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- Herausgeber: Pushkin Children's Books
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Serie: The Deptford Mice
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
A new illustrated edition of the classic children's fantasy adventure set in a magical world of mice and rats __________ 'Fast-paced, suspenseful ... [a] multitude of unforgettable characters' North-South Books 'The perfect stories for dark, cosy evenings. A once read, never forgotten series' Phil Hickes, author of The Haunting of Aveline Jones __________ An innocent young mouse lies murdered in a moonlit field as the screech of an owl echoes across the ripening corn... The Deptford Mice have escaped the horrors of Jupiter's lair and sought refuge in the countryside with a colony of fieldmice, busy preparing for the great summer festival. But soon they must face terrifying evil once more, as a series of mysterious crimes strike the peaceful fieldmouse community. At first the simple country rodents suspect Deptford newcomer Audrey - however, the truth turns out to be far more sinister.
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For the rest of my family, who now live without the light of my father
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Contents
The Londoners
AUDREY BROWN
Tends to dream. She likes to look her best and wears lace and ribbons. Audrey cannot hold her tongue in an argument, and often says more than she should.
ARTHUR BROWN
Can be too blunt at times and is critical of his sister. Arthur likes a scrap but often comes off worse.
GWEN BROWN
Caring mother of Arthur and Audrey. Her love of her family binds it together and keeps it strong.10
OSWALD CHITTER
An albino runt, Oswald is very weak and is not allowed to join in some of the rougher games.
PICCADILLY
A cheeky young mouse from the city, Piccadilly has no parents and is very independent. He does not believe in the Green Mouse.
THOMAS TRITON
A retired midshipmouse. Thomas is a heroic old salt – he does not suffer fools gladly.
MADAME AKKIKUYU
A rat who used to tell fortunes, until her mind was broken in the chamber of Jupiter.11
KEMPE
A travelling pedlar mouse – he journeys far and wide, trading and selling his goods and singing lewd songs.
THE STARWIFE
A venerable old squirrel with strange powers, who lives under the Greenwich Observatory. She rules her subjects with an iron will.
THE GREEN MOUSE
A mysterious figure in mouse mythology. He is the spirit of spring and of new life.
The Fennywolders
WILLIAM SCUTTLE OR ‘TWIT’
A simple fieldmouse who has been visiting his mother’s kin in Deptford. Twit is a cheerful fieldmouse who looks on the bright side.
ELIJAH AND GLADWIN SCUTTLE
Twit’s parents, Gladwin is Mrs Chitter’s sister but ran away from Deptford when she was young, after she found Elijah injured in the garden.
ISAAC NETTLE
A staunch Green Mouser. He is a bitter, grim figure but many of the fieldmice listen to his ravings. 13
JENKIN NETTLE
A jolly, good-hearted mouse, who suffers at the paws of his father.
ALISON SLEDGE
A country beauty who flirts with all the boys. She is vain and loves to preen herself.
YOUNG WHORTLE, SAMUEL GORSE, TODKIN, HODGE AND FIGGY BOTTOM
Five young friends who delight in climbing the corn stems and seeking adventure. 14
MAHOOOT
A wicked barn owl who loves mouse for supper.
MR WOODRUFFE
A very sensible mouse who has been elected to the honourable position of the King of the Field.
NICODEMUS
Mysterious spirit of the fields, trapped in limbo.
16
The Story So Far
TheCrystalPrisonis the second book in the story of the Deptford Mice, which began with TheDarkPortal. In the first book, Audrey and Arthur Brown, two innocent town mice, are drawn into the sewers beneath the streets of Deptford in search of Audrey’s mousebrass – a magical charm given to her by the Green Mouse, the mystical spirit of spring. Deep within the underground tunnels, the two mice discover the nightmare realm of Jupiter, the unseen but terrifying Lord of the Rats.
Audrey and Arthur are helped by a number of characters: Oswald, a sickly albino mouse often mistaken for a scrawny young rat; Twit, Oswald’s cousin and a simple country mouse; Piccadilly, a cheeky young mouse from the city. They encounter fearsome rats, including Madame Akkikuyu, a phoney fortune-teller, who wishes she had real magical powers.
The Deptford Mice discover that Jupiter is concocting a terrible plan – to release the Black Death upon London once again. However, with the assistance of the Green Mouse, the mice confound Jupiter’s plot and lure him out of his lair. To their horror, they discover that 18Jupiter is not a rat at all, but a monstrous cat, grown bloated and evil by years of hatred in the sewers.
Audrey throws her mousebrass into Jupiter’s face; it explodes and sends the giant cat tumbling into the deep sewer water. As he struggles to save himself, the souls of his many victims rise out of the waves and drag him down to a watery death.
Smoke Over Deptford
It was a hot day in Deptford. A terrible stench hung over the housing estates and increased as the sun rose higher in the sky. It was strongest on a building site near the river. There the air was thick and poisonous. The builders themselves choked and covered their faces with their handkerchiefs.
