by Alex Milway
“Get to it, men!” shouted Mousebeard, resisting the urge to panic. “If you keep her afloat I promise to marry every one of you….”
“If we keep her afloat, sir,” replied one of the sailors, “it’ll be as much a miracle as one of the babies we’ll have together….”
Mousebeard ran back upstairs and reached the top deck just in time to hear the sound of cannons firing from the castle ruins. The Stonebreaker was turning to take full advantage of the Shark’s predicament.
“Here they come!” shouted Fenwick, pacing around the ruined outcrop. “This time they mean business….”
Algernon switched on his headlights, and he immediately became aware of his surroundings. The sea was shallow around the base of the wall, and although the murky water held more muck than air bubbles, he realized that Norgammon had once been much larger than the confines of the wall. He powered to the seafloor and could clearly see the remains of long-submerged stone structures. Seaweed-covered buildings and towers loomed dangerously out of the rocky bed, and Algernon could even make out the archways of a crumbling viaduct, now the home for many boggle-eyed Gill Mice who were clinging lifelessly to its pillars.
He pushed onward, swooping low through the powerful current. Treelike corals and giant clams stood out in the gloom, and the peculiar neon glow of sea life gave the underwater world a mystical life of its own as he navigated around ruined buildings. He slowed for a second and lowered his goggles over his eyes. He could see lights in the distance, moving haphazardly like Night-light Mice on a windy night. They were the very same submarines as he’d seen at Hamlyn, he was certain. He hovered for a minute and planned his course of action.
“Come on, old boy!” he said to himself. “It’s now or never….”
He reduced the light from his headlights to a mere glow and let his submarine close in on the enemy. They were heading back toward the Silver Shark, and he knew that whatever else happened, they couldn’t be allowed to strike again. Once he’d passed the submarines, Algernon twisted the controls and his craft turned a wide arc to fall in behind them. Their engines were stirring up the water, making it difficult for him to see farther than a few meters in front, but realizing he had no more time, he returned the headlights to full beam.
“This is your craft,” he said to himself, “your craft… and you know what it’s capable of!”
Taking no chances, he pushed the submarine to full throttle and felt its power increase tenfold while its back kicked out slightly with the force. The engine didn’t sound too pleased, but Algernon didn’t care. He rocketed straight over the top of one of them, and just as the hull of the Silver Shark came into view in the distance, he let his craft push down. There was a loud crunch as the metal hulls collided, and Algernon screwed up his face with concern as he heard clang after clang chime below him. He pushed harder at the controls, and his vessel forced the enemy submarine downward; they descended gradually, both ships tightly and evenly matched, but Algernon’s surprise attack had been enough. There was nothing the pilot of the craft below could do when his submarine plowed straight into a ruined stone wall.
Algernon sped sideways and looked across as a flash of light and cavalcade of bubbles indicated the submarine was no longer a problem. He veered away from the approaching Silver Shark and suddenly saw the other submarine in front. Its headlights were aimed directly at him, and he twisted sharply away. The two vessels narrowly missed collision, their sides scraping as they went their separate ways.
For the first time ever, Algernon dropped his hand to the floor and pulled up the safety belt that had found a permanent home beneath his chair. It buckled with a heavy click, securing him around the waist, and he returned his hands to his controls. He steered to the left, narrowly avoiding a lump of bedrock, and saw the lights of the enemy submarine in the rear viewfinder. It was gaining.
“Come on!” exclaimed Algernon. He tried to get more power out of his craft, but it couldn’t manage it. He saw a mass of small bubbles appear from the submarine behind and had to take a second look: he realized there was a thick black missile approaching, its shape writ large in the glow of the lights. He turned the submarine sharply, and an explosion lit up a pile of rubble a short distance to his right.
“Missiles!” he cried. “How in the world have they managed that?”
Algernon’s jaw dropped. He’d never seen fit to create underwater weapons, and he realized his shortsightedness. Even if they were copies of his submarine, the Guard had done a bit of work on them, he thought.
“Blast!” he cried, pulling hard on the controls, making the submarine rise fast. It sped over the ruins, dipping and swerving through the arches of the viaduct, narrowly avoiding the torpedoes that were nearing with each shot. He could feel his engine grumbling at being overworked, and spurts of steam blasted into the cockpit. Algernon looked behind and could only see a line of bubbles rising to the surface of the water. And then his craft took a hit on its right side. It wasn’t a missile: it was the submarine itself. He bent forward to get a better look, and the submarine returned for a second attack. It rammed him sideways, and he heard his right engine splutter and cut out. Algernon hurriedly flicked a switch on and off, but its power was gone, and he felt himself swerving uncontrollably from the thrust of the left engine.
He released the throttle to lessen the drift and felt his craft slow to a halt. The jolt had badly damaged his vehicle, and he cursed out loud, slamming the dashboard heavily. There was no way back without both engines, and he let the submarine sink to the floor. He unbuckled his belt and leapt up just as his craft was hit again. He stumbled to the left and heard the metal hull moan and groan. It was struggling under the pressure of the water and the dented side. He frantically threw his maps and any information that might be useful to the Old Town Guard into a waste chute on the floor. He sealed it shut, and with a press of a button it slipped away into the sea.
