The Secret of the Ginger Mice (26 page)

“Easy,” said Alistair. “We join the crew.”

“Oh, of course,” said Tibby. “Why didn't I think of that?”

Alistair continued, “We find a pirate ship in need of a cabin boy and apply for the job.”

“I see,” said Tibby slowly. “So we're going to join a pirate crew. Interesting plan. I'm guessing there might be a book behind this?”

Alistair grinned. “
Treasure Island
. It's about this mouse called Jim Hawkins who becomes a cabin boy and meets a black-hearted pirate called Long John Silver.”

“A black-hearted pirate, you say? Oh, that's excellent,” said Tibby. “Do try your best to find a really black-hearted pirate captain to employ us, won't you, Alistair?”

They followed a winding path from the headland to the edge of town, then after a couple of wrong turns found themselves on a dark cobbled street that seemed to be heading in the right direction.

Although it was long past midnight, the port area was as lively as though it was midday. Light spilled from the tavern on the corner of the steep cobbled street where it met the quay, and they could hear the clink of glasses and cutlery, and the occasional voice raised in argument or song.

Alistair stopped and looked around. He saw warehouses interspersed with taverns, and the quay was busy with mice scurrying to and fro between the warehouses and ships, loading cargo.

Beckoning to Tibby to follow, Alistair slipped behind a dinghy leaning up against a warehouse wall to watch and listen. It was just as well they did, because suddenly a scuffle broke out between two mice, one brown and brawny and the other small and gray, who had just exited the nearest tavern.

After much shoving and shouting and flailing of fists, the gray mouse fell heavily against the dinghy they were hidden behind. He moaned once, then slumped to the ground, out cold.

The large mouse, looking a bit surprised to find an unconscious body at his feet, abruptly dropped the oar he had snatched up and scampered off, ducking up the nearest alley and out of sight.

“Is he dead?” came Tibby Rose's shocked voice in Alistair's ear.

“I don't know,” said Alistair uncomfortably, peering around the edge of the dinghy, but then the mouse on the ground moaned, snorted, and began to snore. “Er, apparently not,” he amended. He quickly pulled his head back to avoid being seen by three mice who were sauntering along the quay.

One of them nudged the sleeping mouse with his foot and laughed. “I wouldn't like to be the crew of the
Sickert
tonight,” he said. “That's Captain Grizzard's cabin boy, and I don't think he's going to be ready to sail by first light.”

“Grizzard?” said the portliest of the three, scanning the ships in the bay. “Is he docked tonight? I thought he was hanging around Shambles these days.”

The mouse who had kicked the cabin boy pointed to a dark shape looming some way off and the other two squinted into the dark.

“He's up the end there—where no one can see what he's loading or unloading. They say he's just here for the night to take on new supplies before heading back to terrorize the cargo ships of Shetlock.”

Alistair looked in the direction the mouse had pointed. Standing alone at the last wharf was a great wooden ship with two masts, its enormous sails billowing in the light breeze.

When the three sailors had disappeared into the Hoary Hornpipe, Alistair stepped out from the shadow of the dinghy. “Come on, Tibby. Here's our chance. This Captain Grizzard needs a cabin boy.”

Tibby, looking reluctant, followed. “I don't see why I should have to be a cabin boy,” she argued. “I'm a girl.”

“But there were no cabin girls in
Treasure Island
,” Alistair said. “In fact, I've never heard of a cabin girl.”

“Oh, you've never heard of a cabin girl. . . . And you've been sailing the high seas for how long, Captain Alistair?” she said under her breath.

The lights and music faded as they walked toward the
Sickert
, and they could hear the slap of wavelets against the ship's bow, her timbers creaking as she rode the swell.

As they approached the gangplank, they were almost bowled over by a tall lean mouse who appeared to be departing the ship in a great hurry.

He was missing half of his left ear and he had a livid
scar stretching from his left temple almost to the tip of his nose. His eyes were small and close set, making the gaze he turned upon the two young mice seem suspicious.

