by Alex Milway
“Don’t forget the boy,” said Mousebeard firmly. His beard rustled and then fell completely still.
The soldier looked back at the pirate. “What?” he said.
“Don’t forget the boy!” he barked again. Mousebeard’s voice was terrifying, and suddenly Mr. Droob arrived, hot and bothered, with a replacement rope. He threw it over the scaffold with the soldier’s help, and looped it over Scratcher’s head. The executioner approached and hurried him along, as he made sure everything was correct.
“Look, it’s got to be right!” snapped Mr. Droob.
“Just hurry up!” shouted the executioner.
Suddenly all Scratcher could hear were the drums rolling. Eventually Mr. Droob stopped his work and motioned to the executioner.
“It’s done,” he said, grateful to leave the platform.
Drewshank clenched his fists behind his back and gritted his teeth. He looked at all the faces in the crowd baying for his blood. He’d been to executions before but never fully understood how violent and horrible they were.
“They really want to kill us,” he muttered.
“That’s humans for you . . . ,” said Mousebeard, his voice reaching its usual volume and depth.
The crowd was shrieking.
Drewshank took one last look at the beautiful blue sky. The sun had risen past the tops of the buildings and cast strong shadows across the whole of Old Town. He breathed one final, fulfilling breath that reached the bottom of his lungs.
The drum roll stopped.
The trapdoors unlocked.
The prisoners dropped.
The Cadaver Mouse
A BEASTLY MOUSE THAT THRIVES ON ROTTING MATTER — WHETHER human, animal, or plant-based — you are more likely to smell the Cadaver Mouse before you see it. Often mistaken for a rat, the Cadaver Mouse enjoys the dark and roams around in packs, hunting for the next meal. These animals are rarely kept in collections, though it has been known for certain, darker sections of society to breed them and keep them in their cellars. The famous murderer, Obern Crown, was even said to have asked for his corpse to be thrown to his Cadaver Mice after his execution.
There really are nicer mice to keep.
MOUSING NOTES
It’s wise to stay as far away from these creatures as you can, as they mainly spread disease.
The Tail End
EMILINE HAD LEFT THE PACKED STREETS AND REACHED the deserted riverside downstream of Pirate’s Wharf with little time to spare. The chants of the crowd carried down the river. The view of the scaffold was now partially blocked by a wooden barricade on the river path intended to restrict movement so close to the site of execution. Emiline knew that just on the other side were armed soldiers, but they would be far more interested in the hangings than the goings-on along the river.
At the inside curve of the river, Emiline saw the copper dome of Algernon’s submarine breaking the surface. He’d cunningly covered it with a few pieces of scrubby bush that had fallen in the river, and it was well concealed a short way out from the river bank.
“Algernon and his submarine . . . ,” said a voice from behind Emiline. “I figured there had to be some way you escaped the island.”
Emiline span round and saw Miserley.
“You’re not going get away this time!” said Miserley, two daggers held at the ready. Emiline sighed.
“Emiline? Is that you?” said Algernon, his head and arms appearing from the hatch. He shoved all the greenery out of the way.
“You keep out of this, little freak man,” said Miserley, pointing the dagger in his direction. “It’s between me and Blonde here!”
“Stop calling me that!” said Emiline. Miserley just looked at her with a sneer. Portly rushed onto Emiline’s shoulder and squeaked as angrily as he could.
Miserley leaped forward and lunged with her daggers outstretched. One pierced Emiline’s jacket as she twisted to avoid the attack: it caught her between arm and body, and she clamped her elbow tight to trap Miserley. Sensing blood, Weazle couldn’t hold himself back. He rushed onto Emiline’s shoulder and snapped at Portly with his dirty teeth. The Grey Mouse swiped his small paw in defense before running under Emiline’s hair. Weazle followed, biting hard at the smaller mouse’s tail. Emiline heard a loud squeak of distress close to her ear and, still holding onto Miserley’s arm, kicked out, knocking the other dagger to the ground.
