Aboard Night Crow, the rats were yelling in terror. The carronade’s shell had smashed along the whole length of the ship. The mainmast was toppling, spars, sails and rigging were tumbling to the deck. Malatesta was raving and screaming: ‘Fire back, curse you!’ But it was too late. Beneath the bows, the shell exploded with an almighty crash, rats jumped for their lives, the whole ship took a sickening lurch and the hungry sea flooded in.
Roamer staggered to his feet, wondering what had knocked him over. Realising that his mice were cheering, he peered through the choking powder-smoke. The Night Crow was tilting forward, higher and higher until she was upright in the water. Then, with a groan and a shudder, she slid beneath the waves.
‘We did it, Lukas!’ cried Roamer. ‘We did it… ’ But Lukas did not reply. Roamer fell to his knees beside the still body. He took Lukas’s paw. The crew still shouted and cheered for a great victory. But for Roamer, there could be no joy or excitement. His dearest friend lay dead.
As the sea-mice realised what had happened, the cheering died away. ‘It were Mal’testy what killed him,’ said Old Ben, the tears coursing down his fur. ‘I saw him fire. I reckon he were aiming at you.’
‘And Lukas pushed me out of the way. He died to save my life.’ Roamer ran to the rail and stared at the water, which was swarming with rats, all swimming for the shore. Several vultures were swooping to pick them up, though the birds kept well clear of the Avenger. ‘Shall we shoot ’em, zur?’ asked Ben.
‘No. The rats fought bravely, they deserve to be saved. But I want Malatesta!’
For a long time, the mice scanned the water. But there was no sign of the stoat lord. ‘He must have gone down with his ship, zur. But there’s the cutter, with our princess!’
‘Get her and the others aboard, Ben. Then set course for the Golden Isles. We’ll spend the winter there. Our poor old Avenger’s so battered I don’t think she’d survive the long voyage home – and even if Malatesta’s survived, he can’t invade Carminel before the spring... Look! What’s that, floating in the water?’
‘That, zur, is the rear section of the Night Crow. There’s the rails, see, and you can just read the name. All that’s left of old Mal’testy, I reckons! Shall us fish it out for a souvenir?’
‘No! It would bring us bad luck. Leave it to rot.’
For the rest of that day, the tide was kept busy washing bits of wreckage onto the beach below the fort. Last to arrive was the section of Night Crow that Roamer had spotted in the water. If only he had fished it out, or even inspected it more closely, the future would have been very different. For a long time, it lay on the beach. Then, as snake-like shadows began to weave around it, it moved. Someone was crawling out from under it, and the sunlight gleamed on a spike.
Slowly, Malatesta rose to his feet, the shadows clustering about him. He raised hate-filled eyes to the horizon, where the Avenger’s sails were just visible. ‘Curse you, Roamer. I thought I had killed you, but I heard you insult me as I lay in the water. You have wrecked my plans, burned half my fleet, sunk my ship. But I shall repair my fleet, I shall invade Carrninel. I shall destroy its cities, I shall burn its farms, I shall slaughter every mouse that lives. But above all, Roamer, I shall destroy you!’
Part Three: The Castle in the Clouds
20. Marengo
‘Eat, my gallant Lancers!’ squeaked Captain Balbi. ‘Drink your fill! It’s all free!’
With a rousing cheer and roars of laughter, fifty Red Lancers surged towards the long tables and fell upon the heaped plates and jugs of foaming ale. Never had there been such a feast! Huge pies stuffed with apples, dates and walnuts; blackberry tarts smothered in cream; baked potatoes dripping with melted butter and cheese; a massive dish of cod, tuna and hake, fresh from the harbour and roasted with the most exotic spices the Vittles Lane merchants could provide.
At one end of the long hall, a huge log fire kept the winter cold at bay. But the room was so crowded with soldiers that the warmth did not reach to the far end. This was where Spital, Chowdmouse and the other orphans were huddling together, trying to keep warm. Now that they were almost fully grown, their ragged clothes were too small for them, and they were shivering.
‘This was supposed to be our feast,’ muttered Chowdmouse, gazing hungrily at the swaggering Lancers, who were stuffing themselves with food and pouring ale down their throats.
‘This was supposed to be our house,’ sighed Spital. ‘The cardinal bought it for us with Princess Tamina’s gold. Now the Red Duke’s stolen it as a home for his Red Lancers, and we’re worse off than before.’
