Young Fredle (3 page)

“I
smelled
it, I meant,” he said, but he settled down across
from his cousin to chew his way into whatever it was that smelled so good, smelled better than anything he had ever smelled before in his whole short life, smelled—somehow, despite the rich sweetness—as fresh and clear as a drop of water.

They got tiny chips of it as they made their way through the inner wrapping. Every now and then, as they chewed and spat, one or the other would stop to ask, “Did you get a taste of that?”

“Just a little bit,” the other would answer.

“Wow, I never—”

“Really good.”

When Fredle pushed the last bits of paper out of the way with his nose, he breathed in, breathed deep, before he opened his mouth to take a bite. The smell was so strong now, and so alluring, that he didn’t even think to call across to Axle to find out if she, too, had made her way through the wrapping. He wanted that taste in his mouth, right now. His teeth crunched through a thin, dark crust to the center, which was what he’d been smelling. With that first bite, his whole mouth filled with sweetness, sugary but more than sugary, entirely smooth and not at all chewy. It had two layers of taste, each wonderful in its own way, and they blended together to make—he took a second bite, then a third—the best taste he had ever had in his mouth.

All Fredle could see of Axle was her ears, one of them rounded and perfect, the other half the size of the first, as if some creature’s teeth had taken a big bite out of it—and that was pretty much what had happened, he thought now, bending his own head down to taste that flavor again.

Axle’s voice said, “I’m glad you’re the one I’m sharing this with, Fredle.”

Fredle couldn’t resist. “Since I’m the one who discovered it, I’d say
I’m
sharing it with
you
.”

“
We
found it, little cousin. We’re a team.”

For a long time they ate in happy silence, and still there was a wide expanse of the food remaining between them. Fredle’s stomach was full but his mouth was not tired of the taste, so he kept on taking little nibbles. Axle came around to sit down heavily beside him.

“Whumph! How can you still be eating?”

“It’s so
good
. Do you have any idea what it might be?”

Axle shook her head. “I know it’s something I never had before, but that could be a lot of things. Soup, olives … there’s something called whoopie pie. I’ve heard the words, but I don’t know what they are.”

“I bet no mouse ever had this before. If he had, we’d have heard about it.” Fredle decided that maybe he
would
take a rest, so they sat together for a while, quiet and contented and excited and pleased with themselves.

Then, “Which of them hid it, and why hide it?” Fredle wondered. “It’s definitely hidden, way back here behind these stacks.”

“Maybe Missus was hiding it from Mister,” Axle suggested.

“Or Mister was hiding it from Missus.”

“We can be sure it wasn’t the baby.” Axle laughed a mouse’s squeaking laugh.

“What other words haven’t you tasted?” Fredle asked.

“Oh, lots. I forget most of them. Stew and candy bar and
flour, although I think flour might be those white powdery grains that are sometimes left on the floor—you know, the ones that are finer than salt and don’t taste as good. There’s custard and cocoa, too. I can’t remember half of the words I’ve heard. There’s something called kibbles. Don’t you wish you could take a taste of something called kibbles?”

“I’m going to have a little more of this,” Fredle said. “I’ve rested long enough. I can fit more in and it tastes … I’ve never even imagined anything that tasted this sweet, whatever it is. Maybe it’s kibbles.”

“It could be.”

“They might come to take it away during the day while we’re asleep,” Fredle pointed out. “We should eat as much as we possibly can.”

So Axle, beside him, began eating again at the kibbles, if that was what it was, and the two of them ate on, until they really could not take another bite. And still, Fredle loved the way that at each new bite his mouth filled up once again with rich, fresh, soft sweetness.

At last, however, he
had
to stop, and he and Axle returned along the pantry shelf to the little hole they had squeezed through. Fredle couldn’t make himself scurry fast, even though he knew that until he was back behind the wall he wouldn’t be safe, but he tried to hurry, slipping behind stacked plates and glass measuring cups, past piles of spare candles, until at last he saw the hole.

He groaned a little, and that helped him squeeze his swollen stomach through it.

Back behind the wall, before they began their steep
descent, Axle asked, “What do you say we don’t tell anyone about it?”

“Why not? There’s a lot left. What about Kidle?”

“If anyone knew we’d come up here … If anyone knew we were the kind of mice who’d smell something and not be afraid to track it down … Think, Fredle. It’s bad enough with my ear looking weird. Besides, it’s ours. That is, it’s ours if whoever put it there doesn’t take it away before we come back.” She stopped moving, turned around and said to him, “I mean it, Fredle. Promise you won’t tell.”

