IGMS Issue 9 (18 page)

He remarked, "A generous offer." Then he mustered all the sincerity he could and said, "Very well, I accept. Thank you, your majesty."

Francis gave a wry grin, as though not totally convinced by this newfound graciousness, but he seemed satisfied. He said, "All right, then. I am pleased to hear it. We will depart on the morrow."

That night Benjamin slept in a modest bed. The next morning two guards escorted him to the throne room -- a massive chamber where large rectangular mirrors hung on red walls, crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, and two golden thrones sat on a carpeted dais. The room was crowded with mice, and their babble filled the air. Every noble mouse in Kingsburrow had come, and Benjamin regarded with bemused disdain their haughty demeanors, their perfumed ringlets of fur, their tight, uncomfortable velvet coats and absurdly long silk gowns.

A side door opened, and Francis emerged and walked to the dais. He wore his crown, and his sword swung at his hip. The crowd fell silent. Francis stood before the thrones and said loudly, "Thank you all for coming. I have an announcement." He surveyed the assembled mice. "You know that my father, our king, perished in a far off land. Now I go to find the beast that slew him and destroy it. I ask that while I am away you heed the wise command of my sister, who shall rule in my place." Francis removed his crown and handed it to a page, who carried it to the front of the crowd and presented it to the princess, a plain-faced female mouse who wore a simple red dress.

Francis drew his sword. He held it aloft and said, "I swear I shall not rest until I have avenged my father's death. I swear it on my sword. I swear it by Sherry, goddess of childbirth and cheese. I am Francis, son of Michael, and I have sworn."

Benjamin found this whole oath business a bit absurd, though for the sake of appearance he applauded along with the crowd.

Francis sheathed the sword, nodded once, said, "Goodbye," and withdrew through the side door. The guards urged Benjamin forward, and he followed after Francis through the door and down a series of corridors. Finally Benjamin arrived in the large earthen cavern that housed Kingsburrow's main gates -- two tall oak doors studded with iron.

A group of guards, knights, and servants clustered around Francis. Two large rucksacks were brought forward. Francis shouldered one, and passed the other to Benjamin. Benjamin had expected to be burdened with the majority of their supplies, and was pleased to note that the two packs seemed equally laden.

A servant handed Benjamin a sheathed dagger. Benjamin couldn't believe they were making the mistake of arming him. His heart raced, and he tried not to show any surprise or excitement as he took the weapon and strapped it to his belt.

Several guards stepped forward and dragged open the giant doors. Behind the doors stood a portcullis, and the light of morning shone through it and cast a gridwork shadow on the floor. Then the guards turned a winch, and the portcullis creaked as it rose into the ceiling. Francis said some parting words to a few of his knights, then strode out through the gates, and Benjamin followed.

Outside, the sky was clear and blue. A gentle breeze played over Benjamin's fur. He was standing on a hilltop that looked out over a rolling landscape of rich autumn colors. He and Francis followed a wide dirt road that wound down the hill and into the farm country. In the fields, mice toiled with hoes and scythes while in the distance gray smoke plumed from the chimneys of the peasant burrows.

Francis and Benjamin hiked in silence. The farms disappeared behind them, and then there were only the great bushes and stones looming overhead, and the trees like giant towers. That afternoon, Francis and Benjamin came to a place where the road divided, and they chose the branch that turned west. That way would lead them to the border of the realm -- a two week journey -- and beyond that lay the lands of the Westburrow rats, one enormous inbred family famous for their cruelty. Francis was obviously hoping to cross those lands without attracting the attention of the rats. Benjamin would rather not take the chance at all.

When night fell, Francis chose a camp spot and built a small fire. He said, "I'll take the first watch. You get some sleep."

Benjamin was sore and exhausted, and compared to the dungeon floor the soft ground looked almost as inviting as a bed. He collapsed into the grass, wrapped himself in a blanket, and slept.

Hours later, he was shaken awake by Francis. Benjamin groggily crawled over to a tree and sat with his back against it. Francis spread a blanket on the ground, lay down, and closed his eyes. Soon his breathing became soft and regular.

Benjamin sat there for over an hour, fingering the hilt of the dagger and trying to work up the resolve to do what must be done. One thrust tonight would do more to bring down the monarchy than a million of his silly pamphlets, and he could make up any story he wanted about how Francis had died.

Benjamin eased the dagger from its sheath, then stood and crept across the grass. He paused and tried to steady his nerves. He had never wielded a knife before against anything besides cheese. His heart pounded. He felt dizzy. He wondered how much force it would take to puncture a mouse's flesh, and how much blood there would be.

He told himself: Just a little closer. Just take one more step. You can do that.

He took another step.

Francis lashed out with one foot. Benjamin gasped. His legs were swept out from under him, and his chest hit the ground. Strong hands grabbed his right arm -- which held his dagger -- and twisted the arm painfully behind his back, and the dagger was wrenched from his fingers. Then he was rolled over, and he felt the dagger pressed against his neck. He stared up at Francis, who knelt over him.

Francis said, "I understand why, because of what you believe, you felt you had to try. Don't try again." Francis pulled the dagger away from Benjamin's throat, then tossed the dagger up, caught it by its blade, and offered it back to Benjamin hilt-first. Francis said, "You should hardly expect me to be off guard at your very first opportunity."

