The Deptford Mice 3: The Final Reckoning

by Robin Jarvis

  Everyone rubbed their eyes, then cheered, ‘Hooray for the Starwife!’ but she waved them away from her and leaned wearily against the stairs, feeling old beyond measure.

  The wound on Thomas’s leg was still, there and bleeding slightly but it was clean and free of enchantment – the tissue would heal normally given time. Gwen hugged him and wept and Arthur patted him on the back.

  Audrey felt foolish. She looked at the squirrel and hung her head – how wrong she had been for not trusting her. All the time she really was trying to save Mr Triton. The girl felt her ears burn with shame for her doubts and wondered how she could atone for them. Audrey glanced round for the silver acorn. It had rolled into a dusty corner. She ran over and picked it up then, with a sheepish face, she took it to the squirrel.

  She looked frail and worn, as if the healing had taken more out of her than was safe. Her body trembled and her long, pointed ears were flat against her skull. She did not hear the girl approach and stared intently into the deep midnight shadows of the kitchen.

  Audrey coughed politely to announce herself; ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered, ‘I didn’t understand – I thought . . .’

  The Starwife regarded her coolly and a thin smile twitched over her lips. ‘You nearly killed him child,’ she said. ‘With your nasty suspicions and headstrong impulses you could have murdered him! Luckily I was able to restrain you for long enough. If you had moved the charm away too soon he would have died indeed.’

  Audrey bit her lip, ‘I brought this back for you,’ she said meekly.

  The squirrel chuckled and wagged her finger, ‘Oho, and what would I want that for young lady?’

  ‘It’s your acorn,’ Audrey told her puzzled, ‘your symbol of office.’

  ‘Ha!’ snorted the Starwife, ‘Not any more – you took it from me of your own free will and allowed the powers to channel through you – the charm is mine no longer.’

  ‘I don’t understand . . . ‘began Audrey but even as she said it she realized that she had been tricked once again.

  The squirrel nodded, revelling in her triumph. ‘Yes,’ she laughed softly, ‘it belongs to you now my time is over.’

  ‘But, I don’t want it,’ Audrey protested.

  The other dismissed her with a shake of her head. ‘Too late,’ she said melting into the shadows, ‘you claimed it and it claimed you Audrey. Both are irrevocably tied together, tethered as one till death.’ A soft chuckle gurgled in her throat when she spoke the girl’s name and then she heaved a tremendous sigh in which all her cares and responsibilities escaped. Her face wore a serene expression as she gladly told the girl, ‘It is yours whether you like it or not, there is nought you can do.’ And with that the Starwife vanished into the darkness.

  Audrey looked down at the silver acorn in her palm and tossed her head defiantly. ‘I’m not your slave,’ she pouted, ‘and I’m not having your rotten pendant!’ With a furious shout she hurled the charm away and heard it rattle down the cellar steps.

  * * *

  The snow lay deep over the yard. The wind had dropped and the flakes were falling steadily. It was a dark, moonless night but the snow gave off its own pale glare in which the long icicles that had stretched down from the gutters shone coldly.

  An irritated rustling disturbed the grim calm as a cracked voice muttered, ‘To the devil with all this paper!’ With oaths sprouting from her lips the Starwife emerged from the house tearing up the stuffing which had plugged the exit. ‘A plague on that idiot Oldnose,’ she growled, ‘I never told him to block it again – save me from meddlesome mice!’

  The drift of snow which had piled against the hole was kicked and scattered in her temper. Grumbling and swiping the air with her walking stick as though the offending mouse was standing before her the Starwife shuffled slowly to the centre of the yard. She lifted her head and stared woefully at the black, void of the heavens. ‘No more the celestial lamps do shine,’ she crooned sorrowfully, ‘and the enemy stalks the moonless night.’

  With a last, regretful glance she lowered her gaze and prepared herself for what had to be done. With her stick the squirrel drew a circle in the snow. When it was complete she looked at it critically and grunted then, using her feet, tail and paws she proceeded to clear everything inside the line. The thick snow was swept up, shoved out, kicked, scraped and brushed aside until she had made a bare ring in the white garden.

