by Robin Jarvis
Arthur had no answer to that. ‘What shall we do?’ he asked meekly.
The midshipmouse shrugged and drew on his pipe. ‘I don’t know, maybe nothing, but we must go back to the Skirtings and consult the Starwife. We can only be certain that this is not the end of Jupiter’s schemes.’ He rolled off his bunk and tapped the pipe on the side. ‘Get yourself together mate, we’re off again.’
* * *
The Starwife was mourning for the stars. From the instant Jupiter began his incantation she sensed his dark purpose and knew she was powerless to prevent him. She had remained in the freezing yard to witness the destruction of the heavens and when it was all over and the void came flooding in she limped back into the old house a pathetic, broken figure.
The dawn had been bleak and the snow storm raged savagely outside. Audrey listened to the blizzard beating against the house, wondering what other catastrophes lay ahead. She could hardly believe that the stars had all disappeared and she prayed that Arthur and Thomas were safe. The mice of the Skirtings were gathered round the Hall fire, hungry and afraid. Master Oldnose recited a prayer, calling on the Green Mouse for deliverance. Everyone joined in, paws clasped beneath their chins and voices lifted in despair.
Audrey would not take part. She knew that it was no good. The Green Mouse was dead and could not hear them. His power was for the spring and summer only. She wandered away from the fireside, past the kneeling mice to where the Starwife rocked on her heels by the stairs. The old squirrel appeared worse than ever, her tear-stained cheeks had caved in and her fragile skull could plainly be seen. Her arms were nothing more than brittle sticks loosely wrapped with wasted flesh and her rib cage protruded so much from her body that you could almost see her frail heart pitter-pattering behind the rattling ribs. Audrey guessed that she would not live much longer.
A milky eye fluttered open and focused smartly on the girl. ‘Don’t you fret child,’ said the Starwife hoarsely, ‘you haven’t got a corpse in your Hall not yet.’ She managed a faint smile and turned stiffly. ‘So, you are not praying with everyone else,’ she observed dryly. ‘I see your mother there, why do you not join her?’
‘It won’t be any use,’ Audrey replied, ‘he can’t help us this time.’
The Starwife nodded feebly. ‘True enough. While the Unbeest keeps spring at bay, the Green Mouse cannot answer, even if he does hear them. You are a sensible child – too much so perhaps.’ She fingered her silver acorn, the pale lids slipped over the eyes once more and her head fell drowsily onto her chest.
Audrey reluctantly left her and returned to the fire where, the prayers having finished, Master Oldnose began singing songs from the spring celebration to lighten everyone’s spirits. It did not succeed. The attempts were half-hearted and the sound dismal. He abandoned that and tried to think of something else. The hours ticked by and the snow continued to fall steadily.
The afternoon was just creeping up on them when Algy Coltfoot jumped to his feet and whispered, ‘Shush! Something’s coming up the cellar steps.’
The mice murmured worriedly and Mr Cockle took a burning stick from the fire and held it before him, ready for any trouble. The cellar door creaked open and they all fell back.
‘Arthur!’ exclaimed Audrey, dashing forward to hug her astonished brother.
‘Gerroff Sis,’ he protested, pushing her away and blushing as his mother ran forward to kiss him.
Thomas laughed as he came through the door and Gwen had a kiss for him too. Mr Cockle put the stick back in the fire and everyone sighed with relief.
‘Here’s a hearty welcome,’ said Thomas happily.
‘I’m so glad you’re both safe,’ beamed Gwen.
‘Arthur don’t you ever go off like that again and how dare you take him with you, Mr Triton, without telling me first.’ Thomas swept the hat from his head and bowed.
‘Apologies Ma’am. I have no excuse and beseech your forgiveness.’
Audrey giggled but whatever she was about to say was forgotten as the Starwife hobbled forward.
‘Triton!’ she called bad-temperedly. ‘Where’ve you been you lazy mariner? Report to me I said, but I didn’t mean some time next week!’ She made her way painfully up to the midshipmouse and stood imperiously in front of him.
Thomas sighed and loosened the kerchief round his neck. He studied the squirrel closely. It was obvious that she knew precisely what had happened. ‘I’d be wasting my breath,’ he said gruffly, ‘you know well enough.’
