When Albert next spoke he sounded puzzled. ‘Oi, Corp! There’s a table an’ chairs ... and some plates and mugs ... ’
‘Get up to the next floor!’ shouted Slackcote. ‘And have your gun ready!’
There was a long pause while Albert primed his matchlock. Then Dabo heard his heavy tread on the stairs. Up and up, to the first landing.
‘Corp?’ Albert sounded more puzzled than ever. ‘Two beds in here – wiv sheets and blankets!’
‘Go on up to the top!’
Albert left the bedroom and started up the last few steps to the turret room. Dabo could hear the mouse’s wheezy breath, and smell the acrid stench of his slow-burning match. Then his burly figure appeared in the open doorway, and his mouth opened in amazement.
‘Who the hell are you?’ he asked, swinging the cumbersome matchlock round to cover Dabo.
In a moment of sheer panic, Dabo brought the flintlock to his shoulder and fired. In that small space, the gun’s roar was deafening, and for a moment Dabo was blinded by smoke. But as it cleared, he saw that Albert had flung himself to the floor at the last second. Now, he was pointing his matchlock and sneering triumphantly.
At the sound of the shot, Slackcote instantly grabbed Armand, whipped out a pistol and pressed it to the little mouse’s head. ‘Come on out!’ he yelled, as Nolan flung himself to the ground in terror. ‘Now! Or the kid gets it!’
‘It’s all right, Corp!’ yelled Albert. ‘Me and my prisoner are coming down!’
Roped together, Dabo and Armand dragged themselves wearily along the track. They had been trudging for hours. Slackcote swaggered ahead, whistling. Albert and Nolan strutted along in the rear.
Evening found them in a shallow, wooded valley. ‘Time for a brew-up,’ announced Slackcote cheerfully. ‘Tie these two to a tree and get a fire going. I’ll unpack the rations.’
Dabo sat hunched in misery. He blamed himself bitterly. Suddenly, he felt a paw stealing shyly into his own. ‘I’m sorry, Dabo,’ whispered Armand.
Too full of guilt to speak, Dabo gently squeezed the little paw. He felt as if his heart would break.
The soldiers sprawled on the grass, slurping tea from their wooden mugs as the smoke from their fire plumed straight up into the pale sky. Behind them, the dying sun was flooding the valley in blood-coloured light.
‘Reckon we’ll get a reward then, Corp?’ asked Nolan, his thin face hungry with greed.
‘A reward, lad? Not half! The General promised fifty gold pieces to the mouse what captures these two. And we’ll be up for promotion! We might even— aaargh!’
A creature from a nightmare was hovering over them. Squealing in terror, they scrambled desperately to escape those beating wings, those vicious talons. But with a screech of fury, Galliard tore them from the ground, soared into the sky and vanished over the treetops.
‘Dabo!’ squeaked Armand. It was Galliard! She’s taken them! We’re free!’
Dabo could scarcely believe it. ‘Armand! Can you reach any of these knots? We don’t know how long Galliard will be and there may be another patrol somewhere!’
Armand struggled with the knots but Slackcote had tied them too tightly. ‘It’s no good. We’ll just have to wait for Galliard, and hope — ’
‘Too late,’ said Dabo, his sudden elation plunging into despair. ‘Look.’
On the opposite slope, two mice armed with rifles were silhouetted against the sunset. ‘Oh, no,’ whispered Armand. ‘It’s not fair ... ’
One of the mice ran down into the valley and kicked earth over the fire until the flames were smothered. Then he joined his companion by the tree where the prisoners lay helpless. ‘Let’s cut you two free,’ he said with a friendly smile. ‘I don’t think those clowns will be back in a hurry!’
In a dream, Dabo stood beside the track, massaging his wrists and ankles where the rope had bitten deeply.
After cutting the prisoners free, one of the mice had disappeared up the slope to keep watch. His companion introduced herself.
‘I’m Bella Quincy and that’s my brother, Tom. Who are you?’
Dabo hesitated. He had let Armand be taken prisoner once today and he was not prepared to risk it a second time. But Armand trusted Bella Quincy and decided to tell the truth.
‘I am Armand, Prince of Carminel, son of Auriol the King. This is Dabo, once my tutor,’ he smiled, ‘and now my dearest friend.’
