He was working on his diary when Esmeralda reached the attic. He looked up and said, “Ah, there you are. Conrad’s already come and gone.”
“Gone!”
“He said not to worry; he’ll take your place on scrounge patrol.”
“Oh, no!” Esmeralda thrust the sticky lard at her brother and ran back the way she had come. It wasn’t right for Conrad to take on her responsibility. He must be as tired as she was!
She made her way down to the rendezvous point — a crack in the stonework at the back of the theater — and squeezed through. The air was chilly and the moon already up. There were no mice to be seen, but Esmeralda recalled Conrad mentioning that they usually scrounged for food behind a bakery near the theater. Her parents had taken her to the bakery when she was small, and she was certain she still knew the way. She must follow the path along the canal behind the Mariinsky. She must cross the first bridge she came to, and the bakery would be in sight on the other side of the water.
Alas! Halfway across the bridge, Esmeralda could see that she was wrong. The bakery she remembered was gone. A sign in the window indicated that the shop now sold carpets. Her cousin and the scrounge patrol were nowhere to be seen.
A cart rolled toward her. She leaped out of its path and nearly tumbled into the canal. She backed away from the parapet, turned, and found herself face-to-face with two rats.
Their fur was slick and smelled of fish. “What have we got here?” said the larger rat.
“A wee little mouse,” said the smaller rat — who wasn’t much smaller.
“Very little. She looks hungry.”
“Maybe we should drop her in the river so she can go fishing.”
“Please let me by!” said Esmeralda.
“Listen to her — very polite, isn’t she?” said the larger rat.
The smaller rat sneered. “I’m surprised she can speak Russian. Those Mariinsky mice always speak French. All hoity-toity.”
“I’m as Russian as you are!” Esmeralda’s temper was up now.
“Let’s not drop her in the river,” said the larger rat. “I’m hungrier than she is. Not much meat on her bones, but there might be enough for a snack later on.”
He must be bluffing. Rats didn’t eat mice. At least, Esmeralda didn’t think they did.
The larger rat stepped toward her. Esmeralda picked up a pebble. She lifted it above her head, ready to throw it. “Let me pass!” she said.
The larger rat guffawed. The smaller rat snickered.
Suddenly, a mouse pushed his way between the rats. He strode over to Esmeralda, turned, and faced her tormentors. His shadow stretched out impressively as he said, “You heard the lady.”
“Maksim!” said the larger rat. The smaller rat shrank back.
The mouse nodded. “That’s right. Now, get off my bridge before I call for some reinforcements.”
To Esmeralda’s astonishment, the rats did just that. Silently, they waddled away, rounded the end of the bridge, and slid off the embankment into the canal.
Esmeralda dropped the pebble. She stared at the mouse. He appeared tough and sturdy, with charcoal-colored fur and a piratical-looking scar just below his eye. If he hadn’t just helped her, she might have felt wary of him. She said, “Thank you! Is this really your bridge?”
The mouse grinned. “Well, I have an agreement with a cat that lives under it. I bring him things — treats, you know — and he offers some protection in return. Those rats know better than to act the way they did. They’re a pair of bullies. This is their idea of fun.”
“I don’t like rats,” said Esmeralda, though, in truth, she had never met any before tonight.
“They’re not all like that. Some of my best friends are rats.”
A mouse who was friends with rats? Esmeralda had never heard of such a thing.
He must have guessed what she was thinking. “I’m friends with just about everybody,” he explained. “There’s hardly a mouse or a rat or a dog or a cat in Saint Petersburg who doesn’t know Maksim!”
“You haven’t seen other mice tonight, have you?” asked Esmeralda. “A group from the Mariinsky?”
“You’re from the theater, eh? No, I haven’t seen anybody tonight. My guess is your friends are at the bakery. That’s where they always go. Not that there’s ever much to find there.”
“But the bakery is closed.” Esmeralda pointed across the bridge.
Maksim shook his head. “There’s a new bakery. It isn’t far. I can take you there, if you like.”
