The Secret of Zanzibar (12 page)

‘I already showed you my papers,' Cook said in a quavering voice, then her hand flew to her chest as she recognised them. ‘You two? My goodness, what are you doing here? I thought you'd escaped.'

‘We did,' said Alice. ‘But now … we're back.'

Cook looked bemused. ‘I don't understand. Why go to all the trouble of escaping only to come back?'

When she put it that way, Alice wasn't sure herself.

‘We're on a new mission,' Alex told her.

‘Will you help?' Alice pleaded.

Cook looked from Alice to her brother, shaking her head. ‘I don't –' she began, then stopped at the sound of footsteps in the distance, heels striking on cobblestones
echoing through the empty streets. Alice gave an involuntary shiver as Cook glanced around nervously. ‘This way,' she said, beckoning, and darted down an alley so dark and narrow Alice wouldn't have known it was there.

After only a few metres Cook turned down another alley, and then another, till Alice realised she'd never be able to find her way out of the maze – and, she hoped, the Queen's Guards would never find their way in.

They emerged into a small square with a tree and a bench in the middle, lined with tiny houses on three sides.

Cook held up a hand to prevent Alice and Alex from stepping into the open. ‘Make sure no one's watching,' she murmured.

The three of them scanned the windows facing the square, but there was no sign of life.

‘All right, quickly now,' Cook ordered, and they hastened behind her across the square to a house in the far corner. She rapped twice on the door, then as it opened ushered Alice and Alex ahead of her.

‘Phew!' Cook sighed as she pushed the door closed behind her.

They were standing in a cramped room that seemed to be kitchen, dining and living room in one. To the left of the door was a sink and stove and a scrubbed pine table, while to the right was a cosy little nook. A fire was burning in the fireplace and two small grey mice
were sitting on a rug beside it, poring over a storybook, watched by a thin, pale mouse lying on the couch, her slight frame covered by a blanket.

‘Grandma!' cried one of the small mice.

‘Mum, Grandma's home,' said the other. ‘And she's got visitors.'

The two youngsters were staring at Alice and Alex curiously.

‘We were getting worried,' said the pale mouse hoarsely. ‘You're late tonight.'

‘This is Raz and Rita – no, wait, those aren't your real names, are they?'

‘I'm Alice,' said Alice, ‘and this is my brother Alex.'

Cook replied, ‘My daughter Lila and my grandchildren Petal and Percy.' She swung her basket onto the kitchen table and began unpacking containers as Alice and Alex slung off their rucksacks. ‘Now, who's hungry?'

‘Me!' said Petal.

‘Me!' said Percy.

‘Me!' said Alex.

Alice nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. ‘Not you, Alex,' she said.

Alex glared at her, then seemed to recall how scarce food was for Gerandans, because he muttered, ‘Only joking.'

Cook looked at Alice inquiringly, but Alice said, ‘Thanks, but we've already eaten.'

Cook emptied the contents of the containers onto three plates: a hard-boiled egg on each, a hunk of cheddar
(Alex emitted a hollow groan at the sight of the cheese) and a cherry tomato. To Alice's amazement, this plain supper was met with squeals of delight from Percy and Petal.

‘Mum, look – tomatoes!' said Percy.

‘And I've a very special treat for you tonight,' Cook said with a fond smile at her grandchildren. From the last container she produced a cupcake, which she broke into three pieces.

As the small grey mice exclaimed in excitement, Alice and Alex exchanged sombre looks. The last time they'd seen Cook's cupcakes had been in General Ashwover's office, shortly before they'd been discovered by Sophia and Horace.

When Percy and Petal were settled at the table, Cook carried the third plate to her daughter.

Lila tried to sit up, then began to cough, occasionally stopping to draw a ragged breath. Waving the plate away, she sank back onto the couch. ‘No thanks, Mum,' she said between coughs. ‘I'm not hungry.'

‘Darling, you have to eat,' her mother said.

But her daughter, whose cough had settled into a light wheeze, merely shook her head. ‘Give my plate to Alice and Alex,' she said. ‘And perhaps you can explain to me who they are and what they're doing here.' She smiled as she said this.