‘Yes, we thought you were,’ said Bella. ‘A patrol called at our farmhouse last week, looking for you. Talked big about how the deserter Dabo and the traitor Armand wouldn’t escape! Since then we’ve been looking out for you and this morning we went up to the old tower.’
‘Lord of Light!’ exclaimed Dabo. ‘Were you there when the soldiers came?’
‘When you shot at the fat one? Yes, we were. But we couldn’t risk helping you, I’m afraid. Not with Prince Armand held hostage. We followed you, then we saw the eagle, and — ’
They were startled by a shout from Tom, and Galliard landed in a flurry of wings, her talons smeared with blood.
Tom pelted down the slope and they all stared up at the mighty eagle. Armand, sobbing with relief, buried his face in her warm feathers. ‘Oh, Galliard, thank you!’
‘What now?’ asked Bella.
‘We can’t stay here,’ replied Tom. ‘The area’s crawling with Cambray’s mice.’ He pointed to Armand and Dabo. ‘Are they...?’
‘Yes,’ said Bella. ‘We were right. We’d better get them home.’
Her brother agreed. ‘Are you two up to a walk? It’s not so very far but it’s getting dark, so if you’re ready...’
But Armand would not be hurried. ‘Just a minute,’ he said. He looked at the great eagle, who was standing with her head outstretched towards him.‘Galliard, do you know where Lord Gideon is?’
The eagle looked at him with sorrow in her eyes and gave a low mew. She had given up waiting for Gideon at the old barn by the river and had flown north to keep watch over his friends instead. At the sight of Armand and Dabo in the power of the soldiers, her fury had known no bounds, and her vengeance had been swift and deadly.
‘I know he’ll come back eventually,’ said Armand. ‘And when he does, I believe he’ll need you, and the other eagles who fled from Barrowdown. Where are they?’ he asked fiercely. ‘Can you find them and call them together?’
Galliard raised her head, her eyes shining, and gave a loud, piercing shriek.
‘When Gideon returns, he’ll look for us at the old tower,’ Armand continued. ‘Can you keep an eye on it from time to time?’ The eagle lowered her head and gently touched her beak to Armand’s outstretched paw.
‘Thank you, dear Galliard,’ said the mouse softly. ‘Go now. And may the Lord of Light protect you!’
The mice jumped back as Galliard spread her wings and soared into the sky. She circled the valley, then seeing that all was clear she sped away towards the stars.
‘Wow!’ said Tom. ‘I didn’t know you could talk to an eagle!’
‘Neither did I,’ said Armand. ‘But I’m sure she understood.’
Bella and Tom led them out of the valley on to a narrow path that disappeared into dense woodland. ‘Did you say your name was Quincy?’ asked Armand. ‘It sounds familiar.’
‘Our dad commanded a regiment in your father’s army,’ replied Tom.
‘Of course!’ exclaimed Armand. ‘I remember him. Terribly fierce and soldierly. His tail used to swish about a lot!’
Bella laughed. ‘That’s him! But he’s not so fierce now. More of a farmer than a soldier. He and Mum’ll be pleased to see you – and your friend.’
Under a cloak of darkness that hid them from their enemies, the two mice led Armand and Dabo along little-known woodland paths. ‘How much further?’ asked Armand, trying to keep the exhaustion out of his voice.
‘Nearly there,’ said Bella. ‘We should see the lights of the farm – oh, any time now.’
‘I’m looking forward to that,’ said Armand fervently. ‘Oh, loo
k!’ he pointed excitedly to the sky. ‘A shooting star!’
‘A good omen!’ said Tom with a smile.
At long last, weary and footsore, Armand and Dabo came to the ancient Manor of Quincy.
Far off to the south-west, General Cambray’s patrols trudged in one by one to collapse, exhausted, on the cold, hard ground, where they slept under a frosty sky. Only in the morning did anyone notice that one of the patrols had failed to return. Given the rotten reputation of the missing mice, they were immediately posted as deserters and forgotten.
12. ‘Take Over the Ship!’
All night, the crew had struggled to hold the Bonaventure on course in the teeth of a vicious gale. Gideon had never felt so terrified. Time and again, he and Conal had been driven up the mainmast and out along the rearing, plunging spars to take in more sail until the ship was running naked of canvas with the wind directly behind her. Even battle was better than this!
But as dawn broke, the storm died away as if banished by the morning sun, and the Bonaventure scudded on over a sparkling sea.