  The Starwife mumbled with satisfaction as she leant on her stick and admired the result of her labour. How tiring it had all been and how cold she was now. Her dry, brittle, old bones creaked mutinously. Memories of the past came unbidden to her and she remembered a certain night when the stars were like beautiful fiery flowers and their light fell brightly onto her lovely, young face. It was the night she had chosen to become the Handmaiden of Orion and had first taken up the silver. Even now she could feel the warm grass under her delicate feet as she raced uphill from the battle to the safety of the throne. War cries echoed round her mind as the image faded and the frost that bit her toes tugged her back to the present.

  ‘They were perilous days,’ she said quietly, ‘when treachery and friendship went hand in I hand.’ A grave look crossed her face, ‘There I learnt my harsh lessons, yet what help are they now against the Unbeest?’

  The Starwife ambled to the fence and furtively prodded the snow with her stick. ‘Charts and dreams,’ she tutted, bending over and foraging in the bare, stony soil, ‘how jealously we guarded them: all those scrolls and tatters of parchment we believed to be so precious! What use were they in the end?’ She held up two good-sized rocks and tossed them into her round clearing. ‘Never trust a prophecy written on paper,’ she murmured gruffly to herself as she poked about for more stones, ‘some clever so-and-so’s bound to have fiddled with it and copied the ruddy thing down wrongly, adding twiddly bits of his own that are completely irrelevant.’ The Starwife picked up four more stones and rolled a further one along the ground with her tail. ‘Oral traditions,’ she declared, dropping the rocks into the circle and tapping her nose with her forefinger, ‘things preserve best from mouth to ear, should’ve known that.’

  In the bleak, freezing night the old squirrel carefully placed the seven stones at an equal distance from each other round the ring. Then she stood in the centre and touched each one with the handle of her stick and said a blessing over them. ‘The wheel is made,’ she sighed when it was done.

  The Starwife clutched her back as she bent her knees and tried to sit down. ‘Waited too long,’ she chided herself as her spine buckled and she landed unceremoniously on the icy ground, ‘my time should have ended long ago. What a formidable old boot I have become!’ She sucked her bottom lip thoughtfully and laid the stick across her lap. ‘Now all there is left for me to do is wait. I pray it comes swiftly.’

  Between the posts of the fence a dark shape weaved and flitted. It sneaked behind the tin bucket and two eyes glimmered out of the shadows; watching the bowed, hunched figure in the circle. The eyes looked towards the hole in the wall and became wily slits that darted back to the squirrel once more.

  ‘Ha, ha, what have we here?’ scoffed a voice from the shade. ‘What a dainty scene this is!’

  The Starwife looked up stiffly, annoyed that someone had disturbed her. If it was that Master Oldnose he would feel the full brunt of her anger, she promised herself. Her clouded eyes stared round but nobody came from the house. The Starwife glared about the yard and gripped her stick in readiness. ‘Who’s there?’ she asked. ‘Stop hiding and show yourself.’

  ‘Aha, hiding indeed!’ the voice snorted, ‘And what pray are you doing lady?’

  ‘My business is my own,’ she declared, ‘and I like to know who I am talking to.’

  A chuckle sounded but whoever it was left the shadows and stepped towards her. At first she could only discern the outline; it was difficult to tell what manner of creature was emerging from the gloom, yet there was something about it . . .

  The Starwife uttered
a little gasp of surprise as into the pale light walked Barker.

  She glowered at him. The rat was not waddling and fawning stupidly as before; his back was straight and he strode out with a noble bearing and a haughty sneer on his old face.

  He paused and did not attempt to cross into the circle. Putting his claws behind him he began to laugh, ‘Oh no, petty stargazer! To what end have you brought yourself?’ Even his voice was different now; no longer the gibberish he had first spoken, instead it possessed a harsh, ringing authority.

  The Starwife studied him and a look of astonishment and dismay stole over her as she recognized his true identity. ‘You!’ she cried at last. ‘What are you doing here after all these years? Your time is gone – you should not be walking again.’ She pounded her stick on the floor and snapped at him. ‘Artful one,’ she hissed, ‘get thee gone, go back to ‘your tomb and sleep till judgement.’