‘I'd rather like to know myself,' said Cook. ‘When I first met them they were calling themselves Raz and Rita
and pretending to be the orphans of a Queen's Guard from Souris. Then it turns out that they're really members of FIG and the whole palace is in an uproar because –'

‘FIG?' her daughter interrupted, her eyes widening in her thin face. ‘Zanzibar's resistance group?'

‘That's right,' said Alice, as Alex helped himself to the cheddar. ‘In fact, Zanzibar is coming here.'

Lila was struggling to sit up again. ‘Coming here? To Gerander? To Cornoliana?'

Alice nodded.

‘Zanzibar is coming home!' Lila's pale face was radiant. Then her expression grew troubled. ‘But he can't,' she said. ‘It's too dangerous. The Sourians …' Her voice faded into a wheezy cough.

‘He has to come,' Alice told her. ‘It's now or never.' She outlined Queen Eugenia's plan. ‘So you see, we have to stop her. Zanzibar sent us to organise a protest and he's going to come lead it himself.' She turned to Cook. ‘Will you help us … and help Zanzibar?'

‘Me?' Cook looked startled. ‘You want
me
to help Zanzibar? How could I possibly … I mean, he's the
king
! I'm a mere cook.'

‘We told him how you helped us escape from the palace,' Alex said through a mouthful of hard-boiled egg.

‘Do you mind?' said Alice crossly, brushing crumbs of yolk from her fur. ‘And save some of that food for me.'

Cook was still looking dazed. ‘Zanzibar needs my help.'

‘Then of course you must give it to him,' her daughter said.

‘Of course,' Cook echoed, though she cast a worried look at her grandchildren, who had icing smeared all over their whiskers. ‘But what if something should happen to me?' she said. ‘Who will look after the three of you? I –'

They all froze at the sound of an urgent pounding on the door.

Before any of them could speak, Petal jumped up and ran to the window. Peering through the curtains, she announced, ‘Grandma, it's the Queen's Guards.'

Alistair woke to find himself lying on a hard wooden cot. He tried to lift his head, which felt heavy, but that caused a pounding to start up at the base of his skull – where he had been hit, he supposed. He closed his eyes again and waited for the pounding to ease. As he did, he moved his arms and legs experimentally. He wasn't tied up or restrained in any way, he was pleased to note, though his wrists were sore from where the rope had rubbed them against them, and his arms felt bruised from the rough treatment of the Queen's Guards.

When the pounding in his skull had subsided, he lifted his head once more, gingerly this time, and took in his surroundings. He was in a bare grey cell. There was a faint stream of light coming from a grille high up on the wall, but that was the only illumination. He had no idea where he was, or how long he had been there. He remembered nothing of the journey. But given what
Keaters had said, he had to assume he was in Grouch, in the dungeon of Queen Eugenia's palace.

The thing he couldn't work out was why Keaters had been in Templeton in the first place. He'd seemed to be expecting Alistair to turn up there, but why? Was it Keaters Grandpa Nelson had seen through the window? Yet how could he have known about the old house on the hill – especially since he didn't seem to know about Tibby Rose? Though clearly he suspected something …

Alistair lay back on the hard cot, staring at the ceiling, which he could barely see. His thoughts were dark. Then, like a ray of sunshine into the gloomy cell came the thought: if Keaters had written the note that sent Slippers Pink and Feast Thompson hurrying back to Shetlock, maybe it wasn't true that Zanzibar had been recaptured. And if Zanzibar hadn't been recaptured, then all their plans were still proceeding. Alistair's own capture would make no difference; Tibby Rose and Granville could finish their mission without him. By the time Queen Eugenia arrived at the gates of Cornoliana, the mice of Gerander would be waiting for her …

At the thought of Queen Eugenia's imminent departure from Grouch, Alistair felt a weight settle on his chest. Surely she would wish to dispose of him before she left the palace. How long did he have left? He tried to calculate how long it had been since he had left the gorge with Tibby, Slippers and Feast. Today must be Wednesday – no, Thursday … His mind felt fuzzy. He
was interrupted by a sharp voice speaking through a small barred window set into the cell door.

‘Oi, you – get up. Her Majesty wants to see you.'

