by Robin Jarvis
A bolt of lightning struck the circle and blasted the stones apart. Alison dropped the crystal and fled through the gap, escaping into the field.
The bonfire spluttered, the flames leapt higher and the tumult of the storm drowned out Jupiter’s voice calling from the glowing crystal.
‘The sacrifice has been made and They are satisfied. Release me child, release me. I am Jupiter, Lord of all Darkness! I command you to break open the globe!’ Without his tattooed eyes he could not see that there was no-one to hear him.
Bright, fiendish sparks shot out of the fire and fell within the cornfield.
Before long, the corn was ablaze.
The terrible spirit within the globe called out in pain as the fierce heat scorched the glass. The bonfire toppled over and fell with a flurry of burning ashes on top of the crystal. Jupiter’s furious cries were muffled.
In the Hall of Corn, the Scuttles, Arthur and Mr Woodruffe had decided that Audrey and Twit should go back to Deptford to tell the Starwife what had happened.
The rest of the fieldmice were mumbling and talking to each other in low voices. Some of them were repenting their hasty actions whilst others were sorry the town mouse had got off so lightly.
Suddenly a cry made everyone turn round. All the sentries were in the Hall; none had seen Alison Sedge crashing through the field. She burst into the Hall of Corn and shouted, ‘It’s the rat woman – she’s working for a devil, she is behind all this.’
But before anyone could question her further, another voice yelled out, ‘FIRE!’
All heads turned again. The sky was aglow and black plumes of smoke blew towards the Hall. Hot ash started to rain down and the Fennywolders squeaked in panic.
‘To the still pool!’ declared Mr Woodruffe, jumping on to the throne. ‘Fly as fast as you can. Save yourselves.’
The fieldmice streamed out of the great doors and through the corridor. They were met by the ravaging fire devouring the corn at a terrifying rate.
The Fennywolders could not escape that way they were beaten back into the Hall of Corn by the blaze and with a splintering whoosh the great doors collapsed behind them.
‘We’re trapped!’ cried the mice. It was getting difficult to breathe, as the air was sucked up by the flames.
One of the nests caught fire and began to bum furiously.
‘Over here,’ bawled Arthur, ‘it hasn’t reached here yet.’ Everyone ran to the Scuttles’ area and Twit guided them out through a narrow channel of choking smoke. It was so thick and hot that it burned the eyes and filled the lungs. Old Todmore coughed and spluttered in the blackness.
‘Where we goin’ you daft lad? I can’t see,’ he wheezed.
‘I knows this way in me sleep,’ Twit called back to him. The ears of corn above burst and spat down fiery missiles. ‘Come on,’ shouted Arthur, trying to sound calm, ‘nearly there.’
The babies gagged and cried, turning their tiny pink faces away from the glaring flames. Elijah and Gladwin clutched each other’s paws tightly as they crouched beneath blazing arches.
The heat was furnace hot and the tips of tails sizzled, whilst delicate ears roasted. A few times Twit hesitated, doubting the way. His whiskers smoked, but the noise of the inferno coupled with the lightning confused him.
‘This way,’ he decided, crossing his fingers. He dived through a wall of smoke and found himself in the glade. ‘C’mon,’ he shouted.
Soon everyone was there and they hurried over to the hawthorn bushes and dived into the pool.
‘Hang on,’ said Arthur. ‘Where’s Audrey?’
‘Not with me, Arthur,’ said Gladwin, getting worried.
‘I think she was with Mr Woodruffe,’ Elijah muttered.
‘But I haven’t seen him either,’ Arthur cried.
‘Then she must be still in there,’ said Twit looking back at the field. The fire was out of control.
‘Nothing could live in that,’ murmured Arthur grimly.
‘Oh Aud,’ said Twit.
When the fieldmice had left the Hall, Audrey and Mr Woodruffe heard a faint cry. They hurried back ‘and found Isaac Nettle lying on the ground. He had been overcome by the smoke.
‘Get on yer feet Nettle,’ snapped Mr Woodruffe. He pulled the mouse up and slapped his face firmly. ‘Let me be,’ whined Isaac miserably. He sagged down again. ‘Let me rest.’
