The Crystal Prison

by Robin Jarvis

  ‘Whoooo? Whooo?’ he began ferociously. He unfurled his wings but kept a tight hold on Young Whortle.

  Great clumping footsteps came rushing towards them. Mahooot twitched with uncertainty – he would take to the air and see who this intruder was. His wings opened out and he began to flap them. He decided to leave the thin mouse behind, this one would do, he could eat it at his leisure in the oak tree.

  ‘Aiee, beaky hooter!’ came the voice. ‘Put down the mouselet!’ Into view, crashing through the meadow, came a large rat woman with a shawl around her shoulders and a bone in her hair. It was Madame Akkikuyu.

  Mahooot eyed her doubtfully and rose into the air; he didn’t like rats.

  ‘Help!’ squeaked Young Whortle dangling from his talons.

  The rat leapt up and grabbed the owl’s other leg, bringing him sprawling to the ground with an astounded screech.

  Madame Akkikuyu hopped on to Mahooot’s back and dealt him a great thump with the bone from her hair. ‘Let go feathery one, free mouselet.’

  The owl twisted under her and scrabbled at the ground in a bewildered frenzy. Another ‘thwack’ hit his head. ‘Oooow!’ he roared.

  Madame Akkikuyu laughed out loud, then thrust the bone back in her hair and proceeded to pluck the owl.

  Mahooot’s screeches were deafening and he turned his head to snap at the rat.

  ‘Oh no fowl one,’ she laughed, giving the slashing beak a swift smack with her claws.

  Clouds of soft, pale feathers floated into the air as the raw bare patch on Mahooot’s neck grew larger. Madame Akkikuyu began to hoot herself, mocking him as she tore out large clumps of feathers and threw them before the owl for him to see.

  Suddenly Young Whortle was free. The talons opened and he staggered over to Samuel where he fell unconscious.

  Mahooot writhed and managed to scramble upright. Madame Akkikuyu clenched her claw and gave him a powerful punch. He staggered backwards and she flung her arms around his neck and bit deeply into his shoulder.

  That was enough for him. The owl let out one last hoot of pain, shook the rat off his back and rose shakily off the ground – but not before a hail of stones and twigs battered him as Madame Akkikuyu jumped up and down with glee below.

  ‘Scardee birdee!’ she shouted, sticking out her tongue at the receding dark shape in the sky. The fortune-teller smiled then rushed over to the fieldmice and inspected their wounds. ‘Poor mouseys,’ she cooed sadly, ‘very bad they are.’ She fumbled in one of the pouches which hung round her waist and brought out a broad-leafed herb. With it she dabbed Young Whortle’s punctured shoulder and then with some more, bound Samuel’s mutilated tail.

  Madame Akkikuyu stepped back and sat down with a bump. How had she known what to do? She looked into her pouches and knew the properties of all the herbs in it – most of them were deadly. ‘Oh Akkikuyu,’ she gasped breathlessly. ‘What memories are you waking?’ She looked at Samuel’s tail and it seemed to dissolve away and its place was a rough rat’s tail, stumpy and with an old rag tied at the end. From out of the past a coarse voice said, ‘Just don’t get in my way, witch!’.

  Madame Akkikuyu shuddered and all her instincts told her not to delve into her past too deeply. Yet she began to wonder, just who was she and why did she carry all these weird objects and powders around with her?

  A sound from the real world reached her ears and she broke out of her brooding. The others were coming; already she could see the torches flickering. Silently she waited for them and reflected on the past days.’

  The journey to Fennywolde had been uneventful but it had been so wonderful to be with her friend Audrey, to know that they were going somewhere pleasant in the sunshine. She had not stopped counting her blessings and hugged herself with pleasure.

  It had taken three different boats to get this far and Mr Kempe had guided them all the way. He had been a little standoffish to her but she was very grateful to him for taking the trouble to lead them here. This afternoon they had all waved goodbye to him and set foot on dry land once more. From there that funny little fieldmouse Twit had led them, pointing out local features and telling amusing stories. Madame Akkikuyu had revelled in the company of her friends. They turned from the river and followed a little stream which divided and became several small brooks. The one they followed soon became a dry ditch. There they found a crowd of worried-looking mice staring across a meadow.

