Showdown in Crittertown (5 page)

Grayson turned to her. “What is it?”

Nilla covered her face with her paws and moaned. “I told him.”

“You told what to whom?” Grayson asked.

“I told General History…everything!” Nilla wailed. “While every mouse was squeaking about ways to save the school, he took me in the corner and asked me a whole bunch of questions, like how many mice are in our colony and who guards the entrance holes.”

Grayson yelled, “How could you be so foolish? What were you thinking?”

Nilla wiped at her tears. “I…” Her voice sank to a whisper. “I thought he…liked me. And that he was just asking all those questions so he'd have an excuse to talk to me.” She broke into full sobs.

I patted her shoulder.

Grayson fumed. “You told the enemy general all our most vital data!”

“I didn't think he was our enemy,” Nilla wailed. “I thought…” her voice trailed off.

“I understand,” I said. “The library colony has been so nice to us. It's almost as if they were part of our colony.”

Grayson frowned. “But they're not! And now…”

Nilla broke into fresh sobs.

I couldn't stand to see her suffer. So I told Grayson, “Please don't be so hard on Nilla. Who knows what you would have told Poetry if she asked you?”

Grayson opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. Instead, he just punched his fist into his other paw. “Traps, poison, and brooms!” he cursed. “You're probably right. In any case, what's done is done.”

I nodded my head toward Nilla and whispered to Grayson, “Don't tell me, tell her.”

Grayson sighed. He put one paw on Nilla's shoulder. “It's not your fault.”

She cried harder and then sniffled. “Yes it is! But what can we do about it?”

Chitchat yawned. “Sorry. I know you mice love to stay up all night. But squirrels prefer waking with the sun. I should've been in my nest hours ago.”

Grayson grumbled. “But you couldn't wait to tell us the bad news.”

“What was that?” Chitchat challenged.

Grayson shook his head. “I'm sorry, nothing—just me worrying out loud. Thank you for staying up late to keep us informed.”

He sounded so much like his grandfather that I half expected to see white hairs on his muzzle.

Chitchat yawned again. “I'll see you tomorrow.” He started to leave.

Nilla called after him. “Please…don't tell anyone else what a fool I've been.”

Chitchat turned around and shook his head. “You're no more a fool than the rest of us—just young and in love.”

Nilla looked horrified. “I am not!”

Grayson turned away so Nilla wouldn't see him chuckle.

I shrugged. “It's all right, Nilla. Your secret's safe with us, right Chitchat?”

The squirrel nodded. “I won't tell anyone! Not even if they pulled my tail and threw me in a dog kennel.”

“Thanks,” Nilla said, as Chitchat scampered up the tree trunk and vanished among rattling twigs.

We made a quick check of the Dumpster. We found several treasures, including a whole cheese wedge that wasn't even moldy—just past its “best if sold by” date.

I was so pleased with this find that I spoke without thinking. “No wonder the library colony wants our territory. I bet they never find treats like this!”

Nilla's miserable expression made me wish I'd kept my cheese-loving mouth shut.

Grayson looked annoyed, too.

“I'm sorry,” I said. But it was too late.

Nilla sighed. “It doesn't matter. We're going to have to face the truth sooner or later.”

“We don't have to tell Pops the whole story,” Grayson began. “We'll just say that we ‘heard a group inside the library colony plans to attack,' and ‘we have reason to believe they may know about our defenses.'”

Nilla looked grateful, but also doubtful. “Won't he wonder about that ‘reason to believe'?”

Grayson shrugged. “We'll say our source didn't know how they knew about our defenses. After all, it could just be a chatty cricket or a nosy mole.”

Nilla grinned. “That's right. I'm not the only one around here who has a big mouth and a small brain.”

I chuckled. “Your brain is fine. You're even learning math!”

Grayson smiled. “Okay, so that's what we'll tell Pops. Then we can start building up our defenses. More guards, more patrols, maybe some new weapons.”

I could tell Grayson felt excited. War would give him a chance to prove himself as a leader.

But I felt miserable. I didn't want to fight Poetry's colony. I didn't want to risk my life—or take someone else's. There had to be another way!

Arriving with a whole wedge of cheese made us heroes. Every mouse in the colony scrambled for a bite.

I felt too heartsick to be hungry—even for cheese! Besides, we were busy. As soon as Grayson said, “We have news,” his grandfather led the three of us into his nest.

Nilla hardly asked any questions. In fact, she was so quiet that Brownback asked, “Are you all right, my dear?”

“Just tired,” she fibbed.

Grayson distracted his grandfather with plans for patrols and new weapons.

Brownback sighed. “That's all good strategy,” he told Grayson. “But if it's only a small group within the library colony that wants war…”

I jumped on this opening. “Then maybe we can make a treaty instead!”

Brownback nodded. “That's what I was thinking.”

“Nonfiction may not want to go to war, either,” I gushed. “After all, he once said you were ‘a mouse after his own heart.'”

Brownback looked alarmed. “Why would I want his heart?”

Nilla giggled. “Another crazy human expression that's not as nasty as it sounds. It just means you're like him and he's like you, or something like that.”

