The Deptford Mice 2: The Crystal Prison (13 page)

‘You’ve been in a fight,’ she said to him.

Jenkin turned quickly away and said, ‘We better get goin’ the others are nearly home now.’ The rows of bobbing torches had dwindled in the distance. ‘Follow me,’ he told them, and set off back to the ditch.

‘You embarrassed him,’ Arthur hissed at Audrey. ‘Why can’t you mind your own business?’

‘Why should it have embarrassed him?’ protested Audrey. ‘I shouldn’t think he’s trying to keep the fact a secret. Did you see the state of his bruises?’

‘Yes I did, but I’ve had worse. Anyway we must follow him now, I don’t want to spend our first night here tramping through the fields lost. Come on.’

At the ditch, the fieldmice put Madame Akkikuyu down and the husbands wiped their brows wearily. The fortune-teller gazed about her enraptured. She could not remember ever feeling like this before she wanted to burst with joy.

By the time Arthur and Audrey arrived she was speaking: ‘Owly not come back in hurry, if he do – Akkikuyu bite him again.’

There was thunderous applause and some mice cried, ‘We can move into the field at last!’ and ‘Hooray for the rat lady!’ Then other voices called, ‘Where be Mr Woodruffe? He’s got to declare the field open.’ The mice looked at one another and muttered agreement. Hastily a young mouse ran into the shelters to fetch him.

At the Spring Ceremony every year the fieldmice elected a ‘King of the Field’. This year the honour had gone to Mr Abraham Woodruffe – a well-liked and respected mouse who so far had been unable to enjoy his high office, being stuck in the winter quarters all the time.

The mice waited for him and excited expectation charged the cool night air. Audrey and Arthur sensed their mood and they too grew impatient. Audrey began to fidget and started to look around at the fieldmice. It was the first chance she had had so far to view them properly. There were fat mice, thin mice, some tiny ones with large pink ears and long twitchy tails but no tall mice. Except perhaps . . . yes, on the far side of the crowd Audrey saw a lofty mouse. She stared at him curiously: what a grim face he had! It seemed as if his face never saw a smile. Idly she wondered who he was and then, next to him, she noticed Jenkin, who to her surprise and lasting embarrassment was looking straight at her. Audrey coughed and turned quickly away. She felt her ears bum with her blushes and hoped it would not show under the torchlight.

Audrey tried to compose herself and gazed fixedly ahead, hoping that her ribbon was tied properly. However, she could not resist having a crafty peep round to see if Jenkin was still looking at her.

As casually as she could manage, Audrey turned, but Jenkin was speaking with that tall mouse now. She was amused to find that she was disappointed and smiled broadly to herself until she saw something that made her cough and turn away again.

A girl mouse was glaring at her – glaring with real hatred in her eyes. Audrey could feel them boring into the back of her neck. She could not think who the girl was and asked herself if she had done anything to deserve it.

‘Oh what the heck!’ she said to herself in a low determined whisper and looked back at the girl. Alison Sedge was still eyeing Audrey with a face like thunder. Their eyes met and Miss Brown gave her her most insolent, pretty smile then turned away.

Suddenly a hush fell on the gathered fieldmice as Mr Woodruffe stepped out of the winter quarters. He was a jovial mouse and seemed quite ordinary except that on his brow he wore a crown of plaited corn. Mr Woodruffe raised his paws and began solemnly.

‘May the field be blessed and may the goodwill of the Green Mouse follow us therein.’

‘Amen to that!’ called out Isaac Nettle, but he was drowned out by the frantic cheers of everyone else.

Mr Woodruffe waved his arms for silence and continued. ‘I have been told of the daring bravery shown ’ere by our guest.’ He bowed to Madame Akkikuyu. She pointed her foot and managed a curtsey back. ‘And as King of the Field,’ he went on, ‘it is my pleasure to offer her the freedom of Fennywolde, for surely she is a messenger of the Green Mouse come in our most desperate hour.’

There were shouts of agreement from the fieldmice. Arthur and Audrey stared at one another. Isaac Nettle nodded his head gravely.

‘And now,’ shouted Mr Woodruffe, ‘you may all enter the field!’ He stood aside and the fieldmice scurried past him.

‘Make the Hall,’ they yelled happily.

Soon only Mr Woodruffe, Madame Akkikuyu, Audrey and Arthur were left standing by the ditch and the field was filled with joyous calls and mysterious sounds.