  Someone had gone to fetch Twit’s parents and they nearly hugged the breath clear out of him when they saw him. But the celebration had been short-lived. An owl screeched over the meadow and all the mice gasped; some had tears in their eyes. It was explained that two youngsters were missing. Akkikuyu saw the owl circling and knew it was about to strike. To everyone’s astonishment she had dropped her bags and stormed into the meadow calling out a challenge. Yes, what a day it had been – if only the nights were as good. She had come to dread the empty darkness and the fear it brought her.

  ‘Over here!’ came the babble of voices. Madame Akkikuyu wrenched herself back to the present and got to her feet.

  The meadow was lit by little burning torches carried by a host of fieldmice. They hurried towards her and she threw open her arms in welcome. The mice came and stared at the scene before them with open mouths.

  There were the two youngsters lying, dead for all they knew, on the ground, and the peculiar rat woman was boldly waving her arms about. Covering everything was a layer of downy feathers like a light fall of snow. They gazed at Madame Akkikuyu dumbly, not knowing what to do.

  Mrs Gorse pushed her way to the front and ran to her son’s side. She wept over his damaged tail and kissed his forehead.

  ‘He need rest,’ advised the fortune-teller. ‘I make broth to heal tomorrow.’

  Young Whortle’s parents came squeezing out of the crowd and knelt beside their son. Slowly his eyes opened and he managed a weak smile for them. Then he lifted a finger and pointed at the rat.

  ‘She saved us, Dad,’ he said. ‘Saved us from the owl she did.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mr Nep gratefully to Madame Akkikuyu.

  The crowd cheered until she flushed with pleasure. Then to her great surprise and enduring delight they picked her up and carried her on their shoulders, although it took eight of the strongest husbands to manage this feat. Others helped to take Young Whortle and Samuel back to the winter quarters.

  Arthur and Audrey could not believe their eyes. Here they were, newly arrived in Fennywolde, and Madame Akkikuyu was being feted as a heroine. Everything was happening so quickly. They hadn’t had a chance to meet Twit’s parents yet.

  Arthur stood amongst the feathers and shrugged. ‘I’d never have believed it,’ he said flatly.’

  ‘She is remarkable,’ said a voice behind them. They turned round and saw a fieldmouse sticking a feather in his hair. ‘Even my father approved of her,’ he added. ‘Oh, sorry, my name’s Jenkin. You’re the ones who came back with Twit aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Audrey. She liked the look of this mouse and he had been the first one in Fennywolde to speak to them so far. ‘I’m. Audrey and this is my brother Arthur. What’s been going on here?’

  ‘Oh an owl’s kept us in our winter quarters all year. We daren’t go out at night coz he’d catch us an’ eat us. But it looks like we’ve done seen the last of him for a while.’ Jenkin beamed at them and Audrey noticed an ugly bruise on his ear and that his lip was badly swollen.

  ‘You’ve been in a fight,’ she said to him.

  Jenkin turned quickly away and said, ‘We better get goin’ the others are nearly home now.’ The rows of bobbing torches had dwindled in the distance. ‘Follow me,’ he told them, and set off back to the ditch.

  ‘You embarrassed him,’ Arthur hissed at Audrey. ‘Why can’t you mind your own business?’

  ‘Why should it have embarrassed him?’ protested Audrey. ‘I shouldn’t think he’s trying to keep the fact a secret. Did you see the state of his bruises?’

>   ‘Yes I did, but I’ve had worse. Anyway we must follow him now, I don’t want to spend our first night here tramping through the fields lost. Come on.’

  At the ditch, the fieldmice put Madame Akkikuyu down and the husbands wiped their brows wearily. The fortune-teller gazed about her enraptured. She could not remember ever feeling like this before she wanted to burst with joy.

  By the time Arthur and Audrey arrived she was speaking: ‘Owly not come back in hurry, if he do – Akkikuyu bite him again.’

  There was thunderous applause and some mice cried, ‘We can move into the field at last!’ and ‘Hooray for the rat lady!’ Then other voices called, ‘Where be Mr Woodruffe? He’s got to declare the field open.’ The mice looked at one another and muttered agreement. Hastily a young mouse ran into the shelters to fetch him.

  At the Spring Ceremony every year the fieldmice elected a ‘King of the Field’. This year the honour had gone to Mr Abraham Woodruffe – a well-liked and respected mouse who so far had been unable to enjoy his high office, being stuck in the winter quarters all the time.

