by Robin Jarvis
‘Course,’ replied Jenkin. ‘No good havin’ sentries if they go home at night.’
‘Well, shouldn’t we stay?’ Arthur addressed Twit.
‘Twit yawned again. ‘Oh come on Art,’ he said sleepily. ‘If I do sentry tonight like as not I’ll drop clear off and bash me head in – I was up all hours last night a-talkin’ to my folks. Let me have one good night’s sleep an’ we’ll do a ghoster tomorrow.’
‘Well,’ Jenkin began, ‘if I don’t go now I’ll be for it.
‘Night lads.’
‘Hope your dad’s calmed down now,’ Twit ventured.
Jenkin licked his sore lip and nodded. ‘So do I. Oh well, I’ll probably have a lot of praying to do when I get back, that’s all. See you tomorrow hopefully.’ He ran off out of the field.
Arthur watched him go until the night swallowed him. ‘Will he really be okay do you think?’
‘Should be,’ Twit answered. ‘It’s not him Isaac’s mad at. Now, we gonna get some shut-eye tonight?’
They made their way through the corridor to the great doors.
In the Hall of Corn all was calm. Nearly all the mice had gone to bed to try out their new nests and here and there orange lights showed through the openings as they settled down. Some fieldmice were talking, enjoying the refreshing change of a night spent under the sky without having to dread an owl attack. The hum of their chatter mingled with the quiet snores of sleepers which in turn blended with the rustle of the corn.
The summer stars shone down on to Audrey’s face. Her nest was snug and warm, and the moss which lined it was soft and scented. She nuzzled down into the cool fragrant feathering which smelt of the green earth and shady forests. It was at times like these, when the peace and beauty of Fennywolde were overpowering, that she thought it might not be so bad to spend the rest of her days there.
She closed her eyes and, breathing heavily, sank deeper into her bed.
Suddenly the world seemed to quake. The nest shook violently from side to side. Audrey was jolted out of her short velvet sleep and hurled about. What was happening? She tried to cling on to the round walls of the nest and staggered to and fro, unable to keep her balance. The bells which she had removed from her tail jangled and rattled round the nest like beads in a baby’s rattle.
A claw appeared over the opening and then everything went dark.
‘Mouselet?’ Madame Akkikuyu squeezed her huge head through the tiny hole, blocking out the light. She looked at Audrey. ‘Why mouselet in here?’ she asked curiously. ‘No room for Akkikuyu to kip – come down mouselet and we sleep on ground together.’
‘No!’ answered Audrey sharply. ‘This is my bedroom now and it’s not big enough for two.’
Madame Akkikuyu insisted. ‘But mouselet – little friend, Akkikuyu not like be alone in dark. Night has voices, they speak to her,’ the rat whimpered. ‘Besides, Akkikuyu not well – she need friend, need mouselet to help.’
‘What’s wrong with you?’ demanded Audrey sternly.
Akkikuyu’s ear – it aches and pounds.’
‘Why don’t you go and make yourself some potion or other,’ Audrey suggested.
‘Have tried, mouselet,’ assured the fortune-teller. ‘Akkikuyu has rubbed on bramble leaves and said the charm, she has made the paste of the camomile flower but still it hurts. I am frightened mouselet.’
‘Look,’ said Audrey, too tired to continue. ‘Why don’t you get some sleep? It might be better in the morning and you could ask Mr Scuttle to build you a nest tomorrow next to this one.’
But Madame Akkikuyu merely stared back. at her with the eyes of a scolded dog, hurt and confused. ‘Come down,’ she asked one last time, ‘for Akkikuyu sake.’
‘No,’ Audrey said and she hated herself immediately.
The fortune-teller looked crestfallen. She stuck out her bottom lip and said sullenly, Akkikuyu go – she sleep on ground alone, poor Akkikuyu.’ She pulled her head out of the nest and began to climb down again.
Audrey leant out and saw the diminishing bulky figure reach the ground. In the darkness of the Hall floor she could just make out the spots on the rat’s red shawl and they quickly bobbed away.
‘Oh she can please herself,’ mumbled Audrey. ‘I never promised to stay with her all day and night did I?’
She remained leaning out of her nest for some time. Fennywolde was cooling after a hot day. The wind had dropped to a whispering breeze which brought sweet fragrances out of the meadow.