‘Oh no Nettle, you’ve done too much harm this night to fizzle out now, you old goat,’ said Mr Woodruffe hauling him away.
‘Will he be all right asked Audrey anxiously as she looked desperately round at the burning Hall.
‘Aye lass, if we can get him out in time. Now come on Nettle, use yer legs.’
‘No,’ cried Isaac suddenly. ‘The brass, my son’s brass, it was in my paw. Where’s it gone?’
‘It must be back there,’ said Audrey.
‘Leave it Nettle.’
‘I must have it, I must. Jenkin, my lad!’ He struggled wildly with them.
‘If you go back in you’ll suffocate,’ shouted Mr Woodruffe. ‘Stay here! I’ll go.’
‘No,’ yelled Audrey. Mr Woodruffe charged through the thick clinging smoke and searched for Jenkin’s mousebrass.
There came a fierce roar as a line of burning nests crashed down behind. They formed a fence of fire between him and the others. He was trapped.
‘Mr Woodruffe!’ called Audrey. ‘Go child, while you can,’ he yelled. ‘You can’t save me. Take Nettle out of here.’ More nests tumbled between them and Audrey fled tearfully away.
Mr Woodruffe made it across to his wicker throne and sat on it just as the blazing walls caved in on him. The king died with his field.
Audrey tugged furiously at Isaac who was singing in a mad voice. The way was practically impassable now. Terrifying sheets of fire raged on either side of the path.
‘Glory to the Green,’ raved Mr Nettle insanely. ‘See his blossoms grow.’
It took all of Audrey’s failing strength to make him follow her, and the ground scorched her feet badly as she dragged him to safety.
‘Please, this way Mr Nettle,’ she implored.
‘What flowers are these?’ Isaac asked, staring up at blazing corn stems. ‘Come Jenkin, see this fair garden. What wonders have we here?’
‘Please Mr Nettle,’ she cried, yanking at his paw.
The flames swallowed the path behind them.
‘With red roses and orange blossom – how bright they are,’ marvelled Isaac. He coughed painfully.
Audrey pushed him further along. Her hair smouldered and she discarded her lace collar so she could breathe.
They came to the end of their journey. A massive wall of flames reared up before them. Audrey sobbed: they could go no further. They were cut off.
‘Praise be to Him who makes the flowers,’ ranted Isaac.
Audrey fell to her knees. The fire roared on every side and blazed overhead. She looked round dizzily and gave up. Audrey fainted.
‘Blessed be the new leaves of the hawthorn,’ rejoiced Mr Nettle.
Thunder split the sky and the clouds were rent apart. Heavy rain teemed down with torrential force. The pool filled and flooded into the ditch while the blazing field hissed and seethed.
Audrey opened her eyes. There was a low, rough ceiling over her head and she was in a small bare room. It was the Scuttles’ winter quarters.
‘Hello Aud!’ Twit was sitting by her side.
She smiled at him, ‘How did I get here?’ she asked. ‘There was fire everywhere. I thought I was done for – what happened to Mr Nettle?’
‘He’s sleepin’. We found him an’ you when the rain put the fire out. We all thought you were dead but you were only in a swoon. You was lucky this time Aud.’
‘Yes.’ She pulled her fingers through her singed hair and remembered. ‘Mr Woodruffe, did you find him?’
Twit looked at the floor sadly. ‘He didn’t make it Aud. And we found summat else.’ The little fieldmouse fidgeted with his toes.
/> ‘What else?’
The fieldmouse raised a pale face. ‘Akkikuyu’s dead – she burned in her own bonfire.’ Audrey shook her head. ‘Poor Akkikuyu – are you sure?’
He nodded hurriedly. ‘Ain’t no doubt there.’
Audrey burst into tears. She had started out hating the rat but had grown fond of her funny ways. The memory of last night’s wedding ceremony and Akkikuyu’s blessing flooded back.
‘Oh Akkikuyu I’m sorry,’ she wept.
Twit patted her hand. ‘Least ways you’re free of that bargain now Aud. You can go home. Oswald is safe.’
‘Yes,’ she sniffed, ‘the bargain is over.’ She stared at Twit and said, ‘But you’re my husband now Twit. I can’t leave you.’