At the edge of the site, next to the river wall was an untidy pile of yellowing newspapers. They lay in a mouldering heap among the loose bricks and spreading nettles. It was here that the stink began. 20
One of the builders came trudging up; his worn, tough boots waded through the weeds and paused at the newspaper mound. A scuffed toe tentatively nudged some of them aside and a dark cloud of angry, buzzing flies flew out. Revealed beneath the papers was the rotting body of a horrific giant cat.
Jupiter was dead. The evil Lord of the Rats had met his end weeks before in the deep, dark sewer water. His immense body had sunk to the muddy bottom, where underwater currents pulled and swayed his corpse this way and that. Slowly he rolled out of the altar chamber and through a submerged archway.
He had drifted into the tunnels, turning over and over in the water. One minute his grisly unseeing eyes would be staring at the vaulted ceiling, and the next glaring down into the cold dark depths. As he rolled in this way, his great jaws lolled open, lending him the illusion of life. Resembling a snarling demon, he turned and twisted. But he was dead. For some days Jupiter bobbed up and down in the sewer passages until stronger forces gripped him and suddenly, with a rush of water he was flushed out into the River Thames. The gulls and other birds left him well alone, and for a while all fish abandoned that stretch of the river.
One night, nature took a hand in ridding the Thames of the dreadful carcass. A terrible storm blew up: the wind and the rain lashed down, and the river became swollen and crashed against its embankment walls with shuddering violence. 21
On one such surging wave the corpse of Jupiter was carried along until, with a thundering smash, the fierce waters smote the wall and the cat’s body was hurled over on to the building site.
The builder who had found him hurried away quickly but soon returned, dragging a great shovel. With a grunt, he lifted the sagging corpse. Jupiter’s massive claws dangled limply over the sides of the shovel and what was left of his striped ginger fur blazed ruddily in the sunlight.
Surrounded by the thick buzzing cloud of flies, the builder stepped carefully across to the site bonfire and tossed Jupiter into its heart.
The flames licked over the cat greedily. For a while the fire glowed purple and then, with one final splutter, there was nothing left of the once mighty lord of the sewers.
Only a thick dark smoke which had risen from the flames remained, and this stayed hanging stubbornly in the air over Deptford for two days until a summer breeze blew it away on the third morning. 22
1
The Summons
Oswald was ill. As soon as the white mouse had returned from the sewers, he had felt unwell. When the small group of mice who had confronted the terrifying Jupiter had emerged from the Grille and climbed the cellar steps, Oswald’s legs had given way and sturdy Thomas Triton had carried him the rest of the way. Although the albino coughed and spluttered, no one realized how serious his condition would become.
For weeks he had stayed in bed. At first the mice thought he had merely caught a cold, and his mother Mrs Chitter had fussed and scolded him over it. But 24the cold did not improve, and his lungs had become inflamed so that, when he coughed, the pain made him cry. Steadily he grew weaker. Mrs Chitter tended to him day and night, and made herself ill in the process, until she too became a poor reflection of what she had once been.
Oswald’s father, Jacob Chitter, had moved his favourite chair into his son’s room next to his bed. He held his son’s paw throughout, shaking his head sadly. Oswald was slipping away; bit by painful bit, the white mouse became more frail. Then one day Mrs Chitter could take no more. As she was carrying away the soup that Oswald had been unable to swallow, the bowl fell from her paws, and she fell heavily to the floor – soup and tears everywhere.
25From then on, Gwen Brown took charge of Oswald and his mother, while Twit the fieldmouse looked after his uncle, Mr Chitter.
All was silent in the Skirtings. The empty old house was filled with quiet prayers for the Chitter family. Every mouse helped as much as they could: those on the Landings forgot their snobbery and offered food and blankets. Gwen Brown’s own children Arthur and Audrey collected donations and messages of goodwill and it was the job of a grey mouse from the city called Piccadilly to keep everyone informed of Oswald’s condition.
The mice owed a great deal to this small group of friends. It was they who had finally rid them of the menace of Jupiter, and all their lives were now easier. No more did they have to dread the cellar and the strange Grille which was the entrance to the dark and sinister rat world. All the cruel rats had been killed or scattered and a mouse could sleep soundly at night, fearing no sudden attacks or raids. Only the older mice still looked at the cellar doubtfully and would not pass beyond its great door.
So, when they had been told of Jupiter’s fall – and when they finally believed it – there was tremendous excitement and they had cheered the brave deeds of these courageous friends. But now the youngest of the heroes was dying.
Piccadilly swept the hair out of his eyes and got out of bed. The sunlight shining through a wide crack in the wall warmed him all over, but he hardly noticed it. 26For the moment, he was sharing a room with Arthur, and Audrey was sleeping in her mother’s bed, because Gwen was at the Chitters’ all the time now.
‘Arthur,’ Piccadilly whispered to the snoring bundle, ‘wake up.’ He shook his friend gently.