Conrad would want her to go back home, Esmeralda knew. He was always telling her how dangerous Saint Petersburg was — always warning her to beware of strangers.
Certainly, Maksim was a stranger. But she liked him already, and he was completely at ease talking to rats — and even cats. Esmeralda said, “Thank you! I’d like that very much.”
He led her back the way she had come. They walked side by side along the stone path. As they passed the mouse entrance to the theater, Maksim commented, “No show tonight.”
“No, not tonight.”
“I suppose you must be a dancer if you’re from the Mariinsky.”
“Yes, though I’ve only just joined the company. I haven’t danced in any of the productions yet.”
“In the company! Say, you’re talking to a real fan. My friends and I go to the ballet whenever we can.”
Esmeralda’s interest was piqued. She had never met an actual balletomane before. “Did you see The Sleeping Beauty?” she asked.
“Ah, The Sleeping Beauty! Very romantic!”
“My cousin was in it. He played Prince Désiré.”
Maksim stopped for a moment. “I’m sorry . . .” He looked at her questioningly; she could tell he wanted to know her name.
“Esmeralda.”
“Right, Esmeralda. My friends saw your cousin, but I’m afraid I haven’t seen a mouse production in some time.”
Esmeralda tried to hide her disappointment. She shouldn’t be surprised that Maksim preferred the human productions. Was it the dancing that he liked better, or the costumes and sets — the spectacle, as Madame Giselle called it?
Before she could ask him, Maksim touched her arm. He pointed and said, “There’s the bakery, and there’s the rubbish bin. No sign of your friends.”
The narrow alleyway was quiet and lonely. Esmeralda said, “But I’m sure Conrad said they were going to the bakery.”
Maksim looked thoughtful. “It doesn’t look like this bakery owner has even put out the garbage. Maybe your friends tried their luck at some other place. Where else do they like to go?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never gone out with them before.” Esmeralda couldn’t mask her disappointment. “I suppose I should just go home.”
“You could. But . . . if I can make an observation, Esmeralda?”
“Yes?”
“You look a little hungry.”
“I am, rather . . .” Esmeralda thought of the lost spice cookie.
“I’d like to take you out to eat.”
The way Maksim said those words — as if it would be a pleasure to him if she said yes, and a disappointment if she said no — made Esmeralda’s heart skip a beat. It occurred to her that Maksim was a rather handsome-looking pirate.
Still, she hesitated. What if Conrad came home before she did? He and Gringoire would wonder what had happened to her.
On the other hand, if she did go with Maksim, she could ask him more questions about the human ballets he had seen. Perhaps she would find out something that could help the Russian Mouse Ballet Company.
It was a perfectly good reason for saying yes, and Esmeralda seized upon it. “All right,” she said.
Maksim’s smile widened. He said, “Come on, then! We’ll go to Nevsky Prospect!”
ESMERALDA HAD NEVER BEEN to Saint Petersburg’s main thoroughfare. She had only heard about Nevsky Prospect and its fancy shops and restaurants. “Is it far?” she asked.
“We’ll hitch a ride. W
e’ll be there in no time at all,” said Maksim.
Hitch a ride . . . What did that mean? Maksim had already brought Esmeralda back to the little bridge. They had not crossed it but instead had turned onto a new street, bustling with horses, carts, carriages, and people. Maksim didn’t seem to care if anybody saw them. He took Esmeralda’s hand and hurried toward a carriage stopped at the side of the road to let in some human passengers. “This will do!” he said.
The coachman atop the carriage cracked his whip. The horses stirred and strained, and the carriage started to move. “Up we go!” shouted Maksim, and he grabbed hold of a spoke on one of the wheels. He was lifted up into the air as the cart rolled forward. Maksim reached down and pulled Esmeralda up beside him. “Grab hold!”
Esmeralda wrapped her arms around the spoke. The wheel turned and she squeezed her eyes shut. She was sideways. She was upside down. She was going to be sick!
Maksim said, “Move around to the other side of the wheel.”
