by Alex Milway
“Well I ain’t gonna trust them navy types as far as I can throw ’em,” said Scragneck. “But I reckon it’s somethin’ to bear in mind. Between you ’n’ me, Miserley, I don’t care much for that Mousebeard. Never ’ave done, and I don’t think he cares much for us too.”
“I hear that,” she replied, “but it’s too risky, and Mousebeard will surely see it coming?”
“If many of us see this note, though, somethin’ might ’appen of its own accord — if you know what I mean . . . . Something to think about, eh? I mean, if there’s a lot of us, there’s nothin’ he can do about it!”
Miserley fell quiet and let Scragneck plot and scheme to himself. Maybe she would play a part in a mutiny, but just for now she was keeping her allegiances secret.
The Howling Moon Mouse
THIS MOUSE IS THE BEST KNOWN OF ALL THE HOWLER MICE, CHOOSING TO howl only on nights when there is a full moon. Found on the Plains of Albermarle, and on the remote islands of the Cold Sea, the Howling Moon Mouse lives a quiet life of solitude, and the only occasion when the species gather is on the first full moon of the year, when males will try and out-howl each other in order to win a mate.
MOUSING NOTES
The Howling Moon Mouse is prohibited in residential areas (Mousing Regulation 567) because its howling can be deeply unsettling.
The Stolen Cargo
DREWSHANK WAS DRAGGED FROM THE BRIG ON THE Silver Shark and hustled over to Mousebeard’s fortress. The rest of his crew had been taken to join Emiline and Scratcher. He surveyed the imposing structure before him and suddenly felt very alone. His eyes followed the rough walls, hewn from tree trunks, as they shot upward into looming, twisted towers. An unusually large and sinister mouse skull glared down at him from the wall above his head. The captain gulped and prepared for the worst.
He was pushed through a painted, bone-adorned gateway and directed up a twisting staircase by the pointed end of a spear, closely followed by a stinking pirate. He eventually came to a door with a mouse skull and crossbones emblazoned on it in thick red paint, and he pushed it open cautiously.
The room was sparsely decorated, with a large window looking out over the lagoon and a finely knotted rug spread over the floor. There wasn’t much furniture: a weathered wooden cabinet stood beside the window; a rounded driftwood table with a rare mousetusk candle-holder sitting on top near the door; at the far end of the room, a sturdy, metal-strung hammock stretching from one wall to the other. The room was chilly at best, despite the warmth of the island, and Drewshank thought of his own rather nice cabin and how this one could really do with a lick of paint.
Mousebeard was standing staring out over the water toward the jungle-covered land, his massive form almost filling the window.
“Ah, Drewshank, my unlikely adversary,” said Mousebeard, without turning around.
Drewshank held his head up and took a few steps farther into the room without replying. He felt uncomfortable in his dirty clothes. He always preferred to face difficult people dressed as smartly as possible. Under the circumstances, however, he thought he’d try not to let it bother him.
“It was brave of you, captain — chasing after me like that. The fog encounter usually scares the life out of people.”
“Well, when I saw your handiwork with a needle, I thought I had a chance, I must admit. You do a nice line in cloth mice.”
Mousebeard jerked his head to the side and snarled. Drewshank stepped back quickly. He’d been pleased with his reply, but then realized that he should be less inflammatory.
“So you’re a friend of Isiah Lovelock,” said the pirate gruffly, turning around. “As you know, I hate him with every ounce of my flesh and every hair in my beard.”
“I’m no friend of his. I was just doing some work for him.”
“Ah yes,” said the pirate. “You’d do anything for money. I know your type.”
“I have some scruples, pirate, and though I do things for money, and dress as though I have plenty, I sail through life with a clean conscience. Unlike yourself . . . ”
“Ha!” said Mousebeard. “You certainly know how to make yourself sound important!”
Drewshank clenched his fists. He didn’t appreciate such a blatant slur on his character.
