Alistair unwound his scarf and splashed water on his prickly neck as he considered her question.
“It’ll be dark soon,” he said. “I reckon we pull the raft up onto the bank and try to get some sleep, then head off at first light. What do you think?”
“Aye, aye,” said Tibby. “Blackberries for dinner, I assume?”
The prospect wasn’t as appealing as it would have been a few hours earlier, but Alistair nodded. “And let’s collect some for the journey,” he said.
They settled back beside the reeds some minutes later, the raft pulled up on the bank beside them, a neat pile of blackberries in one corner. As he waited for sleep to come, Alistair watched a dozen swallows swooping, silhouetted against the sky in the fading light. He was feeling nervous but optimistic. Tomorrow he would be on his way home.
7
Mount Sharpnest
Alex and Alice set off early, carrying the remainder of the meal given to them by their reluctant host. “Remind me again how much farmers’ wives like orphans,” said Alice, stretching to get the knots out of her arms from the fruit-picking and out of her back from the uncomfortable night on the floor of the barn with a sack of grain for a pillow.
“She wasn’t a farmer’s wife, though,” Alex pointed out. “She was a farmer. I never said farmers like orphans, did I?”
After walking for a couple of hours they stopped for a rest by the side of the road, and each had a piece of bread, but at Alice’s insistence made sure to be sparing with it in case they hadn’t found more food by dinnertime.
The road ahead of them snaked off to the east, while a narrow dirt path headed due north.
“That must be the shortcut over Mount Sharpnest,” said Alice, pointing.
“Great, let’s go that way,” said her brother promptly.
Alice hesitated. “But didn’t we agree it would be more sensible to go by road?”
“Sensible!” scoffed Alex. “We don’t need sensible—we need speed! I bet the kidnappers go by road, right? So we take this shortcut over the mountains and come out in front of them.”
“That does sound like a good plan,” Alice conceded. “You carry the rucksack.”
They turned onto the narrow path, which wound between straggly, unkempt bushes and twisted rough-barked trees. Huge rocks jutted into the sky above them like enormous tombstones. Some small hardy shrubs and dry grasses clung stubbornly to the steep sides, but the higher reaches were bare, exposing steep crevasses and sheer drops. One lone mountain with a snowy peak towered above the rest, piercing the sky like a claw: Mount Sharpnest.
They trudged for hours, barely speaking, up and up and up until the sun was sinking in the sky. Alice, whose steps had become slower and heavier as the hills had grown steeper, declared: “I’m exhausted. I think we should try to find somewhere to stop for the night.”
“Stop? We don’t have time to stop,” replied Alex, though he was puffing slightly.
“Well, presumably the kidnappers will need to rest too,” Alice reasoned. “And they’ve got Alistair with them, maybe tied up, so that would slow them down as well.”
“Oh, all right,” said Alex. “How about we go as far as that cave up there?” He pointed to an opening in the rock face at the top of the next hill. “That’ll give us shelter and a good view of the valley.”
“It’d be nice if it gave us a feather pillow,” muttered Alice. “I don’t know . . . What if there’s something in there?”
“Like what?”
“Snakes. Spiders.” She shivered.
Alex rolled his eyes. “Or scaredy-mice,” he said. “Come on. I’ll check it out first.”
They walked on, and though Alice was sure her legs wouldn’t be able to carry her up yet another hill, the thought that every step forward was one step closer to Alistair spurred her on. When they reached the cave at last, Alex went in first, as promised, and although it was dank and dark, it was also silent and completely free of snakes and spiders. So they sat inside the entrance of the cave and looked over the valley as they ate an unsatisfactory dinner of dry bread, then they lay down.
“Do you think we’ll find Alistair tomorrow?” Alice murmured sleepily after a few minutes, shifting to find a comfortable position on the stony ground.
But her brother was already asleep.
The two young mice slumbered undisturbed as sunset turned to twilight, but as the moon rose, the cave was suddenly filled with flapping and beating and hundreds of shrill cries.
“Eeek!” cried Alice in terror, covering her head with her arms. “Bats! Alex, wake up! Help!”