‘All right, you idle scum,’ said Pombal, cracking his bosun’s cane across an unlucky mouse’s back. ‘Get inside and feed your ugly faces.’
The shivering, hungry crew sat in the fore-castle and stolidly forced down mouldy cheese and rock-hard ship’s biscuit. At first, Gideon had been amazed that anyone could eat such revolting stuff. But he knew now that the crew were so hungry, all the time, that they would eat anything they were given.
The two press-ganged brothers, William and Daniel, spent their mealtimes with Gideon and Conal. The brothers felt drawn to the two older mice by their aura of strength, and because these two tough-looking, battle-scarred warriors were just as clumsy as William and Daniel in the complicated business of sailing the ship. All four had been horribly seasick, until one morning they found that they had adjusted to the motion of the vessel and were able to go about their tasks without the extra miseries of a heaving stomach and a swimming head.
That evening, the Captain summoned the officers to dinner in the Great Cabin. Their drunken bawling and yells of laughter, along with the occasional smashing of crockery and splintering of glass, contrasted sharply with the exhausted silence of the crew.
‘Why do they put up with it?’ whispered Daniel fiercely. ‘I mean, we – the crew – outnumber the officers. Couldn’t we start a mutiny?’
‘You’ll have noticed, perhaps,’ drawled Conal, ‘that the officers have a brace of pistols apiece and we have nothing but our sharp little claws.’
‘And the Captain has the key to the weapons chest,’ said Gideon. ‘It’s guarded day and night.’
‘I know why they put up with it,’ murmured William.
‘Oh? Tell us then, brains,’ said Daniel, in the teasing tone he generally used towards his younger brother.
‘Gold,’ said William.
‘Oh, rubbish!’ exclaimed Daniel scornfully. ‘I haven’t seen any gold!’
William’s little mouth shut like a trap. He was used to his brother’s treatment, but he resented being slapped down in front of Gideon and Conal.
Gideon saw the expression in William’s eyes. ‘Pipe down a minute, Daniel. Go on, William.’
Being taken seriously was a new experience for William. ‘Well ... it’s only what I’ve picked up from the others,’ he said. ‘They serve under Bultivar because he pays them in gold. A few hate him so much that they run off when the ship’s in port. That’s why we were kidnapped, to replace them. But most stay. Other captains pay their crew in paper money – practically worthless at the moment – but this crew get solid gold.’
Even Daniel was impressed, and looked at his brother with a new respect. ‘Where does it come from?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied William. ‘Nor do I know whether we’re carrying any at the moment. But I do know that several of the crew have almost made enough to live on for the rest of their lives. Imagine, no more going to sea, a nice little farm, or shop, or whatever. No wonder they’re prepared to put up with all this.’
Gideon’s eyes gleamed. ‘Then we must take over the ship and discover the source of the gold.’
‘Take over the ship?’ squeaked Conal. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’
‘Come on, Conal, we’ve done harder things than that and got away with it.’
‘We’d need weapons,’ said Daniel eagerly, ‘enough to arm the crew.’
‘But would they join us?’ whispered William doubtfully.
‘Oh, I think they would,’ murmured Mutt from the shadows.
Gideon instantly put his paw to where his sword wasn’t any more; he swore quietly instead.
‘How long have you been listening?’ he hissed, angrily.
‘Long enough.’
What with the racket from the Great Cabin, and the ceaseless creaking of the ship’s timbers, there was little danger of being overheard; but Mutt sank his voice almost to a whisper.
‘We all hate the Captain and the officers. We’d attack them if – if we had a leader.’ Mutt looked appealingly at Gideon. ‘You’re a soldier. I knows that. Look at the way you went for your sword just now. You could lead us.’
Gideon knew that he could. He was heartily sick of this life of misery and squalor, and every day increased his anxiety for Armand, Dabo and Galliard.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘We’ll do it. Where are the weapons? And how do we get them?’
‘Oh, Lord of Light,’ sighed Conal.
‘Sir!’ hissed William, his whiskers twitching nervously. ‘I really think—’
‘Oh, shut up, Will!’ hissed Daniel. ‘You think too much! Go on, Mutt, what about guns?’
‘There’s a chest full of new rifles and ammo. Came aboard at Aramon. Captain keeps the key in his cabin. I know where. I can get it. Tomorrow night. Midnight, or thereabouts. Are you on?’