Presently the muffled sound of voices drifted up to her. It was Twit and Arthur returning at last. Their nest was above hers and slightly to the left. She waited for them to climb up.
Out of the gloom appeared two little paws and then Twit’s head popped up.
‘Hello Audrey,’ he said, drawing level with her. ‘You comfy in there?’
‘Yes it’s lovely, your father’s very clever.’
‘Reckon he is – oh!’ Two plumper paws had emerged and grabbed Twit’s tail tightly. ‘Shove up!’ shouted Arthur. Twit giggled, then said goodnight to Audrey before vanishing into his nest.
Arthur came into view, climbing the stalk determinedly. His tongue was sticking out as it always did when he was concentrating.
‘Arthur,’ said Audrey when it looked as if he would continue up without noticing her.
Arthur flinched in surprise. ‘Hello Sis,’ he said, startled. ‘You still awake then?’
‘Yes – I had a visit from Madame Akkikuyu.’
‘Didn’t try to get in did she?’
‘Yes, but it was too small. I sent her away in a sulk and I wish I hadn’t.’
‘Oh blow,’ said Arthur. ‘If she goes running off at the slightest thing, well—’
Audrey interrupted him. ‘But Arthur she said she wasn’t well and she mentioned that voice of hers again.’
Arthur scoffed. ‘She’s going batty – none of us heard that voice on the boat, did we? Yet she swore blind she had. I wouldn’t worry about it Sis, really. Now look, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go – my paws are killin’ me, hanging on like this. See you in the morning.’
‘Goodnight,’ Audrey called after him as he wriggled into the nest above. She Withdrew into her own bed arid sank into a deep, untroubled sleep.
Madame Akkikuyu wandered through the field miserably. Her right ear ached terribly and her best friend had not done anything to help. She kicked stones belligerently and felt sorry for herself.
The field was soon left behind and she walked along the edge of the ditch, cursing her ear and rubbing it vigorously. How it pained her. A constant dull throb pulsed inside like the worst tooth-ache imaginable. It was almost bad enough for her to want to run to the lonely yew tree and chew on its deadly poisonous bark.
Bit by bit the pain increased.
‘Oooh,’ whimpered the fortune-teller despairingly. Madame Akkikuyu sat down at the stony stretch of ditch and buried her head in her claws moaning to herself. The pain had only begun when the sun set and as the night became darker and cooler it grew more intense.
‘Akkikuyu.’
The rat looked up quickly. She could see no-one only the ghost-like moths fluttering overhead.
‘Akkikuyu!’ repeated the voice.
The fortune-teller wailed loudly. It was that voice again – the one that had haunted her from Greenwich.
‘Leave me!’ she cried.
‘Akkikuyu,’ the voice persisted. It was stronger than it had been on those previous occasions. It was a strange, sickly-sweet voice which made her shudder.
‘Listen to me,’ it said softly.
‘No,’ snapped the rat. ‘Never, Akkikuyu not want to go round bend. Leave me.’
‘Listen to me, let me help you.’
‘No, you not real – Akkikuyu barmy, she hear voice when nobody there.’
‘But I am real, Akkikuyu.’
‘Who are you then?’
‘My name is – Nicodemus,’ whispered the voice. ‘I am your friend.’
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��Then why you hide?’ asked Akkikuyu, glaring suspiciously at the shadows which seemed to have closed round her. She rubbed her head. She had seen something out of the comer of her eye and thought it was a spider dangling from her hair.
‘I do not hide, Akkikuyu,’ crooned the voice of Nicodemus. ‘I am here.’
And to her everlasting horror Madame Akkikuyu saw who it was that spoke to her.
‘Aaaghh!’ she screamed, getting to her feet in panic. But there was nowhere to run. On her right ear the tattooed face was moving and talking. The old ink lips were opening and closing and the drawn eyes were staring straight at her.
‘Aaghh!’ she screamed again. She thought she had finally gone out of her mind. ‘Akkikuyu is cracked! Oh poor Akkikuyu,’ she sobbed.
‘Listen to me Akkikuyu,’ Nicodemus ordered, ‘trust me, you are not mad.’
‘Stop, stop,’ whined the rat. ‘Stop, or Akkikuyu murder herself. This cannot be. Inky faces do not talk – they are doodles on skin, not real peoples.’
