The Deptford Mice 3: The Final Reckoning

by Robin Jarvis

  ‘They’re climbing up,’ wailed Arthur.

  ‘Aye,’ bawled Thomas, ‘keeping us busy while Jupiter flies unhindered to yonder hill.’

  The spectres crept along the struts, their wicked claws scratching the metal in their dreadful advance while the spears under their arms glinted, impatient for murder.

  The steel poles that skewered the ship ended two thirds of the way up her hull, above that the timbers were smooth and looked impossible to climb. Arthur hoped this would be the case as the spectres reached the end of their creeping journey. He leaned out to peer down, but ghostly faces leered up at him and they reached out moaning for his blood.

  ‘I think they’re stuck Mr Triton,’ he said, greatly relieved, ‘they can’t clamber up any further.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure mate,’ Thomas answered gravely and he pointed down to where the foul soldiers were hammering their spears into the seasoned timbers, one after another like a ladder of icicles. Up they snaked, smelling the mice that awaited them in the ship.

  ‘Can’t we do something?’ wailed Master Oldnose gazing hopelessly at them.

  Thomas tossed his head back and whisked his sword through the air. ‘We can die bravely,’ he bellowed heartily.

  The ship shivered as the spears were driven into her sides. The fiendish army swarmed up furiously. A cruel claw appeared over the rim and gouged deeply into the varnished rail.

  Thomas sprang forward with an angry cry and brought his sword crashing down, The blade sank into the splintering wood, passing clean through the phantom claw which slithered along and hauled its owner up. A snarling ogre of a spirit leapt over the side and landed with an empty chuckle on the deck beside the midshipmouse. It was the largest of all the infernal warriors and needed no ice spear for its claws were long and could rake the wind to ribbons.

  Thomas tugged and pulled wildly at his sword which was still firmly wedged in the wooden rail.

  ‘Watch out!’ shouted Arthur in warning.

  The sword would not budge. Panic-stricken Thomas uttered a sailor’s oath and the slavering phantom pounced at him.

  * * *

  Up in the grey sky a dark mass swept towards Deptford. It stretched into the veiled distance and the rumour of its coming was electrifying. Thousands upon thousands of shrill, high-pitched voices filled the fading evening. The bats had arrived at last.

  Oswald clung on to Orfeo and Eldritch’s feet as they bore him unerringly through the snow storm. The albino’s face was set and grim. The last few days had taken their toll, he had not slept or eaten and dark circles ringed his pink eyes.

  It had taken tremendous effort to drag the Book of Hrethel up through the foundations of the grand council building, and with Eldritch’s help he had taken it to the Elders who beat their wings angrily at their ancestor’s low cunning. What use was a blank book to anyone? They had cast it down from a great height with contempt and as it fell the spine tore. A plume of fluttering, aged pages soared out in the plummeting book’s wake. The bindings exploded into brown dust as they struck the floor and the hazy image of a wrinkled bat appeared for a brief moment in the blossoming cloud, sneering with derision and triumph.

  Cries of doom and despair had reverberated around the dome as the bats consumed the bitterness dished out to them from centuries long gone. They hid their faces behind their wings in defeat and wept desolately. But Oswald was not so sure. All along he had felt the wary presence of Hrethel’s carefully planned revenge and a certain aspect of it did not seem right. The medieval tyrant had overlooked something – if only he could pinpoint exactly what it was.

  He had asked Eldritch to fly him down to examine the remains of the book and then he knew. As he fingered the tingling parchments he realized in a flash of brilliance that magic is a force that cannot easily be erased. The Great Book had contained many powerful spells and countless magical signs and formulae for hundreds of years before Hrethel had wiped it clean. But he should have destroyed it utterly, for the nature of the writings and the strength of the incantations had soaked into the fibres like water in a sponge. Those blank pages had become charged with tremendous energy. The spells were still there but hidden in the very fabric of the book, a source of living, invisible power.

  Oswald whooped with delight at his discovery and quickly told the council. They stared at him amazed. But how could this help them? The spells may indeed be there but how would they read them? It was a problem that troubled their hearts for days, but the solution had stirred in Oswald’s heart and he knew what had to be done.

