The Deptford Mice 3: The Final Reckoning (27 page)

‘There is a way,’ she told them, holding grimly onto her walking stick, ‘just one small chance for this mouse. If I succeed he shall be cured and survive but if I fail, then death shall come earlier than looked for.’

The firelight danced over her face, casting deep shadows over her brows which gave her a sinister appearance. She looked like an ancient force from forgotten legend that shimmered magically before them. Audrey knelt at her side, the velvet bag clutched in her paws. She watched the Starwife warily for she did not trust her and sensed that she was up to something; a devious gleam was glittering in those milky eyes.

Gwen put a paw to her mouth as she prayed for Thomas’s life. She hoped the squirrel knew what she was doing.

Just then Master Oldnose came into the Hall carrying a large bowl. ‘I’ve got it,’ he puffed, ‘but my oh my it’s freezing out there.’ The Starwife had sent him into the yard to fetch some snow but did not say what she needed it for. The inquisitive mice peered into the fluffy heaped bowl timidly and shot wondrous glances at the proud, mysterious squirrel. What was she going to do?

The Starwife took the bowl from him and examined the ice-covered body beside her. The infection had reached Thomas’s shoulders and frosty lines were creeping relentlessly up his neck. She muttered all the while to herself, nodding or tutting at what she saw, then she placed her crippled fingers on both sides of the wound and shook her head. ‘There is very little time left to him,’ she said bluntly, ‘the dread spells of Jupiter speed through his system. Give me the bag child.’ Audrey passed it over and the Starwife foraged inside. With a mumble of approval she brought out a curiously shaped root and deftly bit the end off. A honey coloured sap oozed out and she held it over the gash allowing three drops to fall into it.

Thomas cried out as each drop touched the dreadful wound. Gwen held his head and stroked his hair soothingly but his eyes rolled back and only the whites showed.

The Starwife scooped up some of the snow and packed it firmly into the gash, then she tore a strip from a pillow case and bound it tightly round the frozen leg.

Audrey frowned. She could not see how this would help. Surely what was needed was heat not more cold. She remembered the squirrel’s harsh words concerning Thomas. Perhaps she was merely playing for time until he died.

‘The first stage is complete,’ said the Starwife slowly. ‘I have applied the poultice, now we must charge it with our prayers so that it may begin its work.’ She removed the silver acorn from around her neck and dangled it between three fingers over the midshipmouse. With her arm outstretched she sighed and strange words formed on her wrinkled lips. The Hall became tense and a faint breeze stirred, moving her patchy fur and gently swinging the suspended charm.’

‘Tah!’ scolded the Starwife as her arm sagged suddenly and the acorn touched Thomas; she snorted with contempt at her own feeble limbs and rubbed her wasted muscles feverishly. With a grunt of frustration she told everyone, ‘It is useless, I can do nothing for him, my arms are too weak for this.’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling and shrugged, ‘A firmer paw than mine is needed I fear,’ and she grumbled scandalous curses at the horrors of age.

The mice all let out a disappointed groan. It. seemed that Thomas was doomed after all. Audrey looked at the squirrel sharply. There was something exceedingly odd about what had just happened. It was too like a performance to be true. She had an idea and hurriedly volunteered, ‘I’ll do it.’ There, she thought, that’s put a stop to the old battleaxe’s delaying tactics.

The Starwife offered the girl the pendant. She took it and the squirrel smiled, almost from relief. ‘Excellent,’ she said, ‘now hold it over him steadily child,’ she told Audrey, ‘and do not move or drop it until the process is complete.’ She gazed round and raised her paw for attention. ‘Begin now all of you,’ she instructed the mice. ‘If you want this mouse to live you must concentrate with all your might.’

Only the sound of the fire was heard as the assembled mice prayed hard and the Starwife closed her eyes and spoke softly under her breath.

Audrey looked suspiciously at the squirrel and wondered what her motives were. She had given in to her request to heal Thomas too easily – there had to be a reason for it. Audrey recalled that it was dangerous to underestimate the Starwife’s guile.

The silence lengthened and the whisperings of the squirrel grew more heated as she summoned all her remaining strength. With her left paw she touched Audrey deliberately on the forehead and pressed her nail into the fur, combing a circular shape there, ‘May this new vessel serve you well,’ she cried unexpectedly.

