The Secret of the Ginger Mice

by Song of the Winns

  “It’s a resistance movement fighting for Gerander’s freedom from Sourian occupation,” Tibby Rose piped up.

  “Who told you that?” Feast wanted to know.

  “A . . . a mouse,” said Tibby hesitantly.

  Slippers swatted the air impatiently. “Of course it was a mouse,” she said. “But which mouse? Hang on . . .” She turned to Alistair. “How much have Ebenezer and Beezer told you? They weren’t supposed to tell you anything till you were older,” she grumbled.

  “Uncle Ebenezer and Aunt Beezer? They haven’t told me any—wait, do you mean they’re part of FIG too? But that’s ridiculous; we’re Shetlockers, not Gerandan.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Feast Thompson told him. “Raskus—Rebus and Ebenezer’s father—was Gerandan. And Emmeline was born in Gerander, and lived there for much of her childhood until she escaped.”

  Alistair sat with his mouth open, trying to take this all in. “So both my parents are Gerandan? I never knew.” Suddenly he was bursting with questions. “Were they part of FIG? Did that have anything to do with how they died?”

  “Slow down,” said Feast. “I can only answer one question at a time. Yes, Emmeline and Rebus were part of FIG. As for your other question . . .” He shook his head. “I’m afraid so. They sneaked across the Gerandan border on what was meant to be a short mission and . . .” He let the sentence hang unfinished.

  “They died on a mission?!” Alistair shouted. “What kind of mission?”

  “Shhh,” Slippers and Feast shushed him.

  “For obvious reasons, we’re trying to keep a low profile here,” said Slippers. “So please do try to keep your voice down.”

  “But my parents,” Alistair said through the lump that was building in his throat. “Where were they going? What were they doing? Why couldn’t anyone save them?”

  Slippers explained, “It’s very hard to get information into, out of, and around Gerander, and very hard to travel within the country. The Sourian occupiers of Gerander keep watch on the mail, on all the roads—they’re determined to prevent the citizens of Gerander from communicating with each other and organizing an uprising. But there is another way. . . .” Slippers Pink tilted her head to one side as if appraising them. “Emmeline had special knowledge, you see.”

  “Slippers. . . .” Feast Thompson said in what sounded like a warning tone.

  “It’s okay,” said Slippers Pink. “Timmy thought—” She stopped and turned to whisper something in Feast’s ear. Then she turned back to Alistair and Tibby Rose. “What I am about to tell you is of the utmost secrecy,” she said. “Do you understand?”

  Alistair and Tibby Rose looked at each other and then nodded.

  “And do you agree never to reveal this information?”

  Alistair nodded again, though he wondered why he and Tibby Rose, who had never even heard of FIG and the history of Gerander’s occupation until a few hours ago, should be entrusted with secret information.

  Slippers continued, “There are other paths through Gerander. Paths known only to a few. They have never been recorded in writing, but are passed down through families in other ways; they are sung or painted or danced. If the secret of these paths was shared, it would mean members of FIG could travel freely through Gerander. And then, maybe, we could finally bring Gerandans together to rise up against the Sourian occupiers.”

  “And my mother?” said Alistair, who had an inkling of what was coming next.

  “She knew the secret of the paths.”

  Slippers Pink looked at Alistair expectantly, but Alistair had no idea what it was she wanted from him. When it was clear she was finished, Alistair said, “So my parents . . .” He wasn’t sure he could bear to hear the answer to his own question, but he had to know the truth. “So my parents were killed for the secret?”

  Feast Thompson exhaled heavily. “We don’t know. Perhaps—though as far as we know General Ashwover and his army are unaware of the secret paths. It’s more likely your parents were killed because they were identified as spies.” His voice deepened. “I’m sorry, Alistair. But they knew the risks.”

  Alistair stared into the fire, struggling to come to terms with the idea of his mother as a spy, a spy with a special secret. . . .

  “So where do I come in?” Tibby asked. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that I’m Gerandan too.”

  “On your father’s side,” said Slippers.

  “My father?” Tibby sat bolt upright. “You knew my father?”

  Slippers said, “Yes, indeed: every member of FIG considers him a hero. And he wouldn’t be pleased to know that you’d left your grandfather’s house.”

