The Secret of the Ginger Mice

by Song of the Winns

  “Nah, this way’ll be more fun,” said the other sailor, who had hold of Alex’s tail. “We’ll get to enjoy watching ’em drown.”

  “Where are we meant to put them?” asked the first.

  “Dunno, the captain just said to get ’em out of sight. Hey, how about in there?”

  And so Alice and Alex found themselves deposited unceremoniously in a barrel under the stairs, unable to speak or move, to await their fate.

  If only, Alice thought dully, the barrel didn’t smell quite so strongly of pickled herring.

  18

  The Sickert

  When the giant bird bearing Feast Thompson and Slippers Pink had disappeared from view, Alistair and Tibby Rose settled down to wait. Alistair felt rather deflated. After all their adventures, all the narrow escapes and near misses and clever plans, it turned out there was no need to have undertaken the journey at all: he was meant to be in Templeton. And far from missing him, his aunt and uncle had known he was there all along. Alistair supposed they would have explained his sudden disappearance to Alice and Alex by now—though it would have been nice if they’d taken the time to explain to Alistair himself that he was going to be snatched by an owl and flown to another country. Indeed, why hadn’t they told him? He wouldn’t have objected if they’d explained to him why it was necessary.

  The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to him that his aunt and uncle couldn’t have known. Was it possible Oswald had swallowed that letter too? And anyway, just because Slippers and Feast (and maybe Ebenezer and Beezer) had decided that he was best off in Templeton, what about what he wanted? No one had bothered to ask him. He remembered what Tibby had said about taking risks and living your own life. It seemed to him that was exactly what his parents had done. They had risked their lives fighting for something they believed in. And as hard as it had been for those they had left behind, Alistair could now see they had been fighting for something that was worth more to them than their own lives: the freedom of all Gerandans. They had obviously decided they couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. But what kind of life would his be, stuck in Templeton, even if he did have Tibby Rose for company? He turned to his friend.

  “Tibby,” he said, “I’m not waiting for Oswald to come back. I don’t want to go to Templeton; I’m going home to Smiggins.” He felt bad about disobeying Feast and Slippers. They were on the same side, after all, even if Alistair and Tibby Rose hadn’t actually chosen to be on a side. But same side or not, Alistair couldn’t imagine sitting quietly in Grandpa Nelson and Great-Aunt Harriet’s big old white house on the hill outside Templeton (For how long? His whole life?) while others carried on the fight his parents had considered worth dying for. No. He might be only a kid, but he was part of this. He had almost been kidnapped, after all! (Though it seemed to him that Feast Thompson hadn’t really explained why it was that Alistair alone was in danger, and not his brother and sister.) He would join FIG and help the resistance in any way he could. But first he had to see his brother and sister, his aunt and uncle. He had to know that they were safe, and reassure them that he was too.

  Tibby, her head bowed in thought, walked slowly across the clearing to stand in front of the fire, which was now little more than a pile of glowing embers.

  Probably she would be relieved to be reunited with her grandfather and great-aunt and resume her quiet, lonely but safe life in Templeton, Alistair supposed. He would be sorry to lose her company, though. In some ways, he felt closer to her than he did to Alice and Alex. Perhaps it was because of all the dangers they had faced together and overcome. Or maybe it was because they had so much in common—they both liked books and apple pie, and they both hated blackberries and being chased by the Queen’s Guards. And they were both ginger.

  At last Tibby said, “I feel terrible deserting Grandpa Nelson and Great-Aunt Harriet—especially now that I know how much they sacrificed for me. They have virtually lived in hiding themselves for all these years, just so I wouldn’t be discovered. And yet . . .” Tibby sighed. “I don’t want to live the rest of my life hidden away in Templeton. And not only that: if my father was Gerandan, then I am too. I don’t want to be sheltered by FIG; I want to be part of it.” It was as if she had read Alistair’s mind.

  Alistair couldn’t help grinning, he was so pleased, but all he said was, “All right then, we’d better leave now. Oswald moves fast, so we haven’t got long. And he’ll be looking for us, so we’ll need to stay under cover. That means we can’t follow the path.”

