Showdown in Crittertown (7 page)

“Yes, Cheddar. You have such neat little handwriting.” Jill rolled a pen toward me.

I lifted the pen and held it over a square of bright paper trimmed with toothpicks. Where did I want my imagination to go? What door did I want to open?

“What's he writing?” Javier asked.

Andy guessed, “I bet it says, ‘cheese store.'”

“Or ‘the moon,'” Bill chimed in. “Cheddar likes to think the moon really is made of green cheese.”

“What're you talking about?” Ian asked.

“Haven't you heard the old jokes about the moon being made of green cheese?” Jill replied.

“It's because the moon looks lumpy, like cheese curds before they've hardened into ripe cheese,” Bill added. “Cheese makers call unripe cheese green, like green tomatoes.”

“So there's no cheese that's really green?” Javier sounded disappointed.

“Right,” Bill said. “And the moon isn't made of cheese.”

Javier laughed. “Duh!”

Jane looked up from Cheddar's writing. “It starts with a ‘P.'”

My body blocked the rest of the letters, so the children couldn't read the label until I finished. I stepped back to make sure I'd spelled it right.

“Peace,” April read aloud in her sweet, soft voice.

“Peace,” Javier repeated loud enough for the other children to hear.

“That's very nice,” Nilla squeaked.

Grayson shook his head. “Yes, ‘very nice,' but how do you propose to achieve it?”

Sadly, I had no idea.

Chapter 8  
Opening the Door

As soon as we reached the post office, Grayson said, “We have to tell Pops about the weapons.”

Brownback agreed that secret metallurgy did suggest an arms buildup.

Grayson said, “There are plenty of paper clips at the post office. We just have to figure out how to heat the tips. And if General History can do that, so can we!”

Without waiting for his grandfather to answer, Grayson rushed off to find the best tinkerers in the colony. I started to call after him, but Brownback stopped me. “Let him go, Cheddar. I'd rather talk to you and Nilla.”

“Have you made any progress on the treaty yet?” he asked.

I looked down at the floor.

Brownback chuckled. “I know. Peace isn't easy. That's why I thought you might need some help.”

He folded his paws behind his back and started pacing. “The first thing we need to do is figure out what both sides want.”

He rolled a pencil stub toward me. “Here, take a piece of paper and write ‘post office' on one side and ‘library' on the other.”

When that was done, Brownback said, “We know the library colony needs more territory. Could we share some of our turf if we received something of equal value in exchange?”

“What's as valuable as territory?” Nilla asked.

“Cheese!” I blurted out. It had been quite a long time since our last meal.

Brownback chuckled. “Write ‘food sources' under ‘post office' and ‘territory' under ‘library.'” Then he looked deep in thought. “Does the library colony have any food sources they could share with us?”

Nilla grinned. “There's old Rusty's oak trees! They're full of acorns.”

Brownback nodded. “I suppose that's why the colony is getting so crowded. Lots of food means lots of babies. Well…now we're getting somewhere.”

Brownback, Nilla, and I spent all night talking and writing. Actually, Nilla fell asleep for a while, but Brownback and I just kept going until we had a treaty that was longer than the both of us, including our tails!

The treaty spelled out everything (with a few misspellings). In general, it said that the post office colony would be willing to offer some living space to members of the library colony in exchange for the freedom to harvest food off library colony land.

We proposed merging the colonies for our mutual benefit. Females could raise litters in the safety of the post office, away from Dot's evening friskies. Young mice ready to learn various subjects could live under the library in a sort of boarding school.

The double colony could have a combined “army” of scouts to patrol the borders and seek new food sources—and make contact with other colonies who might be willing to enter into a treaty.

Resources like the post office colony's newspapers and the library colony's access to facts would be shared.

The leaders of both colonies would become co-leaders of the merged colony. If they couldn't agree on an issue, it would be decided by a vote. Any mouse old enough to have a nest would be allowed to vote.

My writing paw felt tired. Brownback yawned and said, “Read it back to me again, please.”

I was up to the part about the “combined army” when Twitchy raced into Brownback's nest.

“Visitors!” he exclaimed. Then he ran back to the entrance and said, “Sorry! I forgot to knock.”

“Come in,” Brownback told him.

Twitchy ran in, ran back out, knocked, and ran back in again. “Visitors from the library colony!”

Brownback smoothed his fur as Twitchy went on. “It's that girl, the pretty one you told me about. And a tall, skinny lady named Travel. They're waiting at the entrance. Should I bring them here or tell them to wait for you out there?”

Twitchy danced from one foot to the other. Brownback patted Twitchy's shoulder as he walked past him. Brownback then turned to me and said, “Let's greet our guests.”

I smoothed my fur and then followed. Poetry was here! I wondered what she wanted. I hoped she wanted to see me!

I vaguely remembered Travel from our first evening at the library colony. When Brownback bowed, she said, “Enchanté!” She added, “That's French for ‘enchanted.'”

Nilla asked, “Why is she enchanted? I thought that meant magical. Is she a witch?”

