The Song of the Winns

by Frances Watts

  “That’s right,” said Beezer.

  “Excellent. I’m hoping you might agree to become one of our codebreakers. We haven’t put much effort into codebreaking to date, but we’re putting together a team under the leadership of Celestine.”

  “Celestine is here? I’d be honored to work with her!” Beezer exclaimed. “She’s a professor of logic at the University of Grouch, in Souris,” she explained to Alice and Alex. “Her work is amazing.”

  “Good,” said Tobias with a satisfied nod. “In that case, please report to room 3A tomorrow at nine a.m. Ebenezer . . .” The marmalade mouse pulled a third file from the stack. “Ah yes. Serena, who’s been in charge of the kitchen for the last few weeks, has to return to her restaurant in Shudders. I remember that you trained as a chef. Would you take over from Serena?”

  “Of course,” Ebenezer replied.

  “Excellent,” said Tobias. “That’s settled then.” He raised his voice to call, “Flanagan?”

  The dark gray mouse opened the door so promptly that Alice suspected he must have been standing with his ear pressed to it.

  “Ah, Flanagan. Can you tell Solomon Honker to report to room 2B in ten minutes? He’ll know what it’s about.” Tobias turned back to the four mice in front of him. “Alice and Alex, Solomon is in charge of your mission. And to begin with, he is going to help you to construct your new identities. You’re to meet him in room 2B in ten minutes sharp. Anymore questions?”

  Alice had a hundred, and she suspected the others did too, but Tobias looked so harried that she held her tongue.

  When no one spoke up, Tobias inclined his head. “Good luck with your assignments then.” His eyes dropped to the list in front of him. “Right, who’s next . . . Skinny Jim. Flanagan, once you’ve spoken to Solomon go find Skinny Jim for me, would you?”

  The dark gray mouse hurried from the room and Tobias began to flick through a new batch of files, making notes on a pad beside him.

  Ebenezer, Beezer, Alex, and Alice quickly and quietly left the room.

  “Phew,” said Ebenezer. “I wouldn’t like Tobias’s job.” Then he looked at Alex and Alice worriedly. “And I wouldn’t want your job either: spying on the Sourians in their own headquarters in Gerander! Are you quite sure you want to do this? No one would blame you if you changed your minds.”

  “We’re sure,” Alice said, more bravely than she felt. “You heard what Tobias said: it might be the only way to find out what the Sourians are up to.”

  “I suppose I should get started on my own job,” Ebenzer said. “I’d better go introduce myself to Serena and find out when she’s leaving. I just hope I can rise to the challenge. It’s a long time since I’ve cooked professionally.”

  “You’ll be great, Uncle Ebenezer,” said Alex loyally. “You’re the best cook ever.”

  They accompanied Ebenezer to the cafeteria, where he disappeared into the kitchen.

  “So Alistair and Tibby Rose did go on a mission,” Alice said. “I wonder where?”

  “I bet Oswald took them somewhere,” said her brother. Alice knew he was envious of the fact that his less-adventurous brother had flown twice, while he had never left the ground.

  “Aunt Beezer,” said Alice, remembering a question that had occurred to her during their meeting with the marmalade mouse, “what happened to Tobias’s wife?”

  Beezer let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, I’d forgotten about that; I think Ebenezer had too. Marina was a doctor, and a few years ago—not long after your parents, in fact—she crossed the border into Gerander on a mission to assess the medical and health-care situation. There’d been reports that Gerandans were barred from hospitals. She was discovered by the Queen’s Guards and sent to Atticus Island. She died there.”

  Alice smothered her gasp as Alex asked, “What did she die of ?”

  Beezer shrugged. “Cold, hunger, disease . . . take your pick. It could have been any one of them.”

  “But Mom and Dad . . . ,” Alice began.

  “Have survived this long,” Beezer said firmly. “Now you two had better hurry along. You don’t want to be late for your first lesson.”

  “Lesson?” said Alex, following Alice out through the double doors at the back of the cafeteria. “What did she mean by ‘lesson’?”

  “I don’t know,” Alice shrugged. “I suppose we have to learn how to be undercover agents.”

