The Deptford Mice 2: The Crystal Prison (16 page)

Arthur sped over to Audrey and helped her up whilst Jenkin swung on his father’s arm.

‘Nettle!’ bellowed Mr Woodruffe. ‘That is enough. I will not allow you to spoil the Hall of Corn.’

Isaac threw him a foul glance, but he persisted.

‘Listen to me. I am your king! I am the law here.’

Isaac faltered and put his arm down slowly, all the while staring steadily into the level eyes of Mr Woodruffe.

‘I cannot allow this behaviour,’ continued the King of the Field.

‘I do but honour the Green and keep His laws.’

‘Maybe, but you offend me!’

‘Then I shall not enter here again,’ Isaac roared. He whirled round, snatched up the corn dolly and strode off crying, ‘This abomination has stunk before the Green Mouse long enough.’ And he carried it out through the doors before anyone could stop him.

‘Consider yourself banished from the Hall till your temper cools,’ the king called after him.

All the fieldmice relaxed and muttered, shaking their heads. Then mothers came and fetched their children away from Audrey.

Elijah Scuttle came puffing up red-eared and worried for his son. Twit though had calmed down.

‘You all right?’ he asked Audrey. She nodded and thanked him. Twit let out a great sigh of relief.

‘I’m so sorry,’ stuttered Jenkin to both of them. He was dreadfully ashamed of his father.

‘Oh Jolly Jenkin,’ Twit brushed the incident away as his humour returned, ‘thank ’ee for comin’ quick – I nearly let fly then.’

‘Oh dear,’ Audrey said to Arthur, ‘I seem to be getting on the wrong side of everyone here, don’t I?’

He tried to reassure her. ‘But it wasn’t your fault, I’m sorry about your corn dolly – you spent such a long time on it.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I’m just glad no-one got hurt. That could have been very nasty then. Twit really took everyone by surprise, didn’t he?’

‘Maybe,’ remarked Arthur thoughtfully. ‘I suppose it’s this terrible heat as well.’ He frowned suddenly.

‘What is it?’ asked his sister.

‘Just this,’ he began slowly. ‘How did Mr Nettle know you were making a dolly? He passed below us in the field and he was angry before he got here.’

‘That is strange,’ agreed Audrey.

From her nest, Alison Sedge watched them with a satisfied smile on her pretty face.

Arthur made it to the top of a stalk at last, to the cheers of Twit and Jenkin. He could barely see them as night was falling and already its shadows were gathering about Fennywolde.

Arthur gazed over the top of the field. The silver light of dusk played over the rippling corn ears so that it really did look like a shimmering sea and he, Arthur, was floating on it. It was a bizarre feeling. Now he began to understand the love that fieldmice have for climbing.

‘
Come on Art,’ called up Twit. ‘I don’t want to stay down here all night – I wants me bed.’

Arthur tried to slide down as he had seen his friends do but he scraped his paws and bloodied his heels, then landed with an undignified ‘bump’ on the hard ground.

‘Did ’ee like it?’ inquired Jenkin.

‘It’s just wonderful up there,’ enthused Arthur, scrabbling off the ground. ‘Could I be a sentry do you think?’

‘Wait till tomorrow Arthur,’ yawned Twit.

‘I’d best be off now,’ said Jenkin. ‘I’d like to stay with Figgy and the others on sentry but my dad wouldn’t like that.’

‘Will those mice be on sentry all night?’ asked Arthur, surprised.

‘Course,’ replied Jenkin. ‘No good havin’ sentries if they go home at night.’

‘Well, shouldn’t we stay?’ Arthur addressed Twit.

‘Twit yawned again. ‘Oh come on Art,’ he said sleepily. ‘If I do sentry tonight like as not I’ll drop clear off and bash me head in – I was up all hours last night a-talkin’ to my folks. Let me have one good night’s sleep an’ we’ll do a ghoster tomorrow.’

‘Well,’ Jenkin began, ‘if I don’t go now I’ll be for it.

‘Night lads.’

‘Hope your dad’s calmed down now,’ Twit ventured.

Jenkin licked his sore lip and nodded. ‘So do I. Oh well, I’ll probably have a lot of praying to do when I get back, that’s all. See you tomorrow hopefully.’ He ran off out of the field.

Arthur watched him go until the night swallowed him. ‘Will he really be okay do you think?’

‘Should be,’ Twit answered. ‘It’s not him Isaac’s mad at. Now, we gonna get some shut-eye tonight?’

They made their way through the corridor to the great doors.

In the Hall of Corn all was calm. Nearly all the mice had gone to bed to try out their new nests and here and there orange lights showed through the openings as they settled down. Some fieldmice were talking, enjoying the refreshing change of a night spent under the sky without having to dread an owl attack. The hum of their chatter mingled with the quiet snores of sleepers which in turn blended with the rustle of the corn.

The summer stars shone down on to Audrey’s face. Her nest was snug and warm, and the moss which lined it was soft and scented. She nuzzled down into the cool fragrant feathering which smelt of the green earth and shady forests. It was at times like these, when the peace and beauty of Fennywolde were overpowering, that she thought it might not be so bad to spend the rest of her days there.

She closed her eyes and, breathing heavily, sank deeper into her bed.

Suddenly the world seemed to quake. The nest shook violently from side to side. Audrey was jolted out of her short velvet sleep and hurled about. What was happening? She tried to cling on to the round walls of the nest and staggered to and fro, unable to keep her balance. The bells which she had removed from her tail jangled and rattled round the nest like beads in a baby’s rattle.

A claw appeared over the opening and then everything went dark.

‘Mouselet?’ Madame Akkikuyu squeezed her huge head through the tiny hole, blocking out the light. She looked at Audrey. ‘Why mouselet in here?’ she asked curiously. ‘No room for Akkikuyu to kip – come down mouselet and we sleep on ground together.’