Twit reassured her. ‘Now don’t be daft Aud,’ he said, ‘we both know I only married yer to stop yer gettin’ hanged. I told ’ee you don’t have to stay. Go back to Deptford – it’s where you belong.’
‘And you?’
Twit shrugged. ‘A fieldmouse belongs in a field,’ he told her. ‘I’ll stick around, providing my banishment’s been lifted, and help with the clearing up. A nasty mess – very nasty.’
‘You know,’ whispered Audrey, ‘you’re not as cheeseless as folk make out, William Scuttle. You’re a very wise mouse indeed. I’ll miss you.’ She kissed him.
‘Aw,’ he puffed, turning bright red and twisting his tail in his paws. ‘I reckons I’ll come back one day to see me wife an’ have a chinwag with old Thomas over a bowl of rum.’
Gladwin Scuttle bustled in. Her hair was tied up in a scarf and she wore a white apron. ‘Oh you’re awake Audrey,’ she said, ‘well that is a relief. I’m just on my way to help with the clean-up. Half the tunnels are flooded by the rains and it’s still pouring. No, don’t you get up, young lady. You stay there for at least a week. You hear me?’
Audrey laughed.
It took nearly a week for the clean-up to end. The tunnels had been flooded with sooty water and this left everything grimy and unpleasant. One of the first things the fieldmice did was start redecorating. They stained the walls with berry juice and decked flowers everywhere. The drab years had passed and in his sickroom Isaac Nettle, recovering from his madness, accepted the way of things. He even strung nutshells together and painted them bright colours. He was a changed mouse. Many of the children were ill with smoke sickness and Samuel Gorse left his room to visit them and cheer their spirits by acting out, with Todkin and Figgy’s help, the story of Mahooot the owl. Figgy played the art of Young Whortle who was sorely missed by them all. Arthur arranged the burials of Mr Woodruffe, Young Whortle and Madame Akkikuyu’s remains.
It was the first time Audrey was allowed out of doors and she was stunned at what was left of the field.
All was charred and ugly. The corn had disappeared leaving unlovely, spiky stubble poking out of the ground. Rain puddles were coated with ash and everything was drab and dismal. It seemed that the whole world had turned dark and grey.
The King of the Field was buried on a drizzling morning near the rose trees. The fieldmice raised a mound over him and Isaac carved a beautiful crown of hawthorn leaves from a single piece of wood. Into it he inscribed the words, ‘We have lost our King whose light shone on our darkness’.
He laid the monument on the top of the mound and fresh flowers were placed there every day.
Young Whortle was laid to rest next to Hodge. Mr and Mrs Nep mourned the loss of their son for the rest of their lives. The Fennywolders could not decide where to put Madame Akkikuyu some thought that she ought not to be buried at all, but be thrown to the birds. Most fieldmice though remembered her eagerness to please and the bravery she showed with Mahooot. So it was decided to lay her to rest under the hawthorn around the still pool. There it was hoped she would find peace at last. Audrey, swallowing back her tears, insisted that the remains of the fortune-teller be placed in a patch of ground that the sunlight touched. So the branches were cut back, and as the earth was piled over her grave the sun appeared in the wet sky and a pale, slender ray shone down upon the last resting place of the fortune-teller.
‘It’s all she ever wanted,’ wept Audrey.
The still pool became known as ‘the Witch’s Water’ and in years to come youngsters would go there to cast offerings into it and beg for wishes. And sometimes, on certain summer evenings, when the last flickering beams of the setting sun touched a particular spot – wishes did indeed come true.
In Fennywolde the clear-up finished and Audrey began to think of going home.
Arthur was upset at the thought of leaving. He had gained everyone’s respect and now they knew that Audrey was innocent the mice had warmed to her too. A veil seemed to have been lifted and they became the good-natured creatures they had always been.
Finally the day dawned when it was time to leave.
Audrey kissed Elijah and Gladwin goodbye.
‘Tell my sister to stop poking her nose in where it’s not wanted – she did that when she was a child you know.’
‘Fare ’ee well lass,’ said Elijah.
