The Secret of the Ginger Mice (6 page)

“I suppose we should,” said Alex uncomfortably.

Using the same pad and pen Beezer had earlier, Alice wrote:
Gone to find Alistair. Back soon. Love, Alice and Alex.
She knew it was hardly enough to reassure them—but what could she say? Their aunt and uncle, who had looked after them since their parents died, had forbidden them to go, yet they were going anyway.

“Quick,” said Alice, feeling a rush of guilt, “before I change my mind.”

Alex picked up the rucksack and slung it over one shoulder. “Here we go then,” he said, and led the way to the front door.

4

J
ust before Great-Aunt Harriet reached the kitchen door, Tibby Rose and Alistair scampered swiftly and silently up the stairs.

Alistair pelted after Tibby along a passageway with doors opening off it, almost skidding on the old wooden floorboards. He could hear Harriet's brisk firm tread coming up the stairs. The curious conversation between the two old mice was replaying in his head. What had Tibby Rose's great-aunt meant by “at any cost”? Not to mention keeping him here. Would he be some kind of prisoner? It all seemed very strange.

Tibby Rose darted through the last door on the right
with Alistair close on her heels.

They were in a neat square room with a large leather sofa to their right, a desk under the window opposite, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves facing each other against the remaining two walls. There was a stack of books on the desk, and a map pinned to the wall beside the window.

Tibby spun around to face him, hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?” she demanded in a whisper.

“Nothing! I mean, it's exactly as I told you. I—”

“Shhh. Here comes Great-Aunt Harriet. Quick, sit on the sofa.” Alistair did as he was told. When her great-aunt entered the room Tibby was standing by the map, pointing to a tiny dot. “Now do you see?” she said loudly. “Grouch is this big red dot here, and Templeton is this tiny dot to the north.”

“What, doesn't he know how to read a map?” Great-Aunt Harriet asked. “Don't they teach you anything in Shetlock, young man?”

“No!” squeaked Alistair. “I mean, yes.” He tugged at the ends of his scarf.

“Why on earth would you wear a scarf in summer?” Great-Aunt Harriet wanted to know, observing the nervous gesture. “Is that some strange custom of Shetlock?”

“No,” said Alistair. He didn't feel that he was obliged
to explain any further.

“Hmph. Well, I must admit it's a nice bit of knitting,” she conceded, peering at it more closely. Then she moved her beady gaze to Alistair's face. “Nelson has to go into town,” she said. “And when he returns we can talk about what we're going to do with you. In the meantime, try to stay out of trouble.” She gave him an assessing look. “And stay away from windows.”

“I'd like to show Alistair my treehouse,” said Tibby Rose brightly. Before her great-aunt could object, Tibby Rose led Alistair out of the room and down the stairs.

Alistair didn't really feel in the mood for admiring treehouses, but he didn't want to offend Tibby Rose, so he followed her through the dim hallway, across the veranda, and down the front steps. Soon they were standing beneath the canopy of a giant oak tree.

“Here it is,” said Tibby Rose.

Alistair looked up and saw a sturdy treehouse built over two levels of branches, with a small wooden ladder connecting the levels.

“Wow,” he said, impressed. “That's brilliant. Who built it?”

“I did,” said Tibby Rose. “Though I read a book on carpentry first.” She pulled on a rope which lowered another, larger ladder to the ground. The two mice clambered up it to sit on the bottom deck of the
treehouse, which gave them a good view of the front porch and the road winding down the hill through the gaps in the foliage. Beyond the road, Templeton was spread out before them like a toy town, with neat little buildings and houses, some farms and fields, and a river snaking off into the distance.

“Anyway,” Tibby Rose lowered her voice, “this was just an excuse to get away from Great-Aunt Harriet so we could talk. So you really don't know what you're doing here?”

“I haven't got a clue,” said Alistair. “I just want to find a way home. Preferably without the help of the Queen's Guards. From the way your grandpa and great-aunt were talking about them, I'm guessing they don't like ginger mice—though I can't see what difference that makes.”

“No, that was odd,” Tibby Rose agreed. “And what was all that stuff about surveillance—and Grandpa going into town to talk to someone called Granville? I didn't know my mother had a godfather. How come I've never met him?”

“They sound like spies,” said Alistair. “Plus there was your great-aunt talking about protecting you at any cost. What was that all about?”

Tibby shrugged. “Beats me. I mean, I suppose they are a bit overprotective. No going into town, no going to school . . .”

Alistair stared at her. “It sounds as if you never leave the house!”

“I don't,” said Tibby.

“Are you some kind of prisoner?”

“No! Well, maybe I am, kind of,” she said. She looked surprised by the idea. “Though I've never thought about it that way before.”

Alistair shook his head. “Look, I think I'd better get out of here,” he said. “Your aunt seems very suspicious and I don't want any trouble—I just want to get back to Smiggins.”

