elderberry wine from the storerooms. See that there is plenty for everyone."
Shutting his ears against the sounds of the revelers, Martin lay upon the
straw with the sword handle pressing against his chest. Now that his last
hopes were gone, it looked like being • long hard winter.
25
Across the lea, beneath the leaves,
When countrylands wake up to spring,
Hurrah here comes the Prince of Thieves,
Hear every small bird sing.
So daring and so handsome too,
He makes a wondrous sight,
But if he comes to visit you,
Lock up your treasures tight.
Sunlight sparkled on the chuckling stream that had lain iced over and silent
all winter. Snowdrops nodded agreeably to crocus on the warm southerly breeze.
Spring was everywhere. Golden daffodils and their paler narcissus relatives
stood guard between the budding trees of Mossfiower Woods; evergreens that had
endured the dark winter took on a new fresh life.
Gonff was returning from another successful visit to Kotir. The wine flasks
bumped and banged against his broad belt as he skipped nimbly through the
flowering woodlands, singing aloud with the heady intoxication of springtime.
Cuckoo, cuckoo, good day, my friend, to you. O sly one you know best. To lay
in others' nest, Is a trick you often do. 26
But I am smarter, sir, than you, Cuckoo, my friend cuckoo.
The blood coursed madly through GonfF's young veins like the waters of a
brook, gurgling happily and generally making him so light-headed that he
turned somersaults. Every so often he would pull a reed flute from his tunic
and twiddle away with the sheer joy of being alive on such a morning as this.
With a great whoop Gonff threw himself into a thick tussock of grass and lay
with the perspiration rising from him in a small column of steam. Overhead the
sky was a delicate blue with small white clouds scudding on the breeze. Gonff
imagined what it would be like to lie upon a small fluffy white cloud and
allow himself to be buffeted about in the sunny sky.
"Whooooaaa, look out, zoom, bump, whoof! Out of the way you big clouds." The
little mousethief held tight to the grass, swaying from side to side as he
played out his game of makebelieve.
He did not notice the two weasels dressed in Kotir armor until too late. They
stood over him looking grim and officious.
Gonff7 smiled impudently, aware of his clunking wine flasks. "Er, aha ha.
Hello, mateys, I was flying my cloud, you see . . ."
The larger of the two prodded him with a spearbutt. "Come pa you, on your
paws. You're wanted at Kotir."
Gonff winked at him cheerily. "Kotir? You don't say! Well, bow nice! Listen,
you two good chaps, nip along and tell them I'm busy today but I'll pop in
early tomorrow."
The spearpoint at Gonff's throat discouraged further light banter. The smaller
of the two weasels kicked GonfF. "Up you come, thief. Now we know where the
best cheeses and elderberry wine have been going all winter. You'll pay for
Stealing from Kotir."
Gonff stood slowly. Placing a paw on his plump little stomach he looked from
one guard to the other with an air of innocence. "Me, steal? I beg your
pardon, sirs, did you know the head cook has given me permission to borrow
what I please from his larder? Actually, I was going to return the
27
favor by sending him some good recipes. I understand his cooking leaves
something to be desired."
The large weasel laughed mirthlessly. "Shall I tell you something, thief? The
head cook has personally vowed to skin you with a rusty knife and roast what's
left of you for supper.''
Gonff nodded appreciatively. "Oh good, I do hope he saves some for me ...
ouch!"
Prodded between two spears, he marched off with the guards in the direction of
Kotir.
A pale shaft of sunlight penetrated between the iron bars of the high window
slit. The walls of the cell dripped moisture, and sometimes the faint trill of
a skylark on the fiatlands reached the prisoner. Martin knew that this was the
onset of full, burgeoning springtime. His face was haggard, his body much
thinner, but his eyes still shone with the warrior's angry brightness.
Martin rose and paced the cell with the sword handle about his neck; it seemed
to grow heavier with time. Fifteen paces, whichever way he went—from door to
wall or from wall to wall, it was always fifteen paces. He had paced it many
times as the days and weeks grew into months. Gingivere was too iar away to
converse with, besides, it only made the guards angry. They stopped his bread
and water for attempting to speak to the one whose name it was forbidden to
mention. Now Martin believed that he really had been forgotten and left here
to die under the new regime of Tsarmina. He stood in the shaft of weak
sunlight, trying not to think of the world of blue skies and flowers outside.
"Get the little devil in there quick. It'll be less trouble to feed two at
once. Ouch, my shin!"
Lost in thought, Martin had failed to hear the approach of guards bringing a
prisoner to his cell door.
"Aargh, leggo my ear, you fiend. Hurry up with that door before he bites my
lug clean off."
"Ouch. Ow. He nipped me! Keep him still while I find my key."
There was more shouting and scuffling as the key turned in the lock. Martin
ran to the door but was immediately bowled over by another figure, which shot
through the door-
28
way straight in on top of him. Together they fell over backward, as the cell
door slammed shut again. The two prisoners lay still until the pawsteps of the
guards retreated down the corridor.
Martin moved gingerly, easing aside the body that had fallen on top of him. It
giggled. He pulled his cellmate into the shaft of sunlight where he could view
him more clearly.
Gonff winked broadly at him, played a short jig on his reed flute, then began
singing,
I knew a mouse in prison here,
More than a hundred years.
His whiskers grew along the ground,
And right back to his ears.
His eyes grew dim, his teeth fell out,
His fur went silver-gray.
"If my grandad were here," he said,
"I wonder what he'd say?"
Martin leaned against the wall. He could not help smiling at bis odd little
cellmate.
*'Silly, how could the grandfather of a hundred-year-old mouse say anything?
Sorry, my name's Martin the Warrior. What's yours?"
Gonff extended a paw. "Martin the Warrior, eh. By gum, Martin, you're a fine,
strong-looking fellow, even though you could do with a bit of fattening up. My
name's Gonff the Thief, or Prince of Mousethieves to you, matey."
Martin shook Gonff warmly by the paw. "Prince of Mousethieves, by the fur. You
could be the King of the Sky, as long as I've got a cellmate to speak to. What
did they throw you in here for?"
Gonff winced. "Stop squeezing my paw to bits and I'll tell
you."
They sat down on the straw together, Gonff massaging his jpaw. "They caught me
running down the larder stocks of jvine and cheese, you see. But don't you
worry, matey, I can Open any lock in Kotir. We won't be here for too long,
you'll •ee. Leave it to Gonff."
X "You mean you can—we can—escape from here? How,
29
when, where to?" Martin's voice tumbled out, shaky with excitement.
Gonff fell back against the wall, laughing. "Whoa, matey, not so fast! Don't
worry, as soon as I get things organized we'll say byebye to this dump. But