  “We’ll probably have lessons in self-defense,” Alex said, striking a karate pose.

  “Maybe,” said Alice vaguely. She looked around at the other buildings grouped around the large green oval. “I think that’s the library over there,” she said, pointing to a large, low building to her left, “and block 1, next to the hall, is the dorm, so those buildings to the right must be blocks 2 and 3.” She set off across the oval toward the two-story brick buildings on the far side.

  “And I bet we’ll learn the art of disguise,” said Alex. “I could have a limp.” He began to drag his right leg behind him.

  “That would rule out any quick getaways,” said Alice over her shoulder. “Hurry up.”

  “True,” said Alex. “Perhaps we could wear mustaches.”

  Alice looked at him incredulously. “I’m a girl, Alex. Why would I wear a mustache?”

  “It was just an idea,” Alex said defensively.

  “A stupid one,” Alice muttered. “Come on, we’re in here,” and she climbed the three steps into block 2.

  They walked up the corridor to the door marked 2B, and Alice knocked tentatively.

  “Come in,” a voice called.

  Alice pushed open the door to find an ordinary classroom, much like the ones at their school back in Smiggins. There was a whiteboard at the front of the room, and four rows of desks facing it. There was a bank of windows down one side of the room, and the other side had windows looking onto the corridor. The back wall was covered in hand-drawn posters of cheeses of the different regions of Shetlock. (Alex, Alice noticed, was looking at these appreciatively.) A soft thwack drew her attention to the white mouse in a blue bow tie sitting at the teacher’s desk next to the whiteboard, lightly tapping the desk with a long wooden ruler. She hadn’t seen him at first, as he was almost dwarfed by two piles of folders stacked as high as his ears.

  “Good afternoon,” he said briskly. “You must be Raz and Rita. I’m Solomon Honker—but you may call me ‘sir.’” He stood up and Alice saw that although his top half was white, from the waist down he was a rusty orange. “Thank you for being so punctual. We have a lot of ground to cover and only a short time in which to cover it, so we’ll need to begin immediately. I’m still finalizing the details of your transport into Gerander, but you will need to be ready to depart as soon as that’s arranged.”

  “Sorry,” Alex said, “I think there’s been some mistake. My name’s Al—”

  Bang!

  Alice jumped, startled, as Solomon Honker rapped his desk sharply with the ruler. “In this room, you are Raz”—he pointed the ruler at Alex—“and you’re Rita,” he told Alice. “Understand?”

  The two young mice nodded mutely.

  “Do you understand?” Solomon Honker repeated more loudly.

  “Yes, sir,” Alice squeaked.

  “Good.”

  Solomon Honker waved his ruler at two desks in the center of the front row, and Alice and Alex hurried over.

  “Raz?” Alex muttered in Alice’s ear as they took their seats. “Raz? What kind of ridiculous name is Raz?”

  “It’s your name, young man,” said Solomon Honker, who obviously had exceptional hearing. “And you’d better get used to it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alex said quickly.

  “As I was saying, there’s a lot to get through.” Solomon Honker tapped one towering pile of folders then the other. “You’ll need to understand the political situation in Souris, Gerander, and Shetlock in order to grasp the context in which you’ll be operating. You’ll have to learn all about your new identities and cover stories, as well as the cu
lture and geography of Souris and, in particular, Tornley, the town you come from.”

  “We come from Smiggins,” Alex corrected him.

  Bang! went the ruler.

  “Young man,” said Solomon Honker sternly, “I don’t know how things are done in Shetlock, but in a Sourian classroom the pupils do—not—speak—without—first—raising—their—hand.” Solomon Honker smacked the desk with his ruler in time with the words.

  “But this is a Shetlock classroom,” Alex objected.

  “What is your name?” Solomon Honker demanded.

  “Al—”

  Bang!

  “Raz,” Alex said.

  “And where are you from?”

  “T-Tornley,” Alex stammered. “In Souris.”

  “That’s right,” said Solomon Honker. “You are from Souris. And this is a Sourian classroom. The day after tomorrow, you must travel behind enemy lines as Sourian children. We have no time to waste with pointless questions and quibbling.” He glared at Alex. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Alex gulped. “Yes, sir.”

