The Deptford Mice 2: The Crystal Prison

by Robin Jarvis

  Twit had stumbled over a stone and in that instant had lost his friend. The mist poured in around him and he was alone.

  ‘Arthur!’ he shouted. meekly. ‘Where are you, Arthur?’ But the fog swallowed his tiny voice greedily. His cries dwindled to murmurs and then into silence. Twit was afraid. The stick he held trembled in his paws as he tried to make his way through the corn. He was totally lost. For all he knew he was going round in futile circles. Then he began to hear the noises.

  The fieldmouse paused and waved the stick about him in a frenzy. ‘There . . . there’s five of us here matey, so clear off sharp!’

  The stems crackled and snapped to his right. He ducked and darted off to the left. Now it was in front of him, rustling and scraping, coming ever closer. It was going to get him – to murder him as it had done with Hodge. Twit turned to flee again, but the noise seemed to be all round him now. His courage left him and he stood still and howled sadly, ‘Please no!’ but the thick, milky mist muffled his voice.

  Long twig-like fingers emerged out of the fog like ghosts. Twit tried to fend them off but it was all in vain. A plaited loop was pulled over his ears and caught him round the neck.

  ‘EEEK! HELP! FENNY!’ he squawked as the loop began to tighten and strangle him.

  ‘Help . . . Fenny . . . Help . . .’ Twit choked on each word and scrabbled at his throat. It was no use. The loop continued to throttle him and Twit fell senseless to the ground.

  ‘Twit!’ bawled Arthur smashing through the stems. ‘Twit!’ He thrashed the air with his stick but could see no-one. The fiend had slipped silently away.

  ‘Twit,’ moaned Arthur as he knelt by his friend’s side. ‘Oh Twit, don’t be dead.’ He cradled his friend’s head in his paws and listened for a heart beat.

  A faint murmur fluttered in Twit’s chest, and Arthur wept. Slowly, the mist began to disperse.

  Gradually Twit came to. His breathing was laboured and he touched his neck tenderly. There were big black bruises forming all round his throat. He grinned at Arthur shakily.

  ‘Reckoned I were a goner then, Art,’ he croaked.

  ‘You’ll be fine now,’ assured Arthur. ‘We ought to get out of here while we can. Look, the mist’s thinning.’ He helped Twit to his feet and they staggered off.

  ‘Did you see who it was?’ asked Arthur, curiously.

  Twit shook his head slowly. ‘No Art . . . but it were uncanny. All I saw was something that looked . . . looked as if it were made totally out of straw.’

  12. Hunters in the Night

  When Arthur and Twit hobbled into the Hall of Corn, they found a throng of mice waiting for them. The Fennywolders had heard Arthur’s alarm call but had had no idea where to go, so they had assembled in the Hall and waited.

  Arthur breathlessly explained what had happened to him and Twit, and Mrs Scuttle hurried over to help her son.

  The fieldmice shook their heads, stunned that this could happen again. Mr Woodruffe stepped on to the throne and raised his staff for silence.

  ‘Now we know,’ he declared, ‘the creature whatever it is – is still at large. We must search the field once more.’

  As the fieldmice went to find weapons, Mr Nep came rushing out of his nest with a pale, frightened face. ‘My son,’ he cried, ‘my son has gone.’

  ‘Has anyone seen Young Whortle?’ asked Mr Woodruffe grimly. All the fieldmice shook their heads and a chill entered the Hall. ‘Then we must look for him also,’ he said, ‘and let us hope he has only gone exploring again.’

  A large party of strong husbands set off through the field, wielding sticks and cudgels. Arthur was too tired to join them – he had been up all night and desperately wanted some sleep. He even declined the offer of breakfast.

  A group of wives who had been left behind chatted together dismally and clutched at their mousebrasses. All were fearful.

  Suddenly one small child asked its mother, ‘Are we all going to die, Mam?’ Nobody answered. But the tension was broken and a hysterical mousewife burst out, ‘Who is doing these things? What have we done to deserve this?’

  Just then, Mr Nettle came into the Hall followed by Jenkin. ‘Perhaps the villain is amongst us!’ he shouted above the hubbub.

  This was too much for the worried mice. A ripple ran through them, and they looked at their neighbours suspiciously. Why, it might be anyone of them.

