The Curse of Mousebeard

by Alex Milway

  Drewshank quietly wandered around, trying to find something that might sever his bonds, but he found nothing sharp enough.

  “You’re all such idiots,” he said, trying to prolong their stay of execution.

  “I’m sure it might look like that from your position,” said Smedley, “but all that we do is for the good of Old Town, and ultimately Midena. Lord Battersby knows best.”

  “Lord Battersby knows nothing,” said Emiline.

  “That’s enough, Blonde,” said Miserley. “Where are we dumping them?”

  “Through that room,” said Smedley.

  He led Drewshank into the anteroom and pointed to the smaller tomb that rested at the end of the passageway.

  “In you go,” he said, and pulled his sword out in order to look more forceful.

  Drewshank walked in and saw the emptiness: it wasn’t even a beautiful tomb, merely functional and boring.

  Miserley pushed Scratcher and made him trip slightly out of surprise. He plodded reluctantly past Smedley, and Emiline walked close behind. Once they were all in the little tomb, Smedley walked to the doorway.

  “Now I know Lord Battersby wouldn’t approve, but it seems only fair that I cut the ropes around your wrists. If you come here one by one, and then return to the back of the tomb, I shall be happy to do this for you.”

  “Are you crazy?” snapped Miserley.

  “Absolutely not,” he replied. “I’m just not a thug. You can do it if you like, and if there’s any sign of trouble I shall show them the power of my sword.”

  Miserley looked unconvinced.

  “Power of your sword? Are you mad? I’ll cut just one of their ropes,” she said, “and then they can untie themselves once we’ve shut them in.”

  “That sounds fair,” he replied. “Boy! Come here.”

  Scratcher walked forward and turned around to show them his back. Miserley slid her blade between his hands and sliced upward. She then kicked his back and he flew back into the tomb.

  “That’s that then,” she said, and she urged Smedley to finish the job. He gave an awkward smile to Drewshank and kicked away the wooden blocks that were holding back the stone door.

  For a moment, the door teetered on its edge and then slammed into place with a heavy, booming thud. The prisoners were left in total darkness. The air was heavy and dry, and their situation looked completely hopeless.

  Lord Battersby readied a battalion of his soldiers in the plaza and watched them prepare for battle. They stood with rifles at their shoulders, awaiting further orders.

  “Locarno,” he said, “I’ve had enough of these insolent fugitives trying to get the better of us. I’ve been sent word that the Silver Shark is resting by the castle ruins outside the gate. It is ours for the taking, as is Mousebeard, and the Stonebreaker is ready for action.”

  “It sounds like we could attack them from sea and land, sir!” said Locarno.

  “Exactly! If we force a march to the gateway, then storm through with full force as the Stonebreaker attacks…”

  “They wouldn’t know what hit them, sir!”

  “What a wonderful thing that would be. And take those Trapper Mice—I like them and the damage they do.”

  Locarno stamped to attention in agreement.

  As Smedley and Miserley walked out of the Great Pyramid, Battersby smiled in realization that the dirty deed had been done.

  “Today just gets better and better!” he declared. “Get together thirty men, and let’s march to war! I fancy showing Mousebeard the real might of the Old Town Guard!”

  The Popo Mouse

  THIS UNASSUMING CREATURE LIVES IN THE FORESTS OF MILDUNG, AN AREA renowned for its wild chili peppers. After thousands of years living in this habitat, the Popo Mouse has grown such a tolerance for these spicy plants that it now eats nothing else—and with serious consequences. Its droppings are so volatile that they explode when squashed or trodden on.

  If dried and stored safely, Popo droppings can be utilized in all manner of ways. The power of these explosive pellets is not life-threatening, but they will create a loud bang underfoot—certainly enough to provide an early warning defense system around your home.

  MOUSING NOTES:

  This mouse is rarely kept in collections, although the Old Town Guard is known to keep a whole building full of them in order to collect their droppings for military use.