  “Then let’s begin.” Moving to the left of the whiteboard, Solomon Honker tapped his ruler three times to indicate the three maps tacked to the wall. The first was a map of Shetlock, which was a common enough sight in a Shetlock classroom. To the right of this was a map of Souris, with a purple and silver flag in the top right-hand corner. They had studied Sourian history and geography at school, and Alice recognized the diamond shape of Shetlock’s neighbor across the Sourian Sea. She knew that the capital, Grouch, was roughly in the middle, just south of the Eugenian mountain range. She turned her gaze to the third map. The long, thin strip of land was a mere fraction of the size of Souris. It had a coastline running down the western side along the Cannolian Ocean, and a small part of the eastern side abutted the westernmost curve of the Sourian Sea. Along the eastern side it bordered Souris—Alice could just make out the Cranken Alps in the northeast—and its southern tip bordered Shetlock. Although she had never seen it before, Alice knew this must be a map of Gerander. It was odd to think that she had lived all her life in a country bordering Gerander—it was closer even than Souris—yet knew nothing about the place. Staring at the sliver of land, Alice wondered why exactly the Sourians were determined to occupy such a small country.

  Solomon Honker tapped the ruler on a large red dot in the west of Gerander. It was marked “Cornoliana.” This, she supposed, was the Gerandan capital.

  “Cornoliana,” Solomon Honker said. “Does that name sound familiar? Think of your history classes.”

  Alex raised his hand. “Is it something to do with Queen Cornolia?”

  “Who was . . . ?” prompted the rusty-orange and white mouse.

  Alice raised her hand and said, “She was the Queen of Shetlock, ages and ages ago.”

  “Just the Queen of Shetlock?” queried the teacher.

  “Oh!” Alex’s hand shot up.

  “Raz?”

  “She was the Queen of Souris too. She was Queen Eugenia’s great-grandmother. No, wait, her great-great-great . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t remember.”

  But Solomon Honker was nodding. “Almost,” he said. “Queen Cornolia, of the House of Cornolius, was the great-great-grandmother of Queen Eugenia. So she was the Queen of Souris and of Shetlock. But what do you make of this?” He tapped the red dot of Cornoliana again.

  Why would Gerander have named its capital after the Queen of Shetlock and Souris? Alice wondered. Unless . . .

  She thrust her hand into the air. “She was the Queen of Gerander too!”

  “Correct.” Solomon Honker tapped the ruler on the desk. “Queen Cornolia ruled all three kingdoms, though at the time they were all one kingdom called Greater Gerander. When Queen Cornolia died, Greater Gerander was divided into three lands, one for each of her children; they were triplets you see.”

  “Like us!” said Alex.

  “Ah yes,” said Solomon. “So you are. The young ginger fellow with the scarf, he’s your brother, isn’t he?”

  “That’s Alistair,” Alex confirmed. Alice wondered how Solomon knew their brother.

  Bang!

  The ruler crashed down on Alex’s desk, and he jolted backward in his chair. Alice made a mental note not to get too comfortable around Solomon Honker, even when he appeared to be approachable.

  “What’s your name?” the teacher demanded.

  “R-raz,” said Alex.

  “And are you a triplet, Raz?”

  “I-I don’t know,” said Alex.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” said Solomon Honker. “Until then, don’t assume.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alex muttered. He looked almost frightened.

  “Sir,” said Alice, raising her hand to draw the teacher’s attention away from her brother, “what will we be doing in Cornoliana?”

  “If you listened to Tobias’s speech last night, you’ll remember him talking about unusual troop movements in Souris.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly and his two pupils nodded.

  “FIG is now focusing all its energies in two directions,” he continued. “One, finding out what exactly the Sourians are up to, and two, preparing to organize Gerandans to rise against them.”

  “And you think that while we’re in the palace we might hear something about the Sourians’ plans,” said Alice.