The plump mouse on the bed blinked and drew a paw over his eyes. ‘How is he?’ he asked directly.
Piccadilly shook his head. ‘I’ve just got up – how was he last night when you left him?’
‘Bad!’ Arthur swung himself off the bed and stood in the sunlight as was his custom. He stared at the clear blue sky outside. ‘Mother doesn’t think it will be long now,’ he sighed and looked across to Piccadilly. ‘Will you stay here, afterwards?’
The grey mouse sniffed a little. ‘No, I’ve made up my mind to stay just until…’ he coughed, ‘then I’m off – back to the city.’
‘We’ll miss you, you know,’ said Arthur. ‘I won’t know what to do around here when you’ve gone. I think Twit’s decided to leave as well… afterwards.’ Arthur turned back to examine the summer sky and then remarked casually, ‘I think Audrey will miss you most though.’
Piccadilly looked up curiously. ‘She’s never said anything.’
‘You know what she’s like: too stubborn to say anything! I know my sister, and believe you me, she likes you a lot.’
‘Well, I wish she’d tell me.’
‘Oh I think she will when it suits her.’ Arthur stretched himself and rubbed his ears. ‘He doesn’t even 27take the milk any more, you know. Mother can’t get him to drink it and if he does, it won’t stay down. Maybe he would be better off…’ his voice trailed away miserably.
‘I’m dreading it,’ murmured Piccadilly. ‘These past few days he’s sunk lower an’ lower – I don’t know what keeps him going.’
Arthur touched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go and find out.’
Audrey was already up and waiting for them. She had not bothered to tie the ribbon in her hair as she usually did, and it hung in soft chestnut waves behind her ears.
Outside the Chitters’ home they stopped, and Arthur glanced nervously at the others before knocking. They waited anxiously as shuffling steps approached on the other side of the curtain draped over the entrance.
The curtain was drawn aside, and the small features of Twit greeted them solemnly. He looked back into the room, nodded, then stepped out and let the curtain fall back behind him.
‘He’s still with us,’ he whispered. ‘’Twere touch ’n’ go for a while last night. Thought we’d lost ’im twice.’ The fieldmouse bit his lip. ‘Your mum’s all in; she’s ’ad a tirin’ time of it. What with ’im and Aunty, she’s fit to drop.’
‘I’ll tell her to lie down for a bit,’ stated Arthur.
‘And I’ll take over,’ added Audrey. ‘You look like you could do with a rest as well, Twit.’
‘Uncle just sits an’ mopes, his wife an’ son bein’ so bad. I can’t do anything with ’im.’ Twit wiped his brimming eyes. ‘Heck we tried, me an’ your mum, but all three of ’em are slidin’ downhill fast. I really think this 28be the last day. No, I knows it. None of ’em’ll see the sunset.’ Big tears trickled down the fieldmouse’s little face. He was exhausted and felt all his efforts had been a waste of time – this branch of his family was about to wither and die.
Audrey bent down and kissed Twit’s forehead. ‘Hush,’ she soothed. ‘Piccadilly, put Twit in Arthur’s bed. I’ll wake you if anything happens,’ she reassured the fieldmouse.
‘Thank ’ee,’ Twit stammered through a sniffling yawn, and he followed Piccadilly back to the Browns’ home.
Arthur turned to his sister. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll tackle Mother, you see to the Chitters. I’ll come and help once Mother’s gone to bed.’ Gingerly he pulled back the curtain.
It was dark beyond: the daylight had been blocked out for Oswald’s sake.
Arabel Chitter’s bric-a-brac was well dusted, her pieces of china ornament, bits of sparkling brooches and neatly folded lace shawls and headscarves had all been seen to by Gwen Brown. Mrs Chitter had always been house-proud and if things were not ‘just so’ she would fret.
Arthur and Audrey slowly made their way to Oswald’s room. Arthur coughed quietly and their mother came out to them.
‘Hello, dears,’ she breathed wearily. Dark circles ringed her brown eyes and her tail dragged sadly behind her. ‘No ribbon today, Audrey?’ she asked, stroking 29her daughter’s hair. ‘And you, Arthur, have you had breakfast?’
‘Have you, Mother?’ He took her paw in his. ‘No, I didn’t think so. Come on, you’re going to get some sleep.’ He would hear no protests and Gwen was too tired to make any.
‘Audrey, promise you’ll wake me if…’ was all she managed.
‘I promise, Mother.’
‘Yes, good girl. Now, come, Arthur, show me to my bed or I’ll drop down here.’ Audrey watched them leave, then breathed deeply and went inside.
Illness has a smell all of its own and is unmistakable. Sweet and cloying, it lingers in a sickroom, waiting for the patient to recover or fail. Audrey had grown accustomed to this smell by now though it frightened her to enter the room.
It was a small space, almost filled by the bed in which Oswald lay. Beside him, on a chair, was Mr Chitter, his head bent in sleep. He was a meek mouse, devoted to his wife and son, but this had broken him.
