The Curse of Mousebeard

by Alex Milway

  “It goes on forever!” she said, her words echoing into the void.

  Drewshank pried the doors farther apart and found that most of their metal tumbled to the floor in pieces no thicker than paper.

  “After you, then!” he said. He touched the walls of the tunnel—they were damp, moldy, and freezing cold—and he instantly had to rub off the slime that had gathered on his fingers.

  Emiline found that the urge to run was too strong, and she looked back at her friends briefly before heading off into the new world.

  The Shaggy Night Mouse

  ENDOWED WITH AN INCREDIBLY LONG AUBURN COAT THAT IS THE ENVY OF all Bald Spotted Mice, the Shaggy Night Mouse is a nocturnal and distinctly shy creature. Its presence in an area is more often noticed by the discovery of its discarded fur than by a sighting of the mouse itself. In certain parts of the world, this mouse is bred for its fine hair, which can be harvested yearly with little discomfort to the animal. The hair can be used for many things, from paintbrushes to fine scarves, and it has also been put to good use in men’s wigs.

  MOUSING NOTES:

  This mouse is suited to collectors with special night facilities. They take very little looking after, but their hairs do get everywhere.

  The New World of Old

  EMILINE WALKED OUT INTO THE DAYLIGHT AND GASPED in awe. From the roaring sea they’d left behind, she’d arrived in a world so lush and green, and so vast and unbelievable, that her breath was stolen from her. She was standing far above the ancient land—the tunnel had brought her out onto a wide viewing platform that was at least a hundred meters above the treetops—and it took her a moment to find her bearings. The wall towered above her still, its height only diminished occasionally by the light clouds scudding over its top, but it raced away for miles on either side until it was just a faint line on the horizon. A gentle wind blew her hair to the side, its blond strands fluttering like flags in a breeze, and she moved closer to the edge to soak it all in.

  Across the vast carpet of forest directly below her, three strange, stepped golden pyramids stood tall in the distance. They sat in a triangular formation, the largest at the back, in the center, while the two smaller structures sat at either side like a pair of Halfung Hunting Mice at their master’s feet. Their three peaks dominated the forest, but rising even higher behind them was a series of rolling hills: a soft mist ebbed over their tops, drifting down into the forest like heavy candle smoke.

  Emiline looked closer into the trees and spotted the remains of stone towers and buildings teetering amongst trunks and branches; she could see the sparkling of water—a shimmering river flowed through the land, its presence only visible in patches where the trees were thinner. She could smell the sweet scent of fruit and flowers, mingled with the musky aroma of decaying wood carried on the breeze.

  “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it,” she said to Portly, who had ventured onto her shoulder. His ears were erect and his nose twitched in the air.

  “Oh my,” declared Drewshank, walking into the open with a sword in his hand. He wasn’t usually one for crying, but his right eye started to twinge at the beauty before him.

  One by one, the rest of the group arrived behind Emiline, and all of their faces held the same expression of astonishment.

  “Look at the trees!” said Scratcher, pointing to a large specimen with blood-colored leaves.

  “And the pyramids!” gushed Algernon, taking off his glasses in the hope of seeing farther.

  Indigo crept to the right of the platform and crouched down.

  “And the mice…,” he said quietly.

  Taking great care so as not to alarm it, he approached a tiny mouse that was no larger than his thumb. Its ears were far bigger than its body, and its eyes blacker than black. The mouse casually started to clean itself, and Indigo held his palm out steadily in front of it. Without any concern, the mouse scampered calmly onto his hand.

  “It’s not at all scared of me,” he said, quite astonished. “I’ve never known a wild mouse like it.”

  “Could I have a look, Indigo?” asked Algernon.

  Algernon pulled the small notebook from his jacket and made Indigo hold the mouse in front of him. He slid a pencil from the notebook’s spine, opened a clean page, and started to draw.

  “I don’t know if there’s time for that,” said Drewshank, shaking his head. Indigo was already carrying an expression of exasperation.