Emiline kicked out again, her anger rising, and this time aimed hard into Miserley’s stomach. Her attacker crumpled in two, and Emiline released her arm and pushed her back. She felt the other mouse move under her hair and grabbed it, bringing it out for Miserley to see swinging from her fingers. Portly continued to squeak sadly, and appeared at Emiline’s shoulder; the end of his tail was completely bitten off and a small trail of blood was running down Emiline’s jacket.
“You want me to kill it!” said Emiline, filled with rage. “You want your mouse to die? I’ll kill it!”
Miserley snarled and flicked her hair to the side in a gesture of defiance.
“Do it, Blonde!” she said, trying to call Emiline’s bluff. “Go on, I dare you! You don’t have the guts.”
Weazle twisted his body and stared at Emiline with his jet-black eyes. She faltered, and Miserley sneered in disgust.
“Emiline!” shouted Algernon, who had brought his submarine directly behind her. Its engine was chugging along contentedly. “It’s Spires . . . the sign!”
Emiline looked up to see a lone Messenger Mouse fly into the sky over the river.
Seizing her chance, Miserley charged and rammed Emiline with her shoulder. Weazle was catapulted into the air and Emiline screamed as she tumbled helplessly backward. She grabbed Miserley’s jacket in a last-ditch attempt to right herself, and held it with all her might as they both careered head-first into the river with a great messy splash.
“Emiline!” shouted Algernon, grabbing his head in exasperation. He leaned farther out of the submarine and peered into the dirty river, but he could see nothing. Suddenly, Portly appeared at the surface with a burst of bubbles, struggling frantically against the current. Algernon swept him up and saw the horrible mess of his tail.
“Oh, what can I do? What can I do?” he muttered, using his other hand to clear dirt from the surface of the water. Each second that passed gave him less time to save his friends.
“Emiline! Where are you?”
The water started to bubble, then jitter. A shadow started to form below the surface, and then it broke and Emiline burst out, inhaling a massive gulp of air.
“Oh, thank heavens,” cried Algernon, stretching out both hands and pulling her up and then hauling her into the little submarine. He pushed her down into the hull and slammed the hatch shut.
Emiline caught hold of the metal side and struggled for breath.
“Are we too late?” she asked, her heart thumping and water dripping from her jacket.
“We might be,” he said grimly.
Algernon pushed the gear stick to send them powering through the water just a few feet below the surface to Pirate’s Wharf. It was then that Emiline saw Portly and his poor tail.
“Portly!” she cried, picking him up and stroking him tenderly.
“He’ll be fine with a bit of love and care,” said Algernon. “But we’re here now, Emiline. There’s more to do yet!”
With all the commotion going on at the riverside no one noticed the submarine’s tiny bubble trail popping on top of the water. They surfaced directly under the large execution platform, where they were hidden in shadow. Emiline quietly unlocked the hatch and looked up anxiously. She felt her heartbeat quicken. The trapdoors were still in place but she could hear the drums rolling.
“We made it!” she said, poking her head back into the submarine. She hoped that Algernon’s mice had done their work. She clambered out onto the top of the submarine, conscious of her fingers twitching nervously.
The drums stopped. Emiline held her breath.
The Boffin Mouse
CONSIDERED THE MOST INTELLECTUALLY EVOLVED OF ALL MICE, THE Boffin Mouse is capable of learning simple tasks and procedures. First discovered on the beaches of Endwyn, digging small Bumpworms out of the sand, Boffin Mice rarely take rest. It is thought that they thrive on being busy, and while they do have incredible concentration, they are also very sociable animals. With their happy and well-balanced temperament, Boffins make excellent companions for humans; they’ve even been known to take active roles in the workplace, where they excel.
MOUSING NOTES
Teaching your Boffin Mouse is simple, but don’t forget to reward excellence with treats. Their favorites are Jumbly Flies, but if these are hard to come by, try some delicious Brain Beans.
The Bond of Friendship
WITH A LOUD CLUNK THE TRAPDOORS DROPPED down, casting shards of bright light onto the river.