  The mice waited for him and excited expectation charged the cool night air. Audrey and Arthur sensed their mood and they too grew impatient. Audrey began to fidget and started to look around at the fieldmice. It was the first chance she had had so far to view them properly. There were fat mice, thin mice, some tiny ones with large pink ears and long twitchy tails but no tall mice. Except perhaps . . . yes, on the far side of the crowd Audrey saw a lofty mouse. She stared at him curiously: what a grim face he had! It seemed as if his face never saw a smile. Idly she wondered who he was and then, next to him, she noticed Jenkin, who to her surprise and lasting embarrassment was looking straight at her. Audrey coughed and turned quickly away. She felt her ears bum with her blushes and hoped it would not show under the torchlight.

  Audrey tried to compose herself and gazed fixedly ahead, hoping that her ribbon was tied properly. However, she could not resist having a crafty peep round to see if Jenkin was still looking at her.

  As casually as she could manage, Audrey turned, but Jenkin was speaking with that tall mouse now. She was amused to find that she was disappointed and smiled broadly to herself until she saw something that made her cough and turn away again.

  A girl mouse was glaring at her – glaring with real hatred in her eyes. Audrey could feel them boring into the back of her neck. She could not think who the girl was and asked herself if she had done anything to deserve it.

  ‘Oh what the heck!’ she said to herself in a low determined whisper and looked back at the girl. Alison Sedge was still eyeing Audrey with a face like thunder. Their eyes met and Miss Brown gave her her most insolent, pretty smile then turned away.

  Suddenly a hush fell on the gathered fieldmice as Mr Woodruffe stepped out of the winter quarters. He was a jovial mouse and seemed quite ordinary except that on his brow he wore a crown of plaited corn. Mr Woodruffe raised his paws and began solemnly.

  ‘May the field be blessed and may the goodwill of the Green Mouse follow us therein.’

  ‘Amen to that!’ called out Isaac Nettle, but he was drowned out by the frantic cheers of everyone else.

  Mr Woodruffe waved his arms for silence and continued. ‘I have been told of the daring bravery shown ’ere by our guest.’ He bowed to Madame Akkikuyu. She pointed her foot and managed a curtsey back. ‘And as King of the Field,’ he went on, ‘it is my pleasure to offer her the freedom of Fennywolde, for surely she is a messenger of the Green Mouse come in our most desperate hour.’

  There were shouts of agreement from the fieldmice. Arthur and Audrey stared at one another. Isaac Nettle nodded his head gravely.

  ‘And now,’ shouted Mr Woodruffe, ‘you may all enter the field!’ He stood aside and the fieldmice scurried past him.

  ‘Make the Hall,’ they yelled happily.

  Soon only Mr Woodruffe, Madame Akkikuyu, Audrey and Arthur were left standing by the ditch and the field was filled with joyous calls and mysterious sounds.

  Mr Woodruffe looked at the Deptford mice and smiled. ‘So you are Twit’s companions. Come, he is below with his folks. I think we can interrupt them now. You look like you could do with a good sleep. The field is no place for you tonight. The work would keep you awake.’

  ‘Please sir,’ Arthur asked, ‘what work?’

  ‘Hah, you’ll see tomorrow lad.’ Mr Woodruffe turned to Madame Akkikuyu and raised his eyebrows. ‘Will you join us below ma’am? We would be most honoured.’

  The fortune-teller grinned at him and came over to give Audrey a big hug.

  ‘Yes Akkikuyu come, she not leave her friend. First Akkikuyu find bags. You go, I follow.’

  The three mice left the rat to find her things and entered the winter quarters. Madame Akkikuyu was left alone in the dark. In her mind she relived the thrilling moments of glory, and the thrill that those cheers gave her. What undreamt wonders there were in the world and how her heart swelled with pride to think that all these mice honoured her!

  As a tear fell from her furry cheek, Madame Akkikuyu knew that she had never been so happy before. Tonight, she thought, would be a good time to die, whilst she was happiest. The fortune-teller sniffed. No, with her friend there would be many more times such as this – if not greater. Madame Akkikuyu blew her nose on her shawl then cast about for her bags.

  It was too dark to see them. The sky had clouded over and the moon was hidden. She stooped down and groped for her things. It was so quiet. The noise of the mice in the field had died down or they had moved further away out of earshot.

  ‘Akkikuyu!’

  Madame Akkikuyu paused and tilted her head to one side.