  “Just a second,” said Algernon, finishing the rough sketch and jotting a few notes by its side. “Might never see it again—got to make as many studies as possible.”

  “Captain,” said Fenwick, walking to the left side of the platform. He’d spotted the long flight of crooked, rain-worn steps that ran down to the ground, and took a few paces down.

  “So there’s our path!” said Algernon, rubbing his hands with glee. “Who’s up for a bit of exploring?”

  The party started the long walk to the ground. Each step sagged in the middle like an old pillow, and without a handrail—a massive oversight, thought Algernon—it was a treacherous passage. Hand in hand they clambered down, before eventually reaching the damp forest floor. As soon as they’d entered the shadow of the trees, the wonders of Norgammon appeared before them.

  The forest was so calm and peaceful, and even Algernon’s normally excitable temperament was stayed by what greeted them. He looked into every mousehole and into every tree at the new sights and couldn’t remember ever feeling so humbled: it was as though no human had ever been there, such was the purity of nature before them. Occasional mouse noises filled the air, some squeaks loud, others raspy and low.

  Emiline walked deeper into the forest and pushed her hand against a grey tree trunk whose bark was so old and crusty it crumbled with her touch. With a flutter of leaves, a mouse flew down from the branches above her head and stopped dead in front of her, its small wings flapping so fast that they were just a blur. It hovered as it stared at her, sniffing her nose and her face, and then it suddenly shot off to grip a nearby tree trunk. Emiline almost lost sight of it against the wood—its body was much smaller than a Messenger Mouse’s, and its chalky brown and grey mottled fur looked so similar to the tree bark that it could have been camouflage.

  “Did you see that?” said Emiline, captivated by the mouse. She realized it was a new species, or at least a species that had been lost for centuries.

  “Keep still, everyone!” said Algernon. “Let me get a good look!”

  He made a slight shuffle forward, trying to get closer, just as another mouse leapt up out of the undergrowth. It jumped through the air so quickly that he only caught a glimpse of its short black fur. Its mouth snapped open, and with a bite that crunched as it closed, it caught the winged mouse in one swift action and pulled it to the ground.

  “You got Portly safe there?” said Indigo, creeping forward with a gleeful smile on his face.

  Emiline placed her hand to her shoulder and was relieved to find he was still with her. He squeaked at her touch.

  “A jumping meat-eater?” whispered Algernon. “What a find!”

  Drewshank looked down to his feet as a swarm of bright white mice came scurrying past, their ears upright and alert. They were so small he dared not move in case he stood on them. The mice rushed along with leaves and twigs in their mouths, as though they had very serious business to attend to.

  “Don’t move!” he said, watching the mice navigate the ground till they reached the safety of a spiky bush.

  “This place is crawling with mice!” said Fenwick, feeling a blob of liquid land on his bald head. He looked up and saw a peculiar mouse with eight legs, hanging from a branch by a long white thread. It had just thrown down a ball of spittle in a pathetic attempt to catch him in its sticky gloop. Fenwick lifted his hand and tugged the mouse’s thread, and the creature dropped into his hands. He stared at it in total wonderment.

  In the way it might take your eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dark, it was the same when viewing the cre
atures in the forest. Everywhere they looked they could see mice, and not one was in The Mousehunter’s Almanac.

  “This is all very lovely, but I think we should make camp,” said Drewshank, spoiling the moment somewhat. “Find ourselves somewhere safe to spend the night and plan our next move. I bet at least one of these lovely mice has sharp venomous teeth it would like to sink into me.”

  “Captain,” said Emiline, “I saw a ruined building from the platform. It wasn’t that far from here.”

  “That sounds ideal,” said Fenwick. “Which way?”

  Emiline looked into the forest and then turned back to her friends.

  “This way!” she said with a small amount of certainty, pointing in the right direction, and marched off.

