by Robin Jarvis
Twit heard the Starwife’s voice calling into the sky and felt her old paws on his shoulders. Suddenly the bag in his paws grew heavy and all the starlight seemed to be sucked down into it. At the same time he felt two sharp pains in his shoulders as the Starwife gripped too tightly.
Twit stifled a cry of surprise as a fierce tingling sensation shot down his arms, as if a thousand ants were crawling over them, stinging as they went. The tingle travelled to his paws and then seemed to enter the bag.
‘Enough!’ cried the Starwife. ‘It is done.’ She released Twit and blew on her paws as if to warm them. Then she groped for her stick.
Twit blinked. He was back in the chamber again and the lamps were lit once more, but the Starglass was dark and impenetrable. He shook himself and whistled softly.
Piers ran forward and took the Starwife by the arm. She seemed feebler than before, and older – if that was possible.
Audrey did not understand what had happened. She had heard the old squirrel mumbling strange words and seen Twit’s face light up in awe, but then a bright flash had dazzled her. It seemed to have come from the bag but she was not sure. Now the Starwife was breathing hard and clinging onto Piers.
When she had regained her breath, the Starwife turned to Audrey and said, ‘Before, I told you to take Akkikuyu away to young Scuttle’s field. Well, now I am asking you. Will you take her?’ Her voice was cracked and hoarse: she seemed to have no strength left in her at all
Despite herself, Audrey felt sorry for her, but still she said, ‘I’ve told you, nothing will make me go.’
‘So you said – I remember. Well girl, what if the life of your friend Oswald depended on it?’
‘That’s unfair. Oswald’s ill – nothing can save him.’
The Starwife interrupted with a fierce striking of her stick. ‘Wrong!’ she shouted. ‘What is now in that bag can restore his health.’
Twit looked at the bag in his paws. ‘Really, missus?’ A broad grin spread across his face.
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Audrey cautiously.
The Starwife sighed, too tired to reply.
‘Oh it’s perfectly true,’ Piers remarked, speaking for her, ‘and it costs dear.’
Thomas Triton nodded. ‘It’ll do what they say lass.’
Audrey began to believe them. ‘That’s marvellous,’ she said happily, ‘Oswald will be well again.’
Piers had been trying to get the Starwife back to the throne but she pushed him away from her and pointed the stick furiously at Audrey. ‘If!’ she cried.
Audrey did not understand. ‘You may take that bag away with you and cure your friend and his parents only if . . .’
Then she knew. ‘You mean if I agree to take Akkikuyu away.’
‘The Starwife nodded. The triumph was plain on her face.
‘So if I said no, even now, you wouldn’t let us take that bag away with us?’
‘The bag would be useless. The bargain must be kept or the Chitters will perish.’
‘But I made no such bargain,’ Audrey protested urgently.
The Starwife regarded her coldly. ‘I made the bargain child – I always do.’
Audrey thought of poor Oswald lying in his bed perilously close to death. Then she saw Twit’s little face turned expectantly to her. ‘I have no choice then,’ she said, ‘the day after tomorrow I will take Akkikuyu to Twit’s field.’
‘I knew you would,’ replied the Starwife. ‘Piers, show them out, the audience is at an end.’
‘But madam, let me help you into your throne first.’
‘Get out you fool – if I weren’t so tired I’d throw this at you again,’ she snapped, waving the stick menacingly.
‘This way please!’ Piers called from the other side of the banner.
Thomas bowed before the Starwife. ‘May we meet again,’ he said to her.
‘You stay in your ship and leave me alone,’ she answered shortly.
‘Thank ’ee missus,’ laughed Twit when he stood before her. ‘This bag do make me so happy. I be fair burstin’.
‘Get out, you country simpleton,’ said the Starwife. But she had a smile on her face as she said it.
When it was her turn to say goodbye Audrey looked at the old squirrel with intense resentment. She was glad to be leaving at last. Thomas had been right. The Starwife never did anything for nothing. She had known all along that Audrey would agree eventually. ‘Remember child,’ she said, ‘the bargain will keep. If you cure him this afternoon but later refuse to go with Akkikuyu then the fever will return and strike him down once more. This bargain is for life, girl. As long as Akkikuyu lives you must remain with her.’
