Samuel entered Cavern Hole.

The sight of the squirrelmaid, slumped like a sack against Samuel's chest, seemngly leaking blood onto the front of his tunic, and the two

young creatures trailing, ashen-faced, behind him, seemed to set off a firework explosion. Before long, the gathering Redwallers had formed a path from the doorway of Great Hall to the doorway of the Infirmary.

Facing that barricade of creatures, Samuel raised his voice, hoping to

make himself heard.

"Get out o' th' way, for God's sake! Get out o' th' way! "

A few creatures were sensible enough to move to the side, and, as Samuel jostled his way through the narrow gap that this had provided

him with, he shouted back to Marianne. "Miz Marianne! Don't just stand there! You know where t' find Sister

Bethelle, don't you? Fetch 'er, quick-like!"

Marianne shook herself out of her daze, and hastened off to obey, leaving Salome to grope her way towards the

back of the hall.

The Abbess and Sister Bethelle arrived simultaneously. Although the

Abbeybeasts were docile enough to clear a path for these two, allowing

them to enter the Infirmary, the Abbess was forced to shriek in order to make herself heard; but for that she was fortunate, for she did not

receive a reply to any of her questions, or a response to any of her commands.

Then, Skipper Johndam appeared. His very presence brought complete silence and order to the hall, even before he roared, "Shuttup, all

o' ye!"

The Abbeybeasts retreated from the hall, one by one, in twos and

threes. Samuel was free to carry Muryet into the Infirmary.

Stooping beside the nearest bed, he deposited her onto the blanket, and

Sister Bethelle hurried over to her side.

Within moments, the little form had been shrouded in a quilt, and her

head lay in Sister Bethelle's lap. Several times the old squirrel

Sister had dunked her paw into a bowl of cold water and doused

Muryet's face, all to no avail. She shook her head.

"Look at it . . . this lump. And she shows no signs of reviving . . ."

Only the Abbess seemed to have regained some of her composure. She knelt beside the bed to examine the

lump more carefully.

"She received a blow to the skull, did she not, Samuel?"

Samuel stared down at the blood splotches on his tunic - dark,

reddish-black, still damp. "Aye, Mother Abbess - somethin' like that,

I s'pose."

Skipper Johndam, determined not to shout again, was forced to resort to

a gritted-teeth whisper. "Somethin' like that? Lissen t' me, mate, this

ain't no 'somethin' like that' matter! This may be a matter of life or

death for th' little maid! You saw all o' that blood - it's still

splattered all over yore tunic! An' on that topic, go an' change out o'

that thing! A meetin' may need t' be called, an' if th' Abbeybeasts get a

good glimpse at that thing they'll go insane! Shift yoreself!"

Great Hall was packed, from end to end. Every creature sat upright, ashen-faced, but

silent, listening as Marianne spoke.

"We didn't go t' do it, Mother Abbess."

Her voice was quivering. "I . . . didn't know Salome would . . . I saw her doing it, but I ought t''ave . . . stopped Muryet . . . but Salome never knew it would . . . Oh, 'Ellgates! Muryet's dead . . . dead . . . an' all o'

Mossflower's bein' overrun by vermin!" The squirrelmaid collapsed facedown upon the table surface, gasping and heaving, like a creature

who had nearly drowned.

But before pandemonium could erupt, the Abbess addressed her sharply.

"Now, miss, you will cease this foolishness immediately! Muryet is alive; Sister Bethelle felt her pulse. Sit up now, and draw in three deep breaths. Shouting and crying will only make everybeast worse."

Marianne did as she was told. The Abbess passed her a handkerchief.

"There's a good creature. Now, what happened? What did Salome do?"

Marianne wiped her eyes. "It's my fault, marm - I never ought t' 'ave stood by an' watch Muryet eat . . . eat that pastie. She didn't want t'

eat it . . . but Salome tempted 'er into it, an' she was so 'ungry . . . If it 'adn't been for us, she'd never 'ave gotten ill, an' she'd never 'ave got

'it in th' 'ead . . ."

Samuel glanced from Marianne's face to Salome, who was studying the floor. "Tempted 'er? Wot in all o' Mossflower is goin' on here?"

Abbess Elinor folded her paws in a no-nonsense manner. "Master Samuel, please tell us all what happened!"

Samuel explained that the Friar had sent the four young creatures into the Woods for fuel, that the maids had stopped in a clearing to eat, and that he had gone off to search for a suitable tree. He had returned to find that Muryet was feeling unwell and insisted upon lying there,

so he had taken Marianne and Salome along with him.

