“So mind you obey my orders, won’t you?” the captain finished silkily. Then he turned and stumped across the deck and down the steps to his cabin, the smell of onions drifting in his wake.
The first mate looked at Alistair and Tibby Rose with a stony face which, as they watched, creased into a smile. “Welcome aboard, cabin mice,” she said. “I’m Old Goosegob. Don’t worry, me’n’ the crew’ll look after you.” She turned to address the figures lurking in the shadows. “It’s all right then, lads, the captain’s gone below.”
With a murmur of relief, half a dozen rough-looking mice with shifty eyes, cunning noses, and crafty tails detached themselves from the shadows and gathered around the first mate for their orders.
“Right, you lot, let’s finish loading those supplies then get ourselves a couple hours’ kip. We sail at dawn.”
“Excuse me, but what should we do?” asked Alistair, but before Old Goosegob could answer there was a bellow from below decks.
“SHIP’S BOY!”
The first mate nodded in the direction of the stairs. “See what’is nibs wants.”
Alistair and Tibby Rose hurried across the deck and down the stairs. They found themselves standing in a small corridor. From behind a closed door to their left, they could hear the distinctive tap-tap-tap of Captain Grizzard’s wooden leg.
Alistair knocked on the door and then opened it. “Yes, Captain?” he asked.
The captain, who was seated behind an enormous mahogany desk covered with maps, greeted him with a blast of onion and abuse. “WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG? When I call you I expect you to jump like jellyfish—ONLY FASTER! Have you got that?”
The two young mice saluted smartly. “Aye, aye, Captain!”
“Good. Now run down to the hold and fetch me an onion, and mind you’re quick about it.”
“Aye, aye, Captain!”
“Where’s the hold?” Tibby Rose asked as they backed away from the cabin door.
“I have no idea,” said Alistair. “But we’d better find it fast.”
They ran down the corridor, past the stairs leading to the deck, and found themselves at the galley, face to face with a stout gray mouse in a grubby apron who was standing at a counter hacking oranges into pieces, rind and all, with a giant cleaver.
“What do you want?” he snarled, cleaver raised threateningly.
“Um, the hold, please,” whispered Alistair.
“Downstairs.” He dropped the cleaver into an orange. Thump! Squelch.
Alistair turned back toward the stairs, Tibby close behind him.
“Hurry,” she urged. “The captain seems a bit impatient.”
Down another flight of stairs they clattered, arriving at a long, low room, dimly lit with lanterns. It was half filled with barrels and crates of a most unusual assortment of things. There was a barrel of walking sticks, and another of umbrellas. One crate was piled high with hairbrushes, its neighbor with oven mitts. There were bow ties and silk flowers, sponges and gardening implements, and several bolts of cloth gaily printed with lollipops leaned against the wall. Alistair wasn’t sure where Captain Grizzard kept his treasure, but it clearly wasn’t in the hold.
After several long minutes, Tibby called, “Over here,” and pulled an onion from a barrel.
They pelted back up the stairs and along the corridor to the captain’s cabin. It seemed that the sound of his wooden leg tapping on the floor was growing faster and louder by the second. Alistair had barely put his knuckles to the door when the captain yelled: “ENTER!”
The two young mice scurried into the cabin to find the captain glowering at them, brandishing a dagger.
Tibby let out a frightened squeak.
“The onion,” the captain demanded, pointing to a spot on the desk with his dagger.
Alistair darted forward and put the onion on the desk, then quickly drew back.
The captain raised the dagger and plunged it into the onion then lifted it and, with a practiced hand, peeled it and took a bite.
“Delicious,” he sighed, when he had finished crunching. “Now get back on deck and take orders from the first mate. AND NEXT TIME I NEED AN ONION, BE QUICKER ABOUT IT OR YOUR TAILS’LL BE FEELING THE SHARP EDGE OF THIS DAGGER!”
“Aye, aye, Captain!”
For the next two hours, Alistair and Tibby Rose were kept busy above decks and below. Tibby proved herself invaluable to the crew as a repairer of wobbly cart wheels, and the first mate put her to work with Scurvy Smottle, the carpenter, while Alistair raced to and from the hold for Captain Grizzard, whose appetite for onions was insatiable.