Mr Woodruffe looked at the Deptford mice and smiled. ‘So you are Twit’s companions. Come, he is below with his folks. I think we can interrupt them now. You look like you could do with a good sleep. The field is no place for you tonight. The work would keep you awake.’

‘Please sir,’ Arthur asked, ‘what work?’

‘Hah, you’ll see tomorrow lad.’ Mr Woodruffe turned to Madame Akkikuyu and raised his eyebrows. ‘Will you join us below ma’am? We would be most honoured.’

The fortune-teller grinned at him and came over to give Audrey a big hug.

‘Yes Akkikuyu come, she not leave her friend. First Akkikuyu find bags. You go, I follow.’

The three mice left the rat to find her things and entered the winter quarters. Madame Akkikuyu was left alone in the dark. In her mind she relived the thrilling moments of glory, and the thrill that those cheers gave her. What undreamt wonders there were in the world and how her heart swelled with pride to think that all these mice honoured her!

As a tear fell from her furry cheek, Madame Akkikuyu knew that she had never been so happy before. Tonight, she thought, would be a good time to die, whilst she was happiest. The fortune-teller sniffed. No, with her friend there would be many more times such as this – if not greater. Madame Akkikuyu blew her nose on her shawl then cast about for her bags.

It was too dark to see them. The sky had clouded over and the moon was hidden. She stooped down and groped for her things. It was so quiet. The noise of the mice in the field had died down or they had moved further away out of earshot.

‘Akkikuyu!’

Madame Akkikuyu paused and tilted her head to one side.

‘Akkikuyu!’

There it was again. A distant, echoing voice calling her name. It had troubled her on the river but no-one else seemed to have heard it. Madame Akkikuyu despaired. Tearing at her hair she shook her head violently. ‘Leave me!’ she wailed. ‘Go away. Akkikuyu not listen!’ And she ran up the side of the ditch and down into the shelters.

The sun brimmed over the tops of the oak trees and its dazzling, early rays moved slowly over the meadow, pushing back the grey dawn and creeping towards the field. The corn seemed to stir at the sun’s warm touch and stretched as high as it could. Fennywolde awoke.

Audrey rubbed her eyes and gazed sleepily at the low, rough ceiling. She was in a small room in the winter quarters, that part lived in by the Scuttles. The room was bare – there was no decoration on the lumpy earth walls, no flowers, drawings, ornaments – nothing. Only a small tallow candle flickered miserably in one corner and Audrey looked at it thoughtfully. She was sure she had blown that out before she had gone to sleep. Someone must have been in to relight it. Yes, on the floor near her bed was a bowl of water for her to wash in. That was a kind thought and one which Audrey felt she needed.

She dragged herself out of bed and began splashing the drowsiness and grime of the past few days away.

‘Is that you awake now Audrey?’ came a friendly voice just outside the room. ‘Well, breakfast’s ready when you are.’

Audrey finished dressing and smoothed the creases out of her lace. She tied a new ribbon in her hair – a parting gift from Kempe – then she slipped her bells on to her tail and went into the breakfast room.

Again it was bleak and bare with only a table in the centre and three stools around it. Mrs Scuttle pattered in carrying a bowl of porridge.

Audrey and Arthur had been surprised when they first saw Mrs Chitter’s sister. She wasn’t a bit like that gossipy old fusspot. Gladwin Scuttle was a brown house mouse as they were. She was slender with short, chestnut hair, greying at the crown and a thin, delicate face. Around her neck she wore a prim starched collar. Audrey thought that she must have been quite lovely when she was younger.

‘Where’s my brother and Twit?’ asked Audrey between mouthfuls.

‘Gone out with Elijah,’ replied Mrs Scuttle settling down on a stool and beaming warmly. ‘Oh and your . . . er . . . friend, Madame – what was it?’

‘Akkikuyu,’ prompted Audrey, ‘but she’s not exactly my friend, you know.’

‘Well, I did wonder. I came from Deptford too, remember, and I know how horrible the rats were there. I’d watch her if I were you, wouldn’t trust her an inch despite her doings last night.’

Audrey wondered about that. ‘That’s what Kempe said, but you know I really do think she’s changed. She really is trying her best.’

‘Hmm.’ Mrs Scuttle sounded doubtful. ‘Still, I suppose I shouldn’t judge her too harshly. My William’s been telling me all about you and her and . . .’ here she lowered her voice to a faint whisper, ‘. . . Jupiter.’

