Basil leapt from the rock. “Aha, but we might yet. I’ve remembered something too: our old eating game
from the border scouts and foot fighters regiment. You see, we used to put out a great plate of food each,
all heaped up as high as they’d go. Now, the one that threw the longest shadow won it all. Never took part
meself, food’s far too serious to gamble with. But on summer’s day, that was different. I knew I’d win then,
because you get the longest shadows of all on summer’s day.”
Matthias was becoming impatient. “Summer’s day — what summer’s day, Basil? Summer is full of
days.”
“So ’tis,” Jabez Stump interrupted, “but to us old woodlanders there’s only one summer’s day: right in
the middle.”
Orlando nodded wisely. “Aye, that’s midsummer’s day. My dad told me that.”
“Thank you!” Matthias sighed. “But where does all that get us? We don’t know how far the shadow
would fall on midsummer’s day.”
“No, we don’t,” Jess agreed. “However, we could make an educated guess. At least we can see the
direction the shadow of the tree is going.”
They spread out in a straight line from the end of the pine shadow.
“Of course, the tree might have been even taller at the time the poem was written,” Jess called out. “It’s
very old, and it could have lost a bit off the top in a storm or something. I wonder where the shadow would
have ended?”
It was in the copse! One of Log-a-Log’s shrews was first to find it. He held up his paw. “Over here,
look!” he shouted excitedly.
A carved stone step screened by bushes was what they had searched for. A few sweeps of Orlando’s
axe cleared the surrounding bush, revealing similar steps, a whole flight of them ran out of sight down into
the ground. Matthias traced the less worn edge of the first step carefully with his paw. He looked up at
them with a stunned expression on his face.
“I know what this place is!”
Orlando peered at the lettering. “Loamhed. What does it mean?”
Matthias sat upon the step, his paw at the spot where the word ended.
“The rest of it has been worn away. This was Loamhedge. The mice who founded Redwall with Martin
the Warrior came from Loamhedge Abbey. They left because of the great sickness that brought death to
many creatures. I can remember when I was a little mouse at my history lessons, Great Abbot Mortimer
told me of the founders. Abbess Germaine brought the Brothers and Sisters from a place called Loamhedge
Abbey, but where exactly it lay nobeast knew. Now we have found it.”
Matthias pushed away the overgrown grass from the side of the step, exposing a standing line of carved
mice. The middle one was missing. He drew from his belt the talisman that the old rabbit had given him. It
fitted neatly into the center space.
“See, here’s the missing one. That fuddled old rabbit knew where old Loamhedge once was, and he
gave me this because it was the only thing of value he possessed. Maybe he too was a slave one time and
managed to escape from here, who knows. Great Abbot Mortimer used to say that Loamhedge was a
building that was nearly as large as Redwall Abbey.”
Orlando tapped the step with his axe handle. “What’s it doing down there? Are they the cellar steps?”
Jabez Stump looked about the copse. “No, they couldn’t be. If this Loamhedge place had been
destroyed, the land would have been covered in debris and great buildin’ stones. This must have happened
at the dancin’ of the cliffs.”
Orlando scratched his stripes. “I’m completely baffled now. An Abbey called Loamhedge that was here
but isn’t now, and dancing of the cliffs. What’s it all about?”
“We Stumps lived in South Mossflower by the cliffs longer than anybeast,” Jabez explained. “My old
grandpa used to tell me about the days of Josh Stump, his great-great-great-grandpa. They say one day
long ago our family lived atop of that cliff, but it started a-shakin’ an’ tremblin’ as if the whole cliffs were
dancin’. When it stopped, old Josh Stump he said, ‘I won’t live atop of no dancin’ cliffs no more,’ and he
took the family to live down in Mossflower Woods. Never a Stump went up ’em again, until I did to search
for young Jube.”
Recognition dawned upon Matthias. “Of course, it must have been an earthquake long ago. That was
what caused the great gorge we crossed. Yes, and those gardens we passed through. No creature ever had
gardens and orchards on such bumpy land. The earth had shifted! You see what happened? Loamhedge
Abbey must have been swallowed up when the ground moved. These steps would be dormitory stairs or
attic steps, and the whole building must have just dropped straight down into its own cellars. Maybe even
further, with the great weight of it all.”
Ironbeak was determined to confront the ghost. He gave the sentries a night off. Taking Mangiz with him,
he stood at the sentry post in the galleries as the last crimson sunburst hit the windows of Redwall Abbey,
bathing the floor in a glorious deep rose-colored light. Mangiz watched it through swollen eyelids.
“Mayhap the mouse in armour will not walk until the middle of the night, my General,” he said
wearily.
“Yarrak! Mayhap it does not walk at all, fool. Mayhap it does not exist. That is what I have brought you
here to prove. Tired eyes of dozy rooks will see frogs fly or stones lay eggs. I am Ironbeak, I know better
than to believe such things. So should you.”
Mangiz held his counsel, deciding discretion was the better part of valor.
The sparrow who had been watching them from a slit window made his report to Cornflower and
Constance.
“Bird say you no come, black crow worm no so sure. Both wait above Great Hallplace, now.”
Baby Rollo was having imaginary adventures dressed in the helmet of the Warrior. He waved the
sword frantically, singing aloud:
“Kill a bird wivout a word,
Hit a black rook wiv a heavy book.
Bang a crow an’ make him go …”
Cornflower relieved him of the wooden sword. “Stop waving that thing about, Rollo. You’ll put
somebeast’s eye out with it. So, the General is waiting for the ghost to walk again. Let him wait. When it
gets dark enough he won’t be disappointed. The spirit of Martin the Warrior will roam abroad.”
Constance gently polished the burnished breastplate. “You must be careful. He won’t be as easy to fool
as those two last night. I think we need a more intricate plan this time.”
Cornflower laughed. “Good, then let’s sit here a good long while and think up a clever scheme. Don’t
forget, it was our turn on supper duty tonight, but we’ll be excused because we’re working for the Abbey
war effort. John Churchmouse and Ambrose Spike will have to cook the supper.”
Constance stifled a giggle. “Oh no! John and Ambrose, there’ll be war in the kitchen when those two
meet over the cooking pots. Right, down to business. Let’s get our thinking caps on.”
The rooks of General Ironbeak were perched in the dormitory. They listened in awed silence as Grubclaw
and Ragwing related their encounter with the Abbey ghost, especially as the two rooks were not above
adding bits to make it a good story now that Ironbeak and Mangiz were not there.
“Hakka! It was dark out there last night. I could feel in my feathers that something was going to
happen,” Ragclaw began.
“Kraak! Me too. It was darker and gloomier than the bottom of a northland well. So Ragwing and I
stood sentry with beaks and claws at the ready for any funny business, didn’t we, bird?” Grubclaw added.