The Mousehunter (22 page)

Spires looked more tired than usual. Isiah Lovelock had been sending him on errands round the clock of late.

“I take it all is well,” said Beatrice Pettifogger as she walked alongside the butler, her cloak skimming the floor.

“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Lovelock is waiting in great anticipation of your news.”

Lady Pettifogger touched his arm very lightly.

“And he won’t be disappointed. I received word this morning that everything has gone to plan.”

“Excellent,” replied the butler, ushering Lady Pettifogger to her carriage, waiting by the Old Town Gate.

Spires followed the lady onboard and gave the order to move on. With a jolt they set off, and sped through the streets of Old Town.

When they reached the heights of Grandview, Isiah Lovelock was standing at the roadside, taking in the air outside his mansion. He was lit by the glowing lamp nearby, and his long shadow stretched out over the cobblestones. It was a most unusual sight, and Spires hastened to jump down from the carriage.

“Is everything well, sir?” he asked.

“Yes, of course! You made good time,” said Lovelock with a faint smile. Spires opened the other side of the carriage and Lady Pettifogger stepped down, pulling her cloak across so her feet hit the ground first. She took Lovelock’s cold hand.

“Isiah!” she exclaimed warmly, “how wonderful to meet again, and in such marvelous circumstances.”

These words brought a tiny sparkle to his eye.

“We have them?” he asked hopefully, leading her into the hallway. The dim lights along the walls caught the whites of Lovelock’s eyes as he stopped and waited for her reply. Lady Pettifogger glanced around, drew nearer, and whispered to Lovelock.

“Each and every one, Isiah,” she said. “The pirates gave up their captain and the Golden Mice without so much as a sneeze. And we have the
Silver Shark
intact but for a few scratches. What better trophy is there? It will prove a great draw for the young mousekeepers of Old Town.”

“Lord Battersby will be rewarded with the highest honors, Beatrice,” said Lovelock. “This is the most fabulous news I could have received!”

“And the fleet will return within the next week or so, all being well. I believe a celebration will be in order.”

“I’ll send word to the Mayor of Old Town,” said Lovelock. “The scaffold will have to be erected on Pirate’s Wharf — and the gibbet readied for Mousebeard. He still has supporters around the Great Sea, so we should make an example of him.”

“We shall be in the history books, Isiah!” exclaimed Beatrice.

“And the Golden Mice will herald a new dawn for this land. Old Town will once again become the richest city in the world. We’ll put the fire back into the people — get them thirsty for wealth and glory. Old Town will soon be unstoppable . . . .”

After news reached Old Town of Mousebeard’s capture, rumors spread like wildfire. In the taverns it was said that Mousebeard could command giants and sea monsters, and word had got out about Battersby’s return and his notorious cargo. No one knew what to believe for sure, but everyone felt it was a major event in the history of Midena. On the streets, rows of mousebunting were hung from building to building, and effigies of the captured pirate were staked on the end of tall pikes in celebration.

In Merchants’ Square, outside the Town Hall, boys and girls distributed the daily papers with the breaking news. With every day that passed there was a new artist’s impression of the pirate’s scowling face blown up large on the front pages. It was impossible to escape: even the walls of the docks were plastered with posters proclaiming the virtues of Lord Battersby and the Old Town Guard, and how the menace of Mousebeard would soon be extinguished for good.

Within the confines of the hallowed Hall of Mousetrading, dealers discussed the impact that Mousebeard’s capture would have on their fortunes. There was quite a buzz around the city, and the price of lucrative Angel-eyed Mice — Old Town’s most recent mousing discovery — rocketed. In the space of just a few days, the city was once again the talk of Midena.

For all the young mousekeepers of Old Town who had grown up listening to horrifying stories of Mousebeard the pirate, it was almost too exciting to bear. Hearing of his capture and knowing that he was being brought to their city was the most amazing thing ever to happen to them, and the pirate’s arrival couldn’t come too soon. Even in Old Rodent’s Academy, there was much talk among the professors and students, and the day of the pirate’s arrival was made a holiday so that everyone could visit the harbor and catch a glimpse of the prisoner.

So when the navy’s ships eventually appeared on the horizon, it didn’t take long for everyone to hear about it. Every viewpoint in the city grew congested with onlookers gazing out to sea, and those able to make the journey through the marshes to the harbor did so.

