The Deptford Mice 1: The Dark Portal (27 page)
‘How’s that, moggy?’ he jeered.
Blind with rage, Jupiter lunged at him, but overreached himself and tottered on the brink of the altar. His massive stomach slumped over the edge and dragged him with it. Jupiter fell from the ledge.
Twit cheered louder and Eldritch flew down. ‘That’s ’im seen to,’ said the fieldmouse.
‘Don’t speak too soon,’ cautioned Thomas looking over the edge. ‘Come see.’
Jupiter had stretched out his thick arms as he had fallen, and his strong claws had bitten into the wall. They scraped and screeched down until they snagged on the chain of a sluice gate.
For a moment he hung there stunned and silent. But gradually his strength returned, and he gripped the chain more securely. Grinning triumphantly, he began to climb.
His claws slashed out footholds in the brick, as he crept upwards. The chain clattered as he put his full weight on it. Slowly it started to move. Through the rusted metal hoops that held it the chain ran, and bit by bit, inch by inch, the sluice gate opened.
Water rushed into the chamber as the gate yawned wide. The level began to rise.
The mice on the altar stared down at Jupiter.
‘He’s climbing back!’ exclaimed Mrs Brown.’
Twit grabbed the sticks from Piccadilly and Arthur and flung them down. They bounced off, and Jupiter laughed. Then he took a deep breath.
‘Stand back!’ warned Audrey as a great blast of fire shot up towards them. The bricks of the altar blackened as the sheets of flame blazed over them. The mice huddled back behind the candles next to the portal.
A plaintive voice rose above the tumult of the water.
‘Look,’ shouted Twit, pointing down to, the adjoining wall. ‘It’s Oswald! He’ll be drownded!’
The water level was rising quickly. Soon it reached Oswald’s chest.
‘He can’t swim,’ said Piccadilly anxiously.
Orfeo rose into the air, and just as the water was filling Oswald’s ears the bat fluttered over him.
‘Put up your arms, pale one,’ he cried.
Oswald obeyed and was carried out wet and dripping on to the altar.
Two ginger ears appeared over the side of the ledge and Jupiter’s great head reared over it. He laughed at the small creatures who had dared to challenge him. Especially the girl: even now she was staring at him defiantly, completely disregarding the danger all around her. Smoke curled out of the corner of his mouth and he spat flames at the mice on the altar.
Audrey faced the terrible cat god alone. ‘You don’t frighten me any more,’ she said coldly. ‘Before I die, I curse you with all my strength and all my faith in the Green Mouse. You are an abomination in nature. Choke on my bones!’
Jupiter smirked at her, and a guttural rumbling came from his throat as he started to purr. His pink tongue slid out and licked the corner of his mouth.
Audrey felt the fumes from his jaws on her face: the thought of the pain of being crunched and ground between his teeth flashed through her mind. With a last effort she cried, ‘This is for my father!’ and flung the mousebrass towards the beast.
For a moment the charm glittered in space as it turned over and over. Then it hit the ugly great head with an explosion of green fire. Emerald stars burst out, dazzling everyone. The chamber became a turquoise green as fire caught hold in Jupiter’s fur. Jupiter squealed in pain.
The green flames licked his huge head and he shook his jowly face to put them out. His powerful arms reached up and flayed about, and slowly he began to topple backwards.
With an almighty roar of disbelief he fell. Down he plunged, too far from the wall this time to cling to anything. He writhed in the empty air, his burning fur tormenting him, and then hit the water with a tremendous crash. A giant waterspout reared up and touched the ceiling.
‘Look!’ said Piccadilly.
Jupiter was not finished. He struggled in the surging water, green fire crowning his monstrous head. Waves lashed at the ledge, nearly sweeping Audrey clean off. Piccadilly grabbed her and pulled her away as the water smashed over them.
Slowly Jupiter struggled to the side.
‘He’s going to make it,’ shouted Piccadilly over the tumult.
‘Oh don’t let him,’ Mrs Brown cried desperately, and her paw closed over Albert’s mousebrass.
Jupiter reached his mighty arm out of the water and grasped at the wall.
‘You cannot defeat me,’ he screeched, digging his claws into the brickwork.
But, deep in the water, something else was stirring. Faint blue lights began to appear around the struggling monster. They glimmered underneath the waves, steadily growing brighter.
Audrey rubbed her eyes. ‘What are they?’ she asked, but when she turned to the others it was obvious that none of them could see them.
‘No!’ cried Jupiter suddenly. ‘It cannot be!’ Slowly he sank deeper into the water, Audrey stood transfixed by the sight she was witnessing. Ghostly blue arms rose out of the depths, and small paws clutched at the ginger fur. Every mouse that Jupiter had tortured and devoured had returned from the Other Side to claim him. With the strength of death they pulled him down.
Surprise and panic showed in his face and he thrashed about with his enormous tail. Mewing harshly he spluttered and choked as the water flowed into his mouth.
‘He’s going under,’ said Piccadilly hopefully.
‘He’s drowning, he’s drowning,’ shouted Arthur.