  Tibby scooped up some sand and scattered it over the fire to put it out. “Let’s go look along the coastline and get our bearings,” she suggested.

  They wound their way back through the scrub to the clifftop, and Tibby gazed left and right.

  “There’s a bit of a glow coming from over that way,” she said, pointing to the west. “My guess is that’s Sadiz.”

  “Sadiz?”

  “It’s a port.”

  “Great,” said Alistair. “Let’s go there. We can find a boat going to Shetlock.”

  They set off along the cliff, trying to stay under the shelter of the scraggly, stunted trees dotted through the scrub in the hope that would conceal them from the sharp-eyed owl.

  “I just wish Feast and Slippers had told me more about my father,” said Tibby as they walked. “I was only a few months old when he died, so I don’t have any memory of him at all, and I’ve never met anyone who knew him—well, except for Grandpa Nelson and Great-Aunt Harriet, but they never talked about him at all. And they never even hinted that he was Gerandan.”

  “I guess it was just too dangerous,” said Alistair. “Uncle Ebenezer and Aunt Beezer never told me. Gerandans seem to be really cautious about mentioning it to each other; there are probably spies on both sides. I mean, it turns out Timmy the Winns knew exactly who we were—I wonder how?—but he never so much as hinted at the fact that we were all Gerandan.” Or had he? Alistair remembered what the midnight blue mouse had said about the River Winns: It is the spine that knits our head to our feet. Its veins run through our country and its water runs through our veins. At the time Alistair had assumed that when Timmy said “our” he meant himself and Griff and Mags and the rest. But was it possible that Timmy had been referring to himself and Alistair? He didn’t know where the Winns was, but maybe it was in Gerander. He’d have to find out. He tugged the ends of his scarf thoughtfully. He still had a lot to learn about his homeland.

  After spending the better part of two hours stumbling silently through the dark, they finally reached the headland overlooking the harbor town of Sadiz, which curved around a large calm bay. One end was dominated by a huge stone fort. Though it was too dark to make out the colors of the flag fluttering above it, Alistair thought it was a safe bet that they’d be purple and silver, the colors favored by Queen Eugenia. Below the fort, a fleet of fishing boats was anchored behind the protection of a sea wall. At the eastern edge of the port were the wharves where the big ships docked.

  “Let’s go down to the quay,” said Alistair. “I’ve got a great idea.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait till morning?” Tibby asked.

  Alistair shook his head. “Nope. This is exactly the right time to find the kind of mice we’re looking for.”

  “Insomniacs?” Tibby guessed.

  “Pirates,” said Alistair.

  Tibby raised her hands to her ears and rubbed them vigorously. “Excuse me?” she said. “Did you just say pirates?”

  “That’s right,” said Alistair. “That’s my great idea: we’re going to become pirates.”

  “Pirates,” Tibby said again, as if she still couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

  “Feast and Slippers said that a couple of Sourian agents were looking for me,” Alistair reminded her. “We don’t want to come across one of them accidentally. So the important thing is anonymity, and that means we have to avoid getting stuck on a small boat with a chatty fisherman or the captain of a cargo ship who’ll want to kno
w who we are and might remember us later. A pirate ship is perfect. Pirates never want to know about your past.”

  “Alistair,” Tibby said solemnly, “I’m worried about you. Are you feeling okay? Maybe a bit dizzy from our recent flight by Owl Airways? Light-headed from lack of sleep, perhaps? I’ve been relying on the fact that you are a thoughtful, careful, sensible mouse. But now we’re heading to the roughest port in Souris, after midnight, looking for pirates.”

  Alistair laughed. “You know, you and Alice are going to get on like a house on fire. You’re sounding more like her every day.”

  “I know you mean that as a compliment,” said Tibby, “but I hope you won’t be offended if I say that you’re sounding more and more like your description of your brother Alex.”

  “Well,” said Alistair, “they both used to tell me I should spend less time reading about adventures and more time having them. If only they could see me now!”

  “If they could see you now, they’d tell you you’re an idiot,” Tibby said. “I doubt very much they meant you should actively seek out pirates.”