The
Stonebreaker
was the first to reach the docks, its flags flying high and snapping in the wind, with, behind it, the pirate ship in tow. Every sailor lined the deck; their faces were stern but triumphant. The tailing warships slipped quietly into the harbor and formed an impenetrable wall between Old Town and the sea, making it impossible for any sort of escape.

The cobbled quayside was cluttered with cheering supporters, all trying to outstretch each other for the best view of the ships. It had been almost a century since an arrival had brought this much excitement to the harbor. As a loud whistle sounded, the crowd retreated slightly, and a wide gangplank fell to the ground with a clatter. “Where is he?” shouted an old lady, struggling to see the events unfold. Her cry was echoed by the restless crowd, and a chorus of “String ’im up! String ’im up!” belted out.

Suddenly, armed sailors marched out and drove a corridor through the crowd to the Old Town Gate. The rabble grew louder and louder, waiting for Mousebeard, until eventually Lord Battersby walked into view in full uniform. He carried a mousebox, and as he stepped out a huge cheer rang out. Behind him came more sailors, and then the crowd went quiet at the sight everyone was waiting for. Mousebeard stood tall on deck, his immense size gradually revealed by the dispersing crew. But his face was drained of color, and he looked tired — certainly not the fearsome presence that people were expecting. A guard shoved his back to make him move.

He stumbled at the top of the gangplank. His wrists and ankles were shackled, allowing him little movement, but he slowly shuffled onto the flagstones, heralding wild cheering from the crowd. Stones were thrown at him, and clumps of dirt flew into his face, but he was unfazed, instead feeling a sense of bewilderment at the solid ground beneath his feet. Sailors rushed to form a barrier between him and the crowd, twisting their pikes sideways in unison to stop anyone pushing through.

Mousebeard hesitantly took a few steps forward — something that briefly warmed every part of his soul — but the crowd’s attention quickly focused on his face, which was contorting. It suddenly lost all its color and his dark eyes scrunched shut. He tumbled to the floor, his huge body clattering down, and he started to twist and writhe in agony. Sailors kicked him and demanded he rise, but the pirate couldn’t move. His chest had seized up as if an iron hand were squeezing his heart. It had been years since Mousebeard had felt the pain.

Lord Battersby rushed over.

“Get up, man!” he ordered. “Pick him up!”

Four sailors lifted Mousebeard — his weight was such that it needed that many — and it was immediately apparent that all was not well.

“I can’t walk,” he muttered, breathing heavily. The crowd around started to jeer.

“We’ll drag you along the roads if we have to,” said Battersby sharply. “Keep him coming.” Lord Battersby walked on through the crowds at a faster pace, with Mousebeard being pulled behind.

Drewshank was the next onto the gangplank, and the response of the crowd turned to one of confusion. He looked at the faces around him, searching vainly for friends. Everyone knew of Drewshank’s attempt to capture the pirate, but they had no idea why he was now a prisoner. As the rest of the pirates emerged onto the gangplank, a single cheer lifted the people again, and soon Drewshank was amid the roaring jeers just like Mousebeard.

Drewshank focused on the route ahead and saw Mousebeard struggling along the cobblestones, his arms clenched by soldiers. His immediate reaction was to walk on faster, to try and help the man who had shown him mercy, but as he neared, three soldiers stuck out their pikes and halted him. Something was wrong with the pirate, and he wished he’d understood more of what Mousebeard had been speaking of while chained in the prison.

Battersby led the pirates through the Old Town Gate and out onto the marshes. The crowds thinned slightly, but people still stood cheering along the route. The crowds followed to the point where the snaking line of prisoners veered from the road onto a less-used, muddy, pot-holed track. Not even for a glimpse of the pirate would any sane human venture onto that path. Its narrow course wound slightly upward toward the western reaches of the city, and prisoners trudged for nearly half an hour before they saw their destination. Everyone but Mousebeard tilted their heads up, and a sense of dread filled their hearts. Like a fallen tombstone in a graveyard, a stone-walled fortress lifted above the surrounding woodland and scrub. It was Dire Street Prison: the darkest, dingiest, and best-guarded prison in the land. If you were ever to leave, it would only be to Pirate’s Wharf, where the gallows awaited you.

