The Mousehunter (4 page)

Drewshank, feeling slightly rebuffed, hastened his walk to the gangplank and stepped on board.

“But the
Flying Fox
?” he continued. “This amazing vessel has sailed the Seventeen Seas, fought among the Espedrills at the War of Angry Neck, and even raced the Diver Mice around Cape Kopper. No finer craft has ever sailed!”

Spires smiled to himself, taking in the details of the ship as he went aboard. It appeared empty of sailors, who were no doubt all in the taverns causing the usual ruckus. He couldn’t help but be impressed with the dark-wood deck and golden edging that ran around the hull. Not that he was going to mention it.

“Sir, I apologize for my lack of knowledge regarding your ship, but my master has an excellent understanding of its qualities and those of its captain — which is why I’m here.”

Halting with a flourish in front of his cabin door, a proud smile lit up Drewshank’s face.

“Of course, I couldn’t expect a mere butler to take an interest in the pursuits of gentlemen.”

“Not at all. Butlers take a very great interest in gentlemen,” replied Spires smoothly. Drewshank’s smile vanished.

“So, why did you need my help?” he said pointedly.

Before he could receive an answer, the captain guided Spires into his plush quarters. Oil lamps lit the small cabin, which contained a wide table, a few tall leather-backed chairs, and plenty of mousing trophies. Some decorated cabinets and mirrors were secured to the walls, along with a very indulgent oil painting of Drewshank himself.

“Mr. Lovelock wishes to commission you,” said the butler.

“What does he want this time?” Drewshank asked, settling down into the captain’s chair.

“I don’t know,” replied the butler, “but he requests your presence at Grandview immediately.”

“Immediately?” exclaimed Drewshank. “A man has to sleep at some point of a night! I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name?”

“Spires, sir.”

“Right then, Spires. Seeing as you’re stopping me from falling into my hammock, I suggest you give me good reason to leave my quarters. Nothing to do with him, by any chance?” said Drewshank. He raised an eyebrow and pointed to a poster pinned to the wall. In its center was a sketchy representation of the inimitable Captain Mousebeard, underneath which the caption read:

The butler recognized the poster. They’d been pinned around Old Town, and the frowning, bearded pirate stared out onto every street as though he owned it.

“If it’s something to do with him, then I may be interested . . . ,” said Drewshank.

“It’s a wise presumption,” answered the butler, “but I know no more. Our carriage is waiting at the Old Town Gate, to take us there directly. Will you join me?”

The captain lowered his head and scratched it vigorously. After taking a deep breath, he grabbed his gold-braided overcoat from the back of a chair and stood up.

“I hope it’s worth my while, Spires. I don’t want to be up all night,” he said, checking his appearance in a grandiose mirror. He looked good, as usual.

“Very good, sir,” said the butler.

It was early morning by the time Drewshank and the butler left the carriage and entered the mansion. The house was deadly silent; not even a mouse could be heard squeaking from the mousery.

“Please wait here, sir,” said Spires as he darted into a small anteroom, removed his cloak, and tidied himself up. He couldn’t be seen looking a mess in front of Mr. Lovelock. After climbing the stairs and speaking briefly to his master, Spires returned, took Drewshank’s overcoat, and hung it neatly by the door. They then started the long ascent of the stairs together.

The light still glowed from Lovelock’s office, and the butler opened the door and invited Drewshank to sit down. To Drewshank’s surprise, Lovelock was elsewhere.

“My master will be with you shortly,” said Spires unapologetically, and promptly left the room, closing the door firmly.

The butler reached the top of the stairs and started the long walk down to the kitchen, finding the quiet of the house calming. Mr. Spires was pleased to be back at the mansion. He took a few steps further and the peace was shattered.

“Watch out!” shouted Emiline, charging up from the floor below. Dressed once more in her armor, she clasped a peculiar mouse in her hands. It wriggled and squirmed, sniffing the air all the while through its exceptionally long snout.

“I need to speak with you!” she shouted, breathlessly, while disappearing onto the landing and into the mousery.