  They walked for about an hour before Emiline saw the ruined building. It was more of a treehouse than a townhouse, as a huge tree had taken root in its foundations and now wore the walls like an ill-fitting corset: its trunk and branches broke free through the upper floor and burst out of the long-fallen ceiling, so there was little space left between its sandstone walls. Rubble was strewn over the floor, both inside and out, and the uneven, broken stone staircase led only to a thick branch covered with round yellow leaves.

  The ruin stood alone in the forest and looked more like an outpost than part of any town. It must once have been a tall structure, and there were many broken pillars lying entangled with roots and tree trunks around its edges.

  “I don’t know if I’d buy it,” said Drewshank, “but it’s certainly got potential.”

  Indigo trod carefully around its walls. He poked his head through a glassless window.

  “It looks ideal,” he said, kicking a stone to check its sturdiness. “Someone can keep watch in the branches, while others rest down below.”

  “Well remembered, Emiline,” said Algernon. He took out his sketchbook and quickly drew some of the carvings that remained on the building’s stonework.

  “Right,” said Fenwick. “Let’s get settled and make some grub—I’m starving.”

  “I might go wandering first,” said Algernon. “And I’ll bring some wood on the way back!”

  “I’ll join you,” said Scratcher.

  The pair left the rest to settle in, and Emiline climbed the tree to join Indigo high up in the branches.

  “Want some of this?” he said, passing a stubby piece of dried meat to Emiline. She took it and started to chew. It tasted sweet and smoky, but bits kept getting stuck in her teeth.

  “It seems too tranquil out here; something makes me think we’ve had too easy a ride so far,” Indigo said.

  “Sitting up here reminds me of keeping watch in the crow’s nest,” she said, gazing through the treetops at the pyramids in the distance. “I always wanted to get out of Old Town, but I never imagined I’d find myself traveling halfway around the world….”

  Indigo smiled and tore into a piece of meat with his teeth.

  “Sometimes it seems that fate has things lined up for you, doesn’t it,” he said.

  “I don’t believe in fate,” said Emiline. “You can change your future if you try hard enough. It’s just about trying, that’s all.”

  “Maybe that’s right,” he replied.

  Emiline listened to the warbling sound of a mouse calling out from the treetops.

  “Where are you from, Indigo?” she said earnestly, realizing that she’d never even thought to ask him.

  “I was born a long way from Midena,” he said. “I doubt you’ll have heard of it.”

  “Try me.”

  Indigo scratched his neck, smiling at Emiline’s insistence.

  “I’m from an island called Urla, on the outer edges of the Great Sea. But I left there when I was young. I don’t remember the place now….”

  “I’d lived in Old Town all my life before setting out with Captain Drewshank,” said Emiline.

  “It was always my intention to go to Old Town,” revealed Indigo, “but I got a bit caught up in Hamlyn….”

  “Didn’t we all!” said Emiline.

  “Yeah, they’ve certainly ruined that place,” he grumbled. “But you’ve done well for yourself—as much as I wouldn’t tell it to his face, Drewshank’s a great captain…; and Mousebeard, well, he’s another story entirely. How come you ended up with such a pirate?”

  “It was a bit of an adventure that went awry, really,” she explained. “Scratcher and I—we sort of stuck it out and ended up on the baddies’ side.”

  “You know, I get the feeling Scratcher doesn’t like me much,” said Indigo. “He tries desperately not to talk to me.”

  “He’s being a bit weird lately,” said Emiline, “but he’s all right.”

  “I think it’s because he likes you, and you’re often with me.”

  Emiline gave him an amazed stare.

  “Don’t be silly,” she replied hastily. “That’s Scratcher!”

  “And?”

  “Well, why would he act weird because he likes me?”

  Indigo let his mice out of their mousebox. They scampered along the branch and casually scraped their long claws across the bark to clean them.

  “Because he’s a boy,” he said knowingly. “He’s jealous….”

  Emiline frowned and hunched her shoulders.

  “Whatever you say,” she said.

  Algernon found a patch of bare earth and sat down to scribble a few more pictures in his notebook.

  “Sit down, Scratcher,” he said, finding the boy’s continuous pacing around a tree frustrating.

