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Authors: Robin Jarvis

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The Deptford Mice 2: The Crystal Prison (7 page)

BOOK: The Deptford Mice 2: The Crystal Prison
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They both looked at the figure asleep on the chair. Jacob Chitter was pale and weak – he appeared as ill as Oswald.

‘I looked in on Mrs Chitter before,’ whispered Arthur. ‘She’s as bad as he is.’

‘Yes,’ nodded Gwen. ‘The lives of this family are all tied together. As Oswald fades – so do they. It’s so terrible.’ She laid the covered bowl which she had been carrying on the low table next to the pieces of raw onion.

‘More ointment from Mrs Coltfoot?’ guessed Arthur. ‘A bit late for that now.’

‘Let’s not presume the end before it’s come,’ breathed his mother. ‘We must continue as before. Audrey and I will see to Mrs Chitter, you see to . . .’ She paused and puckered her brow as Arthur bit his lip. ‘Arthur?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t seen Audrey since I woke up . . . and Twit wasn’t in his bed when I looked in on him. Where are they?’

Arthur gritted his teeth, then took a long deep breath whilst he shuffled his feet awkwardly.

‘Arthur!’ demanded his mother sternly.

‘Well you had just gone to sleep so we didn’t like to disturb you,’ he began earnestly.

‘Who’s “we”?’

‘Well us and Mr Triton.’

‘Mr Triton!’ Gwen Brown exclaimed. ‘What did he want?’

‘He took Audrey and Twit to Greenwich,’ said Arthur nervously.

‘To Greenwich? Oh Arthur, what’s got into the old fool’s head? And why did you let them go? I’m surprised at Twit – upping and leaving like that.’

Arthur waved his arms and tried to calm her down. ‘But it wasn’t like that! He promised they’d be back in time and Twit needed to get away for a bit. Mr Triton can be very persuasive you know,’ he added lamely.

‘Oh, I’m sorry I snapped, Arthur’ smiled Gwen apologetically. ‘I do remember Mr Triton’s way – he’s a forceful one, there’s no denying. I suppose they didn’t have time to think what they were doing when he arrived. But why take Twit and Audrey to Greenwich? Audrey hardly knows him for one thing, and it isn’t like her to be interested in boats and such.’

‘Oh didn’t I say?’ put in Arthur quickly. ‘Mr Triton brought a message from someone called the Starwife. She apparently wanted to speak with Audrey.’

Gwen Brown was taken aback. ‘The Starwife! Let me see now . . . yes, I do seem to have heard of her. Oh dear – what can she want with our Audrey? I don’t like it, Arthur. If I had been awake I would not have allowed her to go. Just wait till I see that midshipmouse – I’ll bend his ear for him.’

The afternoon crept by. The hot sun veered west and the evening clouds gathered lightly about the horizon.

In the hall of the old house many mice were gathered: Algy Coltfoot and his mother, the two Raddle spinsters, flirty Miss Poot and many more had mustered together to see how the Chitters were faring. It was as if some instinct had told them that the end was near for that family. A dark shadow lay over all their hearts.

Poor Piccadilly was getting impatient with them all. They kept badgering him for information and they evidently considered his bulletins too few and scanty in detail. Just when the city mouse felt like punching a couple of stupid, nosey heads, Master Oldnose, disturbed by the row, strode out of his rooms and waded through the crowd.

‘Now then, now then!’ He clapped his paws and looked round crossly.

Master Oldnose had been the tutor of most of the mice present, and their memories of him with his ears white with anger awoke their old respect for him. Voices were hushed and silence fell.

Master Oldnose eyed everyone severely – even those mice who were older than him respected him and held their tongues. Besides his school duties, Master Oldnose was the mousebrass maker and that was a position of great honour.

Now he surveyed them all and waited until he was satisfied.

Piccadilly flicked the hair out of his eyes.

‘Ta, mister, they were gettin’ out of hand.’

Master Oldnose bristled at being called ‘mister’ by this uncouth and obviously ignorant city mouse but decided to pass over it. ‘You boy,’ he addressed Piccadilly. ‘What is the meaning of this riotous gathering? Explain yourself.’ He stood with his paws clasped firmly behind his back and rocked slightly on his heels awaiting a reply.

‘It’s the Chitters, mister. Oswald’s in what Mrs Brown calls “the crisis” and she an’ Arthur are doin’ their level best for ‘em but this lot aren’t happy with just knowin’ that and won’t shift.’

‘I see.’ Master Oldnose glared at the crowd as if they were children. ‘Go about your business – there is nothing more for you to learn here.’

The mice stirred and mumbled feebly, and the two old maids fluttered shyly and hid their mouths behind nervous paws. Algy coughed and put on his most stubborn face. Nobody moved away.

‘Tough luck, mister,’ grinned Piccadilly cheekily. ‘I thought you had ’em then.’

