The Song of the Winns

by Frances Watts

  “Lovely,” said Sophia absently. Her legs had moved closer to the desk on which the tea tray stood. “Those cupcakes do look delicious,” she said.

  “Mmmph,” the general agreed, but he made no move to offer them around.

  Sophia sighed and sank down into one of the chairs pulled up to the desk. Her feet were so close that Alice had to shuffle backward so that Sophia didn’t feel Alice’s breath on her toes.

  “And how are matters progressing with Songbird? I hope our contribution has encouraged him to sing more sweetly.”

  “Lephter!” the general called, and a shower of crumbs sprayed onto his lap and the floor around his feet.

  “Sir?” Lester oiled into the room so fast he must have been outside eavesdropping, Alice thought. She was reminded suddenly of Tobias’s secretary, who also seemed to be perpetually lurking outside his superior’s office.

  “Update us on Songbird’s latest communiqué, will you?”

  “Certainly, sir,” Lester replied. “He became quite cooperative once he found out we had a hostage.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. And well done to you for that idea, Sophia and Horace,” the general said, generous with his praise if not his cupcakes.

  “Songbird has now given us a lot of valuable information, but I’m afraid he is being rather obstinate on the matter of Zanzibar. He is still refusing to reveal Zanzibar’s location. Though it seems he’s willing to betray almost anyone else. See here, he’s given us a full list.”

  There was a rustle of paper then Sophia said, “Ah, this makes it all nice and clear.”

  “Sophia, what is it?” asked Horace. “Tell me.”

  “It’s a list, Horace, dear,” said the silvery mouse. “It is a complete list of the heirs to the House of Cornolius, and their last known whereabouts—though a few seem to be merely ‘in transit.’ And there’s no mention of Zanzibar’s hiding place, of course.”

  “How long is the list?” queried Horace. “I thought there was just one other heir besides Queen Eugenia: Zanzibar.”

  “Zanzibar is the primary threat, of course,” Sophia agreed. “But there are other heirs. Zanzibar has a brother, a sister—and don’t forget the next generation.”

  “You mean they all have to be killed?” Horace asked. He sounded rather weary, Alice thought.

  “That’s right,” Sophia said. “It would be best if Queen Eugenia’s was the only claim to the throne of Greater Gerander. Simpler.”

  “Exactly,” said Lester. “And thanks to Songbird, we can just work our way through the list. Look, I believe you have some old scores to settle with these two.”

  “Indeed we do,” Sophia replied. “And I see the ginger brat is high on the list.”

  “Ginger brat?” echoed the general. “Which one’s that?”

  “This one,” Sophia said, and Alice guessed she was pointing to someone on the list. “Queen Eugenia is particularly interested in him. If you see a ginger brat with a scarf, let me know.”

  A ginger brat with a scarf ? That had to be Alistair! How many ginger mice in scarves could the Sourians possibly know?

  “What’s this question mark below his name?” Sophia asked. “Is Songbird holding out on us?”

  Lester bent over the list. “Ah, that—no, that relates to a rumor. Something Keaters thought he heard years ago. We’re still seeking confirmation. But the good news is, the brat with the scarf may be within reach. Songbird has given us some very helpful information—the brat is on his way to Atticus Island, apparently.”

  Atticus Island? Did that mean Alistair was on a mission to rescue their parents? Alice felt hope flare within her, only to be abruptly dampened as she realized that he was unlikely to succeed if the Sourians knew all about his mission.

  “Though Songbird has left out a few details which we’d rather like to know. Like, how can he be so sure that the brat would make it all the way to Atticus Island without us capturing him? The rebels must have devised some way of moving around the country while evading our patrols. But Keaters has been preparing a little trap. He’ll worm the brat’s secrets out of him. I’m expecting word any time.”

  Someone called Keaters was going to trap Alistair?! Alice began to tremble. They had to do something. . . . Stop Keaters—stop Songbird. But how? She had no idea who they were. They had to get back to Stetson, to warn FIG. Oh, if only the Sourians would hurry up and leave the room so she could get out from under this desk!

