The Deptford Mice 3: The Final Reckoning (23 page)

Audrey burst into tears and buried herself in her mother’s arms. ‘But it isn’t fair,’ she sobbed, ‘it’s Piccadilly I love, I know that now. I want to tell him how sorry I am for making him leave last time.’ She gulped the air down her trembling throat and poured out her heart. ‘If only I had been kinder then, things might be different, he might have come to Fennywolde and I might be his wife instead. I wish Twit had let me hang.’ Her choking words became tangled in the weeping and for a minute or more she clung onto her mother as if at any moment the ground would open up and a great pit of bitter despair suck her down into oblivion.

Gwen closed her eyes and felt her daughter’s pain. ‘But you cannot change what has happened love,’ she whispered gently. ‘There are many things in this unhappy world we cannot alter. We must learn to live with our lot and find peace with ourselves. Come, dry your eyes now. In the Hall they are deciding who should go and take your mousebrass from Morgan. You don’t want to let Piccadilly see you’ve been crying now do you?’ Audrey shook her head in determination and smartly wiped away the tears.

* * *

In the light of the fire Thomas looked round at the raised paws. Mr Cockle, Arthur, AIgy, Master Oldnose, Piccadilly and several others from the Landings were bravely volunteering to go and hunt down Morgan. Thomas scratched his whiskers. It would be a dangerous mission and he was not sure he could count on most of the mice. It was all very well being valiant now, but in the face of death how would they react? The midshipmouse decided to choose the ones he could trust, those who had already proved their worth – he pointed at Arthur and Piccadilly.

‘You’ll do,’ he said. ‘Three of us should be enough for one scurvy rat as long as we can get him away from the power station.’

‘We’ll have to be quick,’ said Piccadilly getting to his feet. ‘We can’t hang about for His Nibs to use that Starglass again.’

Barker had been picking his scalp throughout the discussion as though he was not listening, now he jerked upright and asked, ‘Where mousey boy goin’? He can’t leave Barker now.’

Piccadilly patted the old rat on his head, ‘You stay here you old loon,’ he told him, ‘you’ll be looked after, don’t worry.’ But Barker jumped up and pleaded to be allowed to go with the group.

‘Please mousey boy!’ he squealed, ‘Barker not like to be left out – he can help against Old Stumpy. You need to get him alone. He knows Barker, Barker can lure him out of ice fortress, yes?’

Thomas regarded the rat with astonishment. ‘He’s right you know,’ he said. ‘It had been worrying me, how we were going to get Morgan alone. I think your barmy old friend ain’t so addled as he pretends to be.’

As if to prove him wrong Barker tittered idiotically and hid his face in his claws, but through them he peered over at the Starwife who was sitting near the stairs. The squirrel, however, had not been listening and seemed to be fast asleep.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Piccadilly thoughtfully. The rat glanced up sharply but the mouse was only talking in response to Thomas’s first words. ‘He might be useful after all.’

‘Are we ready then?’ asked Arthur impatient to be gone.

‘In a moment matey,’ laughed Thomas, ‘we’re not going anywhere without summat to give that Morgan a right good bashing. If I remember rightly your mother has a sword somewhere, that’ll do for me. You lads see what you can find.’

‘I’m all right,’ said Piccadilly patting the little knife in his belt, ‘this is all I need.’ Arthur frowned and wondered what he ought to take. He did not want a sword or knife so he went in search of a good, stout stick.

‘What about you Barker?’ Piccadilly asked the rat. ‘Aren’t you going to have something to protect yourself with?’

Barker shook his head vigorously. ‘No, no, no,’ he yammered. ‘Barker never use weapon – they nasty and not nice. Barker trust mousey boy to save ’im if Old Stumpy gets rough.’

Piccadilly chuckled. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I’ll look after you. We’re a team now aren’t we you barmpot?’

As Audrey came out of the Skirtings, she patted her face and made certain there were no tears to betray her, then, as coolly as she could, she made her way to the city mouse.

‘Mr Triton tells me you’re off again,’ she said in a matter-of-fact sort of way.

Piccadilly had not seen her approach. ‘Oh, hello,’ he mumbled awkwardly, ‘yes, we’re off to get your mousebrass – seems I’m always doing that, doesn’t it?’

Audrey laughed, rather too quickly for it to be natural. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it does.’ There was a strained pause as both mice struggled to find something to say. Audrey’s bottom lip turned white as she bit it to prevent her true feelings blurting out, but he did not notice as he flicked his long fringe out of his eyes and battled with his resentment.