  ‘What do you mean, Nettle?’ asked Mr Woodruffe sternly.

  ‘All I say is that though ye search ye will find nought. Maybe the foul one is one of our folk, play-acting behind a fair mask’

  The crowd stirred uneasily and murmured to each other.

  ‘Now just wait a moment,’ said Mr Woodruffe. He feared that something nasty could happen if Isaac was allowed to go any further. He did not want the fieldmice to be at odds with one another. ‘You’re talking out of your hat, Nettle,’ he said. ‘We were all at the ditch with Madame Akkykookoo when this happened, so it can’t be any of us.’

  The crowd sighed with relief. Isaac Nettle shook his head and gazed upwards. ‘Were we all present, I wonder?’ he said loudly.

  Everyone, followed his glance and the murmurs began again. There, climbing out of her nest, was Audrey.

  ‘I think perhaps one was not with us,’ uttered Isaac darkly.

  Arthur sprang forward in spite of his fatigue. He saw what Mr Nettle was driving at. ‘Rubbish!’ he growled angrily. ‘Not even you believe that.’

  Mr Nettle’s face was stony and the crowd’s mutterings grew louder. Jenkin stepped up to his father. ‘Dad,’ he pleaded, ‘you know Miss Brown’s not to blame.’

  Isaac turned on his son and struck him violently across the face. ‘What dost thou know of yon painted sinner?’ he bellowed, but Jenkin merely glared back at him with a face full of anger, then turned and walked away.

  Isaac strode after his son.

  ‘Listen to me all of you!’ boomed Mr Woodruffe, commanding their attention again.

  ‘If there are any among you who are foolish enough to listen to old Nettle’s rantings then I warn you now. There are stiff penalties for those who disobey the King of the Field. Let none of you lay a paw on our guests from the town. Now go about your business or wait for your husbands to return; only clear the Hall.’

  The crowd shuffled away grumbling and whispering.

  Audrey had watched all this curiously. She had not the faintest idea of what was going on but caught several hostile glances aimed at her from the crowd. The fieldmice moved away from her when she passed them as though terrified of what she might do to them. She quickly made her way to the throne and asked Arthur, ‘What’s going on? What’s happened?’ Quickly Arthur told her about the creature that had tried to choke Twit.

  ‘Arthur,’ she said when she had made sure that Twit was all right, ‘I don’t like it here – these mice don’t like me. They think I’m some sort of devil and quite frankly they give me the shivers too. You wouldn’t believe some of the stares they were giving me then. I felt as if they would tear me apart given half a chance.’

  Mr Woodruffe put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Now lass, don’t you fret none. They’re a friendly lot in Fennywolde really. It’s just that right now they’re scared, what with the weather and Hodge’s murder and now poor Twit this morning. They need to feel safe, and if that means they have to stick the blame on some outsider then that’s what they’ll try and do. Don’t worry though, I’ll not let them – I’ve a cooler head than most, but it’s a tricky job with old Isaac sticking his tuppence in. He knows how to get them riled, he do, and it’s a shame, but he don’t like you, and once he’s got summat in his mulish bonce that’s that.’

  Audrey was not comforted. The day was another scorcher but she stayed away from the still pool for fear of confrontations. Instead, she helped Mrs Scuttle with small tasks and jobs that did not really need to be done, but it kept her busy and out of folk’s way.

  Arthur and Twit slept all day so Audrey had no-one of her own age to talk t
o. She felt bored and lonely, and the Hall of Corn began to feel like a jail. Once she spotted Iris Crowfoot carrying a bowl of water for her mother. Audrey waved but Mrs Crowfoot scolded her daughter for daring to smile back. How could anyone think that she was connected with the murder of Hodge? It was too ridiculous for words! Audrey would have laughed at their silliness if she was not so worried and afraid.

  Alison Sedge sat in the meadow weaving a necklace of forget-me-knots. As she worked, she mulled over her suspicions. She hated Audrey with all her heart. She wished that Mr Nettle had struck her instead of Jenkin – Alison would like to see Audrey’s lip swell up like a blackberry. That would spoil her fairy looks! She cursed the ill-fortune which had brought the town mouse to her field – just when she was having a bit of fun with the boys too. It had been a good start to the summer, she had been admired by everyone, and had flirted with everyone.

