The Deptford Mice 1: The Dark Portal

by Robin Jarvis

  ‘I didn’t think it was such a big drop.’ Arthur’s voice drifted up to him. ‘Good job there’s so much dust and stuff to land on. See you soon.’

  ‘Good luck,’ murmured Twit.

  Poor old Twit. He felt so lonely – everyone had gone. First Oswald and Piccadilly, then Audrey and now Arthur. He wondered if he would see any of them again.

  The fieldmouse sat at the brink of the hole, his light spirits thoroughly subdued. What a world this was, he thought to himself. Little had he realised when he left his field what lay in store for him.

  A cloud that had hung about the moon now sailed clear. The moonlight flooded through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. Silver beams filtered down, spreading in a tide of ghostly splendour across the hall. Once more it was a playground for the night.

  The little mouse was lit by the soft, shimmering moon rays. He tipped his head to one side and the light glimmered through his ears.

  Twit sighed. Far away his parents would be sleeping under the stars, and that same moon would hang brightly over his field. Twit thought of his parents and smiled. The story of their love affair had been a scandal in the past but now it was a romantic tale loved by the younger mice. Twit knew it off by heart; perhaps even now it was being told by old Todmore, the storyteller of the field.

  Twit went over it in his mind to ease his sudden homesickness.

  ‘Elijah Scuttle was a fieldmouse,’ old Todmore would begin, ‘respectable and simple. He loved feeling the sun on his back as he sat at the top of a barley stalk keepin’ a lookout for enemies. Only one night when the blackberries had been too long fermentin’ and he was slightly dizzy with it all, an owl came swoopin’ out of the sky, all quiet like and snatched him off the ground.’

  Here old Todmore would gaze dramatically at his open-mouthed audience.

  ‘High the bird carried him, cackling to itself, and poor Elijah dared not look down. Far they flew until Elijah shouted, “Hoy owl, where you takin’ me?” Now birds, as we all know, don’t talk much and few can get sense out of them.

  ‘Well, this owl cocked its flat head down at Elijah, dangling there in his talons, and he gabbled, “Fooood fooood – dinner for meee an’ the missis – ooooh lovely mooouse grub!”

  ‘“Oh lawks!’ said Elijah an’ many another exclamation not fittin’ for your ears.

  ‘Then he had the sense to bite the dratted bird hard on the ankle.

  ‘How it hooted! It hooted and howled so much that it plum let the fieldmouse go. Down he dropped, wondering if it had been such a good idea, that bite – when SPLOOSH! Water swallowed him.

  ‘Elijah struggled and splashed, feelin’ only then how deep that owl had dug his talons into him. Well, as luck would have it there was a piece of wood a-floatin’ in the river – and he made for that . . . What’s that? Yes, he landed in a gert river – anyways on to this wood he hauled himself, all shakin’ and wet through.

  ‘Terrible cold he was and faintin’ too, them being awful painful wounds on his shoulders like.

  ‘Well, next he knew it was daytime an’ he was a-shiverin’ an’ coughin’ but worse of all there weren’t no country no more. On either side of the water there were buildin’s an’ smoke an’ such – well somehow Elijah paddled his raft to the bank and stepped on land. He didn’t know how long he were in that swoon but he was mighty hungry – “Oh woe,” he cried in the strange place and roamed about for near on a week steadily gettin’ in a sorrier state. His wounds went all pussy an’ started poisonin’ his blud. One day it got so bad that Elijah just gave up and crashed down in some poor excuse for a garden.

  ‘Well his shoulders being what they were and his fever a racin’ he were all done in – a goner he was. Then, as the Green will have it, out came two city mouse sisters – Arabel and Gladwin.

  ‘“Look yonder,” cried Gladwin, the prettier of the two, “poor young fieldmouse,” and ran to aid him.

  ‘This stuck-up Arabel said, “Leave him – ’e’s ded an’ maggoty.”

  ‘But her kind sister, she found a flutterin’ heartbeat and made snotty Arabel help her indoors with him.

  ‘That Gladwin she were all carin’ and tended to his wounds. Real rotten they were but she stayed up all night till the fever passed. In the mornin’, Elijah opened his eyes and saw her fast asleep next to him – her paw in his. Right there and then he fell straight in love with her – him a fieldmouse and she a city mouse. Fever do strange things.