  ‘Now the snow beat severely against his face, stinging and numbing it. In the shadow of the two bats’ wings the albino looked down at his fluttering coat and smiled solemnly. This was the answer he had found, and it was a truly hazardous venture. The only way to vanquish Jupiter was to use the power of the book against him, yet without being able to read the spells this was their only option they were taking the Great Book to him.

  Remembering the costume worn by Master Oldnose at the Midsummer celebrations Oswald had made a tatting suit from the pages. He had ripped the magic parchment into shreds and sewn them into a loose tunic for himself.

  ‘You realize what you are doing?’ Ashmere had asked him fearfully.

  ‘Of course I do,’ Oswald had cried as he was surrounded by the countless, cheering bats in the dome. He had felt very brave and added, ‘Down with Jupiter!’ But now he felt afraid for the object of his errand drew near. He had volunteered, whilst wearing the magical tatting suit, to fly with Orfeo and Eldritch into the very heart of the Unbeest’s unbounded spirit. None of them expected to come, out alive.

  The great multitude of bats flew with them at their head. Even the elders had flown out to witness the final assault. They sang uplifting songs of daring and courage so that the three heroes should not be dismayed and feel dread steal over them. Squadrons of respectful moon riders wheeled past them, saluting and calling their names proudly.

  Oswald readied himself for the terrible time ahead. He could already see lightning flare in the fog on the observatory hill. He hoped they were in time. The tower blocks and estates rolled below them as they swept over Deptford.

  ‘Master Pink Eyes,’ Orfeo called down to him. ‘See there, something lies in the snow.’

  The albino peered at the distant ground but could see nothing, the bat sight had left him days ago. ‘What is it?’ he asked, puzzled that his friend should think it so important. Audrey was close to death, the cold had entered the very marrow of her bones and a mantle of snow had formed over her. Her faltering thought wandered through twilight as one in a dream, but there would be no waking. Deeper into the shadowy realm she sank, until the black chasm of the midwinter death opened beneath her.

  The light failed round her body as a gloom descended. From out of the snow-filled sky a bat flew. With outstretched wings the creature landed beside the near frozen mouse. He had been sent by Orfeo who high above had recognized Audrey. Quickly the bat put his ear to her breast. There was a faint murmuring beat.

  ‘Aha young maiden,’ the creature declared, ‘life still runs in your veins or Hathkin is no judge.’ He brushed the snow from her with his wings and shook her shoulders. ‘Awake!’ he cried. ‘Snow is not for slumber, awake little one.’

  Audrey’s eyes opened blearily and she looked on the bat’s eager face drowsily. ‘Let me be,’ she whined.

  ‘Oh no Mistress,’ he chuckled, taking to the air and flitting above her head, ‘a job I have been sent to do and accomplish it I shall. Hathkin may not win the renown of Orfeo or Eldritch this day but he will do as he is bid.’ The bat hovered over her and gently took hold of her paws. With a swift flap of his wings he soared up taking Audrey with him.

  The high, gusting winds grasped and tore at the dangling mouse. Audrey flapped beneath Hathkin as wildly as a strip of cloth. Spluttering protests she came to her senses, her mind left the blackness of the eternal gulf and returned with a jolt to her body.

  Audrey looked
down at the snow-covered roof tops that rapidly dropped away beneath her. She glanced up at the bat and gasped in surprise, ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded to know, ‘put me down at once!’

  Hathkin laughed but shook his head, ‘Sorry Mistress but we must rejoin the others. Observe the host of our brotherhood.’

  She turned her head so that she could see and through the dense curtain of the storm Audrey saw the tremendous phalanx of bats.

  Hathkin drew level with them and beat his wide wings faster so that they hurtled along. Audrey tightened her paws round his feet and he threw back his head, shaking with laughter. ‘On we must go,’ he shouted, ‘no-one outraces Hathkin, his speed is his pride – hold on Mistress.’ With the wind streaming in her ears Audrey felt herself accelerate and shoot by the other bats until the vanguard of the dark thousands came in sight.

  Audrey frowned, what was that thin, white figure there at the front? ‘Oswald!’ she cried incredulously.