“Are all the escaped mice captured, Emiline?” he replied, his tone letting her know that this sort of behavior could not be tolerated in the mansion.

Spires received no reply until a door creaked shut and Emiline appeared once more at the stairs.

“Not quite,” she said wearily. “I found that Snorkel Mouse in the bath on the fourth floor, but the Sharpclaw’s vanished.”

“What did you want to say to me?” asked the butler.

“Who was that man? Was that Captain Drewshank?” quizzed Emiline.

“It was. Why does it concern you?” he replied sternly.

“Mr. Lovelock has a problem with Mousebeard, so he calls for the world-famous Captain Drewshank. It’s obvious! And, unlike you, any normal person would be very excited to have him in their home. He caught the first Yellow-nosed Fire Mouse and brought it back to Old Town!”

The butler took Emiline by the arm forcefully and walked her down the stairs.

“Watch the words that come from your mouth, Emiline. This is no place to be talking of Mr. Lovelock and that pirate in such a way. And as for Mr. Drewshank and his overblown tales of mousehunting derring-do, well, you’d do best to keep away from types like him.”

“Mr. Spires, you’re so old and fusty. For anyone who knows anything about mice, he is as much of a legend as Mr. Lovelock. To sail and hunt mice with Captain Drewshank would be a dream come true,” she said.

“Emiline, he’d never take a mousekeeper like you. You’re too young.”

“Too young? At least I can see past the end of my nose!”

The butler let her go and continued down the staircase alone.

“Go to bed,” he said firmly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

But going to bed was the last thing she meant to do. Drewshank looked around Lovelock’s office impatiently, his legs crossed and his fingers tapping at the chair. It had been several minutes since the butler had left him on his own, and he was finding it intensely boring and irritating. He had spent most of the time studying the map of mousetrading routes that covered the wall, wondering if he could learn any secrets about the great man’s latest investments around the Seventeen Seas. He’d learned nothing new, or at least nothing of any importance.

Drewshank had had dealings with Lovelock before; many of them were quite dangerous tasks, such as transporting an expensive mouse around the world, or guarding a hideously large amount of money on its route to a fellow mouse collector.

Sometimes their business relationship held benefits for both parties. It was upon Lovelock’s request that he’d taken part in the Green Island Mousehunting Expedition, where he accidentally discovered the Spiny Rock Mouse by sitting on it. (He never let on that he required surgery in order to remove the rodent.) For his contribution to mousing Drewshank had received a plaque at the Mousehunters’ Lodge — a fine honor indeed — and Lovelock became the first person to get the new breed of mouse in his collection.

But this was the first time Isiah Lovelock had called him to his mansion; these sorts of undertaking were usually set in motion at dimly lit coffeehouses or in the genteel parlors of the Old Town Gentlemen’s Club at Isiah’s invitation.

Eventually, Lovelock entered the room and shut the door. Drewshank sat a little straighter in his chair while Lovelock walked slowly around to his desk and sat down.

“Ah! Captain Drewshank,” he said, a slight tiredness in his voice, “you must excuse me for calling you here at such an unseemly hour, but I need you to set sail at the first opportunity. There’s no time to waste.”

Drewshank sat back and flicked a speck of mouse hair from his knee.

“I don’t know if that’s possible at such short notice. And if it were, I’d need supplies and more crew, Mr. Lovelock,” said Drewshank.

Lovelock’s face barely flickered: “I’ve already contacted the relevant people, and supplies to last three months will be at the harbor first thing tomorrow. I’ve taken the chance to hire more men for your voyage, and also ordered six of the most powerful cannons in Old Town — these are being taken to your ship as we speak.”

“You’re not one to be underestimated, Mr. Lovelock.”

Lovelock’s stare only hardened. “I’ll tell you in no uncertain terms, if you complete this task then I’ll make you the richest and most famous privateer that ever lived.”

Drewshank’s eyes glazed over for a moment, and then he shifted in his seat. He’d be damned if he’d roll over for Lovelock quite so quickly.