Oswald was quite still. His face was gaunt and drained, paler now than ever before. His eyelids were closed lightly over his dim pink eyes. His fair albino hair was stuck close to his head and his whiskers drooped mournfully. The blankets were pulled up under his chin, but one of his frail paws was wrapped inside his father’s.
Audrey felt Oswald’s forehead: it was hot and damp. A fever was consuming his last energies, burning away whatever hope there had been for him. 30
Sorrowfully she picked up a bowl from the floor. It contained clean water and a cloth, and with them she began to cool his brow.
Next to Oswald’s bed, on the wall, was a garland of dried hawthorn leaves which he had saved from the Spring Ceremony and preserved carefully. He had adored the celebrations and was impatient for the following year when he too would come of age and be entitled to enter the mysterious Chambers of Summer and Winter to receive his mousebrass. To Audrey, it seemed long ago when she had taken hers from the very paws of the Green Mouse. She thought of him now, the mystical spirit of life and growing things. How often she had prayed to him to spare Oswald. Now it looked as if nothing could save him.
There was a small table near her and on it were some slices of raw onion. Mrs Chitter believed this would draw the illness from her son, and out of respect for her wishes, Gwen Brown made sure the onion was fresh every day. Audrey only regarded this superstition as one more addition to the eerie smell of illness.
A movement on the pillow drew her attention back to the patient.
Oswald’s eyes opened slowly. For a while he gazed at the ceiling, then gradually he focused on Audrey. She smiled at him warmly.
‘Good morning, Oswald,’ she said.
The albino raised his eyebrows feebly and tried to speak. It was a low, barely audible whisper and Audrey strained to hear him. 31
‘What sort… of day is it… outside?’ His sad eyes pierced her heart and she struggled to remain reassuring, when all the time she wanted to run from him, sobbing. She could not get over the feeling that it was mainly due to her that Oswald was so ill.
‘It’s beautiful, Oswald,’ she said huskily. ‘You never saw such a morning! The sky is as blue as a forget-menot and the sun is so bright and lovely.’
A ghost of a smile touched Oswald’s haggard cheeks. He closed his eyes. ‘You never did get your mousebrass back,’ he murmured.
‘Yes I did, for a short while. You were so brave, getting it for me among all those horrible rats.’
‘I don’t think I shall ever get my… own brass now,’ he continued mildly. ‘I wonder what it would… have been.’
‘The sign of utmost bravery,’ sobbed Audrey. She held her paw over her face.
‘I’m so sorry, Oswald,’ she cried. ‘This is all my fault.’
‘No, it had to be done… Jupiter had to be destroyed. Not your fault if… if I wasn’t up to it.’
‘Don’t, please! Just rest. Would you like some milk?’ But Oswald had already fallen into a deep swoon. Audrey cried silently.
A gentle, polite knock sounded. She dried her eyes and left the sickroom, pausing on the way to the main entrance to look in on Mrs Chitter, who lay asleep in another room. Arabel’s silvery head was old and shrivelled. It was startling to see it against the crisp whiteness of the pillows. But at least she was asleep and not fretting. Audrey crept away and made for the entrance. 32
‘Oh, it’s young Miss Audrey!’ Sturdy Thomas Triton looked faintly surprised to see her when she drew the curtain back. ‘I was expectin’ your mother, but if you aren’t the very one anyway.’ The midshipmouse pulled off his woollen hat and asked gravely, ‘How’s the lad this morn?’
‘No better, I’m afraid – we don’t think he’ll last much longer. Mother’s resting just now: she and Twit have been up all night.’
‘Aye,’ muttered Thomas grimly, then he furrowed his spiky white brows and considered Audrey steadily with his wise, dark eyes. ‘’Tis a sore thing to bear – losing a friend,’ and an odd far-off expression stole over him, ‘’specially if you think it’s all your fault. That’s a mighty burden, lass! Don’t take it on yourself – guilt and grief aren’t easy fellows to cart round with yer, believe you me.’
Audrey turned away quickly. Thomas’s insight was too unnerving, and she cringed from it. ‘Would you like to see him?’ she managed at last.
Thomas fidgeted with his hat, rolling it over in his strong paws. ‘Lead on, I’ll look on the boy once more.’
When they came to the sickroom he hesitated at the doorway and changed his mind. ‘Nay, I’ll not enter. I’ve glimpsed the lad and that’s enough. I’ve seen too many go down with fever to want to witness it again. He were a brave sort, whatever he may have said to the contrary. A loss to us all. I see the father has not moved – is the mother still abed?’ Audrey nodded. ‘That’s bad! A whole family wiped out by sickness and grief. Well, how’s little Twit bearing up?’ 33
‘Oh, you know Twit. He always tries to be bright and jolly. You never know what he’s thinking deep down.’