  “So you knew I was there?”

  “Certainly,” said Slippers. “It was the safest place for you. And for Alistair. Though I’m afraid your grandfather and great-aunt must have been rather surprised to see Alistair. There was a . . . mishap.”

  Feast Thompson gave an embarrassed cough. “We had written them a note explaining Alistair’s sudden appearance. Oswald was meant to leave it with them when he dropped you off but he, er, he swallowed it.”

  “But that doesn’t change the fact that you never should have taken off by yourselves,” Slippers Pink said sternly. “Tibby Rose, your relatives made many sacrifices to keep you safe.”

  “I . . . I didn’t know,” said Tibby, looking ashamed. “I didn’t know that they had to protect me because I was Gerandan. I thought they must be embarrassed by me because I was ginger.”

  “Not at all,” said Feast Thompson. “They weren’t happy about your parents’ marriage, but only because they feared for Lucia’s safety; they weren’t at all bothered by the fact that your father was Gerandan. They’re good people—and they must be beside themselves with worry about you now. I’m sure they’ll be most relieved to see you when Oswald takes you back tonight.”

  “Takes us back?” said Alistair. “No. No way. I’m on my way home to Smiggins. My brother and sister’ll be worried too, and my aunt and uncle.”

  Feast looked surprised. “Worried? They’ll be glad you’re safe. I’m sure our letter would have made it perfectly clear why it was necessary to remove you to Templeton at such short notice. But like I said, there was a change of plan. We have an urgent rendezvous near the Eugenian Range or we’d accompany you back to Templeton ourselves.”

  “But why can’t Oswald take me back to Smiggins?” Alistair argued.

  “Smiggins isn’t safe for you,” Slippers Pink explained. “One of our spies in the Sourian army learned that two of the Queen’s agents were on their way to kidnap you.”

  “But why me?” Alistair asked for what seemed to him the fiftieth time. “I know I’m ginger, but if I’m Gerandan my brother and sister are too, so why is it only me that’s in danger?”

  He saw a strange look pass between Feast Thompson and Slippers Pink.

  “Something’s going on in Gerander at the moment,” Feast said vaguely. “We’re not sure what, but it’s got everyone on the hop.”

  “Is it something to do with the prison break?” Tibby Rose asked. “And Zanzibar escaping?”

  “Zanzibar—Zanzibar has escaped?” Slippers Pink gasped. She put a hand to her mouth and bowed her head.

  “Are you sure?” Feast Thompson asked urgently. “How do you know?”

  “The mouse I mentioned earlier . . . he told us. He told us about Gerander and FIG, and about how Zanzibar should be the king. He escaped from a prison in the Cranken Alps with Zanzibar. He said he was in Souris on an important mission.”

  “Our rendezvous,” said Feast, almost to himself. He stood up and began to pace. “Right, we’ve got no time to lose. Slippers, let’s go. Oswald, are you still there?”

  There was a hoot from a tree at the edge of the clearing, then Oswald swooped down to join them.

  “Wait,” said Alistair. “Wouldn’t it be quicker if Oswald took you to your rendezvous first, then came back for us?”

  Slippers shook her head. “No, we’
re not leaving you here on your own. It’s out of the question.”

  Feast looked at Slippers. “I don’t know, Slips,” he said. “The rendezvous . . . What if the Queen’s Guards should reach him before we do?”

  Slippers Pink looked torn. “But what if anything happened to Alistair and Tibby Rose?” she said. “It’s a miracle we’ve found them again as it is. We can’t take any more risks.”

  Feast Thompson shrugged. “It’s your call,” he said, “but at least we know where Alistair and Tibby Rose are now, and if they sit tight and wait here for Oswald, I can’t see the problem.”

  “I guess,” said Slippers Pink, still looking doubtful. Then she groaned. “But I wish we didn’t have to fly, it makes me so queasy—no offense, Oswald.”

  “None taken,” said Oswald in a deep voice.

  Slippers pulled on her shiny black boots while Feast Thompson stowed the cooking pot in a rucksack that had been sitting in the shadows.