“I’m awake,” came Alex’s muffled voice, almost indistinguishable above the shrieks of the bats. “Run, sis—yikes!” He ducked as a wing brushed his neck. “Stay down.”
They wriggled forward on their bellies, trying to avoid the mass of dark shapes surging toward the night sky.
As they reached the mouth of the cave Alice dived forward, only to find her progress arrested by Alex’s hand grabbing her tail. “Alex, let go,” she began, turning to scold him, but in the dim light she saw that he had his finger to his lips. Then he let go of her tail and pointed down the path they had climbed earlier. There, bathed in moonlight, were two mice—one silvery gray, the other coal black.
Alice and Alex shrank into the shadows at the side of the cave as the pair drew closer.
“If we hadn’t stopped for a meal in that last town there’d be no need for this ridiculous shortcut,” said the black mouse. His voice carried clearly in the still night air.
“I was hungry,” argued the gray mouse. “I can’t be expected to undertake active duties on an empty stomach.”
“Tell that to the boss,” said the black mouse gloomily.
“Oh, Horace, don’t be such a worry-whiskers,” said the silvery gray mouse with a peal of laughter. “Besides, you must admit that goat’s cheese omelet was delicious—very piquant goat’s cheese that.”
Alex suppressed a moan at the mention of goat’s cheese.
“It was all right, I suppose,” said the mouse called Horace. “But now we’ve lost sight of them.”
“Calm down, Horace, dear,” said the gray mouse. “We’re trailing a couple of kids, for goodness’ sake—they’re hardly likely to outrun us, are they? Anyway, they’ll be going the long way by road, so we’ll cut across the mountains and pop out ahead of them. You watch—we’ll be sitting around for ages waiting for them to catch up.”
“We’ll see,” said gloomy Horace, clearly unconvinced. “Anyway, Sophia, I’m not so sure crossing the Mount Sharpnest pass is really the most sensible route.”
Alice elbowed her brother and breathed, “See?”
“Don’t be so nervous all the time, Horace,” Sophia advised. “It’s bad for your digestion. Now let’s find somewhere to sleep till the sun comes up so we can see this path properly. There—aren’t I being sensible?” She scanned the moonlit landscape. “I think there’s a cave up there.”
Alice had to stifle a scream. The gray mouse was pointing right at them!
Alex grabbed his sister by the arm, and the pair shuffled silently backward, deeper into the cave.
They could no longer see the other mice, but the voices were getting closer.
“No way,” said Horace. “Look at those bats circling around.”
“They won’t hurt you,” Sophia assured him.
“No,” repeated Horace firmly. “Not the cave.”
“Oh, all right . . . Well, how about that outcrop of rocks farther on? It looks like there might be a bit of tufty grass up there we can lie on.”
“Better,” said the black mouse. His voice was so close now that they must be right outside the cave.
Alex and Alice lay still, huddled against the damp cold stone, hardly daring to breathe.
“Are you sure about the cave?” Sophia asked, and suddenly the two young mice saw her silhouette in the cave opening.
Alice pressed her face into the cave floor to muffle her fright
ened squeak.
“Sophia!”
“Just teasing,” she said lightly, and they moved on.
Alice and Alex continued to lie on the floor of the cave, trembling, until at last the voices had faded.
Alex sat up. “That was close,” he said shakily. “We were almost kidnapped ourselves.”
Alice shook her head. “I don’t get it,” she said. “Who’s following who? It sounded to me like they were following us. And if they’re the kidnappers, why don’t they have Alistair with them?”
“You’re right.” Alex thought for a moment. “Maybe they’re not the kidnappers,” he said at last. “Maybe . . . maybe they’re on our side. In fact, I thought Sophia sounded rather nice.”
“You’re just saying that because of the goat’s cheese omelet. You can’t judge people by your stomach.” Alice sighed. “They might be friends or they might be kidnappers or they might be . . .” Her stomach clenched with fear and she felt cold sweat bead on her brow. “They might be . . .” She swallowed. “They might be murderers. What if they’ve killed Alistair and now they’re coming after us?”