‘Yes, you’re right there. I like that fieldmouse – reminds me of someone I knew once – best friend and shipmate I ever had. Twit’s mighty fond of his cousin there – it’ll be a tragic blow to his tender heart.’
A soft footfall behind made them both turn sharply – but it was only Arthur.
‘Hullo, Mr Triton,’ he said politely. ‘Audrey, I’ve managed to put Mother to bed and she’s asleep now, but I think Piccadilly’s having trouble with Twit – he needs to rest but won’t settle. He can’t stop worrying!’
‘Right, I’ll get him out of that,’ said Thomas firmly and he fixed his hat back on his head. ‘Come with me, miss, and you, miladdo, stay here. I’ll see to my young matey.’ The midshipmouse strode from the Chitters’ home, with Audrey following.
‘Mr Triton,’ she said, catching up with him. ‘What did you mean before when you saw me and said I was the very one?’
‘It wasn’t just to see poor Oswald that I came,’ he explained as they entered the Browns’ home, ‘but to see you as well.’
‘Me?’ asked Audrey, puzzled. She had not spoken to the midshipmouse very much during the brief times he had visited the Skirtings and she wondered what he was up to.
‘Aye, lass,’ he continued. ‘I’ve a message for you.’ She looked blank as Thomas Triton charged into Arthur and Piccadilly’s bedroom. 34
The city mouse was trying to get Twit to stay in bed. He had heated him some milk and honey, but the fieldmouse would not rest. When Thomas barged in, Twit grinned in spite of himself.
‘How do!’ he greeted.
‘Ahoy there, matey,’ Thomas said sternly. ‘What you doin’ lyin’ in yer bunk on a day like this?’ The midshipmouse winked a startled Piccadilly into silence. ‘Get up, lad, there’s folk to see!’
‘But he’s only just gone to bed,’ exclaimed Audrey.
Without turning round to look at her, Thomas said, ‘You, miss, had better make yourself presentable. What has happened to your hair?’
‘I… I didn’t put my ribbon in,’ stammered Audrey.
‘Then hop to it, lass. Go do whatever you do to make a good impression. Someone wants to see you.’
‘Who’s that then, Thomas?’ asked Twit, curiosity banishing the weary lines around his eyes.
The midshipmouse feigned astonishment. ‘Why, the Starwife, lad – didn’t I say?’
Twit’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘What? Her that lives in Greenwich under those funny buildings I saw when the bats flew me over?’
‘Aye, matey. First thing this morning, when it was still dark, I had a message from herself, delivered by one of her younger jumpy squirrels – took me a long time to calm him down. They are a watery lot! Well, the gist of the story is,’ Thomas now turned to Audrey, ‘the Starwife wants to see you, Miss Brown, and she won’t be kept waitin’. I’ve come to fetch you, and miladdo here is welcome to join us.’ 35
For a second, Twit’s heart leapt, but when he thought of Oswald it sank down deeper and lower than ever. Sadly, he shook his head. ‘I can’t go with ’ee, Thomas. Oswald won’t see the end of the day – my place is here.’
The midshipmouse put his paw on Twit’s shoulder. ‘Lad, I promise you we’ll be back for that. If Oswald leaves us, I swear by all the seas I ever sailed and all the ships I voyaged in, you’ll be at his side.’
Twit blinked. He trusted his seafaring friend so much, yet how could he be so certain? Thomas’s eyes bored into him and under their solemn gaze the little fieldmouse felt sure he was right.
‘I’ll just go an’ have a quick swill,’ Twit said, running out of the bedroom.
Audrey scowled at Thomas and began to say something when a stern command from him sent her dashing off to find her ribbon.
Thomas Triton sighed and looked gravely at Piccadilly. ‘I’ll not keep them away long,’ he assured him. ‘The easiest bit’s been done – I’ve got them to go. Your job’s not as simple. Pray to the Green Mouse that the Chitter lad hangs on till we return!’
2
The Starwife
Thomas Triton led a flustered Audrey and Twit across the hall. They slipped through the cellar door and jumped down the stone steps beyond. Thomas strode through the dusty gloom to the Grille.
Wrought in iron, with twirling leaf patterns, this had always been an object of fear and dread. And indeed, when Jupiter the terrible God of the Rats had been alive, it had possessed strange powers.
Now Audrey shivered as she stood before it, recalling how she had been dragged through the Grille by a band of evil rats. Twit backed away from it nervously. He 37remembered the horrible influence the wicked enchantments had worked upon Arthur. Only Thomas dared to touch the curling ironwork.
With a hearty laugh, he looked at the others. ‘Jupiter is dead,’ he reminded them. ‘Whatever forces were lurking in or beyond this grating are long gone.’ As if to prove it, he banged a metal leaf with his fist. ‘The spells are as cold and lifeless as the scurvy moggy who made them.’ The midshipmouse chuckled and squeezed himself through the rusted gap.
