by Alex Milway
Scratcher darted up beside her, and slid to a halt.
“I can’t see a clear route out,” he said worriedly. “Pirates everywhere!”
“What can we do then?” whispered Emiline.
A huge blast hit the side of the Silver Shark, punching it over onto its side for a brief second. A terrific whooshing noise followed, and through the gun hatches Emiline saw the unmistakable glow of scorching fire burning the mist away. The navy was upon them.
Pirates were suddenly all around the mousekeepers, tending to the cannons and oblivious to their presence. Within seconds the first volley of cannonfire had been let loose from the gundeck. The smell of battle soon filled the deck, and smoke started to fog the air. The guns fired again.
“Let’s make our move,” declared Emiline. She grabbed Scratcher’s wrist and ran out of hiding. Darting in and out of shadows, desperately avoiding anyone’s sight — as well as the paths of the scurrying Powder Mice — they found a passageway at the stern with stairs leading to the top deck. A metal-edged window threw light over their dirty faces, making them blink and withdraw from the brightness.
The Silver Shark was moving fast in the water, but through the fading mist and smoke, it was clear that the navy had surrounded the vessel. Warships stretched out for as far as the eye could see. Puffs of smoke were flashing out of the ships as their bombardment grew stronger.
“They’re rubbish shots!” said Scratcher, noticing that few were hitting the ship.
“They won’t want to hurt us too badly,” explained Emiline. “Mousebeard has something precious of Lovelock’s.”
Over the deafening noise of cannonfire, Scratcher heard something boom even louder.
“Did you hear that?”
“What?”
Emiline listened harder. The noise boomed out again, rippling the sea and the ships upon it.
“What on earth is that?” she exclaimed.
Cannons on all sides stopped firing. The window went dark, while outside, the sailors watched a shadow spread across the sea and navy.
“Look!” said Scratcher, tapping Emiline on the arm.
His attention had turned to the stairs, where they could just make out a mouse that sat sniffing the air.
“That’s a Ring-eyed Brown,” said Emiline, with authority. “And it’s even got pirate earrings too!”
Another loud boom shook the whole ship, and the mouse fled.
“What’s happening?” said Scratcher, looking anxiously at Emiline, but she had fallen to the floor.
From the top deck they heard Mousebeard call out: “Just in time, Ogruk! Once again I am indebted to you!”
Scratcher heard a loud gushing noise, and suddenly the ship jerked upward, rocketing into the air. The force pulled him down too.
“What is it?” yelled Emiline. Eventually the force subsided, and they felt the ship bobbing up and down, as though on softly rolling waves.
They stood up uneasily and dusted themselves down. For a moment all was calm. And then blades appeared at their necks.
“So here you are, Blonde,” said Miserley, holding Emiline tightly with her mouse squeaking loudly in her ear. “I can always rely on Weazle here to find escaped prisoners!”
“Make one move and I’ll cut ya in two,” said Scragneck, his sword primed and ready at Scratcher’s jugular. “I think it’s time we taught you both a lesson.”
The Dung Mouse
NOT A PRETTY CREATURE, THE DUNG MOUSE HAS SHAGGY BROWN FUR, and a long tail that wags constantly. The animal does very little other than defecate, hence its name (although it does eat and sleep occasionally), and is very smelly.
Not an animal to be disregarded, however; its dung has proved extremely useful as a source of renewable natural energy. Once dried, the dung can be burned as a solid fuel — which produces very little odor — and is used in fireplaces and kitchens all over Midena.
MOUSING NOTES
Dung Mice can become violent if their routines are broken, or if they’re provoked. However, as long as they’re kept in a spacious pen that’s regularly attended to and cleaned, these animals can play a beneficial role in any home.
Giant Island
“AGIANT!” SHOUTED LORD BATTERSBY INCREDULOUSLY from the bridge of his warship, the Stonebreaker.
“He’s got to be a leftover from the old continents, sir,” said Lieutenant Smedley nervously, looking up at the incredible creature, whose head threatened to touch the clouds in the sky. There was a clear tremor in his very posh voice. “There’s a few who still roam these lands, but we had no idea there was one in that old vol cano, and in cahoots with the pirate.”
