He stood before Cluny, who had to strain his one eye against the darkness of the church to make sure he was really there.

Cluny gestured with his tail. "Come closer then. I will tell you what must be done."

Shadow sat on the top pulpit step. Cluny issued his orders. "You will climb the Abbey wall. Many sentries patrol the top of the wall. Take the utmost care. If you get captured, you are of no use to me. There is no point in one alone trying to attack the gatehouse and open the aoor. It is too well guarded, so forget the gate."

Shadow gave no hint that Cluny had inadvertently read his mind. He remained motionless as Cluny continued, "Once you have scaled the wall, make for the main Abbey door. Should it be locked for the night you will use all your skill to open it without any noise. It is vital that you get inside. The first room you will find yourself in is the main one. The mice call it Great Hall. Walk in, turn around, and on the left wall facing you is a long tapestry covered in pictures and designs. Now listen carefully. In the bottom right-hand corner of that tapestry is a picture of a mouse dressed in armor, leaning on a big sword. I want it! Cut it, rip it, or tear it out, but get it for me. I must have it! Don't come back without it, Shadow."

Puzzlement was written on the faces of the four captains who had overheard the orders.

Cluny had never been known as a collector of pictures bear market.

Fangburn whispered to Cheesethief, "What use is a picture of a mouse to the Chief?"

Cluny heard. He came to the edge of the pulpit. Grasping the sides of the lectern he surveyed his small congregation like some satanic minister.

"Ah, Brother Fangburn, let me explain. I will tell you why it is that you and all your kind will forever remain servants, while I shall always be the master. Did you not see the faces of those mice today? The mere mention of Martin the Warrior sends them into ecstasies. Don't you see, he is their symbol. His name means the same to those mice as mine does to the horde: in a different way maybe. Martin is some sort of angel; I'm the opposite. Think for a moment. If anything were to happen to me, you'd all be a leaderless rabble, a headless mob. So, if the mice were to lose their most precious omen, the picture of Martin, where would that leave them?"

Redtooth slapped his haunches. He rocked to and fro, sniggering with uncontrolled glee.