by Alex Milway
ALEX MILWAY was born in 1978 in Hereford. After finishing art school and spending a number of years in magazine publishing, he finally managed to finish a book, The Mousehunter. The Curse of Mousebeard is his second novel. He lives in Crystal Palace with his girlfriend and a curly-haired cat called Milo.
www.themousehunter.com
Also by Alex Milway
For Maya
Copyright
Copyright © 2008 by Alex Milway
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group
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New York, NY 10017
Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.
Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
First eBook Edition: April 2010
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN: 978-0-316-08753-7
Contents
Copyright
Goodbye to Old Town
The Tour Guide and the Teacher
The Wailer Mouse
The Pirate Mousehunting Club
The Slime-toothed Fang Mouse
Stormcloud Island
The Stripy Sand Mouse
A Different Hamlyn
The Jouster Mouse
The Mouse Trading Center
The Heracles Mouse
The Professor
The Bangarian Monk Mouse
The Getaway
The Boater Mouse
A New Adventure
The Balletic Tree Mouse
Across the Barren Sea
The Icefall Mouse
The Gateway to Norgammon
The Shaggy Night Mouse
The New World of Old
The Puff-tailed Mouse
The Hunt
The Halfung Hunting Mouse
The Great Pyramid
The Popo Mouse
Scratcher’s Surprise
The Dum-Dum Mouse
The Tomb of the Mouse King
The Northern Musical Mouse
The Battle for Norgammon
The Bearded Mouse
The Curse
The Flycatcher Mouse
Indigo
The Floating Puffer Mouse
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Mice may not rule the world, but they have the power to shape it
from The Ways and Means of Mice, Professor Rudolph Lugwidge
Goodbye to Old Town
HORATIO SPIRES RETREATED INTO THE HALLWAY NEXT TO Lovelock’s office and scribbled on a piece of paper. He acted swiftly, his ears alert to the muffled words escaping from next door.
“I shall set sail as soon as we have a favorable wind,” said Lord Battersby.
Spires heard his master laugh triumphantly, and the door clicked as it started to unlock. A bead of sweat trickled down the butler’s forehead, and with a final press of his pen against the paper in his hand, he stood upright and slid the note into his suit pocket.
“There’s no immediate rush, Alexander,” said Lovelock. “I can assure you, our friend Mousebeard will know nothing of this.”
“Even so, I’m quite in the mood for a spot of exploration. The Stonebreaker only grows barnacles in port—she’d be much happier at sea!”
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” added Lovelock. “The Golden Mice may well look like pennies next to the treasures out there. You must thank your codebreakers for me!”
The door opened fully, and Spires righted his glasses as the dull grey light of morning crept into the hallway.
“I assure you I will,” said Battersby cheerfully, “and I promise to send word of any discoveries as soon as we’re within messaging range.”
As Battersby left the room, he looked to the butler and his expression changed to one of seriousness. Their eyes met, and an icy chill seeped into Spires’s heart.
“Good day, sir,” said Spires, a slight fragility to his voice.
Battersby snorted, pulled his collar high, and marched down the stairs, letting his boots clomp loudly. Spires knew of Lord Battersby’s moods, but there was more to that look than mere grumpiness. Taking a long, deep breath, he walked to Lovelock’s office and knocked on the door before entering. Rain was rattling the window behind Lovelock, and a distant growl of thunder rumbled aloud. Spires stood upright.
“Will that be all for the moment, sir?” he asked calmly.
“That’s all, thank you,” replied Lovelock, a smile still apparent on his face.
“Very good, sir,” said Spires.
The Silver Shark
Algernon’s Submarine
The Tour Guide and the Teacher
NOW THEN,” SAID THE DELIGHTED TOUR GUIDE AS SHE skipped down to the gun deck, her tightly bunched hair moving not an inch, “the Silver Shark was an immensely powerful warship in its time. Here, for example, you’ll see the deadly cannons. These weapons are said to have killed six thousand men at the least!”
The group of ten children and their schoolmaster all cooed in awe. They were a visiting party from the land of Tamaroy and, as well as the customary mouseboxes that hung from their belts, they were dressed in its traditional dress of red cape, puffy trousers, and floppy black hats.
“But maybe of more interest to you aspiring young mousekeepers, if you listen very hard, below your feet you’ll hear the scurrying of a very interesting species of mouse.”
Everyone fell silent. A few of the children crouched to the floor and pressed their ears to the boards.
“It would seem that Mousebeard had a love of Mustachioed Mice,” added the guide, “as there is a very large family of them living between the planks on this lower deck. We have a small band that comes and plays here each evening to keep them happy. They do miss the regular shanties of the pirates, unfortunately, but we do what we can.”
“Mustachioed Mice?” queried one of the children. “Mousebeard the pirate liked those wussy mice?”
“Ah, yes,” said the guide. “There are many peculiar things now coming to light about the notorious pirate. I bet you didn’t know that he liked Andamam Cheese, for a start?”
“The one with all the pickled mouse droppings in it?” exclaimed the schoolmaster.