‘This is the quickest way to Greenwich,’ he said, popping up on the other side. Audrey and Twit still hesitated, so Thomas pulled a silly face. It looked so ridiculous that they couldn’t help laughing. Perhaps the Grille was an ordinary grating after all. Audrey and Twit crawled through the gap and joined Thomas.
Down into the sewers they went. Although it was a hot summer day in the outside world, here it was chilly and damp. Audrey had forgotten how bleak it all was. So many ugly memories were kindled by everything around her: the musty, putrid smell of the dark running water, the slippery slime on the ledges and the weird echoes which floated through the stale air. Around every corner was a dark memory.
Thomas sensed her unease and remarked casually, ‘I use the sewers quite a bit now. I never get lost, me. I can navigate my way home on a pitch-dark, foggy night with no moon and my hat over my eyes.’ Twit chuckled softly and Audrey was grateful to the midshipmouse; he took her mind off things. 38
‘Now there ain’t no more rats down ’ere,’ Twit piped up, ‘there’s no danger of us gettin’ peeled, is there, Thomas?’
‘’Sright, matey.’
‘But won’t others arrive and take over where Jupiter’s rats left off?’ Audrey asked, looking over her shoulder doubtfully.
‘No, rats are mostly cowardly,’ Thomas reassured her. ‘Only the fear of Jupiter gave them a false sort of courage. Ask that city mouse – he’ll tell you how cringey they are in his neck of the woods. You just have to cuff ’em about the head if they start gettin’ uppity.’
Audrey felt relieved. Like Twit, she found the midshipmouse to be a comforting figure. He was so sure of himself that it inspired everyone he was with. Audrey’s thoughts returned to Oswald, lying in his bed. She shook her head to dispel that image and tried to think of something else. ‘Tell me about the Starwife, please, Mr Triton,’ she asked.
‘She’m the grand dame of the squirrels,’ put in Twit.
‘Yes, but what can she want of me?’ asked Audrey, baffled. ‘I’d never heard of her before.’
‘Maybe,’ said Thomas. ‘But she’s obviously heard of you. Somehow the name Audrey Brown has reached her ancient ears. Rumours spread quicker than a grog ration. She must have heard about Jupiter’s downfall and wants to know all the details of it.’
‘But you were there as well, Mr Triton. You could have told her, surely?’
‘True, I was there on the altar, when that old monster was sent to his watery grave – but you did the sendin’, 39remember, and it was your mousebrass what toppled him.’
‘What shall I tell her then?’ asked Audrey nervously.
Thomas whirled round. ‘Why, the truth, lass, and nothing but that! Don’t go addin’ bits or leavin’ stuff out, or your ears’ll ring for weeks after. It’s plain speaking in the Starwife’s dreys and chambers – and that only when you’re spoken to.’
‘Have you seen her then, Mr Triton?’ pressed Audrey, desperate to know as much as possible about the strange personage she was about to meet.
‘That I have,’ he replied cautiously. ‘When I first came and settled round here, I was summoned to meet her.’ Thomas grew grave and added, ‘There were matters which I needed to talk to her about.’ He stroked his white whiskers and cleared his throat. ‘I’ve been hurled around by tempests on angry, foaming seas and nearly got drowned twice, but I don’t mind telling you that I’ve never been so skittish as when I went to her dreys. And I was shakin’ even worse when I came out of them!’
Twit whistled softly. He couldn’t imagine sturdy Thomas being afraid of anything. What a creature this Starwife must be! ‘What did she do to you, Thomas?’ he asked, wide-eyed.
‘I went in there, knees-a-knockin’. I’d heard many a strange tale of the Greenwich Starwife, and only a weevil-licking bilge swab would go into her chambers unabashed. I was took down many a winding tunnel, then behind a fancy curtain and there she was – the Starwife. Oh, she saw right through me, straightaways 40she did, knew everything about me – what I’d done, what I hoped to do – uncanny that was. I think I made a plum tomfool of myself in front of her. She weren’t impressed with her new neighbour at all. I came away feeling as though I’d weathered a battering tempest, yet somehow felt better in myself, but I ain’t clapped eyes on her since.’
‘And this morning you got a message from her about me,’ added Audrey.
‘Aye, that surprised me no end.’ Thomas paused and looked at her. ‘In fact, it’s so rare an occurrence that I’d be careful, if I were you, Miss Brown.’
Audrey was worried. She imagined the Starwife to be as bad as the rats. Her thoughts must have showed plainly on her face, for Thomas added, ‘Oh she won’t eat you, but the Starwife has motives of her own. She never does nothing for nothing. Sometimes she can be as subtle as Jupiter himself, and that’s what I’m puzzled about. So, I say again, just watch yourself.’
‘You don’t encourage me, Mr Triton. I’m not sure if I’m looking forward to this. I’d rather go back to the Skirtings.’
‘Too late for that, miss. Here we are now.’
They had come to the end of the sewer journey and a small passage lay before them, at the end of which, bright sunlight streamed through the holes in a grate.