  Suddenly Alison shuddered. A horrible thought occurred to her. One of her suitors now lay under the earth: if she had been nicer to him on that fateful day would Hodge still be alive now? Young Whortle was missing as well – she hoped he was safe. If things got any worse there would be no boys left for her to flirt with.

  The meadow grass rustled close by. Alison sprang to her feet and backed away nervously.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, is that you, Alison Sedge?’ It was Jenkin’s voice and he sounded none too happy at meeting her.

  Quickly Alison sat down again and struck her most casual and alluring pose. ‘Over here Jolly Jenkin,’ she invited huskily.

  He came into sight through the silvery flowering grasses, and Alison beckoned him over. His eye was purple and the lip was bleeding again.

  ‘Oh Jenkin,’ she cried in alarm. ‘You look awful, this is a real baddun this time. You rest there,’ she added kindly. ‘I’ll go fetch some water to bathe that eye in.’

  But Jenkin wouldn’t have it. ‘I’ll be aright in a bit,’ he explained.

  ‘Is it very sore?’ she asked. His eye was an angry bluey purple and she could actually see the lip throbbing. Alison wanted to throw her arms about him and make it all better. This was what she wanted, and at that moment she realised that all her flirting had simply been a waste of time. Time that should have been spent with Jenkin.

  ‘Oh Jenkin,’ she said moving closer, ‘your dad’s horrible to you – p’raps it’s time you left him an’ built a nest of your own in the Hall.’

  With his good eye Jenkin regarded Alison coolly. Her creamy hair brushed against his arm and her breath smelt of wild strawberries. There had been a time – not long ago – when he had prayed for her to be near him like this, but not now. He stood up and moved away.

  ‘Were my fault these,’ he said meaning his bruises. ‘I oughtn’t a mentioned Miss Brown – my dad don’t like her.’

  Alison was slightly vexed. He had interrupted her just as she was about to kiss him. ‘I don’t like her either,’ she snapped. ‘She ain’t right in the head an’ I think she’s got summat to do with Hodge.’

  ‘Pah,’ snorted Jenkin, ‘you’m just jealous. Not even my dad really believed that rubbish, he just said it to make her look bad.’

  ‘But Jenkin,’ protested Alison. ‘She told me, she said that she’d choke anyone what got in her way.’

  ‘Shut it Alison, don’t bother.’ Jenkin turned and looked away. ‘Y’see,’ he confessed shyly, ‘I likes Miss Brown a heck of a lot and nothing you can say will change that.’

  He left Alison on her own. She twisted her fingers round the necklace she had just made and tore it off. In a cascade of tiny blue petals Alison Sedge wept bitterly to herself.

  Audrey lay in her nest staring at the starry sky. Everyone had gone to bed – everyone except for Arthur and the other night sentries. Twit was not allowed to join them till he was fully recovered. His throat was still sore and his voice was hoarse and croaky.

  Audrey wondered how much longer she could go on living in Fennywolde if the hostile atmosphere continued. Her job as companion to Madame Akkikuyu was more or less over now – she had only seen the rat briefly that day at lunch but she was so popular with everyone that they had only said a few words before someone grabbed the rat and invited her to join them.

  There was one thing that really puzzled Audrey. Madame Akkikuyu looked different. For some time she had not been able to put her finger on what it was. Then she realised. The fortune-teller was no longer black – her fur was changing colour! Now she was a sleek chestnut and it seemed to get lighter with every day. It was most peculiar, but the Fennywolders believed that it was the country air and sunshine that was the cause.

  Madame Akkikuyu certainly looked very different to the pathetic creature Audrey had seen in the Starwife’s chamber. She had grown strong and if not fat then well-padded.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a small, polite voice whispering under the nest entrance.

  ‘Miss Brown,’ it said.

  ‘Who is it?’ she whispered back.

  ‘It’s me – Jenkin.’

  ‘Oh.’ Audrey was surprised. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To talk to you – meet me down here when you’re ready.’

  Quickly she pulled on her clothes and tied up her hair with her best ribbon. What could Jenkin want at this time of night? It had to be very important. She climbed down the ladder and stood before him. Even in the pale moonlight she could see the marks left by his father’s hard paw.