“Did you honestly think that aging ship of yours was capable of taking me on?” asked Mousebeard. “Did Lovelock really think I was that much of a pushover?”
“My reputation must surely precede me!” snapped Drewshank. “The Flying Fox was noted for her feats of daring!”
The pirate shook his head and laughed. “You are certainly entertaining company, I’ll give you that.”
Drewshank was starting to fume. Never in all his life had someone spoken to him in this way.
“Just out of interest, why did Lovelock send you after me?” said Mousebeard, walking closer to Drewshank.
“Because you sank his ship and stole from him!”
“Of course!” boomed Mousebeard. Drewshank got the feeling that the pirate already knew full well why he had been sent after him. Mousebeard was playing with him, and it made him feel uneasy. He told himself to calm down.
The pirate suddenly strode over to the cabinet, his huge feet sending shudders around the room. He withdrew a mousebox with ornate metal edging, walked back toward Drewshank, and gently placed it on the table. The captain crept nearer.
“You should see this, Drewshank. If this is the reason you came this far — and it’s a very good reason, I must admit — then it only seems fair to show it to you before we have you executed.”
Drewshank swallowed sharply and grabbed the table to steady himself.
With the utmost care, the pirate unlocked the lid. It eased open and a bright shining golden light beamed out.
Drewshank gasped and bent closer. It was a pair of Golden Mice: the most sought-after and yet most dangerous creatures you could ever hope to find inside a mousebox.
“No, it can’t be . . . ,” muttered Drewshank. “They’re a death warrant . . . .”
There were thought to be fewer than a hundred of these mice left in the wild, and their fur was made of the purest gold. For centuries they had been the most desired of all species, but to be found in possession of them was punishable by death.
“Why would Isiah be after them? Every government and every army in the mousing world would come bearing down with full force on his doorstep.”
“And now do you realize why he’s been hunting me so ferociously?” replied Mousebeard.
“I can certainly understand why that navy is surrounding your island, but what could he do if he got them? Word would get out. He’d be brought to justice. There would be hell to pay . . . .”
Mousebeard growled, in a way that only a man with twenty years of seafaring under his belt could possibly do.
“Not if he found them by chance . . . ”
“By chance?” asked Drewshank. “I don’t understand.”
“He set us both up from the beginning, captain.”
Drewshank suddenly found himself growling too. When you spend time with pirates, maybe you start to act like one, he thought.
“So Lovelock planned all along for you to steal the Golden Mice from the Lady Caroline,” he said. “He wanted you to take the blame when he recaptured them.”
“Of course he wanted me to take the blame. If Lovelock had his way, then I’d take the blame for everything. He knew he’d be brought to task for stealing the mice, so what better way to get hold of them than to publicly ‘save’ them from me . . . pretend that I had seized them from Illyria! Then he could look after them in ‘safekeeping’ for as long as he needs to fulfill his disgusting plans. The Mousehunting Federation already hold him under suspicion. What better way to prove his commitment to protecting mice?”
“Unbelievable . . . ,” said Drewshank.
“Yes — that’s Lovelock for you,” said Mousebeard. “Every mouse on Illyria is counted and watched. If he’d taken and kept them without using me a
s a foil, they’d have discovered the truth eventually.”
His huge dark eyes narrowed.
“So by sending someone so fancy and high profile as Devlin Drewshank after me, then he could be sure I would find out and set about spoiling his plans. I have a rather ridiculous obsession concerning pirate hunters, you see.”
“He sent me out knowing I’d fail . . . ,” said Drewshank.
Mousebeard let out another loud laugh.
“At last Isiah has got the better of me . . . who’d have thought?”
“So why did you take them?” Drewshank asked.
“At the time I hadn’t a clue what he was up to, and I couldn’t just let the Golden Mice perish at sea. I should have known something was up when there was just a skeleton crew and the hold was empty apart from this box and two Long-eared Mice running free. We’d already put holes in the side of her by the time I realized there were those damned creatures below the water level.”
