by Alyssa Moon
“So the current King Midnight? He’s the leader?” pressed Delphine. She leapt up and began pacing in front of the windows, the drama of the ballroom entirely forgotten. The elder mouse’s words echoed in her mind: He killed every last one of them—and every mouse in league with them.
Perhaps it was the fact that her emotions were still so raw; perhaps it was the image of the innocent Threaded, slaughtered by the first Midnight and his minions, that sprang to mind; perhaps it was the knowledge that her ancestor mouse would not have been spared. Delphine began to shake with rage.
“Monster!” she cried, slamming her fist against the frame of one of the tall windows. The glass panes rattled under the force of her blow. She could feel the terror that her ancestor must have felt, running for her life, her baby in her arms. And the needle that she carried . . .
Delphine turned and snatched up the needle from where it lay on the thick carpet. At her touch, the metal sizzled with a sudden burst of energy. She stared down with fury at the troops of rats in their encampments below. Hot tears pricked at her eyes.
“How could you kill them?” she screamed. She knew that they couldn’t hear her, but she was beyond caring. The needle shook wildly in her paws, sharp silver lines of magic flashing into life in every direction. Overhead, the clouds parted. A cascade of bright white moonlight fell down through the window, pooling around her in the hallway of tapestries.
Philomène was at her side, her gentle touch on Delphine’s wrist. “Hush, darling,” she said, but Delphine was too far gone. She thrust the needle up toward the moon with both paws.
She cried out wordlessly, all her anger and loss and fear spilling from her in an uncontrollable flood. Jagged spines of lightning streaked up and outward, smashing through the glass panes, reaching angrily into the air. Silvery-blue energy swirled around her like a tornado. Her whiskers sparked at the tips with unleashed magic.
And on the needle, the last of the dull gray pall turned to mist and vanished, leaving behind the true silver, and a line of clear, glowing symbols.
COMMANDANT ROBEAUX SHIFTED UNCOMFORTABLY ON the frosty ground and stared at the dark shape of the Château Trois Arbres with undisguised irritation. He’d been in a foul mood for months, ever since that needle had slipped through his paws. And now they were on the road yet again, sleeping in mud and gnawing on dried meat, just so that the absurd rule of mis-rule could be upheld. Conditions were miserable, and it was anyone’s guess when the mouse
princess would decide to head out to her next destination, or
where that might be. The paltry campfire flickered meagerly, emitting little light and even less heat.
“Puce!” He jabbed the rat sitting nearest to him. “Get me another flagon of whatever you call this disgusting beverage!”
Puce dragged himself upright and headed across the embankment toward their supply wagons, complaining loudly as he went. Commandant Robeaux was making a mental note to clap him in irons whenever they finally got back to the castle, when a crash of glass caught his attention. His gaze shot upward.
There at a broken château window stood the figure of a mouse. Lightning crackled around her—strange blue lightning that hurt his eyes. And in her paw, glowing silver in the night . . .
The needle! He leapt up. It’s here?
“Troops!” he roared. He could hardly believe it, but he had gotten another chance. And he would not squander it. “The era of mis-rule is over! We have only one duty now!” He drew his sword and sprinted toward the château, the other rats falling in behind him as they heard his cry.
“Attack!”
Delphine charged down the stairs, skirts gathered up in one fist. She ran straight into Alexander. Paws flailing, they both tumbled to the floor in a heap.
Delphine struggled to get up, but the masses of skirts, bustles, panniers, and underpinnings that she was wearing made it impossible. He put out his paw and she grabbed it, hauling herself upright. Ugly silver spatters of magic were flying haphazardly off the needle in arcs, landing on the hall rugs and burning tiny holes. She moved to run past him.
“Delphine! Wait! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You disappeared from the ball, and now I find you storming through the château hallways with your needle spraying magic in every direction! What on earth is going on?” He grabbed her free paw.