‘Yeah. We have to slave for them soldiers. Can’t even live with the cardinal no more since he was put in prison.’
‘For sticking up for Captain Roamer,’ said Spital in disgust, ‘when Duke Flambeau declared him a traitor for kidnapping the king.’
‘But Caladon weren’t kidnapped. He’s safe away with the beavers and when he comes back we’re going to be his bodyguard, remember?’
‘If he comes back,’ said Spital gloomily. ‘Winter’s nearly over, though it’s still perishing cold! But there ain’t no sign of Caladon.’
A sudden gust of wind whistled round their feet as the door was edged open. Cranberry sidled in. He too had grown since that evening when he and his friends had escorted Caladon aboard the beavers’ schooner. But like his father, the landlord of the ‘King’s Head’, Cranberry had grown outwards rather than upwards. He hurried over to his friends, a cloth-wrapped bundle in his arms. ‘I’ve brought you some food,’ he whispered. ‘My father said to bring it. He hates the duke and the Red Lancers. Trouble is, they’ve got guns and nobody else has.’
‘Yeah, we all have to do as the Red Duke says,’ muttered Spital. ‘He’s power mad, he is.’
Chowdmouse was unwrapping the bundle. ‘Cor, thanks, Cranberry,’ he whispered. ‘Look, fellas, cheese pies, apples and oranges!’
‘What’s that?’ squealed a shrill voice. The mice looked up in alarm. Captain Balbi was glaring down at them. ‘Where has this little feast sprung from, hmmm?’
None of the mice spoke. Balbi gave a cruel smile. ‘Your name’s Cranberry, isn’t it? From the ‘Duke’s Head’?’
Cranberry nodded. He felt deeply ashamed that his father had changed the famous old inn’s name. But one night, a group of drunken Red Lancers had threatened to burn the inn to the ground unless he did so.
‘Bringing food to these snivelling orphans, are you?’ sneered Balbi as several grinning Lancers gathered round. ‘We can’t have that, can we? They’ll soon be as fat as you! What shall we do with this naughty little mouse?’
‘Slit his ears!’ shouted a Lancer.
‘Roast him over the fire!’ shouted another.
‘Good idea,’ squeaked Balbi. ‘Grab him!’
Cranberry punched Balbi squarely on the snout. As the Captain reeled back, blood spurting, Spital lashed out with his foot and a Red Lancer fell squealing, while Chowdmouse threw himself on the ground and bit another soldier’s ankle.
But it was no use. The young mice were overpowered and two burly Lancers grabbed Cranberry and dragged him to the fire.
‘I’ll teach you not to strike the commander of the Duke’s Guard!’ snarled Balbi. ‘Roast the little beast until he squeals!’
Suddenly, an icy blast swept down the hall and a tall mouse strode in. His thick grey fur was flecked with white, he was dressed in a warm coat and woollen leggings and his scarlet cloak was thrown open to show the jewelled hilt of his rapier. Behind him came twenty or more armed mice, all dressed in colourful coats.
‘What’s going on here?’ asked the tall mouse quietly.
‘Who are you?’ sqeaked Balbi indignantly.
For answer, the grey-furred mouse drew his rapier and held it to Balbi’s throat. ‘I asked you a question. Now let that mouse go.’
‘We were only having a bit of f-fun!’ stammered Balbi nervously.
‘I said, let him go!’ As the soldiers hurriedly released C
ranberry, the stranger’s followers drew their pistols and pointed them at the Red Lancers. Though they outnumbered the newcomers, the duke’s mice were glancing nervously at one another. They had no idea who these strangers were. But they sensed that they were real warriors, such as the Red Lancers only pretended to be.
The tall mouse curled his lip in contempt. ‘Fun, you call it? I call it torture. You must be Captain Balbi. I’ve heard about you. A robber and a bully who serves that arch-robber and villain, Flambeau! Now, your mice are going to throw their weapons on the floor. If they don’t, I’m going to cut your miserable throat.’
‘No! Please. I – I meant no harm. Ow! Oh, Lord of Light, he means it! Drop your weapons, all of you!’
As swords and pistols clattered to the floor, the stranger mouse sheathed his rapier. ‘That’s better. Now, is there a mouse here called Cranberry? Or Spital? Or Chowdmouse?’
