Marianne, the Matchbox, and the Malachite Mouse (23 page)

‘Madame Dagma, I have no idea,’ returned the ape with a sudden access of dignity. ‘How would anyone know?’

The tortoise was quiet for a time, then she said, ‘Do you have the dice, Aghrehond? May I see them for a moment?’ When Aghrehond had given them to her, she stared at them, her clawed, webbed front feet moving over them again and again, as though to cast some enchantment upon them.

‘What are you doing?’ asked the mouse.

‘Thinking,’ said the tortoise. ‘Just thinking.’

Meantime, the dragon had skimmed along the canyon, making great, furious roars, crisping a tree from time to time or making an acre of ash among lower growing things, attracting the attention of the Cattermunes and causing the gnu though she was firmly gripped in the front talons, to bleat pitifully now and again at the speed, the height, the risk.

‘Oh, do be quiet,’ muttered the dragon impatiently. ‘Everything I’m doing is absolutely necessary. We have to decoy the Cattermunes away from the others.’

‘I know,’ grunted the gnu. ‘It’s just that I can’t help myself. I’ve always been afraid of heights.’

‘Try to forget that,’ urged the dragon.

‘Now that I’ve remembered, it would be quite impossible to forget,’ the gnu replied with some dignity. ‘Quite impossible.’

‘I’m going to commit some carnage,’ said the dragon. ‘I’ll have to leave you alone for a time. Try not to attract attention.’ He dropped into another narrow arroyo, flew down it with dizzying speed, hastily dropped the gnu into a small copse at the mouth of the canyon, then ascended into clear view as he darted toward a prowl of Cattermunes with his ears back and flame belching from his nose.

Concealed in the copse, the cowering gnu heard the screeches of scalded cats.

‘We’ll get you.’ ‘You have to come down sometime.’ ‘You can’t fly forever.’ ‘Thief!’ ‘Assassin!’ ‘Cheat!’ Those Cattermunes remaining – though there were several of whom talons, fangs, and flame had made broiled mince – yowled themselves away after the dragon.

The dragon darted here and there over the moor, disappearing from the gnu’s sight. Sometime later she heard his voice from behind her. ‘I lost them up a canyon and then walked,’ he said. ‘It’s getting dark. I wondered if it would get dark at all here in Cattermune’s Pique, but evidently the place has day and night.’

‘To let the Cattermunes know when it’s dinnertime,’ she replied. ‘They do love to eat, the Cattermunes.’

‘Lucky for us,’ said the dragon. ‘Come back into this canyon with me. As soon as it’s a bit darker, we’re going to go back to Cattermune’s House.’

In the hollow tree, time wore on. Mouse’s labor pains came and then went, leaving only an empty ache behind. ‘I’m hungry,’ she said.

‘So sorry, pretty lady,’ said ape-Aghrehond. ‘If there were anything edible about, I would fetch it for you. Truly I would.’

‘There are raspberries growing at the edge of the clearing,’ said the mouse. ‘I can smell them.’

‘Surely not over that charred smell. Surely not at this time of year,’ said the tortoise.

‘What time of year?’ asked the mouse in an annoyed tone. ‘Dagma, it could be anytime of year at all. Spring. Fall. High summer. Maybe some season we don’t even have a name for. It could be Clunch, for all we know, and Clunch may be raspberry season here in the Pique. All I know is that I’m tired and I ache and I’m hungry and I’m worried about us and about Makr Avehl and I smell raspberries.’

‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt anything to pick a few raspberries,’ said the ape doubtfully. ‘The Cattermunes have gone far away by now.’

‘I recommend against it,’ said the tortoise in a remote voice. ‘Not a good idea.’

‘Please,’ urged the mouse, feeling naughty but unable to control herself. She really did smell raspberries. She really was terribly hungry.

Ape pushed the stones away and crawled out of the tree, the mouse close behind him. He picked his way gingerly across the clearing, trying to avoid places where tiny wisps of smoke were still rising. At the edge of the clearing there were indeed raspberry canes, short ones, laden with berries.

Mouse began to nibble. Ape reached out with both hands.

‘Aha,’ said a voice.

They turned in panic to confront the figure which stood half hidden among the trees at the edge of the clearing. ‘I thought this much fire would hardly have been lit for no reason at all,’ said the voice.