With little ceremony, he pulled the body section of his rotund underwater suit from the wall. It was quite a squeeze forcing his stomach through the narrow neck, but he was so used to it now that he knew what the power of breathing in could achieve. Once he was inside its shell, he tightened the buckles around his ankles and twisted a dial so that the hydraulic system responded to the movement of his legs. He walked forward to where the helmet was kept, stretched out, and lifted it down over his head before screwing it tightly into place. At the touch of another button, a small valve opened and air entered into the suit. Algernon clutched the levers that moved the robotic arms, walked to the submarine’s hatch in a peculiarly lopsided fashion, and made all the right adjustments for an emergency escape.
Lights flashed up and down the cockpit as he flicked switches, warning him not to do what he was doing, but what choice did he have? With all of Algernon’s actions, the submarine started to depressurize, and a thin trickle of water entered through the hatch. This grew into a steady stream, and finally, as the hatch flipped backward, an unstoppable flow of water flooded in. Algernon gripped the sides of the sub as it was buffeted back and forth by the rising water. He closed his eyes, waiting for it to ease, and then, when the water had taken over the sub completely, Algernon pulled himself free of the craft and floated into the deep sea.
With a firm tug of the other half of the stone slab, the path was clear for Emiline to slip down into the golden room. She dropped gracefully, and once her feet landed she stepped forward so that her friends could follow. The room was unbearably bright: six beams of light cut through the air, reflecting off every wall in a dizzying display of opulence. The beams originated from small holes built into the stonework that must have run all the way to the outside world, as the air was much fresher than that in the rest of the pyramid. Emiline was almost certain she could see the faint shapes of clouds being recreated on the floor where the lights hit.
The golden room was just a small box compared with what lay through a narrow doorway at its end, the entrance of which was an arch decorated with gold mice
, whose tails all flowed upward and joined at its apex. Emiline walked through and stopped dead. She was in a long hallway, its walls glowing slightly green from the beautiful jade that covered them, and to her left and right were row upon row of mysterious mouse creatures, standing in deathly silence with their heads bowed. They looked the same size as humans, and they wore long dusty robes that touched the floor. Attached to the front of each robe was an armored chest plate, with a fine etching of a mouse carved into the metal.
On the creatures’ shoulders were large mouseheads, built of a mixture of leather and metal. Some of them were terrifying, with horns jutting out from their noses, or thin spikes trailing down the back of their heads in between their ears. Their arms were also unusually elaborate, and instead of hands, they all ended in long metallic claws. They looked brutal, she thought, noticing their sharp serrated edges.
Emiline stepped closer and touched one of the creatures. When it didn’t move, she poked it again and glided her hand across its features.
“Look at those!” exclaimed Scratcher, entering the room with a mixture of shock and excitement. “What are they?”
“They look pretty fearsome, don’t they?” said Emiline.
“They look like warriors!” said Scratcher, walking closer and touching them for himself.
“Incredible!” said Drewshank, appearing behind them. He walked through the hall and stood eye to eye with one of the creatures. “There’s a whole army of mouse warriors here… and Battersby has no idea.”
Scratcher lifted one of the robes to find they were resting on clay mannequins that were as lifelike as any human.
“And look!” said Emiline, moving along. “There’s yet another room at the end!”
She ran forward along the stone floor and came to a second archway, which was sealed with a dark wooden door; iron strips ran along it for strength and effect, and the tip of each bolt that joined them was in the shape of a mousehead. There was a handle on the door’s left side—it was in the shape of a curled mousetail, and Emiline took hold of it. With a firm push, she twisted it downward and felt the door open.
The Dum-Dum Mouse
THIS RARE, BLACK-FURRED MOUSE CAN ONLY BE FOUND ON DIM-DIM ISLAND, a place where the sun barely lifts above the horizon because of its close proximity to the Southern Pole.
Living in a world of perpetual twilight can do strange things to a creature, and the Dum-Dum is quite extraordinary for its hollow, barrel-shaped chest. When it feels threatened, or when turning a corner on a narrow mouse track, the Dum-Dum rears up on its hind legs and thumps its enormous chest like a drum to let other creatures know it is there. This pounding noise not only gives the mouse its name, but also gives would-be predators the impression that it’s much larger than it actually is.
MOUSING NOTES
Its rarity makes it an exclusive mouse found only in the richest collectors’ mouseries.
The Tomb of the Mouse King
WHEN INDIGO RETURNED TO FIND DREWSHANK GONE, he feared the worst. He knelt down on the forest floor and touched the ground gently, looking for any signs of a fight. There were none, but eventually he spotted a line of delicate branches that had been snapped in two, and he realized Drewshank had left in a hurry. He followed the tracks all the way to the ruins, running as fast as he could. He found the marks of a gunfight: the dead Trapper Mouse and a pool of blood that had left a darkened shadow on the mossy floor. Indigo leaned back against the tree for a moment to think things through.