Poetry blessed us with one of her beautiful smiles. “It's an expression that's short for ‘enchanted to meet you,' meaning, ‘it's nice to meet you'—only fancier.”

Nilla rolled her eyes. “Just what we needed, another confusing expression!”

Poetry explained that Nonfiction thought “a young lady” needed an escort when she went visiting. And Travel seemed the logical choice.

Travel couldn't wait to “see the sights, meet the natives,” and “learn the local customs.”

Poetry told Brownback that she was acting as her grandfather's ambassador. Nilla, of course, wanted to know “What's an ambassador?”

Brownback confused her more when he said, “A diplomat who represents one country or group when visiting another.”

Nilla asked, “What's a diplomat?” just as Grayson appeared. He was surprised to see our guests.

Brownback suggested that Grayson give Travel “the grand tour.” Grayson said, “What about Poetry?”

His grandfather replied, “Cheddar, Nilla, and I will take care of Poetry.”

Grayson started to protest, “Aw, Pops…”

But Travel latched on to one of his paws and asked, “What do the locals do for fun around here?”

Brownback led Poetry to his nest. He told her about the treaty. She promised to bring it directly to Nonfiction. She assured us that he wanted peace. Then she added, “The problem is my stubborn brother. He and his soldiers are so excited about fighting a war. Grandfather is afraid he won't be able to stop them!”

Brownback looked over his shoulder at Grayson and whispered, “We have a similar problem. But I think we might borrow a solution from the humans.”

Brownback asked Poetry if she'd heard of the Olympics. He suggested that the colonies hold a “Mouselympics” to let “the young hotshots” have a chance to show off while running races, jumping, throwing, and competing in other sporting events. He concluded, “The winners could become the leaders of the combined colony's army.”

Poetry smiled. “I believe you're as smart as my grandfather!”

I took out a piece of paper and started writing. “We can make the Mouselympics an amendment to the treaty.”

Nilla asked, “What's an amendment?”

And we all laughed.

Travel declared the post office colony “charming and rustic.” When I gave her some of the clerk's toasted pumpkin seeds, she added, “The local cuisine is delicious!”

Grayson said, “Wait until you taste the cheese crackers.” He glanced at me. “It's too bad those don't ever seem to last around Cheddar.”

I blushed. Then Grayson noticed the roll of paper tied with a ribbon that Poetry held like a leash.

“It's a letter for Nonfiction,” she said. Then she giggled. “Does this make me an official Critter Post carrier?”

“Of course!” I exclaimed.

Grayson looked suspicious, but what could he do?

Brownback said, “Please give your grandfather our regards.”

Poetry replied, “I'd like to come back and take the grand tour, too.” She smiled at Grayson, and the clouds left his face.

As soon as Poetry and Travel were gone, Grayson wanted to know what we had talked about in Brownback's nest.

“Mostly about the Mouselympics,” Brownback replied.

“The mouse-whatics?” Grayson asked.

“It's explained in the letter we sent to Nonfiction,” Brownback began. “If he agrees, our colonies will compete in a day of sporting events. Cheddar thinks the children will be happy to help, as long as we schedule it after the crafts fair.”

“Mouselympics!” Grayson exclaimed. “Are there prizes for the winners?”

“I suppose we'll need to get some,” Brownback answered.

Grayson grinned. “This'll be great! I wonder how many prizes I'll win…”

Brownback winked at me. When I was sure Grayson wasn't looking, I winked back.

Chapter 9  
“Mouseletes” in Training

I had just settled in for a nice morning nap when I heard someone approach my nest. “Rise and shine, Cheddar! The mail truck just left.”

I rolled over and muttered sleepily. “That's okay. You and Nilla can go upstairs without me.”

Grayson asked, “You don't want any cheese crackers?”

At the word “cheese,” my eyes popped wide open. Of course I wanted cheese crackers! I wanted them even more than usual, because I was determined to save one to give Poetry.

While I stood up and stretched, Grayson fidgeted. “Come on, sleepyhead!”

“What's the rush?” I asked. “You know it's safer to wait until after the carriers load their cars.”

Grayson sighed. “Safer isn't always better. We have work to do. The tinkerers have an idea for making weapons. But they can't test it until I bring them some jumbo paper clips.”

My heart sank. With Grayson and General History both so eager for war, did the peace treaty have a chance?

Grayson grew annoyed all over again when Nilla said, “Shouldn't we wait until the carriers leave?”

“Quit worrying,” he snapped. “Just stick with me and stay alert.”

We were so early that the clerk was still unloading the mail cages. She tossed the packages into big bins for Route 1 and Route 2. She looked surprised when she read the label of an Express Mail package.

When the Route 2 carrier arrived, the clerk said, “You have an Express Mail package for the school from Arthur Kingston. Could it be
the
Arthur Kingston?”

The carrier said, “Who's Arthur Kingston?”

“He's a great artist!” the clerk exclaimed. “He painted lots of book covers and a famous poster of a knight on a hill with these amazing clouds behind it.”

The Route 1 carrier called from behind her shelves of mail, “I had that poster!”