“Whatcha doin' hangin' round'ere?” he demanded rudely. “If ya knows what's good for ya, you'll clear off sharpish.”

Although inwardly he quailed at the mouse's harsh tone, Alistair addressed the sailor confidently. “Is your captain aboard?”

“Who wants t' know?” The sailor's tone was still disrespectful, but Alistair thought he detected a note of caution.

“That's Captain Grizzard's business and none of yours,” Alistair told the older mouse calmly.

The sailor opened his mouth as if to retort, then clearly thought better of it. “He's in'is cabin,” he said shortly, indicating with a thumb over his shoulder. “And ya'd better'ave good news for'im if ya value those long tails of yours.”

As he turned to limp off toward the port Alistair and Tibby Rose noticed that he seemed to be missing a sizeable portion of his tail, which now barely reached the ground.

Tibby Rose gulped and clutched the end of her own tail protectively. “Do you—do you suppose Captain Grizzard did that?”

“If he did, I'm sure it's because the other mouse deserved it,” Alistair said with more conviction than he felt. “Well, here goes . . .” And he strode up the gangplank with Tibby at his heels.

At first the ship seemed strangely deserted as they stepped onto the deck, but then Alistair saw that there were mice aboard, though they seemed to be doing their best to avoid drawing attention to themselves, scurrying noiselessly from shadow to shadow. The reason for their reticence was clear when a roar broke the silence.

“WHERE'S THAT SCURVY-LOVING, SQUID-RIDDEN, FISH-POCKED EXCUSE FOR A CABIN BOY?”

Alistair heard three sharp taps on the deck and then the owner of the voice stumped into view, his peg leg punctuating his progress. He was using his cutlass as a crutch, the metal blade buckling dangerously whenever the captain rested his not-inconsiderable weight on it.

His black fur was matted and patchy, one eye appeared to be permanently closed, and he had the longest, bushiest whiskers Alistair had ever seen. He clutched a telescope in his free hand and was muttering curses to himself. When he opened his mouth to shout at his cringing nut-brown first mate, Alistair saw the glint of gold teeth.

Tibby had just begun to whisper her doubts as to the
wisdom of his plan in Alistair's ear when the captain turned his one ferocious eye their way.

“WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON MY SHIP?” he thundered, thumping his wooden leg on the deck to emphasize his rage.

Alistair was almost knocked backward by the powerful stench of onions. “Um, good evening, Captain, sir,” he began hesitantly. He was beginning to doubt the wisdom of his plan himself. He only hoped Captain Grizzard would let them flee with their tails intact. “Ah, it's about your cabin boy. . . . Well you see, Captain, he appears to be indisposed, but, er, we are your new cabin boys. . . .,” Alistair swallowed, then finished in a rush, “So you will not be inconvenienced in any way.”

“Actually,” Tibby Rose said, “I'm a cabin girl.”

“NEW CABIN BOYS?” the captain blustered. “CABIN
GIRL
?”

“Really,” Tibby mused, “it makes more sense just to call us all ‘cabin mice.'”

“CABIN MICE?” the captain repeated. He was regarding them with a slightly bewildered look. Then he seemed to recover himself.

“Well, let me tell you ROCKPOOL-REEKING, SARDINE-STINKING CABIN BOYS—er, cabin mice—how it's going to be. You will follow my orders EXACTLY and IMMEDIATELY or YOU WILL FEEL
THE LASH OF MY MOUSE-O'-SEVEN-TAILS!”

“Um, shouldn't that be a mouse-o'-nine-tails?” Alistair ventured.

Captain Grizzard lifted his upper lip to bare his golden teeth in a cruel smile. “Yes, it should, lad—and do you know what that means? I'm TWO TAILS SHORT!”

Alistair and Tibby Rose gasped, their hands flying instinctively to their tails.

“So mind you obey my orders, won't you?” the captain finished silkily. Then he turned and stumped across the deck and down the steps to his cabin, the smell of onions drifting in his wake.