  “I can’t settle,” said Scratcher. “I don’t know what it is.”

  He was about to walk to Algernon, when he caught his foot in a hole. He tripped and fell straight to the floor, his hand hitting the ground first.

  “You all right?” asked Algernon. He got up and walked over to the boy before attempting to lift him to his feet.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  Algernon pulled Scratcher’s hand, but with the added force on the ground, the soil beneath them started to give way.

  “Algernon?” said Scratcher with surprise. The soil crumbled rapidly, and his lower half slid down into a hole. He could feel his feet dangling.

  “Where are you going? Hold on!” said Algernon. He pulled harder at the boy’s arm, but suddenly the floor collapsed beneath him too, and they fell straight down into a dark hole about two meters deep.

  Algernon landed with a bump.

  “Blow me down!” he said, rubbing his backside.

  Scratcher looked around him as the soil stopped crumbling. The sides of the hole were dotted with tiny tunnels, all intermingled with roots breaking through the soil like wizened fingers. He looked again, and suddenly the holes were filled with hundreds of eyes, all glowing brightly.

  “Would you look at that!” said Algernon. “Tunneling mice!”

  “They must have overcooked the number of tunnels,” said Scratcher, perking up a little.

  “My thoughts exactly,” added Algernon. “They’d weakened the ground to the point of breaking. And look at their miner’s-lamp eyes! What a lovely blue glow they give off!”

  The mice stayed in the tunnels and didn’t allow the travelers to get a decent look at them. All they could see were little noses twitching in silhouette.

  “I don’t think they’re very happy with us,” said Scratcher, chuckling.

  Algernon let out a laugh and started to clamber up the sides of the hole, clutching some roots to help himself up. Once he’d reached the top, he leaned over to help his friend.

  “Shall we head back now?” asked Scratcher, dragging his feet out of the hole.

  “I must say, my stomach’s grumbling like a Moaner Mouse,” said Algernon. “A bit of food would fix that right away.”

  “I’d die for a bit of pie,” said Scratcher, looking above him; the sun was setting, and a beautiful red glow was spreading over the sky.

  As dusk turned to evening, the wonders of Norgammon were still enchanting everyone
. Emiline had found numerous colorful mouse droppings, which had made everyone laugh—particularly the blue ones. Algernon had been determined to store some to take back to the ship, but as strong as his will was, he couldn’t argue with Scratcher’s point that they might contain all sorts of new diseases that could harm the ship’s mice.

  They’d built a small fire, eaten some delicious food, and found themselves the center of attention when a group of waist-high mice with frizzy grey fur and small, beady eyes wandered into the ruin to warm up. Drewshank had been the least impressed with them, as they didn’t smell very nice and had sat right next to him, but it was a moment that he’d certainly remember for a long time. And of course, it had been the perfect opportunity for storytelling.

  “… And then the Mudflat Mouse said to the river,” quipped Algernon, “you might be the strongest of them all, but you’re still wet!”

  Algernon couldn’t contain himself. No one laughed, however, and he soon fell quiet.

  “That was awful,” said Drewshank, throwing a small chunk of wood onto the fire.

  “I don’t see you telling any jokes!” Algernon replied.

  “I could tell you about the time I got stuck in a cave with a Buzzbat Mouse?” said Drewshank.

  “Go on, then!”

  “So it was between me and him—a battle to the death. You know how it is; Buzzbat Mice have those big stingy things on the end of their noses, and they charge at you, with every intention of finishing you off. But I was quick! I’d just had my hair cut, and I’d saved the trimmings in a small box in my pocket…”

  “You did what?” exclaimed Algernon.

  “Don’t you all keep your cut hair?” said Drewshank.

  A chorus of “No!” rang out from everyone around the fire.

  “Anyway… as you may or may not know, the big eyes of the Buzzbats are particularly sensitive, so I thought on my feet—I mean, I had no weapons or anything, other than a piece of hard bread, and I really wanted to eat that. So I ended up throwing the locks of my hair out at the creature.”