“I must admit, you’ve got me interested, but you’ll need to give me more information to persuade me. For a start, why are you so impatient to send me off tomorrow?”

Lovelock walked to the map. He pointed to Hamlyn, a port nestled on a small rocky island just two days’ sailing from Old Town.

“My merchant ship, the
Lady Caroline,
was attacked and sunk in the seas north of Hamlyn. That infernal pirate Mousebeard was involved, and I want you to see to it that he never sails again.”

Drewshank noted that Lovelock’s breathing had hastened slightly, and a tinge of color appeared in his cheeks. The captain raised an eyebrow. “That’s no small task, Isiah,” he said. “But I see you’ve upped the reward for his capture.”

“You’ve noticed my posters then?”

“I haven’t met a sailor who doesn’t have one pinned to his hammock posts. Everyone in Old Town dreams of catching him.”

Lovelock smiled thinly. “There’s a lot of talk of catching Mousebeard in the taverns, but so far I’ve not seen one captain so much as point his ship in the right direction, let alone put up a fight. Why, if I was younger I’d go myself . . . .”

Lovelock’s hand tensed and he clenched the jacket over his chest. He gripped the desk with his other hand and gazed at its surface: “And with
Lady Caroline
now resting on the ocean floor, I’m going to have to take the mouse by the whiskers, so to speak.”

He turned to Drewshank. “I want you to hunt him down,” he said forcefully. “You so often claim you’re the best there is, captain, so prove it — I’ll pay for whatever you need. That reward will be mere pennies compared to what I will give you if you succeed. Are you up to it?”

Drewshank’s head was suddenly filled with all the terrifying stories that had been told of the pirate; tales of incredible sea battles, horrific torture, and senseless murder. But his head had never bettered his heart when it came to making decisions, and Lovelock’s final challenge roused him. He smoothed his hair and stood up.

“You ask a lot, but you ask the right man, Lovelock. Mousebeard’s
Silver Shark
will be no match for my ship!”

“That’s the kind of talk I need to hear. There’s another small thing I ask of you though . . . .”

“Hmmm . . . What is it?”

“I need him brought back to Old Town alive. The
Lady Caroline
was carrying something exceptionally important. Mousebeard is certain to have it, and I want it back.”

Drewshank sat down again. “I should have known there would be some funny business involved,” he muttered.

“What’s that?” said Lovelock sharply.

“I asked what this exceptionally important thing might be.”

“You don’t need to know, Drewshank . . . .”

“So it’s one of your more secret investments that you’d rather were kept quiet, is it, Isiah?”

“You could not overestimate its importance, captain,” said Lovelock, deadly serious. It was clear he did not appreciate Drewshank’s insinuation.

“But you put this most important thing in the care of those fools on the
Lady Caroline
?” said Drewshank. “If you’d asked me to transport it in the first place, you wouldn’t have had half this trouble!”

“Very true, captain. But here I am now, asking for your help, and prepared to pay you a fortune for it.”

Drewshank smiled and straightened his collar.

“A fortune?”

“Enough to see you wealthy for the rest of your days . . . ”

“Hundreds of thousands?”

“At the very least . . . ”

Lovelock sat down in his chair and took a large bank draft from the drawer of his desk. He scribbled an amount across its center and signed it in his beautifully styled handwriting before sliding it over the desk to Drewshank.

Drewshank pulled himself up in the chair again and caught sight of the vast number that Lovelock had written.

“How about this as a prepayment?” said Lovelock.

Drewshank couldn’t withhold a smile from his face.

“Seeing as the money’s right, what can I do but accept? It’s a deal,” he said. “I look forward to bringing home the mighty Mousebeard. All those stories about him will be nothing compared to the one of his capture.”

“I admire your confidence, Captain Drewshank,” said Lovelock, without returning his smile. “Now I have a lot resting on this voyage. I imagine Mousebeard will have at least a week’s sailing on you, so to get you up to speed, your first port of call should be Hamlyn. Visit the old Mouse Trading Center near the docks; there you’ll find Lady Pettifogger — I believe you’ve had dealings in the past?”