Delphine and the Silver Needle

by Alyssa Moon

  The figures turned, the song silenced on their lips. The skittering of the crank ceased. The air hung still, just for a moment.

  “What are you doing?” squeaked Delphine in horror.

  But Alexander was already charging toward the hooded figures.

  KING MIDNIGHT’S BODY ACHED, A deep, dull pain that reached all the way to his bones.

  He was cold, so cold. He inched his chair closer to the fire, but the heat had no effect. He could feel his blood running sluggishly through his veins. His scars throbbed.

  He hadn’t experienced the sensation of pain in a very long time. And there was something else, too, something he had never expected to feel. He was feeling old. Was the magic beginning to weaken after all this time? He had stayed by the source faithfully, no matter where his troops ventured. Could the power be fading? He thrust the thought away from him, turning back to the mouse skulls arranged on his mantelpiece.

  Midnight’s paws were numb. He rubbed them together violently, then pulled his cape tight around his shoulders. The faded black velvet, still buttery soft, draped over his bony figure.

  “My king.” One of his guards had entered. “News from Snurleau. He’s sent a messenger.” She bowed and withdrew, letting the envoy into the throne room.

  In came a country rat with dull, matted fur and a straw cap in his paws. He bowed low. “Pleased to meet you, my king,” he said excitedly. “Never thought I’d actually be called up for service.”

  King Midnight waved his paw petulantly. “You’re just delivering a message. At least you were able to follow Snurleau’s directions to get here. I trust he paid you enough?”

  The rat nodded. “He did say I’d get the rest of my reward once I arrived.”

  Ah, yes. Ever-cunning Snurleau. King Midnight motioned again. “The message?”

  “Snurleau reports the following.” The rat took a breath and recited carefully. “He’s found the needle. The two mice are heading west along the river. He’s tracking them, but he needs more help before he can engage.” He twisted his cap in his paws. “Not sure what that all means, Your Majesty, but I memorized it word for word, just as Snurleau said it.”

  Midnight’s eyes were aflame. He rose from his chair by the fireplace, cape swirling around him. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the pain in his joints seemed to have lessened. “Mezzo!” he roared.

  The rat guard marched back into the throne room. “My king?”

  “Send for Valentine!” He glanced back at the sniveling rat who had brought the message. “And this one is to get his reward.”

  Mezzo’s face fell.

  King Midnight sighed. Overall, Mezzo was the best head guard he’d ever had, but sometimes he wished she were a little more bloodthirsty.

  Luckily, he had plenty of other guards to help on that front. “Woefull!” he bellowed. Another guard marched in smartly with a wicked grin, having overheard the conversation thus far. “Take this rat.” Woefull winked at King Midnight and dragged the rat away. Now that this country rat knew where the fortress was located, he could either live there to serve Midnight, or not live at all.

  A few minutes later, Mezzo returned, Valentine following close behind. The snow-white ermine oozed her way into the crown room, wrapping herself around one of the worn-out armchairs and settling into it without invitation. Her dark eyes sparkled with curiosity.

  King Midnight smiled, lips curling back. He had few trustworthy minions outside of his rats, but Valentine was one of his best. “My dear Valentine,” he began, rubbing his paws together, “I have a most exciting mission for you. Snurleau is already in the field. You must find him and help him take down the two mice he’s trailing.”

  Valentine didn’t blink. “You mean the two mice with the needle.”

  How did she know that? Under different circumstances, he might have been afraid of her. But she had proved her loyalty many times over. “Yes,” he replied, feigning nonchalance. “Find them and bring me that needle. Dispose of the mice as you see fit.”

  The ermine stretched langorously, then rose up out of the chair. She cracked her knuckles and swished her tail. “Consider it done.” In a silent flash of white, she was gone.

  The room lay still for a moment. Then Mezzo cleared her throat. “What if Snurleau’s already lost them?”

  “Silence!” roared King Midnight.

  Mezzo bowed and withdrew to her post outside the great doors.

