The Deptford Mice 2: The Crystal Prison (4 page)

Above their heads amongst the leathery leaves nervous coughs were stifled. Audrey glanced up. ‘What are they doing?’ she murmured fearfully.

Thomas stretched and yawned, then he lay hack and rested his head on the spongy moss. ‘This is where we have to wait till one of them plucks up enough nerve to come down and lead us further. Could be hours.’

‘But we can’t wait too long, Thomas,’ urged Twit, thinking of Oswald.

The midshipmouse eyed Twit for a moment. ‘You’re right matey. I’ll not be idle while the Chitter lad’s fadin’ fast.’ He sprang to his feet, then in one swift movement snatched a small stone off the ground and flung it into the air.

Up shot the stone into the canopy of rhododendron. A surprised yell came from the leaves. Thomas jumped nimbly to one side and with a crash of twigs a grey lump dropped to the ground.

‘Oh, oh!’ cried the furry bundle in panic.

‘Peace squire!’ calmed Thomas. ‘We have no time for your formalities today. Forgive me for speeding up the proceedings.’

Twit stared at the terrified squirrel before them. It was young and its tail was strong and bushy. The squirrel’s face was small but his large black eyes seemed to be popping out of his head. He looked at the three mice in fright.

Thomas waited for him to find his voice, making no effort to conceal his impatience during the squirrel’s stammerings.

‘But . . . but . . .’ the squirrel began, ‘three . . . there are three of you – we . . . I . . . thought there would be only two.’ He regarded Twit uneasily.

‘This is my good young matey William Scuttle,’ Thomas roared in a voice that made the squirrel shrink away. ‘Where I go, he goes.’ He laid his paw firmly on the fieldmouse’s shoulder.

‘She won’t like this . . . she won’t like this – not at all, no.’

‘That’s enough!’ rapped Thomas. ‘I’ll face whatever squalls she throws my way but we’ll not sit here becalmed by your dithering. Lead us and have done.’

‘The . . . the girl first,’ instructed the squirrel timidly. ‘The mouse maiden is to follow me.’

Audrey nearly laughed at the anxious grey figure which hesitated and twitched before her, but she remembered her manners and tried to remain serious. She stepped in line behind her escort.

‘Good . . . good,’ he muttered, and with a jerk of his tail he bounded through the bushes. The mice followed him as quickly as they could.

Into the leafy clumps they ran and there, in the shadows, were a dozen other squirrels all fluttering and trembling with fright. Their escort was laying into them as the mice approached.

‘Why didn’t you?’ he scolded the others crossly. ‘Leaving me all alone to deal with them.’

‘Well we weren’t to know,’ they answered meekly. ‘But you did so very well Piers,’ some added. ‘Sshh, here they are now.’ They fell back as the mice entered.

‘Ermm . . . this way,’ the escort said shakily and he set off again.

The crowd of squirrels watched them leave and they turned to one another tut-tutting. ‘She won’t like that will she? Three of them, I ask you. He ought to have said something. The look that little fellow gave you . . . little savages they are . . . makes me shiver all over. Who’s going to tell her then? Don’t be soft – you know she doesn’t need us to tell her anything, she has her own ways of finding things out.’

Audrey followed the escort’s bushy tail as it bobbed before her. Through lanes of leaves it led her, under arches of twining roots and past startled squirrel sentries who disappeared in a flash of grey. The bushes grew thicker overhead and no daylight filtered down. Suddenly a great oak tree appeared at the end of the green tunnel and the escort vanished down a dark cleft in the trunk.

Audrey paused, wondering how far down the drop was. She braced herself and with her eyes closed tightly leapt into the black hole.

Down she plunged until she landed with a soft jolt on a bundle of dry leaves and ferns. Audrey rolled to one side as Twit came down, whistling and laughing.

‘It smells in here,’ sniffed Audrey.

‘Only oak wood and leaf mould,’ said Twit, staggering to his feet.

They were in the base of the old oak’s trunk, hollowed out by years of squirrel labour. Small wooden bowls hung on the walls and these were filled with burning oils. The light they gave off was silver and flickering, illuminating the smooth worn oak with gentle, dancing waves.

‘It’s as cold as the sewers down here,’ shivered Audrey.

Twit sat beside her and brushed the leaves off her back. ‘I have heard some in my field at home as do call squirrels tree rats,’ he whispered.