Two of the pirates came plummeting through to the river, but one remained suspended. Emiline was horrified by the sight of Scratcher hanging halfway through the trapdoor.
Drewshank and Mousebeard hit the water and struggled to remain afloat. Drewshank saw the submarine and shouted at Mousebeard. With their hands bound it was difficult to swim, but they struggled to the submarine’s side. Emiline, still watching Scratcher’s feet anxiously, grabbed Drewshank and pulled him closer with all the strength that she had.
“Scratcher!” she screamed.
“Oh no,” muttered Drewshank as he clambered to safety, his eyes falling on the terrible sight.
Scratcher’s body had dropped a few inches, but no farther, and his movements were getting slower.
On top of the scaffold, the three Boffin Mice were feverishly biting through Scratcher’s rope. At the pirate’s signal they had scurried from his beard, darted up his rope to the scaffold, and chewed through the prisoners’ nooses — but the third had proved difficult. Mr. Droob had replaced it with a particularly strong kind. They gnawed away with immense determination at each separate strand of twine, every second seeming to last an eternity. But then, with the very last thread, the rope snapped, and Scratcher dropped like a stone into the water.
All three squeaked triumphantly. Algernon’s training had taught them to be pleased with success, and their ears were bolt upright soaking in the pleasure and relief of finally saving Scratcher. But their time was short. The executioner had noticed that something odd had happened on top of the scaffold and was staring up at them.
The mice rushed along the long joist and scampered down to the platform, where they ran out unnoticed through the soldiers charging back and forth. They made their way to the cobblestones, scuttled along the riverside, and disappeared into the crowds.
The cheering suddenly stopped as the crowd inhaled in unison. Soldiers hurried to the river’s edge and focused their rifles on the river. Battersby jumped up from his seat in the stands and pushed past Lady Pettifogger, who let slip a brief, wry smile. Isiah Lovelock yelled out as though a knife had been driven into his heart.
As Scratcher hit the water, Emiline cried with joy. She jumped into the river and caught hold of her friend as he sank below the surface. Then they both popped up, coughing. Scratcher could hardly breathe, his windpipe constricted by the rope around his neck, but he was alive at least. He struggled to speak. And then gunshots blasted out from the riverside. The Old Town Guard had opened fire on them. Bullets whizzed overhead and popped as they shot into the river.
Algernon reached out from the submarine and mustered enough strength to pull Scratcher in. The boy managed a delighted cry as he realized he was safe.
Emiline then turned for Mousebeard. His strength was returning rapidly, but he still needed help and was struggling to keep on the surface. Both Algernon and Emiline caught hold of his jacket. Emiline pushed and Algernon tugged as hard as they could. Thin as he’d become, the pirate was still incredibly heavy, but together they managed to get him to the hatch where he could pull himself in. Mousebeard looked up quickly to see Scragneck’s body hanging limply below the scaffold.
“Thank you,” he said, before squeezing into the submarine. “Your mice were unbelievable . . . .”
“They are a clever bunch,” said Algernon. “They’ll be all right out there. I’m sure of it.”
Emiline let the pirate and Algernon drop down and then followed them. Soldiers had jumped into the water and were closing in. She lowered her head and secured the hatch.
“Get a move on!” she shouted — a call that was echoed by everyone inside.
The submarine’s engine kicked in louder than ever, and they sped off, leaving Old Town to become a dark and hated memory.
“No!” shouted Battersby, charging down from the viewing platform. “Where’s that girl? Where’s that Miserley girl?”
Isiah Lovelock and his butler met him at the bottom of the stand.
“Alexander,” said Lovelock calmly. Inside he was fuming. “We have the mice and Mousebeard’s ship. The pirate can do us no harm in the foreseeable future.”
“They’ve made a laughingstock of us. And that girl knew it all along. Where’s she gone?”
“We caught Mousebeard once, Alexander; we’ll catch him again. He now has no crew — he can’t do a thing. In two months’ time we’ll have piles of golden fur and enough money to buy an even larger army and navy. He won’t get away . . . .”