  He turned back to the row of skulls. Soon I will unlock your secrets, he thought.

  But the skulls stared back at him, saying no more than they had for the last hundred years.

  Alexander lunged straight toward the circle of mysterious hooded figures. “Always be on the offense!” he cried over his shoulder at Delphine as he ran.

  She gritted her teeth and headed after him.

  The figure at the crank straightened, whiskers twitching once. Then both paws shot out toward Alexander. “Stop!” came an imperious alto voice. The figure pulled back her hood to reveal the visage of a sharp-looking shrew. She was definitely not happy to see them, but she was also, it appeared, not a mouse-eating monster.

  Delphine poked Alexander hard in the side. “Nice job making a good first impression,” she hissed.

  The shrew stood tall and commanding, black eyes snapping. “You are trespassing on the grounds of the Fortencio Académie. I bid you, introduce and explain yourselves.”

  Delphine squeaked in surprise. The school still existed?

  Alexander eyed the attentive chorus of onlookers. “We thought you were ghosts . . . or worse. But you’re clearly not.” He coughed awkwardly. Then he bowed low. “Lord Alexander de Soucy Perrault, of the Poirier Perraults, at your service.”

  Delphine curtsied alongside him. “Delphine Desjardins.” She snuck a peek at the rest of the figures. Were these, then, current students of the school?

  “Welcome,” said the shrew, but her voice was cold. “I fear you have come at an inopportune time.” She glanced behind them at the half-open door. “And in a most inopportune manner.”

  Delphine now saw that the door she and Alexander had come through lay hidden behind a dusty tapestry and had clearly been unused for at least a hundred years, if not more.

  “May we assist you in finding your way out,” continued the shrew. It was very clear that this was not a question. “You have arrived during our nightly intonation, when we rotate our calendar to the next date. And we have not yet completed our task.” The other figures pulled back their hoods to reveal the rest of the singers. Most of the students were shrews, though there were a few mice and hedgehogs. Several, including a squirrel in the back row, stared darkly at them.

  Delphine realized that if they escorted her out now, she might never get a chance to ask for help in their quest. She curtseyed again, this time even deeper. “I apologize for the unintentional intrusion,” she began quickly. “We come only seeking knowledge. We have traveled long and wish to learn if you have any information that could help solve a great mystery.”

  The shrew eyed her but said nothing. Encouraged, Delphine continued: “There was a mouse, a hundred years ago, who might have come here for shelter. A mouse with silver whiskers, chased by rats that wanted to kill her. She had something of theirs—a needle.” She paused. How safe was it to reveal more? Deciding she had to take the risk, Delphine reached up behind her and pulled her needle out of its sheath.

  Most of the students took a step back, but the head shrew did not. She looked at the needle curiously. “Come back in the morning,” she said. “We shall speak then.” She turned and scanned her students. “Melchior, escort these two to the door. The front door,” she added, for Delphine and Alexander’s benefit. Then she turned her back on them and gestured to her students. “Let us continue,” she said firmly. As the shrew cranked the lever again, the voices lifted once more in their strange song.

  The squirrel Melchior glared at them from an archway on the other side of the vault, his oversize tail flipping i
n an irritated fashion. “Come,” he said curtly, clearly displeased at having to leave the ceremony. He led them through a tangle of dark halls and out to the front of the building.

  He shoved open the massive gates outside the main doors. The two mice passed through, and then Delphine paused. “Do you know where we can stay for the night?”

  “No idea,” said the squirrel, slamming the gates with a resounding bang and disappearing back inside.

  “Cad!” cried Alexander, jostling the metal angrily. The loud clanging reverberated off the cobblestones.

  Delphine looked around. It seemed as if they had exited on the other side of the human church. “We’ll come back tomorrow. Let’s go find a safe place to sleep.”

  Alexander was now biting his thumb at the gates as if Melchior could still see him. “The nerve of that squirrel! To throw us out after we’ve come so far!”

