Magnus Powermouse

by Dick King-Smith

  Magnus furrowed his brow. ‘Not hare, mouse,’ he said.

  There was a long pause.

  ‘Well, I’ll be . . . jugged!’ said the hare, and away he went across the field in a series of great sailing bounds until he was lost to sight.

  Left alone, Magnus Powermouse was conscious of a number of different feelings. Puzzlement – for he had hardly understood a word the strange creature had said. Hunger – for he had never in his life been so long without food. And following on from that, regret – for here, in this windy field, there was no Jim the Rat, no Smarties, no bread and honey, no sausages, no Mars Bars. Not only did his mouth water at this last thought, but his eyes too, and for an instant he felt very lost. But then his courage reasserted itself.

  Find Mummy and Daddy. That was what he had set out to do. That was what he was going to do.

  At that very moment he heard in the distance a noise, a noise that he now knew well, the noise of a car engine. Motor cars needed roads, he reasoned, all roads went somewhere, he would find this road and follow it. He set off at a run.

  FOURTEEN

  A Scream of Brakes

  By the time Magnus reached the lane Jim the Rat’s van had disappeared round the next corner on its way to the very place that Magnus himself was seeking.

  Jim had searched every corner of his own property unavailingly. I suppose he might have tried to get back home, he thought to himself. I might come across him on the way perhaps. At the very least I can pick up that rabbit they offered me. Make a nice pet. Take my mind off His Majesty perhaps.

  But he knew that it wouldn’t. He was already missing the King Mouse very badly.

  Magnus turned to follow the direction that the van had taken as soon as he hit the lane. He did not know which was the right way to go, he did not know that the vehicle had been Jim’s van, he did not know why he made that choice, he just made it, in his usual direct fashion. And in his usual direct fashion, he set off walking in the middle of the road.

  He plodded resolutely forward, his mind now empty of all thoughts save two. Magnus not see Mummy and Daddy, so Magnus unhappy. Mummy and Daddy not see Magnus, so Mummy and Daddy unhappy.

  In fact a firm belief in Roland’s gift of second sight had kept Madeleine perfectly happy.

  From the start she had found something very reassuring about the great white rabbit with his deep comforting voice and his kindly red eyes and those huge soft floppy ears under which she and Marcus Aurelius slept so warmly every night. And to be told by him, solemnly, certainly, that they would all be re-united – well, that was it then! No need to worry, everything in the garden was lovely!

  Marcus Aurelius on the other hand was by no means as confident of ever seeing his son again, that son of whom he had suddenly grown very fond, so he spent much of his convalescence thinking of him. More sceptical by nature than his simple wife, he could not forget the facts of the matter, whatever Roland had said. Magnus had been captured by a human, and humans kill mice. Therefore . . .

  ‘Q.E.D.,’ said Marcus Aurelius sadly as he peered short-sightedly out of the rabbit hutch at the morning sunshine, some weeks after Magnus’s disappearance.

  ‘Q.E.D.? What’s that mean, Markie?’ asked Madeleine, emerging from beneath Roland’s left ear.

  ‘Er . . . quite an exquisite day, Maddie dear,’ said Marcus hastily.

  ‘Funny way to talk,’ said Madeleine. She giggled. ‘B.S.I.O.W.W.T.S.O.M.’ she said.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Better still if only we was to see our Magnus.’

  ‘If only we were to see our Magnus.’

  ‘That’s what I just said.’

  ‘Ah. Maddie my love, I pray you may never fall victim to groundless optimism.’

  ‘I hope I never does. Sounds horrible.’

  ‘What I mean, my love, is . . . do not set your heart upon seeing our boy again. Nothing is certain in this life.’

  ‘But my heart is set on it, Markie. And it is certain we shall see him. Uncle Roland said so.’

  Roland had been embarrassed by the way the mice addressed him, Marcus Aurelius as ‘Sir’, Madeleine as ‘Mr Roland’. He could not persuade them to use his first name alone, so had eventually settled for ‘Uncle’, a title with which they appeared comfortable.

  At the sound of his name he hopped forward and squatted carefully between his two small friends.

  ‘You did, didn’t you?’ said Madeleine.

  ‘Did what, my dear Madeleine?’ asked Roland.