Twit danced for joy around Thomas. Oswald sneezed and sighed, knowing he would be in bed for weeks with a terrible cold. He wrung out his scarf miserably.
Staring up at the mice on his altar, Jupiter lost his struggle with the shades of his victims. He foundered and the water closed over his head. Great bubbles exploded to the surface and ruptured as his vast lungs were spent. It was a gruesome sight to behold, but Audrey could not take her eyes away. She had to be certain that Jupiter was dead.
Soon the bubbles ceased. Jupiter was no more. His immense bulk sank slowly down into the deep.
Thomas laid a paw on Twit’s shoulder.
‘It’s Davy Jones’s locker he’s gone to! The world’s a cleaner place for it; a dark and nasty stain has been removed.’
Arthur and Piccadilly shook paws and laughed happily now that the dangers had passed. Mrs Brown hugged Audrey tightly.
Orfeo and Eldritch alighted on the ledge gracefully.
‘The beast is drowned deep,’ said Eldritch.
‘As are his subjects and his evil plans. The plague will never leave the mine now,’ said Orfeo. ‘A neat piece of work, seagoer,’ congratulated Eldritch, but as he said it he exchanged an odd look with his brother.
‘Come on home,’ Mrs Brown said tenderly to her daughter.
‘Yes, we must leave this foul hole,’ agreed Thomas. ‘Back to light and air and the smell of the river!’
‘Buds are burstin’ out there,’ chirped Twit, yearning for the countryside.
Only Audrey stared down at the dark water as it calmed and stilled. She saw a patch of shimmering blue rising to the surface and she caught her breath as the light took shape. From beneath the waves the shade of Albert Brown smiled at her. A thousand words passed between father and daughter. Then, as if called away, the shimmering phantom lowered his loving eyes and vanished. ‘Oh Mother,’ gasped Audrey, clutching Mrs Brown’s arm for support.
‘What is it, love?’ asked Mrs Brown kindly.
Audrey stared over the edge and closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. Then she looked into her mother’s mild, brown eyes and cried huskily: ‘Father’s . . . dead.’
‘I know dear, I know,’ sighed Mrs Brown, glad that her daughter had finally come to terms with the truth. She held on to her daughter passionately. Audrey’s sobs racked both of their bodies.
Thomas put his arm around Oswald’s shoulder. The albino was very tired and weak.
‘I know just the thing to warm you up,’ laughed the midshipmouse, winking at Twit. The fieldmouse giggled at what Mrs Chitter would say. Piccadilly joined them and they left the chamber.
Arthur caught up with his sister.
Phew, what a terrible week it’s been, and after all this you still haven’t got your mousebrass. Algy won’t believe any of this.’
Audrey sighed and glanced back at the altar chamber. Her eyes were raw, but she could see Eldritch and Orfeo huddled together and gazing at her strangely. All she wanted to do was to get back to the Skirtings.
‘Goodbye and thank ’ee,’ said Twit, waving to the bats.
Orfeo lowered his foxy head behind his wings.
‘Until the summer . . .’ he said darkly.
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The Crystal Prison
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. But once again they must face terrifying evil as they are embroiled in a series of horrible murders. At first the simple country mice suspect Deptford newcomer Audrey – but the truth turns out to be far more sinister
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 realised 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 the 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.
From then on Gwen Brown took charge of Oswald and his mother whilst 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. All the mice 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 all the 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.
All 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 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 mice. But now the youngest of the heroes was dying.
Piccadilly swept the hair out of his eyes and got out of bed. The sunlight shone on the city mouse and warmed him all over but he hardly noticed it. For the moment, he was sharing a room with Arthur, and Audrey was sleeping in her mother’s bed, as 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 his 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.’
‘Well 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 take 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’ door 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.
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 Mrs Chitter, she’s fit to drop.’
‘I’ll tell her to lie down for a bit,’ nodded Arthur. And I’ll take over,’ added Audrey. ‘You look like you could do with a rest as well Twit.’
‘Well, Mr Chitter, he just sits an’ mopes, his wife an’ son bein’ so bad. l 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 be the last day no, I knows it. None of ’em’ll see the sunset.’ Big tears ran down the fieldmouse’s little face. He was exhausted and felt that 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 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 her 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 Brown was too tired to make any.
‘Audrey, promise me 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 it 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.
Sorrowfully she picked up a bowl from the floor. It contained clean wafer 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 that 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 out the illness from her son, and out of respect for her wishes Gwen Brown made sure that 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.
‘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-me-not 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 amongst all those horrible rats.’
‘I don’t think I shall ever get my . . . 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 black 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.
‘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 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’ 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?’
‘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 I ever had. Twit’s mighty fond of his cousin there – it’ll be a tragic blow to his little heart.’
A soft footfall behind them 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. Be 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 Brown’s home, ‘but to see you as well.’
‘Me?’ asked Audrey, puzzled. She had not spoken to the midshipmouse very much during the brief times that he had visited the Skirtings and she wondered what he was up to.