Drewshank’s eyes lit up.
“So the Grak was your fault! It almost destroyed us!”
Mousebeard’s eyes widened with rage. He leaned across the table and got so close that the tip of his beard was wriggling right under Drewshank’s nose.
“Do you listen to nothing I say? You think I’d be stupid enough to do that?” he growled. His breath stank, and Drewshank desperately tried not to inhale. “I didn’t know they were there! You should know by now that Isiah plays by his own particularly sly rules. He would have seen the Grak as an ideal way of covering his tracks and completely destroying the Lady Caroline. That merchant boat was eventually smashed to pieces by the sea monsters . . . .”
“So you didn’t destroy it on purpose?” asked Drewshank, still bemused.
Mousebeard huffed and stepped back, his cutlasses clattering. Drewshank remained silent for a moment. Was he being taken in by Mousebeard now, just as he had been by Lovelock? He didn’t know what to believe.
“So this has all been a game of piggy mouse in the middle, with me in the middle?” said Drewshank. “A big setup from the start?”
“We’re both fools in equal measure,” replied the pirate. “They capture me and find the Golden Mice in my possession: I get the blame and the death sentence, Lovelock gets the mice and the glory of seizing Mousebeard, scourge of the Seventeen Seas. And Captain Drewshank is finally shown up as being rather useless.”
“At least I’m only useless!” snapped Drewshank. “How many people have died and are still going to die because of you both? There’s no way this is going to end happily . . . .”
“I’m sorry about the men you lost, captain,” said Mousebeard. “But you must realize that most of the stories that are peddled about me in Old Town are made up by Lovelock and his friends. It’s all propaganda — lies . . . mostly . . . lies.”
“Mostly?” questioned Drewshank, watching Mousebeard closely.
“Not even you are a saint, Drewshank. Besides, you know what Lovelock’s like, and you also know of the deals and awful practices he’s involved in. It’s been my purpose for the past twenty years to stop him in any way I can.”
“Hmmm,” said Drewshank, his mind suddenly feeling worn out with all the thinking. “All I know is that we’re now in deep trouble. What are you planning to do about it?”
“Nothing at present. I can’t see a way past this navy that surrounds our island.”
“What about that giant?”
“Ogruk? He won’t hang around for long. He hates humans, and I don’t blame him. He won’t be enjoying all this, I can promise you.”
“Oh,” offered Drewshank.
“But eventually I’ll take the Golden Mice back to where they belong. There’s nothing else to do.”
Drewshank paused for a minute, thinking about the strange man in front of him. Mousebeard had disposed of so many sailors, but every mouse he came across was infinitely precious to him.
“Can’t you go after Lovelock at Old Town?”
“If only it were that simple.”
“You found it so easy to destroy my ship, yet you can’t attack the man that has so royally set you up?”
Mousebeard returned to the window and his broad shoulders almost completely blocked the light.
“You don’t need to know why,” he said, his voice solemn. “But I can’t go after Lovelock himself either on land or at sea. And I destroyed your ship so that Lovelock would think you were dead. If you had really died in the process, then that would have been unfortunate, but I could have lived with it.”
“Well, thank you!” exclaimed Drewshank.
“What fun is there bullying the ships of mere privateers? No fun at all.”
“Why did you want Lovelock to think I was dead? What good would it do you?”
“None at all . . . but if I change my mind and let you live, Lovelock thinking you’re dead might be the best thing for you.”
Drewshank shook his head. “You’ve lost me,” he said.
“Unless you’re really stupid then you must have realized there’s no way you can go back to your old life now. You’ve been implicated in this Golden Mice affair. You’ll be hunted down by the authorities in Old Town — Isiah will make damn sure of that. He would never let you carry on as normal knowing what you know.”
Mousebeard was right and Drewshank knew it. There really was no way back.
“For the time being, you’re safe here anyway,” said Mousebeard.
“So you’re not going to kill me?”
