The Deptford Mice 1: The Dark Portal (7 page)

‘Why have you disturbed my rest?’ said Jupiter.

Morgan trembled. ‘No, not I, Dark Majesty. ’Tis this witch lump ’ere. She come a-pokin’ an’ a-nosin’. Shall I have ’er ’ead separated from ’er shoulders – nice an’ gradual like?’

Throughout all this Madame Akkikuyu, stood proud and erect. Now she spoke. ‘Oh Lord of All,’ she began and bowed with more grace than any would have given her credit for. ‘This day I have seen in my crystal things which I cannot pretend to understand.’

‘Shut it trollop!’ squawked Morgan.

The flaming eyes burned brighter.

‘Leave us, Morgan,’ Jupiter said.

‘But my Lord! Oh Prince of the Dying!’ exclaimed the rat. ‘She is nowt but a fake, why she used to—’

The voice from the dark growled at him and Morgan left the altar quickly, swinging his stumpy tail after him.

‘And now, Akkikuyu,’ Jupiter continued in a sweet but menacing tone, ‘tell me all.’

Madame Akkikuyu swallowed hard and told everything that she had seen in the crystal – the empire of rats with Jupiter at their head dominating the world; the young mouse girl with the shining ornament; and then the overheard conversation with Piccadilly.

To all this the darkness in the portal listened, savouring every word. Finally Jupiter spoke.

‘Akkikuyu, I believe all you saw will come to pass, but these mice must be removed from the tale. Can I trust you with the task?’

‘Yes, I no fluff it like master-no-tail.’

‘Excellent,’ Jupiter continued. ‘Yet I sense there is more you would ask of me.’

She bowed once more.

‘You are wise, Great One. As I, Akkikuyu, have said, so shall I do. I pledge my loyalty.’

‘And yet?’

She took from her bag the crystal.

‘This do I offer unto you for your service, my Lord – only today was I allowed to use it properly. How much more would I like never to need it again.’

Jupiter laughed, a horrible high jarring sound. He saw what she was driving at.

‘So that’s it. Morgan merely wants power but you desire much more. You seek some of my magic! Even now I feel the lust for it in your blood. Ha! I fancy you would make a more efficient lieutenant than he when the time comes. Yes, it amuses me. I accept your crystal, but only when you deliver unto me the girl Audrey and Piccadilly shall I invest you with some of the black powers.’

Akkikuyu stood back and bowed.

‘As you have willed so shall it be,’ she said and was granted permission to leave.

On her way out she met Morgan. He snatched at her by her bag straps.

‘Don’t mess with me,’ he warned her. ‘He may have a new toy in you for the present but as soon as he’s bored, you’re for it – I swear.’

Akkikuyu looked at him coldly.

‘Your time is over, Stump? You not flavour of month any more. I shall not fail him.’

Anxious, Morgan shook her.

‘He needs me to get the lads to do his diggin’. He needs me.’

Akkikuyu brushed him away from her.

‘Soon I take your place,’ she goaded. ‘You best make plan to flee.’

She turned her back on him and continued on her way.

Morgan watched her leave, the remains of his tail beating angrily on the ground.’

‘Oh I got plans, true enough,’ he muttered. ‘Just don’t get in my way, witch!’ and he spat venomously.

Arthur turned over. The early morning rays of the sun were slanting in across his bed. He mumbled and tried to regain his sleep. For a while he lay there breathing softly, waiting to slip back into his dreams. It was no use: he was wide awake. Arthur opened one eye.

It was a bright morning outside, one of those rare, beautiful Mays was just beginning. He opened the other eye. Arthur stretched and scratched, then stretched some more. He looked over to Audrey’s empty bed. She was up early, he mused. He got out of bed and stood in the sunlight. The disturbed dust floated in and out of the rays giving them a solid appearance. The warmth on his face made a refreshing start to the day.

Arthur liked being up and about early; it was just the waking up he found difficult. It was unusual for his sister to be up before him though. Audrey liked to stay in bed and ‘think about things’ as she put it. He had no idea what these ‘things’ were. She was dreamy, everyone knew that. Arthur wondered where she was. Leaving their room he went in search of breakfast.

‘Hello Mother.’

Gwen smiled at him. ‘Good morning. Any sign of Audrey getting up?’