‘Yes,’ said Gideon. Conal shrugged in resignation.
‘Sir, please—’ wailed William. But Gideon would not listen.
‘That’s enough, William,’ he said firmly. ‘This is the only chance we’ll get and I’m going to take it!’
‘All right, then?’ asked Mutt. ‘Lower deck. I’ll be waiting.’ And he melted away into the darkness.
‘Brilliant!’ hissed Daniel. ‘This time tomorrow the ship’ll be ours! Hey, was Mutt right – about you being a soldier?’
‘Yes,’ said Gideon as Conal hid a smile behind a cough. ‘Though it was a long time ago now.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Daniel, kindly. ‘You’re the one to lead us, that’s for sure. Oh, look! A shooting star! Let’s hope it brings us luck!’
Dawn found the Bonaventure becalmed under a sapphire sky. But the tropical storm that had raged all night had so exhausted the crew that they blessed the sudden stillness, collapsed on the deck, and slept. But not for long.
Suddenly, Bultivar erupted from his cabin. He glared at the sleeping crew then realized that the ship was not moving.
‘Pombal!’ he yelled. ‘Swing out the boats and start towing!’
‘Ay, ay, sir!’ The Bosun stumped along the deck, kicking the mice awake.
Gideon groaned, and forced himself to join the others in the painful task of untying the lines, stiff with sea-spray, that held the boats in place. Soon, the ropes were screaming through the pulleys as the boats lurched towards the water.
When they were safely launched, Pombal yelled an order and the mice at the oars began the back-breaking task of towing the great galleon across the motionless sea.
‘Bosun!’ yelled the captain of the starboard boat. ‘I’m a mouse short!’
‘What?’ roared Pombal. Picking up his speaking-trumpet, he rushed to the bows. ‘Stop rowing!’ And, as the mice slumped over their oars, the furious Bosun stormed back along the deck in search of the missing mouse.
He soon found him. Curled up in the shadow of one of the guns, William lay dreaming of his mother and their home far away in Aramon. Raising his cane, Pombal lashe
d the little mouse cruelly across the shoulders. William’s eyes opened wide. He gasped – then cried out in agony and tried to wriggle away from this sudden, terrifying attack. Reaching out a claw, Pombal yanked the little mouse to his feet.
‘Asleep on duty!’ screamed the Bosun.
‘What!’ roared Bultivar.
‘Asleep, sir!’ yelled Pombal. ‘That’ll be a flogging for you, you miserable worm,’ he added, thrusting his face close to William, who recoiled from the foul-smelling breath.
‘Tie him up!’ screamed Bultivar. ‘And get those boats moving! One hour’s rowing! Then we’ll flog the little beast!’
At last, a wind set the sails cracking, and the boats returned. With an aching back, and paws rubbed raw with rowing, Gideon clambered painfully over the side and saw a forlorn figure tied to the mainmast. He seized Conal’s arm but at that moment, the drummer on the quarter-deck struck up a sharp tattoo and the sea-mice swung round, gazing in horror towards the sound.
The drummer stopped abruptly. ‘All hands aft to witness punishment!’ yelled Pombal. As the cowed mice shuffled towards the quarter-deck, the two Bosun’s mates untied William and dragged him towards the large grating that served as a hatchway and a ventilator for the gun-deck below. Flinging him down, they tied the little mouse to the bars of the grating so that he lay spread-eagled and frightened to death.
Bultivar and his officers lined the quarter-deck rail.
‘Carry on, Mr Pombal!’ said the Captain.
The Bosun held a short-handled whip with several tentacles that trailed along the deck. It was called the rat of nine tails. ‘How many, sir?’
‘How many?’ repeated Bultivar in astonishment. ‘How many do you think, Mr Pombal, for so vile a crime as being asleep on duty? Flog him until I tell you to stop!’
In the sudden, dreadful silence, Gideon glanced round at the faces of the sea-mice. He saw a hint of relief that this time it was some other mouse who was going to be flogged.
Hearing a sharp clicking sound, Gideon turned back to the quarter-deck and saw that the officers had drawn their pistols and were pointing them at the assembled crew. A sea-mouse, armed with a cutlass, stood by the grating where William lay. The idea of a rescue, half-formed in Gideon’s mind, faded away in bitter frustration. At the first move any of them made, William would be dead.
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