Barker looked at the two of them and hid the smile which grew on his lips, but it was too difficult. He giggled and winked at Piccadilly, ‘Ho ho mousey boy, this pretty maid your girlie friend – yes?’ He could not have said anything worse. Audrey flushed and turned beetroot while Piccadilly groaned and wanted to disappear.

The rat blinked with confusion, ‘Barker say summat wrong?’

Piccadilly coughed into his paw, ‘I’m sorry Audrey,’ he hastily apologized, ‘Barker’s not all there, are you chum?’

Audrey stared at the city mouse with anguish in her eyes, this was her chance, she should tell him now. ‘Piccadilly,’ she found herself saying, ‘Piccadilly!’

He looked at her in surprise. There was a strange and urgent plea in her voice, ‘Yes?’

‘I have to tell you something – it’s important.’

Piccadilly frowned. Audrey was certainly troubled about something. ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘No,’ she cried. ‘Piccadilly, I don’t care what mother says, and Twit only did it to save me, it’s not as if I wanted to, don’t you see?’

The city mouse did not see at all. He opened his mouth to speak but another voice called out behind him, ‘Come on lad!’

Thomas flourished a rapier in his paws and jabbed the air with it. ‘A fine blade,’ he said, ‘let’s give it something to bite!’ – Arthur was by his side and in his fists he held a large stick. With a whoop he swung it over his head.

Piccadilly backed away from Audrey, glad that he had been given an excuse to escape; she would only have mocked him or said something nasty. ‘Sorry,’ he chirped, ‘got to nip off now. Wot you waitin’ for Barker?’

Audrey watched him walk over to the others who were waiting at the cellar door. She cursed herself for not telling him. A gentle paw placed itself on her shoulder and her mother’s voice whispered in her ear, ‘It’s better he does not know. Let him think you do not like him, for there’s nothing you can do.’

The mice of the Skirtings and Landings cheered the four intrepid heroes and wished them well. With hearty waves they passed down into the cellar and Master Oldnose said a quick prayer. Audrey wept as she felt her heart break.

* * *

The evening closed tightly about the power station and charcoal shadows lengthened over the icy waste. The storm still raged and black, snow swollen clouds filled the sky. Nothing stirred out of doors that night and all creatures shivered in fear.

Down by the jetty, at the frozen river’s edge a little fist punched out the snow that had clogged up a drainage pipe. Thomas popped his head out and jumped down. He was followed by Piccadilly and Arthur then, squirming and wriggling, came Barker.

The midshipmouse looked gravely towards the power station. A ghostly light was shining behind the tiny windows. ‘We have to draw Morgan out,’ he said, ‘and let’s hope he brings the mousebrass with him.’

‘You ready Barker?’ asked Piccadilly uncertainly. The rat gazed at the forbidding building and shook his head. ‘No,’ he whimpered.

But it was too late to turn back now and they took no notice. The city mouse led the others up the jetty. Barker lingered behind morosely and kicked over an oil can. It rattled and glooped across the ground. Thinking it may contain something sumptuous and tasty the rat scrambled after it and slid his expectant tongue down into the greasy insides.

‘Pah! Yak!’ he’ spat and choked and stuffed a clawful of clean snow into his mouth to numb the acrid bitterness. With smeared, black lips and an equally black scowl he threw the can away. Barker glanced up and hurried after the mice who, by now, had disappeared round the corner. Piccadilly had taken them to the gate in the pockmarked wall and they were just ducking under the rails as Barker came scurrying up, spitting inky saliva onto the snow as he went.

Now only the snowy wasteland lay between them and Jupiter’s fortress. Arthur held his breath and clutched his stick grimly. ‘Do you think we can get close enough without being seen?’ he asked.

Thomas shrugged. ‘Who knows, but I’m hoping that this blasted weather will shield us from His eyes – for a while at least.’

So, very slowly, they began to cross the exposed stretch of ground. They went in single file, with Thomas leading and dragging his sturdy legs through the deep, muscle-aching snow. In a silent, trudging line they toiled and the storm of Jupiter was their only protection against the piercing blue light which stabbed all too frequently from the power station and sliced through the icy darkness.

The building drew nearer and its massive, hulking shape reared above them into the pitch black night. A deathly, pale mist flowed round the walls and Arthur shuddered, remembering the previous evening in Greenwich.

Bringing up the rear Barker squinted up through the gale. He was as desperate as the others for this plan to work, though for entirely different reasons.

