by Alex Milway
Back on deck, Scragneck pushed his prisoners to the front of the deck so that they were in full view of the approaching warships. A crowd of excitable pirates joined him and withdrew their weapons in wait.
“You’re giving yourself up,” growled Mousebeard, watching the navy’s ships come hull to hull with the Silver Shark. Behind the warships, the sea was filled with vessels big and small, lit up by the continuous stream of flares that were being fired into the sky.
“Shut up,” snapped Scragneck; however, he couldn’t help but eye the ships nervously.
From every side of the Silver Shark, sailors appeared and dropped onto the deck. Scragneck watched them intently, and they stared back without moving further — the sailors easily outnumbered the pirates. Finally, with a heavy thump, Lord Battersby landed aboard, a silver-butted pistol in his hand.
“Good evening,” he said, catching the eye of Mousebeard. He approached him and looked him up and down.
In his chains, Mousebeard bristled, and his dark eyes held Battersby’s gaze.
“How the mighty tumble,” said Battersby. “And you, Drewshank . . . what a nice surprise. I thought you had gone down with your worthless ship . . . .”
“A small gesture for ya,” said Scragneck.
“Well, that’s much appreciated,” added Battersby. “I shall enjoy watching him walk to the scaffold. He was just perfect for our little plan.”
Battersby made a small gesture with his hand and sailors approached Mousebeard and Drewshank, seizing their chains. Even though the pirate was bound, the sailors clearly found his presence unnerving. He glowered at them as they tried to move him.
“Idiots,” snarled Mousebeard, “thinking you can get the better of me!”
The pirate let his head fall back and whistled three short notes. Immediately, along the masts rushed tens of mice, who all started to wail. It was the same ear-piercing noise that Drewshank had heard when they were in the fog, and every sailor and pirate clutched their ears.
“Run!” shouted Mousebeard.
Drewshank was reeling from the noise, but found it didn’t matter when he was being pulled along by the fearsome strength of Mousebeard. The pirate charged at Battersby and knocked him flying with his shoulder. Two sailors, struggling to deal with the wailing mice, managed to jump on Drewshank and drag him to the floor. The pirate pulled up sharply, but, giving a great tug, had his fellow prisoner back on his feet again.
“Get him!” ordered Battersby.
At least ten sailors released their ears and headed toward the pirate, who had barged to the edge of the ship. Mousebeard looked down into the choppy blackness of the sea, and his immediate thought was to jump, but he paused, and the wailing of the mice grew louder in a fresh chorus. With the weight of Drewshank hanging off him, he wouldn’t stand a chance in the cold water. There was now nowhere to run.
The sailors eventually reached him, but first they bundled Drewshank to the floor. Mousebeard stood firm and felt his arms pull sharply with the chain. More sailors jumped onto him. He swung his body frantically, dispatching three sailors over the side and into the water before he was finally overcome in a torrent of punches. In a last gasp of strength, he let out a desperate cry of anguish, as his head smashed into his captors.
Battersby calmly found his feet and pointed the pistol at Mousebeard’s neck.
“I’d finish this now if it was worth my while,” he said.
“Do it,” ordered Mousebeard.
Battersby smirked.
“Bringing you back to Old Town will make me the most famous man in Midena — and even the whole of the Great Sea. You’re worth so much more alive . . . .”
Battersby turned his gun to where the mice were resting on the masts and pulled the trigger. Mousebeard’s face paled as he watched three small mice drop like weights to the deck. Their wailing cries stopped briefly then started up again.
“Blow them away!” shouted Battersby to his troops, who were being driven mad by the noise. The sailors passed the order to the Stonebreaker, which unleashed a hail of shot at the offending mice, blowing the masts to pieces.
Mousebeard felt a hole widen in his heart at the sound of the gunfire.
“Take the prisoners away!” ordered Battersby exultantly, before he turned to face the pirates. “Who’s in charge of this ship now?”
Scragneck stepped forward as the shapes of Mousebeard and Drewshank disappeared onto the Stonebreaker.