Suddenly Audrey became aware of a faint humming sound in her ears and then a shudder ran down her arms to her paws. She felt a colossal force travel through her and she spluttered with the shock. A cold chill coursed in her veins and passed into her fingers. She gasped in amazement as sparks crackled along the string until it reached the silver amulet where a white light flickered in small tongues of flame. The acorn was glowing and the humming grew louder until it filled the Hall; a high, piercing note charging the atmosphere and tingling every astonished whisker. The orange flames of the Hall fire shrank down and were overwhelmed by the brilliance flooding from the charm. The mice shielded their eyes from the blinding light and stopped up their ears as the shrill note deafened them.

The Starwife began to cry out the spell she was chanting and she raised her arms ecstatically. The Hall blazed fiercely white and then, with a thunderous crash and a terrific rush of air, the radiance fled screeching down to Thomas, battering into his frozen body and leaving the house in darkness.

Audrey’s eyes and ears were still smarting and ringing as she gazed around. White flames were dripping from the silver acorn hanging from her paws and they crackled over the midshipmouse’s body. Thomas called out in pain, the anguish and agony twisted his face – it was killing him.

So this was the Starwife’s plan. She had said it would be better to finish him off and now she had tricked them into letting her do it. The midshipmouse’s head was consumed in cold fire and frost devoured his tortured features.

‘Stop it!’ shrieked Audrey and she tried to throw the acorn away, but the Starwife reached out and seized hold of her paws, gripping them tightly, bruising the girl’s wrists with her iron grasp. ‘He’s dying you old witch!’ protested Audrey as more liquid ice poured from the amulet and totally smothered Thomas.

But the Starwife would not let her go and the other mice watched them fretfully, not daring to intervene. Only Gwen and Arthur started forward but the squirrel lashed out with her tail and knocked them backwards.

Even as Audrey struggled and wrested her paws free the white fires died down and disappeared into the floor. She flung the pendant from her but it was too late, Thomas was completely covered and she gazed only on a statue of ice. A wintry vapour steamed from the grisly figure. It was top horrible to look at and many turned their stricken faces away.

Before anyone could speak the Starwife took up her stick and gave the rigid form a sound rap. There was a crack and two great lines splintered away from the blow.

‘What are you doing?’ wailed Gwen desolately.

The squirrel ignored her and gave it another mighty clout and another until the ice crunched and shattered, flying into the air in sharp little pieces. As one demented she smashed and battered the figure until it was completely destroyed. And there, blinking and gasping for breath, was Thomas, alive and well. He brushed off the icy fragments and sat up grinning as if nothing had ever been the matter with him. ‘Couldn’t half do with a tot o’ rum,’ he said ruefully.

Everyone rubbed their eyes, then cheered, ‘Hooray for the Starwife!’ but she waved them away from her and leaned wearily against the stairs, feeling old beyond measure.

The wound on Thomas’s leg was still, there and bleeding slightly but it was clean and free of enchantment – the tissue would heal normally given time. Gwen hugged him and wept and Arthur patted him on the back.

Audrey felt foolish. She looked at the squirrel and hung her head – how wrong she had been for not trusting her. All the time she really was trying to save Mr Triton. The girl felt her ears burn with shame for her doubts and wondered how she could atone for them. Audrey glanced round for the silver acorn. It had rolled into a dusty corner. She ran over and picked it up then, with a sheepish face, she took it to the squirrel.

She looked frail and worn, as if the healing had taken more out of her than was safe. Her body trembled and her long, pointed ears were flat against her skull. She did not hear the girl approach and stared intently into the deep midnight shadows of the kitchen.

Audrey coughed politely to announce herself; ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered, ‘I didn’t understand – I thought . . .’

The Starwife regarded her coolly and a thin smile twitched over her lips. ‘You nearly killed him child,’ she said. ‘With your nasty suspicions and headstrong impulses you could have murdered him! Luckily I was able to restrain you for long enough. If you had moved the charm away too soon he would have died indeed.’

Audrey bit her lip, ‘I brought this back for you,’ she said meekly.

The squirrel chuckled and wagged her finger, ‘Oho, and what would I want that for young lady?’

‘It’s your acorn,’ Audrey told her puzzled, ‘your symbol of office.’

‘Ha!’ snorted the Starwife, ‘Not any more – you took it from me of your own free will and allowed the powers to channel through you – the charm is mine no longer.’

‘I don’t understand . . . ‘began Audrey but even as she said it she realized that she had been tricked once again.