‘But she already is. I mean when I woke up she wasn’t in the bedroom,’ Arthur said.

His mother stopped preparing breakfast. ‘Well where can she be? She hasn’t had a thing to eat’

Arthur shrugged. ‘You know what she’s like, Mum. What’s for breakfast?’

‘Arthur please, before you eat anything, go and find her.’

‘Oh Mum,’ he began; then he saw how upset she was. ‘All right – just wait till I do find her. I’m a growing mouse, I need breakfast, even if she doesn’t.’

Arthur made his way out of the Skirtings.

Oswald and Twit were in the hall when he came out.

‘Morning Arthur,’ greeted Oswald. ‘Isn’t it a glorious day? Cousin Twit thinks he might venture outside today and I might go with him.’

‘Have you seen Audrey this morning?’ Arthur asked them. They shook their heads. ‘If that isn’t just like her, the silly ass, wandering off without a word to anyone.’

‘Maybe she’m gone outside herself,’ suggested Twit.

‘Perhaps we should look for her there’ Arthur agreed.

The three friends crossed the hall and went into the kitchen of the old house.

The floor was covered in smooth linoleum but it was not so polished as to make them slip. Where the floorboards joined the foot of one wall there was a gap and through this the mice would sometimes venture into the garden. In the winter the passage had to be plugged to prevent a terrible draught whistling throughout the Skirtings. It had only been unblocked the day before for the boughs of hawthorn to be brought in and the paper with which it had been stuffed was scattered untidily about the entrance.

‘Have you ever been outside before?’ Arthur asked Oswald.

The other shook his head.

‘You know I haven’t.’

Twit looked up at his cousin. ‘You don’t have to come if you ain’t willin’,’ he said generously.

But Oswald dismissed all thoughts of staying behind.

Arthur had only been out once himself and that was with his father in the autumn when there were no leaves for enemies to hide behind. ‘Of course,’ he said wavering on the edge of the passage, ‘we don’t really know that Audrey came this way.’

Arthur wasn’t really worried about his sister. He thought she could be upstairs somewhere and they would find her later. For the moment he was enjoying the thrill of adventure without a serious thought to any real danger. The three mice knew that the garden was safe enough if they were careful. Arthur didn’t really expect Audrey to be out there, but hunting for her was a good excuse to explore with his friends.

So through the passage they went, happily scaring each other in the dark, and then they were outside. Instinctively they dashed for cover and ran into the tall grass.

Strictly speaking it was more of a yard than a garden, with a concrete area in the centre. But with long neglect nature had taken over. The brambles had thickened, the nettles had grown tall and the hawthorn had spread freely. Now there were cracks in the concrete and green was poking through. The garden was a wild place.

Oswald blinked his pink eyes in the bright light. They were weak and pained him.

Nevertheless it was very exciting to feel the breeze through his whiskers and see the abundant new growth of spring all around him. The scent of the hawthorn blossom was so beautiful that he held his breath for some time.

Twit was in his element. He had been cooped up in the Skirtings for most of the winter and it was not natural for him. To be out under the sky was a great tonic, and now he seemed to come really alive. He found a stalk of cow parsley and in no time had shinned to the top. There, amongst the starry white spray of flowers, he stayed motionless, his thoughts returning to his field. Once more he was surrounded by golden stalks of corn, nodding and swaying their heads like pale flames. Twit touched his mousebrass, an ear of wheat against the sickle moon. An ache was born in him. How he yearned for his home, his life in the country! He broke out of his reverie and looked down at his friends. Silently and sorrowfully he acknowledged the call of the country. He knew that soon he would have to leave and return home. Slowly he began to climb down.

The sun picked out the gold in his fur and it shone as he descended.

‘That’s a good trick,’ Arthur, called up to him. ‘Do you think you could teach me?’ Twit laughed as he thought of Arthur’s stout frame clambering up a grain stalk.

And so the happy mood had returned to him. Twit was a simple, sunny-natured mouse. He did not let things trouble him for long.

The three mice quite forgot that they were supposed to be looking for Audrey. Twit showed them the curly scrolling of worm casts, and the creatures that lived under damp stones. Oswald squealed as a large, shiny black beetle ran over his tail.

After a while they lay exhausted on the ground. Oswald was panting heavily and shielded his eyes from the sun with the scarf his mother had made him wear that morning.