  “You two wait right here till Oswald comes back for you,” Slippers reminded them. Then she gave them each a hug and hurried to the center of the clearing. It looked almost as if she were crying, Alistair thought.

  “It really was good to meet you both,” Feast Thompson said, placing one hand on Alistair’s shoulder and the other on Tibby’s. “I hope that next time it’s in happier circumstances.”

  He went to stand by Slippers Pink.

  As Oswald’s talons closed gently around them, Alistair heard Slippers say, “Oh, Feast, could it really be true? Could Zanzibar be free?”

  Then with a flap of Oswald’s mighty wings, they soared off into the night.

  17

  Ship Ahoy!

  It felt to Alice like she was falling in slow motion, though in fact it was probably only a matter of seconds till she hit the water. She was momentarily stunned by the force of the impact, a sudden blow that knocked all the air from her body, then she was plunged into the sea’s icy depths. The shock of cold brought her to her senses, and she swam for the surface, desperate for air.

  She had no sooner broken the surface and taken a welcome breath, when she was pulled under again. Something had her by the tail! She struggled against it, kicking out, and finally wrenched free to take another gulp of air. Her tail was grabbed again, and this time she recognized the distorted shape beneath the waves as Alex.

  “What are you doing?” she yelled at him as he surfaced beside her. “Let go! I need to breathe.” Indeed, she was feeling rather short of breath, treading water in the large swell, trying to stay afloat.

  “We can’t let Sophia see that we survived the fall,” her brother panted. “We need to get under the shadow of the cliff and then try to swim back to the cove.”

  Alice immediately saw the sense in what he was saying. If Sophia knew they were still alive, she would come after them; if she believed them drowned, they would finally be able to make good their escape. Alice took a deep breath and then, reluctantly, dived down into the icy water. The salt stung her open eyes, but she could just make out the shape of Alex ahead of her. She tried to hold the air in her lungs for as long as possible before letting it leak out slowly. She was starting to feel light-headed by the time she saw her brother swim up to the surface, and she kicked up to join him.

  For a few seconds, neither of them could speak, all they could do was draw quick ragged breaths as they tried to stay afloat using as little energy as possible. When at last her heartbeat had slowed and she was able to look around, Alice realized that they had swum all the way around the cliff, and were now facing the small cove they had been heading toward.

  Alex, who had been scanning the cliff, said, “I can’t see any sign of Sophia. With any luck, she’ll think we’ve drowned. All right, sis, final stretch—see you on the beach.” And he set off toward the sand with a fast freestyle.

  Alice, who was so exhausted she could barely move her arms, tried a more sedate breaststroke—after all, if Sophia was no longer after them there was no need to hurry, she reasoned. But it seemed that although she swam with all her remaining strength, she wasn’t getting any closer to shore. In fact, she noted with alarm, she was getting farther away from shore!

  “Alex!” she cried. “Alex, help! I’m being pulled out to sea!”

  “Me too,” her brother called. “The current’s too strong.” Turning, he swam back toward Alice. “Don’t fight it, sis,” he advised, “you’ll only wear yourself out. If we can just stay afloat, we’re bound to be picked up by a boat.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” Alice whimpered. “My arms are so tired.”

  “You have to, Alice,” said her brother firmly. “Anyway,” he said, mimicking Uncle Ebenezer, “staying afloat is the easy bit—try doing it when you’re holding another mouse by the tail.”

  Alice laughed weakly, and kept paddling.

  For a while her arms and legs seemed to move of their own accord, as if they no longer belonged to her, while she concentrated on keeping her nose above the choppy waves. But as time passed—it could have been minutes or hours, she could no longer tell, it just felt like they had been in the sea forever—her muscles began to ache and she became painfully aware of her limbs. If it wasn’t for Alex, constantly exhorting her to keep going, reminding her that Alistair needed them, that Aunt Beezer and Uncle Ebenezer too might be in danger, she was sure she would have given up, so great was her fatigue.

  To her left she could still see the shore, but it was far away and getting farther. Even if the current hadn’t been sweeping them on relentlessly, she doubted she could swim that far. What had she said earlier, in the cellar, about them being strong swimmers? She didn’t feel strong at all; she felt very, very weak. Weak and tired. Oh, if only she could rest her weary arms and legs for just one minute, and rest her weary eyes as well. . . . That was better. So peaceful, dreaming and drifting. She felt wonderfully relaxed and . . .