Alex gave a scornful laugh. “You’ve been reading too many of Alistair’s adventure stories, sis. Murderers don’t stop for goat’s cheese omelets.”
Alice had to admit that it did sound unlikely, though she supposed that even murderers had to eat. “I don’t know who they are or what they want with us,” she said. “But I’d like to find out. Let’s follow them and see if we can overhear some more.”
“Do we have to? I’m tired,” Alex grumbled. Then he brightened. “But if they are on our side, we’ll be eating goat’s cheese omelets instead of old bread. You’re right, sis. Let’s get going.”
Alex leading the way, they set off along the path once more. The bright moon shone some much-needed light, but the towering rocks cast strange shadows which would unexpectedly plunge them into darkness. As they climbed higher toward the forbidding peak of Mount Sharpnest, the path fell away steeply beside them. Alice couldn’t see how far the drop was, but she felt sure it was farther than a mouse could survive. Oh, why had she listened to Alex when he suggested taking the shortcut? She had known in her heart it was the wrong thing to do. Watching her brother’s back as he moved steadily up ahead of her, never seeming to falter or stumble, she felt a surge of resentment. It was all right for him—he was strong enough to walk forever. But she was tired . . . so tired . . . ouch! Alice gave a squeak of pain as she stepped on a sharp stone. If taking the Mount Sharpnest shortcut was a stupid idea, it wasn’t half as stupid as undertaking the most treacherous part of the climb in the dark. And that particular stupid idea, she had to admit, was her own. Yet what choice did they have? If Horace and Sophia were the kidnappers—but how could they be? They didn’t have Alistair. Ouch! As another stone lodged in the soft part of her foot Alice decided that she had better concentrate on where she was going. One misstep might mean falling to her death, she told herself with a shudder, and one noisy skittering stone might wake the two mice—were they friends or foes?—who were sleeping somewhere close by.
As they drew closer to the outcrop of rocks Sophia had pointed out, Alex slowed and turned to face Alice, his finger to his lips. Alice didn’t need reminding of the danger. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears, both from fear and exertion, she feared that the sound of her heartbeat alone might give them away.
Slowly, they crept forward. Slowly, slowly. They could hear the breathing of the sleeping mice, but they couldn’t see them in the dark. Alice kept one hand on the rock face rearing up beside them, edging forward behind her brother, careful not to make a sound. Then suddenly, Alex jumped backward, bumping into Alice, who was thrown off-balance. Her hands clawed desperately at the earth as she skidded toward the edge but her momentum was too great. Her scream shattered the silence as she fell into the abyss.
8
The Queen’s Guards
As the first rays of light touched the river, Alistair opened his eyes. He was surprised, at first, to feel a stone under his back, a slight pain in his shoulder, the whisper of a breeze ruffling his fur. To see the pale sky instead of the ceiling of Aunt Beezer’s study. But as the events of the past twenty-four hours filtered through his mind he sprang to his feet.
There was no sign of Tibby Rose.
“Tibby?” Alistair called in a low voice. “Tibby Rose?”
To his relief, she immediately appeared from behind the bamboo grove. In each hand she held a long thick piece of rounded bark. “Paddles,” she said, holding them up.
Not for the first time Alistair reflected on how fortunate he was to have fallen on Tibby Rose, who was proving the ideal companion for his journey. “You really do think of everything,” he said.
After an unexciting breakfast of blackberries, they launched the raft as they had practiced the evening before, and soon were in the middle of the river, floating slowly downstream. Tibby stood at the rear of the craft, correcting their course slightly now and then with the aid of the bamboo pole, while Alistair sat at the front and paddled.
At first they passed several clearings similar to the one they had spent the night in, and the odd beach—all deserted at this early hour, thank goodness—but as they left Templeton behind, the shrubs lining the river became more wild and tangled. There was no sign of life other than the silvery shape of fish below the water’s surface and birds soaring in the distance.
As the sun crept above the left bank to cast a benign glow on their peaceful progress, Alistair sighed with satisfaction.