  ‘Akkikuyu!’

  There it was again. A distant, echoing voice calling her name. It had troubled her on the river but no-one else seemed to have heard it. Madame Akkikuyu despaired. Tearing at her hair she shook her head violently. ‘Leave me!’ she wailed. ‘Go away. Akkikuyu not listen!’ And she ran up the side of the ditch and down into the shelters.

  7. Hall of Corn

  The sun brimmed over the tops of the oak trees and its dazzling, early rays moved slowly over the meadow, pushing back the grey dawn and creeping towards the field. The corn seemed to stir at the sun’s warm touch and stretched as high as it could. Fennywolde awoke.

  Audrey rubbed her eyes and gazed sleepily at the low, rough ceiling. She was in a small room in the winter quarters, that part lived in by the Scuttles. The room was bare – there was no decoration on the lumpy earth walls, no flowers, drawings, ornaments – nothing. Only a small tallow candle flickered miserably in one corner and Audrey looked at it thoughtfully. She was sure she had blown that out before she had gone to sleep. Someone must have been in to relight it. Yes, on the floor near her bed was a bowl of water for her to wash in. That was a kind thought and one which Audrey felt she needed.

  She dragged herself out of bed and began splashing the drowsiness and grime of the past few days away.

  ‘Is that you awake now Audrey?’ came a friendly voice just outside the room. ‘Well, breakfast’s ready when you are.’

  Audrey finished dressing and smoothed the creases out of her lace. She tied a new ribbon in her hair – a parting gift from Kempe – then she slipped her bells on to her tail and went into the breakfast room.

  Again it was bleak and bare with only a table in the centre and three stools around it. Mrs Scuttle pattered in carrying a bowl of porridge.

  Audrey and Arthur had been surprised when they first saw Mrs Chitter’s sister. She wasn’t a bit like that gossipy old fusspot. Gladwin Scuttle was a brown house mouse as they were. She was slender with short, chestnut hair, greying at the crown and a thin, delicate face. Around her neck she wore a prim starched collar. Audrey thought that she must have been quite lovely when she was younger.

  ‘Where’s my brother and Twit?’ asked Audrey between mouthfuls.

  ‘Gone out with Elijah,’ replied Mrs Scuttle settling down on a stool and beaming war
mly. ‘Oh and your . . . er . . . friend, Madame – what was it?’

  ‘Akkikuyu,’ prompted Audrey, ‘but she’s not exactly my friend, you know.’

  ‘Well, I did wonder. I came from Deptford too, remember, and I know how horrible the rats were there. I’d watch her if I were you, wouldn’t trust her an inch despite her doings last night.’

  Audrey wondered about that. ‘That’s what Kempe said, but you know I really do think she’s changed. She really is trying her best.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Mrs Scuttle sounded doubtful. ‘Still, I suppose I shouldn’t judge her too harshly. My William’s been telling me all about you and her and . . .’ here she lowered her voice to a faint whisper, ‘. . . Jupiter.’

  ‘Please,’ begged Audrey, ‘you mustn’t mention that name to Madame Akkikuyu. She can’t remember a thing and it might just be too much for her.’

  ‘Oh quite, dear . . . I can keep mum. I don’t suppose my sister has learned how yet – no your smile gives that away. So, Arabel’s not changed a bit. I thought William was being too polite when I asked him about her. Still it was good of her to look after him all this time.’

  Audrey finished her breakfast and then said, ‘You never did tell me where Madame Akkikuyu had gone.’

  ‘Oh yes, why there I go again – forgetting things. I tell you dear my head’s like a sieve these days. Oh . . . where was I?’

  ‘Madame Akkikuyu.’

  ‘Yes, such an odd name. Well you should have seen how much she ate this morning, and I’m sorry but her table manners are dreadful. Anyway, after making a right mess she ups and goes outside hauling one of those big bags with her. What does she keep in them, do you know?’

  Audrey nodded. ‘They’re her herbs, powders, mixing tins and other stuff like that.’

  ‘Well. William did tell me how she’s supposed to be a fortune-teller, I didn’t like to ask her myself – I find that sort of thing very frightening.’

  ‘Oh it’s all right,’ assured Audrey. ‘She doesn’t do any of that any more. I think she just carries that junk around with her out of habit. You don’t have to worry, she’s not likely to start brewing up spells now.’