The first mate looked at Alistair and Tibby Rose with a stony face which, as they watched, creased into a smile. “Welcome aboard, cabin mice,” she said. “I'm Old Goosegob. Don't worry, me'n' the crew'll look after you.” She turned to address the figures lurking in the shadows. “It's all right then, lads, the captain's gone below.”

With a murmur of relief, half a dozen rough-looking mice with shifty eyes, cunning noses, and crafty tails detached themselves from the shadows and gathered around the first mate for their orders.

“Right, you lot, let's finish loading those supplies then get ourselves a couple hours' kip. We sail at dawn.”

“Excuse me, but what should we do?” asked Alistair,
but before Old Goosegob could answer there was a bellow from below decks.

“SHIP'S BOY!”

The first mate nodded in the direction of the stairs. “See what'is nibs wants.”

Alistair and Tibby Rose hurried across the deck and down the stairs. They found themselves standing in a small corridor. From behind a closed door to their left, they could hear the distinctive tap-tap-tap of Captain Grizzard's wooden leg.

Alistair knocked on the door and then opened it. “Yes, Captain?” he asked.

The captain, who was seated behind an enormous mahogany desk covered with maps, greeted him with a blast of onion and abuse. “WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG? When I call you I expect you to jump like jellyfish—ONLY FASTER! Have you got that?”

The two young mice saluted smartly. “Aye, aye, Captain!”

“Good. Now run down to the hold and fetch me an onion, and mind you're quick about it.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!”

“Where's the hold?” Tibby Rose asked as they backed away from the cabin door.

“I have no idea,” said Alistair. “But we'd better find it fast.”

They ran down the corridor, past the stairs leading to the deck, and found themselves at the galley, face to face with a stout gray mouse in a grubby apron who was standing at a counter hacking oranges into pieces, rind and all, with a giant cleaver.

“What do you want?” he snarled, cleaver raised threateningly.

“Um, the hold, please,” whispered Alistair.

“Downstairs.” He dropped the cleaver into an orange.
Thump! Squelch
.

Alistair turned back toward the stairs, Tibby close behind him.

“Hurry,” she urged. “The captain seems a bit impatient.”

Down another flight of stairs they clattered, arriving at a long, low room, dimly lit with lanterns. It was half filled with barrels and crates of a most unusual assortment of things. There was a barrel of walking sticks, and another of umbrellas. One crate was piled high with hairbrushes, its neighbor with oven mitts. There were bow ties and silk flowers, sponges and gardening implements, and several bolts of cloth gaily printed with lollipops leaned against the wall. Alistair wasn't sure where Captain Grizzard kept his treasure, but it clearly wasn't in the hold.

After several long minutes, Tibby called, “Over
here,” and pulled an onion from a barrel.

They pelted back up the stairs and along the corridor to the captain's cabin. It seemed that the sound of his wooden leg tapping on the floor was growing faster and louder by the second. Alistair had barely put his knuckles to the door when the captain yelled: “ENTER!”

The two young mice scurried into the cabin to find the captain glowering at them, brandishing a dagger.

Tibby let out a frightened squeak.

“The onion,” the captain demanded, pointing to a spot on the desk with his dagger.

Alistair darted forward and put the onion on the desk, then quickly drew back.

The captain raised the dagger and plunged it into the onion then lifted it and, with a practiced hand, peeled it and took a bite.

“Delicious,” he sighed, when he had finished crunching. “Now get back on deck and take orders from the first mate. AND NEXT TIME I NEED AN ONION, BE QUICKER ABOUT IT OR YOUR TAILS'LL BE FEELING THE SHARP EDGE OF THIS DAGGER!”

“Aye, aye, Captain!”

For the next two hours, Alistair and Tibby Rose were kept busy above decks and below. Tibby proved herself invaluable to the crew as a repairer of wobbly cart wheels, and the first mate put her to work with Scurvy
Smottle, the carpenter, while Alistair raced to and from the hold for Captain Grizzard, whose appetite for onions was insatiable.