Finally, Old Goosegob said, “Away then, lads, and grab yourselves forty winks afore the dawn.”
Alistair and Tibby Rose followed the others down the stairs and past the galley to a series of berths furnished with hammocks and sea chests. The last berth, and the smallest, belonged to the cabin boy (“And girl,” said Tibby). With some difficulty the two young mice clambered into the hammock and arranged themselves with Alistair’s head at one end and Tibby’s at the other.
At the sound of a bell clanging, Alistair sat bolt upright, making the hammock rock alarmingly.
Tibby Rose kicked him crossly. “What are you doing?” she said sleepily.
“I think it’s time to get up,” Alistair said, rubbing his eyes. He could see mice slipping out of hammocks, yawning and grumbling, and making briskly for the stairs.
He climbed out of the hammock and Tibby Rose, yawning and grumbling, followed. “You really do make an excellent pirate,” Alistair told her.
As they filed past the galley, the stout, surly cook handed each of them a slab of bread and a hunk of cheese.
The air on deck was fresh and cool with a pleasant salty tang, a welcome relief after the stale, stuffy air below decks. Standing at the rail as mice rushed around setting the sails and rigging, Alistair looked out over Sadiz, the sun tinting its square white buildings with gold. The great dome of the cathedral glowed yellow like the yolk of an egg. Despite the port’s raucous nighttime revelries, the harbor was now a place of serious activity and industry. Along the wharves, voices echoed across the water as the crew from one ship taunted another. Captains and their mates bellowed orders, and the rigging of the ships lining the quay were alive with nimble mice. The fishing boats from the far side of the bay were returning to port with the day’s catch, bobbing back to their moorings like little white corks with red and blue trim.
Captain Grizzard stood on the foredeck, shouting at any member of the crew who came within shouting range, while Old Goosegob stood at the aft issuing orders to the mice who scrambled about in the rigging. At a wink from the first mate the bo’sun cried, “Raise the anchor,” and two strong mice heaved at a great iron chain. A gust of wind filled the sails and the Sickert began to move, slowly at first, then faster and faster till it seemed they were flying across the water. As they neared the mouth of the bay, Sadiz shrank behind them, until it resembled a small white stone gleaming on the shore. Tibby, who had been busy helping Scurvy Smottle, joined Alistair at the rail.
“Good-bye, Souris,” she said, but she sounded quite cheerful.
Alistair turned to look at her, standing at the rail with the breeze in her browny purple fur and a smile on her face. “Tibby Rose,” he said, “you look like you’re enjoying being a pirate.”
“Aye, Alistair, it’s a pirate’s life for me.”
Alistair was taken aback. “But . . . but you’re working alongside the most bloodthirsty mice on the Sourian Sea!”
Tibby shrugged. “They’re not so bad when you get to know them.”
“But what about Captain Grizzard? You have to admit he’s terrifying.”
“Oh, his squeak is worse than his bite.”
“Squeak is worse than his bite?! He wants to cut off our tails! And he’d do it too—remember that mouse we saw when we first came aboard? He had hardly any tail left at all!”
“Oh, you mean Kipper?” said Tibby. “Apparently that was a
n accident. According to Smottle, Kipper was the ship’s cook. He and the captain had a disagreement about the nutritional value of onions and Kipper stormed out. Captain Grizzard slammed the door behind him and his tail got caught.” She winced. “Ouch.”
“Well, the rest of the crew seem scared of him,” Alistair pointed out. “Look how they hang back when he comes on deck.”
“They just don’t like the onion fumes,” Tibby explained. “It makes their eyes water.”
At noon on their second day at sea, a cry rang out from the crow’s nest.
“Ship ahoy!” called the lookout.
Captain Grizzard stumped to the side and held his spyglass to his good eye.
“Cargo ship,” he declared.
“But what kind of cargo?” muttered Old Goosegob, who was at the wheel.
“Maybe it’ll be gold,” said Alistair, trying to sound enthusiastic and pirate-like.
Old Goosegob turned a glum eye on the cabin boy. “Captain Grizzard’s not interested in gold, son. Nor jewels, nor pieces of eight, nor figgy biscuits, nor treasure of any kind.” She snorted. “He’s only interested in onions.”