“All right,” Fredle agreed, but he wasn’t happy about it. It was such splendiferous food, his sisters and brothers would be impressed with him for knowing about it. Mother, on the other hand, wouldn’t want to risk going so far from home, and up the walls, too, and Father would be suspicious because it was something he’d never had before. Grandfather, however, might just be interested; you could never tell about Grandfather.

Fredle and Axle both felt heavy, stuffed full. “Ouff,” Fredle heard himself saying as he followed his cousin. He wasn’t used to being so slow, or so clumsy. Axle didn’t say anything, but he noticed that she was taking a lot of rests and that her tail dragged as if she didn’t have the energy to hold it up in the air. He knew just how she felt. His own tail was dragging.

“Does your head feel heavy?” he asked.

Axle just trudged silently on.

“I mean, mine feels like it’s hard to look around, and hard to see and hear. Hard to think.”

“Don’t talk,” Axle said. “Let’s just—get home.”

Eventually, they did, and although they were late, they
still arrived well before the darkness had faded to light. Axle’s was the first nest they came to. There was no sound from beyond the rim except a rumbly snoring. “I don’t think I can make it over,” Axle whispered to Fredle.

“Of course you can,” he whispered back. “You have to, because I don’t think I can help push.”

“Maybe I’ll just sleep here, on the boards,” she whispered, lying down with a sigh. “Tired.” Fredle went along to his own nest and found his mother awake and worrying, with Father beside her. “Where have you been?” Father demanded as Fredle struggled to pull his body up and over the rim.

“You’re home safe!” his mother cried, but softly, so as not to wake the others.

“Not for long if he goes on like this,” Father predicted. “
Now
can I get some sleep, please?”

“I was so
worried
,” Mother murmured to Fredle before following Father.

Fredle lay draped over the rim of the nest. He didn’t have the energy to apologize or to move, to find his brothers and sisters where they would be piled up warm
together, to snuggle up close behind Kidle. He could only stay where he was, with his head propped on the rim, because for some reason, that morning, this was a comfortable position. He felt as if his stomach was fighting with itself.

When Fredle did sleep, it was only the lightest of naps. He dozed and woke up, dozed and woke up, again and again. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable, no matter what position he tried, not on his left side, not on his right side, not curled up, not stretched out on his back, not lying on his swollen stomach. He felt bad, maybe sick. But he didn’t want to feel bad. It was dangerous to feel bad and especially dangerous to feel sick-bad, so he told himself he was fine.

It was his stomach, no question. What could make his stomach feel so hot, so unhappy? What he had eaten could do that. He knew it perfectly well, but he didn’t want to believe that, either.
It’ll be better by nightfall
, he told himself.
I’ll feel back to normal when I wake up
. That is what he promised himself, half-awake.

If he hadn’t been half-awake, or more accurately, if he hadn’t been only half-asleep, he wouldn’t have heard his name being spoken so softly even his sharp mouse’s ears could barely catch it. “Fredle? Fredle?”

He raised his head.

“I can see you. Can you hear me?” It was Axle.

“I don’t feel good,” Fredle admitted. “Do you?”

“No. That’s why—”

“Was it poison? That good thing?” That was Fredle’s real fear.

“Do you think so?”

Fredle thought. Until then he hadn’t really thought about anything at all; he’d just worried and been afraid and tried
not
to think.

“Poison would hurt more,” he said. “Probably. Don’t you think? Poison is really bad. Strong. And it’s quick, I think.” Then he remembered something. “
Where there’s a cat there won’t be poison
. That’s one of the rules.”

Axle had come up so close that her nose almost touched Fredle’s ear, where his head was hanging down over the rim.

“We have to leave,” Axle said. “Before they push us out.”

Fredle had to tell her, “I can’t move.” Despite his own words he did try, to find his legs, to lift his head. But his stomach hurt so much that his four legs could only curl up next to it. He wailed, “I can’t!”

“Quiet, Fredle. Don’t—You have to try harder.” Axle’s voice grew urgent. “You were groaning. It was loud. How do you think I knew where you were?”

Fredle swallowed back a wail and said again, “I can’t move.”

“Sometimes, when you can’t, you have to anyway,” Axle advised him.

Fredle did groan then, keeping it as soft as he could.

“I have to—Goodbye, little cousin, I’m—I’m sorry,” Axle
whispered, and before Fredle could say
Please don’t go
, she was gone.

Axle was gone and all Fredle could do was whimper, like a newborn mouselet, a little whining sound of sadness and fear. But not hunger. He would never be hungry again and what if his father was awakened by all the noises he was making?