The squirrel nodded, revelling in her triumph. ‘Yes,’ she laughed softly, ‘it belongs to you now my time is over.’

‘But, I don’t want it,’ Audrey protested.

The other dismissed her with a shake of her head. ‘Too late,’ she said melting into the shadows, ‘you claimed it and it claimed you Audrey. Both are irrevocably tied together, tethered as one till death.’ A soft chuckle gurgled in her throat when she spoke the girl’s name and then she heaved a tremendous sigh in which all her cares and responsibilities escaped. Her face wore a serene expression as she gladly told the girl, ‘It is yours whether you like it or not, there is nought you can do.’ And with that the Starwife vanished into the darkness.

Audrey looked down at the silver acorn in her palm and tossed her head defiantly. ‘I’m not your slave,’ she pouted, ‘and I’m not having your rotten pendant!’ With a furious shout she hurled the charm away and heard it rattle down the cellar steps.

* * *

The snow lay deep over the yard. The wind had dropped and the flakes were falling steadily. It was a dark, moonless night but the snow gave off its own pale glare in which the long icicles that had stretched down from the gutters shone coldly.

An irritated rustling disturbed the grim calm as a cracked voice muttered, ‘To the devil with all this paper!’ With oaths sprouting from her lips the Starwife emerged from the house tearing up the stuffing which had plugged the exit. ‘A plague on that idiot Oldnose,’ she growled, ‘I never told him to block it again – save me from meddlesome mice!’

The drift of snow which had piled against the hole was kicked and scattered in her temper. Grumbling and swiping the air with her walking stick as though the offending mouse was standing before her the Starwife shuffled slowly to the centre of the yard. She lifted her head and stared woefully at the black, void of the heavens. ‘No more the celestial lamps do shine,’ she crooned sorrowfully, ‘and the enemy stalks the moonless night.’

With a last, regretful glance she lowered her gaze and prepared herself for what had to be done. With her stick the squirrel drew a circle in the snow. When it was complete she looked at it critically and grunted then, using her feet, tail and paws she proceeded to clear everything inside the line. The thick snow was swept up, shoved out, kicked, scraped and brushed aside until she had made a bare ring in the white garden.

The Starwife mumbled with satisfaction as she leant on her stick and admired the result of her labour. How tiring it had all been and how cold she was now. Her dry, brittle, old bones creaked mutinously. Memories of the past came unbidden to her and she remembered a certain night when the stars were like beautiful fiery flowers and their light fell brightly onto her lovely, young face. It was the night she had chosen to become the Handmaiden of Orion and had first taken up the silver. Even now she could feel the warm grass under her delicate feet as she raced uphill from the battle to the safety of the throne. War cries echoed round her mind as the image faded and the frost that bit her toes tugged her back to the present.

‘They were perilous days,’ she said quietly, ‘when treachery and friendship went hand in I hand.’ A grave look crossed her face, ‘There I learnt my harsh lessons, yet what help are they now against the Unbeest?’

The Starwife ambled to the fence and furtively prodded the snow with her stick. ‘Charts and dreams,’ she tutted, bending over and foraging in the bare, stony soil, ‘how jealously we guarded them: all those scrolls and tatters of parchment we believed to be so precious! What use were they in the end?’ She held up two good-sized rocks and tossed them into her round clearing. ‘Never trust a prophecy written on paper,’ she murmured gruffly to herself as she poked about for more stones, ‘some clever so-and-so’s bound to have fiddled with it and copied the ruddy thing down wrongly, adding twiddly bits of his own that are completely irrelevant.’ The Starwife picked up four more stones and rolled a further one along the ground with her tail. ‘Oral traditions,’ she declared, dropping the rocks into the circle and tapping her nose with her forefinger, ‘things preserve best from mouth to ear, should’ve known that.’

In the bleak, freezing night the old squirrel carefully placed the seven stones at an equal distance from each other round the ring. Then she stood in the centre and touched each one with the handle of her stick and said a blessing over them. ‘The wheel is made,’ she sighed when it was done.

The Starwife clutched her back as she bent her knees and tried to sit down. ‘Waited too long,’ she chided herself as her spine buckled and she landed unceremoniously on the icy ground, ‘my time should have ended long ago. What a formidable old boot I have become!’ She sucked her bottom lip thoughtfully and laid the stick across her lap. ‘Now all there is left for me to do is wait. I pray it comes swiftly.’