  “You might be right,” Alistair said after a moment’s reflection. “There weren’t a lot of pirates in Smiggins. But do you have a better plan?”

  Tibby had to admit that she didn’t. “Okay,” she said, “supposing for a minute that your idea is a good one—and I’m not saying it is—how would we even get aboard a pirate ship? We can’t pay them, and surely stowing away is way too dangerous.”

  “Easy,” said Alistair. “We join the crew.”

  “Oh, of course,” said Tibby. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Alistair continued, “We find a pirate ship in need of a cabin boy and apply for the job.”

  “I see,” said Tibby slowly. “So we’re going to join a pirate crew. Interesting plan. I’m guessing there might be a book behind this?”

  Alistair grinned. “Treasure Island. It’s about this mouse called Jim Hawkins who becomes a cabin boy and meets a black-hearted pirate called Long John Silver.”

  “A black-hearted pirate, you say? Oh, that’s excellent,” said Tibby. “Do try your best to find a really black-hearted pirate captain to employ us, won’t you, Alistair?”

  They followed a winding path from the headland to the edge of town, then after a couple of wrong turns found themselves on a dark cobbled street that seemed to be heading in the right direction.

  Although it was long past midnight, the port area was as lively as though it was midday. Light spilled from the tavern on the corner of the steep cobbled street where it met the quay, and they could hear the clink of glasses and cutlery, and the occasional voice raised in argument or song.

  Alistair stopped and looked around. He saw warehouses interspersed with taverns, and the quay was busy with mice scurrying to and fro between the warehouses and ships, loading cargo.

  Beckoning to Tibby to follow, Alistair slipped behind a dinghy leaning up against a warehouse wall to watch and listen. It was just as well they did, because suddenly a scuffle broke out between two mice, one brown and brawny and the other small and gray, who had just exited the nearest tavern.

  After much shoving and shouting and flailing of fists, the gray mouse fell heavily against the dinghy they were hidden behind. He moaned once, then slumped to the ground, out cold.

  The large mouse, looking a bit surprised to find an unconscious body at his feet, abruptly dropped the oar he had snatched up and scampered off, ducking up the nearest alley and out of sight.

  “Is he dead?” came Tibby Rose’s shocked voice in Alistair’s ear.

  “I don’t know,” said Alistair uncomfortably, peering around the edge of the dinghy, but then the mouse on the ground moaned, snorted, and began to snore. “Er, apparently not,” he amended. He quickly pulled his head back to avoid being seen by three mice who were sauntering along the quay.

  One of them nudged the sleeping mouse with his foot and laughed. “I wouldn’t like to be the crew of the Sickert tonight,” he said. “That’s Captain Grizzard’s cabin boy, and I don’t think he’s going to be ready to sail by first light.”

  “Grizzard?” said the portliest of the three, scanning the ships in the bay. “Is he docked tonight? I thought he was hanging around Shambles these days.”

  The mouse who had kicked the cabin boy pointed to a dark shape looming some way off and the other two squinted into the dark.

  “He’s up the end there—where no one can see what he’s loading or unloading. They say he’s just here for the night to take on new supplies before heading back to terrorize the cargo ships of Shetlock.”

  Alistair looked in the direction the mouse had pointed. Standing alone at the last wharf was a great wooden ship with two masts, its enormous sails billowing in the light breeze.

  When the three sailors had disappeared into the Hoary Hornpipe, Alistair stepped out from the shadow of the dinghy. “Come on, Tibby. Here’s our chance. This Captain Grizzard needs a cabin boy.”

  Tibby, looking reluctant, followed. “I don’t see why I should have to be a cabin boy,” she argued. “I’m a girl.”

  “But there were no cabin girls in Treasure Island,” Alistair said. “In fact, I’ve never heard of a cabin girl.”

  “Oh, you’ve never heard of a cabin girl. . . . And you’ve been sailing the high seas for how long, Captain Alistair?” she said under her breath.

  The lights and music faded as they walked toward the Sickert, and they could hear the slap of wavelets against the ship’s bow, her timbers creaking as she rode the swell.

  As they approached the gangplank, they were almost bowled over by a tall lean mouse who appeared to be departing the ship in a great hurry.