  “Keaters?” Sophia snorted. “Are you sure he’s the right mouse for the job? He always makes things so needlessly complicated. All those elaborate tricks and schemes, ‘worming’ secrets out of our enemies. What’s wrong with simply kidnapping the brat and forcing him to reveal his secrets?”

  “We tried that, Sophia, remember?” Lester said. “You were supposed to kidnap him. Instead you ended up bogged down in a wild-goose chase.”

  “We—” Sophia began, but Lester interrupted her.

  “The trick is not to let the brat know he’s been captured. How does that old saying go? Ah yes: you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

  “Now hold on just a minute,” said Sophia. She sounded offended. “I don’t need lessons from anyone in how to persuade our enemies to cooperate.”

  Alice, who had herself been fooled by Sophia’s sweet manner, had to agree. But General Ashwover wasn’t interested in the rivalry between the spies.

  “So Keaters is taking care of the brat, eh? Excellent, excellent,” the general was saying. “Though really, Her Majesty won’t be satisfied until she has Zanzibar.” He slumped back in his chair again.

  Sophia’s silvery voice chimed in, “You know, General, I think it’s just a matter of applying a bit more pressure. Songbird has been trying to bargain with you. It’s time to show our friend in FIG exactly who’s in control here. We do have our hostage, after all.”

  The general chuckled, a high, unpleasant sound. “Hee hee hee. You’re quite right. I think Songbird will find the whiskers are on the other cheek now. Lester, tell Songbird . . .” He idly picked up another cupcake and chewed thoughtfully. “Tell Songbird the information about the ginger brat with the scarf is good, but not good enough. Queen Eugenia wants Zanzibar too, or . . . how should I put it? Ah yes, I have it. Unless Zanzibar’s hiding place is revealed to us, Songbird’s own chick will be . . .” The general let out a series of high giggles. “Songbird’s own chick will be pushed out of the nest.”

  “Very good, General,” Sophia said appreciatively as Lester bustled officiously from the room. “I’m sure that will achieve results.” She stood up and stretched. “Such a long and dangerous journey we’ve been on,” she remarked. “Wouldn’t you like a spot of tea and a cupcake, Horace dear? I would. Excuse me, General.” Alice heard the rattle of cups and saucers as Sophia pulled the tea tray across the desk away from the general. After a pause, the silvery voice rang out again. “General, does Cook usually write on the cupcakes?”

  “Write on the cupcakes? Don’t be absurd.”

  “But look,” Sophia persisted. “This cake has a G on it.”

  “A what?” The general’s knees shifted as he leaned across the desk. “Well I suppose it does look a bit like a G,” he conceded gruffly. “Perhaps it stands for ‘General,’ since they’re my cupcakes. But look at this one.” The chair creaked as he leaned farther forward. “There’s no G on that. And what about this one? No G on that.”

  “No, General,” Sophia agreed. “You’ve picked up an I, and . . .” She studied the general’s second cupcake. “An F.”

  “G, I, F? Bah!” There was a soft thud as the general threw his cupcakes back onto the tray. “What’s got into Cook? What on earth would possess her to spell out GIF on my cupcakes?”

  Sophia added her cupcake to the two the general had discarded. “Not GIF, General,” she said. “Look.”

  The general said aloud, “F, I, G . . . Why that spells FIG!” He pushed back his chair. “Lester!” he roared.

  Almost at once th
e oily black mouse appeared in the doorway.

  “Yes, General?” he said smoothly.

  “Get Cook in here at once!” General Ashwover ordered.

  “Right away, General,” the secretary promised.

  “Why must I be plagued by these petty acts of sabotage?” the general blustered. He slumped so low in his chair that Alistair and Alex had to squeeze to the outermost edges of the desk. Even so, their whiskers were almost tickling the general’s kneecaps.

  “Did you see the flowerbeds?” he demanded. “I ordered them replanted in readiness for Her Majesty’s arrival, and when the flowers bloomed they spelled FIG. Can you imagine if Queen Eugenia had seen that?” The general’s high voice sank to a hoarse whisper. “Her Majesty would not be pleased.”

  “No,” Sophia agreed. She sounded distracted. “She wouldn’t. General, these cupcakes are remarkably good. I’d like to meet this Cook of yours and ask her a few questions.”