  ‘Well this Gladwin she were willin’ to wed Elijah but her dad wouldn’t hear of it. He didn’t want his daughter wed to a fieldmouse an’ ranted about the disgrace an’ shame she were bringin’ on him. Everyone seemed against them so one night they ran off together an’ eventually Elijah came back to his field here with his bride. We’d all thought he was dead months back! Greatly shocked we all were. Well upshot was they settled down ’ere, an’ you know yourselves how nice Mrs Scuttle is an’ she soon forgot her city ways. Happy they lived from then on and as time went by they were delivered of a son.’

  The moon fell on Twit’s face. He looked like a small silver statue. Sadly he recalled the end of the story. ‘William Scuttle he was called, although you all knows him as Twit. Yes, him with no cheese upstairs, poor young moon-kissed lackwit that he is.’

  Here the audience would laugh and old Todmore would caution them.

  ‘Now don’t you go lettin’ this tale turn your heads. City and country don’t go together, and he’s the proof of it – always ’appens, mark you well young ’uns.’

  Twit’s eyes were moist at the memory yet he still felt he should return home soon.

  Then he thought of the bats again and wondered if Arthur had reached them yet. Suddenly, with a resolution foreign to him, he swung his short legs over the side of the hole and dropped down. The dust flew as he landed with a bump. Great chocking clouds of it billowed out and spiders, annoyed at this second disturbance, ran to protect their eggs.

  Twit scrambled to his feet. To follow Arthur without him knowing was the plan. With a bit of luck he might be’ able to overhear what was being said with the bats.

  The passage under the floorboards was very dark but it wasn’t damp or smelly like the sewers. Old abandoned cobwebs dangled down, thick with dust. They brushed over him in a horrid tickly way as he pushed ahead.

  There were traces in the dust to show where Arthur had gone and Twit followed them.

  For a while he tracked the footprints until a rush of cold air met him so abruptly that he stopped and wondered what it could be. He sniffed his small web-covered nose. He could smell the night air. Cautiously he groped around until he found a sheer brick wall. High above, pale moonlight shone through the occasional gap and revealed to him the giddy heights of the wall. This he would have to climb if he hoped to get to the attics. Twit began to search for the first rung of his ascent.

  Arthur heaved himself up one more level. He was nearing the eaves now. What a climb it had been; his arms ached madly. He let out a grateful sigh, knowing it couldn’t be much further. Arthur’s esteem of Master Oldnose soared; he had no idea the boring old fuddy-duddy had this sort of thing in him.

  He rested for a moment and rubbed life into his muscles then stretched his arms and massaged his shoulders. There was a cool, steadying breeze wafting around him it whispered experiences of the night, of closed buds and unseen clouds scudding across the sky. The tiles were loose on the roof and here and there a star could be seen stabbing through with frosty light. Arthur felt sure it was the last leg of his journey. He hoisted himself to his feet, taking great care to balance properly with his tail.

  The fall was too dangerous for any mistake to be made. The next support was above him: Arthur reached up and gripped the wooden strut firmly, then pulled himself up and swung his tail like a pendulum to counterbalance his weight.

  There. He had managed it. One more stage upwards: two more clambers would do it. Already he could see the opening to the attics.

  When he reached it he la
y on his back and stroked the beam beneath him thankfully. He tried not to think how difficult it would be to get down again.

  There was an unusual calm in the attics. An atmosphere of expectancy hung in the air. Arthur picked his way around under the rafters, hopping from beam to beam.

  A sweet incense hovered thickly about him. He felt truly as if he had entered another realm. Hushed and tranquil, even the noise of the street was muted. The attics were silent and reverent, nothing disturbed their peace; nothing except for Arthur. He tried to walk as quietly as possible but it wasn’t easy. He shuddered at the din he was making and looked about him for any sign of the bats.

  ‘Hello?’ he murmured. There was no answer; all was still. Maybe the bats were out flying in the night. Should he continue?

  Arthur tried again. ‘Hello?’ Nothing.

  What an odd place it was with the sloping beams and lofty ceiling. It was all new to Arthur. He marvelled at the sight. Thick solid rafters rose from the eaves and met at a great beam overhead.