  ‘Say we should see Magnus again. That we should all be reunited.’

  ‘I did indeed.’

  ‘What interval of time,’ said Marcus Aurelius, ‘would you estimate must elapse before this happy vision might become reality?’ For the life of him he could not keep a note of sarcasm out of his voice.

  ‘He means how long before we sees him,’ translated Madeleine, and she could not keep the excitement from hers.

  ‘Oh, I do not know exactly . . .’

  ‘Soon?’

  ‘I sincerely hope so,’ said Roland. He crossed his paws.

  At that very instant there was the sound of a motor coming up the lane. It stopped, the garden gate clicked, and there were footsteps on the gravel of the path. Roland, standing up against the wire door of his hutch, saw the approaching human before the mice. It was the fat man who had taken Magnus.

  ‘Cave hominem!’ snapped Roland. At this Latin phrase, taught him by Magnus, the mice would dart into the sleeping compartment and hide beneath the hay.

  Outside they could hear the rumble of men’s voices, fading for a few moments (for Jim had manufactured an excuse to have a look in the potting shed, hoping against hope) and then strengthening as they returned towards the hutch (Jim’s duck-pond eyes darting everywhere, vainly seeking that familiar figure).

  ‘Well, here’s the old rabbit then, Jim,’ said the cottager. ‘You’ll give him a good home, I know.’

  Madeleine and Marcus Aurelius cowered lower in the hay as the wire door of the hutch was opened. Then Roland felt strong fingers that yet were very gentle as they stroked the arch of his back, rubbed at the roots of his great ears, and finally smoothed the ears themselves, one at a time, softly, tenderly. He shivered with pleasure at the touch.

  ‘He’s a beauty,’ said Jim the Rat.

  ‘Right then. Grab ahold of the other end of the hutch. I’ll give you a lift into the van with it.’

  ‘Markie, Markie!’ whispered Madeleine in terror as the old van went racketing off down the lane. ‘’Tis the end of the world!’

  ‘Courage, Maddie dear,’ said Marcus Aurelius through chattering teeth.

  ‘All shall be well,’ said Roland, thrusting in his head from the outer compartment of the hutch. ‘Only stay hidden till I give the word.’

  The bumping and the rattling continued, accompanied by violent lurches as they swung round one of the many bends in the twisting road. Then suddenly, after one such lurch, the travellers in the hutch were thrown about as, with a scream of brakes, the van came to a shuddering halt.

  The silence that followed was broken by the voice of Jim the Rat, a voice that suddenly sounded old and choked.

  ‘Oh, no!’ said Jim. ‘Oh, I never saw you, coming round that bend! Oh, Your Majesty, Your Majesty, what have I done?’

  FIFTEEN

  Squash You Flat!

  Fortunately for Magnus, there was no traffic about when he first reached the road. For one thing it was early, and for another it happened to be a Sunday. Anyway the twisty lane didn’t really lead to anywhere much except Jim’s cottage and a couple of farms. He pressed on therefore on the crest of the road surface, in the gravest danger from any vehicle which might come along. Though he was quite unaware of the risks he was running, someone else was not, for he soon heard a voice that he recognized.

  ‘Crazy boy,’ said the hare, hopping along on the other side of the fence and staring sideways at him with its huge mad eyes, ‘get off the road.’

&nbs
p; Magnus increased his pace. ‘Going to find Mummy and Daddy,’ he said.

  ‘You’ll never make it, crazy boy,’ said the hare, lolloping easily in the field beside. ‘You want to know why?’

  ‘No,’ said Magnus firmly. He broke into a gallop, but he could not escape the remorseless voice of his escort.

  ‘Then I’ll tell you,’ said the hare, and he began to intone:

  ‘Mouse or hedgehog or stoat or rat

  Go on the road and they’ll squash you flat!

  Snake or lizard or frog or toad

  They’ll squash you flat if you go on the road!’

  again and again and again, until Magnus’s mind began to spin at the relentless chanting and he ran even faster in his efforts to be free of it.

  ‘Squash you flat . . . squash you flat . . . squash you flat . . . went over and over in his brain so that he heard nothing of the van as it swung round the sharp corner. Then there was only pain, and blackness, and silence.

