The Secret of the Ginger Mice (23 page)

A bit uneasily, Alistair edged forward, Tibby close beside him.

When they drew near, Alistair saw that the two mice were sitting before a fire that was burning so low it cast barely any light.

“Who are you?” he repeated.

The mouse who had first spoken stood up. He was tall and lean, with a shock of chestnut fur on his head and chest, while the rest of him was dark brown. “I'm Feast Thompson,” he said. “It's a pleasure to meet you both.”

“And I'm Slippers Pink,” said the second mouse in a low, husky voice. Slippers Pink had beautiful pale almond fur and wore a pair of shiny black boots that went almost to her knees. “Come sit by the fire,” she invited. “You must be feeling a little windswept.”

Still stunned, Alistair and Tibby obeyed.

“There, isn't that better?” said Slippers Pink. “I love a good fire—even a small one.” With a comfortable sigh, she pulled off first one boot, then the other, and stretched out her legs to wiggle her toes in the fire's glow.

Tibby gasped and clutched Alistair's arm. She was staring at Slippers Pink's feet. Alistair followed her gaze. The pale mouse's feet were a light gingery pink, almost
the same shade as Tibby Rose's own natural color.

“Are you . . . Gerandan?” Tibby asked in a hushed voice.

Slippers Pink looked amused by Tibby Rose's serious tone.

“I was born there,” she said. “Though I left when I was three and haven't been back since.”

As Alistair and Tibby Rose gaped at her, Feast Thompson said, “We all have a lot of explaining to do—you two included.” He looked at Alistair and Tibby Rose sternly. “I'd be interested to know exactly what you think you're doing wandering around the countryside when you should be safely tucked up in bed at Nelson and Harriet's house in Templeton. But”—he held up a hand to stop the protests of the younger mice—“we should eat first. I don't know about you two, but we're starving.”

Alistair thought of Mags's cloth bag, still full of cheese and bread and strawberries, now at the bottom of the river. “Me too,” he said.

Feast Thompson hooked a stick under the wire handle of a battered black pot that had been resting in the coals of the fire and lifted it onto the ground before him.

“We've not got much in the way of tableware,” he said, as he handed around spoons. “We're traveling light. But dig in.”

Alistair put a spoon into the light milky broth and carried it to his lips. It had a very unusual flavor, salty and briny, like nothing he had ever tasted before. He dipped his spoon in again and this time lifted out something solid. Well, sort of solid. When he put it in his mouth, it seemed to slither, then slid down in one slimy gollop before he even had a chance to bite into it.

“Ugh,” he said in disgust. “What was that thing? It's like it was alive.”

“You don't like oysters?” said Slippers Pink in surprise. “I suppose they are an acquired taste.”

“What about you, Tibby Rose?” asked Feast Thompson.

“I like them,” said Tibby Rose decidedly. “They taste like I imagine the sea would taste.”

They kept eating—Alistair being careful to avoid the oysters and stick to the broth—until the pot was empty.

“So,” said Feast Thompson at last, leaning back against a rock, “you've given us quite the run-around. Oswald couldn't believe it when he met with Timmy the Winns to exchange messages on another matter and Timmy told him he'd met you that very evening. Poor old Os had a devil of a time finding you. He wasted all last night patrolling up and down, and didn't see tail nor whisker of you.”

“How do you know Timmy the Winns?” said Alistair. “And how did Timmy the Winns know us?”

“And how come you know Grandpa Nelson and Great-Aunt Harriet?” said Tibby Rose.

“Why take me to Templeton in the first place?” said Alistair.

“We didn't think anyone would look for you there,” said Slippers Pink, answering the last question first.

“Look, it's very simple,” Feast Thompson began.

“Well, not
that
simple, Feast,” Slippers Pink objected.

“You're right,” said Feast Thompson. “Actually, it's not simple at all. Alistair, your life was in danger, and we needed to get you to a safe place, somewhere no one would look for you. We had planned to take you there ourselves—in fact, we were on our way to Smiggins to fetch you—when there was a change of plan.”

Alistair stared at Feast Thompson in bewilderment. “Why me?” he said. “I mean, why not Alex or Alice, for example?”

Feast and Slippers exchanged glances.

“Because you're ginger,” Slippers said.

Alistair thought he was beginning to understand. “Is this something to do with Gerander?” he asked. Then another thought occurred to him. “Are you members of FIG?”

“What do you know about FIG?” the pale mouse asked sharply.

“It's a resistance movement fighting for Gerander's
freedom from Sourian occupation,” Tibby Rose piped up.

“Who told you that?” Feast wanted to know.

“A . . . a mouse,” said Tibby hesitantly.

Slippers swatted the air impatiently. “Of course it was a mouse,” she said. “But which mouse? Hang on . . .” She turned to Alistair. “How much have Ebenezer and Beezer told you? They weren't supposed to tell you anything till you were older,” she grumbled.

“Uncle Ebenezer and Aunt Beezer? They haven't told me any—wait, do you mean they're part of FIG too? But that's ridiculous; we're Shetlockers, not Gerandan.”

“That's not entirely true,” Feast Thompson told him. “Raskus—Rebus and Ebenezer's father—was Gerandan. And Emmeline was born in Gerander, and lived there for much of her childhood until she escaped.”

Alistair sat with his mouth open, trying to take this all in. “So both my parents are Gerandan? I never knew.” Suddenly he was bursting with questions. “Were they part of FIG? Did that have anything to do with how they died?”

“Slow down,” said Feast. “I can only answer one question at a time. Yes, Emmeline and Rebus were part of FIG. As for your other question . . .” He shook his head. “I'm afraid so. They sneaked across the Gerandan border on what was meant to be a short mission and . . .” He let the sentence hang unfinished.

“They died on a mission?!” Alistair shouted. “What kind of mission?”