  “That’s why I’ve sent for her,” the general said irritably. “This business of sabotaging cupcakes is inexcusable. I—”

  There was a rap on the door, and when the general barked, “Come in,” Lester entered, followed by a frightened-looking Cook clutching a wooden spoon.

  “Here’s Cook, sir, as you requested,” purred Lester.

  “Thank you, my man,” said the general. “Now, Cook, what is the meaning of these cupcakes?”

  “I-I’m sorry, General, sir,” said Cook. “I don’t know what you—”

  “You used fresh butter, didn’t you, Cook?” asked Sophia.

  “I did, ma’am,” said Cook, turning to the silvery gray mouse in confusion. “And eggs freshly laid, and—”

  “But what about the writing, Cook?” Ashwover bellowed. “Why did you write ‘FIG’ on my cupcakes?”

  “FIG on your . . . ?” Cook raised a hand to her chest. “But, General, I did no such thing.”

  The general moved forward in his chair. “Then how do you explain this?”

  Cook bustled over and squinted at the cupcakes. The shock in her voice sounded genuine as she said, “I can’t explain it. But I can tell you this, General: I have a six-course dinner to prepare for your guests here. . . .”

  Sophia gave a happy murmur.

  “. . . and I have no time for such nonsense as writing on cupcakes.”

  “Then who did?” the general wanted to know. “Could it have been your kitchen hand, perhaps?”

  “Not likely,” said Cook definitely. “He’s got measles. I had to get those two young mice of Fiercely’s to give me a hand this afternoon. Though I don’t know where they’ve got to,” she added crossly. “They promised to come back and peel my potatoes, and they never did, and potatoes don’t peel themselves you know, General.”

  “No,” said Ashwover. “I don’t suppose they do.”

  “Two young mice of Fiercely’s?” Sophia butted in. “Who are they?”

  “Fiercely Jones is the gardener, ma’am,” Cook explained. “And he’s took on a couple of new helpers of late—young orphans from Souris.”

  “You don’t say,” murmured Sophia, stroking her long whiskers.

  Alice froze.

  “What do these helpers of Fiercely Jones look like, Cook?” Sophia asked.

  “Well let me think,” said Cook, wrinkling her nose thoughtfully. “The girlie is a chocolatey brown with a white patch.” As Alice peeked out apprehensively from under the desk, Cook rubbed her hip in the approximate place of Alice’s white patch. “And the boyo is white with a brown patch.” Cook tapped her shoulder. “Here.”

  “Thank you, Cook, you may go,” Sophia said. The door closed behind her, and there was a few minutes’ silence, during which Sophia made the appreciative noises of someone whose mouth was full of cupcake.

  Finally the general heaved a sigh. “Well, Cook didn’t do much to shed light on the situation.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that, General,” Sophia disagreed. “It sounds to me like our young friends are close at hand, doesn’t it, Horace? They carried the cupcakes here from the kitchen, but they didn’t return to the kitchen as promised. Where are they now, I wonder. . . .”

  Suddenly Sophia pushed her chair back and dropped to the floor.

  Alice screamed as Sophia’s face come into view, staring right at her.

  “Aha!” cried Sophia. “These are no young orphans from Souris, General. They’re spies!”

  As Sophia’s hand shot out to grab her, Alice wriggled backward, colliding with the knee of the general, who reared back in surprise. She was trapped!

  She felt a hand seize her wrist. “No!” she cried, but then she heard Alex say urgently, “This way, sis!” He dragged her under the general’s chair and, to the sound of startled gasps from those assembled in the room, they shot out from under the desk and bolted for the door set into the wall.

  “Alex,” Alice cried as they plunged into darkness. “Where are we?” She stumbled and almost lost her footing as the ground dropped away abruptly. They were on a set of stairs, she realized.

  “Servants’ stairs,” said Alex, releasing her wrist. “Stay close.”

  Alice put one hand on the rough stone wall to guide her as she scampered down the winding stairs behind her brother. Above, she could hear Sophia’s voice, sharper than usual.

  “Where do the stairs lead, General?” Sophia demanded, her voice loud against the bare stone.

