The Secret of the Ginger Mice (4 page)

“Bother!” came Great-Aunt Harriet's voice through the haze. “The toast.”

When the smoke cleared, after much flapping of Great-Aunt Harriet's tea towel, Grandpa Nelson regarded the plate in front of him sadly. “Too brown,” he said.

“It's just right,” Great-Aunt Harriet told him, her attention back on Alistair. “What on earth is your mother about, letting you wander around alone like this when you're clearly a very confused mouse?”

Alistair returned her gaze with the unhappy look of a mouse who has realized that he isn't dreaming. “My mother . . .,” he began, then stopped. “My mother and
father are dead. My brother and sister and I live with Aunt Beezer and Uncle Ebenezer . . . in Smiggins . . . in Shetlock.”

Tibby Rose sat on a stool, which was pulled up to the table, and patted the stool beside her. “I think you'd better sit down and have some breakfast,” she said.

Alistair nodded gratefully as Great-Aunt Harriet put a plate down in front of him and Grandpa Nelson slid a piece of very dark brown toast onto it. Tibby Rose spread the toast with three different kinds of jam.

Looking at the stripes of raspberry, blueberry, and apricot, Alistair felt momentarily comforted, and when he looked up and saw Tibby Rose smiling kindly at him, he realized there was also something very comforting about meeting another ginger mouse—the only other one he had ever met—even if she was a slightly different shade to him. And lived in another country.

For four slices of toast and two glasses of milk, no disturbing questions were asked and no alarming information was imparted—though Alistair noticed that Great-Aunt Harriet and Grandpa Nelson were exchanging troubled glances, and a couple of times he looked up to see Great-Aunt Harriet staring at him with something like suspicion in her eyes.

Finally, she turned her sharp gaze to her great-niece and said, “Why don't you take Alistair up to the library
and show him your map of Souris, Tibby Rose. I'm sure he'll find it edifying.”

The two younger mice stood up, and Tibby Rose led Alistair back into the dim hallway. They were almost to the top of the stairs when Great-Aunt Harriet's voice floated up to them.

“The most sensible thing to do—or should I say, the most
law-abiding
thing to do—would be to call the Queen's Guards to come and get him. Isn't that what one is supposed to do in a situation like this?”

Tibby Rose turned to Alistair and, putting a finger to her lips, beckoned him to follow her back down. “Mind the third step,” she breathed. “It creaks.”

Alistair followed her, stepping where she stepped, until they were standing in the shadowy hall outside the kitchen door. Grandpa Nelson was rinsing the sudsy dishes and handing them to his sister, who was drying them.

“Well now, Harry,” Grandpa Nelson was saying. “You know you don't mean that. He must be here for a reason. Besides, contacting the Queen's Guards would only draw unwelcome attention to us—and that's the last thing we want.”

“I'll say it's the last thing we want. Having one ginger mouse in our care is dangerous enough, but
two
? I don't know what they're playing at, but I wish they'd leave
us out of it.” She banged some cutlery into a drawer. “I don't know, Nelson.” She sighed. “I know he's only a boy, and he looks harmless enough or I would have sent him packing immediately—but what on earth is he doing here? I certainly don't believe that cockamamy story about falling out of a window in Shetlock and landing in Souris. Do you think he could have been sent by someone?”

“By whom?” said Grandpa Nelson. “And why? He seems as bewildered by his presence here as we are. Maybe he's exactly who he says he is, as strange as his story may seem. We should send a letter to his aunt and uncle telling them where he is, and they can arrange to come and fetch him.”

“And if we do that,” Great-Aunt Harriet responded immediately, “how do we know the letter will arrive safely? Do they open mail sent between here and Shetlock? Maybe they'd put us under surveillance.”

“Oh, I don't know,” said Grandpa. “That might be a little far-fetched.”

“Well, you'd be a better judge of that than me. You go into town once a week to do the shopping, while I have barely left this house in the last dozen years, as you very well know. So tell me: Have you heard anything on your trips to town? Has there been any news of
that place
lately? Unrest around the border perhaps?”

Grandpa Nelson pulled the plug from the sink and Alistair couldn't hear the old mouse's answer over the sound of water being sucked down the drain.

When the sound stopped Great-Aunt Harriet was talking again: “—hardly be likely to print it in the newspapers, would they? It's what they
don't
put in . . .”

“I suppose I could ask Granville,” Grandpa Nelson offered hesitantly. “But how much can I tell him?”

“Nothing!”

“But he was Lucia's godfather. Surely—”

“Tell him nothing,” Great-Aunt Harriet repeated. “Just sound him out, see how much he knows.”

“And the boy?” asked Grandpa Nelson. “Come on, Harry—we have to help him.”

Great-Aunt Harriet flung the sodden tea towel onto the table and stalked toward the kitchen door. “Not if it means putting Tibby Rose in danger,” she said fiercely. “Tibby Rose must be protected . . . at any cost. And if contacting the boy's aunt and uncle means attracting attention to Tibby Rose, then we can't do it. We'll just have to keep him here.”

