portions of woodland stew, acornbread and cider outside because of the lack of
room in the hollow log. They sat on a grassy sward, eating and watching the incredible scene inside.
Rosyqueen hit out indiscriminately with a heavy wooden ladle as the ten daughters fought, bit, licked the
stewpot, stole bread from each other and generally created uproar in the limited space.
“Bless their ’earts,” Jabez Stump laughed. “They’s all fine big maids wi’ ’ealthy appetites. You should
see my liddle Jube, though. He can outspike the lot o’them when ’e’s at ’ome, hoho! It’s a lifetime’s work
keepin’ this lot fed, it is that.”
By now the hedgehogs had finished the food and were starting to eat the soft wooden casing that
formed the walls inside the log. Rosyqueen belabored them furiously until they spilled out onto the sward,
tumbling and fighting for leftovers, so much so that Matthias and his friends were hard put to finish their
meal in peace.
Jabez Stump tossed his soup bowl to one of them to lick as he stood up dusting his paws. “Right then,
we about ready to start trackin’?”
They set off south, with Rosyqueen and the ten daughters waving a cheerful goodbye.
“You find them liddle uns now, d’you ’ear?”
“Aye, and bring us back some weasels to bully.”
“If we ain’t ’ere when you returns it’ll be ’cos we’ve etten the log an’ gone a-searchin’ for another.
Goodbye!”
As Jabez was making his goodbyes, Basil Stag Hare whispered to Matthias and Orlando, “Some
blighter’s watching us from those bushes to the right.”
Orlando moved casually in the direction of the bushes. “Leave this one to me.”
But before the badger could move any further, Jess Squirrel was past him like a reddish streak. She flew
into the bushes with a mighty leap and engaged the watcher. The foliage shook and trembled as the bushes
thrashed noisily with the vigor of Jess’s attack, and there were panicked cries from the shrubbery.
“Lemmego, lemmego! Ow ouch! Eek gurgh! You’re hurting me!”
Jess emerged from the bushes, dragging Scurl the great frilled newt by his comb. “Oho, don’t you
worry, sloppyskin, I’ll hurt you! I’ll tear you in pieces and feed you to the Stump family if you don’t tell me
where you got my champion climber’s tailring from.”
She threw Scurl roughly to the ground. Completely surrounded, the cheating reptile stared wide-eyed
at Orlando, Jabez, Basil and Matthias. Using all his agility, he tried to make a swift escape, but the sword
that buried itself in the ground at his nosetip and the immense war axe that thudded to earth a fraction
from his tail warned him in no uncertain way that these creatures were warriors, not young woodland
captives, and they meant business.
Scurl swallowed hard. “I can ’splain. I’ll tell you everything!”
Matthias flicked the swordpoint against the frightened newt’s pulsating throat.
“That’s my son’s habit cord you’re wearing. I think you had better tell us everything. Now!”
Chapter 18
Baby Rollo was singing again.
“Seeker Flounder inner stones, oho,
I know where da lickle folks go.”
Cornflower was searching along the ramparts of the eastern wall. The old redstone was warmed by the
sun and shaded by the quiet green heights of Mossflower. She looked around distractedly.
“Baby Rollo, hush! We won’t find anything with you singing aloud like that, it’s very distracting.”
Rollo gave her a winsome smile. He held a paw to his chubby face. “Ssshhhh, ’stracting!” he echoed.
Cornflower could not help laughing at the infant vole. “Go on with you, you rascal. Why don’t you pop
down and see Mr. Spike in the cellars and lend him a paw? He’ll probably give you a drink of nice cold
strawberry cordial.”
Rollo sang lustily as he made his way down the wallsteps.
“Seeker Flounder inner stones,
I catch a rat an’ break his bones,
Give Mr. Spike a good hard strike,
For good ol’ strawhawhaw beherreeee corjullllll!”
He tottered momentarily on the bottom step but was caught firmly by Winifred the Otter, who
happened to be passing by in the nick of time.
“Gotcha, you villain. Oof! You’re a great lump of a baby bankvole. Hi, Cornflower. No luck? I think
we’re all in the same boat. Come down off there. It’s getting too hot to be searching now. Let’s go and have
lunch. They’ve put out a picnic spread on the grass.”
As Cornflower and Winifred sat with their backs against the Abbey wall, they were joined by Foremole.
“Yurr, missis, oil just see’d li’l Rollyo agoin’ off down’t cellars, hurr hurr. Ambrose’ll be a-nappen. Due
for a rude awaken, oi shouldn’t wunner.”
The meal was simple: fresh summer salad, cold cider, and gooseberry crumble with nutmeg cream.
Foremole munched thoughtfully, wrinkling his snout and blinking his eyes a lot.
“Hurr, gotten uz proper flummoxed, ’as yon puzzle. Nor a one yet a cummen up wi’ no clues.”
Cornflower passed him the cider. “It’s difficult, I agree, but we must find the solution soon if we are to
help Matthias. It’s hard to know where to begin. ‘ Seek the Founder in the stones where the little folk go. ’ Do we
begin by seeking out the stones, the Founder, the little folk, or all three?”
Baby Rollo came running towards them with a small canteen of strawberry cordial tied about his fat
waist. Winifred laughed. “Look out, here’s the terror back again. I’ll bet Mr. Spike gave him what he
wanted just to be rid of him while he takes his nap.”
They carried on eating and discussing the riddle. Baby Rollo sat between Cornflower and Foremole,
continually butting in and trying to show them something he had in his paws. Winifred patted the baby
vole’s head.
“Yes, yes, very nice, Rollo. But please don’t interrupt. Can’t you see we’re talking?”
Rollo would not be put off. He cut a comical figure, muttering away as he wriggled his paws this way
and that as if trying to hold on to something.
“Cornflow’, lookit see, lookit,” he persisted.
Cornflower fed him on a piece of gooseberry crumble and wiped his face on the corner of her apron.
“Drink up your cordial like a good little vole now, Rollo. Please don’t speak with your mouth full.
Remember your manners. Oh dear, what is he so excited about?”
Rollo opened his paws wide, gurgling at the insect that ran backwards and forwards across them.
“Lookit, li’l folkses!”
All three stared in amazement. The infant was showing them something they had not thought of so far.
“It’s an ant!”
“Of course, the little folk. That’s what Methuselah and old Abbot Mortimer always called ants: the little
folk.”
“Yurr, clever li’l Rollyo, guddbeast, young zurr!”
“Tell us where you found him.”
Rollo pointed a paw with the ant still roaming across it. “Mista Spike’s cellar.”
Across the lawn they hurried, into Great Hall, down the stairs to Cavern Hole, through the small corridor at
the far side and down the sloping ramp into the wine cellars. Ambrose Spike lay snoring gently, an empty