  Arthur felt it was like being in the belly of a huge animal and the rafters were its rib. Not far away the outline of the chimneys could be discerned faintly.

  Arthur decided to try to reach them: maybe the bats were on the other side.

  Something tugged him along, something more wholesome in feel than the power of the Grille. A wave of excitement washed over him as he reached the chimney and peered round it.

  This part of the attic looked like a great hall of kings. High and magnificent, the rafters soared into the darkness above. Yet there was one lying broken and askew.

  Arthur stared up at it. The roof had been broken in the rafter’s ruin and through the open space he could see a cluster of stars in the midnight sky.

  A dark shape on the rafter stirred unexpectedly. It shifted its position then settled down again. Arthur gasped – it was a bat.

  The mysterious creature was perched high on the rafter so that Arthur had to tilt his head right the way back to see him. The bat’s head was hidden in his great folded wings. Only two tall pointed ears could be seen behind them.

  Arthur gave a slight polite cough.

  There was a dry rustle as the bat raised his head. Above the tips of his wings it reared and Arthur noticed that the ears were set on the side of a noble, fox-like face. The light of the stars came down to rest on the bat’s brow in an aura of knowledge and wisdom. Haughtily the bat gazed down from the rafter and scrutinized the mouse keenly.

  Arthur stammered greetings, trying to remember the correct formal introductions you must use with bats.

  ‘A hundred felicitations I offer thee,’ he said, hoping this was right. ‘May I present myself, Arthur Brown, a cousin in the links of creation. Mouse of the Skirtings. Most humbly do I beseech thy help.’

  Suddenly it occurred to him that this was in fact the correct etiquette when dealing with foxes. Arthur blushed to his ears and bowed hastily.

  The bat eyed him with large black orbs, which sparkled beneath the stars.

  Arthur fidgeted in embarrassment.

  ‘I am Eldritch,’ declared the bat. ‘You are late, Master Brown.’ Arthur apologised, uncomfortable at being expected. Then he said, ‘I am here for a purpose, oh Eldritch.’

  The bat stretched and yawned. He unfurled his wings, then in a mocking, mellifluous tone said mysteriously: ‘I see a mouse, young and fair. Her brass is lost, and so is she; ribbons and lace adorn her.’

  ‘That’s Audrey – my sister,’ cried Arthur. ‘Where is she?’

  Eldritch glared at him for interrupting, and then continued: ‘ . . . ribbons and lace adorn her, but into heathen darkness is she dragged. Oh where is she, the fatherless? Whose eyes are red at her going? Who will save her from the half-blind? With brutal partners shall she dance; from bloody temples and through the ash of the dead does her fate lead her.’ Eldritch stared at Arthur for a moment and then whispered, ‘Only the spinning, shining circle can save her from the fiend below.’

  The bat paused and looked into the heavens. ‘Orfeo approaches,’ he said.

  Arthur stood at the edge of the starlit area, wondering what the bat had been rambling on about. And who was this Orfeo? He could see no one else in the attic and he heard nothing. Arthur was puzzled.

  He stood in silence. Eldritch continued gazing upward at the stars. Suddenly a shadow flitted outside, cutting off the starlight. Then, as Arthur watched half fearfully a second bat entered through the hole and alighted silently next to the first.

  ‘Salutations Orfeo,’ greeted Eldritch.

  Arthur noticed how similar the two bats were in appearance.

  ‘Hail Eldritch,’ the newcomer returned. ‘Is this the company we sought?’ He stared at Arthur imperiously.

  Eldritch yawned again and replied in a bored, dry tone, ‘It is the one but not the other.’

  ‘Then our time is wasting here – you, Master Brown,’ Orfeo rapped out sharply. ‘You would seek counsel of us, my brother and I? Well, listen and may you have your fill for an age and more when we are done.’

  Arthur clasped his paws together, fearing what they would say. Bats are only interested in themselves and unless something amuses them they do not care for the drudgery of petty lives. They can give or withhold information as the fancy takes them – but all of it is true, however undesirable it is to hear. This is what Arthur braced himself for.

