by Robin Jarvis
Mrs Scuttle put her paws on the table and stared at Audrey. ‘But my dear! That’s precisely what she is doing. That’s where everyone’s gone. She’s making a healing broth, so she says, for Young Whortle Nep and Samuel Gorse.’
‘What!’ spluttered Audrey aghast. ‘But she doesn’t know how. She’ll probably poison them with what’s in those bags of hers.’ She jumped up from the table and ran out of the Scuttles’ rooms.
The winter quarters were a series of drab tunnels with family rooms leading off the main passages. There was no decoration anywhere, just the dismal tallow candles flickering on the walls. Up the tunnel Audrey hurried and sped out into the fresh air.
She followed the sound of voices and ran along the top of the ditch overlooking the bare stony stretch. There were all the fieldmice and in the centre was Madame Akkikuyu.
Her brewing pot was over a crackling fire and she stirred the bubbling contents with the bone from her hair. Occasionally she delved into one of her pouches and threw some leaves in the boiling mixture.
The fieldmice watched her with keen interest and admiration. Audrey spotted Arthur and Twit and pushed past the others to reach them.
‘Mornin’ Audrey’ greeted Twit brightly.
‘Hello,’ she mumbled. ‘Arthur, what do you think you’re doing letting her do this? It’s bound to be poisonous.’
‘What am I supposed to do?’ asked Arthur crossly. ‘She’d already started by the time we got here.’
‘But she might poison one of those boys,’ Audrey said. ‘I can’t let her carry on.’ She forced her way through the fieldmice to the front.
‘My,’ whistled Twit, ‘your Audrey ain’t one for standin’ by.’
‘That’s what worries me,’ said Arthur.
Audrey went to the fortune-teller’s side and tugged her elbow fiercely.
‘Mouselet!’ cried the rat gleefully. ‘You sleep well, yes? Akkikuyu look in on you before she go. You sleep like twig.’ She put her arm around the mouse and Audrey squirmed.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked. ‘You don’t know what those herbs and powders are for.’
Madame Akkikuyu gave a deep fruity laugh. ‘But my mouselet, Akkikuyu remember now – leaves make you better, heal wounds. They strong nature magic.’
‘But they’re poisonous,’ hissed Audrey.
‘No, no,’ tutted the fortune-teller, ‘some leaves bad yes, Akkikuyu chuck them, she knows those that heal.’ She gave the potion one last stir and declared to the fieldmice: ‘Is ready, come – take to the poorly little ones.’
Mrs Gorse stepped forward and looked apprehensively at the steaming thick broth bubbling away in the pot.
‘Come, come,’ encouraged the rat, beckoning with her claws.
Mrs Gorse held out a wooden bowl and Madame Akkikuyu scooped some of the potion into it.
‘Take to boy, make him drink all. He get better soon.’
Audrey rushed over to Mrs Gorse. ‘Don’t take it to him,’ she implored and a murmur of surprise rippled through the fieldmice. ‘Madame Akkikuyu isn’t well herself. She doesn’t know what she’s put in there, it might make your son worse.’
Mrs Gorse blinked and regarded the bowl with suspicion. The crowd muttered and stirred uneasily.
‘Mouselet!’ exclaimed the fortune-teller in a shocked tone. ‘Why you say such fibs? Akkikuyu knows – she not moon calf. Potion good – take to boy,’ she insisted.
‘Well,’ began Mrs Gorse uncertainly.
‘See,’ cried Madame Akkikuyu and she took the bowl from her and drank down the whole lot.
The crowd fell silent and stared at her wide-eyed.
Madame Akkikuyu swilled some of the potion around in her mouth before swallowing. She knitted her brows and Audrey looked up at her, fearfully expecting the rat to keel over or for her claws to drop out. The fortune-teller licked her lips and simply said, ‘Need salt.’ She sprinkled some into the pot.
That was enough for the fieldmice. They broke out into a peal of applause.
‘But that doesn’t prove anything.’ Audrey tried to make herself heard.
Mrs Gorse took the bowl again and filled it herself. ‘Listen young lady,’ she said to Audrey. ‘This Madame Akkikookoo saved my Samuel last night and that’s good enough for me. It’s wicked of you to say such things about her.’
Audrey was speechless. It was no use. Mr Nep came forward and took a bowl for Young Whortle, giving her a very disagreeable look in the process.
‘This potion keep,’ shouted Madame Akkikuyu. ‘If mouseys seal it in jar, potion last till spring.’