  He was missing half of his left ear and he had a livid scar stretching from his left temple almost to the tip of his nose. His eyes were small and close set, making the gaze he turned upon the two young mice seem suspicious.

  “Whatcha doin’ hangin’ round’ere?” he demanded rudely. “If ya knows what’s good for ya, you’ll clear off sharpish.”

  Although inwardly he quailed at the mouse’s harsh tone, Alistair addressed the sailor confidently. “Is your captain aboard?”

  “Who wants t’ know?” The sailor’s tone was still disrespectful, but Alistair thought he detected a note of caution.

  “That’s Captain Grizzard’s business and none of yours,” Alistair told the older mouse calmly.

  The sailor opened his mouth as if to retort, then clearly thought better of it. “He’s in’is cabin,” he said shortly, indicating with a thumb over his shoulder. “And ya’d better’ave good news for’im if ya value those long tails of yours.”

  As he turned to limp off toward the port Alistair and Tibby Rose noticed that he seemed to be missing a sizeable portion of his tail, which now barely reached the ground.

  Tibby Rose gulped and clutched the end of her own tail protectively. “Do you—do you suppose Captain Grizzard did that?”

  “If he did, I’m sure it’s because the other mouse deserved it,” Alistair said with more conviction than he felt. “Well, here goes . . .” And he strode up the gangplank with Tibby at his heels.

  At first the ship seemed strangely deserted as they stepped onto the deck, but then Alistair saw that there were mice aboard, though they seemed to be doing their best to avoid drawing attention to themselves, scurrying noiselessly from shadow to shadow. The reason for their reticence was clear when a roar broke the silence.

  “WHERE’S THAT SCURVY-LOVING, SQUID-RIDDEN, FISH-POCKED EXCUSE FOR A CABIN BOY?”

  Alistair heard three sharp taps on the deck and then the owner of the voice stumped into view, his peg leg punctuating his progress. He was using his cutlass as a crutch, the metal blade buckling dangerously whenever the captain rested his not-inconsiderable weight on it.

  His black fur was matted and patchy, one eye appeared to be permanently closed, and he had the longest, bushiest whiskers Alistair had ever seen. He clutched a telescope in his free han
d and was muttering curses to himself. When he opened his mouth to shout at his cringing nut-brown first mate, Alistair saw the glint of gold teeth.

  Tibby had just begun to whisper her doubts as to the wisdom of his plan in Alistair’s ear when the captain turned his one ferocious eye their way.

  “WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON MY SHIP?” he thundered, thumping his wooden leg on the deck to emphasize his rage.

  Alistair was almost knocked backward by the powerful stench of onions. “Um, good evening, Captain, sir,” he began hesitantly. He was beginning to doubt the wisdom of his plan himself. He only hoped Captain Grizzard would let them flee with their tails intact. “Ah, it’s about your cabin boy. . . . Well you see, Captain, he appears to be indisposed, but, er, we are your new cabin boys. . . .,” Alistair swallowed, then finished in a rush, “So you will not be inconvenienced in any way.”

  “Actually,” Tibby Rose said, “I’m a cabin girl.”

  “NEW CABIN BOYS?” the captain blustered. “CABIN GIRL?”

  “Really,” Tibby mused, “it makes more sense just to call us all ‘cabin mice.’”

  “CABIN MICE?” the captain repeated. He was regarding them with a slightly bewildered look. Then he seemed to recover himself.

  “Well, let me tell you ROCKPOOL-REEKING, SARDINE-STINKING CABIN BOYS—er, cabin mice—how it’s going to be. You will follow my orders EXACTLY and IMMEDIATELY or YOU WILL FEEL THE LASH OF MY MOUSE-O’-SEVEN-TAILS!”

  “Um, shouldn’t that be a mouse-o’-nine-tails?” Alistair ventured.

  Captain Grizzard lifted his upper lip to bare his golden teeth in a cruel smile. “Yes, it should, lad—and do you know what that means? I’m TWO TAILS SHORT!”

  Alistair and Tibby Rose gasped, their hands flying instinctively to their tails.