  Eldritch began: ‘Threefold the life threats. How shall he be vanquished? By water deep, fire blazing and the unknown path. Remember brown mouse, pain and horror stalk the summer fields in straw-clad form. When noon is hot and corn is gold, beware the ear that whispers, Master Brown, and shun the darkness. Through fire into fire, break not the sphere and let the demon out.’

  Eldritch raised his skin-webbed wings and gathered them about his face until he was a crouched, cowled figure and said no more.

  Then Orfeo began, intense and urgent: ‘Look to the mouse with bells on her tail – she who made the doll. Through ice and blizzard great doom will hail. However sweet the bell may sound, stray not into the fog, for bitter spears shall rain. Who is the mouse without the brass? What silver shall she wear if all survive the dark months?’

  Orfeo closed his eyes of jet. They had both finished with Arthur.

  ‘Depart Master Brown,’ they said as one.

  Arthur shook himself. What a load of twaddle, he thought. He wouldn’t be able to remember any of the stupid riddles.

  He could not understand why they felt they had to cloak their advice in them. Arthur thanked the bats courteously and bade them farewell.

  Eldritch regarded his retreating figure and called after him, ‘If any live through the winter, Master Brown, look to your own children – of what stuff will they be made?’

  ‘Beware the three,’ added Orfeo.

  Slowly Arthur walked back to the eaves, trying to piece together the ridiculous bat advice. He abandoned the attempt, and dismissed the bats as crazy. An interesting but wasted journey – they had not helped him at all.

  If Arthur had not been so intent on these thoughts, maybe he would have noticed the small figure hiding in the shadows, watching him with bright round eyes. But Arthur did not notice and with renewed efforts began the climb down once more, muttering angrily to himself.

  From the dark corner Twit emerged. He had lain hidden for a short while – afraid to interrupt the bats’ discourse. Now Arthur had left, Twit was unsure what to do. He knew he should follow his friend, but Eldritch and Orfeo had greatly impressed the little fieldmouse. The dramatic gestures they made with their wings captivated him and he dearly wanted to see more of them. From his corner he watched them and then brought himself up sharply. They were watching him!

  Eldritch had one eye glaring out from behind his wing curtain, but Orfeo was staring directly at him. The fieldmouse gulped.

  ‘Come forward witch husband,’ demanded Orfeo.

  Eldritch stirred in his wing cocoon. ‘Step out, friend of the trapped mouse,’ he said, f
inally raising his head.

  Twit meekly shambled towards them. ‘I be sorry if I offended ’ee by lurkin’ there,’ he ventured to say, ‘but I was desperate to lay eyes on you – ain’t never seen a bat before.’

  The brothers looked at each other with an odd smirk on their faces.

  ‘Into the light, childless one,’ they encouraged. Twit obeyed, entering the circle of starlight. He looked up at them perched high above.

  ‘Noble mouse!’ laughed Orfeo.

  Eldritch tossed his head and said darkly, ‘When troubles stir and passions rouse, whose paw will you take to save all?’

  ‘And when your bride returns home why are you not by her side?’

  Orfeo was enjoying himself.

  ‘Beg pardon, but I ain’t got no wife,’ Twit informed them.

  ‘This is he, this is the one,’ cried Orfeo delightedly. ‘The Simpleton, the cheeseless mouse,’ he gurgled with amusement.

  ‘Hey you ain’t got no right to go a-callin’ me that, bats or no,’ the fieldmouse interjected. ‘You ain’t got no manners for lordly folk, that’s certain.’

  Orfeo and Eldritch laughed all the louder. ‘Ah, but you are precious to us.’

  Twit eyed them uncertainly. The bats puffed up their furry little bodies and strutted along the rafter, waving their wings pompously.

  ‘Yes, you are the seed that will bear all our fruit.’

  ‘We need you, witch husband.’

  Twit put his paws on his hips and shook his head crossly. ‘As I said already, I got no wife and I’ve no mind to take a witch to meself. What fer I do a daft thing like that?’

  Eldritch clapped his wings together for silence. They made a leathery dry, rasping sound. ‘Quite – you are not as addled as others make you Master Scuttle. Come brother, make no jests at our guest’s expense. I fear we now displease.’

  He looked sternly at Orfeo but there was still that odd twinkle in his eyes.