Benjamin stared at the dagger. "You're letting me keep it?"

Francis said, "I would not leave you defenseless in the wild."

Benjamin felt foolish. He snatched the dagger and slammed it into its sheath. Then he massaged his sore arm.

Francis stood. He returned to his blanket and lay down again, with his back to Benjamin.

Benjamin said, "So that's it? You're not afraid of me?"

Francis yawned. "No." After a moment, he added, "You would never have gone through with it."

Benjamin awoke before dawn to find that Francis was already packed and waiting. They continued on their way. Neither of them spoke.

Soon the sun peeked up over the hills and warmed the earth. At mid-morning, Francis called a halt, and settled down to rest on a bed of browning pine needles. Benjamin sat a good distance away. Francis chewed on a piece of cheese and said, "So tell me, why do you wish me dead? Wasn't it I who freed you from the dungeons?"

Benjamin scowled and said nothing.

Francis persisted, "Truly. I want to know."

Finally Benjamin burst out, "Forgive me if I'm insufficiently grateful that you ended my unjust confinement after a mere six months. And you only released me so that I could risk my life helping you."

Francis cocked his head thoughtfully. "Even granting, as you say, that you've been used poorly, is that really reason to kill me? Am I so bad?"

Benjamin glared. "Shall I list for you the abuses of your royal house?"

Francis looked away. He said, "My father was a strong ruler. Perhaps too strong. He was a hard mouse to love. No one knows that better than I. But I am not my father."

"It's not about you," Benjamin said. "It's the principle."

Francis turned back to him. "And what principle is that?"

"No more kings. Freedom and equality for all mice."

Francis frowned. "There will always be kings. Whether or not they're called kings. Whether chosen by blood or wealth or fame. Mice need kings."

Benjamin said, "You're wrong."

Francis sighed. "So what should I have done? When I found myself born a prince? What would you do? If offered a title?"

Benjamin answered at once. "Renounce it. Abolish the office, and let a more just order replace it."

Francis studied him carefully and said, "Truly? That's what you'd do?"

"Yes."

Francis said, "Your father is a merchant. A prosperous one."

"He is," Benjamin admitted.

Francis concluded, "So you're not exactly a common mouse yourself. You've enjoyed means and education far beyond the dreams of most mice. Is that just?"

Benjamin was defensive. "No. But I can't help that. I could have used my position to increase my own wealth and gratify my own desires, as my peers have. Instead I've used the gifts I've received to try to do some good, to try to change things so that more mice get the opportunities I've had. What else could I do? Forswear my family's wealth to live amidst the destitute? What would that accomplish?"

Benjamin suddenly felt uncertain. A hint of a smile played over Francis's lips. Benjamin said angrily, "It's not the same thing at all! You can't even compare the two. You, with your palaces and crowns and servants, and all your kneeling and silly oaths."

Francis looked puzzled. "What do you have against oaths?"

"It's pompous," Benjamin said. He knew he should guard his tongue, but he couldn't stop himself. "If you're going to do something, just do it. You don't have to put on a show for the whole world. Swearing to Sherry about this and that."

Francis narrowed his eyes and observed, "You don't believe in Sherry."

Benjamin sneered. "Of course not. Goddess of childbirth and cheese? The very notion is imbecilic. It's peasant superstition."

Francis grinned. "Says the great champion of the common mouse."

Benjamin stopped. He had no retort.

Francis suddenly looked very serious. "Listen to me. When I swear an oath, I invite the court as a courtesy, and I invoke Sherry because what can it hurt? But I doubt that either the court or Sherry would raise much fuss if I chose to break my vow. But
I
would know. An oath is a promise to yourself, and I would swear my oaths whether or not I was the only mouse around for a hundred miles."

Benjamin said nothing. He saw that Francis meant it.

Francis stood. "Enough. Let's get moving."

That night Benjamin took the first watch while Francis slumbered. As Benjamin sat there staring into the campfire, he understood that he would not try to harm Francis again. For two weeks they hiked west through the wilderness, and each night Benjamin kept watch as best he could and guarded over Francis. It wasn't just that Benjamin felt cowed by how easily he'd been overcome, and abashed at how lightly his actions had been excused. The damning fact was that he sort of liked Francis. Benjamin would never have expected this to be possible, but there it was. Francis was charming and clever, brave and sincere. If Francis had not been born into royalty, Benjamin imagined that the two of them might even have been friends. And Francis treated Benjamin as though they
were
friends -- friends and equals -- though Benjamin was nobody and Francis was king of all the realm. Benjamin hated himself for feeling awed by that title. He had thought himself above such petty sentimentality. But he supposed that he was only a mouse, and that all mice were subject to such feelings to some extent.

One night at dusk, as Francis and Benjamin crossed a field of long grass, Francis suddenly stopped and said, "What's that?"

Benjamin halted and looked around, but saw nothing. "Where?"

Francis cocked his head. "Listen." Then a look of alarm crossed his face, and he said, "Get down." He crouched and grabbed Benjamin by the shirtfront and pulled him down too. Francis scanned the sky. Then he slid his sword from its scabbard with one smooth motion, and the sword made barely a whisper as it came free.

Benjamin was suddenly afraid. He looked into the sky, which was blue and tan in the fading light. "What? What is it?"

Francis said sternly, "Shhh!" He cocked his head again.