‘Huh?' Alistair sat up with difficulty. His head began to pound again and the adrenalin coursing through his veins was making him tremble so much he could hardly move. Was this it then? Had she sent for him to kill him? That would be one less heir of Cornolius for her to worry about.

The door swung open and a red-coated guard loomed over him. ‘I said get up,' the guard snarled, seizing Alistair by the arm and dragging him to his feet.

Alistair stumbled as the guard pulled him from the cell into a dim corridor lined with heavy wooden doors, each with a small grille at eye level. Who else was in these cells? Alistair wondered. And then fear of what awaited him returned to overwhelm him as he felt the prick of a spear between his shoulder blades. A second guard had stepped in behind him and was urging him forward. He followed the red-coated back of the first guard up a twisting flight of stairs. His head throbbed and his body ached so that he hesitated several times, only to feel once more the cold steel tip against his spine, and he kept climbing.

When at last they reached the top of the stairs he was marched through a series of rooms. They passed him by in a blur of gilded furniture and velvet curtains, enormous paintings and delicate porcelain, thick carpets and brocade wallpaper. As they hurried through one
particular room he caught a flash of ginger and cried out, thinking it was Tibby Rose, only to realise that he was in a hall of mirrors – he hadn't recognised himself without his scarf around his neck.

‘Silence!' barked the guard in front.

They walked along a corridor lined with windows and Alistair was dazzled by the light pouring in. He was still blinking as they arrived at a set of double doors with a guard standing on each side.

The guard who had been leading the way nodded to the two guards on the door. ‘We have the boy.'

‘Her Majesty is waiting,' the guard on the left replied, turning to rap three times on the door behind her.

‘Come!' came an imperious voice from within, and the two guards pushed open the doors.

The first thing Alistair saw was an old mouse sitting on an elaborately carved wooden throne. It took him a moment to recognise her as the Queen; she had appeared much younger in the pictures he had seen.

Her fur was the deep dark grey of a storm cloud and her expression, as she glared down her long nose at Alistair, was equally ominous. ‘So this is him,' she said in a dry voice.

‘Yes, ma'am, so it would appear.'

The guard gave Alistair a push so that he dropped to his knees before the Queen.

Alistair's gaze was drawn to a tall thin mouse standing behind the Queen's chair. If the Queen was old, this
mouse was ancient – the oldest mouse Alistair had ever seen.

‘You are Alistair,' said the Queen, still glaring, and it didn't seem to be a question.

‘Yes,' said Alistair.

‘And you know why you are here, I presume?'

‘Because I am one of the heirs of Cornolius.' He tried to sound brave and defiant as he said it, but he couldn't suppress a tremor.

‘Who were you with when you entered Souris?'

‘I –' Alistair paused. What was she trying to find out? Did she, like Keaters, suspect the existence of another ginger mouse? But Tibby wasn't an heir of Cornolius, so surely her existence was of no importance. Still, he decided to be careful. Keaters had only known for sure about Slippers and Feast, so he wouldn't be giving anything away if he mentioned them. ‘I was with Slippers Pink and Feast Thompson,' he said.

‘Ah yes.' The Queen waved her hand dismissively. ‘They've gone off on some wild-goose chase. But who else?'

Alistair shrugged and tried to look mystified.

‘What were you doing in Templeton?' she demanded.

Alistair said nothing.

‘Why Templeton? Perhaps you were visiting your grandfather, eh?'

‘My …? No!' said Alistair. ‘My grandparents are dead.' His mind was racing now. Was it possible the Queen
was confusing him and Tibby Rose? That she thought Grandpa Nelson was
his
grandfather?

‘But it wasn't your first time in Templeton, was it, Alistair?' Her eyes seemed to bore into his. ‘Earlier this summer there were reports of ginger mice in Templeton. That was you, wasn't it? You … and who else?'

‘I – I don't know what you're talking about,' Alistair said weakly.

‘Who are the heirs of Cornolius, Alistair?' the Queen asked abruptly.

‘Zanzibar,' said Alistair, relieved to be asked a question he could answer; the Queen knew very well who the heirs were. ‘My mother, Timmy the Winns, my brother, my sister and me.'

‘Yes, yes,' said the Queen impatiently. ‘But is there another?'