Battersby’s red, angry face gradually lost some of its fire.
“Well, for now we’ll let them run, Isiah. But they know too much of our plans. It will come back to haunt us if we’re not careful.”
“I’m always careful, Alexander.”
Battersby nodded. “But just to make me feel happier, I’m going to find out who among the Old Town Guard let this happen, then make them pay with their lives.”
“If it makes you happier,” said Lovelock. “Maybe you’ll find our spy that way!”
“I will find that traitor if it’s the last thing I do,” Battersby said angrily, and marched off.
Spires stood quietly, looking along the river to where the estuary panned out into the sea. He knew all too well that his time in Old Town would soon have to come to an end.
“Spires!” called Lady Pettifogger. Ever poised, she arrived beside them, seemingly unruffled by the recent drama. “Is our carriage ready?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his mind elsewhere. “Sir?”
Lovelock looked at him.
“We should be going. The streets will prove a horror to travel in with this crowd, sir.”
“You’re right, Spires, of course. What would I do without you?”
The butler smiled.
“Thank you, sir,” he said.
Once the submarine had passed the navy blockade of the harbor, Algernon set it motoring of its own accord and breathed a sigh of relief. Despite having lost his mice to Old Town, he was sure they could look after themselves. He swiveled the pilot’s chair and flicked a small switch, turning on a thin blue line of lights that traveled around the interior. Algernon looked back into the rather cramped submarine and couldn’t help but laugh. Mousebeard was taking up an unfair amount of room, with his legs turning at an awkward angle to avoid Drewshank, who was contorted around the sub-marine’s curved side — it wasn’t built for men of their stature. Emiline and Scratcher were sitting right at the far end, with even less room. No one was particularly comfortable, but it was definitely preferable to standing under the gallows.
“Algernon,” said Mousebeard, “I owe you my life.”
“It’s these mousekeepers you should thank,” he said honestly. “A braver pair I’ve never known.”
The pirate twisted his heavy head around to look at them, sitting at the back. Scratcher was holding his neck. He was still in great pain and could hardly talk. Emiline was simply exhausted. She looked back at Mousebeard nervously. The pirate, though much thinner, was still a sizable man and his brooding face continued to fill her and Scratcher with a certain amount of dread.
“I knew there was something ab
out you two when we first met. Accept my apologies for any pain I caused.”
Emiline thought back to the moment she and Scratcher had been flung at Mousebeard’s feet onboard the Silver Shark. It seemed strange they were now sharing Algernon’s submarine with him.
“It’s fine,” she said bravely. Scratcher rubbed his neck and tried to form a smile.
“I shall make up for it, I give you my word,” said the pirate solemnly.
“But my, you’re looking thinner, Jonathan!” laughed Algernon. “You look like you did fresh out of Mousing Academy — apart from the gray hair, of course.”
“Gray hair?” said Mousebeard, shuffling around to make his body fit the small space better. He grabbed his soaking beard, wrung it out like a wet cloth, and lifted it to his eyes.
“It’s gray! No!” he said, panic rising within him. Throughout all the time that the curse ate into his being, he hadn’t realized his black beard had been losing all its color, while his clothes now looked as though they had space for six of him.
“This is ridiculous!” he said, pulling at the saggy folds of his shirt. “That damned Isiah Lovelock! How will anyone take me seriously looking like this?”
“You’ll need a ship first, Mousebeard!” said Drewshank wearily. He felt utterly bedraggled and couldn’t even bring himself to look at the state of his clothes.
“The Shark!” proclaimed Mousebeard, jumping to his feet. The submarine rocked and faltered in the water. Its engine started to roar unhappily.
“Jonathan!” yelled Algernon, stretching to the controls and steadying the ship. “This sub isn’t made for big oafs like you!”
Mousebeard froze and held his arms out to find a balance.
“Don’t worry, it’s all right,” added Algernon finally, after tweaking the controls.
Mousebeard slowly returned to the floor, and avoided the sprawl of everyone’s legs.
“But they stole my ship!”
