Abbess Elinor and Skipper Johndam, like most of the creatures in the Abbey, hailed the morning sun with sleepless eyes. While the Skipper went out for a stroll through the Abbey lawn, Abbess Elinor poured herself a cup of tea and sat in Great Hall. Sister Bethelle, who, on other days, would sit with her, drinking tea and complaining about the state of the Abbey, had confined herself to the Infirmary with Muryet, about whom the Abbess had received no news.

Abbess Elinor stirred her tea absently. Would it be wise to march up to the Infirmary door and

demand to be admitted, or would this encourage all of the Abbeydwellers to harass the Sister? Abbess Elinor wondered whether most of the creatures had retired to the dormitory for a morning nap. Of course, the Friar was awake, but he was a sensible old creature; if the Abbess explained to him that, for now, she alone would be permitted to visit Muryet, he would not seek to oppose her. Yes, she would go up to the dormitory now, and ensure that the Abbeydwellers were resting; then, and only then, would she confront

Sister Bethelle.

Just as the Abbess was rising from her chair, Skipper J. strode into Cavern Hole, a loaded sling at his side.

"Mother Abbess, marm, there's some varmints standin' outside, an' they wants a word with you."

Abbess Elinor staggered back and collapsed into the chair. "Vermin? How

many of them?"

Skipper Johndam whirled his sling purposefully. "No more than three o' th' scum - great ugly beasts. I'll attend to 'em if you ain't in th'

mood t' be pestered, marm."

The Abbess managed to regain her composure. She set her cup aside, stood up and squared her shoulders. "Don't talk foolishness, sir! Of course I will speak to them."

Together, the Skipper and the Abbess went out to stand upon the south wall. From there, the Abbess

got a good look at the three "great ugly beasts" who stood in the middle of the path.

A big, husky-looking ferret; a scrawny, youngish-looking stoat; a tall, dark-eyed weasel - the creatures bore no more resemblance to one anoher

than melons did to peaches, save for the strange, repulsive, ink-black,

bead-round spots that were scattered throughout their filthy coats. The

weasel wore what appeared to be a sort of emblem - a ring of silver,

centered with an X - on a neck-chain.

The weasel stepped forward. "I know that this place is the Abbey of Redwall; you cannot hide this from me. Are you the Mother Abbess of Redwall?"

The Abbess pursed her lips. "Yes, I am the Mother Abbess of Redwall,

and I would have no reason to hide this fact. The creatures of Redwall fear nobeast, but evil creatures in all parts of Mossflower know and fear us. What do you want of me?"

The weasel seemed to be unfazed. "And I am Rashe, Chief of the Walking Dead of Mossflower. I seek two

ferrets - Samuel, son of Matt, a male ferret who is approaching adulthood, and Salome, daughter of Matt, a young ferretmaid of twelve or thirteen seasons. Have you seen them?"

Abbess Elinor stifled a gasp in the nick of them. She bit her lip,

inwardly praying that her expression had not changed.

"Samuel, son of Matt, and Salome, daughter of Matt. What of them?"

Rashe half-smiled. "It is nothing that concerns you or your creatures."

Skipper J. was poised to tell the weasel that he might scoot off and take his questioning elsewhere, if that was the case; but the Abbess

spoke before he did. "Samuel and Salome passed this place yesterday,

but they left several hours ago. I do not know where they have gone."

Rashe regarded her with unconcealed appraisal. "Then you've never heard of Jamar, the weasel? Or of the squirrelchild, whose name - if I

heard correctly - was Muryet?"

The Skipper's jaw tautened, and the Abbess sensed that he was beginning to whirl his sling, over and over, in one slow

arc, though the vermin could not see it. Once again, she spoke hastily, fearing that Skipper

Johndam's rage would come to the surface and betray them.

"No, we have never heard of a squirrelchild named Muryet, or Mariette, or anything like it. And this Jamar - describe him!"

"A weasel in his middle age, tall and rangy, gray of fur, with yellow, cattish eyes and narrow black pupils."

Abbess Elinor breathed an inward sigh of relief. She sniffed

disdainfully. " 'Yellow cattish eyes?' 'Narrow black pupils?' No, we have

never seen this 'Jamar' before, and we would never welcome scum like that into this Abbey!"

Rashe sneered. "You've allowed filthier scum - like Samuel and Salome - to enter your Abbey, marm."

Now the Skipper came forward, sling at the ready. "We've no time for yore nonsense, weasel," he growled. "Samuel an'

Salome are gone, an' we know nothing about any other creatures. If you 'ave no more questions,

kindly take yore leave. My patience is wearin' thin!"

Rashe stared at the sling, seemingly unimpressed. "There's no reason to believe that

you are feeding me falsehoods. We will leave now. But we must find Samuel and Salome, and if they left your Abbey hours ago,

they are still in Mossflower. My horde will simply have to settle here in the Woods . . . . . until those

ferrets show themselves."

He removed something from his belt, and tossed it to the ground. "You might as well have this despicable thing."

When the three vermin had gone, Abbess Elinor sat down. She began to breathe deeply,

hoping to calm herself.

Skipper J. left the walltops, so that he could see what Rashe had

thrown. A while later, he returned, and handed the object to Abbess

Elinor.

It was Samuel's blade, coated with dirt and bits of leaf.