‘Buttercup!’ said Mouse in a shocked voice. ‘Queen Buttercup.’

‘Fool Cattermunes,’ said the Queen in a delighted voice. ‘I made a bet with the Cattermune himself that I’d be the one to kill. A little silence, I told him. A little tracking and sneaking instead of all this yowling and chasing. He laughed. Well, we’ll see who laughs when I bring you two back. Binkers! Aha.’

Ape shivered at the tone which was lusty, predatory, and quite merciless.

‘That would be very dishonorable,’ said the mouse firmly. ‘You would be forever dishonored as a Queen.’

The Grisl regarded her with a sneer. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You were living with Mr Thrumm,’ said the mouse. ‘They meant to kill you. They meant to cut off your spurs and put you into the arena helpless, didn’t they?’

‘Aragh,’ growled the Grisl.

‘A voice told you to find out what they were up to. A little voice. A mouse voice!’

‘You?’ Buttercup was incredulous.

‘Who else would know what you did. I know. You found the spurs. You bit Thrumm and Fribberle. And Sneeth, too, though I suppose he got away later.’

‘Sneeth,’ the Grisl sneered. ‘When I became Queen, I felt sorry for him so I sent someone to give him the antidote. I should have let him die.’

‘He was very useful to us,’ said the ape in a conciliatory tone. ‘Really very useful.’

‘At any rate,’ continued Mouse. ‘Since I saved your life, it would be quite dishonorable for you to kill me. It would cast a pall over your reign.’

The Grisl snarled again. ‘So. So. Well then, I’ll leave you and kill it!’ She bared her fang in the direction of the ape. ‘He’ll be binker enough.’

‘No,’ said the mouse firmly. ‘He belongs to me, and that would be stealing. That would also be dishonorable. As bad as being sent into the arena without spurs.’

The Grisl seemed to be thinking it over. Twice she bared her fang. Twice she nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s like dog,’ she said at last. ‘Faithful dog. Though I am not fond of him, he does me nothing but good, therefore I owe him consideration. It took me some time to ascertain this, but I feel it is a truth. This would be the same thing.’ She sounded slightly aggrieved.

‘Exactly the same thing,’ said Mouse. ‘I did you nothing but good. A certain amount of goodwill is appropriate among – ah – well-intentioned beings.’

‘Unusual,’ said the Grisl. ‘In my square, everybody is always doing everybody else. It’s only you – you outside creatures, like you and dog, who do this other thing.’

Mouse nodded, still firmly. ‘It’s part of our religion.’

Queen Buttercup shrugged. ‘So, I’ll lose my bet with the Cattermune. It wasn’t a very big bet anyhow. He bet me a free trip on the Down Line Express against some of my males for binkers, and I’ve got lots of them.’ Sighing, she turned away. ‘Oh, Mouse!’

‘Yes?’

‘It was, well, it was interesting to see you again. Or see you, I should say, since I never really … We shared certain … experiences …’ The Grisl gave Mouse a strange look, one might almost have said a pleading look. ‘There really isn’t anyone who knows me.’

Mouse gulped. It was true. ‘Yes, Your Majesty. You were not allowed to have … well, friends.’

‘Were you … that is … would you call yourself my friend?’

Mouse gulped again. ‘Ah, yes. I think I would say that I am the closest thing you have to a friend, Queen Buttercup.’

‘It wasn’t exactly easy,’ whined the Queen.

‘They were distressing times,’ said Mouse bravely. ‘I was most sympathetic with Your Majesty’s distress.’

‘I wish you could stop at my square again, but I know that’s not possible. I’d like it very much if you would have dinner with me at Frab Junction. We’ll go to the Marveling Galosh. They have the most wonderful … Oh, say that you will!’

‘I’d be most pleased,’ said the mouse, bowing.

‘Promise!’

‘I promise,’ said Mouse, feeling as though she had just signed away her soul.

‘Do send word with any player who is coming my way,’ the Queen said. She shook her head, as though astonished at herself and then went up and over the hill, continuing to shake her head as she thoughtfully twonged the end of her fang with one finger.

Mouse sighed and went limp.

Ape made a wordless noise and went behind a bush. The encounter had been a stressful one.