“The one and only! We found three truckles of the stuff in the pantry.”
“Urgh!” exclaimed the children in unison.
“And along with those we found fifty-three skewered Bonbon Mice, each sugared in a fine pink coating. He obviously had a very fine taste in delicacies!”
“So Mousebeard may have been barbarous and evil, but he did have a fine palate. Education gets you a long way, see!” said the schoolmaster to his pupils.
“Trained at the Old Rodents’ Academy, no less!” added the guide.
“And that’s where all the cleverest and hardest-working students end up,” added the schoolmaster. “They often take foreign mousekeeping students, so there’s every chance you could all win a scholarship!”
He then walked up to the tour guide and whispered a few words.
“Yes, you’re right!” said the guide, gesturing to the children. “There is a brig downstairs in the hull—the darkest and scariest place on all the ship!”
The mousekeepers chattered nervously to one another, their hats flapping at their
heads.
“Would you like to see it?” she said excitedly.
“Yeeeesssss!” they all shouted.
“Right then, this way!”
The tour guide bounced down the stairs and lit the few oil lamps around the walls.
“This is where all the prisoners were kept!” said the guide as the children filtered down the stairs, followed by their master. The young mousekeepers were clearly in awe.
“Who wants to see what it’s like to be locked in Mousebeard’s brig?” said the schoolmaster.
The tour guide looked a bit uneasy.
“That’s quite unusual, Mr. Sparks; we don’t generally allow such things.”
“Oh, but us Tamarovians believe it’s good for the children to experience everything. It’s all part of learning and growing up!” said the teacher, standing more upright and scratching his scruffy beard.
After a short consultation with her notes, the guide agreed and walked to the iron bars that sealed off the prison in the tip of the bow.
“Come on then, children, in you come!”
The guide pulled on the chains, and the bars lifted to the ceiling.
Once all the children had entered the brig, the schoolmaster walked to the tour guide.
“It must have been horrible to have been locked in there,” he said gloomily, the lamplight flickering off his round glasses.
“Most definitely!” she replied.
“Say, why don’t we lower the bars again, just for a moment, to see what it’s like?” said the schoolmaster.
“Oh, I don’t know…”
“What harm could it do?”
“Are you all right with this, children?” she asked.
“Yeeesss!” they replied excitedly.
“Well, all right then…”
She reached up for the chain and pulled hard. There was a noisy, rusty squeal, and just as the bars started to tilt and lower, three of the children dashed out and pulled firmly at her skirt. Her legs twisted beneath her and she tumbled forward. All the other mousekeepers jumped on her, muffling her screams, and within seconds she was bound and gagged.
“Ready?” asked the schoolmaster, removing Tamaroy’s national dress to reveal the clothes of a ship’s captain.
“As ever…,” announced Emiline, removing her hat and cape as she strolled from the brig.
“You were great, sir!” cheered Scratcher, swinging his mousebox around his waist and removing his cape. “They had no idea!”
“I’d always fancied myself as an actor,” he replied, swishing his hair back and tearing the fake beard from his face.
The rest of the young mousekeepers laughed and walked out of the brig, leaving the tour guide to wriggle helplessly. Drewshank pulled the chain, and the iron bars swung down to seal the brig.
“You were all brilliant!” said Emiline enthusiastically. Her Grey Mouse, Portly, appeared on her shoulder and gave a triumphant squeak. “But now we’ve got to get this ship ready to move.”
She flipped open her pocket watch and checked the time.
“We’ve got to hurry,” she added, turning to the trusty mousekeepers. “You guys, you know what to do. If you’ve got Rigger Mice in your boxes, release them on the top deck, get them up to speed, and secure the rigging for the sails. The rest of you, close off the gun deck so there’s no open gun holes, then release your Wailer Mice. Once you’ve done that, climb the masts and get ready for our commands. Scratcher, you find Mousebeard’s secret stash of weapons. I hope he’s right in thinking they’ll still be here….”
Algernon made slow, plodding steps along the seabed in his metal underwater suit—each step taking twice as much effort as usual. Fish buzzed about in front of him, attracted by the bright blue lights beaming from the glass eyeholes. One of the suit’s robotic arms lifted to his eye line, and he noted the time displayed on its dimly lit dial.
“Come on, Algernon,” he muttered to himself, his breath spreading condensation inside the helmet. “Five minutes! Five minutes!”
He looked around, focusing the lights on the hulls of ships below the waterline as he trudged along. Mousebeard’s ship was impounded at the far end of the harbor, and just as a spiky eel whizzed past, the lights reflected off the makeshift wall that trapped it in Old Town. Built of huge boulders, the wall was held in place by a mesh of thick iron poles. Algernon twisted a valve to release some extra hydraulic power, and immediately his legs were able to move faster along the sandy floor until he finally reached its base.
He trailed the lights from his helmet upward and saw the shiny metal hull of the Silver Shark breaking cleanly out of the water. It was raining heavily, and the water’s surface looked as though it was being hit by thousands of tiny meteorites.
