by Robin Jarvis
Table of Contents
THE MICE
THE OTHER CHARACTERS
The Story So Far
The Pedlar
1. Yule
2. Mad and Bad
3. Old Stumpy
4. Murder in the Park
5. The Beacon Fire
6. The Book of Hrethel
7. The Demon Thief
8. Re-Enlisting
9. Showing the Way
10. Duel in the Storm
11. The Midwinter Death
12. Hunted
13. Battle Onboard
14. The Final Reckoning
The Call of the Silver
THE DEPTFORD MICE
THE FINAL RECKONING
ROBIN JARVIS
Acorn Independent Press
Also by the Author
Dancing Jax
Dancing Jax 2: Freax and Rejex
The Thorn Ogres of Hagwood
THE DEPTFORD MICE
The Crystal Prison
The Final Reckoning
THE DEPTFORD MOUSELETS
Fleabee’s Fortune
Whortle’s Hope
THE DEPTFORD HISTORIES
The Alchymist’s Cat
The Oaken Throne
Thomas
TALES FROM THE WYRD MUSEUM
The Woven Path
The Raven’s Path
The Fatal Strand
THE WHITBY WITCHES
The Whitby Witches
A Warlock in Whitby
The Whitby Child
Visit the author’s website:
www.robinjarvis.com
Acorn Independent Press Ltd
125 Clock House Road
Beckenham
Kent
BR3 4JY
First Published in Great Britain in 1990 by Macdonald & Company (Publishers) Ltd
This edition published in Great Britain in 2011 by Acorn Independent Press Ltd
The Author hereby asserts his moral rights to be identified as the Author of the Work.
Copyright © Robin Jarvis 1990
ISBN: 978-1-908318-79-4
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent, this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
www.robinjarvis.com
www.acornindependentpress.com
Robin Jarvis writes: ‘Whenever I am asked where I get my ideas for books and characters, I always wish I could come up with some weird and wonderful answer: “I dream them,” for example, or, “I get inspired whenever there’s a full moon.” But, unfortunately, neither of these is true. Like many writers, I sometimes base my characters on real people (or parts of real people) and sometimes they are the complete product of my imagination. But they generally all start as a sketch or drawing and then take shape as a character is developed around them.
‘I started making sketches of mice because they were the smallest things I could think of to draw. When I sent them to a publisher, I was asked if there was a story to go with the drawings. At the same time there wasn’t, but I sat down and thought of a project visually and drew a story board as though I were making a film. I had envisaged it as a picture book, but it became a 70,000 word manuscript, and the basis for The Dark Portal.
‘My editor thought this manuscript would make a trilogy because it was so long. So I went away and cut it, and then came up with new ideas for books two and three of The Deptford Mice Trilogy – The Crystal Prison and The Final Reckoning. And I’ve been writing ever since.
‘I can’t think of a better way to earn a living!’
Thanks to Sue Hook for having faith in the
Deptford Mice and to David Riley for his
unflagging enthusiasm throughout
THE MICE
ARTHUR BROWN
Enjoys his food and tries to look on the bright side of things.
GWEN BROWN
Widowed mother of Arthur and Audrey, she is also very fond of Thomas Triton.
ARABEL CHITTER
Silly old gossip who gets on the nerves of everyone in the Skirtings.
OSWALD CHITTER
Arabel’s son is an albino runt. Recently cured of a terrible illness by the power of the Starwife, he is made to wrap up well at all times.
THE HOLEBORNERS
They live in the city and are governed by the Thane, a kindly wise mouse. Under him are the Ministers, who advise on all matters of everyday life.
KEMPE
A travelling pedlar who enjoys lewd songs. He helped Audrey and Arthur when they journeyed to Fennywolde.
MARTY
A young foraging cadet of the city, he wants to be as brave as his hero Piccadilly.
PICCADILLY
A cheeky city mouse who returned to Holeborn after being rejected by Audrey.
AUDREY SCUTTLE
Now the wife of Twit, the fieldmouse, she still thinks of Piccadilly and regrets her treatment of him.
THOMAS TRITON
A retired midshipmouse who lives on the Cutty Sark, he is always ready to confront his enemies, sword in paw.
THE OTHER CHARACTERS
BARKER
A crazy old rat whom Piccadilly befriends, but there is more to Barker than meets the eye.
THE BAT ELDERS
These are four wise old bats: Ashmere, wisest of councillors, Ingeld, Consort of the Lady, Heardred, Keeper of the Hidden Ways and Ohthere, Lord of Twilight.
THE GREEN MOUSE
The mystical spirit of spring and new life whose power wanes in the autumn and dies when winter sets in.
JUPITER
The evil spirit of the hideous sewer cat has returned. He has cheated Death and now wants revenge.
KELLY
A fat rat with sharp fangs, he only opens his mouth when there is something to put in it.