Spital and Chowdmouse, who had been comforting their friend, looked up at the tall stranger. ‘That’s us.’
The tall mouse smiled down at them. ‘I am honoured to meet the three loyal members of His Majesty’s bodyguard. I am Lord Marengo, from the High Collada mountains, and these are my followers. Casey and his beavers are in the street outside. In a few hours, we shall have captured the Great Fortress and released the cardinal. Tell me, does this house have a cellar?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Spital, pointing to a stout, oak door with heavy bolts.
‘Nice and cool, is it?’ asked Marengo.
Spital grinned. ‘Flipping freezing!’
‘Good. Captain Balbi, lead the way. You miserable mice can follow your wretched leader for the last time. Two of my warriors will remain on guard. If you behave yourselves, I may order your release in the morning. Any trouble, and you’ll stay there for a month.’
The crestfallen Lancers trooped down to the cellar. When Marengo’s mice had bolted the door, Chowdmouse whispered: ‘Please, sir, like you said, we’re the king’s bodyguard. But where’s the king?’
‘I’m here.’ A young mouse had entered the hall. Like Marengo’s followers, he was dressed in colourful woollens. He was tall and powerfully built and as he drew near, the firelight shone on the reddish lights in his fur. His face wore a stern expression; but it broke into a warm smile as he recognised his friends. ‘Cranberry! Spital! Chowdmouse! Oh, I’m so happy to see you again!’
For a moment, the three mice stared at Caladon. He seemed so much older than when they had last seen him. Then, they knelt before him. ‘We ain’t never forgotten you, your Majesty,’ whispered Chowdmouse.
‘Things has been bad since you left,’ said Spital. ‘But now you’re back, things is going to be all right, ain’t they?’
Caladon raised his friends to their feet. ‘Yes, Spital, I promise you! Lord Marengo, our mice are in position around the Great Fortress and I’ve sent Casey and the beavers along as reinforcements. I estimate about fifty Red Lancers on duty. There’s no sign of my uncle, but no doubt he’s skulking in there somewhere.’
Marengo bowed. ‘Thank you, sir. Now, if your three bodyguards would care to arm themselves from the swords and pistols on the floor, I’m sure my followers can provide some warm coats for them. When we’re ready, we’ll go to the fortress and find your uncle. I fancy he’s in for an unpleasant surprise.’
21. Eagles!
Aramon was in darkness. The duke had forbidden any mouse to leave his home, or even to light a candle, after the cathedral clock had tolled nine. Cranberry and his friends had been expecting Marengo to lead them to the Great Fortress, but to their surprise he led them in the opposite direction. ‘Where we going, sir?’ Spital asked Caladon.
‘Through the West Gate. We overpowered the guards on our way in. Then, we’re going to Barrowdown Moor.’
‘Why?’ asked Cranberry. ‘I thought we were going to attack the fortress.’
‘We are,’ said Caladon with a smile. ‘Wait and see … ’
Beyond the West Gate, the mice followed the track across meadows and pastureland until the vast empty space of the moor lay before them. ‘We came into the city to find you and the cardinal,’ Caladon explained. ‘Old Mother Bibo told us how poor Matthias had been arrested, and about how my uncle had stolen your new home, so we knew where to find you. We’ve left some mice and beavers hiding out near the Great Fortress in case my uncle discovers we’re here and tries to make a run for it. But we’re going in by a different way. Look!’
For a moment, the mice could see nothing but the dark outline of the moor beneath the twinkling stars. Suddenly, Spital gasped. ‘Oh! Are those eagles?’
Huge shadows were circling overhead. As the mice halted, the great eagles spiralled down and landed with a beating of wings. Cranberry was squeaking with excitement. He had heard so much about the famous Eagles of Carminel and had always longed to see them. Spital was gazing open-mouthed. Chowdmouse whispered: ‘Are they going to attack the fortress?’
‘We all are,’ said Caladon with a smile.
‘You mean – we’re going on them eagles?’
‘Of course. The one I ride is called Aquila. You three will come with me.’
‘Brilliant!’ exclaimed Cranberry.
‘Yeah!’ cried Spital.
‘I’m scared of heights,’ whispered Chowdmouse. ‘But if I shut me eyes I’ll be all right,’ he added hastily.
‘You won’t be sick, will you?’ asked Cranberry.
‘I ain’t had nuffink to eat since yesterday,’ said Chowdmouse sadly, ‘so I can’t be!’