“Do you have the mice?” asked Battersby, slightly breathless.
“Do I ’ave your word?”
Battersby let his sailors surround him. “Of course you do.”
A pirate carried over the ornate mousebox, passed it to Battersby, and then stepped back.
“Excellent,” said Lord Battersby, his eyes glowing at the thought of the riches the mice would bring to Old Town. Before he stepped off the Silver Shark, he looked back and spoke.
“You have two choices,” he said. “Either drop your weapons and surrender, or face our cannons and die like the scum you are!”
Then he turned and disappeared behind a freshly mustered line of sailors. Scragneck raised his sword.
“You lying, two-bit . . . ”
Pistol shots rang out from behind him and his pirates fired through a row of Battersby’s sailors.
“No surrender!” shouted Scragneck to his fellow pirates as he slashed with his sword. “Blast ’em back to Old Town!”
Safe onboard the Stonebreaker, Battersby watched the fighting from his cabin. He ordered more sailors to go onboard, knowing that before long the pirates would be completely overrun. When word eventually reached him of Scragneck’s capture, he suppressed a smile. He relished the knowledge that his present for the Old Town gallows was going to be even greater than he’d hoped.
The Orange Mouse of Niladia
THE ORANGE MOUSE LIVES ITS LIFE IN PERMANENT DANGER BECAUSE OF an unfortunate twist of evolution that’s endowed it with bright orange fur. In most cases of such natural coloring, this would be an indication of the animal being bestowed with a deadly poison, but not the poor Orange Mouse. Instead, it is one of the most highly visible and hunted mice in existence, and is forever on the run from predators. When not fleeing from pursuit, the Orange Mouse is usually found rolling in mud to try and hide is coloring — a rather fruitless task.
MOUSING NOTES
The Orange Mouse is, unsurprisingly, on the world’s endangered list, but unlike many mice on the list, it is actively encouraged that collectors keep a pair in their collection. The mice seem to relish an unnatural habitat, and thrive in captivity.
The Return to Old Town
THE STONEBREAKER TORE THROUGH THE WATER ON ITS long journey back to Old Town. Chained up in a small prison cabin in its hull, with only shards of light to see by, Mousebeard and Drewshank looked totally defeated and battle-weary. Bruises were blossoming on their faces, and their outfits were dirty and damaged. And worst of all, not only were they still chained together at arm’s length, but they had nothing to do other than talk to each other.
“I hate Lord Battersby,” said Drewshank, leaning back uncomfortably.
The mice in Mousebeard’s beard were fidgeting, and the pirate was muttering under his breath. His dark brown eyes appeared pure black in the dingy conditions.
“Mutinous scum,” he spat. “Just as I warned, they’ve got all of us killed.”
“That’s pirates for you,” Drewshank replied. “But I must admit that I enjoyed your charge at Lord Battersby!”
“If the opportunity arises,” Mousebeard said gruffly, “he’ll get a lot worse. But my crew had turned, and in that situation it’s each man for himself.”
“You should have chosen your friends more wisely.”
“Friends?” said Mousebeard angrily, leaning into Drewshank’s face. “What would you know about my friends?”
Drewshank pulled back, trying to smooth his matted hair.
“Enough to know that most of them will be there to w
atch you plummet from the gallows,” he said smartly.
Mousebeard frowned and closed his eyes.
“I won’t make it that far, captain,” he said. “I won’t last that long.”
“If there’s anyone they’ll keep alive for Old Town, it’ll be you,” said Drewshank. “Your execution will draw all the crowds.”
Mousebeard smiled grimly. His darkened eyes suddenly looked distant.
“If only staying alive was that easy.”
“It’s not like you’ve anything better to do,” said Drewshank.
“You know nothing of what I face. I’ve lived under the shadow of death for many years, privateer. You’ll understand things soon enough.”
“It seems that we have plenty of time on our hands, so you might as well explain what you mean.”
Mousebeard looked at him. “Sitting in silence would be far preferable,” he said.
“Have it your way then,” replied Drewshank.