She turned herself around on the spoke so that she was facing out. She opened her eyes, caught a glimpse of upside-down buildings in the distance, then quickly closed her eyes again.
“Less easy for someone to spot us here,” Maksim shouted above the noise of the traffic. “If you look over there . . .” He waited for her to open her eyes. He let go with one hand and gestured in a careless way that made Esmeralda worry he might go flying off the rotating wheel. “Over there, you might catch a glimpse of the Moyka River. And you might think it’s the Neva River. A lot of mice make that mistake. But let me tell you, the Neva is much bigger! And beyond the Moyka, a few streets away, is the Alexander Garden. Very romantic in summer!”
Romance was the last thing on Esmeralda’s mind. “Are we almost there?” she gasped.
“To the Alexander Garden? No. To Nevsky Prospect? Yes, nearly. We’re lucky there’s so little traffic at this hour — and such a speedy carriage! I saw a coat of arms on the door. I think it’s somebody important — a count or a baron or even a prince. Who knows? Everybody who’s anybody goes to Nevsky Prospect!”
Round and round and round they went, until Maksim shouted, “When I give the word, jump and roll away from the carriage.”
There was no time to think. “Now!” Maksim told Esmeralda.
She jumped, hit the ground, and rolled.
Maksim pulled her out of the way of another carriage. “Watch out so you don’t get crushed!” He steered her around some men who were shouting at each other.
A dog barked and Esmeralda froze. Maksim said, “Don’t worry! He’s far away.” He led her across a cobbled walk and into a narrow space between two buildings. He gestured toward the street. “Take a look!”
Esmeralda stared. She was sure even the Neva River couldn’t be wider than the street in front of her. On one side of it, the horse-drawn carriages went one way; on the other side, they traveled in the opposite direction. And in the middle of the street, horses pulled double-decker trolley cars filled with people. Still more people were strolling along and across the street, creating patterns like dancers on a stage.
“What do you think?” asked Maksim.
Snow — the first of the season — had begun to fall. Star-like crystals shimmered in the light from the streetlamps, and Esmeralda thought of the “Waltz of the Snowflakes” in The Nutcracker. She thought of Monsieur Petipa. No wonder he worked so hard to turn his ballets into spectacles. How else could he hope to lure the people of Saint Petersburg away from the magnificent show that was Nevsky Prospect? And no wonder a mouse like Maksim, familiar with such grandeur, would prefer Monsieur Petipa’s productions!
She said, “It’s amazing!”
“I knew you’d like it!” said Maksim. “See that building over there?”
Esmeralda looked up at an elegant four-story stone structure. Its first floor was dark, but its tall second-story windows blazed with light.
“There’s a restaurant upstairs — very fancy,” said Maksim. “Even Tchaikovsky likes to eat there. Just wait until you see what they throw out in the trash behind the building!”
The restaurant’s garbage bins were overflowing with cabbage leaves, loaves of bread, carrot peelings, apple cores, half-eaten pastries, and more. Esmeralda gazed, openmouthed. “I never saw so much food!”
They weren’t alone. Maksim tossed out a greeting to a pair of rats hovering over a meaty-looking bone: “Hello, Modest . . . Pyotr! Mind if we look around?”
The rats nodded a greeting.
Maksim said, “Look! Here’s half a pancake for us.”
“What’s that black stuff on it?”
“Caviar. Whoops — careful! I think it’s spoiled. Try this.” Maksim pushed a slightly less fragrant bread roll toward Esmeralda. It was filled with some kind of stuffing.
She nibbled, tasting flavors new to her tongue. She said, “I wish I could take this home.”
“Maybe not that pirozhok. But there might be some cake —”
Esmeralda gave a cry. “Look! A whole potato!” She had a vision of herself carrying the potato into the Mariinsky. She would be a hero if she could bring home that much food!
And if she could bring home some ideas for attracting audiences to The Nutcracker. She mustn’t forget her other reason for coming here with Maksim.
Esmeralda was about to ask him what he had thought of The Sleeping Beauty when she paused, sniffing the air.
What smell was that? Sugary and sweet. Maybe a little too sweet.