“The current’s getting stronger,” Tibby observed. “We’re picking up speed.”
Soon they were moving so swiftly there was no need for Alistair to paddle. Instead he scanned the banks to their left and right; he was keen to avoid another close encounter with the ginger-hating mice of Souris.
Fortunately, those mice they did see—strolling along the river bank, weeding small vegetable plots abutting the river, fishing in small dinghies—barely had time to take in the fact that there were two ginger mice sailing toward them on a bamboo raft before they had passed by.
“This really is an excellent way to travel,” Alistair remarked.
“At this rate we’ll reach Lake Eugenia by nightfall,” Tibby agreed.
“Though I guess we’ll need to do something about food before then,” Alistair said. He’d had a gnawing sensation in his stomach for some time that the odd blackberry from the pile they had amassed the night before wasn’t easing. “We don’t have that many blackberries left. We probably should have stopped when we saw those vegetable gardens a while back. Maybe we could have offered to help with the work in exchange for some food.”
“Sure,” said Tibby. “We could have weeded the carrot patch while the gardener ran for the Queen’s Guards.”
“You’re right,” said Alistair. “I doubt anyone around here would appreciate our help. And I suppose there’s no point stopping at that town up ahead.”
They had just swept around a wide lazy curve to see a long straight stretch of river running alongside a town as gray as Templeton had been, other than a distant flash of red. As they grew closer a bell began to toll, and that, combined with the hot sun which was now directly over their heads, put the idea of lunch firmly in Alistair’s head. “It must be midday,” he said.
“Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen,” Tibby counted aloud. “I don’t think so.”
As the river moved inexorably toward the cluster of gray stone buildings surrounded by a high wall, the flash of red up ahead gradually revealed itself to be a member of the Queen’s Guards, standing on a bridge.
“Tibby, look!” Alistair pointed at the red-clad mouse. Did the guards of this town always keep watch on river traffic or was the guard on the lookout for two ginger mice?
As the bell continued to toll, echoing loudly across the river, two columns of mice in red coats and black boots marched through the town gate at double speed. On the beach below the bridge, Alistair could just mak
e out two narrow boats with six pairs of oars apiece. The guard on the bridge was shouting and gesticulating in the direction of the bamboo raft, and it was clear that this was no friendly welcoming party.
Alistair snatched up his paddle. “Help me, Tib,” he called.
Tibby Rose pulled the pole onto the raft and grabbed the other piece of bark, and with Alistair on the left and Tibby on the right they began to paddle.
They sailed under the bridge as the Queen’s Guards reached the bank. “You two!” yelled the guard on the bridge. “In the name of Queen Eugenia, I order you to stop! I order you to—” His last order was drowned out by the sound of a splash, and Alistair glanced over his shoulder to see that the first of the two boats had been launched, followed quickly by the second.
“Rowers, stroke!” called the guard in the fore of the boat. “Left, right, left . . .,” he began.
Ignoring the screaming of his arm muscles, Alistair tried to increase his own stroke. “Come on, Tib,” he urged, his heart pounding in his ribcage. “As fast as you can.”
“There’s no way we can outpace them,” Tibby gasped.
“Well, I don’t like the alternative,” Alistair said grimly, putting all his muscle into the effort.
But as hard as they paddled, the pursuing boats grew closer.
“Left, right,” boomed the guard, in time to the splash of oars.
“Oh no,” Tibby cried. “We’ll run aground!” Up ahead, the river widened and the riverbed was visible as the water ran shallow over sandbars separated by narrow channels.
“Take the pole,” Alistair instructed. “Use it to keep us off the sandbars. This might work in our favor.”
And so it did. Alistair propelled them forward with the paddle, Tibby guided with the pole, and their lightweight raft skimmed through the shallows into deeper water. The Queen’s Guards, on the other hand, lost precious time as they ran aground and were forced to climb out and carry their boat through the ankle-deep water, their polished boots slipping on the wet rocks and sinking into the sandy bottom.
The Secret of the Ginger Mice Page 7