  Delphine grabbed his arm and began to drag him away. There were more important things than arguing with a locked gate in the middle of a cold, dark street. “Come on. We still have to find somewhere to sleep.”

  They headed back down toward the main town square, eyes peeled for a safe nook or cranny. Then Delphine noticed a sudden movement just a few steps down the street. A group of shadowy figures, emerging from a hole in the wall.

  Rats.

  “Hide!” she whispered to Alexander. They ducked behind a pile of pebbles. The rats’ voices echoed clearly in the still night air.

  “. . . not just a rumor,” one of the rats was saying with emphasis. “They’re after two mice, they are.”

  “Who is, then?” came another voice.

  Delphine tried to peer around the pebbles but was yanked back by Alexander.

  “All of the king’s troops, they are,” was the reply. “And set to kill ’em, too, for a needle.”

  A high-pitched laugh came sharply through the night air. “A needle! Well, I never!”

  “True, though I heard . . .”

  The voices faded as the rats meandered down the street. When all was silent again, Delphine and Alexander emerged, brushing off pebble dust.

  “We can’t stay here,” observed Alexander.

  “We have to stay here,” Delphine retorted. “But just until we find out what we need to know. All right?”

  Alexander sighed. “Let’s just find somewhere to sleep.”

  Somewhere to sleep turned out to be a cozy hole in the wall of a human bakery, nestled between two bricks of the oven’s outer side. Best of all, the bricks were still warm from the day’s baking. They wedged a dead leaf across the entrance to block themselves from view, then each snuggled into a corner of the little space and dozed off.

  Several hours later, human voices from inside the building woke Delphine. It seemed the baker and her apprentices had arrived. In the darkness Delphine could see Alexander sitting in the crack between the stones. He appeared to be staring out at the empty street.

  “Alexander?”

  “The humans woke me up,” he whispered back. “So I thought I’d keep watch for a while. Go back to sleep.”

  She lay quietly, listening to the soft sounds of dough being kneaded and wood crackling in the oven. It made her think of Maman in their kitchen, paws covered in flour as she rolled out a pie crust. Delphine had always complained about having turnip pie for dinner, but right now she would have given anything for just one bite.

  The humans chattered gaily as they worked.

  “. . . searching all across the kingdom, but nobody knows who she is,” one was saying.

  Delphine’s ears perked up in surprise for the second time that evening. How could the humans possibly know about her search for her ancestor?

  But then the voice continued, “All she left behind was a glass slipper. That poor prince—found his love and lost her in a single night.”

  So they were talking about the human ball. She sighed. It seemed so long ago now. Delphine snuggled in tighter, wondering if Cinderella had been able to finish the gowns and attend after all. Had Cinderella seen the mystery princess?

  Another voice came, high and crackly. “Who makes shoes out of glass, anyway? Sounds like typical royal foolishness to me.” All the voices laughed in agreement.

  “Well, if you ask me, the prince should . . .” started the first voice.

  But Delphine never heard what the prince should do. She had fallen back asleep.

  Someone was calling for Delphine, loudly.

  She had to wake up, she had to run. The rats were coming and they would kill her if they found her. The needle. Where was her needle? She could no longer feel it in her paws.

  “Delfie!” came the voice again from a long way off.

  She struggled to blink open her eyes. She felt as if she were climbing through a thick fog of sleep. The rats. Were they coming?

  “Delfie!” The voice seemed closer now.

  Delphine awoke in their makeshift nest in the bakery wall. Her ears were sweaty where they were pressed against the hot brick, but her rear paws were hanging out into the chilly open air of the outdoors. Someone grabbed her tail unceremoniously.

  “Ow!” she yelped as she leapt up, hitting her head on the corner of a brick. The resulting cascade of mortar dust sent her into a sneezing fit.

  There came another yank on her tail. “Delfie! Wake up!”

  She launched herself from the nest with all four paws outspread in attack, landing fully on the instigator below.