  Barker smiled indulgently at her, ‘Avaunt avaunt!’ he mocked. ‘But see, I am still here calamity upon calamity. What are you to do?’

  The squirrel shivered fearfully, ‘I shall pray for your destruction because I count you more dangerous than Jupiter.’

  At this the rat shook his head. ‘Oh no,’ he breathed with a shudder. ‘He is mightier than I ever imagined. He has a phantom host at his command, and sets at nought the power of the Green. With these very eyes I saw him destroy the mousebrass – nothing can defeat him.’

  It was the Starwife’s turn to smile. ‘So that is why you came,’ she said with understanding. ‘Your task was to learn the Unbeest’s strength! Thought you could usurp him, did you, and raise the three unholy thrones once more?’ She laughed at him contemptuously, ‘Be gone unhappy trickster, for He could quash you in an instant and send you shivering into the abyss.’

  Barker paced round the circle and rubbed his claws together. ‘At least I have the wit to know when further struggles are futile, Harridan of Orion!’ He spat peevishly. ‘Night Harpy! I go now only because no other choices are left to me, unlike you who sit and spin your paltry webs. But hear me, Jupiter is too great a fly to be caught in them and you will find that it is you who are devoured.’

  There was a silence as both stared into the other’s face. ‘Where is the city mouse?’ she said eventually. ‘What have you done with him?’

  The rat put his claws to his brow and spoke: forlornly. ‘Alas,’ he cried, ‘he is no more, the nightmare legion returned and it was too late for the lad to run – even Barker was nearly caught.’

  The Starwife patted her stick thoughtfully. ‘I guessed as much,’ she sighed. ‘You abandoned him! Poor Piccadilly; his folly was in trusting you. That is what I meant when I said you were more dangerous than Jupiter. You can appear fair and good whereas he cannot and so you ensnare the innocent and unwary.’

  ‘You are wrong!’ he told her. ‘The lad was brave and we appreciate such folk be they rats or no. I was grieved to see the boy die. Many times have I saved him though he did not know it – he would: have perished long ago if I had not been there.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ retorted the squirrel. ‘You needed him more than he needed you; the body you chose to hide in was old and weak and could not make the journey here without his help.’

  Barker shrugged. ‘What does that matter now? He served his purpose as has this body, but what a fine act it was – Barker the barmy old beggar, one of my greatest performances! But you, wrinkled one, what lies in store for you? Whither are you bound?’ He waved his claws over his head and ridiculed her. ‘To mould you go,’ he taunted, ‘and mould you will remain in this darkened world.’

  ‘Enough!’ she cried, ‘The time has come for you to depart, shed your flesh and run naked back to your Lord and Lady. Leave me in peace.’

  A sudden realization flashed into Barker’s mind, ‘Hah!’ he squealed hysterically, ‘Where were my eyes? Your acorn is gone! No longer are you the Drab of the Firmament – your line has ended. Hoo hoo what a joke you are!’ and he capered round her holding his sides as he laughed. ‘So, the empire ends at last, the regime is no more – for where are your kin? That proud race, the black squirrels, have long departed and there is no-one left to inherit the silver, all reigns must falter at the last, but what an ignoble finish to your high and mighty monarchy.’

  The squirrel said nothing but stared bitterly at the ground whilst he teased and tormented her. ‘Farewell puny hag, I must leave, but I do so more readily now and rejoice at your downfall.’

  He strutted away, back into the darkness beneath the fence, ‘We shall not meet again Starwife,’ he called back to her and then with a riotous hoot he tutted at his mistake, ‘but of course,’ he corrected himself, ‘that title is no longer yours – you have relinquished it. Now let me see, I must call you by your birth name.’ He hesitated, ‘What is it I ask myself?’

  ‘It is a simple name,’ said the squirrel, weary of his derision and mockery, ‘but you may use it now, for such secrets are of no avail.’

  Barker guffawed, ‘So, you tire of the Earth at last, how then shall you be known in this sundering hour?’