“Don’t you think that you should have found out about this earlier?” said Battersby. “I hadn’t reckoned on dealing with a mythical creature!”
“Sorry, sir,” replied Smedley. They watched the giant stoop before them and, with one of his huge hands, cup the Silver Shark to lift it high out of the water. Then he turned and strode back toward the towering island in the middle of the sea. Each footstep the giant took in the water sent huge bulging waves rippling out, spreading the navy farther and farther apart.
“But he’s harmless enough, though, I assure you,” whined Smedley. He watched Ogruk stride farther away, and the boat lifted and dropped awfully. “Giants will go out of their way to avoid hurting anything. That’s what the history books tell us. . . . ”
Battersby clutched a wooden rail to stop his legs falling away.
“History books!” he yelled. “That giant could flick us to kingdom come!”
He wiped his brow.
“Tell the commanders to ready their vessels! Send them to the island, prime the firebrands, and direct the mortars to the cliffs. It looks like a siege is the only way. Let’s hope Mousebeard’s giant doesn’t get in our way again.”
“Of course, sir!”
“And release the Messenger Mice,” he added. “I expect at least one pirate will not be wholly trustworthy and true to Mousebeard’s cause. That’s all it will take to get us the mice!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Oh, and Smedley,” said Battersby calmly, “if we lose Mousebeard because of this accursed giant, I’ll be sure to send you to the Mouse Mines of Minsu!”
The giant clambered over the cliffs in two massive steps and dropped down into a lost world so green and lush that it looked completely out of place in the icy climate of the Cold Sea. Shafts of steam rose into the sky from the bustling forest floor, and flying mice zigzagged through the air, taking full advantage of the warm currents to stay airborne with as little effort as possible. The sounds of mice filled the land, with squeaks and chirrups echoing around constantly.
Mousebeard’s hideout, known to the pirates as Giant Island, was inside the crater of an immense extinct volcano that towered out of the sea. Its mile-wide rim of sheer rock completely isolated the land from the outside world, and within its confines a whole new ecosystem had evolved, based on the warmth its geysers provided.
The giant stepped carefully along a well-trodden route, his enormous feet narrowly avoiding blossoming jungle and spiraling wooden buildings that broke through the canopy. Within a few strides, he’d reached the shimmering lagoon at the center of the island where a huge brooding fortress jutted out into the water. He bent down to place the Silver Shark on the water next to it.
Standing upon a gigantic platform stretching right out into the lagoon, the fortress was nearly a hundred meters wide at the base, and split into many smaller, spiky towers as it grew taller. Each of these leaned outward like the gnarled branches of a dying tree, with odd-shaped bones and mouseskulls hanging off them like leaves. Vines and chains draped from tower to tower, and each rooftop was home to a large cannon trained out over the cliffs.
“We’re indebted to you once more, Ogruk!” bellowed Mousebeard from the top deck, relieved to be back in sight of his home.
The giant winked one of his bright hazel eyes then stood upright, sending a gust of air rippling over th
e treetops and across the lagoon. A flock of flying mice burst into the air, and with his head and shoulders high above the cliffs, he cast his eyes over the horizon and replied in his thunderous, ground-rumbling voice.
“The ships are massing like tadpoles again. I’ll hang around to make sure you’re okay.”
“Excellent,” shouted Mousebeard, patting his beard.
Mousebeard readied himself to leave the vessel. He pulled his jacket down and placed his black tricorn hat, with a jagged bite cut out of its edge, on his head. The little mice peeked out from his beard and squeaked excitedly at the prospect of coming home. Mousebeard had been at sea for over three months and, as ever, returning to Giant Island settled his nerves. He longed to see all the mice that lived on the island; he longed to find time for himself away from the pirates on his ship; and he longed to sleep without the waves rolling his bed beneath him.
His satisfaction at returning home was shattered in an instant by Miserley and Scragneck. They marched out onto deck and threw two raggedy children at the pirate’s feet.