Delphine’s eyes blazed. “I’m going to stop all those rats.” She brandished her needle like a weapon. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Those—? Outside?” He pointed in the general direction of the rat encampments, and she tried to yank her paw away. “Delphine. Delphine! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you can’t go out there. They’d kill you, but also . . . you just said you’d do ‘whatever it takes’? You’re not that kind of mouse!” He stared hard at her, entreaty filling his eyes. “You wouldn’t do that, not without a reason.”
She knew he was right, but the anger still bubbled inside her. “I do have a reason. They killed the Threaded. And they killed my ancestor, too.”
“They did? No, they—”
“Their ancestors, Alexander.” She pulled her paw out of his grasp.
“You don’t know that.”
“Don’t defend them!” But her blind rage was fading, and the uneven sputters from the needle were fading with it. The sparking slowed and then stopped.
She sighed angrily. “I figured out who it is that wants to kill me. It’s some rat named Midnight. He’s the descendent of the rats who killed my . . . great-great-great-whatever ancestor. Now I just have to find out why he wants to kill me.”
Alexander pulled her close to him. “Don’t go out there. Please.”
Her anger flared again. “Get off me!” She shoved him and he stumbled backward. Hurt flashed in his eyes, and she felt suddenly ashamed. “I have to do this,” she pleaded, as much to herself as to him. “It’s the only—”
A crash from the other end of the hallway interrupted her. They could hear glass shattering and wood splintering, metal clanging against metal. Then the terrible screams of mice, and the snarls of rats on the attack.
A nasally growl cut through the bedlam. “Find that needle!”
Delphine snapped back to reality, her ears white. “We have to hide!” She dashed off, Alexander chasing behind her. They sprinted through the first door they found.
“There!” Alexander pointed at a massive armoire. They clambered inside, Delphine’s skirts filling the tiny space, and managed to pull the door shut just in time. They could hear the rats thundering down the hallway, slamming against the walls and shredding the wallpaper with their claws as they went.
“Curse the treaty!” came the same growling voice. “Kill them all, kill every mouse in this place until you find that needle! Kill every mouse in the kingdom! The treaty is ended!” A filthy cheer sounded as the rats continued to tear along the hall.
The words cut through Delphine like a knife. The fire that had been ignited inside her turned cold. The rats had broken the treaty, all because of her. She stared straight ahead, nose twitching. “They’re going to kill everyone,” she finally said. It was not a question.
“The royal guard will—”
She cut him off. “They’re all at the ball. They have no weapons.” She thought she might cry but her eyes remained terribly, horribly dry. She shook her head. “Alexander, I have to save them. It’s my responsibility, and mine alone.”
Pushing the armoire door open, she clambered down. “I’m going to draw them away from here. I have to make sure they see me leaving. And then—” A lump caught in her throat. She turned away so that he couldn’t see her expression. “And then I don’t know what I’ll do. I won’t give in, but . . .”
Alexander followed, wrapping his arms around her. This time she didn’t push him away. “I’ll help. Please. Let me help.”
She closed her eyes, then nodded. “Follow me.”
The servants’ stairway to the cellars was dark and dusty, but at least it was fr
ee of rats. Delphine clutched her needle anyway. Alexander had found a rat dagger in one of the hallways they had already passed through. He held it in front of him like a sword. They moved as quickly as they could, spurred on by the horrible sounds of fighting that were coming from the floors above them.
The air in the cellars was freezing cold and heavy with the odor of ancient mildew. Broken furniture and discarded goods were scattered everywhere.
“Cornichonne!” Delphine called quietly. The word echoed over and over down the tunnels that stretched away from them, disappearing into the blackness.
She shivered, grabbing a thick curtain from a nearby stack of discarded burgundy velvet draperies and wrapping it around herself like a cloak. Better. After a moment, she took a second one and threw it to Alexander. “It’ll be cold out there.”