3

K
idnapped?” said Alex incredulously. “Why would anyone want to kidnap Alistair?”

His aunt and uncle looked at each other. Beezer gave her husband an imperceptible nod.

“I'll explain over breakfast,” said Ebenezer. “This is a very serious situation, and one can't deal with serious situations on an empty stomach.”

Alex, who hated an empty stomach more than anything, nodded his agreement.

“But—,” Alice began.

“He's right, Alice,” her aunt said quietly.

Frustrated, Alice took a seat opposite Beezer at the
worn pine table as Alex and Ebenezer moved back and forth to the kitchen, bringing in a plate piled with toast, a bowl of fresh fruit, a box of cereal, and a jug of milk.

When the four of them were sitting around the dining table and had helped themselves to as much (in Alex's case) or as little (in Alice's) as they felt like eating, Alice burst out, “So why do you think Alistair has been kidnapped?”

Uncle Ebenezer cleared his throat. “Well . . . er . . . it's possible that Alistair might know something—or someone might
think
he knows something, rather—about . . . about your parents.”

“What's there to know?” said Alice. “Do you think Alistair has been kidnapped by someone who wants to know Mum's knitting patterns?”

Ebenezer's normally merry eyes were somber. “No. No, I'm not suggesting that at all.” He sighed and ran a hand over the rumpled fur on his head. “We hadn't intended to have this conversation for a couple of years yet—not till you were a bit older. But as it might have some bearing on your brother's whereabouts, I feel we have no choice but to tell you now, and rely on you to keep what you are about to hear absolutely secret.”

He picked up the steaming mug of tea Beezer had placed before him and, despite the heat of the sun streaming through the windows, held it between his
hands as if for warmth.

“What do you know about Gerander?” he asked.

His nephew and niece looked at him in surprise.

“Gerander?” said Alice. “It's part of Souris, isn't it?”

Ebenezer smiled sadly. “It's as I thought,” he said. “Not that I'm surprised. Of course if Gerander is mentioned at all in schools these days, it's probably only as a province of our larger neighbor to the north.”

Alex nodded. “We've learned a lot about Souris at school—Queen Eugenia and all that.”

“You might also have learned that Souris is a very rich and powerful country,” he suggested, and the two younger mice nodded. “Well, many years ago, this rich and powerful country invaded—”

Beezer made a sound as if she was about to say something, but Ebenezer put up his hand. “It's true, Beezer,” he said, “and in the privacy of our own home I can speak the truth aloud . . . Yes, Souris invaded Gerander, a smaller, weaker neighbor, and now that once-proud country is independent no more. Her borders are closed and her citizens are virtually prisoners in their own land, close to starvation and forced to work for the prosperity of Souris. Why, the Gerandans are little better than slaves!”

“Um, this is very interesting, Uncle,” said Alice politely, “but what does it have to do with Alistair?”

Ebenezer raised an eyebrow. “What indeed?” he said. “Well, as you know, your father and I were born right here in Shetlock—but our father (that's your grandfather, Raskus) was born in Gerander, and he left just before the borders were closed. And when he died, he begged your father and me to continue trying to free our homeland.”

“By yourselves?!” said Alice.

Her uncle chuckled. “No, not by ourselves. You see, our father wasn't the only Gerandan to flee to Shetlock, a neutral country. And many of those that did, and their descendants, like Rebus and me, and good-hearted Shetlockers like your aunt”—he smiled at his wife affectionately—“became part of an underground resistance movement started in Gerander. Its members are working toward a Free and Independent Gerander, or FIG for short. And your parents . . .” His voice cracked slightly, and he stopped speaking. After a few deep breaths, he went on. “Your parents were not going on a business trip. They were traveling secretly to Gerander on an important mission. But . . .” He shrugged his shoulders. “They never came back.”

“So the accident they were in, that was in Gerander?” exclaimed Alex. “Are you saying they—they were killed?”

“Yes,” said Ebenezer seriously. “I'm afraid so. We had
a message from a local FIG contact. Rebus and Emmeline were intercepted shortly after crossing the border into Gerander and . . .” He raised his hands helplessly. “You lost your parents and I lost my brother.”

The two younger mice fell silent, trying to absorb the enormity of what they had just learned.

After a minute, Alice spoke up. “And Alistair?” she demanded. “What do you think has happened to him?”

“What is unusual about your brother?” Beezer said.

“How about the fact that he'd rather read a book about an exciting adventure than actually have an exciting adventure in the landfill down the road?” said Alex, rolling his eyes in disbelief. “That's pretty unusual. And I'd say wearing a scarf in the middle of summer was more than just unusual—it's downright weird. Oh! And how about the fact that he actually
volunteers
to help Mr. Grudge with his weeding, and he—”

His sister kicked him under the table. “Alistair's got ginger fur,” she said.

Ebenezer nodded. “That's right. And as you might have noticed, there are not a lot of other mice around here with ginger fur. In fact, it's very rare—except in Gerander.”