  Too late, Delphine registered the familiar doublet and ruddy-colored fur. As she collided with Alexander, a good-size crumb of bread flew out of his paw and landed in a nearby pool of slimy-looking water.

  He leapt up immediately, brushing off the combination of flour and dirt from his doublet. “Allow me to help you,” he said, proffering his paw.

  Delphine lay there flat on her back, staring up at the early-morning sky. She had just attacked him as a thank-you for bringing her a delicious-looking crumb. Maybe it was time to stop leaping to conclusions.

  “My lady?” His worried face came into view. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, no,” she responded. This brought on another fit of sneezing. “And please stop saying ‘my lady.’” Then another thought occurred to her. “Did you call me ‘Delfie’ a moment ago?”

  He blushed. “My apologies. I thought you might enjoy some breakfast.”

  “I saw the crumb,” she replied sheepishly. “That was very kind of you. I’m sorry that I—”

  At her words, Alexander perked up so quickly that his ears popped with happiness. “I shall gather another!” He dashed back into the side door of the bakery, returning a few moments later completely covered in flour with an even larger crumb, this one taking both paws to carry.

  Delphine smiled, thanking him. They walked slowly toward the church, munching on the fresh bread and its crackling crust as they went.

  At the entrance to the music school, Delphine paused. The head shrew hadn’t given them her name. And, Delphine realized, neither she nor Alexander had thought to ask for it. She glanced at Alexander as she knocked on the gates, and found he had managed to brush away all the flour. In fact, he looked as if he had just gotten his whiskers freshly curled and his cloak reflounced. How did he do that?

  A little serving-shrew met them at the gates. “Wait here, if you please,” he said, bringing them into the entryway.

  “Thank you,” said Delphine. “We’re here to see—”

  But the serving-shrew had already scurried into the depth of the halls and disappeared around a corner.

  Delphine looked around curiously. Dark wood panels formed doors that separated the main spaces into smaller, less drafty rooms. Yet it was clear the whole school had been constructed within the stone passages laid down hundreds of years earlier, probably when the human church was originally built. Now that Delphine knew they were underneath the floor of the human church, the low but wide stone ceilings made more sense.

  Only a few windows pierced the front rooms. The sconc
es they had seen in the abandoned passages the night before had been built into these walls as well, but smaller and higher, as if their design had become more refined over time. The stones beneath their paws were covered in a series of long, woven runners, cream with touches of embroidery. She realized they were made of discarded human robes, the usable portions separated into carpet-like runners. How clever!

  Peering beyond the entryway, Delphine noticed polished rounds of metal placed at regular intervals down the corridor, almost like a series of the mirrors that Princess Petits-Oiseaux had in her dressing suite. Though as Delphine peered into them, the mouse looking back at her was wavy and blurred. Not very effective, she thought.

  Then the strains of an unfamiliar song trickled from a nearby open door. The voices were soft and sweet, but the words struck a chord deep within Delphine. She listened raptly.

  Ere the night has turned to morn,

  True the paw that pulls the thread,

  Tho’ the light of day is born,

  Full the silver in its stead.

  Delphine took a stealthy step closer to the door, hoping to make out the lyrics more clearly. Alexander shot her a glance, but she ignored him, focusing on the words.

  Once a pattern comes to be,

  None but blood who wove it fair,

  Can undo the magic lee,

  Can unweave with time to spare.

  Her attention was interrupted by the sound of pawfalls. The little serving-shrew reappeared before she could step away from the open door. He gave her a sharp glance and pulled the door shut as he passed. Chastened, she returned to stand next to Alexander.

  “I tried to warn you,” Alexander whispered as the serving-shrew took their traveling cloaks and bustled away through another door. “I can already tell. They’re very particular.”

  A moment later, the music master from the previous night appeared and bowed low. “Rolanta Fortencio, master of the Fortencio School of Music.” Her voice was a deep alto, unusual for a shrew. She clasped their paws, each in turn. “I hope we are meeting on better terms today. Please, come.” Turning, she strode down the hall at a rapid pace.