Before Delphine could call a second time, a shape appeared out of the depths of the cellar tunnels: Cornichonne, drooling happily at the sight of Delphine, her fur rumpled in messy tufts. She was covered in dust and cobwebs.
Delphine threw her arms around the cat’s neck. “I’ve missed you so. And I’m sorry to say, I need your help.”
Cornichonne twitched her funny little ears. “Anything for you.”
The air outside was even colder than Delphine had feared. A bitter wind tore through their fancy garments. They clutched lengths of velvet around themselves as protection against the biting cold as Delphine outlined her plan. If only there had been time to change their clothes, time to put on sensible traveling garments . . . but every moment spent in the château meant the potential end of another innocent mouse.
At the corner of the château, she turned to Cornichonne. “You’re certain you can get there before us, even if you go the long way around?” The cat nodded. They waved good-bye to her and she melted into the edge of the woods. Then they turned to survey the now-empty sward that they would have to cross.
“She’ll be there,” Alexander assured Delphine.
Delphine took a deep breath. “I know. Are you ready?”
“After you.” He didn’t say my lady, but Delphine heard it anyway. Before she could lose her nerve, she stepped out into the open. The light from the château windows fell fully upon her. Needle clenched tightly, she raised it above her head, focusing on channeling the moonlight. Silvery shimmers cascaded down, sparkling on the frozen ground.
“Rats of Midnight!” she cried as loudly as she could. “Is this what you seek?”
Delphine watched as one evil face appeared at a window, then another, and another. No longer attacking the mice inside, they were all staring at her.
“Come on!” cried Alexander behind her.
She stood for another moment, until there could be no doubt in their minds that she held the magic needle. Then they began to surge through the windows, throwing themselves from the second and third floors, each determined to have the honor of capturing the prize their king sought.
Delphine turned and sprinted as fast as she could toward the trees.
SNURLEAU SLUNK INTO THE THRONE room, limping a little on his left paw. King Midnight was pacing again. At the sight of the stoat, he stopped, then crossed to his throne. He sank down onto the seat like a pool of oily pitch coming to rest at the bottom of a metal bowl.
“Yes?” he said very softly. He clicked his long, raggedy claws on one protruding arm of the chair. Click. Click. Click.
“Your Worship . . .” Click. “I mean, Your Kingliness . . .” Click. “We were on the mouse’s path, but . . .” Click. Click.
“Well . . .” Snurleau hesitated, then looked around at the guards that flanked him. “We lost her.”
Silence.
The stoat wormed his way to the foot of King Midnight’s throne and pressed himself down onto the floor. “Valentine left me, Your Highness. Abandoned me. I was all alone. I did my best, but . . .”
King Midnight dragged one claw across the throne’s metal surface, gouging a ragged line. A horrid, high screech shattered the air, and Snurleau winced. “So . . . the needle is gone. Again.”
“Y-yes.” Snurleau eyed the guards again. “But I have a plan.”
“You?” King Midnight rose so slowly that Snurleau could barely see him move. He closed in, bit by bit, a snake sliding toward its prey. “And what, dare I ask . . . is this masterful plan?”
Snurleau twisted his tail between his paws. “We’ll set a trap.”
“A . . . trap?” Midnight’s voice was dangerously quiet. The guards began to back away.
But Snurleau babbled on. “We can lure her in—”
Midnight cut him off. “Stand up.” He gestured with one long claw.
“Why?” But Snurleau rose, uneasy.
“So I can see the look in your eyes when you die.” Midnight slashed with his claws and Snurleau crumpled to the floor in a heap. The king turned away.
“I need better spies. More talented . . .”
A gurgling sound from behind him caught his attention. He spun around. Snurleau was rising once more, breath rasping unevenly. He pulled out a dagger that had been hidden beneath his cloak and threw himself at Midnight with his last ounce of energy. Snurleau’s dagger sank straight into Midnight’s chest, piercing his heart.
Midnight stumbled backward. The dagger was buried so deep in his flesh, only the hilt could be seen.