The thrill of his first eagle flight quickly ended Chowdmouse’s fears. Sandwiched safely between Spital and Cranberry’s comforting bulk, he snuggled among Aquila’s warm feathers, staring in wonder at the great wings beating the air. Mounted on Hyperion, Aquila’s father and king of the eagles, Marengo led the squadron in arrowhead formation towards the central tower of the Great Fortress.
The sentries were staring out over the city, not realising their danger until a loud whooshing sound made them look up. For a moment they stared in frozen astonishment as a dozen eagles landed on the tower. As Marengo and his warriors sprang to the ground and drew their swords, the sentries yelled with fright, threw down their rifles, fled for the trapdoor and pelted down the steps into the fortress.
‘After them!’ The mice ran down the steps to the first landing. The long, torchlit passage stretched away in front of them. It was deserted, but from somewhere they could hear the sound of voices, raised in fear. ‘Single file,’ said Marengo. ‘Follow me!’
The passage ended in a spiral staircase. Flaring torches, stuck in the wall, cast eerie shadows. Cranberry and Spital had drawn their borrowed pistols and looked as if they knew how to use them. But Chowdmouse had never touched one before. Spital had to show him which end to hold.
‘And don’t fiddle with it!’ he hissed.
As they descended, the distant voices faded into silence. At the foot of the stairs, another passage stretched before them. At the far end stood Cardinal Matthias; but his paws were tied and Duke Flambeau’s pistol was at his head. ‘Go back!’ cried the duke. ‘Or the cardinal dies!’
‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Matthias. ‘My life is not important. Marengo, old friend, lead your warriors to victory over this tyrant!’
‘Not at the price of your death, Matthias. We will go back.’
‘Very sensible,’ sneered Flambeau, lowering his pistol slightly. ‘Return to your mountains, you barbarians, and don’t bother me again.’
Suddenly, a shot rang out. The bullet bounced off the ceiling, bringing down a cloud of dust, zinged off the floor, and flew up again, narrowly missing Flambeau’s head. With a wild yell of terror, the Red Duke fled down the passage, yanked open a door and vanished.
‘Who fired that shot?’ demanded Marengo.
‘It was me,’ whispered Chowdmouse. ‘I didn’t mean to. It just sort of went off … ’
‘I told you not to fiddle with it!’ exclaimed Spital. But Cardinal Matthias sai
d: ‘Don’t be angry with him. Chowdmouse, surely the Lord of Light is with you tonight! I am unharmed, though I fear the duke has vanished. But we shall find him!’
‘He went into my old bedroom,’ said Caladon, putting his arm round the trembling Chowdmouse. ‘There’s a secret staircase leading to the postern gate. That’s where he’ll have gone.’
‘Caladon,’ said Marengo, ‘take half the warriors to your room. If your uncle doubles back, grab him. Matthias, is there another way to the postern gate? If so, then please guide us there. Chowdmouse, come with us. I should be honoured to have such a daring warrior under my command!’
But the postern gate, when they reached it, stood open; and though they searched the streets beyond, there was no sign of the duke. Marengo’s warriors and the beavers who had been on watch outside had seen no one. ‘We was watching the front door,’ said Casey, ‘while that varmint slipped out the back! Guess he might have headed for the water gate.’
‘He’ll be out of the city by now,’ said Marengo. ‘We’ll send out an eagle patrol at dawn, though we’ll be lucky to find him.’
The Red Lancers, terrified by the eagle warriors’ attack, had taken refuge in the cellars. When they discovered that the duke had fled, they were only too glad to surrender. Marengo’s mice rounded them up and herded them to the dungeons, releasing several city-mice imprisoned by Flambeau. These mice ran to Aramon and roused the city with the joyful news of Caladon’s return.
Next morning, as the eagles took off in search of the duke, huge crowds gathered outside the fortress, which was now flying the Royal Banner of Carminel. When Caladon appeared on the battlements, he was greeted with resounding cheers.
Accompanied by his three bodyguards, the king set off on a tour of the city. Crowds of mice followed him, rejoicing that the tyrant duke had fled. As they passed down Vittles Lane, Cranberry nudged Spital. ‘There’s my dad, up a ladder, painting out the ‘Duke’s Head’. The old pub’s getting its proper name back again.’
The Ruby of Carminel Page 9