OLD STUMPY
A newcomer to the underground regions of the city, no-one, knows where he has come from, but he is stirring the harmless rats to war.
ORFEO & ELDRITCH
Bat brothers who can see into the future, they live in the attic and give confusing advice to the curious.
SMIFF
A snotty-nosed follower of Old Stumpy and a nasty bully, only he and his mate Kelly know where Old Stumpy has come from.
THE STARWIFE
An ancient old squirrel who lives under the Greenwich observatory, she possesses the magical Starglass.
The Story So Far
The Final Reckoning is the third book in the story of the Deptford Mice. The first book, The Dark Portal, tells how Audrey and Arthur Brown venture into the sewers looking for Audrey’s mousebrass, a magical charm given to her by the mystical Green Mouse. In the dark tunnels they meet Madame Akkikuyu, a fortune-telling rat, and are later pursued by a terrifying rat army commanded by Morgan, the lieutenant of the mighty, yet unseen Jupiter. With the aid of their friends Oswald, Twit, Piccadilly, and Thomas Triton, Audrey and Arthur are able to foil Jupiter’s evil plans to swamp London with the Black Death. The Rat God emerges from his lair and to everyone’s horror is revealed as a monstrous cat. Audrey flings her mousebrass into his face and it explodes, sending him plunging to his death in the deep sewer.
In The Crystal Prison, the Starwife, an ancient and wise squirrel, forces Audrey to take the now mad Madame Akkikuyu to the country. With her brother and Twit they
journey to Fennywolde – the fieldmouse’s home. But soon several young fieldmice are found murdered, and Madame Akkikuyu is tormented by a voice which only she can hear. The country folk at first blame Audrey, and she is about to be burned as a witch when Twit saves the girl mouse by marrying her. Horrified, Madame Akkikuyu learns that the voice belongs to the unquiet spirit of Jupiter, and she is made to perform a ceremony which will free him from the other side. In a bid to prevent his return she throws herself onto a fire which engulfs the whole of Fennywolde, but the mice escape to safety. Audrey and Arthur return to Deptford unaware that the vengeful spirit of Jupiter is free and more powerful than ever.
The Pedlar
The hedgerows were spotted with berries red as blood, and black, ragged-winged crows flapped over the empty fields shrieking in ugly voices.
Autumn’s full glory was nearly spent: the bright copper of the beeches was now a dull brown and the number of muddy pools grew daily.
A breeze suddenly stirred some of the dry leaves and for a moment they danced on the air like living things. A hedgehog poked his snout out from under one of the russet mounds and sniffed the air cautiously. His small, bead-like eye peered out at the world and blinked wearily. The wet nose snuffled around inquisitively: something was approaching. The air was different and now the breeze brought a strange jangling sound. The hedgehog began to shuffle backwards uncertainly but kept his eye fixed on the bank path. The noise grew nearer and with it came a voice raised in song.
‘When leaves do fall and the sun goes shy
I reach for my bowl and the hours roll by
For the juice of the berry do make me so merry
With my legs in the air, my head ’neath a chair,
I’ll burp till the spring comes round again’
The hedgehog stayed to hear the chorus, which was made up of various tuneful belches, before turning away in feigned disgust. These traders really were a disgrace! He waddled off to find some slugs to eat.
Kempe sauntered happily along. He was in high spirits. It had been a good week for business and his packs bulged as never before. He was looking forward to the Traders’ Fair in a fortnight’s time. All the travelling mice would be there to exchange news, sell their wares, look for bargains and meet old friends and rivals. It was the only time in the year when everyone could meet up and see how the others were doing. Kempe loved it all and there was a jaunty bounce in his step and an excited twitch in his tail to prove it.
He ran through in his mind all the things he would have to do: of course he would have to stock up on certain goods, it was nearly his busiest period – Yule was fast approaching. Kempe chuckled to himself and made a mental note to find larger packs to hold his wares.
Kempe thought of the feasting that took place during the midwinter festival and wondered where he ought to spend it himself. There had been numerous invitations made and he had nodded to those kind mice who had offered, but privately he knew all along where he would be at Yule: at Milly Poopwick’s place. She was a hearty, round mouse. Widowed three times she was now on the lookout for husband number four and there was always a grand welcome for Kempe there. He grinned to himself as he thought of her. Life with Milly would not be so bad after all; things were never dull while she was around. The traveller pulled himself up sharply and tutted. The idea of settling down had never occurred to him before and a startled look crossed his face. He was a traveller through and through and hated staying in one place for too long.
‘Reckon you’re gettin’ old, Kempe me boy,’ he told himself. ‘Try a day or two at me darlin’ Milly’s and see how it goes; after that there’s other deals to be struck. Once Yule’s over folk’s thoughts’ll turn to spring and the makin’ of mousebrasses.’