The face on her ear began again. ‘Akkikuyu listen, I am merely using this tattoo to talk to you. It is a channel through which you are able to hear me. I am really far, far away.’
The fortune-teller ceased her sobs. ‘What are you?’ she asked slowly.
‘I am a spirit of the fields,’ said the tattoo smiling. ‘I am the essence of the harvest, the sunlight on a distant hill, the splendour of a golden meadow, the heady perfume of the hawthorn in bloom.’
‘Why you speak to Akkikuyu? Spirits not supposed to talk to feather or fur.’
‘Because, dearest lady, I am trapped. Caught in a void – a horrible limbo where nightmare spirits of darkness, dwell. I must escape. You must help me, I must return to the fields ere I perish for eternity.’
‘How you get trapped?’ asked the fortune-teller doubtfully.
‘That is a long and frightening tale which I cannot relate. Help me Akkikuyu – give me sweet liberty.’
She considered his entreaty then shook her head.
‘No,’ she answered plainly. ‘Akkikuyu is mad – you not there – she imagine all this, so shut up.’
‘What proof do you need, woman?’ demanded Nicodemus sternly and in his impatience his voice faltered and became ugly. ‘You must release me.’
‘So you say,’ said Madame Akkikuyu, ‘but how is this to be? Akkikuyu have no great magicks to work for you. She know only herbs and medicines to make mouselings better.’
The voice shouted, ‘But I can teach you Akkikuyu. All the forces of nature are mine to command. You could learn from me secret knowledge known to none of your kind – just think of it.’ The voice lulled and coaxed most invitingly.
Madame Akkikuyu thought hard. A yearning awoke inside her – it seemed to be a very old feeling nudged to the surface by Nicodemus’ promises. Magical power, he would give her that! The hunger for it which welled up inside her felt so new, yet also strangely familiar. Nicodemus’ voice began again.
‘You could be a queen, Akkikuyu,’ the tattoo went on, ‘mighty above all others.’ Madame Akkikuyu seemed to come out of the illusions he was weaving about her.
‘Tach!’ she snorted. ‘Akkikuyu not believe in magic. Power of herb yes, and rule of fate yes, but not magic. Tricks and tomfool nonsense.’
The face on her ear screwed itself up with impatience. ‘Do you want a demonstration? Very well. I shall show you what can be done and what powers can be yours.’
‘What you do?’ inquired the fortune-teller expectantly. ‘Look down there!’ said Nicodemus. ‘At the bottom of the ditch!’
There, lying on the stones where Mr Nettle had thrown it were the remains of Audrey’s corn dolly.
‘Go down there,’ instructed Nicodemus. The fortune-teller did as she was bid and made her way down the side of the ditch, hanging on to the tufts of coarse grass which grew up its steep banks.
The dolly was in four pieces, testaments to Mr Nettle’s passion. The head and arms had been tom from the dress section.
Madame Akkikuyu tutted to see the damage. She had heard of Audrey’s corn dolly from Young Whortle.
‘Straw lady bust,’ she said aloud.
‘Then join it together, Akkikuyu,’ said Nicodemus craftily. ‘Put back the head and fix in the arms.’
‘No,’ said the rat. Straw ripped. She not go back together now.’
‘Then put the pieces where they belong and I shall do the rest,’ beamed the face.
Madame Akkikuyu arranged the arms and head around the body in their correct positions and stepped aside.
‘Now,’ said Nicodemus, ‘with the bone from your hair draw a triangle around it. Good, now throw open your arms to the night and repeat after me only make sure you do it exactly.’
They began the invocation to the unseen spirits of the world.
‘Come Brud. By slaughterous cold and searing ice. I call thee. Come out of the shadows, awake from your empty tomb and walk amongst us. I entreat thee, make whole again your effigy.’
Madame Akkikuyu repeated all the words and watched the corn dolly in fascinated silence.,
All around them the grasses and leaves began to stir and rustle, beating against each other like applause. Inside the triangle the moss that grew over the stones writhed like clusters of angry maggots and burst open new shoots like green fireworks. Everything living within that area grew and bloomed a thousand times faster than normal. Then, as Madame Akkikuyu stared in disbelief, the severed stems of the corn dolly’s grain arms twisted and coiled into the body section. The plaited head put out a tentative wiry tendril like a bather testing the water then rooted itself on to the shoulders.