“Shhh,” Slippers and Feast shushed him.

“For obvious reasons, we're trying to keep a low profile here,” said Slippers. “So please do try to keep your voice down.”

“But my parents,” Alistair said through the lump that was building in his throat. “Where were they going? What were they doing? Why couldn't anyone save them?”

Slippers explained, “It's very hard to get information into, out of, and around Gerander, and very hard to travel within the country. The Sourian occupiers of Gerander keep watch on the mail, on all the roads—they're determined to prevent the citizens of Gerander from communicating with each other and organizing an uprising. But there is another way. . . .” Slippers Pink tilted her head to one side as if appraising them. “Emmeline had special knowledge, you see.”

“Slippers. . . .” Feast Thompson said in what sounded like a warning tone.

“It's okay,” said Slippers Pink. “Timmy thought—” She stopped and turned to whisper something in Feast's ear. Then she turned back to Alistair and Tibby Rose. “What I am about to tell you is of the utmost secrecy,” she said. “Do you understand?”

Alistair and Tibby Rose looked at each other and then nodded.

“And do you agree never to reveal this information?”

Alistair nodded again, though he wondered why he and Tibby Rose, who had never even heard of FIG and the history of Gerander's occupation until a few hours ago, should be entrusted with secret information.

Slippers continued, “There are other paths through Gerander. Paths known only to a few. They have never been recorded in writing, but are passed down through families in other ways; they are sung or painted or danced. If the secret of these paths was shared, it would mean members of FIG could travel freely through Gerander. And then, maybe, we could finally bring Gerandans together to rise up against the Sourian occupiers.”

“And my mother?” said Alistair, who had an inkling of what was coming next.

“She knew the secret of the paths.”

Slippers Pink looked at Alistair expectantly, but Alistair had no idea what it was she wanted from him. When it was clear she was finished, Alistair said, “So my parents . . .” He wasn't sure he could bear to hear the answer to his own question, but he had to know the truth. “So my parents were killed for the secret?”

Feast Thompson exhaled heavily. “We don't know.
Perhaps—though as far as we know General Ashwover and his army are unaware of the secret paths. It's more likely your parents were killed because they were identified as spies.” His voice deepened. “I'm sorry, Alistair. But they knew the risks.”

Alistair stared into the fire, struggling to come to terms with the idea of his mother as a spy, a spy with a special secret. . . .

“So where do I come in?” Tibby asked. “I suppose you're going to tell me that I'm Gerandan too.”

“On your father's side,” said Slippers.

“My father?” Tibby sat bolt upright. “You knew my father?”

Slippers said, “Yes, indeed: every member of FIG considers him a hero. And he wouldn't be pleased to know that you'd left your grandfather's house.”

“So you knew I was there?”

“Certainly,” said Slippers. “It was the safest place for you. And for Alistair. Though I'm afraid your grandfather and great-aunt must have been rather surprised to see Alistair. There was a . . . mishap.”

Feast Thompson gave an embarrassed cough. “We had written them a note explaining Alistair's sudden appearance. Oswald was meant to leave it with them when he dropped you off but he, er, he swallowed it.”

“But that doesn't change the fact that you never
should have taken off by yourselves,” Slippers Pink said sternly. “Tibby Rose, your relatives made many sacrifices to keep you safe.”

“I . . . I didn't know,” said Tibby, looking ashamed. “I didn't know that they had to protect me because I was Gerandan. I thought they must be embarrassed by me because I was ginger.”

“Not at all,” said Feast Thompson. “They weren't happy about your parents' marriage, but only because they feared for Lucia's safety; they weren't at all bothered by the fact that your father was Gerandan. They're good people—and they must be beside themselves with worry about you now. I'm sure they'll be most relieved to see you when Oswald takes you back tonight.”

“Takes us back?” said Alistair. “No. No way. I'm on my way home to Smiggins. My brother and sister'll be worried too, and my aunt and uncle.”

Feast looked surprised. “Worried? They'll be glad you're safe. I'm sure our letter would have made it perfectly clear why it was necessary to remove you to Templeton at such short notice. But like I said, there was a change of plan. We have an urgent rendezvous near the Eugenian Range or we'd accompany you back to Templeton ourselves.”

“But why can't Oswald take me back to Smiggins?” Alistair argued.

“Smiggins isn't safe for you,” Slippers Pink explained. “One of our spies in the Sourian army learned that two of the Queen's agents were on their way to kidnap you.”

“But why me?” Alistair asked for what seemed to him the fiftieth time. “I know I'm ginger, but if I'm Gerandan my brother and sister are too, so why is it only me that's in danger?”

He saw a strange look pass between Feast Thompson and Slippers Pink.

“Something's going on in Gerander at the moment,” Feast said vaguely. “We're not sure what, but it's got everyone on the hop.”

“Is it something to do with the prison break?” Tibby Rose asked. “And Zanzibar escaping?”

“Zanzibar—Zanzibar has escaped?” Slippers Pink gasped. She put a hand to her mouth and bowed her head.

“Are you sure?” Feast Thompson asked urgently. “How do you know?”

“The mouse I mentioned earlier . . . he told us. He told us about Gerander and FIG, and about how Zanzibar should be the king. He escaped from a prison in the Cranken Alps with Zanzibar. He said he was in Souris on an important mission.”

“Our rendezvous,” said Feast, almost to himself. He stood up and began to pace. “Right, we've got no time to
lose. Slippers, let's go. Oswald, are you still there?”

There was a hoot from a tree at the edge of the clearing, then Oswald swooped down to join them.

“Wait,” said Alistair. “Wouldn't it be quicker if Oswald took you to your rendezvous first, then came back for us?”

Slippers shook her head. “No, we're not leaving you here on your own. It's out of the question.”