It was a chilling prospect and Audrey felt a cold dread grip her heart as she realised the doom that the Starwife had decreed for her. She shivered. ‘You are cruel,’ she said, though wanting to say more. ‘Why is that fake fortune-teller so important to you? She’s only a rat after all.’
The Starwife looked steadily into her eyes. ‘And does that make a difference child?’ she asked with scorn. ‘To me you are just a mouse – and a very rude mouse at that.’
‘Well . . .’ Audrey stammered.
‘Well nothing.’ Listen to me. I have seen in the Starglass an important future for Akkikuyu. Exactly what that may be I cannot be certain but I do know that she will make two choices in her life. Her decisions will undoubtedly affect us all. It may seem harsh to you but I want you to be with her all the time – good may come of it. I pray so anyway.’ She closed her eyes wearily and waved the mouse away from her. ‘Now leave me. I am too drained – you have been an expensive guest to entertain.’ The Starwife turned her back and laboriously limped to the great oak chair.
Audrey left the chamber deep in thought, but as the banner swept down behind her the Starwife raised an eyebrow and said softly to herself, ‘Can she be the one?’
In the passage Twit was asking Piers, ‘What does I do with this bag?’
‘Steep it in hot water and when it is cool enough make him drink, then call his name three times. Remember, you must never open the bag.’
‘Oh I won’t!’ Twit was nearly back to his old self. Hope was filling his little chest and that was all that mattered.
Audrey caught up with them. ‘But Oswald can’t bring himself to drink anything,’ she reminded Twit.
‘He will drink this,’ said Piers haughtily. So saying, the young squirrel led them up through tunnels they had not seen before, along winding passages with the light of the silver lamps glimmering about them. Soon the soft lights became mingled with a brighter radiance. It was the sparkle of sunlight streaming through green leaves.
‘There it is!’ said Piers, halting suddenly. ‘I will go no further. Once you pass through those leaves you will find yourselves in the park once more. I presume you will be able to find your way from there?’ he added sarcastically.
‘Oh I think we can manage it,’ put in Thomas.
‘Well, go straight back to your holes,’ retorted Piers pompously. ‘You will be watched.’
‘By your ferocious sentries, no doubt.’ Thomas arched his brows and a flicker of a smile wandered over his face.
‘Indeed,’ said Piers, greatly agitated. ‘They are there to make sure you leave in an orderly fashion – we don’t want riff-raff cluttering up our park.’
Thomas laughed heartily. ‘And what would your brave lads do if we did leave in a disorderly fashion – pelt us with daisies?’ Twit joined in the laughter.
The young squirrel pursed his lips and eyed them disdainfully. When he was able to be heard he loftily told Thomas, ‘When you have finished with the bag, you, midshipmouse, must return it to us. Tonight at the latest. Now good day to you!’ He dismissed them curtly.
The mice made their way to the opening and crawled out between the leaves. As Audrey stepped out into the sunlight, she turned to see Piers for one last time. For a moment she blinked blindly as her eyes adjusted to the brightness and then, through the leafy gatew
ay, and partly hidden in the comparative darkness of the tunnel she saw the squirrel watching them intently. What a strange race they were, these bushy-tailed creatures, running around in a constant state of nervous fluster – all except the Starwife of course. Audrey shivered in spite of the afternoon heat as she thought of the old half-blind animal seated on her throne in the heart of the hill, weaving her cruel webs for everyone.
‘He’s making sure we go quietly,’ whispered Thomas in Audrey’s ear. ‘Let’s go back to the Skirtings and leave this hill far behind us.’
Audrey continued to stare moodily through the leaves. ‘I hate squirrels,’ she decided and pulled such a grim face that Piers scurried further into the shade.
‘Come lass,’ Thomas told her, ‘we’ve a pleasant task ahead of us.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Twit, ‘we’re off to make Oswald well again.’
Audrey finally tore herself away from the leaf-covered entrance but hesitated before following the others. She looked at how happy Twit was and felt guilty because she was unable to join him. It should have been a time of celebration for them all, but the Starwife had denied her that. The day after tomorrow she would have to leave with that awful Madame Akkikuyu and set off for a horrible field in the far away countryside.