‘Aha,’ squealed Madame Akkikuyu, ‘dummy repaired.’
‘Quite,’ said the tattoo matter of factly. ‘Are you convinced now, Akkikuyu?’
The rat nodded quickly, ‘Oh yes Nicodemus my friend – you real, Akkikuyu not bonkers.’ She hugged herself as she gazed at the completed figure of straw.
Nicodemus continued. ‘Would you like to see more?’
‘More?’ repeated the rat. ‘How so?’
‘This has been a mere child’s trick, Akkikuyu, compared with what you could achieve under my learned guidance.’
‘Tell me more,’ said the fortune-teller, eager to see other wonders. ‘Akkikuyu want to see more.’
‘Very well,’ the voice muttered softly, ‘step nearer to the straw maiden. Enough – do not touch the triangle. Now we need blood.’
Madame Akkikuyu backed away. She did not like the sound of that. ‘Blood?’ she queried cautiously. ‘Why for you want blood and where from?’
‘To give the doll life,’ announced Nicodemus. ‘Blood’ is a symbol of that. Just three drops are needed. I daresay you could nick your thumb and squeeze some out.’
‘Give doll life!’ exclaimed the rat wondrously. ‘You can do such? You are very strong in magicks, field spirit. Quickly show Akkikuyu.’
She took out her small knife and made a tiny cut in her thumb.
‘The blood must fall on the straw,’ Nicodemus told her, as three crimson drops were forced out on to the corn dress.
‘Now stand back,’ commanded the voice.
Madame Akkikuyu did so and felt a thrill of fear tingle its way along her spine and down to the tip of her tail.
‘Hear me, oh Brud!’ called out Nicodemus. ‘Give this image life – let sap be as the blood on the straw.
Pour breath into its empty breast and let stems be as sinew.’
A deathly silence descended over the whole of Fennywolde. The fieldmice shifted uncomfortably in their soft nests as a shadow passed over the sky. Birds shrank into their feathers as they roosted in the tops of the elms and feared the worst. A hedgehog in his den of old, dry leaves felt the charged atmosphere and curled himself into a tight ball of spikes. Down came the shadow, thundering from the empty night on the back of the wind. The tree tops swayed and the leaves whipped round. The grass in the meadow parted as the force fell upon it and travelled wil
dly through, flattening and battering everything in its path. It rushed towards the ditch and went howling down into it.
Madame Akkikuyu stood her ground as the unseen fury tore at her hair and pulled her shawl till it choked her.
And then all was still.
The fortune-teller lowered the claws she had raised against the ravaging gale and looked down at the dolly.
‘Command it,’ said Nicodemus.
‘I . . . I?’ she stammered.
‘Who else? It will obey none but you.’
Madame Akkikuyu swept back the hair which had blown over her face and peered again at the corn dolly. ‘Up,’ she ordered meekly.’
One of the grain arms gave a sudden twitch and the rat drew her breath sharply.
‘Up!’ she said again with more force.
The straw figure flipped itself over, rustling and crackling. It leant on its arm and jolted itself up until it stood before her.
The fortune-teller took some steps around the dolly and waved her arms over it just in case someone was tricking her with cotton threads.
But no, the corn dolly was alive!
‘Instruct it to bow before you,’ suggested Nicodemus.
‘Bow,’ said the rat.
With a snapping and splintering the corn dolly bent over and bowed.
‘Hee hee,’ cackled Madame Akkikuyu joyfully jumping up and down, her tail waving around like an angry snake. ‘It moves, it moves,’ she called. ‘And only for Akkikuyu, for she alone. See how it dances.’
She pointed to the figure and jerkily it moved from the confines of the triangle, making odd jarring movements. Its dress swept over the stone floor like the twigs of a broom as it pranced in a peculiar waltz. The arms quivered in mockery of life and the loop head twisted from time to time as though acknowledging an invisible partner. It was a grotesque puppet and Madame Akkikuyu was its master.
The corn dolly tottered this way and that, buckling occasionally in a spasm that might have been a curtsey and shaking its dress with a dry papery sound. Madame Akkikuyu capered around with it, beckoning and following, teasing and pushing until finally she panted ‘Stop!” and the straw dancer became motionless.
‘So,’ began Nicodemus in a pleased tone, ‘you must choose, will you help me?’