  She lifted her proud head, ‘In my raven youth they called me . . . Audrey,’ she answered plainly, I ‘that was my name.’

  ‘Then goodbye Audrey,’ Barker called but his voice was laced with respect and he slipped away and departed through the night, back whence he came, never again to be seen by mortal eyes.

  ‘Goodbye Bauchan,’ whispered the squirrel quietly as a slow, secret smile formed on her lips.

  The snow fell monotonously and her chin dropped to her breast as she succumbed at last to the cruel weather. The night grew old and a stark, grey dawn appeared on the horizon. Through a break in the clouds a slender ray of pale sunlight shone. For a second it touched the squirrel’s cheek and all traces of age were smoothed away, but the gap closed and the beam faded. Even as the light left her face the figure in the circle of stones gasped and expired. The midwinter death harvested her.

  12. Hunted

  It was Algy Coltfoot who found the body. For most of the night the mice in the Hall were celebrating Thomas’s return to health and listening gravely to his and Arthur’s full account of the events round the power station. They were too terrified to think of the ghost army and did not mention it out loud, eventually worrying themselves into jittery sleep. A chill draught seeped through the hole in the kitchen, disturbing the fitful dreams of those closest to it.

  Algy had a most uncomfortable night. His blanket kept flapping up with the icy blast but he was too lazy and tired to do anything about it. It was not until the wind outside began to pick up again, howling round the house and roaring through the kitchen that he sat up, for all his bedclothes flew up into the air and landed on Master Oldnose, leaving him exposed and shivering.

  ‘This won’t do,’ he grumbled dopily, hauling himself to his feet and rubbing his eyes. He squinted down the step to the kitchen and saw the paper which should have been blocking the hole littering the floor. Muttering drowsily to himself he pattered along and sucked the air through his teeth as his pink little toes touched the freezing linoleum.

  ‘Flippin’ Oldnose,’ Algy said blaming the one who had last used the exit. He collected the scrunched up bundles meaning to stuff them back in the gap but as he leaned into the narrow space the dismal morning light streamed in and he saw tatters and scraps of torn paper strewn on the snow outside. His curiosity overpowering his tender toes, he passed through the hole and emerged into the

  The slim little mouse padded cautiously over to a strange white form. Surely stuffy old Oldnose hadn’t been building snowmice. Algy came closer. It was a peculiar shape whatever it was. He put out a paw and gave the mysterious thing a gentle pat. A clump of snow fell away and to his horror a patch of silvery fur was revealed.

  ‘Aaargghhh!’ he screamed running back to the house. ‘Help, help!’

  Presently the less squeamish of the Skirtings mice were in the yard. Thomas had hobbled there with Arthur’s assistance and he ca
refully brushed the snow away. Everyone exclaimed in dismay when they recognized the Starwife.

  Thomas removed his hat and touched his forehead. ‘I never had chance to thank you,’ he whispered regretfully.

  The squirrel’s body glistened icily as though she had been coated with sugar and she was as hard as iron to the touch. Audrey came out impatient to know what was happening and looked in astonishment at the old creature’s face. ‘She’s smiling,’ she said hoarsely.

  Thomas put his paw on Audrey’s shoulder, ‘Have you still got the starwife’s bag?’ he asked. She nodded and he sent her to fetch it. Then the midshipmouse told everyone to find as much fuel as they could, ‘We cannot leave her like this, we must build a pyre over her,’ he explained, ‘I know this is what she would have wanted.’

  When the mice had gone off in search of wood and he was alone, Thomas gazed at the frozen figure and spoke quietly to it, ‘So this is why you let me stay and watch your ceremony – you silly old boot. Why did you have to do this?’

  ‘Here’s all I could find, Mr Triton,’ said Arthur carrying a few dry twigs. ‘Everything else is frozen solid.’

  This was the problem. Nobody had found very much useable wood. The cold and damp had seeped into the hawthorn branches and all that was left had already been allocated for the Hall fire. Thomas took what little they had gathered and piled it about the Starwife. It was not nearly enough.

  ‘There’s only one thing we can do,’ he told them decisively, ‘we must use the rest of the wood stored for use inside.’