‘I don’t want to leave Deptford!’ she cried to herself.
4. A Draught of Sunlight
In the Skirtings, Oswald’s condition was failing fast. His face had a deathly pallor and his temperature was soaring. Sweat beaded his forehead and ran glistening down his hollow cheeks.
Arthur watched him fearfully. ‘Go and rouse Mother,’ he told Piccadilly quickly. ‘I think this is it.’ The two mice exchanged hurried, meaningful glances and then the grey city mouse dashed out of the sickroom.
Arthur knelt beside his stricken friend. ‘Oh Oswald,’ he sighed sadly. He took the albino’s frail, hot paw in his own and waited.
Shortly, the muffled sound of hushed voices came to Arthur’s ears. Evidently, curious mice anxious for news were gathering outside the Chitters’ home. There was soon quite a commotion and Arthur could hear Piccadilly’s voice above the clamouring queries.
‘Put a lid on it and let Mrs Brown through there. I’m sorry we can’t tell you more. Blimey!’ Piccadilly’s exasperated voice floundered amongst the good-natured and well-intentioned questions.
Arthur smiled grimly to himself at Piccadilly’s situation – coping with gossipy, fussing house mice was something he had not encountered in the city.
The outer curtain was drawn aside and Gwen Brown squeezed in. She had escaped the prying neighbours, although a covered bowl had been thrust into her arms. She shook herself and entered the sickroom.
‘Piccadilly told me he’s worse,’ she said, moving quickly to Oswald’s bedside. She felt the albino’s brow and studied his face. ‘Yes, this is the crisis,’ she Sighed. Gwen turned to her son and drew him to her. ‘I’m afraid he hasn’t the strength to fight it. This will be the end. How is Mr Chitter?’
They both looked at the figure asleep on the chair. Jacob Chitter was pale and weak – he appeared as ill as Oswald.
‘I looked in on Mrs Chitter before,’ whispered Arthur. ‘She’s as bad as he is.’
‘Yes,’ nodded Gwen. ‘The lives of this family are all tied together. As Oswald fades – so do they. It’s so terrible.’ She laid the covered bowl which she had been carrying on the low table next to the pieces of raw onion.
‘More ointment from Mrs Coltfoot?’ guessed Arthur. ‘A bit late for that now.’
‘Let’s not presume the end before it’s come,’ breathed his mother. ‘We must continue as before. Audrey and I will see to Mrs Chitter, you see to . . .’ She paused and puckered her brow as Arthur bit his lip. ‘Arthur?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t seen Audrey since I woke up . . . and Twit wasn’t in his bed when I looked in on him. Where are they?’
Arthur gritted his teeth, then took a long deep breath whilst he shuffled his feet awkwardly.
‘Arthur!’ demanded his mother sternly.
‘Well you had just gone to sleep so we didn’t like to disturb you,’ he began earnestly.
‘Who’s “we”?’
‘Well us and Mr Triton.’
‘Mr Triton!’ Gwen Brown exclaimed. ‘What did he want?’
‘He took Audrey and Twit to Greenwich,’ said Arthur nervously.
‘To Greenwich? Oh Arthur, what’s got into the old fool’s head? And why did you let them go? I’m surprised at Twit – upping and leaving like that.’
Arthur waved his arms and tried to calm her down. ‘But it wasn’t like that! He promised they’d be back in time and Twit needed to get away for a bit. Mr Triton can be very persuasive you know,’ he added lamely.
‘Oh, I’m sorry I snapped, Arthur’ smiled Gwen apologetically. ‘I do remember Mr Triton’s way – he’s a forceful one, there’s no denying. I suppose they didn’t have time to think what they were doing when he arrived. But why take Twit and Audrey to Greenwich? Audrey hardly knows him for one thing, and it isn’t like her to be interested in boats and such.’
‘Oh didn’t I say?’ put in Arthur quickly. ‘Mr Triton brought a message from someone called the Starwife. She apparently wanted to speak with Audrey.’
Gwen Brown was taken aback. ‘The Starwife! Let me see now . . . yes, I do seem to have heard of her. Oh dear – what can she want with our Audrey? I don’t like it, Arthur. If I had been awake I would not have allowed her to go. Just wait till I see that midshipmouse – I’ll bend his ear for him.’
