of the brave woodlanders.
The Father Abbot was delivering a stern lecture to Cornflower concerning her ghostly antics.
“I did not approve of this venture from the first, my child. One false move and the General’s birds
would slay you and Sister May. Constance could be badly hurt too.”
Cornflower avoided the stern gaze. “But, Father Abbot, we have got the birds frightened. If the ghost of
Martin walks the Abbey by night, we will make the rooks and others lose heart and they will not enjoy
living at Redwall. Maybe they will fly off to their northlands and leave us in peace.”
The old mouse held up a paw for silence. “We went over this argument once before. At first I thought it
might have done some good; perhaps it has. But, Cornflower, you are taking this whole thing too lightly,
treating it as a big joke. I feel it in my whiskers, one of you will be badly hurt or captured. The whole
charade must stop.”
A rebellious gleam shone in Cornflower’s eyes. “Matthias would have approved of it. I’ll bet he and
Basil would have kept it up until those birds were scared out of their feathers.”
Mordalfus peered severely over the top of his glasses. “I am glad you mentioned Matthias. Have you
thought of my duty to him as Abbot? What if he came marching back out of the south with our young ones,
as I am sure he will do one fine day? How do you think I would feel, having to report that whilst he was
gone I allowed you to play foolish tricks until you were killed? You see, Cornflower, I have a responsibility
as Father Abbot to you, Matthias and all the creatures within our walls. Now will you please do as I say.”
Cornflower sighed deeply and bowed. “I will do as you say, Father Abbot,” she said reluctantly.
The kindly old mouse rose stiffly. He patted her head. “Thank you, Cornflower. Now, Constance, will
you take all the warrior’s armour to the gatehouse and put it back carefully.”
Constance gathered the armour and climbed into the tunnel.
Ironbeak was stalking the edge of the Abbey pond. The silver glint in the waters told him that there were
fish about. He marvelled at the abundance of food the earthcrawlers had within the walls of the redstone
place: orchards, gardens, a great storehouse in the area below stairs, even a pond with good water and fish
for the taking. Sometime soon it would all belong to him. He looked about in admiration, staring at the
strong outer wall that would keep other earthcrawlers out. His quick dark eye caught a movement over by
the main gate. The big stripedog had materialized practically out of thin air. It was carrying something.
Ironbeak crouched in the reeds and watched intently.
Constance took a quick glance around to check nobeast was observing her. Swiftly she unlocked the
gatehouse door and slid inside with the armour. The door closed behind her. Ironbeak could see the key
still sticking out of the lock. Seizing his opportunity, he rose and glided silently across to the gatehouse. The
deed was accomplished in a trice. The raven leader slammed the door. Sticking his beak into the handle
ring of the heavy iron key, he gave it a swift turn and withdrew it from the lock. There was a scrambling
noise from inside, then the sound of paws pounding against the solid timbers of the door as the badger
called out, “Cornflower, is that you? Stop playing about and open this door. Come on, I know it’s you!”
Ironbeak soared off jubilantly with the key looped on his beak. Now that the enemy he feared so much
was out of the way, there was nobeast strong enough to withstand a sudden attack. Truly Mangiz’s visions
were becoming reality.
Inside the gatehouse, Constance had her eye to the keyhole. She could see nothing. Whoever had locked her
in was gone, for it was quiet outside. The badger ran to the window. Redwall Abbey was a long distance
from the gatehouse. It stood serene and peaceful across the lawns, beyond the pond. The window was too
small for a fully grown badger to break and crawl through, so she began exploring the place. Other small
windows in each of the bedrooms proved useless. Constance noted the chimney vent in the cosy hearth, but
it was out of the question; a badger of her dimensions would be jammed right away. She tried the door
again. It was solid, with florin spikes and iron bands fixed to the stout oak timbers.
After exploring every possibility, Constance resigned herself. There was a jug of water and plenty of
dried fruits in the cupboard. She sat at the living room window, watching and waiting for help to appear.
“Stryk Redkite wanna fly ’gain. Must fly, Sissimay!”
Sister Mary scrubbed her paws wearily. “No, no, you naughty bird. You must rest until the wing heals.
Now be still, or you get no supper.”
“Don’ wan’ supper, wanna fly.”
The Abbot and Brother Rufus sat with John Churchmouse, taking their supper at a barrel top. John
rubbed the back of his neck. “Whew, I wish that bird was a sparrow instead of a great red kite. It would
have been much easier.”
Abbot Mordalfus took a long draught of October ale. “It was difficult, John, but I think it was
worthwhile. You did a marvelous job putting those new pinion feathers in place. Did you take all your
instructions from Methuselah’s book?”
John shrugged modestly. “Not exactly, Father Abbot. I did invent a little fish glue to reinforce the twine
that I tied them with, though I actually did manage to get the feather ends into the cavities of the old ones.
They should take and be as good as new by the end of season. What about you, Rufus? How did it go with
the break?”
Brother Rufus munched wild-cherry flan. “Mmmff, ’scuse me. We used fishbone and feather quill to
repair it. Everything was a bit messy, but quite straightforward when you have our Abbot to help you.”
Sister May dried her paws. “I’ve used every kind of ointment and healing nostrum I know to help the
operation along. Now we must wait.”
“Wanna fly. Stryk Redkite flyover mountain like skyclouds,” the big bird wailed.
John folded his spectacles away. “Huh, now we must wait? Try telling her that.”
The great red bird made as if to move. Sister May picked up a wooden ladle.
“Just you dare, m’lady. I’ll tan your feathery hide!”
Stryk perched sullenly, her wing still supported by the wine firkin and the books.
“Warra warrior, Sissimay shoulda be Redkite.”
“The very idea of it, you feathery baggage!”
Cornflower had great difficulty keeping baby Rollo away from the wine cellar. He was anxious to see the
big bird. At the moment she and Mrs. Churchmouse had the infant occupied by the barricade in Cavern
Hole, where he and some of his little friends were busy at their self-appointed task of watching for rooks.
Rollo crouched down, peering round the edge of the table that lay on its side. After a while he turned to the
mousewives, who were busy shelling peas.
“No cooks.”
“He’s trying to tell us there’s no rooks,” Cornflower explained to Mrs. Churchmouse.
“Oh, I thought he was referring to Mr. Spike when he said ‘no cooks.’ He’s no cook at all.”
“Indeed he isn’t. Hotroot pepper in the scones! I could have drunk the Abbey pond dry that night.
Though our Rollo might have a point. I haven’t noticed any birds out there, yesterday or today. They may
be up to something. Do you think it’s worth telling the Abbot or Constance?”
Mrs. Churchmouse rolled a small garden pea over for Rollo to play with. “No, I shouldn’t worry.
Ironbeak knows he can’t get us out of Cavern Hole. It would make him look bad in front of his birds if he