  * * *

  Thomas leapt aside as the spectre lunged for him. It ran into the hilt of his sword and impaled itself. The flowing rags of the phantom’s transparent hide knitted together once more as it dived off and growled. Thomas ran round and with a mighty yank freed his trusty blade.

  Terrible claws slashed through the air towards him and streams of ruby blood spurted from the midshipmouse’s shoulder.

  Arthur could do nothing to help for other wraiths had clambered on board. They jumped gleefully onto the deck, raising their spears and stalking their prey. Three came after Arthur, two went for Master Oldnose and five charged at Mr Chitter. More of the gruesome spirits crawled aboard and smacked their insatiable lips.

  Arthur pelted along the deck as fast as he could. He hurdled the pile of thick ropes in his way and jack-knifed round a corner but he could not outrun them forever. He could already hear the horrible gurgling of their breath. Soon they too would turn the corner and strike him with their spears.

  ‘Sssssaaahh,’ came the sound of the hissing spectres and they clattered their claws on the sides of the forward deckhouse. Arthur gazed round fearfully and an ice spear whistled over his head.

  The phantoms rushed at him but he was too quick. With a bound he crossed to the rigging and jumped for the rope. Using the skills he had learnt in Fennywolde, Arthur swarmed quickly up the mainstay leaving the enemy clutching the empty space where he had been.

  Up and up he scrambled, not daring to stop until he had reached the main mast and stood on a little platform there. Arthur gazed down. Thomas was fighting vainly with the brutish spirit on the deck far below and he could hear the anguished cries of Master Oldnose and Mr Cockle as their attackers cornered them together. He felt helpless, and could not bear to watch as they closed in on the hapless mice. Arthur turned away and realized his own danger – the ropes were shaking violently as his pursuers began climbing after him.

  ‘Fenny!’ he shouted in distress as the slithering bodies surged up the mainstay. Arthur raised his eyes to the sky and opened his mouth in despair, but no sound came out for he saw a dark, boiling mass sweep down from Deptford and his anguish turned to joy as he recognized the bats flying towards him.

  ‘Orfeo!’ he called, ‘Eldritch,’ he waved frantically and then gaped in amazement when he saw Oswald hanging under them in his rippling suit of torn paper.

  The bats swooped down. ‘Hello Arthur,’ called out Oswald. They spiralled round the masts of the ship watching the ghostly army riot on the deck. Oswald saw a pack of them leap towards his father. They raised their ice spears and aimed them at his heart. With an angry yell the albino ordered his friends to fly lower. They dived and as they did so Oswald let go of Eldritch’s foot and tore a pawful of parchment from his suit.

  The great host of bats descended about the ship, beating their wings in the faces of the spectral warriors. Spears flashed cruelly and a bat cried out as it toppled to the deck, impaled. Hathkin hovered over the figurehead eager to join the battle, but with Audrey in his care he could not. The girl was appalled by the savage slaughter going on around her. The bats, despite their number, were outmatched and could not defend themselves against the hail of spears. Their broken bodies began to drop like stones and their death cries chilled the soul.

  Audrey shivered as a glittering spear raced towards her. Hathkin lurched backwards and it missed them by a hair’s breadth.

  Jacob Chitter and Master Oldnose closed their eyes waiting for the tortuous death to plunge into them. Suddenly, out of nowhere, came Oswald and Orfeo skimming the ears of the wraiths. The albino scrunched the pages in his fingers and hurled them at the ghosts that menaced his father. The magical missiles whizzed through the air and one hit a phantom in the chest. It did not pass through the evil apparition but cannoned into it, knocking the astonished spectre sideways. It stumbled against the sail locker and let out a shriek of surprise and pain. The bundle of paper which had struck it burst into flames and as the dreadful spirit recovered from the blow and raised its vicious claws vengefully they crackled and disappeared. The wraith let out a screech of dismay as the magic devoured it, the strong arms of dead sinew melted up to the shoulders, the grisly head howled as the body spluttered and vanished beneath it and then that too dissolved in mid-air.

  ‘Ho ho,’ chortled Oswald as the bats spun round and came in for a second attack. He ripped off another pawful and threw it at a gibbering group. They too screamed and faded.

  Oswald hoorayed and Mr Chitter, trapped no longer, gave a little dance of pride as his son flew by. ‘Yippee,’ clapped Master Oldnose thankfully.