‘My Nelly’s got jars,’ said Mr Nep. ‘You come with me, missus, we’ll see to our boy then root some out for ’ee.’
The crowd cheered as Madame Akkikuyu followed Mr Nep to the shelters. The rat waved regally as she passed by. As the fieldmice dispersed and went into the field, Arthur and Twit came over to Audrey. Arthur was shaking his head.
‘A right idiot you made of yourself there, you soft lump,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen anyone make such an ass of themselves before.’
‘Stow it, Arthur.’ Audrey was in no mood for brotherly criticism. ‘Never mind,’ piped up Twit. ‘Maybe Young Whortle and Sammy will get better.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ said Audrey. ‘They can’t say I didn’t try and warn them, can they?’
‘Aye,’ laughed Twit, ‘but you made a right pig’s ear of it.’
Audrey could never be angry with Twit and she sighed loudly. ‘Oh you’re right, both of you. What a fool I must have looked to them.’ She laughed at the thought of it. ‘Oh well, what shall we do now?’
‘There’s the Hall to see,’ Twit said. ‘They’ve been at it all night – me dad’s gone to see it already.’
‘The Hall?’ asked Audrey mildly. ‘What’s that?’
‘Oh you’ll see soon enough,’ chuckled Twit, leading them away from the edge of the ditch and into the field.
Jenkin held tightly to the corn stalk. He could see Todkin a little further away and behind he heard Figgy humming to himself. Jenkin waved at Todkin and a little paw was raised in answer.
‘Jenkin,’ a familiar voice called up to him. He looked down and on the ground below, Alison Sedge was peering up at him with a paw shielding her eyes from the sun.
‘What you wantin?’ he shouted down to her.
‘To talk to ’ee,’ she answered. ‘Come down – me neck’s startin’ to ache.’
‘Darn her,’ grumbled Jenkin as he nimbly descended the stalk. It was the only free day he had had for weeks. His father had told him to celebrate the Green Mouse’s bounty in the field and he was only too happy to do so. He did not want to waste his time with Alison Sedge.
She waited patiently at the base of the stalk for him and twisted her hair coyly. Suddenly Jenkin was at her side. ‘Mornin’,’ she said.
‘Don’t tell me that’s all you wanted to say, Alison ‘Sedge,’ he puffed.
‘No, just bein’ p’lite that’s all’ she told him sniffily. ‘’Ere, what you got that feather in your hair for, Jenkin Nettle?’ She reached over to pull it out. ‘Let me put it in mine – suit me better.’
He stepped quickly aside. ‘You go pick yourself another flower,’ he said irritated. ‘This is my good luck charm this is.’
‘Luck is it?’ she asked in surprise. ‘What does your dad say to that?’
‘Nowt, ’cause I ain’t told him and don’t you either.’
He licked his sore lip and Alison had enough tact to change the subject.
‘What I really come to tell ’ee is about the rat woman and that girl what came with her.’
‘Oh yes?’ Jenkin tried to disguise his interest.
‘Had a right old ding-dong they just did. There was that Mrs Akky Yakky a-makin’ a potion to heal Young Whortle and Skinny Samuel when that girl comes bargin’ up and rants on about it bein’ poison.’
‘Was it?’
‘No, she’s barmy,’ Alison sniggered. ‘That rat
up an’ drank some an’ she didn’t snuff it. Made that town mouse look real daft she did.’
Jenkin looked past her, and curious, Alison turned round. Towards them came Arthur, Twit and Audrey.
‘Well here she is herself,’ said Jenkin. ‘Shall I ask her if she is potty for you?’
‘Pah,’ said Alison tossing her head. ‘I ain’t stayin’ to talk to no loony. I’m goin’ to meet Hodge – see if he wants to come to the meadow with me.’
‘Suit yourself,’ Jenkin grinned as she hastily departed.
Arthur and Audrey had never been in a corn field before. They gazed about them with great interest. It was like a thick, dense wood of stalks. If the fieldmice had not made pathways they would have had to struggle and fight their way through like explorers in a jungle. They craned their necks to see the tops of the stems where the young ears waved gently in the breeze. Bright red poppies were tangled in the field and Audrey gaped in wonder at the gorgeous flaming flowers. It was a more beautiful place than she had expected.
‘Look,’ said Twit presently, ‘there’s Jenkin. Hoy there Jolly Jenkin!’
‘How do,’ he said shyly with his eyes on the ground. ‘Where you goin’ then Twit?’