“Mousebeard!” cried Emiline, fear rippling down her back. Seeing the pirate so close was like being confronted by her worst nightmare. His eyes were dark brown, but hidden in the shadow of his bristling eyebrows they looked black and fierce. And because of his moving beard, it looked as though his face was possessed by another being. She scrabbled across the floor to escape, but found Miserley’s foot firmly kicking into her ribs. Scratcher peered at her, but his mouth wouldn’t open to speak.
The pirate turned his black gaze onto Scragneck.
“Who are they? Why are you bothering me with them now?” he growled, baring his yellow teeth.
“They escaped from the brig, cap’n. They want some punishment!” he replied.
Mousebeard looked back at the two mousekeepers. Emiline shrank back in spite of herself. He started to pace around them slowly.
“They escaped?”
Miserley jumped in. “They had trained mice that stole the keys.”
With those words the pirate stopped and frowned. “Trained mice?” he said.
“They somehow managed to steal them from the guard,” added Miserley.
“Where are these mice then?” asked Mousebeard.
Emiline shuffled uneasily on the floor, and Portly scurried out from around her neck. She tried to conceal him, but he rushed to the top of her head, and Mousebeard picked him up.
“A Grey . . . ,” he said quietly, with the mouse looking minuscule within his bulging hand. “The commonest of mice is always going to be the one that surprises you.”
Portly squeaked bravely at the pirate, and brought a brief, hidden smile to his face beneath the beard. Then he looked back at the mousekeepers and let out a growl.
“As far as I can see, these two are smarter mousekeepers than you, Miserley,” he said. “Even so, I think I have the perfect punishment.”
Emiline and Scratcher looked at each other nervously. The thought of facing a pirate’s punishment filled them with dread.
“Take them ashore,” ordered the pirate, “and along with the other prisoners, put them to work in the Dung Mouse pen. That should give them something to do. It will keep them out of my way at least. Then send Drewshank to me in my quarters. I have some things I want to ask him.”
“Aye, sir,” said Scragneck, his tone less than happy. He didn’t think it was anywhere near a suitable punishment for the mousekeepers. Miserley felt equally angry, and lifted Emiline to her feet, her fingers digging spitefully into Emiline’s shoulders. Scratcher stood of his own accord, but soon found himself clasped in Scragneck’s hands.
Mousebeard placed Portly on the floor and let him hurry back to the relative safety of Emiline’s shoulder. He then walked casually to the bow of the ship, where some of his crew were readying the gangplanks. With a bang they landed on the platform, a loud high-pitched whistle blew, and the pirate walked down and out of view.
“Come on, Miserley,” said Scragneck, “let’s get off this ship.”
They pushed the mousekeepers along the deck and Emiline looked upward for the first time. She froze at the sight. At least twice the height of the Silver Shark, the fortress looked fearful and commanding, while hundreds of eyeless skulls hanging from the towers were staring right at her.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Miserley, pushing Emiline off the ship and onto the platform. Two pirates standing guard at the fortress gateway lowered their cutlasses and growled. Emiline heard Scratcher gasp behind her, and realized he’d just seen the fortress too.
“This way!” snarled Miserley, and kicked Emiline, making her walk toward the dense vegetation at the edge of the platform. As she stepped down onto the path around the edge of the lagoon, Emiline was struck by the warmth and lush green of the jungle. Miserley kept poking her to walk along the path faster, but Emiline looked around her as much as she could. It was unlike any place she’d been to. Instead of grass there was a mass of strange flowers and tendrils covering the ground, and to accompany them, shiny metallic-colored insects hovered from one plant to the next. To her left, dark green trees rose up from the jungle floor with leaves the size of handkerchiefs and bright fruit as big as cannonballs hanging from their branches. The trees were strung with creepers and the plants were alive with all kinds of rustlings and squeaks.
Suddenly a tongue shot out from the undergrowth and caught an insect on its fat blobby end.
“A Flycatcher . . . ,” muttered Emiline.