‘Don’t take that attitude with me Triton!’ the Starwife snapped. ‘I sensed what the Unbeest was doing but you were there! Tell me exactly what you saw.’
The midshipmouse glanced at Arthur and began. He walked over to the fire and related the terrible events of the previous night. The mice listened to him with fearful expressions, uttering sharp cries of dismay and covering their faces when he described Jupiter on the observatory.
Throughout his account the Starwife’s face was solemn and grave. When he had finished she turned briskly away and resumed her position by the stairs. There she sat in brooding silence and closed her eyes.
Thomas fidgeted with the hat in his paws and looked at her in consternation. What was she doing? This was not what he had expected from her at all. He went after the squirrel and waited. She did not move. He coughed – surely she hadn’t nodded off. An eyelid opened slightly, showing a watery slice of clouded eye, ‘What do you want of me Triton?’ she asked in a flat voice. ‘Can you not leave me in peace?’
‘No I can’t,’ he shouted in exasperation. ‘What are you sitting there like Neptune’s mother for, you silly old devil? Here’s that foul fiend taking the stars away an’ all you can do is mope about!’
‘What do you suggest I do?’ she asked in a deceptively calm tone. ‘What do you think I am able to do?’
Thomas shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered frankly, ‘but we must do summat. I don’t reckon this is the end of Jupiter’s tricks. There’ll be more, I’m certain of it.’
The Starwife stared at her gnarled paws. ‘But of course,’ she admitted, ‘he will not stop yet, not until he can be certain that spring will never come a again.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked the midshipmouse. ‘What else can he do? For pity’s sake you crafty old baggage, will you not tell us what’s going on? You’ve got a pretty fair idea haven’t you? Everything’s figured out in that crusty old brain box of yours but you’re not letting on,’ and he threw his hat down in his anger.
She turned her half-blind eyes full on him and he was prevented from saying anything more by the power that poured out of them. He had riled her and she proved that such an action was still dangerous. ‘So be it!’ she raged. ‘You shall know and you shall tremble as I have!’ The squirrel glared round at the astonished mice and harshly told them, ‘The Unbeest has destroyed the stars of the night, next he shall destroy the day star, soon the same magic will be used on the sun.’
All the mice in the Hall gasped and squeaked. Those who had sneaked down from the Landings scurried back up the stairs to tell everyone. The Starwife closed her eyes again and breathed deeply. Thomas fumbled for words but was too stricken to say anything. Could it be true? Could Jupiter really blot out the sun? His legs wobbled and he sat himself down sharply in case he collapsed. All eyes stared at the old squirrel.
Audrey knelt beside her and tried to talk. ‘There must be something we can do,’ she said. ‘He must have a weakness, there has to be a way.’ The Starwife did not reply so Audrey repeated herself. Still nothing. The squirrel was ignoring her. The mouse fumed and folded her arms crossly. ‘I’m glad you are the last of your kind,’ she blazed, ‘I think you’re horrible!’
The milky eyes blinked and a desolate tear welled up and spilled down the hollow cheek. ‘There is nothing we can do child,’ sobbed the Starwife hopelessly. ‘Jupiter has no weaknesses.’ The defeat in her voice was heart-breaking and Audrey immediately regretted her outburst and hugged the forlorn creature tight
ly.
The afternoon lengthened and the daylight began to fail. Some murmured fearfully but the Starwife held up a paw and reassured them, ‘Do not fear, it is not him, not yet. Last night must have taken its toll and the power will be spent for a while. Jupiter will not be able to use my Starglass today, but all too soon will it be ready again.’
Thomas hated sitting about doing nothing, but what could they do? He wished he had brought his pipe along. The fire needed more wood but there was hardly any left in the house. He wondered if he ought to go out and find some more when his thoughts were interrupted by a chirpy voice.
‘This some sort of indoor picnic or what?’
The mice jumped with surprise and spun round. Arthur could not believe his eyes, ‘Piccadilly!’ he shouted happily.
The city mouse grinned from ear to ear as his friend rushed forward and shook his paw. ‘Careful Art,’ he warned with a laugh, ‘it’s so cold it might drop off.’ Everyone gathered round to welcome the cheeky young mouse back to the Skirtings.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ cried Arthur, overjoyed. ‘What made you leave the city? Was life getting too dull?’