  For a moment Jim the Rat could not force himself to get out of his van and look. I’ve squashed him flat, he thought in horror. When he did get out, a movement caught his eye in the field beside the lane, but it was only a hare which ran away in a series of great leaps and buckjumps, stopping every now and then to stand upon its hindlegs and shadow-box furiously with an imaginary opponent.

  Beneath and behind the van, the surface of the road was empty. Feverishly, Jim the Rat began to search amongst the tangle of weeds and brambles on the verge.

  Inside, the travellers conversed in nervous whispers.

  ‘Oh, Markie, Markie, what’s happened?’

  ‘A minor catastrophe, I imagine.’

  ‘Oh, Uncle Roland, what’s he mean?’

  ‘There’s been a small accident.’

  Then they heard the driver’s door open again. There was the rumble of the man’s voice – ‘Thank goodness . . . he’s breathing . . . can’t see anything broken . . . no blood . . . must have caught him a glancing blow . . . let’s get home quick’ – and then the sound of the engine starting.

  As soon as Jim the Rat reached his cottage he carried Magnus carefully inside. He put a cushion on the kitchen table and laid the unconscious King Mouse tenderly upon it. He ran back out to the van and picked up the rabbit hutch. Because he was anxious to get back to Magnus, he brought it into the kitchen and dumped it on the table. At the sight of the figure on the cushion Roland’s red eyes positively bulged.

  ‘Got to bring him round,’ said Jim the Rat, ‘but how? I know! Smelling salts! That’s what Mother used to use when Grandma felt faint . . . little dark blue bottle . . . got it somewhere . . . bathroom cupboard, I think,’ and he dashed upstairs.

  ‘Madeleine! Marcus Aurelius!’ called Roland. ‘Quick! Come and look! It’s Magnus!’

  Madeleine shot out of the sleeping compartment, Marcus limping hurriedly after her.

  ‘Oh no!’ she wailed. ‘He’s dead!’

  ‘I think not, Maddie dear,’ said Marcus excitedly. ‘Observe his respiration!’

  ‘His what?’

  ‘He breathes,’ said Roland.

  ‘Oh, my precious baby!’ cried Madeleine, and she popped through the wire and scuttled across the table.

  At that moment Jim’s footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  ‘Cave hominem!’ called Roland urgently, and when Madeleine took no notice of the warning he gave a tremendous alarm-thump with his hind legs, a thump so loud and reverberating that it would have woken the dead. In fact, it woke the living.

  ‘Mummy?’ murmured Magnus dazedly and, ‘Mummy’s here, my baby!’ cried Madeleine, and into the kitchen came Jim, the smelling salts in his hand.

  At the sight of an ordinary little brown house-mouse on his kitchen table, a house-mouse moreover with the cheek to sniff at his precious King, the ratcatcher reacted instinctively. Ordinary mice, like ordinary rats or any other kind of ordinary vermin, were, for him, creatures to be killed, without cruelty if possible but also without a second thought. He picked up a rolling-pin from the dresser.

  Afterwards neither Marcus Aurelius nor Roland could exactly remember what occurred in the next few seconds. Did Madeleine shoot underneath Magnus for protection? Or did he somehow rouse himself to cover her little body with his giant one before the threat of the upraised rolling-pin?

  But what neither Marcus Aurelius nor Roland could ever forget was what happened next. They saw Jim start his downward stroke and then, horrified, stop it. They saw Magnus rise to his feet upon the cushion, stiff-legged, his coat-hair on end, his black eyes focused once more and snapping with fury. They waited for the old cry of ‘Nasty! Bite you!’

  Instead, to their amazement, there burst from Magnus Powermouse a gush, a stream, a positive raging torrent of words.

  ‘Now look here,’ he cried angrily, staring up at Jim the Rat. ‘Just what exactly do you think you’re doing? I don’t pretend to understand what’s been happening – last thing I remember was running along a road looking for my parents – can’t think how they and Uncle Roland got here – but that’s not the point. The point is that you were just about to hit my mother on the head. My mother! The dearest, kindest, sweetest little old mother any mouse ever had! What’s the idea – treating me like a king, giving me all that marvellous grub –’ and he licked his lips even in the middle of his tirade ‘– and then you want to bash my old mother’s brains out! If you ever try to do such a nasty thing again I shall, without the shadow or semblance of a doubt, that is to say indubitably, bite you. Or my name’s not Magnus Powermouse! Which it is.’