  Scratcher’s Surprise

  THE DARKNESS SOON FILLED THEM WITH HORROR. Scratcher felt the ground, his fingers playing through the grooves in the stone slabs. The cold floor did nothing to raise his spirits.

  “Emiline?” he said. “Captain Drewshank?”

  “We’re truly trapped this time,” said Drewshank. “You see where your adventures have led us?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Emiline.

  “I must admit that I expected better of you two,” said Drewshank. “But staying angry is not going to achieve anything in here.”

  “Pass me your hands,” said Scratcher, and he attempted to find them in the pitch black.

  “There has to be a way out,” said Emiline hopefully. “They always have ways out of these places.”

  “Do they now?” replied Drewshank. “And how many have you been stuck in before?”

  “That’s not helping,” said Scratcher, as he untied his captain’s arms.

  “And there can’t be much air in here either,” added Drewshank, finally able to squeeze his wound tight to ease the pain.

  “If only Indigo was here,” said Emiline, feeling the rope loosen around her wrists. “He’d know what to do—or have some trick up his sleeve.”

  “Oh, will you just shut up about Indigo!” said Scratcher angrily. “Where is he now?”

  “Look, if I have to stop moaning, you can ease up on that too!” said Drewshank. “I’m getting bored of your moods!”

  Emiline realized that Scratcher really was jealous. Indigo had been right.

  “Scratcher,” she said warmly, trying to break the silent tension. “I’m sorry about things… you know. I’ve been trying to study hard and learn about mousehunting and…”

  “It’s all right,” he replied quietly. “I understand. And Indigo is pretty cool….”

  “And in his favor,” added Drewshank somewhat thoughtlessly, “at least Indigo might have had some of that explosive on him….”

  Suddenly, Scratcher thought of Indigo’s boot. He hadn’t said anything about it to Emiline or Drewshank before, but when Emiline had mentioned how wonderful Indigo was, back on the Mural Isles, he’d seen fit to try and copy him—and better him, even. And so, while with Algernon on the Silver Shark, he’d tried to recreate Indigo’s shoes as a means of impressing everyone. With a kick of his heel, the base of his right boot flicked open.

  “What was that noise?” asked Emiline. “What are you doing?”

  Scratcher stretched forward, pulled out a match from his boot, and struck it on the floor. The room flickered into life, and he saw the look of amazement on his friends’ faces.

  “Where did you get that from?” said Emiline.

  Scratcher lifted his foot and she noticed what he’d done to his heel.

  “You’ve copied Indigo!” said Drewshank.

  “I thought it was a good idea, that’s all,” he replied.

  “What else do you have in there?” she asked.

  The light from the match died, and the room fell into darkness again.

  “Sorry, hang on…,” he said.

  Scratcher kicked his left foot, and the heel flicked around. This time he pulled out a miniature tin that resembled a matchbox, drew out a tiny piece of wick from a hole at its end, and lit it. This time the room was fully revealed in a warm orange glow.

  “I can’t believe you’ve done that,” said Emiline.

  “I’ve had a go at some of that explosive you said he’d had too….”

  “Scratcher, my boy, I forgive you for being an idiot and getting us trapped in here!” said Drewshank. “How much d
o you have?”

  “Not much,” he said, “but then I don’t know how powerful it is….”

  “You’ve been running around with that stuff in your shoe, and you don’t know how powerful it is!” exclaimed Emiline.

  If the tomb had been glowing any color other than orange, Scratcher was sure they’d have seen that his face was bright pink.

  “I haven’t tried it yet,” he said quietly.

  “What are we waiting for?” said Drewshank. “Let’s give it a go!”

  Scratcher pulled out the first of two doctored lumps of Light Mousing Explosive from his exposed heel.

  “By the doorway?” he said questioningly.

  Emiline walked up to him and gave him the broadest smile she could manage.

  “You really are something,” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Have you got a fuse?”

  Scratcher fell silent.