A shadow passed over Piccadilly’s face and he looked away. ‘Wotcha Mr Triton,’ he said, changing the subject.
Thomas eyed him strangely before returning the greeting, ‘Welcome back lad. If you don’t mind me sayin’ so – you look awful.’
Piccadilly grunted and was about to say something to Master Oldnose when Audrey pushed through the crowd and said sheepishly, ‘Hello Piccadilly, I’m glad you came back – I missed you.’
He blinked and was at a loss for words. He had often wondered what her first words would be if they ever met again, but he never counted on ‘I missed you.’ The city mouse shook his head in disbelief; he always thought Audrey had disliked him and now here she was smiling coyly. ‘Hello,’ was all he managed to come up with. A light bloomed in her rich brown eyes and he stepped back in surprise. Somewhere, deep inside him was born an urge to kiss her. It alarmed him and he coughed and turned hastily away.
‘I never thought we’d clap eyes on you again after you went off like that,’ said Arthur. ‘Why are you here?’
Piccadilly collected his wits and spoke seriously, ‘That’s a long story . . .’ But before he could say any more he put his paw to his mouth. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot, I’ve brought someone with me.’
‘Who is it?’ asked Audrey. ‘Where is he?’
‘He . . . I left him,’ Piccadilly stammered warily, unsure how to put it, ‘I left him in the cellar after we came through the Grille.’
‘Don’t leave him down there lad,’ ordered Thomas. ‘Bring him in.’
‘But . . . you don’t understand,’ Piccadilly tried to explain. ‘Oh well!’ He cupped his mouth in his paws and yelled through the cellar door, ‘Barker! You can come in now.’
‘This one of your city friends?’ Arthur inquired as they waited for him to appear. A strange slapping slither came up the steps and the mice stared at one another curiously.
‘Barker coming mousey boy,’ cried a croaky voice. Audrey backed away, Arthur scratched his ear and Thomas scowled. They recognized the sound of a rat when they heard one. In waddled Barker. ‘A rat!’ screamed Mrs Chitter leaping to her feet, ‘we’ll be eaten alive!’
Most of the mice had never seen a rat before but all knew how vicious they could be. They shrieked and scattered everywhere. Some tried to leap up the stairs but tripped and fell over each other, others headed for the Skirtings where they all tried to squeeze in at once and got jammed in the entrance. Cries and wails rang round the Hall as the mice charged about demented with terror. Algy became tangled in the blankets and squealed as he smashed into a pile of unwashed soup bowls.
Barker laughed and jumped up and down. He thought it was a game and started to chase some of the mice which only made matters worse. Piccadilly groaned. He was afraid something like this would happen. ‘Barker,’ he shouted, ‘stop it you crazy old nit!’ The rat took no notice as he had pinned Mrs Chitter to the wall and was busily engaged in tickling her under the chin. She let out a howl and slid to the floor in a faint whilst her curling papers popped out of her hair as it stood on end. Piccadilly ran over and tried to grab him but Barker was enjoying this too much and dodged out of reach. With a bound he had leap-frogged over one of the Raddle sisters and blown a raspberry at the other. He chased Biddy Cockle and pulled a blanket over Master Oldnose’s head. ‘Barker!’ bawled Piccadilly not knowing whether to laugh or be cross.
Barker pranced round the Hall until he skidded to an abrupt standstill. He had nearly crashed into the Starwife and now she was staring at him fearlessly, but her brows wrinkled and a curious look crossed her face. The rat caught his breath in surprise and hissed. For a moment the two seemed to strive mentally with one another as though they were locked in a secret duel. There was a strained, struggling silence between them and their eyes smouldered with enmity.
Piccadilly ran up and took hold of the rat’s tail, ‘Gotcha!’ he cried. ‘Don’t worry folks,’ the city mouse called out to all the distressed mice, ‘he’s with me. He’s harmless I promise– just a bit nutty that’s all.’ He dragged Barker away from the Starwife and led him back to his friends.