‘Another?' Alistair was genuinely mystified now. ‘I don't know what –'

‘Don't play games with me, boy,' the Queen snapped. ‘I've heard the rumours; they're as old as you are.'

‘Rumours?' Alistair repeated. He was feeling increasingly bewildered.

‘Tell me!' the Queen thundered. ‘Tell me about the other heir!'

Back in his cell, Alistair replayed the conversation over and over in his head. ‘Who is the other heir?' the Queen
had hissed. ‘Who is he?' When Alistair had refused to answer – couldn't answer, he reminded himself – he had been dragged from the room.

What on earth did she mean about another heir? He lay on his cot for hours, puzzling over the Queen's insistent questioning. When he heard the sound of a trolley being wheeled along the corridor outside, stopping at every cell, he sat up. Dinner at last – he was starving. And no wonder, he realised, since his last meal had been the one served up by Great-Aunt Harriet. How long ago had that been?

But the trolley moved past his door without stopping. When he heard it pause at the next door, he called out, ‘Excuse me?'

A face appeared at the grille.

‘I think you might have forgotten my meal.'

‘Oh, you've not been forgotten,' came the reply. ‘The Queen has ordered that you be given nothing to eat until you have an answer to her question. Do you have an answer?'

Wordlessly, Alistair shook his head. She could starve him to death but he still wouldn't have an answer. For the Queen was wrong – there was no other heir.

The night passed, then another day and night. Every few hours a guard would appear at his door to ask ‘Do you have an answer for the Queen?' And every time Alistair
would shake his head in reply. As the sharpness of his hunger pains dulled, he grew increasingly weak and listless. His head still ached from where he had been hit. After yet another guard demanded an answer, he realised he could barely remember the question. The date of the Queen's departure for Cornoliana must be growing nearer, but Alistair hardly cared. He could barely rouse himself to think about the fate of Gerander, or even his own fate; he spent most of his time dozing, dreaming about his carefree childhood in Shetlock before his parents had gone away, recalling his mother's gentle smile.

On the morning of his third day in the dungeon, the cart which had until now been wheeled past his cell stopped unexpectedly outside. The door opened and a guard brought in a bowl and placed it on the floor beside Alistair's cot.

‘Eat this. Then the Queen wants to see you.'

When the door had closed again, Alistair sat up, swaying a little from dizziness, and reached for the bowl. It was filled with a thin watery gruel that was barely lukewarm, but he didn't care. He drank greedily from the bowl until a wave of nausea reminded him that he should slow down, that it wasn't a good idea to eat so quickly after so many days without food. He drank down the rest of the gruel in small sips, and felt immediately stronger and clearer in the head.

The Queen wanted to see him, the guard had said. Did she merely want to question him again, or had something
happened? Or … His heart started to thump painfully. Or had he outlived his usefulness?

He tensed as the door to his cell swung open and a guard gestured to him. She was emotionless and unblinking in her red coat and boots.

‘The Queen is ready for you now,' she said, as if Alistair had been waiting for an appointment.

She quickly tied his hands behind his back, then pushed him ahead of her up the stairs, through the many lavishly furnished rooms, along the windowed corridor and through the double doors.

The Queen looked almost bored as Alistair was once more forced to kneel before her.

‘So, I've given you plenty of time. Have you worked it out yet?' she asked.

Alistair shook his head wearily. ‘I told you,' he said. ‘I don't know anything about another heir.'

The Queen dismissed his answer with an imperious wave of the hand. ‘That's not what I meant,' she said. ‘I was wondering if you'd worked out that they've all been lying to you.'

Alistair felt a spurt of irritation. What was she playing at now? If Queen Eugenia had something to say, why didn't she just say it? ‘Who's been lying to me? About what?'

‘Everyone,' the Queen replied. ‘About everything.'

Alistair gave her a sceptical look. ‘You're trying to confuse me,' he said, ‘but it won't work.'

‘Your friends, your family … they all know the truth – it's only you who doesn't know.'

‘Doesn't know what?' Alistair demanded, then shook his head in frustration at himself. ‘There's nothing to know,' he said, as much for his own benefit as for the Queen's. ‘My friends and family don't keep secrets from me.'