  “Correct.” The rusty-orange and white mouse nodded once, curtly. “And to be able to interpret the significance of what you hear, you need to understand something of Sourian politics. Let’s start with General Ashwover, who is the top-ranking Sourian officer in Gerander. He effectively rules Gerander on Queen Eugenia’s behalf, from the Sourian headquarters in the palace in Cornoliana. Queen Eugenia is directly descended from the House of Cornolius, remember, so she claims the right to the palace. Of course, she isn’t the only heir to the throne of Cornolius. Can either of you tell me another one—someone who is directly descended from the triplet who inherited Gerander?”

  Although they were still new to FIG, both young mice knew the answer to this question.

  “Zanzibar!” they shouted in unison.

  Solomon Honker smiled briefly. “Correct!” Then . . . bang! The ruler smacked down on Alice’s desk. “But you will raise your hands before speaking and you will address me as ‘sir.’”

  By six o’clock, when Solomon Honker finally called a halt to the lesson, Alice thought her head would explode with all the information crammed in it. After a break for lunch, they’d spent the whole afternoon studying the history of the Sourian occupation of Gerander from the Sourian point of view, since that was what Raz and Rita would have learned.

  “If I’d known that an undercover assignment would be worse than school I never would have volunteered,” Alex groaned as they made their way to the cafeteria for dinner.

  They found Beezer and Ebenezer already there. Ebenezer was his old cheerful self, Alice was pleased to see.

  “I’ve been shadowing Serena this afternoon, learning the ordering system and so on,” her uncle explained. “She’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow. She’s given me some of the recipes from her restaurant. I’m really looking forward to trying them out.”

  They had just carried their plates, piled high with cheesy crepes, to one of the long tables when an all-too-familiar figure came toward them.

  “Oh no,” groaned Alex under his breath.

  “Why it’s my two favorite pupils,” Solomon Honker said.

  “Hello, sir,” they chorused politely.

  Their teacher had exchanged his somber blue bow tie for a cheery candy-striped one. And that wasn’t all that had changed. “What’s all this ‘sir’ business?” he asked jovially. “We’re not in the classroom now—call me Solomon Honker.”

  “Yes, Solomon Honker,” Alex and Alice said obediently.

  “Have you tried the Stetson Camembert yet?” he asked over his shoulder as he moved off toward the buffet. “It’s delicious.”

  “Is that your
teacher?” Beezer asked. “He seems nice.”

  “Nice?” Alex snorted. “What he was like just then—all cheerful and friendly—is the complete opposite of what he’s like in the classroom. He kept yelling and banging our desks with a ruler.” Alex slammed his fork onto the table, making them all jump. “He’s like that mouse in the book that Alistair talks about. You know, the one with two completely different personalities.”

  “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?” suggested Alice.

  “Yeah, him,” said Alex. “He even looks like two different mice, with his white top and his orange bottom. It’s like two mice were cut in half and their tops and bottoms swapped.”

  “He’s probably just playing a part,” said Beezer. “Like you’ll have to play a part when you’re undercover. You’ll be servants, remember—you’ll have mice yelling at you and barking orders.”

  Alex looked more glum than ever. “So much for the exciting life of a spy. It looked like so much fun when Sophia and Horace were doing it. Remember, sis?”

  Remember? Alice had no trouble remembering Sophia and Horace. It was forgetting them that was proving difficult. . . .

  But if Alex was concerned about anything more than having orders barked at him, he didn’t show it. He polished off his cheesy crepes with relish then, seeing that Alice was just pushing hers around her plate, said, “Don’t you want yours, sis?” and scooped them off her plate without waiting for a reply.

  Alice didn’t even bother to protest.

  That night, Alice’s sleep was haunted with dreams. She was running down the shadowy corridors of the palace in Cornoliana, pursued by some nameless dreadful thing, and around every corner she turned she was confronted with Sophia and her partner, the doleful Horace. Sophia of the silvery fur was laughing her silvery laugh and saying, I will always be a step ahead of you. And then Alice saw the silvery flash of the knife in Sophia’s hand and—

  She awoke, panting. Sophia and Horace were nowhere near Cornoliana, she reminded herself. They were in Souris, or maybe Shetlock. Not Gerander. With the help of this calming thought, she breathed slow and deep and fell asleep again, then slept dreamlessly until she was woken by sunlight pouring through the window.