“Fiend!” gasped Snurleau, his breath coming short. “I’m taking you with me!” But then the sneer fell from his face.
King Midnight was laughing.
With one lazy paw, Midnight reached up and pulled the dagger out of his chest, inch by slow inch, until the blade was free once more. As Snurleau watched in horror, the gash in Midnight’s chest began to close, the flesh knitting together, until in another moment, there was nothing left but yet another scar.
Snurleau tried to scream, but his breath had left him.
Midnight shifted the dagger in his paw. He knelt down in front of Snurleau, still smiling.
“Nothing can kill me, little stoat,” he whispered. “I have magic in my veins.”
He brought the dagger down.
Paws slipping on pine needles, the two mice dashed up the hill toward the edge of the forest. The rats were closing in quickly, but Delphine and Alexander still had a head start. As long as they kept going . . . as long as Cornichonne was there . . .
Alexander yelped as his paw slipped on a rock and he stumbled, falling backward. From behind, Delphine shoved him back upright, panting with the effort. They reached the trees, dodging between the dead branches on the ground, heading toward the log where they had parted ways with Cornichonne when they had first arrived.
“Almost there!” Alexander gasped.
But as soon as they reached the log, they saw that a key component of their plan was missing. No Cornichonne. The clearing was empty.
Delphine’s heart rose to her mouth in terror. She could hear the rats among the trees now, baying for blood. “She has to be here!”
They skidded to a halt, frantically looking around. “Can we hold them back; can we stop—?” Delphine started even though she knew the answer.
Then, like a beacon of hope, a flash of gray fur appeared in the trees. Cornichonne was running straight through the hordes of rats. She slowed as she neared the log, and Delphine realized she wasn’t going to stop. It was the coach at the castle all over again.
“Jump!” she screamed at Alexander, and they both leapt as the cat raced past, barely landing on her back. They scrabbled wildly to hang on to her fur. The trees blurred around them as Cornichonne sprinted, and they left the clearing and the rats behind.
Cornichonne raced in the dark, the icy wind buffeting all three of them until they were half-frozen. Finally, when they were certain they had lost the rats, she slowed to a walk and stopped. She was still panting, whiskers caked with frozen drool, tongue hanging half out of her mouth. Delphine and Alexander slid off her back, stiff and sore from the long ride. But they were all alive, and they were together.
>
They managed to find a hollowed-out tree stump, and gathered armloads of dead leaves to build a nest big enough for the three of them. Wind howled through the dead branches overhead.
Delphine tried to apologize for dragging them along with her, but Alexander put his nose into the air indignantly.
“I take offense at your implication, my lady,” he began in his most courtly tones. “I have chosen to come on this quest with you. And I believe I speak for Lady Cornichonne as well.”
Delphine laughed. It felt good.
“We stand alongside you to help you solve this mystery, track down the truth of your ancestor, and claim your birthright . . . whatever that might be.”
Delphine was about to respond in equally pompous tones, make a joke about the quest. But then the faces of the innocent mice at the château swam up before her eyes.
“It’s not about me anymore,” she found herself responding.
Alexander blinked. “What do you mean?”
“If the treaty is truly broken, then every resident of this kingdom is in danger. Those rats will do the same thing they did at the château, town by town, home by home, until they find me. I can’t let that happen.”
Alexander fell silent.
Delphine continued, “I have to find him. Midnight. And I have to end this.”
As soon as the pale sun peeked above the horizon, it was time to go. Keep one step ahead of the rats, thought Delphine. Keep moving toward Midnight and the truth.
When they emerged from the tree hollow, they saw that a lush winter snow had fallen while they’d slept. The world was hidden under a pale blanket. Ice crystals hung heavy on the last grasses of autumn, bending the stalks toward the ground with their weight. It seemed as if the magic of the needle had passed across the land and left a thick coat of silvery white in its wake.