Mousebeard shook his head. “I’m not inclined to hurt people for the sake of it, captain. Threats are al ways a good way of making people open up, though.”
Drewshank sighed with relief.
“And you could well be of use to me yet,” added the pirate. “A captain who can survive a Grak attack is a good person to know.”
“You heard about that?”
“I have some friends, Drewshank. Even so, for the time being, you’ll have to return to your crew. There are things I have to do . . . Guards!” shouted the pirate.
Upon Mousebeard’s calling, the door burst open, and two pirates promptly dragged Drewshank away.
“Lock him up with the rest of them,” he ordered as they left. “I need time to think!”
Inside the Dung Mouse pen, Emiline was scooping up steaming dung while desperately trying to keep her nose closed. Her crewmates were involved in much the same task, and it was making many of them feel sick.
“How long do we have to live with this?” said Scratcher, regretting the day he ever came to sea.
“The captain’ll get us out,” assured Fenwick. “He always has some sort of plan up his sleeve.”
“I hope he gets us out soon,” added Emiline, “or else I’m going to go mad.”
She threw a huge dollop of dung into the hut at the back, and returned to look for more. The excrement of the Dung Mouse was used for fuel; its exceedingly potent smell made it incredibly flammable, and a very good replacement for coal. If you were to ask the people who collected it what they thought, however, they would much rather be doing something less smelly elsewhere.
Scratcher climbed up onto a bed and sat down to clear the dirt from his fingernails.
“This is rubbish,” he said.
Before he could say anything more, a great flash of blinding light lit up the island, and a huge explosion shook the pen. The Dung Mice went crazy, rushing around with a demented look in their eyes, and the prisoners did their best to get out of their way.
Fenwick rushed to the window. Thin trails of fire rained slowly down onto the treetops from the sky.
“Firebrands,” he said calmly. Another explosion sounded overhead, and once more the ground shook violently. The sky was filled with even more fire bolts.
“What are they?” asked Emiline, gazing at the sky.
“They’re the massive warships that shoot flaming missiles to burn things. They won’t do much damage round here, as it’s so lush, but they can burn down a wooden city if the weather’s righ
t,” answered Fenwick.
“They’re reminding Mousebeard that they’re there,” said Scratcher.
“But they want him alive, don’t they?” asked Emiline, clinging to the bars.
“That’s what I thought,” replied Fenwick, curiously.
The guard outside slammed her sword against the window bars, causing the prisoners to jump.
“Get back to work!” she shouted as some of the fire bolts landed gently behind her and fizzled out on the forest floor.
“They ain’t powerful ones,” said Fenwick. “That navy is just sending out warning shots. Seems like Mousebeard’s gonna have some decisions to make.”
From the distance appeared three figures. They stopped briefly at the next onslaught of explosions, but soon reached the Dung Mouse pen. The door opened and Drewshank was thrown in unceremoniously.
“Captain!” cheered the crew.
Drewshank lifted himself up off the floor, narrowly avoiding placing his hands in a huge pile of dung. He was now so dirty that any last hope of maintaining a few vestiges of dignity had vanished.
“Good to see you all in one piece,” he said happily, “but you really do smell!”
Fenwick greeted him and asked what happened.
“Are we in a whole heap of trouble!” said Drewshank. “That pirate’s managed to steal two Golden Mice . . . .”
“Golden Mice?” exclaimed the prisoners.
“So I really don’t see how he or we are going to get out of this. That Omen Mouse certainly knew how to pick the right people to fly by.”
“Omen Mouse?” the prisoners echoed him for a second time. Emiline, Scratcher, and Fenwick looked at one another.
“So, quite frankly, I don’t fancy our chances. However, Mousebeard has assured me that we’ll be safe.”
“The word of a pirate . . . ,” muttered Fenwick. “But it clears up why they haven’t been attacking the island with any venom.”
“Judging from what Mousebeard’s told me, it’s been a plan for Lovelock to get his hands on those Golden Mice.”