I nodded. “His grandson, General History, is the one who wants war. If we can offer Nonfiction another way to solve the library colony's overcrowding problem…”

Brownback started pacing as he finished my thought. “That would be much better than risking lives and wasting resources in a war.” He reached the wall of his nest and turned around to face us. “Grayson, why don't you move ahead with building up our defenses? It can't hurt to be prepared. Double the guard at each hole, and change the schedule so the guards serve shorter shifts. We need them to be extra alert!”

Grayson rushed to obey. Here was his chance to strut around and give orders!

His grandfather called after him, “And make a list of all our weapons. Before we start to make more, we need to know what we have.”

Grayson groaned. Tidying the storeroom and counting weapons didn't sound like fun. But he knew better than to argue when “Pops” was in such a serious mood.

Once Grayson was on his way, Brownback turned to Nilla and me. “I think you two are better suited to the task of writing a treaty between our colony and the library.” He winked at Nilla. “Since you're becoming so good at math, you can help Cheddar number each clause.”

“What's a clause?” Nilla asked. “Does it have anything to do with Santa?”

I smiled. Nilla must be all right. She was back to asking questions!

Chapter 6  
Negative Numbers

The next morning, Grayson, Nilla, and I sneaked up to the post office after the carriers left on their routes. I hoped the clerk had brought in more toasted pumpkin seeds. Mike and the carriers didn't like the seeds much, but “somehow” they kept disappearing anyway. (Ha, ha!)

The seeds weren't nearly as good as cheese, but they made a fine snack. And we had grown quite fond of the quiet mornings at the post office, listening to Mike's radio and catching up on town gossip.

That morning the school secretary came to buy three rolls of stamps. Mike was surprised. The secretary explained that Principal Clark was inspired by the children's letter-writing campaign. “He's writing to the alumni and summer people. He thinks lots of people will want to keep Crittertown from losing its school.”

Nilla squeaked, “What's alumni?”

Grayson and I had seen that word on many pieces of mail. “Alumni associations” were always mailing things about school events like fundraisers.

I explained, “Alumni are people who graduated from a certain school.”

Nilla nodded, then asked, “What's graduated?”

We went on like that for most of the morning. I was glad when Mike's lunch hour finally arrived. We filled an envelope with pumpkin seeds and slipped some newspapers out of the recycling bin to carry back to the colony.

As always, Brownback insisted on “right of first reading” of the newspapers, before any mouse could tear them up for nesting. He found an article about the “school budget crisis” that made him frown.

Grayson asked, “What is it, Pops?”

Brownback shook his head. “The numbers are too big,” he began. “The cost of repairing Crittertown Elementary School…it's way more money than the children can raise selling wreaths, pot holders, and brownies.”

Nilla sighed. “I was afraid of that. Too many zeroes! If they're really ‘nothing,' why can't we just subtract a few to make things right?”

Grayson and Brownback looked at me. I told Nilla, “I'll explain it later.” Then I muttered to myself, “At least I'll try.” Math isn't nearly as interesting to me as cheese. Did you know that humans in countries around the world make their own special kinds of cheese? And not just from cow's milk—they use milk from goats, buffaloes, even camels! Look it up—you'll be amazed.

The rest of the news was the usual mix of natural disasters, wars, fashion, and celebrity gossip. I asked Brownback to let me chew out an article about a peace treaty. I wanted some idea of what might persuade the library colony not to attack.

Just thinking about that huge task made me realize how tired I was. So I took a nap until Buttercup arrived to bring us to April's garage for after-school fun.

As Nilla and I followed Grayson to the hole, he turned and whispered, “Don't say anything about the war with the library colony.”

Nilla asked, “Why not?”

Grayson sighed. “Because if there really is going to be a war…well…”

Nilla looked down at her paws. I hoped she wouldn't cry again. Tears wouldn't dissolve her mistake with General History.

I said, “I guess it's better not to involve the children or anyone else who might get hurt or…say something to our…” I couldn't bring myself to call the library colony our “enemy.” But we all knew what I meant.

Buttercup must've smelled something, because all the way to April's garage, the dog kept asking questions: “What's wrong? Is someone sick? Did you lose your favorite toy?”

Finally, Grayson fibbed. “Oh, we're just feeling bad because Brownback did the math, and he thinks the children's crafts can't save the school.”

Buttercup grumbled. “Why do humans care so much about numbers? You can't eat them. You can't smell them. You can't chase them. What's the point?”

Nilla agreed. “I've been studying math. And I'm getting better at things like carrying ones and multiplying. But I still don't see why humans think numbers are so important.”

And so they chattered for the rest of the journey. Meanwhile, I tried to memorize every tree, mailbox, and driveway, because it occurred to me that if Brownback was right and the school closed, then everything might change. I wanted to preserve each detail of our after-school routine against the day when we might no longer make this pleasant trip.

I thought seeing the children would cheer me up. But the third graders felt just as gloomy as we did. Brownback wasn't the only one who'd been “doing the math.” Mrs. Olson put a long division problem on the blackboard. It showed the amount of money needed to fix the school divided by the number of people in Crittertown. When the children had finally solved the problem, they realized that the crafts fair was not a good solution—unless they could somehow sell over $200 worth of cookies, key holders, and birdhouses to each family in town!