Thomas grunted as he laboured with increasing difficulty through the waist-high snow. When he reached the wall of the great building he pressed himself against the frost covered bricks and spoke in a whisper to Barker. ‘This is where you earn your supper,’ he said beckoning to the rat. ‘Remember, all you have to do is lead Morgan out here and we’ll take over.’

Barker came wobbling forward and gibbered nervously, but protests were useless and Thomas shoved him round the corner.

The rat skidded and slipped out over the ice and snow, and with a long, drawn out wail he fell on his face.

In the shadows, Piccadilly started and leaned forward with concern but the midshipmouse pulled him back, ‘He knows what he’s up to lad,’ he hissed. ‘He ain’t hurt.’

Barker lifted his face and stared intently at the low window with the broken pane. There was a movement behind it; Morgan was there, lurking in the gloom, spying and snooping, keeping watch for his foul master. Barker licked his lips and the act of his life began.

‘Oh, ahh, me ’ead! Oh them lumps – ooch, ah, eeh,’ he cradled his head in his claws and staggered drunkenly to his feet.

Behind the broken window a dark shape flitted and two beady red eyes gleamed in the cold dark. ‘Who’s that?’ croaked a thin voice. ‘Come out where I can see ya!’

‘Oh, ahh,’ came Barker’s painful response as he flailed and jiggled about like a nervous jelly.

A pinched, sharply chiselled snout appeared through the gap. Morgan glared out into the storm and his eyes darted to and fro. ‘I knows that miserable voice,’ he snarled. ‘It’s that crazy old duffer. What be ’e doin’ ’ere? ‘E can’t ’ave swam all this way.’ A vicious looking dagger flashed in his teeth as he wormed his way out of the window and stood seething with wickedness in the snow. He rubbed his claws together as he thought how pleased his mighty lord would be to have another victim. Where was the wretch, he wondered. Damn this accursed weather!

Amid the swirling storm Barker howled, ‘Help me, I ’se hurt an’ can’t walk proper – me poor lumpy ’ed. Oooh’

Morgan cackled and his stumpy tail slapped the frost eagerly. He took the dagger from his mouth and bent forward to gaze through the thick curtain of churning, beating flakes. ‘Tell me where you are,’ he called out. ‘It’s me, your beloved general, I’ll help ya.’

The crafty old rat was now lying flat against the ground, and could see Morgan quite clearly. He saw the dagger clasped firmly in the evil creature’s claws but most importantly he noticed the brass pendant swinging from his neck. Barker grinned everything was going according to plan. With one deft movement he cupped his mouth in his fist and by some cunning art threw his voice so that it seemed to come further from the left. ‘Stumpy, that you? I’ se in agony, an’ so blinkin’ cold. What’s ’appenin’ to the world?’

Morgan swivelled his head on hunched shoulders and sniffed the battering wind with his nose.

‘I can smell ya, you old crow bait. What ya doin’ round ’ere? Come closer. I won’t ’urt ya, you know I always takes good care o’ my lads.’

‘I ’se over ’ere,’ cried the faint, deceivingly distant voice, ‘quick, ooh aah.’

With a growl Morgan leapt forward brandishing the dagger and ran right past Barker’s prostrate form. In the glimmering dark he lashed out with the cruel blade, slashing the snow and cutting the wind in his madness to find the old rat. ‘Where are ya?’ he shrieked charging against the storm and ripping it with his eager, bloodthirsty dagger.

Barker pulled himself up and slunk over to the shadowy corner where the mice were hiding. ‘He’s out and alone,’ he told them quickly, ‘an’ he’s got the dangler round his scrawny neck.’

‘Well done,’ Thomas congratulated him hurriedly. He turned to the others. ‘Ready?’ Piccadilly and Arthur nodded grimly and with one bound they all shot out of the darkness and raced through the blizzard towards Morgan. Barker remained hidden in the shade and waited.

Morgan whipped round and saw the three mice charging at him. He cried out and tried to dodge back to the window but his escape was cut off by Thomas and a rapier was thrust menacingly before his face. Arthur swiftly swung his stick and caught the rat’s claw, the dagger dropped to the ground and Morgan yelped. Piccadilly’s paw was steady as he held his own little knife and approached purposefully. This disgusting creature had been the cause of all his miseries.

Morgan stared open-mouthed at the city mouse. ‘I know you,’ he cried, ‘you’re a Holeborner, and before that you were in the sewers – you’re the dainty that got away.’ Piccadilly said nothing but came fiercely on.

‘Morgan,’ snapped Thomas suddenly, ‘we only want that brass round your neck. Give it to us or we’ll take it and we’ll not be gentle.’