  He paused for breath. From under his bulk Madeleine crept, her mouth open, her eyes on stalks.

  ‘You mark my words,’ said Magnus.

  SIXTEEN

  A Good Square Meal

  In stupefied silence they marked his words.

  ‘Markie!’ whispered Madeleine at last. ‘He’s talking! Proper!’

  ‘Properly.’

  ‘That’s what I said. He’s talking! How d’you suppose he done it?’

  ‘Did it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He did it, Maddie, dear.’

  ‘Yes, I knows that, stupid, but how?’

  Marcus Aurelius looked consideringly at his son, so newly talkative. Roland, experienced now in translating even the most ponderous speeches, moved closer to Madeleine.

  ‘Upon reflection –’ said Marcus Aurelius.

  ‘Thinking about it,’ muttered Roland.

  ‘– it is not without the bounds of probability –’

  ‘Seems likely.’

  ‘– that the reason for the boy’s loquacity –’

  ‘Why Magnus is talking so much.’

  ‘– May relate to the recent misadventure –’

  ‘Could have something to do with his accident.’

  ‘– in the course of which –’

  ‘When.’

  ‘– he may have received a concussion –’

  ‘He could have got a bang.’

  ‘– in the cranial area.’

  ‘On his head.’

  ‘Crumbs!’ said Madeleine. ‘It loosened his tongue!’

  All this time Jim the Rat had not moved except to lower the rolling-pin in the face of the loud and obviously angry fusillade of squeaks from the King Mouse. Now suddenly he felt quite weak with shock at the thought that he had come close to inflicting terrible injury upon His Majesty – and for the second time that morning! He sank into a chair, unstoppered the bottle of smelling salts and took a sniff.

  Once he had stopped choking, and had wiped his eyes with his large red white-spotted handkerchief, Jim could see that the little brown house-mouse had been joined by another, a grey one with a crippled foot. The pair of them fussed and frolicked around the King Mouse with obvious joy and excitement, and suddenly Jim realized. ‘Of course!’ he said softly. ‘It’s your mum and dad!’ He mopped his brow. ‘Whew!’ he said. ‘I nearly bashed your old mother’s brains out!’

  Inside the
hutch, Roland scrabbled eagerly at the wire netting, and Jim reached over and undid the catch of the door.

  ‘I suppose you’re his uncle,’ he said with a grin.

  The big white lop-eared rabbit hopped forward to join the mice and a chorus of squeaks and grunts broke out.

  ‘Oh, Uncle Roland!’ cried Madeleine joyfully. ‘You said we’d all meet again! You said it, sure as I’m sat here!’

  ‘Sure as I’m sitting here,’ said Marcus Aurelius.

  ‘Oh, Markie, I just said that. Why, I can remember the very words you used. You could see it all in your mind’s eye, you said – “the triumphal reunion of Magnus Powermouse –”’

  ‘“– with his pretty little mother –”’ put in Marcus.

  ‘“– and his wise father,”’ finished Madeleine.

  ‘I did indeed,’ said Roland, and he could not keep a little note of pride from his voice, ‘and I am so happy for you all.’ He turned to Magnus. ‘Are you all right, my boy?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, thanks, Uncle Roland,’ said Magnus. ‘Right at this moment there’s only one thing I need and that’s food. Watch this!’ And he shouted at Jim his first and favourite word.

  Obediently the ratcatcher produced a Smartie from his pocket. At the approach of his great hand Madeleine and Marcus Aurelius jumped nervously away.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Jim. ‘Take it easy. I won’t hurt you.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Roland. ‘Take it easy. He won’t hurt you.’

  ‘If you says so, Uncle Roland,’ said Madeleine tremblingly. ‘But I don’t mind telling you I was so scared I nearly squeaked.’

  Marcus Aurelius giggled nervously. ‘It was a near squeak,’ he said.

  Watching Magnus bolting his Smartie, Jim suddenly realized that in all the drama of the morning he had had no breakfast.

  ‘What we all need,’ he said, ‘is a good square meal.’

  ‘What we all need,’ said Magnus, ‘is a good square meal.’