  Thomas was still locked in deadly combat with his own huge assailant, the spectre sprang forward and tore another bloody gash down his front.

  ‘Swine!’ bellowed the midshipmouse thrashing his sword through the spectre’s head.

  With a mocking sneer it lunged again and traced a scarlet ditch across Thomas’s sword arm. He staggered back, the blood staining his fur. The evil monster darted from side to side, baiting him cruelly, then it leaped at the midshipmouse. Thomas fell under the force of the attack, the phantom grabbed his neck and opened his jaws. The dripping fangs bore down on Thomas’s throat and sank into the flesh.

  ‘Oi!’ shouted a stern voice. Oswald sped up with a fistful of parchment. He shoved it into the ghost’s gaping mouth and then took off again.

  ‘Aaarrhhh!’ choked the brute clawing at its own throat.

  Thomas rolled from under it and snatched up one of the papers that had fallen from the albino’s tunic.

  ‘Right!’ he roared wildly. ‘Now it’s your turn mate!’ He fixed the parchment onto the tip of his sword and brought it slicing through the spectre’s body.

  It screeched and was cleaved in two. The pieces writhed and with a fierce crackle disappeared. A dangerous light was in the midshipmouse’s eyes as he brandished his sword and charged into the phantom regiments.

  Arthur pressed himself against the mast as his two pursuers scrabbled up to him, the points of their spears shone wickedly and they began to push them into his belly.

  Suddenly a whirl of flapping whiteness shot by and small, screwed up pellets fired out. The wraiths squawked in alarm and as the spells sizzled through them, they tottered on the brink then lost their balance and plunged towards the deck; but they had vanished before they reached it.

  ‘Master Pink Eyes,’ Orfeo called down to Oswald, ‘enough, it is now time to deal with the true foe of the world. The sun is setting.’

  But Oswald was enjoying this. He sprinkled the precious tatters carelessly and put his paw to his suit for more. In a panic he saw that there was very little left. ‘Oh my,’ he squeaked, ‘quick Orfeo, take me up.’

  They soared high over the Cutty Sark and Eldritch joined them, Oswald gripped his foot once more and they raced to the observatory.

  On the deck Thomas Triton valiantly cut through the fearsome hosts. His sword swung in arcs of silver light and razored a path through Jupiter’s foul army. They fell back before him, wailin
g at the glowing parchment on the keen blade and turned their malevolent attention to the winged creatures which swooped over their heads.

  The dark multitude of bats continued to dive-bomb the ship but their number was less than before and without Oswald the carnage spread. The deck was soon strewn with their speared corpses. Hathkin tore round the hull still bearing Audrey; he was looking for a safe place to put her so that he could enter the fray.

  ‘Don’t you dare put me down!’ Audrey stormed furiously.

  ‘I must Mistress,’ Hathkin called to her, ‘it shall not be said that I hid from the battle in this desperate hour. Would you shame and disgrace me so?’

  ‘I’m not asking you to run away,’ she said crossly, ‘I want you to take me to the observatory, quickly.’

  Hathkin stared down at her astonished. ‘You wish to go to Him!’ he laughed dismissing the idea. ‘You do not understand child.’

  In a rush of temper Audrey raged, ‘Do as you’re told! The Starwife commands it! By the power of my ancestors I order you to take me!’

  The bat nearly dropped her in surprise, her voice had changed and the force behind it stung him.

  ‘Very well,’ he cried beating his wings hard, ‘to the hill we go.’ They became a blur that shot swiftly through the snow.

  The dome of the observatory distorted and buckled as the massive, hulking frame of Jupiter descended from the swirling cloud of mist. The building could barely support him but his iron claws closed over the onion-shape and sank deeply into the bricks beneath. He towered over London and snarled at the dim grey sprawl of the city on the horizon. In his blighted youth he had lived a miserable existence there. With his own yellow eyes he had witnessed the Great Fire ravage through the narrow, filthy streets and consume the wooden houses; he had felt the spitting flames singe his ginger fur as he escaped from his evil master and fled to the river. No, Jupiter had no love for the world and he hissed at the tall glass towers that had risen above the skyline: soon all life would end forever.