“No time to lose!” he muttered. Inside his suit, his hands twisted a few levers, and with a whizz and a shudder, his second robotic arm extended outward, and a thick drill started to whirr at its end. It vibrated heavily as it bored deep into the side of a boulder, sending a cloud of dirt gushing into the water. Algernon held it steady for a few seconds, then flicked a switch and the drill slowed to a stop before shrinking back into the arm. A claw flicked out to take its place, which then swung around to the suit’s back, unhinged a thin cylinder, and pushed it into the drill-hole.
Algernon felt sweat trickle down his forehead. He lifted the second robotic arm and checked the time again.
“Thirty seconds!” he said hurriedly. “Oh my! Almost ready…”
The claw twisted the cylinder’s end, upon which a red light started to flash. Algernon hurriedly secured the two robotic arms and turned the suit around. With the press of a button and the release of another valve inside, a gush of air burst out from the suit’s back. His body lifted from the seabed, and he shot off at hair-raising speed.
Emiline and Drewshank reached the top deck and walked out into the pouring rain. The deck was empty but for a lone guard at the gangplank that led down onto the quayside. Ever since the Silver Shark had been securely impounded, the Old Town Guard had seen little point in keeping watch over the ship.
Drewshank and Emiline crept around the deck until they were just a few meters from the soldier.
“Where’s Spires?” whispered Emiline, as rain dripped from her nose. “He was supposed to be here?”
“He should have been, but we can’t worry about it,” Drewshank said. “Spires will have to make his own escape. How long do we have?”
“We can’t go without him!” she pleaded.
“We must…,” he added firmly. “Now, how long do we have?”
Emiline looked at her pocket watch.
“Hold on tight! Four… three… two… one…”
An immense underwater explosion kicked the ship into the air and blasted huge rocks and debris onto the quayside. The ship fell back onto the sea—lifting water far over the quayside in a great wave. Drewshank jumped out and hit the soldier over the head before knocking him into the water. Emiline rushed after him, grabbed the gangplank, and pulled it in desperately. She looked up to see soldiers and sailors charging onto the quay from the taverns and stores.
“We’re in for it now!” said Drewshank.
“Emiline!” shouted Scratcher, sliding a sword along the deck for her. “He certainly wasn’t lying! More swords than I could carry!”
Emiline continued to haul in the gangplank with Drewshank’s help. Its farthest end reared up and eventually clicked into place, and once again the Silver Shark’s deck was fully protected by its tall armored sides.
“Get the sails open!” shouted Drewshank to all the mousekeepers up in the rigging. The children began frantically pulling at the sail tethers, and the Rigger Mice scurried back and forth, helping them by biting through knots.
“Where are the Wailer Mice?” called Drewshank.
“In position!” replied Scratcher, trying to get his bearings. He’d been on the Silver Shark only briefly in the past, and it wasn’t the fondest of memories, but he was getting a feel for it now.
The sails on the mainmast tumbled down and immediately caught the wind. The ship nudged forward just as three grappling hooks shot over the side and caught firm. Its escape was halted.
“Captain Drewshank!” shouted Emiline, running to the ship’s wheel. “They’re trying to get on board!”
The sound of gunfire filled the air. Scratcher responded by pulling clods of wool from his pocket and handing them to Emiline and Drewshank.
“Stick them in your ears!” he said, before placing two fingers in his mouth. He gave a high-pitched whistle, and the Wailer Mice immediately started wailing from the mainmast. It was absolutely deafening, and everyone on the quayside clamped their hands to their ears.
“Get the other sails down!” ordered Drewshank, although no one could hear him. He threw off the grappling hooks, cast them into the water, and started swinging his arms to catch everyone’s attention; but his lightweight crew already had the task in hand.
The mousekeepers now worked faster than ever before. Their small hands made a swift job of untying all the knots. Finally, the second sail dropped, and the wind caught it fully.
“Captain Drewshank!” called Emiline, waving frantically. “A gunship!”
The ship’s wheel was raised slightly, allowing the pilot to see above the armored hull. Emiline had seen that just a short distance away, a huge warship was turning out from its berth. Drewshank saw her calling.
“They’re getting ready to fire!” she shouted. Drewshank gripped his forehead in frustration. They weren’t getting anywhere fast. The Silver Shark creaked as it drifted forward and slowly worked its way out through the demolished wall. A loud broadside blew out of the gunship, sending clouds of smoke into the air. Two cannonballs shot straight through the Silver Shark’s sails and flew into houses around the edges of the docks. Numerous cries called out from the quayside in terror.
“Come on!” shouted Scratcher, now at Emiline’s side. “We’re not going anywhere!”
“We’ll get there,” replied Emiline hoarsely, as another hail of cannon fire hit the side of the ship, sending shockwaves along its deck. The Silver Shark’s armor held firm, and gradually the vessel built up speed as it moved farther and farther away from the quayside. The only harbor exit was a narrow break in the thick seawall. There was no room for mistakes.