He groaned and fell silent. In his boredom he started to pick at the manacles clamped tightly around his wrists. The cabin was hot and airless, and sweat was dripping down his forehead. He stopped thinking about Mousebeard and his secrets, and instead thought of the horrific prospect of returning to Old Town with heavy chains clanking around his feet and wrists.
An armored sailing vessel slipped silently into Old Town harbor at the dead of night, unseen by the other ships navigating the channel. Its sails slackened and it pulled up smoothly at the quayside. The harbor was relatively quiet, just the odd sailor and usual drunks, but as Beatrice Pettifogger disembarked with four armed bodyguards to protect her, a cloaked figure approached.
“Aah, Lady Pettifogger,” exclaimed Spires, striding toward her, “your carriage is waiting for you!”
Spires looked more tired than usual. Isiah Lovelock had been sending him on errands round the clock of late.
“I take it all is well,” said Beatrice Pettifogger as she walked alongside the butler, her cloak skimming the floor.
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Lovelock is waiting in great anticipation of your news.”
Lady Pettifogger touched his arm very lightly.
“And he won’t be disappointed. I received word this morning that everything has gone to plan.”
“Excellent,” replied the butler, ushering Lady Pettifogger to her carriage, waiting by the Old Town Gate.
Spires followed the lady onboard and gave the order to move on. With a jolt they set off, and sped through the streets of Old Town.
When they reached the heights of Grandview, Isiah Lovelock was standing at the roadside, taking in the air outside his mansion. He was lit by the glowing lamp nearby, and his long shadow stretched out over the cobblestones. It was a most unusual sight, and Spires hastened to jump down from the carriage.
“Is everything well, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, of course! You made good time,” said Lovelock with a faint smile. Spires opened the other side of the carriage and Lady Pettifogger stepped down, pulling her cloak across so her feet hit the ground first. She took Lovelock’s cold hand.
“Isiah!” she exclaimed warmly, “how wonderful to meet again, and in such marvelous circumstances.”
These words brought a tiny sparkle to his eye.
“We have them?” he asked hopefully, leading her into the hallway. The dim lights along the walls caught the whites of Lovelock’s eyes as he stopped and waited for her reply. Lady Pettifogger glanced around, drew nearer, and whispered to Lovelock.
“Each and every one, Isiah,” she said. “The pirates gave up their captain and the Golden Mice without so much as a sneeze. And we have the Silver Shark intact but for a few scratches. What better trophy is there? It will prove a great draw for the young mousekeepers of Old Town.”
“Lord Battersby will be rewarded with the highest honors, Beatrice,” said Lovelock. “This is the most fabulous news I could have received!”
“And the fleet will return within the next week or so, all being well. I believe a celebration will be in order.”
“I’ll send word to the Mayor of Old Town,” said Lovelock. “The scaffold will have to be erected on Pirate’s Wharf — and the gibbet readied for Mousebeard. He still has supporters around the Great Sea, so we should make an example of him.”
“We shall be in the history books, Isiah!” exclaimed Beatrice.
“And the Golden Mice will herald a new dawn for this land. Old Town will once again become the richest city in the world. We’ll put the fire back into the people — get them thirsty for wealth and glory. Old Town will soon be unstoppable . . . .”
After news reached Old Town of Mousebeard’s capture, rumors spread like wildfire. In the taverns it was said that Mousebeard could command giants and sea monsters, and word had got out about Battersby’s return and his notorious cargo. No one knew what to believe for sure, but everyone felt it was a major event in the history of Midena. On the streets, rows of mousebunting were hung from building to building, and effigies of the captured pirate were staked on the end of tall pikes in celebration.
In Merchants’ Square, outside the Town Hall, boys and girls distributed the daily papers with the breaking news. With every day that passed there was a new artist’s impression of the pirate’s scowling face blown up large on the front pages. It was impossible to escape: even the walls of the docks were plastered with posters proclaiming the virtues of Lord Battersby and the Old Town Guard, and how the menace of Mousebeard would soon be extinguished for good.