Thomas led them along it and they followed him to the outside world.
The three mice stood outside Greenwich Park. Before them, the green lawns stretched away up to the 41Observatory hill. The sweet scent of freshly mown grass tingled their noses.
Twit breathed it in deeply. ‘Oh,’ he sighed, ‘that do lighten me heart.’
The fieldmouse leapt into the mounds of drying grass cuttings. Gurgling with delight he burrowed down into the soft damp darkness, where the fragrances tugged at his memories and visions of home swam before him. Snug in the grass cave, Twit’s tiny eyes sparkled. The city was no place for him – he belonged to the open fields, where corn swayed high above and ripened slowly in the sun until it burned with golden splendour.
The grass rustled above his head and the harsh dazzle of midday broke around him.
‘Come on, matey!’ laughed Thomas, parting the cuttings. ‘Not far to the Starwife now.’
Twit scrambled out of the mound, wiping his forehead with a clump of the sweetest, dampest grass. Audrey smiled at him as he rubbed it into his hair.
‘Luvverly,’ he exclaimed, ‘I feel bright and breezy now.’ She had to agree: the fresh clean scent of the grass cleansed her nose of the smell of the sickroom and the sewers.
‘We better catch up with Mr Triton,’ Audrey suggested. ‘Just look how he’s marching off.’
‘I’m thinkin’ old Thomas ain’t happy about meetin’ that there Starwife again.’
‘I don’t want to meet her a first time. She sounds like a right old battleaxe – I’m telling you, Twit, no matter 42how grand she is, I’m in no mood for a bad-tempered old squirrel.’
‘Oh I am,’ cried Twit. ‘Anything to be out of those dark rooms for a while.’
They ran after Thomas, skirting round the tangled roots of the large trees. Gradually the mice made their way up the hill.
Thomas’s brows were knitted together in concentration. They avoided the paths and kept on the grass, obeying their instincts of survival – out of sight, out of danger.
The further up the hill they went, the more thoughtful and quiet Thomas became. By the time they were halfway up, he was positively frowning and his tail switched to and fro irritably. Audrey caught his mood and stayed silent. Only Twit chirped up now and again, gasping at the view and remembering when the bats had flown him over this very hill.
Presently the Observatory buildings drew near. How high they were, with their onion-shaped domes and fortress-like walls! They sat proudly on top of the hill, fringed by railings and thick rhododendron bushes.
‘Look,’ called Twit suddenly. ‘In those bushes there. No, it’s gone now.’
‘What was it?’ asked Audrey.
‘A squirrel,’ explained the fieldmouse. ‘It were watchin’ us – didn’t half give me a shock. There it were, a-starin’ straight at me – grey as ash then poof!It darted away, as speedy as anything.’ 43
‘How long do you think it had been watching us?’ asked Audrey, slightly unnerved. She had never seen a squirrel before.
Thomas glared into the bushes. ‘They’ve been keeping an eye on us ever since we stepped into the park. Thought they were being all stealthy and invisible, but I spotted them a-spying and jumping from branch to branch over our heads. Let them scurry and keep her informed of our progress. Like a spider in a wide, twiggy web she is, gathering news. You’d be surprised at what she hears,’ he added grimly.
Audrey twisted the lace of her skirt between her fingers. ‘Mr Triton,’ she muttered unhappily. ‘I really don’t want to see her now. Please can we go back?’
‘No, lass,’ Thomas sighed, shaking his head.
‘She has summoned you and you’ve come this far. Don’t let an old, jaded rover like me frighten you. Courtesy must be kept and you never know – maybe the old boot’s mellowed since last I saw her.’
Twit giggled at Thomas’s description of the Starwife. ‘I can’t wait,’ he babbled excitedly.
‘Right ho, matey,’ said Thomas. ‘Let’s take the cat by the whiskers.’ The midshipmouse ducked under a railing and scampered up the bush-covered bank. Audrey and Twit followed.
Thomas Triton stooped and sat in the mossy shade of the dark-leaved rhododendrons.
‘Why are you sitting down?’ asked Audrey in surprise.
‘We’ve come as far as we can on our own,’ said Thomas solemnly. ‘I’m waiting for our escort.’ 44
Twit blinked and peered around them. The shadows under the thick bushes were deep. ‘I don’t see no ones,’ he whispered. ‘Where is this escort, Thomas?’
‘Oh, they’re here,’ replied the midshipmouse dryly. ‘I’m just waiting for them to find their guts and show themselves.’
Above their heads, among the leathery leaves, nervous coughs were stifled. Audrey glanced up. ‘What are they doing?’ she murmured fearfully.
Thomas stretched and yawned, then he lay back and rested his head on the spongy moss. ‘This is where we have to wait, till one of them plucks up enough nerve to come down and lead us further. Could be hours, the milk-hearted sops.’
‘But we can’t wait too long, Thomas,’ urged Twit, thinking of Oswald.