After a time they returned to the hollow tree to get Tortoise. There was nothing in the hollow except the pair of dice. Tortoise had thrown a nine.

Mondragon, who had managed to get both to his own room and to the gaming rooms with Fanetta’s assistance in guiding him through the walls, stood with Eulalienne Cattermune near the dicing table, one hand in his pocket, the other resting casually on the edge of the table where the Cattermune and his brothers were gambling.

‘Any word, Cattermune?’ an elderly member of the family asked, offering a cigar to the head of the family. ‘Any word at all?’

‘It got dark in the Pique,’ the Cattermune rumbled. ‘So they’ve called it off until morning. They’ll catch them, though. Immigration manager says the last three through were a mouse, an ape, and a tortoise kind of thing. Somebody on the Down Line Express saw the mouse thing with the matchbox. They’ve got to be the ones. Have to. Never fear. We’ll get The Connection back and we’ll start over, that’s all.’

‘That’s the spirit! Never say die!’

Several nearby Cattermunes, remembering the blood price which would be needed to
start over
, blanched at these words, but the Cattermune did not seem to notice. ‘Never too late to start over,’ he growled to himself. ‘Never too late.’

Mondragon sighed deeply and inwardly. It was his intention to keep the Cattermune from starting anything over. The time to act was now, at once, before any suspicion could attach to him, and yet the whole matter was so dangerous, so fraught with dreadful consequence. The nanny had seen him in company with Green. Of course, the nanny thought his name was Sneeth. Perhaps the nanny had seen only the livery. ‘Bear up,’ he told himself. ‘Now or never.’

Moving smoothly, quietly, his expression one of unruffled calm, Mondragon moved toward a waiter who held a tray of champagne glasses. His route took him immediately behind the Cattermune, and he delayed, timing his nearest approach to the moment when Cattermune threw the dice.

At which moment he was leaning forward, across the table, his jacket open with the pocket exposed.

Mondragon slipped the matchbox into the Cattermune’s pocket and continued toward the waiter, returning in a moment with two glasses, one of which he handed to Eulalienne. She took it, purring. He returned her smile, squeezed her paw-like hand, and turned back to the table. Now he stood at the center of the table, nearest the place where the dice usually rebounded.

‘What is it they’re looking for?’ murmured Mondragon sotto voce to the nearest gambler, another elderly Cattermune. Evidently all the younger members of the family had been taking part in the hunt and had not yet rejoined the party. ‘What is it that the Cattermune says they will find?’

‘The Connection,’ murmured his neighbor in return. ‘The anchor. Everyone knows that.’

‘Well of course,’ agreed Mondragon. ‘But what is it? An actual anchor? Not that it matters, of course, merely my curiosity plaguing me.’

‘Now that’s interesting,’ replied the elderly Cattermune. ‘You know, I’ve never asked.’ He moved toward the Cattermune, elbowing his way among the gamblers. ‘I say, Cattermune, what did the thing look like? The Anchor. The Connection. What was it actually?’

The Cattermune looked up with a snarl.

Timing, thought Mondragon. Now it had to be entirely a matter of timing.

‘It was a matchbox,’ the Cattermune growled. ‘A golden matchbox. Valuable enough not to destroy! Small enough to be easily hidden.’ He threw the dice. They rebounded far down the table, out of Mondragon’s reach, and the Cattermune grunted in satisfaction. He had made his point. Someone handed him the dice and he gathered them into the leather dice cup again.

‘You know,’ said Mondragon in a clear carrying voice just as the dice were being thrown. ‘I saw a golden matchbox just the other day. Now where was that?’

The Cattermune looked up from the dice, letting them lie as he searched for the person who had spoken. His golden eyes came to rest upon Mondragon. ‘You saw what?’ His voice was a deep and phlegmy growl.

Mondragon reached down onto the table, gathered up the dice, half holding them toward the Cattermune. ‘A golden matchbox. It was about so big. It had an anchor on it. And some writing.’

‘Where?’ howled the Cattermune. ‘Where did you see it?’

Mondragon held out the dice, dropped them into the Cattermune’s cup. ‘Why – at Mother’s Smithy! That’s where I saw it. On a shelf beside the door …’