Within the confines of the hallowed Hall of Mousetrading, dealers discussed the impact that Mousebeard’s capture would have on their fortunes. There was quite a buzz around the city, and the price of lucrative Angel-eyed Mice — Old Town’s most recent mousing discovery — rocketed. In the space of just a few days, the city was once again the talk of Midena.
For all the young mousekeepers of Old Town who had grown up listening to horrifying stories of Mousebeard the pirate, it was almost too exciting to bear. Hearing of his capture and knowing that he was being brought to their city was the most amazing thing ever to happen to them, and the pirate’s arrival couldn’t come too soon. Even in Old Rodent’s Academy, there was much talk among the professors and students, and the day of the pirate’s arrival was made a holiday so that everyone could visit the harbor and catch a glimpse of the prisoner.
So when the navy’s ships eventually appeared on the horizon, it didn’t take long for everyone to hear about it. Every viewpoint in the city grew congested with onlookers gazing out to sea, and those able to make the journey through the marshes to the harbor did so.
The Stonebreaker was the first to reach the docks, its flags flying high and snapping in the wind, with, behind it, the pirate ship in tow. Every sailor lined the deck; their faces were stern but triumphant. The tailing warships slipped quietly into the harbor and formed an impenetrable wall between Old Town and the sea, making it impossible for any sort of escape.
The cobbled quayside was cluttered with cheering supporters, all trying to outstretch each other for the best view of the ships. It had been almost a century since an arrival had brought this much excitement to the harbor. As a loud whistle sounded, the crowd retreated slightly, and a wide gangplank fell to the ground with a clatter. “Where is he?” shouted an old lady, struggling to see the events unfold. Her cry was echoed by the restless crowd, and a chorus of “String ’im up! String ’im up!” belted out.
Suddenly, armed sailors marched out and drove a corridor through the crowd to the Old Town Gate. The rabble grew louder and louder, waiting for Mousebeard, until eventually Lord Battersby walked into view in full uniform. He carried a mousebox, and as he stepped out a huge cheer rang out. Behind him came more sailors, and then the crowd went quiet at the sight everyone was waiting for. Mousebeard stood tall on deck, his immense size gradually revealed by the dispersing crew. But his face was drained of color, and he looked tired — certainly not the fearsome presence that people were expecting. A guard shoved his
back to make him move.
He stumbled at the top of the gangplank. His wrists and ankles were shackled, allowing him little movement, but he slowly shuffled onto the flagstones, heralding wild cheering from the crowd. Stones were thrown at him, and clumps of dirt flew into his face, but he was unfazed, instead feeling a sense of bewilderment at the solid ground beneath his feet. Sailors rushed to form a barrier between him and the crowd, twisting their pikes sideways in unison to stop anyone pushing through.
Mousebeard hesitantly took a few steps forward — something that briefly warmed every part of his soul — but the crowd’s attention quickly focused on his face, which was contorting. It suddenly lost all its color and his dark eyes scrunched shut. He tumbled to the floor, his huge body clattering down, and he started to twist and writhe in agony. Sailors kicked him and demanded he rise, but the pirate couldn’t move. His chest had seized up as if an iron hand were squeezing his heart. It had been years since Mousebeard had felt the pain.
Lord Battersby rushed over.
“Get up, man!” he ordered. “Pick him up!”
Four sailors lifted Mousebeard — his weight was such that it needed that many — and it was immediately apparent that all was not well.
“I can’t walk,” he muttered, breathing heavily. The crowd around started to jeer.
“We’ll drag you along the roads if we have to,” said Battersby sharply. “Keep him coming.” Lord Battersby walked on through the crowds at a faster pace, with Mousebeard being pulled behind.
Drewshank was the next onto the gangplank, and the response of the crowd turned to one of confusion. He looked at the faces around him, searching vainly for friends. Everyone knew of Drewshank’s attempt to capture the pirate, but they had no idea why he was now a prisoner. As the rest of the pirates emerged onto the gangplank, a single cheer lifted the people again, and soon Drewshank was amid the roaring jeers just like Mousebeard.