Norgammon was a world very similar to his own: the pyramids, forests, and marvelous ancient ruins were all so similar to his homeland that he felt quite at ease in its company. He was so used to working alone that he could quite happily have stayed there and forgotten about the plight of Mousebeard, Drewshank, and his crew. But then he remembered Emiline, and the friend that she had become—he couldn’t let her down.
Indigo untied his ponytail and let his hair fall to his shoulders. He unbuttoned his grey jacket to reveal his cotton undershirt and, once he felt ready, righted himself. He’d never planned to fall in with Mousebeard—in fact, it had been the exact opposite of his plans. Before he ever reached Hamlyn, he’d sworn to do his duty to his country and find out the truth, and here he was, finally fighting against the true enemy. All his preconceived notions and prejudices had fallen by the wayside, and he decided to return to the Silver Shark to continue the fight.
He ran through the forest, trying to remember the path they’d originally taken into Norgammon, but it was so difficult to be sure. He found a tree to climb and scrambled up as fast as possible to take a look out at the wall. Once he had a clear view, he soon realized where he was heading, as he could see the platform and the entrance to the island. Just as he was about to jump back down, something caught his attention on the flight of stairs that led up from the ground. There was a long line of people marching upward at quite a speed. It suddenly dawned on him that it was the Old Town Guard, and he realized he had no time to lose—they were launching an attack.
He dropped down and opened his mousebox so that his Sharpclaws could run onto his shoulders; they did so happily and gripped tightly with their back paws, letting their tails fall back to give them balance.
“Ready to fight?” he asked, seeing their shining front claws hang over his shoulders.
Emiline pushed at the door and it swung heavily and squealed loudly, probably due to the fact that it hadn’t been opened in thousands of years. The scene that greeted her topped anything that had gone before.
The room was squarer and larger than the previous hallway. Carved murals adorned the walls, each one painted in colors that sang out like a rich tapestry. Pieces of gold were inlaid at points of interest, and they shimmered with the light that burst down through a single hole in the roof. Like a thick band of ribbon, the light poured down into the center of the largest coffin in all the pyramid. It stood at almost a meter high, and its convex lid glistened with the richest of jewels. Set proudly in the middle of the beam of light was a gold mouse, standing up on its hind legs, and if it weren’t for the fact that Emiline had seen the other coffins and the other mouse statues on them, she’d have thought it was a real Golden Mouse.
Emiline walked around the room, studying the walls. One character seemed prominent in all of them: he was wearing an outfit much like those they’d found in the previous room, and upon his shoulders were small white mice, their eyes a bright blue. As she progressed from picture to picture, she realized she was reading a history of Norgammon: from a depiction of the pyramids being built, to a strange scene of high waves crashing against towns and buildings, and an even more vivid image of giants constructing the wall around the land.
When Drewshank walked in, he found Emiline in a near trance, so taken was she by the imagery.
“Giants built the wall,” she said, enlightened. “It all makes sense! That’s how it’s so big.”
“Giants?” said Drewshank.
He looked at the pictures and followed the history of Norgammon just as Emiline had done.
“And this tomb?” he said.
“I think this is his tomb…,” she said, pointing to the main figure. “He was the one who built the pyramids. He must have been the king.”
“Look at all these jewels!” said Drewshank, touching the surface of the coffin, feeling the cold hardness of the thousands of gemstones. “I could buy a new ship with all these….”
“And there are his mouse warriors!” she said, finding a carving at the end of the room depicting hundreds of the warriors standing at the base of a pyramid with the king at the top. They all had the same strange white mice on their shoulders.
“And a pure gold mouse!” said Drewshank, stroking it gently, his hand being lit fully in the light. “I bet that’s worth more than any of Lady Pettifogger’s monsters! With all these things we’d be rich!”
“You’re starting to sound like Lord Battersby,” said Emiline reproachfully.
Drewshank’s head fell as h
e realized she was right.
“But what’s this?” she added.
She was staring at an image of the Mouse King, his arm outstretched and holding a white mouse. Its body was glowing bright blue, the light bursting out of him like the rays of the sun. Numerous humans were scattered below him; all of them looked to be in pain: some were screaming, some had their heads in their hands, and others were lying dead.
“I don’t like the look of that,” said Drewshank. He passed his hand once more over the gold mouse and felt it slide forward.
“It moved?” he said, touching it again and finding that it shunted forward before toppling over fully.
Suddenly a series of knocks and clunks sounded from the stone coffin, and Emiline turned to look at Drewshank.
“What have you done?” she said.
“I did nothing!” he pleaded, clutching his head.
Emiline saw a series of holes open at the base of the coffin.
“Captain, what have you done?!”
Drewshank tried to replace the gold mouse, but it wouldn’t stay upright. He felt that strange feeling that often washed over him before something bad happens.
“Okay,” he said, “I’m going to keep calm.” He shuffled back to the door and was soon joined by Emiline.
They watched the holes as though their lives depended on it. Just as they started to feel better about themselves, an old, hairless mouse crawled from one of them. Its eyes were dim, and its movements slow. A second, a third, and a fourth followed it, and eventually mice were streaming from all around. The first ten or so all looked the same, but as their number increased, their ages seemed to get younger, and with it the quality of their coats. Some of them even looked as though they had white fur.