Upon reaching the perimeter wall, they halted before a set of rusty iron gates, and Battersby called out to the guards on the other side. The gates opened with a squeal and soldiers marched out. Mousebeard and Drewshank were taken inside first. Drewshank felt wretched but he was more worried about Mousebeard. Looking back, the captain could see that the pirate had been weakening minute by minute. He had always seen Mousebeard as a terrible figure, to be hated and not pitied, but he couldn’t help but feel saddened by seeing such a strong man brought so low.

The prison governor, a ginger-haired stocky woman, dressed in a tight military-style dress, greeted Lord Battersby just inside the gates.

“Well done, sir,” she said, shaking his hand and smiling proudly. “Anything you need me to do?”

“Get the mice from his beard,” said Battersby, “and have them delivered to me.”

“Certainly, sir. What about his treatment? Shall we rough him up a bit?”

“No, definitely not. Make sure he’s treated well — we need him on top form to face the gallows.”

Lord Battersby bade her farewell and walked from the prison with a frown. He too was puzzled by the pirate’s condition, and he too was concerned — it was imperative that Mousebeard live long enough to face the executioner.

Lord Battersby dusted down his broad chest and tweaked his coat. He wanted to make an entrance worthy of the occasion, and he scratched his chin to check that stubble hadn’t grown in any great measure. He smiled to himself, ran his hand across his hair, and finally rapped on the door at the Old Town Gentlemen’s Club.

Situated on the edge of Grandview, where the mansions became crowded by townhouses, it was a rarefied venue, with rich and influential figures as members. The Club was a tall gray brick building, regrettably built on weak foundations, which meant it required an immense, meter-wide iron chain to be joined between its top floor and the ground to stop it from falling over. Three chimneys rose high into the sky from its roof, and each was adorned by aging chimney pots. Out of keeping with the rest of the Club’s appearance, one of these was home to a large stork’s nest, which the manager — a meticulous man — had never managed to banish.

The door opened immediately and Battersby walked in, his appearance creating a great stir among the smartly dressed doormen and waitresses standing in the hallway.

“Isiah Lovelock?” asked Battersby.

A waitress nodded.

“This way, sir,” she said. “Can I take the mousebox and your jacket for you, sir?”

“Oh, no, no! That won’t be necessary,” he said briskly as he followed her.

They walked up a wide staircase, past paintings of former members and their favorite mice, until they reached a door with a green glass handle. Spires stood nearby and gave a formal nod of greeting.

“Mr. Lovelock and his guests are in here, sir,” said the waitress, before taking her leave.

“Good to see you back safely, sir,” said Spires plainly.

“It’s good to be back,” replied Battersby. He knocked firmly on the door then strode in, a feeling of great accomplishment welling within.

“Alexander!” cheered Lady Pettifogger, jumping up to greet him, a beaming smile across her face. Lovelock lifted himself from his chair, his eyes wide.

The room was modestly sized but exquisitely furnished, with big antique pots and vases at its edges. Landscape paintings adorned the walls below the red velvet drapes, and everything was lit by the dreary glow of oil lamps. A half-full bottle of wine sat on the table, and Beatrice Pettifogger filled an empty glass for Battersby.

“Good afternoon,” said Battersby, sitting himself down in a leather armchair. “I think it’s safe to say that all is well in Old Town this fine day!”

Lovelock received the mousebox and placed it on the table. His thin pale hands were shaking with excitement.

“These are the Golden Mice?”

“Indeed, Isiah . . . .”

A glint of light in his eyes, Lovelock unlatched the lid and raised it effortlessly. The radiant glow of the Golden Mice gushed out, bathing his cold face with luxurious yellow light.

“You have given me the greatest gift, Alexander — and a wonderful prize for the people of Old Town. I don’t believe there is any way I can repay you.”

“Honestly, Isiah, it proved easier than even I could have hoped,” said Battersby, flushed from the wine.

“And Mousebeard?” asked Lovelock wryly. “How is he coping?”

“He’s safely locked up in Dire Street Prison, under the watchful eye of the Old Town Guard. He seems most unwell though, ever since we reached Old Town.”

“I expected as much,” said Lovelock, his eyes returning to the Golden Mice.