“No, wait,” said Tibby Rose. “Don't leave! Stay for a while. At least until Grandpa Nelson has talked to this Granville.” She was almost pleading with him, and Alistair paused. Perhaps he should wait. It seemed so rude just to take off when really, despite Great-Aunt Harriet's gruffness, they had been very kind, sharing their breakfast with him. Then he recalled again that conversation in the kitchen. What
had
Tibby's great-aunt meant about keeping him here? Why? And for how long?

“Please,” said Tibby Rose, and Alistair realized from her voice that she was desperately lonely. He felt a twinge of sympathy.

“I'm sorry, Tibby Rose,” he said. “But my family will be so worried about me. I really do have to go.”

Their whispered conversation was interrupted by Grandpa Nelson calling, “I'm just off into town to do the shopping,” and Great-Aunt Harriet calling back, “Mind you're home in time for lunch, Nelson.”

The old white mouse opened the screen door and stepped onto the front porch. He had a brown hat in one hand and a walking stick in the other. “Are you up there, Tibby Rose?” he said in the direction of the tree.

“Yes, Grandpa,” she said. “I'm showing Alistair my treehouse. See you later.”

Grandpa Nelson waved his hat in their direction, then put it on his head and stumped down the steps, along the path snaking across the lawn, and set off down the lane.

“I'm going to follow him,” Alistair decided. “There's sure to be someone in town who knows how to get to Shetlock from here.”

Tibby looked disappointed.

“I've got an idea,” he said. “Why don't you come with me as far as town? Then you can follow your grandpa home again.”

Tibby tilted her head to one side, looking uncertain. “I've never been to town before,” she said wistfully. Then, in a determined voice: “I'll do it. Maybe I'll get to see my mother's godfather.”

The two mice climbed down the ladder and watched from the shadow of the tree until Grandpa Nelson had
rounded the first bend in the winding lane, then darted after him.

They stuck close to the bushes by the side of the road, ready to dive into them if Grandpa Nelson should turn around, but they needn't have worried; Grandpa Nelson didn't once look over his shoulder.

“Well, if he is a spy, he's not a very alert one,” Alistair commented. “He's about as cautious as Alex and Alice.”

“Who are they?” Tibby Rose said.

“My brother and sister,” Alistair told her. “In fact, we're triplets.”

“Triplets?” said Tibby Rose. “I've never even had a friend, let alone a brother and a sister—I've never had a mother or father for that matter.”

“I don't have a mother and father either,” Alistair said. “They went on a business trip four years ago and were in an accident. . . .”

By the time they had reached the bottom of the hill, Tibby Rose knew all about the death of the triplets' parents and Uncle Ebenezer and Aunt Beezer and their apartment in Smiggins, and Alistair knew how Tibby Rose got her name (though he'd never heard of the first Tibby, the explorer) and how bored and lonely she felt in the big old white house on the hill with only her grandfather and her great-aunt for company.

At the bottom of the hill, the lane joined a street lined
with single-story gray houses, each with a tidy patch of lawn, flowerbed, and a white picket fence. The only differences between them that Alistair could see were in the colors of the flowers and the numbers on the identical blue letterboxes. The houses looked very stark compared to the soft pinks and pale yellows and mellow ochres of the houses in Smiggins.

There were mice here and there, weeding their immaculate gardens or walking along the footpath with shopping bags, and nearly all of them had a greeting for Dr. Nelson, stumping along steadily a block or so ahead of them.

Tibby Rose's grandfather returned their greetings with a tip of his hat or a wave of his cane, but he didn't stop to talk. He was clearly in a hurry, though his pace was slow.

A few times, Alistair thought he heard whispers and muttered exclamations, but whenever he looked around to see if they were directed at him or Tibby Rose, the other mice were always looking intently at a space just over his shoulder, or at the ground—anywhere
but
at him and Tibby. He felt a strange prickling at the back of his neck.

Soon the houses gave way to shops. Most of these were single-story, but there was a scattering of two-and three-story brick office buildings. Templeton was
clearly a more businesslike place than Smiggins, and the footpath became increasingly crowded; Tibby Rose, who was looking a little alarmed by the busyness and bustle, stuck close to his side.

There were mice with briefcases and mice pushing prams, mice on bicycles and mice pushing barrows of fruit and vegetables. Alistair and Tibby Rose were shoved and jostled, and Alistair was taken aback to catch the eye of a thin brown mouse with a thin brown mustache who seemed to be glaring at him. Templeton was certainly an unfriendly place, Alistair thought. The mice of Smiggins always greeted each other when they passed on the street, whether they knew each other or not. Alistair quickly tore his gaze away only to be startled by the giant image of an imperious-looking mouse in purple velvet robes and a diamond-studded tiara painted on the side of the tallest building. Above her was painted an enormous silver and purple flag. This must be Queen Eugenia, he guessed. He had learned about the Sourian queen at school.

It was becoming harder and harder to spot Grandpa Nelson's brown hat bobbing through the crowd, and then Alistair couldn't see him at all.

“We've lost him,” said Alistair, but Tibby Rose grabbed his arm. “There!” she said, pointing, and Alistair saw a flash of snow-white fur heading down a smaller street to their left.