“Here’s the plan,” said the captain as he stumped over to join them. “We’ll come alongside, then we board. Down to the hold, plunder and so forth, bring the booty back here.”
“Then we sink them?” asked Goosegob hopefully.
Captain Grizzard eyed the cargo ship speculatively. “Nah,” he said. “Let ’em slink back to Shambles with their tails between their legs to haunt the taverns with tales of the fearsome Captain Grizzard.”
“Hurrah!” cried Alistair impulsively. It sounded like the perfect plan to him—he and Tibby Rose could hide aboard the cargo ship and slink back to Shambles too.
Captain Grizzard glared at him fiercely. “I wasn’t asking for your approval,” he barked. “Now skedaddle down to the hold and fetch me an onion BEFORE I SLICE YOUR TAIL OFF!”
Alistair skedaddled.
19
Reunited
As the Sickert rammed the Marmaduke with a sickening crunch of timber, the pirates streamed across to the cargo ship with their cutlasses drawn. Alistair and Tibby Rose joined the throng.
“We should find somewhere to hide below decks,” Alistair said to Tibby.
While some of the pirates stayed on deck to do battle with the Marmaduke’s sailors, another group scrambled down the stairs toward the hold.
Alistair and Tibby Rose scrambled after them.
As they reached the bottom step, Alistair said, “Follow me, Tib,” and darted under the staircase. “Look, we can hide behind this barrel till we reach Shambles.”
But Tibby, who was standing on tiptoes to peer into the barrel, said, “Alistair, I’m not so sure this is a safe hiding place. There’s something in this barrel I think you should see.”
“Pickled herrings, I presume.” Alistair, waving a hand in front of his nose, joined Tibby Rose and peered into the dark container. But instead of pickled herrings, he saw two pairs of eyes staring back at him. Two familiar pairs of eyes. Surely it was impossible—and yet . . .
“Tibby, quick,” said Alistair. “Help me lower the barrel to the ground!”
As gently as they could, they eased the barrel onto its side and pulled the two captive mice from it.
“Alice,” cried Alex as soon as Alistair took the gag from his mouth, “there’s a mouse here who looks just like Alistair—only . . . kind of purple.”
“Thank you, Alex, I’ve got eyes,” said Alice, whose gag had been removed by Tibby Rose.
“Alex,” said Alistair, wrapping his arms around his brother’s tied-up body, “it is me: Alistair. Oh, it’s so good to see you both!”
“Alistair!” said Alex. “It’s really you! Don’t worry, we’ve come to rescue you!”
“That’s a relief,” said Tibby Rose drily. “Just give us a second to untie you and then you can get to it.”
Alex’s eyes flew to Tibby Rose, who was busy with the knots securing Alice. “Who are you? And why are you purple too?”
“It’s a long story,” said Alistair. “This is Tibby Rose—she’s kind of a cousin of ours, in fact, and under the purple she’s ginger, like me and . . . I’ll explain later. More importantly, what are you doing here? And why were you tied up?”
“We were looking for you,” said Alice. “We were hoping to find you before you were taken to Souris. But then Horace and Sophia—they’re Sourian kidnappers—found us.”
“Only they weren’t actually kidnappers,” Alex interrupted, “since they hadn’t actually got you.”
“But they were still kidnappers,” Alice argued, “since they were trying to kidnap him—and they kidnapped us. Twice. Or is it three times?”
“True,” Alex agreed as Alistair untied him. He rubbed his wrists where the rope had cut into them. “Three times if you count the Riverside Inn.”
“That must be the pair of Sourian agents Feast Thompson and Slippers Pink were talking about,” Alistair said to Tibby Rose. “Where are they now?” he asked his brother and sister.
“In the captain’s cabin last time we saw them,” said Alice.
“Then we’d better get off this ship before it docks at Shambles,” said Alistair.
“Shambles? This ship sailed from Shambles,” said Alice. “It’s going to Souris.”
“Not anymore,” said Alistair. “Your ship was attacked by a pirate ship.”
“Our pirate ship,” Tibby Rose chimed in.