A muffled crash and a mariner’s curse announced Thomas’ arrival. ‘I’d forgotten about that drop,’ he muttered, rubbing his back, ‘Where’s that nervy chap gone to now?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Audrey. ‘There are some openings over there – are they the roots of this tree?

‘Aye, we are in the heart of the squirrel domain and here the Starwife lives, but there were Starwives before this oak was an acorn and before this very hill was made. The Starwives go back a long way.’

Just then the escort came bounding back. ‘What are you waiting for? Come, come,’ he implored, ‘she is impatient. Hurry now!’ He scurried away down one of the openings.

Audrey and Twit set off after him. ‘I wish I’d brought some rum with me,’ murmured Thomas to himself.

Down the narrow passages the mice followed the squirrel. Deep into the earth they seemed to be going. After a short while Audrey noticed something other than the silver lights twinkling ahead. It was a richly embroidered banner hung across the width of the passage. The background was a dark blue and over it was stitched a field of twinkling stars that reflected the light of the lamps around them. As Audrey examined the stars more closely she saw that the silver thread of which they were made was in fact tarnished by great age.

The escort paused and bowed before the banner.

The three mice waited apprehensively. Audrey and Twit stared at one another and wondered what lay beyond this elaborate partition.

A strong, impatient voice snapped from the other side. ‘Bring them in Piers – stop dawdling boy!’

The squirrel jumped in fright. ‘Oh madam, forgive me!’ He clutched one corner of the banner and popped his head through as he drew it aside. ‘By your leave, madam, may I introduce—’

‘Show in the midshipmouse first!’ commanded the voice.

The squirrel looked back at Thomas and said, ‘Come through when I announce you.’

Thomas grinned at Twit. ‘Battle stations!’ he remarked wryly, dragging the hat from his head.

‘By your leave madam,’ the squirrel had begun again, ‘may I introduce to you, midshipmouse Thomas Triton.’

‘Triton,’ called the other, sharp voice, ‘come in here.’

Thomas scowled as he straightened the red kerchief around his neck and strode through the banner.

Audrey held on to Twit’s paw as they waited for their turn.

With a rising dislike for the voice she presumed was the Starwife’s, Audrey tried to keep calm.

‘So seafarer,’ said the voice on the other side of the banner. ‘It has been a long time since last I saw you in my chamber.’

‘Yes ma’am,’ came Thomas’ awkward reply, ‘too long.’

‘The fly has kept away from the web as best he might. But now you could say that the old boot is on the other foot.’

Audrey gasped. How did the Starwife know that Thomas had compared her to a spider and an old boot? Whatever her sources, it was unkind and downright rude of her to taunt Thomas with his own words. Audrey felt herself becoming angry.

The midshipmouse was coughing to cover his embarrassment. He was a mouse of action, not words, and the respect he had for the Starwife and his own code of honour would not allow him to answer back.

‘I hear you’ve settled down in your retirement at last,’ the voice began once more. ‘No more nightmares to haunt you?’

‘No ma’am, not since my last visit when you were kind enough to give me those powders. That particular ghost has been laid to rest.’

‘It should be so. Though wounds of the heart and mind are the hardest to heal. You seem to be on the right path at last.’

‘I have taken your advice ma’am and not taken to the water once in all these years.’

‘Let it be so always Thomas or . . .’ The Starwife’s voice dropped to a whisper and Audrey could not catch what she was saying. She considered all that she had heard. Evidently there was something in Thomas’ past which he had not spoken about.

A loud sharp knock brought her to quickly. The escort peered around the banner.

‘Bring in the fieldmouse,’ called the Starwife sternly. ‘I’ll teach him to tag along when he’s not invited.’

Twit looked at Audrey in dismay. ‘She ain’t magic is she?’ he asked. ‘I don’t want her to turn me into no frog or stuff like that.’

‘You stand up to her,’ Audrey told him. ‘Don’t let her walk all over you.’

‘Master William Stutter!’ announced the escort.

‘Scuttle!’ corrected Twit angrily as he pushed past. Audrey tried to glimpse what was beyond the banner but the escort pulled it across and tutted loudly.

‘The very idea!’ he said tersely.

‘So, country mouse,’ greeted the Starwife coldly. ‘You have come to visit me have you?’

‘If it pleases you, your Ladyship,’ Twit’s small voice piped up.

‘It pleases me not at all,’ she snapped back. ‘Who are you to presume a welcome in my chamber? A lowly fieldmouse before the Starwife!’

‘Now look ’ere missus,’ Twit protested.