The midshipmouse eyed Twit for a moment. ‘You’re right, matey. I’ll not be idle while the Chitter lad’s fadin’ fast.’ He sprang to his feet. Then in one swift movement, he snatched a small stone off the ground and flung it into the air.
A surprised yell came from the leaves above. Thomas jumped nimbly to one side. With a crash of twigs a furry grey bundle dropped to the ground.
‘Oh, oh!’ it cried in panic.
‘Peace, squire!’ calmed Thomas. ‘We have no time for your jittery formalities today. Forgive me for speeding up the proceedings.’
Twit stared at the terrified squirrel before them. It was young and its tail was strong and bushy. The 45squirrel’s face was small but his large black eyes seemed to be popping out of his head. He blinked at the three mice in fright.
Thomas waited for him to find his voice, making no effort to conceal his impatience during the squirrel’s stammerings.
‘But… but…’ the squirrel began, ‘three… there are three of you – we… I… thought there would be only two.’ He regarded Twit uneasily.
‘This is my good young matey William Scuttle,’ Thomas roared in a voice that made the squirrel shrink away. ‘Where I go, he goes.’ He laid his paw firmly on the fieldmouse’s shoulder.
‘She won’t like this… she won’t like this – not at all, no.’
‘That’s enough!’ rapped Thomas. ‘I’ll face whatever squalls she flings my way, but we’ll not sit here becalmed by your dithering. Lead us and have done.’
‘The… the girl first,’ instructed the squirrel timidly. ‘The mouse maiden is to follow me.’
Audrey nearly laughed at the anxious grey figure which hesitated and twitched before her, but she remembered her manners and tried to remain serious. She stepped in line behind their escort.
‘Good… good,’ he muttered and, with a jerk of his tail, he bounded through the bushes.
The mice followed as quickly as they could.
They ran into the leafy clumps and there, in the shadows, were a dozen other squirrels, all fluttering and trembling with fright. Their escort was laying into them, as the mice approached. 46‘Why didn’t you?’ he scolded the others crossly. ‘Leaving me all alone to deal with them.’
‘Well, we weren’t to know,’ they answered meekly. ‘But you did so very well, Piers,’ some added. ‘Sshh, here they are now.’ They fell back as the mice entered.
‘Ermm… this way,’ the escort said shakily, and he set off again.
The crowd of squirrels watched them leave, then turned to one another, tut-tutting.
‘She won’t like that, will she? Three of them, I ask you. He ought to have said something. The look that little fellow gave you… little savages they are… makes me shiver all over. Who’s going to tell her then? Don’t be soft – you know she doesn’t need us to tell her anything, she has her own ways of finding things out.’
Audrey followed the escort’s bushy tail as it bobbed before her. Through lanes of leaves, it led her, under arches of twining roots and past startled squirrel sentries, who disappeared in a flash of grey. The bushes grew thicker overhead and no daylight filtered through. Suddenly a great oak tree appeared at the end of the green tunnel and the escort vanished down a dark cleft in the trunk.
Audrey paused, wondering how far the drop was. She braced herself and, with her eyes closed tightly, leapt into the hole.
Down she plunged, until she landed with a soft jolt on a pile of dry leaves and ferns. Audrey rolled to one side as Twit followed after, whistling and laughing.
‘It smells in here,’ sniffed Audrey. 47
‘Only oak wood and leaf mould,’ said Twit, jumping to his feet.
They were deep in the base of the old tree’s trunk, hollowed out by years of squirrel labour.
Small wooden bowls, filled with burning oils, hung on the walls. The light they gave off was silver and flickering, illuminating the smooth worn oak with gentle, dancing waves.
‘It’s as cold as the sewers,’ shivered Audrey.
Twit brushed the leaves off her back. ‘I have heard some, in my field at home, as do call squirrels tree rats,’ he whispered.
A muffled crash and a mariner’s curse announced Thomas’s arrival. ‘I’d forgotten about that drop,’ he muttered, rubbing his back, ‘Where’s that nervy chap got to now?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Audrey. ‘There are some openings over there – are they the roots of this tree?’
‘Aye, we are in the heart of the squirrel domain and here the Starwife lives. But there were Starwives before this oak was an acorn, and before this very hill was made. The Starwives go back a long way.’
Just then the escort came bounding back. ‘What are you waiting for? Come, come,’ he implored. ‘She is impatient. Hurry now!’ He scurried away, down one of the openings.
Audrey and Twit set off after him. ‘I wish I’d brought a tot o’ rum with me,’ murmured Thomas to himself.
The mice followed the squirrel down the dark passages. They seemed to be descending deep into 48the earth. After a short while, Audrey noticed something other than the silver lights twinkling ahead. It was a richly embroidered banner, hung across the width of the passage. The background was a dark blue and over it was stitched a field of twinkling stars that reflected the light of the lamps around them. As Audrey examined the stars more closely, she saw that the silver thread of which they were made was tarnished by great age.