‘We only want to know how they are,’ said a small voice. It was Tom Cockle. ‘We owe the lad a lot, you see, and well – I’ve been stewin’ all day, not knowin’ how he was doin’, so I come here and blow me if there wasn’t a blessed crowd already.’

‘That’s right,’ broke in Mrs Coltfoot. ‘Algy an’ me were terrible restless – poor Oswald, I had an awful feeling about today.’ Murmurs of agreement tan through the crowd.

‘We’re not doin’ any harm,’ continued Tom. ‘We’re sorry if we were a bit rowdy but we’re not budgin’.’

Even the Raddle spinsters nodded. Master Oldnose sighed. He could see that today he would not be obeyed. Indeed,
he
had been sitting in his workroom unable to concentrate on the unfinished mousebrasses before him. He was quite prepared to remain with the others now and wait for news. Everyone expected the curtain to be pulled to one side at any moment and to see Gwen Brown’s tearful face appear and relate grave, tragic words. All eyes were fixed on the curtain and even Piccadilly was forced to turn and stare at it glumly.

The evening drew close. Outside, the day was still warm and the sun had not yet disappeared but no mouse took any notice.

Eventually, the mice on the Landings crept down the stairway and stood, silent and depressed, with the Skirtings folk. Time stole by – only the breathing of many mice disturbed the blanketing stillness.

All at once, confusion broke out. Cries of alarm rippled through the crowd. Piccadilly looked round. The Raddle spinsters, as usual, had the same expression on their faces. Even in panic they were identical. No one seemed to know what was happening. Master Oldnose scowled. The disturbance seemed to emanate from the back of the crowd near the cellar door. Be gulped and wondered with dread what had crept out of that dark place. Something was forcing its way through the assembled mice. Master Oldnose drew back in fear.

‘Out of my way!’ shouted a gruff voice. ‘Let me through there!’

Piccadilly managed a smile – he knew that voice.

‘Hey! Avast there!’ A blue woollen hat bobbed into view amongst the sea of startled mice.

Master Oldnose was relieved, but glowered as he saw Thomas Triton emerge from the crowd. ‘Mr Triton,’ he declared, ‘what means this rude interruption?’

Master Oldnose was not fond of the midshipmouse, for on the few occasions they had met, Thomas had flagrantly disregarded his authority.

‘Evenin’ Nosey!’ greeted Thomas cheerily.

Master Oldnose’s mouth dropped open as he watched the midshipmouse barge past him. Thomas ruffled Piccadilly’s hair on his way then nipped behind the Chitters’ curtain.

Excited whoops then came from the crowd. ‘How do Algy! Hello Algy’s mum!’ called a small but unmistakable voice. It was Twit, finding it more difficult to get through the crowd than the midshipmouse had done.

Master Oldnose came out of his sulk and looked up quickly. ‘What you got in that bag, Twit?’ asked Tom Cockle.

‘Oh you’ll see Tom, you’ll see.’ Twit blundered out of the assembled mice carrying the Starwife’s bag as high as his little arms could manage.

‘Hello William,’ said Master Oldnose warmly. ‘Are you feelin’ well boy?’

‘The best I ever did!’ And as if to prove it Twit burst into a fit of joyful laughter.

The crowd thought he had gone potty and sighed and tutted with disapproval. Audrey had been following Twit unnoticed by everyone, but now she stepped out and took his paw.

‘He really is fine,’ she explained to them all, and hurried the still giggling fieldmouse into the Chitters’ rooms.

‘Audrey?’ Piccadilly stopped her. ‘What
is
going on? Why were you so long and why is Twit acting so barmy?’

‘He’s just happy because Oswald is going to get well,’ she answered. Piccadilly looked at her doubtfully. ‘Come off it,’ he whispered. ‘There’s no way to save him now.’

‘Oh yes there is,’ said Audrey in a strange, sombre voice. ‘There’s
one
way to save him.’ She turned suddenly and ran through the curtain.

The city mouse stared after her. He could have sworn he had seen tears in Audrey’s eyes. But if Oswald was going to be cured, why was she so unhappy?

In Oswald’s sickroom excitement charged the air. Thomas had told Gwen Brown about the Starwife’s bag and she was already boiling some water.

Oswald, lay still and silent on the bed like a broken statue of cold marble. He was unaware of everyone around him. He felt so weak that even breathing seemed a dreadful labour. It was as if he had been falling down a deep black well: gradually the light at the top had grown fainter and more distant, until he accepted that there was no way out for him. Down he sank into the blackest night imaginable. He could hear nothing but the darkness filling his ears and closing in around him. How easy it was to sleep and forget everything, all he had known and all he had been – to be one with the rich velvet blackness.

Mrs Brown came into the sickroom carrying a bowl of hot steaming water. Twit was about to drop the bag in when he hesitated. Was this a cruel trick of the Starwife? He glanced round at his friends and at once drew heart from Thomas’ wise, whiskered face. The bag plopped into the bowl.