Throughout all the commotion Thomas, Gwen, Audrey and Arthur had remained calm. They had realized that if Piccadilly had brought him then Barker could not be dangerous. Even so, the midshipmouse did not like the look of the barmy old rat. Arthur, however, had split his sides laughing, and when Mrs Chitter fainted he felt as if he was going to bust. Now he wiped the tears from his eyes and settled down as the chuckles gave way to smirks.
‘Sorry about that,’ Piccadilly apologized. ‘This is Barker – I had to bring him with me. Like I said it’s a long story, but first of all – Jupiter is back.’
* * *
Piccadilly drank the soup and tried not to pull a face – it was as weak as dish water. ‘Thanks,’ he said battling to sound as though he had enjoyed it, ‘that was – very, er . . .’
Gwen took the bowl from him and nodded with understanding, ‘Yes I know,’ she smiled. ‘It isn’t very nice but that’s all we have I’m afraid.’
The city mouse was sitting in front of the fire soaking up the warmth. It seemed like ages since he had last had time to relax and wiggle his toes. Barker sat next to him sniffing his bowl suspiciously. He lapped up some of the soup and swilled it round his mouth. It had taken quite a while for the panic to die down. Some mice were still hiding in the Skirtings under their beds and no amount of persuasion would draw them out. A few brave ones hovered near the fire and studied the rat keenly. He didn’t look as fierce as they had imagined.
Mrs Chitter had to be taken away to her little room where she whimpered in her sleep and had horrible tickling nightmares. Strangely enough the Raddle sisters were among those who crept closest to the fire to see the strange newcomer; they had never had such an exciting time in all their lives and secretly hoped for more.
Piccadilly was listening attentively to Thomas as the midshipmouse brought him up to date with events. He was sorry that Oswald was not here; he had been looking forward to seeing ‘Whitey’ again. Occasionally his eyes would rove sideways to where Audrey sat and she smiled back at him. When the tale had ended, Piccadilly sat up stiffly and bit his nails.
He then related his own story. As this was news to everyone, more mice crept round. They were all astonished and dismayed to learn that Morgan was still alive and gasped at the point where Holeborn was attacked. Throughout all this Barker shot furtive glances at the stairs where the Starwife had been but she was not there now and he craned his neck to see where she had gone.
Thomas rubbed his whiskers, puzzled. ‘It don’t make sense,’ he muttered. ‘Why would Jupiter call an army of bloodthirsty rats back here, only to kill them as soon as they arrive?’
‘Maybe he’s potty,’ suggested Piccadilly. ‘I can’t see any other reason for it. Unless he just likes to k
ill things – that wouldn’t surprise me.’
But Thomas was not convinced. ‘No, there has to be a sound reason. He never does anything just for the sake of it, but we’ll find out soon enough.’
‘Is there really nothing we can do?’ asked Arthur gloomily. ‘Why don’t we all put our heads together and see if we can come up with something?’
‘I suppose it’s worth a try,’ agreed Thomas. He stood up and grabbed everyone’s attention. ‘We’re going to have a meeting,’ he declared, ‘anyone who wants to join in is most welcome.’
When most of the mice had sat down, some still looking dubiously at Barker, they began. ‘Right,’ said the midshipmouse, ‘let’s go over what we know about Jupiter.’
‘He’s dead,’ Mr Cockle put in bluntly.
‘So we can’t kill him,’ added Algy, stating the obvious.
Audrey tried to think of something she could contribute. ‘Oh,’ she announced suddenly, ‘he doesn’t like the heat.’
‘How do you work that out?’ snorted Arthur.
His sister rolled her eyes impatiently. ‘Because if he did he wouldn’t be freezing us to death would he? He’d blast us with fire or bake us – that would be much quicker than waiting for us all to freeze.’ Thomas puckered his brow with concentration. ‘You might be right but Jupiter could just be bringing in the cold to prevent the Green Mouse’s return.’
‘So where does that leave us?’ asked Piccadilly, dismissing the ridiculous Green Mouse.’
‘Jupiter might be afraid of fire, though I don’t see why if he’s dead – I mean it couldn’t hurt him could it?’
Audrey sighed. ‘If only I still had my mousebrass, perhaps that would have helped – it worked before.’
For the first time since his manic escapade Barker spoke. ‘Barker like pretty mouse danglers,’ he chattered brightly, ‘him always wanted one but all he ever had was lump, lump, lump.’