  “ALICE!”

  Alice opened her eyes with a start. She took a breath and water filled her mouth and nose and she began to cough. Seized with panic, her mind went blank and she forgot how to swim, her arms lashing out wildly. And then she was floating on her back, and Alex was holding her beneath the chin, saying, “It’s okay, sis, I’ve got you. Just stay calm.”

  After a few minutes her panic subsided. “I’m—I’m all right now,” Alice said, and started to move her arms and legs with renewed determination. She was so ashamed of herself; her brother, swimming for his own life, had had to expend precious energy to save hers.

  A breeze sprang up, sending clouds scudding across the sun, and the water grew cold.

  “L-l-look,” Alex said suddenly through chattering teeth. It was a ship!

  “Help!” they called. “Help!”

  But their voices were lost in the slap of waves against the ship’s hull and the creaking of the rigging as the sails caught the breeze. Meanwhile, the wash of the ship’s wake was sweeping them farther from their goal.

  “HELP!”

  Then a voice rang out: “Captain, there’s two mice on the starboard bow!”

  “What are they doing there?” a gruff voice demanded.

  “Drowning, I think,” said the first voice. “What should we do?”

  “What should we do?! Throw ’em a line and pull ’em in, son—and be quick about it!”

  A lifeline was thrown and the two young mice clung to it desperately. As they reached the ship’s hull, a rope ladder was lowered.

  “You first, sis,” said Alex, and Alice began to climb, her weak muscles and frozen limbs screaming in protest. As the ladder lurched and swung with the movement of the ship, it was all Alice could do to hang on. Then hands were reaching down to help her over the rail and she was safe on the deck. She stood for a moment, swaying on unsteady legs, then everything went black, and she collapsed.

  When she opened her eyes she saw a circle of concerned faces, the most worried of which belonged to Alex. He had a blanket wrapped around him, and when she lifted her head, Alice saw that she
too was covered.

  “Poor wee thing is just exhausted,” said a shaggy brown mouse. Alice recognized the gruff voice as the captain’s.

  As she sat up slowly, Alex turned to the captain and said, “Please, sir, can you take us back to Shambles? We’re needed at home—urgently!”

  “Well now,” said the captain, regarding the two shivering mice on his deck with a kind look. “Let’s go down to my cabin and discuss it. I’ll get Cookie to rustle up some hot chocolate.”

  Alice and Alex followed the captain down the stairs, Alice stepping cautiously as she still felt unsteady on her feet. The captain led them along a short passage, then pushed open the door to his cabin.

  Alice, entering the cabin last, heard the bell-like voice before she saw the familiar flash of silver-gray fur. There, sitting behind the captain’s desk, was Sophia.

  “Ah, I see you’ve found our two runaways. Thank you, Captain, dear.”

  And for the second time in ten minutes, Alice fainted.

  When she woke up, Alice was no longer wrapped in a blanket. Instead, she was lying on the hard floor of the captain’s cabin, bound at the wrists and ankles by thick rope, a gag stuffed in her mouth. Alex, similarly trussed up, was beside her. All they could do was stare at each other wide-eyed as the conversation went on around them.

  “I’m sick of the sight of them,” Sophia was saying. “Put them somewhere I won’t have to look at the little brats while I try to decide what to do with them.”

  “Are we going to take them to Souris, Sophia?” It was Horace’s mournful voice.

  “Maybe, Horace. Or we might just drop them overboard.”

  The captain, who no longer seemed so kindly, bellowed for his cabin boy. “Get two of the crew down here to deal with these enemies of Shetlock.”

  A few minutes, later the cabin boy returned with two beefy sailors. Alice tried desperately to signal to them with her eyes that she and Alex were innocent, and that Horace and Sophia were the enemies of Shetlock.

  “This one’s got a funny squint,” said the taller of the two sailors as he dragged Alice out of the room by her tail. “Do you think that’s because she’s a spy?” As Alice wriggled in pain and protest, he gave her tail a sharp tug. “We should’ve let you drown,” he said.