It was time to say goodbye to Twit. ‘I’ll miss you William,’ she said thickly, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘I’ll never forget you’
‘See you Aud,’ he replied brightly, but the twinkle had left his eye for ever. ‘Say hello to Oswald for me, an’ thank Thomas for his rum. Take care now.’
‘I will. Goodbye.’ She kissed her husband for the last time.’
Arthur said his farewells briskly. ‘Cheerio,’ he said, waving to everyone who had come out to see them off. Dimsel Bottom slunk away and stared after him sorrowfully.
Brother and sister set off. Twit raised his paw but his voice croaked hoarsely, ‘Bye!’ He tried to wipe the tears from his eyes but they would not stop. ‘I did love ’ee Aud,’ he whispered.
Arthur Brown and Audrey Scuttle became two specks on the horizon, making for the river. When the farewell cries of the country mice had finally dwindled into nothingness, the two town mice looked back for their friends, but they had already travelled too far. All they could see as they gazed back towards the corn field were the elms rising high above the ditch, and the yew tree spreading darkly behind them. This picture stayed in their minds long after. But although they both vowed to return one day, neither ever saw the land of Fenny again.
Summer’s End
It was the last day of summer. The breeze was fresh and cool, the sun was a pale disc in the sky. The leaves of the elms were past their best and had that tired, old look which suggests the coming of autumn. Some of them were already curling up and turning gold.
Alison Sedge sat on the edge of the ditch lost in thought. She no longer took great care of her appearance. Her hair needed brushing and she let it fall in tangled, untidy knots over her face. Her dress was shabby – but why should she care? In her mind she was with Jenkin. They laughed together and smiled at one another in a dreamworld she greatly cherished. Alison lived for such dreams now. She no longer tossed her head or flashed her eyes, and she never listened to compliments from boys. In fact such compliments had ceased. Alison did not bother about that, for in her mind’s eye she was the way Jenkin liked her.
She turned the black thing over in her paws. She had found it buried in a pile of ashes and cinders. Her find was scorched, blackened and pitted but not broken. She raised the crystal of Madame Akkikuyu up to the sun but it was too black and opaque to allow her to see within.
It was some months now since the town mice had left Fennywolde and returned to Deptford. Alison had kept out of their way. How fickle everyone was to begin liking that horrid girl after everything she had done. But no, it was the rat woman who had caused all the evil wasn’t it? Alison was confused. Her thoughts were really too full of Jenkin to dwell on other subjects for long. But there was something about this globe – it had something to do with . . . oh she could not remember any more.
‘Curse you Audrey,’ she spat and discarded the black sooty ball. It began to roll dow
n the steep bank . . .
Alison struggled to her feet and walked away. She was oblivious of the light noise behind her, and did not hear the glass crack and then smash on the sharp stones at the bottom of the ditch.
Unwittingly Alison had completed the spell that had caused so much suffering. Whilst she dreamed of a time long before when she and Jolly Jenkin had been happy together, a hideous great shadow rose up from the ditch behind her.
Jupiter soared into the sky – free at last from the crystal prison.
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The Crystal Prison?
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Read an extract of The Final Reckoning
The ghostly spirit of Jupiter has returned, more terrifying than before. Bent on revenge, he smothers the world in an eternal winter of snow and ice. The Deptford Mice are worried: the mystical bats have fled from the attic, and a new rat army is gathering strength. With food short and no sign of spring, the mice know there’s a desperate struggle ahead. Who knows how many will survive and at what cost?
The Pedlar
The hedgerows were spotted with berries red as blood, and black, ragged-winged crows flapped over the empty fields shrieking in ugly voices.
Autumn’s full glory was nearly spent: the bright copper of the beeches was now a dull brown and the number of muddy pools grew daily.
A breeze suddenly stirred some of the dry leaves and for a moment they danced on the air like living things. A hedgehog poked his snout out from under one of the russet mounds and sniffed the air cautiously. His small, bead-like eye peered out at the world and blinked wearily. The wet nose snuffled around inquisitively: something was approaching. The air was different and now the breeze brought a strange jangling sound. The hedgehog began to shuffle backwards uncertainly but kept his eye fixed on the bank path. The noise grew nearer and with it came a voice raised in song.