‘Arthur and Audrey ain’t seen the Hall yet,’ Twit replied. ‘I was jus’ takin’ ’em there. You on sentry Jenkin?’
‘Sentry?’ asked Arthur.
‘We don’t leave the field unguarded once the Hall’s been done,’ said Twit. ‘There’s a girt ring of lads circling the Hall keepin’ a look out for enemies.’
‘Where?’ put in Audrey. ‘I haven’t seen anyone so far.’
‘Hah miss,’ laughed Jenkin, ‘you ain’t been lookin’ proper.’ He pointed upwards. ‘How’s things, Figgy?’
‘Fine so far!’ came an answering call from above. ‘There’s someone up there!’ gasped Arthur. ‘He’s at the very top of the stalk.’
‘Where else would you sentry from?’ asked Jenkin, highly amused.
‘I’d love to do that,’ Arthur said as he stared upwards.
‘Have a go then,’ urged Jenkin.
‘Old Arthur won’t make it,’ tittered Twit, ‘not with his tummy.’
‘Huh!’ snorted Arthur, stepping up to the nearest stalk. He hesitated. Now that he had to climb it the stalk did seem very high.
‘Go on then,’ encouraged Jenkin, ‘ignore Twit.’
Arthur frowned and breathed deeply. Then with a loud grunt he jumped up and grasped the stem with his paws. He dangled in the air like a caught fish, winning another giggle from Twit. Arthur tried to climb, passing paw over paw. The stalk wobbled and swayed treacherously.
‘Wrap your tail round it,’ advised Jenkin.
Arthur tried but once his tail had gripped the stalk it refused to budge any more.
‘I’m stuck,’ he cried, and with a thud he fell to the ground.
Twit rolled around, his sides aching. Even Audrey laughed and Arthur glared at them both – after he had shaken some of the dust out of his fur.
‘Shall we show you how it’s done?’ offered Jenkin. ‘Twit?’
Twit wiped the tears from his eyes and stood beneath the stalk Arthur had tried to climb. ‘Ready?’ he asked Jenkin.
Jenkin, standing under another stalk, nodded. ‘First to the top,’ he said. ‘Say when, miss.’
Audrey counted them down. ‘Three two one – go.’
The fieldmice shot up the corn as if they had wings. Their legs and paws were a blur and their tails spiralled around the stems faster than anything she had seen. It was Jenkin who won – just a second before Twit.
‘Beat you at last,’ he waved triumphantly. ‘I be out of practice,’ panted Twit.
‘This time next week I’ll leave you standin’.’
Arthur regarded them enviously, wishing he could do half as well. Jenkin slid down quickly, eyed Audrey bashfully then said to Arthur, ‘Don’t worry – you’ll soon learn. Come see me after you’ve been to the Hall if you’re willin’ an’ we’ll get you up a stalk afore the end of the day.’
‘If only I could,’ Arthur sighed in disbelief.
‘Anyway, you best get goin’,’ said Jenkin, ‘soonest there sooner you can come back.’ He looked up; Twit was still enjoying being at the top of the corn. ‘Been a long time since he sat up on sentry,’ murmured Jenkin. ‘Thought he were dead you know – we all did. He’s a good bloke, but a bit simple.’
‘He doesn’t get into fights,’ remarked Audrey sternly, ‘and I bet he’s done more in his life than you ever will.’
‘Never said he hadn’t!’ Jenkin refused to be provoked. ‘All I’m sayin’ is, there’s some in Fennywolde who don’t respect the Scuttles – say Twit’s a dimmy and more besides. Not me – I like him. I reckon he’s too good-natured though. Folk take advantage and think he’s daft. That’s all.’
‘I think,’ said Arthur breaking in, ‘that one day Twit might get pressed too hard, and he may surprise a few round here if that kind nature of his snaps.’
Twit slid down the stalk. ‘Oooh that did me good,’ he said beaming from ear to ear. ‘Ain’t nowt like it for blowin’ the cobwebs away. You ready to see the Hall now? Come on then.’
They left Jenkin behind and he flashed up his stalk and resumed his sentry duty.
Deeper into the field went the three friends until the dense corn around them began to thin out more considerably and appeared to form a corridor, the ceiling of which was made by twisting together the ears of corn from opposite ‘walls’. It began to look very grand and imposing.
‘This be the main way to the Hall,’ Twit informed them in a hushed, reverent tone. ‘This be what they all were doin’ last night.’