  “Not to worry,” said Drewshank; “you can’t be expected to think of everything. When I was back in prison, my cellmate always used to talk to me about his escape plan. It included using some explosive, which he planned to get smuggled in, and also utilizing his shoelace as a fuse. Ever since then, I’ve never worn slip-ons, just in case I needed one. Now would seem the perfect chance to try out his grand scheme!”

  Drewshank pulled the lace from his boot and passed it to Scratcher, who threaded it into the clump of explosive and squeezed it into the almost nonexistent line between the stone door and the floor.

  “Ready?” he said.

  Emiline and Drewshank hid behind a square pillar, and Scratcher lit the shoelace. Once it was burning steadily, he joined the others. The fuse burned slowly—very, very slowly—and twice Emiline poked her head around to see it gradually shortening.

  “It would have taken weeks to escape from prison with that!” said Scratcher.

  “You’re telling me!” replied Drewshank, and finally a very quiet phut sounded from where the explosive had been placed.

  Scratcher looked out and saw a small black circle of charcoal dust on the door.

  “Hmph,” he said, and marched around to where the explosion was supposed to have given them freedom.

  “Ah…,” said Drewshank, as he and Emiline walked closer.

  “It was a nice try,” added Emiline.

  Scratcher felt terrible. His shoulders slumped and he let out a long sigh of dejection.

  “Hey, it could have been worse,” said Drewshank; “it might not have gone off at all.”

  “Can I have your other lace?” said Scratcher, frustrated. He was determined the second lump of Mousing Explosive was going to work.

  Drewshank frowned and thought of life without shoelaces.

  “Don’t you both have some?” he said.

  The two mousekeepers revealed the buckles on their boots. Reluctantly Drewshank pulled his second lace free.

  “This had better be worth it!” he said.

  Scratcher took the lace, returned to the blocked doorway, and lit the fuse. They all strolled back to the pillar, knowing it would take ages to go off, and waited. They waited and waited. And then, suddenly, the most almighty explosion you could ever hope to witness blew a hole right through the thick door. Loosened rocks flew toward the pillar, ricocheting off and smashing into walls; ceiling plaster dropped to the ground in great clumps; and a cloud of dust surged backward into the room, covering everyone in grey.

  Drewshank coughed and wiped dirt from his eyes.

  “I’d say that bit worked then,” he said.

  The three friends looked at each other and burst into fits of laughter.

  “Nice dandruff you have there, Scratcher,” said Emiline.

  “You’re looking a bit pale today,” he replied, laughing out loud. “Maybe you need to sit down?”

  “Ah…,” said Drewshank sadly, his spirits as demolished as the door, “but we’ve managed to collapse the passage.”

  The door was indeed shattered and in pieces, but there was now a pile of boulders blocking their path. Drewshank waited for the dust to clear and then stood up, shaking dust from his hair. He was about to try moving some of the boulders when a thick crack running along one of the stone slabs on the floor caught his attention. He wedged his fingers into it and started to lift.

  “Quick, quick,” he called, the weight becoming too much for him far too quickly.

  Scratcher and Emiline took hold of the slab and lifted it higher, and eventually, with a great burst of energy, they sent it hurtling over onto its back. As soon as the slab was removed, a thick beam of golden light came shooting upward into the room. Everyone fell silent.

  “I think we’ve hit the jackpot!” whispered Drewshank. His voice was filled with disbelief.

  “What’s down there?” said Emiline, almost speechless.

  Scratcher knelt down and peered into the hole. He saw another tomb, but it was like nothing else in the pyramid. Norgammon had already overwhelmed him with its many colorful treasures, but the tomb was a treasure in itself: from the small amount he could see, he knew there and then it was special, for its walls were made solely of pure gold.

  “Sir!” shouted Fenwick, his eye pressed to a telescope. “There’s a ship on the horizon. It’s the Stonebreaker all right!”

  The Stonebreaker was a mean-looking vessel. Its darkened iron-clad bow was reinforced for extra strength, and residing below the bowsprit was a winged hammer figurehead. The ship stood higher in the water than the Silver Shark, and its three rigged masts cast a fuller, more imposing shadow against the light sky. Its cannon hatches were open, and its soldiers were at battle stations, ready for attack.