He sighed contentedly. It looked as though he would be kept very busy indeed and the lovely Mrs Poopwick would just have to wait if she wanted to catch him. Kempe kicked away the leaves that had drifted over the path and chortled to himself.
The pale sun hung low in the colourless autumn sky and sparkled over the surface of the rippling river. Kempe looked at the lengthening shadows of the trees and decided it was time to bed down for the night. Not far off he knew the perfect place.
It was an old stone wall close to the river bank. It was very thick and parts of it were hollow, making wonderful shelters inside. Kempe swaggered up to the wall and found the opening he usually used. It was near the ground and partially hidden by moss. The traveller cleared the moss away from the entrance and tried to enter.
A look of surprise registered on his furry face as his pack became thoroughly wedged in the gap; he had forgotten that it was fuller than normal. With a groan and a curse he tried to heave it in.
‘Drat and blast! Bother and blow!’ he ranted and puffed as he strained at the bag straps.
All his pots, buckles, pans, spoons and beads clattered and rattled. The opening was just too narrow for the fat, bulging bag. And as he was strapped to it he could not turn round or do anything useful to relieve the situation. He squirmed and struggled and cursed out loud.
‘Plague take it!’ he snarled. The pack was wedged firmly and refused to budge. The traveller went red to the ears and looked ready to burst. ‘Tis a cruel joke to play on an honest trader!’ he fumed to himself. Then with one final effort he pulled and heaved, dust fell from the stones all around and the inevitable happened. There was an ominous tearing sound and the pack split open.
‘Bless me!’ wailed Kempe as he fell headlong into the hollow wall. His wares flew everywhere, jangling raucously as he crashed to the floor. The contents of his pack spilled out and buried the alarmed mouse.
Kempe groaned and raised his head. A pink ribbon hung over one eye and he blew it away impatiently. When he saw the mess all around he gave a weary sigh. There was more clanging as he fumbled with the straps and buckles that bound him to the forlorn-looking pack which hung empty from his shoulders.
‘To be sure, Kempe laddy,’ he muttered to himself sadly, ‘there’s a tidy bit of work for you to do here before you sleep tonight.’ He began to gather up all the ribbons, silks, beads, trinkets and tassels that lay scattered in the dust.
Inside the wall it was dry and safe from the wind but it was also dark. Kempe delved into a smaller bag and fished out a candle stub. He lit it and gazed about for any treasure he might have missed. There, in the corner, something glinted and threw back the flickering light.
‘Hello,’ Kempe said thoughtfully. ‘And what may you be then?’ He stopped and picked up the object with nimble fingers. Before him was a small, delicate silver bell which tinkled sweetly as it rolled into his palm. He held the candle closer and examined the bell with interest, talking to it as though it were a lost child.
‘Not one of my little darlings are you?’ he addressed the tiny thing. Kempe narrowed his shrewd, gleaming eyes. ‘But I get the feeling as how we’ve met before, little one.’ He shook the bell and listened to it in satisfaction. There was no doubt, it had once belonged to the young mouse from Deptford he had met not so long ago. It was one of two bells she had worn on her tail. Kempe wondered about that mouse and her friends. They had been going to a place called Fennywolde when he had known them – they must have returned to Deptford and mislaid the bell on the journey.
‘I shall be passing by Deptford soon,’ Kempe told the bell. ‘That Oldnose will want stocking up on stuff, I expect. I’ll drop you off with your mistress. Stick with Kempe – he’ll see you safe home.’
The traveller shivered. It had grown very cold all of a sudden. A deadly silence descended on the world outside. He could no longer hear the sounds of birds or the wind high in the trees.
‘Storm must be comin’,’ he said and stepped through the opening once more to take a look at the weather. Everything seemed normal enough. There were no heavy clouds in the sky, yet there was a strange, charged feeling in the air as if the world was holding its breath waiting for something to happen. Kempe hummed a tune to himself as he walked down to the
river’s edge.
‘Don’t pick your nose laddy or wipe it on your paw I’m not being faddy ’twill make your nostrils raw.’
It was terribly cold outside, and an icy blast seemed to be blowing down the river. Kempe shrugged at the unpredictability of the weather and made to return to the relative comfort of the wall where he could warm his paws over the candle.
His movement caused the silver bell to jingle in his fist, and as if that were a signal, the storm broke.
A vicious, icy wind bore down on him and a strange, thick fog rose up out of the river. Before Kempe had reached the wall the fog had rolled up the bank and surged round him. The traveller was uneasy – this was no ordinary mist. The fur on the back of his neck tingled as an awful sense of horror and fear swept over him.
The fog was impenetrable and it now completely surrounded him. It bit into his flesh with cold clammy fingers. He stamped his feet desperately as he groped for the safety of the wall opening but it was no use.