At once the steam snaked higher and filled the sickroom completely. All who breathed it in felt refreshed and tingles ran all the way down their tails.

A silver light began to shine in the room. In his chair Jacob Chitter stirred in his sleep. Small stars gleamed through the steam and once again Twit felt as if he was swept up into the bright heavens. Only this time Oswald was next to him and there seemed to be music everywhere. As he looked at his cousin the fieldmouse gasped. For a moment it seemed as if he could see the Starwife lying in his place but the vision was snatched away and Twit could see that it was indeed Oswald lying there.

‘The water is cooler now,’ said Gwen. ‘Twit dear, see if he will drink it.’

Twit took the bowl from her and knelt beside Oswald. He used one paw to raise his cousin’s head and tilted the bowl slightly with the other.

At first the water simply touched Oswald’s lips and trickled down on to the pillows.

‘Come on Cuz,’ cried Twit urgently. ‘Drink it!’

Everyone held their breath and watched. More of the precious water spilled on to the pillows. The albino looked dead.

Twit’s paw trembled as he feared they were too late. The pillow was very wet now and there was not much left in the bowl. Thomas lowered his eyes and removed his hat. Mrs Brown buried her face in her paws.

‘Oh Oswald,’ the little fieldmouse cried. ‘Oswald, Oswald.’ Twit’s little heart was breaking.

And then Oswald’s lips moved.

‘Look!’ yelled Twit. ‘He be drinkin’.’ Oswald swallowed the liquid and then opened one eye feebly. He gazed at them all and managed a smile.

‘Hooray!’ shouted Twit skipping round the room. ‘Hooray!’ He took Mrs Brown’s paw and dragged her into the dance.

Thomas stepped up to Audrey and said softly to her, ‘I’ll be off to Greenwich later to return the bag. No doubt I’ll be told details of your departure. She won’t leave anything to chance – everything will be planned and organised.’

‘Mr Triton, I have to go, don’t I?’ said Audrey. ‘I am the price of all this aren’t I?’

He nodded regretfully. ‘Alas miss, I’m afraid you are. Forgive me for taking you to her. I am truly sorry.’

Audrey smiled at him. ‘It isn’t your fault Mr Triton – she would have done it with or without you.’

They were interrupted by an impatient knocking on the wall. Everyone paused and listened.

‘Where’s my milk? What’s all that noise? Can you hear me Jacob?’ Mrs Chitter was in fine form by the sound of her.

Jacob Chitter jumped to attention in his chair. ‘Yes dear. Of course, dear, I . . .’ He paused suddenly as he noticed his son smiling up at him. ‘Oh Oswald,’ he said, and burst into tears.

Gwen Brown led the others out of the sickroom. Thomas hung back and collected the small cloth bag.

On the way out to the hall Gwen looked in on Mrs Chitter. She was sitting up in bed fussing with her hair. ‘Oh Gwen what is going on in there?’ she asked. ‘What does my husband think he’s doing, the old fool?’

‘Arabel,’ cried Mrs Brown. ‘Oswald is better! It’s all over now.’

Mrs Chitter dabbed her eyes and gave thanks to the Green Mouse. ‘Well if that isn’t the best news I’ve ever heard,’ she sobbed. ‘You see Gwen, I told you those pieces of onion would do the trick.’

In the hall, Thomas was telling an awestruck crowd about Oswald’s recovery. For a short time they simply blinked at the midshipmouse – not sure if they had heard him properly – and then with one voice they cheered.

‘My word!’ exclaimed Master Oldnose.

‘Let’s celebrate,’ called Tom Cockle.

Audrey felt miserable and dragged her feet back home. Arthur was munching away in the kitchen and getting crumbs everywhere.

‘Isn’t it terrific?’ he mumbled, with his mouth full.

‘Oh yes Arthur, I couldn’t be happier for the Chitters.’ Her voice fell and she sat down heavily.

Arthur swallowed and licked the crumbs round his mouth, forgetting the ones clinging to his whiskers. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked seriously, sensing his sister’s mood.

‘Didn’t Mr Triton tell you?’ she asked wearily.

Arthur sat down beside her and said fearfully, ‘Tell us what? You’re all right aren’t you? You’re not coming down with what Oswald had are you?’

‘Oh no Arthur – nothing like that. My fate’s much worse than that,’ she said morosely. ‘It’s the miracle cure of the Starwife.’

‘That was amazing wasn’t it – really magic stuff that was.’

Audrey stared at him steadily. ‘It had . . . conditions, Arthur. We could only take the cure
if
I agreed to go with Twit to his field the day after tomorrow
and
. . . take Madame Akkikuyu with me.’

BOOK: The Deptford Mice 2: The Crystal Prison
6.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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