‘It’s very clever,’ remarked Arthur.
Twit chuckled, ‘Just you wait.’
‘What’s that ahead?’ asked Audrey as they turned a comer. ‘The great doors,’ Twit answered. At the end of the corridor there were two large doors made completely from tightly woven corn stems. They reached up as high as the growing corn itself and on either side of them were two fieldmice who carried themselves importantly – they were the door guards.
‘Mornin’ Twit,’ greeted one of them.
‘Hello Grommel, how’ve you been keepin’? Your back still playin’ you up?’
‘Somethin’ chronic, Twit lad. These your town friends?’
‘Right enough. This here’s Audrey Brown and this be her brother Arthur. I be takin’ ’em to see the Hall.’
‘Then pass friends,’ said the door guard and he stood aside, pushing open one of the large doors.
Audrey and Arthur stepped through and blinked.
The Hall of Corn was immense. It was wide and long, and clumps of corn had been left standing at regular intervals giving the impression of mighty pillars – but the Hall was open to the sky. At the far end, on a wickerwork throne, sat Mr Woodruffe able at last to take up his plaited sceptre and govern the Hall as every King of the Field had done since the time of Fenny.
Many fieldmice were bustling about, building large spherical structures halfway up the corn stems.
‘What are they doing?’ asked Arthur.
‘They be our summer quarters,’ replied Twit gleefully. ‘You never slept till you spent a night in a fieldmouse’s nest -not on the ground, but halfway in the sky,’ he added dreamily.
It certainly was very grand. Audrey was overcome by the industriousness of the Fennywolders. All this had taken only one night to accomplish. She was amazed.
‘There’s me dad,’ said Twit suddenly and he ran over to where Elijah Scuttle was working. He had built a good, large nest for him and Mrs Scuttle and was in the process of completing a slightly smaller one.
‘How do Willum,’ he nodded to his son. ‘Thought ’ee an’ Master Brown could share a nest.’
‘Terrific!’ said Arthur.
‘Don’t be doin’ it too high though Dad,’ laughed Twit. ‘Old Arthur can’t climb too good.’
‘Now now Willum,’ chided his fa
ther softly. ‘You knows I do make your mam a straw ladder every year – I’ll do ‘un for Master Brown too.’
Mr Scuttle was a pleasant fieldmouse. He looked like an older version of his son, except there were creamy whiskers fringing his chops and on his shoulders there were two white scars where no fur would grow. He did, however, have the same mischievous twinkle in his eye.
‘And what about you, missy?’ Elijah addressed Audrey. ‘I’m not sure if you want to kip with your ratty friend.’
‘Oh no, Mr Scuttle,’ gasped Audrey, horrified, until she realised he was teasing her. He grinned and said, ‘I’ll make ’ee a real pirty nest for one so she can’t squeeze in.’
‘Thank you,’ said Audrey greatly relieved. The thought of having to share a nest with Madame Akkikuyu was too terrible even to joke about.
‘Look,’ began Arthur. ‘I better go back and find that Jenkin chap – I’m not going to be the only boy using a ladder – what would everyone say?’
‘I’ll come with you Arthur,’ said Twit. ‘I got me some practisin’ to do.’ So the two boys went off, laughing and jostling each other.
Audrey decided not to join them. ‘Is there anything I can do, Mr Scuttle?’ she asked.
Elijah looked surprised, then pleased. ‘Aye, missy,’ he said delighted. ‘See you over there,’ he pointed to a pile of moss and soft grass picked early that morning by a robust group of mousewives. ‘That there,’ he continued, ‘is what we do line our nests with – “featherin” we calls it. Makes ’em real comfy and soft it do – you could fetch some if you’re willin’.’
‘Certainly,’ said Audrey. She made her way over to the heap of feathering – although she could see no feathers in it whatsoever.
She passed beneath half-made nests where husbands not as deft as Mr Scuttle cursed as the weave fell apart. She wanted to learn more of the families who shouted cheerfully to one another from nest to nest and drew the very young children up on straw ropes. Some stout wives who refused to be parted from the bed linen were taking sheets and pillows into the nests with them. Audrey walked by one group of children who were all sitting down, listening with eyes agog and breaths held to an old mouse brindled white with age telling them stories. It was Old Todmore – the storyteller of the field and today he had a new tale to tell. Most of the children had been in bed the night before so had missed the excitement of Madame Akkikuyu and the owl and were now listening to the story, thrilled and captivated.
