the riddle of this poem.” The Abbot tapped the stone tablet. “Where does the poetry end and the clues
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 I 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 called home. ’ ”
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 marm, oi thinks it be afore that, even: ‘ Somewhere ’twixt our earth’n’sky, burds an’ gentle
breezes roam. ’ Whurrs that?”
“That’s 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 glasses. “Silly it may sound, but it’s a serious business, Spike.”
“No need to get huffy, dear,” Mrs. Churchmouse interrupted hastily. “Let’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 clue than at the top of the very building she designed. So, I’m looking up at our Abbey.
Tell me, somebeast, what am I 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 grass 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 passing 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 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, that’s a different matter. You lot’d look sick without my casks of berry wine, mark
my words!”
John Churchmouse glared over the top of his glasses at the retreating cellar keeper.
“Now, where were we? Two letter Bs. What’s next, Abbot?”
“Two letter Os, John. Wait, I think Rollo 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, that’s 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 clearly?”
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.”
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 it’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 think 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