  Algernon climbed on top of his submarine to look over the side of the Silver Shark. The ship was heading straight toward them, following the line of the massive wall and gaining speed all the while.

  “It’s at full sail,” he said excitedly. “They’re coming for us!”

  “All hands to the cannons!” shouted Mousebeard. “Fenwick, get on land and ready the men.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  “Algernon, what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to fight with you, of course!”

  The pirate laughed and stretched up to shake his friend’s hand.

  “It’s been too long since I stood at your side, Jonathan. Time to do my bit on the front line, as it were!”

  “Indeed,” bellowed Mousebeard.

  “They’re turning!” shouted Fenwick.

  The Stonebreaker altered course to face the open sea, and although its starboard side was now fully exposed, it maintained its distance from them.

  “What are they playing at?” said Algernon. “They’re staying resolutely out of firing range…. Where’s the fun in that?!”

  Suddenly, a blast rocked the Silver Shark, knocking it backward before it could right itself. Mousebeard rushed to the side, clambered up a set of steps, and leaned over. He could see pieces of wood rising to the water’s surface. A volley of shouting surged through the ship from the gun deck.

  “We’re hit!” shouted a sailor.

  “Hit?” screamed Mousebeard. “We’re hit? By what?”

  “There’s water breaking into the hold, sir!” called the sailor. “We’re patching it up, but it’s a big wound!”

  “Do your best, man!” ordered Mousebeard, and the sailor disappeared below deck once more.

  Algernon spied the surface of the sea. His eyes trailed every peak of every wave, staring with such scrutiny as would have made anyone else’s eyes hurt—but then he saw what he was looking for. A line of bubbles breached the sea: they were only faint, but his worst fears were realized. He jumped down onto the deck and started unbinding the ropes and chains that held his submarine in place.

  “Change of plan! We’ve got to get me into the water,” he yelled. “Jonathan, they’ve got submarines out there….”

  “Submarines!” barked Mousebeard. “Since when?”

  “They must have found my designs in my workshop,” he g
rumbled. “Come on, help me—we don’t have much time.”

  “But did they shoot at us from underwater?”

  “Either that or they planted some sort of explosive on our hull….”

  Mousebeard mustered two other sailors to help, and they soon released the submarine from its shackles. With sheer brute force they slid it along the deck until it was touching the side of the ship.

  “We don’t have time to lower it properly,” said Algernon. “I’m going to get in; you open the gangplanks and push me off. It’s a bit of a risk, but what isn’t these days!”

  Before Mousebeard could voice his reservations, another explosion tore into the hull of the Silver Shark. The deck tilted forward ominously and the sound of gushing water became all too clear.

  “The low-down dirty…,” growled Mousebeard, steadying himself.

  “Come on!” snapped Algernon. He clambered up the ladder on the side of his submarine, lifted the hatch, and threw himself in.

  “Just try and keep her afloat,” he said, his head appearing through the submarine’s hatch. “I’ll go and see what I can do. You ready to push?”

  Algernon sealed the door above his head, and Mousebeard saw his face appear behind the window at the front. The pirate banged the submarine’s hull with his hand, unlocked the armored panels at the side of his ship, and ran to the back of the craft.

  “Right then, men. On three…. One, two…”

  With a hefty shove, the small submarine skidded along the deck and reached the edge. With one shove, it tumbled front-first into the water and, within a few seconds, was bobbing on the surface. The engine popped as Algernon ignited the controls, and with a splutter of a growl it disappeared into the sea.

  Mousebeard ran down into the gun deck to find it almost deserted, but he knew exactly why. He charged along to the center of the deck and jumped down into the hold, where he was greeted with foaming, knee-deep water. All the gunners were frantically trying to board up the two gaping holes that threatened to sink the ship. Water was gushing in, blasting against the sailors and pounding into their efforts to hammer new planks and seal the breach. Panels of metal from the usually impenetrable hull twisted inward, and charred planks of wood were splintered and floating on the rising water level.