Audrey was very angry. How dare that old battleaxe pick on little Twit like that? After all he had been through lately he deserved more than to be shouted at by that rude creature. She stood tight-lipped, her temper flaring.

‘Please, ma’am,’ came Thomas’ voice, ‘it’s my fault. I brought the lad – he needed the break. Times are bad in the Skirtings.’

‘Silence Thomas,’ ordered the Starwife. ‘I know of the Chitters and their son. True the lad needed a rest from those dark rooms; but what of you midshipmouse?’

‘Ma’am?’

‘I sense a strong bond has grown between you and young Scuttle. I find myself wondering why – a lone wanderer such as you taking friends onboard at your time of life. Who do you see in him, Thomas?’

‘Ma’am please . . .’

‘I see you walk a dangerous rope midshipmouse. Reality and memory ought never to entwine so closely! Beware your dreams and forget what has passed.’

‘I try, ma’am.’

‘Enough! Piers – fetch the girl.’ The loud knocking began again.

Audrey prepared herself and the escort pulled back the banner. ‘Follow me please,’ he said stiffly. Audrey smoothed her lace collar and stepped into the Starwife’s chamber.

After the cramped tunnel it was like walking out into the open for it was so spacious. Suspended from the ceiling above were hundreds of small shiny objects, coloured foils, metal lids, links from silver chains and polished pieces of glass. All were hung in a certain order and for a moment Audrey thought their pattern familiar but could not place it – until she realised that, like the banner, they represented all the constellations of the heavens.

Below this dangling chart sat the Starwife.

‘Miss Audrey Brown!’ the escort pronounced.

‘Come here girl. Where I can see you.’

Audrey moved towards the Starwife. She was an ancient squirrel perched on a high oaken throne carved with images of twisting leaves and acorns. Audrey had never seen anyone like her before. Age seemed to smother the Starwife. It was a miracle that she could move at all. Her fur was silver and patchy, and her muscles were wasted, falling in useless rolls beneath fragile dry bones. The Starwife’s eyes were a dull grey and over one of them was a thin white film like spilt milk.

In her gnarled, crippled paws she held a stick and it was this that Audrey had heard knocking on the wooden floor. The Starwife had sat there with that stick for so many years that it had worn a definite trough in the floor.

Around her neck hung a silver acorn, the symbol of her knowledge and wisdom.

Behind the throned figure Audrey could see a deep darkness which the lamps were unable to illuminate, except for now and again when a silver flash shone out brilliantly. It was curious, but before she had a chance to look further an impatient tapping of the stick brought her attention back to the Starwife.

‘How do you do?’ Audrey asked, dropping into a formal curtsey. The Starwife made no reply so Audrey repeated herself, a trifle louder than before.

The ancient squirrel shifted on her throne and sucked her almost toothless gums. ‘I’m half blind, girl, but not deaf yet.’ She gazed at Audrey with unblinking eyes and sniffed the air.

Audrey did not like the Starwife one little bit. She looked over to where Thomas and Twit were standing and grimaced at them. No way would this squirrel intimidate her. Rude old battleaxe, she thought to herself. She didn’t see why she had to be on her best behaviour if the Starwife had no mariners of her own.

For several minutes Audrey remained silent and motionless under the continuing stare of the Starwife until the prolonged silence became embarrassing for her. It occurred to her that maybe the squirrel had nodded off like some old mice did in the Skirtings. Once more she thought of Oswald and felt that this was a waste of precious time.

‘Excuse me,’ she began politely, ‘but we can’t stay long I’m afraid.’

The Starwife blinked and opened her mouth. She rose shakily in her throne and her joints cracked like twigs. The stick pounded the floor indignantly.

Thomas put his hat over his face and the escort began to stammer idiotically.

The Starwife switched her stare from Audrey to him. ‘Piers!’ she barked, ‘get out, you imbecile!’ The escort looked around uncertainly, but at that moment the Starwife threw her stick at him. It struck him smartly on the nose and he fled howling from the chamber.

The Starwife eased herself gingerly back down on to her throne and gave a wicked chuckle. She relaxed and turned once more to Audrey. ‘You must think me a rude old battleaxe,’ she said calmly. Audrey flushed – it obviously wasn’t safe to think in front of this creature. ‘I do have manners but it’s so rare that I find anyone worth practising them on. You must forgive me child.’

‘Why did you send for me?’ Audrey asked.

‘There are two reasons Miss Brown. Firstly, I desired to speak to the one who sent Jupiter to his doom. Tell me all you know and all that happened on that glad day.’