The afternoon crept by. The hot sun veered west and the evening clouds gathered lightly about the horizon.
In the hall of the old house many mice were gathered: Algy Coltfoot and his mother, the two Raddle spinsters, flirty Miss Poot and many more had mustered together to see how the Chitters were faring. It was as if some instinct had told them that the end was near for that family. A dark shadow lay over all their hearts.
Poor Piccadilly was getting impatient with them all. They kept badgering him for information and they evidently considered his bulletins too few and scanty in detail. Just when the city mouse felt like punching a couple of stupid, nosey heads, Master Oldnose, disturbed by the row, strode out of his rooms and waded through the crowd.
‘Now then, now then!’ He clapped his paws and looked round crossly.
Master Oldnose had been the tutor of most of the mice present, and their memories of him with his ears white with anger awoke their old respect for him. Voices were hushed and silence fell.
Master Oldnose eyed everyone severely – even those mice who were older than him respected him and held their tongues. Besides his school duties, Master Oldnose was the mousebrass maker and that was a position of great honour.
Now he surveyed them all and waited until he was satisfied.
Piccadilly flicked the hair out of his eyes.
‘Ta, mister, they were gettin’ out of hand.’
Master Oldnose bristled at being called ‘mister’ by this uncouth and obviously ignorant city mouse but decided to pass over it. ‘You boy,’ he addressed Piccadilly. ‘What is the meaning of this riotous gathering? Explain yourself.’ He stood with his paws clasped firmly behind his back and rocked slightly on his heels awaiting a reply.
‘It’s the Chitters, mister. Oswald’s in what Mrs Brown calls “the crisis” and she an’ Arthur are doin’ their level best for ‘em but this lot aren’t happy with just knowin’ that and won’t shift.’
‘I see.’ Master Oldnose glared at the crowd as if they were children. ‘Go about your business – there is nothing more for you to learn here.’
The mice stirred and mumbled feebly, and the two old maids fluttered shyly and hid their mouths behind nervous paws. Algy coughed and put on his most stubborn face. Nobody moved away.
‘Tough luck, mister,’ grinned Piccadilly cheekily. ‘I thought you had ’em then.’
‘We only want to know how they are,’ said a small voice. It was Tom Cockl
e. ‘We owe the lad a lot, you see, and well – I’ve been stewin’ all day, not knowin’ how he was doin’, so I come here and blow me if there wasn’t a blessed crowd already.’
‘That’s right,’ broke in Mrs Coltfoot. ‘Algy an’ me were terrible restless – poor Oswald, I had an awful feeling about today.’ Murmurs of agreement tan through the crowd.
‘We’re not doin’ any harm,’ continued Tom. ‘We’re sorry if we were a bit rowdy but we’re not budgin’.’
Even the Raddle spinsters nodded. Master Oldnose sighed. He could see that today he would not be obeyed. Indeed, he had been sitting in his workroom unable to concentrate on the unfinished mousebrasses before him. He was quite prepared to remain with the others now and wait for news. Everyone expected the curtain to be pulled to one side at any moment and to see Gwen Brown’s tearful face appear and relate grave, tragic words. All eyes were fixed on the curtain and even Piccadilly was forced to turn and stare at it glumly.
The evening drew close. Outside, the day was still warm and the sun had not yet disappeared but no mouse took any notice.
Eventually, the mice on the Landings crept down the stairway and stood, silent and depressed, with the Skirtings folk. Time stole by – only the breathing of many mice disturbed the blanketing stillness.
All at once, confusion broke out. Cries of alarm rippled through the crowd. Piccadilly looked round. The Raddle spinsters, as usual, had the same expression on their faces. Even in panic they were identical. No one seemed to know what was happening. Master Oldnose scowled. The disturbance seemed to emanate from the back of the crowd near the cellar door. Be gulped and wondered with dread what had crept out of that dark place. Something was forcing its way through the assembled mice. Master Oldnose drew back in fear.
‘Out of my way!’ shouted a gruff voice. ‘Let me through there!’
Piccadilly managed a smile – he knew that voice.