“You’re pirates?” Alex said. He sounded confused. “Is that why you’re purple?”
“No,” said Tibby. “We’re purple because we’re ginger.”
“I get it,” said Alice. “And you didn’t want anyone to know you’re Gerandan.”
“How do you . . .?” Alistair began, looking at her in astonishment. Then, hearing footsteps, he shook his head. “There’ll be time for this later. Right now we have to deal with the fact that we’re not safe on this ship with the kidnappers aboard, and we don’t want to go back to Souris on the Sickert. We need a third option.”
“There’s a lifeboat on the port bow,” said Tibby Rose.
“Brilliant! Can you lead us to it, Tib?” Alistair asked.
“Sure.” Tibby was about to step out from their hiding place when a shaggy brown mouse rushed down the stairs.
“That’s the captain,” whispered Alex.
All four mice peered around the corner of the stairs to watch as the captain burst into his cabin.
“We’re under attack,” he announced to those inside in a hoarse voice. “Pirates. We can’t fight them off, so we’re going to turn about and head back to Shambles.”
“P-p-pirates?” one of the cabin’s occupants wailed. (“Horace,” Alice whispered.)
“My dear Captain, that is completely unacceptable,” came an imperious reply in silvery tones. “We are on our way to Souris.” (“And Sophia,” Alice added with a shiver.)
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Miss Sophia,” said the captain, his tone hardening. “I must consider the safety of my crew and ship first. As it is we’ll be lucky if the pirates don’t scuttle us.”
“Hmph. Very well.” Sophia did not sound happy. “Then we had better divest ourselves of our young captives, Horace. We don’t want those nasty Sourian spies setting foot on our precious Shetlock soil again. Where did your sailors put them, Captain?”
“In the barrel beneath the stairs. You can’t miss it—just follow the smell of pickled herring.”
“Yikes! Tibby, get us to that lifeboat,” Alistair urged.
The four young mice scrambled up the narrow staircase.
On deck, the Marmaduke’s crew were fighting hard to repel the invaders. Fortunately, they were too busy to pay attention to the four young mice scurrying through their midst.
They were almost at the rail when they heard a screech from below decks.
“They’re gone! The brats have gone!”
“Everyone over the rail!
” shouted Alistair.
The four mice clambered over the rail just as Horace’s lugubrious voice bayed, “There they are, Sophia!”
“Stop them!” the silvery mouse cried. “I order you sailors to stop them!”
But the Marmaduke’s sailors were too preoccupied fighting off the pirates to pay her any heed.
Casting a glance over his shoulder as he dropped down into the lifeboat, Alistair had a glimpse of silvery gray fur moving rapidly across the deck, pushing through the throng impatiently. A coal-black mouse trailed somewhat reluctantly in her wake.
“Tibby, how do we launch this thing?” Alistair asked urgently.
“It’s lashed to the rail with rope,” Tibby shouted. “We need to cut it.” She looked around the bottom of the boat frantically.
Quick as a flash Alex was hauling himself back over the rail.
“Alex!” cried Alice. “Where are you going? Come back!” She tried to snatch at his tail but missed.
“Excuse me?” Alex tapped the shoulder of a pirate who was holding the point of his cutlass at the throat of a sailor whose back was pressed to the rail.
“What?” the pirate barked impatiently.
“I need your cutlass,” said Alex, snatching it from the grasp of the bewildered pirate.
“Hey!” he shouted, but Alex took a running jump and, with one hand on the rail, hurdled back into the lifeboat.
“Here.” He thrust the cutlass at Tibby Rose, who grasped the heavy sword with both hands and swung it through the ropes attaching the lifeboat to the ship.
“Hang on!” she cried, as the small boat fell several meters, hitting the water with an almighty splash.
Alistair, who was ready with the oars, began to stroke quickly away from the Marmaduke.
“Come back!” Sophia was shaking her fist from the deck above. But Sophia and the doleful Horace were the only mice aboard to pay any mind to the departure of the four young mice.
“Thank goodness you disguised your ginger fur,” said Alice, watching with a mixture of terror and relief as the enraged silver mouse ran along the deck. “If she had known you were so close . . .” She shuddered.
The Secret of the Ginger Mice Page 17