Oswald really was the cuckoo in the Chitters’ nest. It was as well that Mrs Chitter was such a good body or there might have been unpleasant speculation on his origins. He was so tall and, well, rattish. But no one was ever cruel enough to say so – it would have hurt him deeply. When he had regained enough breath he asked, ‘Is this what it’s like in your field, Twit?’

‘Not much. The field she’m bigger, the corn do be higher,’ said the fieldmouse.

‘And the sun?’

‘Oh she’m the same,’ and they laughed.

They could have stayed out there much longer but a rumble came from Arthur’s’ stomach and that settled it. Back they went.

Once they’ were in the kitchen Oswald was able to open his eyes properly.

‘It must be dinner time now,’ Arthur said crossly. ‘I can feel my empty stomach flapping around. Wait till I see Audrey. I bet she’s had hers already.’

But Audrey was not at home and Mrs Brown was very worried now. She embraced Arthur, when he came in, fearing that he too had disappeared.

‘Suddenly my family is vanishing,’ she said unhappily. ‘First Albert and now Audrey. I don’t know what to do.’

Arthur calmed his mother down and started to think about Audrey seriously for the first time. He knew that although she was dreamy she wouldn’t miss two meals. Where could she have got to?

Gwen Brown busied herself by preparing dinner. Twit and Oswald stood shyly to one side until she spotted them.

‘Oh I’m sorry boys,’ she apologised. ‘Would you like to stay?’

The two mice politely refused, saying that Mrs Chitter would have some dinner ready for them and that they could ask about Audrey on the way. So they departed and Arthur told them he would see them later.

‘We haven’t tried upstairs yet Mother,’ he reassured her.

‘She’ll be mooching around up there somewhere.’

He ate his breakfast and then started on his dinner.

* * *

When Arthur met Twit and Oswald later they had already asked all the families around the Skirtings with no luck. So they began upstairs. For some reason the mice on the landing always acted superior to those below. Sniffy, Arthur called it and if truth be known Mrs Chitter had always wanted to live there. Yet despite this they were all very sorry to hear of Audrey’s disappearance and gave all the help they could in the search.

‘You know,’ Arthur said after a time, ‘there is one place we haven’t looked: in the cellar.’

Oswald was alarmed.

‘But you can’t go down there Arthur, you daren’t!’

Twit was interested. He had heard all the stories of the Grille from the elders and recalled how they would shiver in their skins when they told warning stories of it. Even his mother, Mrs Chitter’s sister, had taken tales of the sewers out to the country with her and made up lullabies to sing to him when he was a babe. The fieldmouse’s eyes were sparkling now.

‘Oh yes let’s go. It’ll be good.’

But Oswald was worried.

‘Nobody, but nobody, goes down there! Arthur don’t!’

‘It’s all right. It’s not that bad, I’ve been before,’ said Arthur not a little boastfully. ‘Besides, we really have looked everywhere else for her.’

His mind was made up and Twit was eager. Oswald trailed behind them putting forward well-reasoned arguments, but they did not listen. They gathered some stout sticks ‘just in case’ and headed for the cellar door. But Oswald’s legs trembled when they reached the great object. He had never wanted to pass beyond it.

‘I’m not going,’ he said flatly.

‘Suit yourself,’ replied Arthur, ‘but don’t tell anyone where we are.’

‘I promise. Oh you’ll be in such trouble. Twit, you really shouldn’t.’

‘Look, just make sure no one sees us go in and keep a lookout. If we’re not back soon, well, don’t come after us.’

‘I won’t, don’t worry.’

Arthur looked at the door.

‘Well, see you Oswald. Come on Twit.’ He passed through into the darkness and Twit made to follow him.

Oswald was in a terrible state. He felt an awful coward, just standing there, but he was desperately afraid of the cellar and the Grille. In frustration he looked about him. Would he see his friends again? He cursed his own failings and was about to wish them well when he heard footsteps, and with them the affected cough of Master Oldnose. All his fear, all his nerves, were suddenly switched off by the need to be out of sight. To be caught here was the worst thing possible.

So Oswald pushed Twit in front of him and dashed through the door. He stumbled, tripped and flew through the air, knocking his cousin over. Together they tumbled down the steps, bowling Arthur over in the process. Three bruised mice lay in a tangled lump at the bottom of the cellar steps. The first to move was Arthur.