"I chopped for a bit an' then went back t' th' spot to check up on Muryet. But she wasn't there. I wandered about, lookin' for her, callin' 'er name. That's when I stepped into another clearin' - an' there she was, standin' there, simperin' away . . . an' four or five

awful-lookin' varmints were closin' in on 'er - great, ugly, patch-furred creatures. One 'ad a spear aimed at 'er, an' another 'ad a strip o' cloth in one paw an' a coil o' rope over 'is shoulder."

He paused, for he realized then that his paws were clenched. He managed to

unclench them, and took several deep breaths, just as Marianne had done.

"Yelled at th' squirrelmaid t' run t' me . . . though a 'eavy axe wouldn't 'ave been much good as a weapon. But she just looked at me, still with that great smile on 'er face, an' said 'Samuel.' Said it over an' over again - like an echo. I kept shoutin', but she wouldn't budge. I 'ad t' make a lunge, an' use th' axe as well as I could. All th' time, one o' th' creatures kept yellin' t' th' others t' knock me down first, but not t' slay me. As I got near Muryet, she just fell t' th' ground, senseless. I scooped 'er up an' made off with 'er. Her 'ead was lollin' over my shoulder, and when one o' th' scum flung a slingstone, it got 'er, not me."

"And this is what caused the lump upon her head," Abbess Elinor said softly. She paused. "But what of the

sickness that you mentioned – and the turnover that Marianne mentioned? What is all of this?"

Skipper Johndam, however, was slowly beginning to understand.

"Muryet gets drunk off o' bread an' such things, just as Brother Aaron

gets drunk off o' beverages, if you'll pardon my words." His eyes came

to rest upon Salome. "An' she didn't want t' eat this turnover. But Miz

Salome tempted her t' take it, Miz Marianne says. Is that true?"

Salome squirmed a little. She attempted a sheepish smile. "Aye, but I 'adn't a clue

it'd 'arm 'er, Skipper. I knew she was 'ungry, an' th' fruit an' cheese wasn't

enough, so I figured I'd. . ."

Her voice trailed off, for the Skipper's gaze had not shifted from her, and Samuel, too, was staring at her, apparently

speechless.

Abbess Elinor took the floor. "Salome, Samuel, have you offered any

other food or drink to Muryet since you arrived at the Abbey?"

Still Samuel was unable to speak, so Salome answered for herself and for him. "Samuel

offered 'er a scone some part o' th' mornin', Mother Abbess . . .an' I, er,

'elped Marianne t' make a sweetmeat basket or 'er."

Skipper Johndam gave a mirthless laugh. "Bread again, aye? An' sweetmeats - well, there's a wealth o'

meanin' in that. Pray tell me, wot sort o' sweetmeats?"

Salome's voice was small. "Just some candied fruit an' nuts."

Skipper half-smiled.

"An amazin' tale, ain't it? Master Samuel an' th' little maids are

takin' a stroll, when Miz Salome 'ands Miz Muryet a bit o' turnover that causes 'er t' drop senseless in th' mid o' th' Woods. But it's quite all right - only a mistake. Except for a few things - she just 'appened t' drop senseless in th' mid of a

pack o' vermin, an' while our Master Samuel was tellin' us about 'er sudden blackout, Miz Salome forgot t' menton th' turnover, till Miz Marianne kindly told us about it."

Even in his present mood, Samuel felt that he must place a protective arm about his sister's shoulders. "It was th' shock made 'er forget

it, Skipper. You'd do th' same, in 'er place!"

Skipper Johndam widened his eyes in mock understanding. "Ah, it was th' shock made her forget. But, if Miz Marianne 'adn't brought it up, would she 'ave ever remembered?

"Now, don't start bristlin' up, mate. Bless yore 'eart, I'd never accuse you of a crime. Just show me one little thing an' I'll let you retire t' th' Infirmary – all those 'eroics with th' choppin' axe must 'ave worn you out.

"Tell me . . . where's that blade o' yores?"

Without turning his head, Samuel spoke softly.

"Salome, you dropped that thing, didn't you?"

Salome avoided the eyes of all of the creatures. "Aye. I . . . I mean, no. I lost it . . . in that mess o'

leaves an' shrubs."

Skipper Johndam smiled again. "I see. First th' dagger was dropped. Now

it's lost in th' foliage. Irrecoverable, eh?"

Salome tried to smile back. "S'pose so, sir."

"Tell me, Miz Salome, how 'eavy was that dagger 'ilt?"

"Er . . . I don't know, sir. . . "

"Reckon it was 'eavy enough t' clunk a senseless squirrelmaid with an' make a lump that looked like a slingstone

lump, or t' knock 'er with 'cos she wasn't faintin' - or dyin' – fast enough?"

At that moment, it seemed as if decorum - and sanity - flew out of the window.

Marianne sprang to her feet, crying, "In God's name, Master Johndam!"