  His eyes lit up when he saw her.

  ‘You always do look nice,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ she blushed. ‘What is it you want?’

  Jenkin looked round furtively. ‘I can’t tell ’ee here,’ he said shyly. ‘Can we go somewhere a bit private like?’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ she consented, extremely curious. Jenkin led her out of the Hall of Corn by a small side entrance, taking care that the sentries did not see them.

  ‘Why all this secrecy?’ she asked him.

  ‘My dad’s forbid me to see you,’ came the reply in a hushed voice. ‘He says you’re a town heathen who don’t know good from bad.’

  Audrey felt that there was quite a lot she could say about Mr Nettle but for once she held her tongue and let Jenkin continue.

  ‘He tells me you ain’t worth a crumb, that you’re wicked all through an’ that since you’ve come here we ain’t had nowt but misery an’ death.’

  This was quite enough! Audrey felt herself near to exploding. ‘If that’s all you’ve got to tell me I might as well go back now. I’ve got a brother who can tell me all that and more besides, thank you very much. In fact, if I don’t go now you’ll find yourself with another black eye.’

  To her astonishment he laughed. Not an unkind, mocking laugh, but a gentle good-humoured chuckle. ‘Reckon you could do it too,’ he said. ‘But don’t go yet – not till I’ve had my say. Look, we’re all right here now. There ain’t no-one to listen.’

  The moonlight fell on his fine hair, and for the first time Audrey noticed that he had combed it. He swallowed hard and began.

  ‘I told you what my dad thinks,’ he lumbered on awkwardly, ’cos that don’t matter to me no more. I’m never goin’ back to him or our winter quarters – I’ve left.’

  ‘Good for you Jenkin,’ said Audrey, not yet seeing what he was driving at. Was that berrybrew: she could smell on his breath?

  ‘Tomorrow I shall start a-buildin’ a nest round the Hall,’ he told her proudly, the stars sparkling in his round, excited eyes. ‘What I’m sayin’, Miss Brown – Audrey – is . . . well, I’d like you to share that nest with me. Cos I loves you and wants . . . to wed you . . .’ He stared at her hopefully, then uttered something under his breath, ‘Darn I forgot!’ and quickly he knelt down on one knee. ‘You don’t have to answer straight away like – think it over.’

  Audrey was bewildered. A proposal of marriage was the last thing she had expected and it took some time for it to properly sink in.

  ‘You really wan
t to marry me?’ She sounded shocked and slightly amused.

  ‘More than anything – that’s the Green honest truth.’ He watched her intently with wide, trusting eyes like a baby.

  Audrey’s heart went out to him. The plain truth was that she did not love him, but a strong desire to see Piccadilly again grew in her.

  She knelt down beside Jenkin and took his paw in hers. ‘Oh Jenkin,’ she said slowly, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t want to hurt your feelings but I can’t accept. I’m extremely flattered but no – you see I now know that I love another. I never realised it before.’

  Jenkin hung his head. Audrey felt so sorry for him but she remembered the Eve of Midsummer and knew that Alison was meant for him.

  ‘There is someone who cares for you very much,’ she said, trying to break through his barrier of sullen silence.

  ‘Who’s that then?’ he asked miserably. ‘Alison Sedge,’ Audrey replied and she squeezed his paw tightly.

  ‘Tuh,’ sniffed Jenkin. ‘She don’t care for no-one but herself,’ he answered thickly.

  ‘Was she always like that?’

  ‘No – there was a time when me an’ Alison went around together quite a bit but then she got her mousebrass an’ everything changed.’

  ‘Then it can change again, Jenkin,’ urged Audrey, ‘forget about me – I’m just getting in the way of the two of you. I know that you and she are meant for one another. Truly.’

  There was such a ring of certainty in her voice that Jenkin looked up at her and for a second caught a flash of green fire flicker in her eyes.

  He gasped and Audrey kissed his cheek. ‘You just wait,’ she said, ‘you’ll be the one giving her the run around, only don’t make her suffer too much – I’ve already made that mistake.’

  ‘Have I made a fool of myself?’ asked Jenkin bashfully.

  Audrey smiled. ‘Not at all – it’s nice to know that not everyone in Fennywolde thinks I’m a monster.’