A small mouse with curly blue fur and massive ears darted out into Emiline’s path, followed by three more in quick succession. They ran across extraordinarily fast, and then plopped into the lagoon with a tiny splash.
“What were those?” said Emiline, realizing she’d never seen that species before — not even in The Mousehunter’s Almanac. She peered carefully into the bushes as she walked and spotted more weird and wonderful mice, momentarily forgetting the pirate girl behind. One was clinging to a tree, seemingly secured to the bark by its thick corkscrewed tail that wound into the very wood itself. She gasped as another swung before her out of the trees, hanging from a vine by its tail, its arms stretched out as if in a pose. Emiline wanted to tell Scratcher about it, but Miserley was right next to her and barging her at every opportunity.
“Right,” barked Scragneck, bringing Emiline back to reality, “this way!”
They turned from the lagoon into the jungle, and the path quickly became damp and muddy, with the noise of the island’s fauna growing in intensity. They walked farther along the shadowy path, and a smell so foul and horrible that it could turn milk sour wafted toward them.
“Blech!” spluttered Scratcher. “What on earth’s that?”
Miserley smirked. “That’s where you’ll be spending the rest of your days — the Dung Mouse pen, clearing and packing mouse dung like good prisoners.”
“Roarph!” choked Emiline, feeling Portly hide deeper into her hair.
“You’ll soon get used to it,” snarled Scragneck. “Thank your lucky stars I ain’t in charge here, or else you’d already be dead.”
Emiline turned and caught the pirate’s eye. Scragneck was altogether different from Mousebeard. He wasn’t inquisitive or particularly clever. His eyes burned only with fire and hatred, and she could tell he was rotten to the core.
They walked a few minutes more before they came to the Dung Mouse pen. It was built like an iron prison, with a thick wooden padlocked door, and through the barred windows she could see the herd of Dung Mice. They were quite large animals, almost as tall as Elephant Mice, but with shaggy coats and long tails.
A woman pirate stood on guard, with the longest sword Emiline had ever seen held at the ready. She greeted Scragneck and unlocked the door to the pen.
“There are shovels inside,” said the woman. “Scoop up the dung and fling it into the hut at the back. They do their business at least thirty times daily, and with the eighty or so animals in there, it should give you more than enough to do. You’ll f
ind beds on the walls. They ain’t that comfortable, but once you stink of mouse dung, you start not to care too much for luxuries.”
Miserley shoved Emiline into the pen, and Scratcher was pushed in behind her. The smell was even worse inside, and the mice made no hesitation in investigating the new arrivals. The door slammed shut, and Scratcher sighed heavily as his legs were sniffed unceremoniously by a Dung Mouse.
“This is going to be horrible,” he said, and put his hand over his nose to block the smell.
“Not even the Flaming Stink Mouse was as bad as this!” said Emiline, spluttering into her shirtsleeve. “How did we end up here?”
Miserley and Scragneck walked back to the ship along the lagoon. The rest of the prisoners had been deposited in the Dung Mouse pen, and they were returning for some well-earned rest. They felt happier now that they’d been reminded how horrible life for the prisoners would be. Life as a pirate was always made better when you could inflict suffering on someone.
Miserley was about to speak, but her attention was suddenly taken by a small flying mouse landing in front of them. It seemed rather directionless, and wandered around on the dirty floor without a purpose.
“That’s a Messenger,” she said. “What’s it doing here?”
Scragneck picked it up and removed the note that was secured to its back. He unfurled it and read it quietly.
“It’s from the navy,” he said, looking at Miserley, his eyes bright. “They want Mousebeard, Lovelock’s stolen mice, and any prisoners. If they get what they ask then the rest of us will be paid a fine ransom and set free.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No, it’s signed Lord Battersby, and gives his word as an officer of the Old Town Guard.”
“Ouch!” yelped Miserley as another Messenger Mouse hit her on the head. She looked up to see at least twenty more flying over the lagoon. “It won’t be long before everyone sees the note,” she said, “including Mousebeard. It’s got to be some sort of trick.”