‘Please,’ begged Audrey, ‘you mustn’t mention that name to Madame Akkikuyu. She can’t remember a thing and it might just be too much for her.’

‘Oh quite, dear . . . I can keep mum. I don’t suppose my sister has learned how yet – no your smile gives that away. So, Arabel’s not changed a bit. I thought William was being too polite when I asked him about her. Still it was good of her to look after him all this time.’

Audrey finished her breakfast and then said, ‘You never did tell me where Madame Akkikuyu had gone.’

‘Oh yes, why there I go again – forgetting things. I tell you dear my head’s like a sieve these days. Oh . . . where was I?’

‘Madame Akkikuyu.’

‘Yes, such an odd name. Well you should have seen how much she ate this morning, and I’m sorry but her table manners are dreadful. Anyway, after making a right mess she ups and goes outside hauling one of those big bags with her. What does she keep in them, do you know?’

Audrey nodded. ‘They’re her herbs, powders, mixing tins and other stuff like that.’

‘Well. William did tell me how she’s supposed to be a fortune-teller, I didn’t like to ask her myself – I find that sort of thing very frightening.’

‘Oh it’s all right,’ assured Audrey. ‘She doesn’t do any of that any more. I think she just carries that junk around with her out of habit. You don’t have to worry, she’s not likely to start brewing up spells now.’

Mrs Scuttle put her paws on the table and stared at Audrey. ‘But my dear! That’s precisely what she is doing. That’s where everyone’s gone. She’s making a healing broth, so she says, for Young Whortle Nep and Samuel Gorse.’

‘What!’ spluttered Audrey aghast. ‘But she doesn’t know how. She’ll probably poison them with what’s in those bags of hers.’ She jumped up from the table and ran out of the Scuttles’ rooms.

The winter quarters were a series of drab tunnels with family rooms leading off the main passages. There was no decoration anywhere, just the dismal tallow candles flickering on the walls. Up the tunnel Audrey hurried and sped out into the fresh air.

She followed the sound of voices and ran along the top of the ditch overlooking the bare stony stretch. There were all the fieldmice and in the centre was Madame Akkikuyu.

Her brewing pot was over a crackling fire and she stirred the bubbling contents with the bone from her hair. Occasionally she delved into one of her pouches and threw some leaves in the boiling mixture.

The fieldmice watched her with keen interest and admiration. Audrey spotted Arthur and Twit and pushed past the others to reach them.

‘Mornin’ Audrey’ greeted Twit brightly.

‘Hello,’ she mumbled. ‘Arthur, what do you think you’re doing letting her do this? It’s bound to be poisonous.’

‘What am I supposed to do?’ asked Arthur crossly. ‘She’d already started by the time we got here.’

‘But she might poison one of those boys,’ Audrey said. ‘I can’t let her carry on.’ She forced her way through the fieldmice to the front.

‘My,’ whistled Twit, ‘your Audrey ain’t one for standin’ by.’

‘That’s what worries me,’ said Arthur.

Audrey went to the fortune-teller’s side and tugged her elbow fiercely.

‘Mouselet!’ cried the rat gleefully. ‘You sleep well, yes? Akkikuyu look in on you before she go. You sleep like twig.’ She put her arm around the mouse and Audrey squirmed.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked. ‘You don’t know what those herbs and powders are for.’

Madame Akkikuyu gave a deep fruity laugh. ‘But my mouselet, Akkikuyu remember now – leaves make you better, heal wounds. They strong nature magic.’

‘But they’re poisonous,’ hissed Audrey.

‘No, no,’ tutted the fortune-teller, ‘some leaves bad yes, Akkikuyu chuck them, she knows those that heal.’ She gave the potion one last stir and declared to the fieldmice: ‘Is ready, come – take to the poorly little ones.’

Mrs Gorse stepped forward and looked apprehensively at the steaming thick broth bubbling away in the pot.

‘Come, come,’ encouraged the rat, beckoning with her claws.

Mrs Gorse held out a wooden bowl and Madame Akkikuyu scooped some of the potion into it.

‘Take to boy, make him drink all. He get better soon.’

Audrey rushed over to Mrs Gorse. ‘Don’t take it to him,’ she implored and a murmur of surprise rippled through the fieldmice. ‘Madame Akkikuyu isn’t well herself. She doesn’t know what she’s put in there, it might make your son worse.’