  “I don’t know,” came back Ashwover’s voice. “They’re the old servants’ stairs.”

  “Then they must lead to the servants’ areas. Someone alert the guards.” Sophia’s voice was growing fainter the further Alice descended, but she clearly heard the silvery voice say, “I’m going after them.”

  “I’ll wait here!” the general called after Sophia, as the stairwell above Alice echoed with the pounding of footsteps.

  19

  The Traitor

  Alistair!” a voice cried. “What are you doing?”

  Alistair started. It was Slippers Pink!

  “Slippers! Keaters, it’s okay—it’s Slippers Pink.” But when he glanced up at the window, the black mouse had vanished. “Keaters?”

  “Alistair?” Slippers Pink was staring up at him in astonishment. “What are you doing up there?”

  “Er, we were escaping,” Alistair said. He looked at the balled-up scarf in his hand, then at the empty windowsill. “Me and Keaters. But he must have jumped. We thought you were the guards, you see.”

  “Keaters,” Slippers sniffed. “I should have known.” She rubbed the back of her neck reflectively. “Put your scarf back on, Alistair, and come down from there. We need to get moving.”

  Alistair hastily knotted his scarf around his neck and clambered down the metal slats.

  “You’ve had a close call there, my boy,” Slippers said when Alistair was standing on the floor in front of her. Her voice was grim, but she laid an affectionate hand on his shoulder.

  “What do you mean?” Alistair asked.

  “Keaters,” Slippers growled. Then she held up a hand and peered around the edge of the doorway. “All clear. Right, follow me and I’ll explain as we go.”

  They set off down the corridor, back the way they had come hours earlier, past cell after empty cell.

  “Just as you entered the cell looking for Emmeline and Rebus, I saw a shadow move in the next cell along. I ducked into the nearest cell myself and waited, and sure enough I heard a cell door bang, and you call out, then I saw a mouse rush away down the corridor. I thought it was odd that he wasn’t wearing a guard’s uniform, so I followed him.” She shook her head wearily. “I ended up chasing him all over the island. We had quite a tussle at the end. I wasn’t able to make him talk.” She rubbed her knuckles ruefully. “Probably because I had to knock him out so he didn’t push me over a cliff. At least I got the key to the cell though.”

  As they reached the bottom of the stairs Alistair hastened toward the door, eager to leave the cold stone tower far behind him. But Slipp
ers Pink grabbed his arm. “Wait,” she said in a low voice. “We need a plan to get off this island. Since there is not another soul here, I’d presume Keaters and his accomplice arrived by the boat we saw.”

  “There’s no one else?” said Alistair. “No one at all?”

  “No guards, no prisoners,” Slippers Pink confirmed. “Strange, huh?”

  “Very,” Alistair agreed. “So our plan is to take their boat?” He was relieved to hear that they wouldn’t be returning via the underwater tunnel; he didn’t think he could face it again.

  “Before they do,” said Slippers Pink. “And we don’t have much time. Knowing Keaters, he won’t bother looking for his accomplice; he’ll only be interested in saving his own sorry skin. He’s had a head start, and he’ll be watching for us, which will make it all the harder.”

  “So what should we do?” asked Alistair.

  “Look and listen,” Slippers Pink explained.

  They sat just inside the door to the tower, from where they had a good view of the reef below. The only sound was the waves crashing onto rocks.

  Alistair was dying to ask Slippers about Keaters, but every time he opened his mouth to whisper the question she raised her slender hand and shook her head.

  Many minutes passed, and then manymore, until Alistair was starting to feel sure that Keaters must have already left the island. Then Slippers Pink touched him lightly on the arm and pointed.

  “There,” she breathed.

  Out of the shadows of the tower limped a small black mouse. He must have injured himself jumping from the second story of the tower, Alistair surmised.

  “He was probably waiting for us to leave so he could follow us,” Slippers said. “I imagine he’s still trying to catch you. Now he’ll be thinking that we somehow slipped by him.”

  As the black mouse slid and stumbled down the cliff path, Slippers said, “Let’s go after him—but quietly. The element of surprise is the only weapon we have.”