She spotted the source of the smell: a ball as big as a ripe cherry, but with pink and white stripes. She had seen something like it in the set design for the second act of The Nutcracker. “Is it a sugar plum?” she wondered aloud. Gringoire had explained that a sugar plum was a kind of candy.
She moved in for a closer look, and the smell hit her like a slap. Her legs grew weak and she fell forward.
She turned to look for Maksim. The movement made her feel as if her head had spun off her neck. She looked back at the . . . whatever it was . . . sugar something . . . She couldn’t remember. Her head ached too much.
“Maksim?” Esmeralda called as the smell enveloped her.
But she didn’t know whether he heard her, because the world went black.
I THINK SHE’S WAKING UP!”
Esmeralda opened her eyes.
A rat was staring at her. Not one rat, but two . . . and a concerned-looking mouse with a piratical scar under his eye. Maksim.
Esmeralda sat up and swayed. Her head ached, but the sickening smell was gone.
Maksim put his arm around her. “How do you feel?”
“A bit queasy.” She looked around. She was in a dark room, lit only by the moonlight from a window high above her. The air was warm. She could hear the faint sound of music.
“What happened? Where am I?”
“You fainted! This is a bookstore.”
Sure enough, Esmeralda could smell books. Now she noticed them, standing up cover to cover on shelves, the gold-embossed titles on their spines glistening in the light from the window. And the shelves were so high! They rose up like buildings, disappearing into the darkness above. How could there be so many books?
“Pyotr and Modest helped me bring you inside,” said Maksim.
The two rats looked exactly alike, with scruffy brown fur and blunt noses. Esmeralda guessed they must be brothers. She said, “Thank you.”
“No trouble,” said one of them.
“No trouble at all,” said the other.
Esmeralda said, “I’ve never fainted before.”
Maksim’s smile made his eyes crinkle up at the corners. “You’ve probably never met up with a peppermint before.”
“A pepper . . . mint?”
“It’s a type of candy. Humans love them, but mice hate peppermints. They’re not poisonous, but the smell of peppermint oil can make you feel sick. It made you feel so sick you passed out!” said Maksim. “I live in a house where they use peppermint oil to keep us away from the food. Th
e people smear it on the boards at the front of the cupboards. Peppermint oil is dreadful stuff, but easy enough to avoid if you recognize the smell.”
Just thinking of the smell made Esmeralda’s stomach give a flop. “How long have I been . . .” She searched for the right word.
“Unconscious?” Maksim finished. “Not so very long. Are you still hungry?”
In spite of the queasy feeling, she was. Esmeralda nodded.
“Good. We’ll take you to the Balalaika Café.”
“The what?”
“You’ll see.”
Maksim held out his hand. Esmeralda hesitated, feeling suddenly shy. But she let him help her up. She said, “We’re not going to ride on a carriage wheel again, are we?”
Maksim laughed. “No carriage wheel needed,” he promised.
They didn’t go outside. Instead, Maksim led Esmeralda past row after row of towering bookshelves, with Modest and Pyotr following behind. The music Esmeralda had noticed before grew louder.
At last, Maksim led her around a bookshelf and said, “Welcome to the Balalaika Café!”
To Esmeralda’s astonishment, the floor in front of her was crowded with mice. They sat and stood in groups, eating and laughing and talking above the music. Here and there she saw a few rats as well.
“It isn’t really a café,” said Maksim. “It’s just a place we all like to come. The music comes from the restaurant upstairs. A balalaika orchestra plays there almost every night.”
“And the food?” Esmeralda wondered aloud.
“We get it from that garbage heap outside the building. Generally, we’re expected to bring something to share. But don’t worry, my friends won’t mind that we’re empty-handed.”
Three mice sitting in the middle of the crowd were waving to Maksim. He waved back, even as other mice shouted hello to him. Modest and Pyotr seemed to be almost as popular, and they were already making their way toward a group of rats sitting below a window. “Come on,” said Maksim. “I’ll introduce you.”
The Nutcracker Mice Page 3