‘No!’ answered Audrey sharply. ‘This is my bedroom now and it’s not big enough for two.’

Madame Akkikuyu insisted. ‘But mouselet – little friend, Akkikuyu not like be alone in dark. Night has voices, they speak to her,’ the rat whimpered. ‘Besides, Akkikuyu not well – she need friend, need mouselet to help.’

‘What’s wrong with you?’ demanded Audrey sternly.

Akkikuyu’s ear – it aches and pounds.’

‘Why don’t you go and make yourself some potion or other,’ Audrey suggested.

‘Have tried, mouselet,’ assured the fortune-teller. ‘Akkikuyu has rubbed on bramble leaves and said the charm, she has made the paste of the camomile flower but still it hurts. I am frightened mouselet.’

‘Look,’ said Audrey, too tired to continue. ‘Why don’t you get some sleep? It might be better in the morning and you could ask Mr Scuttle to build you a nest tomorrow next to this one.’

But Madame Akkikuyu merely stared back. at her with the eyes of a scolded dog, hurt and confused. ‘Come down,’ she asked one last time,
‘
for Akkikuyu sake.’

‘No,’ Audrey said and she hated herself immediately.

The fortune-teller looked crestfallen. She stuck out her bottom lip and said sullenly, Akkikuyu go – she sleep on ground alone, poor Akkikuyu.’ She pulled her head out of the nest and began to climb down again.

Audrey leant out and saw the diminishing bulky figure reach the ground. In the darkness of the Hall floor she could just make out the spots on the rat’s red shawl and they quickly bobbed away.

‘Oh she can please herself,’ mumbled Audrey. ‘I never promised to stay with her all day and night did I?’

She remained leaning out of her nest for some time. Fennywolde was cooling after a hot day. The wind had dropped to a whispering breeze which brought sweet fragrances out of the meadow.

Presently the muffled sound of voices drifted up to her. It was Twit and Arthur returning at last. Their nest was above hers and slightly to the left. She waited for them to climb up.

Out of the gloom appeared two little paws and then Twit’s head popped up.

‘Hello Audrey,’ he said, drawing level with her. ‘You comfy in there?’

‘Yes it’s lovely, your father’s very clever.’

‘Reckon he is – oh!’ Two plumper paws had emerged and grabbed Twit’s tail tightly. ‘Shove up!’ shouted Arthur. Twit giggled, then said goodnight to Audrey before vanishing into his nest.

Arthur came into view, climbing the stalk determinedly. His tongue was sticking out as it always did when he was concentrating.

‘Arthur,’ said Audrey when it looked as if he would continue up without noticing her.

Arthur flinched in surprise. ‘Hello Sis,’ he said, startled. ‘You still awake then?’

‘Yes – I had a visit from Madame Akkikuyu.’

‘Didn’t try to get in did she?’

‘Yes, but it was too small. I sent her away in a sulk and I wish I hadn’t.’

‘Oh blow,’ said Arthur. ‘If she goes running off at the slightest thing, well—’

Audrey interrupted him. ‘But Arthur she said she wasn’t well and she mentioned that voice of hers again.’

Arthur scoffed. ‘She’s going batty – none of us heard that voice on the boat, did we? Yet she swore blind she had. I wouldn’t worry about it Sis, really. Now look, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go – my paws are killin’ me, hanging on like this. See you in the morning.’

‘Goodnight,’ Audrey called after him as he wriggled into the nest above. She Withdrew into her own bed arid sank into a deep, untroubled sleep.

Madame Akkikuyu wandered through the field miserably. Her right ear ached terribly and her best friend had not done anything to help. She kicked stones belligerently and felt sorry for herself.

The field was soon left behind and she walked along the edge of the ditch, cursing her ear and rubbing it vigorously. How it pained her. A constant dull throb pulsed inside like the worst tooth-ache imaginable. It was almost bad enough for her to want to run to the lonely yew tree and chew on its deadly poisonous bark.

Bit by bit the pain increased.

‘Oooh,’ whimpered the fortune-teller despairingly. Madame Akkikuyu sat down at the stony stretch of ditch and buried her head in her claws moaning to herself. The pain had only begun when the sun set and as the night became darker and cooler it grew more intense.

‘Akkikuyu.’

The rat looked up quickly. She could see no-one only the ghost-like moths fluttering overhead.

‘Akkikuyu!’ repeated the voice.

The fortune-teller wailed loudly. It was that voice again – the one that had haunted her from Greenwich.

‘Leave me!’ she cried.

‘Akkikuyu,’ the voice persisted. It was stronger than it had been on those previous occasions. It was a strange, sickly-sweet voice which made her shudder.

‘Listen to me,’ it said softly.

‘No,’ snapped the rat. ‘Never, Akkikuyu not want to go round bend. Leave me.’

‘Listen to me, let me help you.’

‘No, you not real – Akkikuyu barmy, she hear voice when nobody there.’

‘But I am real, Akkikuyu.’

‘Who are you then?’

‘My name is – Nicodemus,’ whispered the voice. ‘I am your friend.’

‘Then why you hide?’ asked Akkikuyu, glaring suspiciously at the shadows which seemed to have closed round her. She rubbed her head. She had seen something out of the comer of her eye and thought it was a spider dangling from her hair.

‘I do not hide, Akkikuyu,’ crooned the voice of Nicodemus. ‘I am here.’

And to her everlasting horror Madame Akkikuyu saw who it was that spoke to her.

‘Aaaghh!’ she screamed, getting to her feet in panic. But there was nowhere to run. On her right ear the tattooed face was moving and talking. The old ink lips were opening and closing and the drawn eyes were staring straight at her.

‘Aaghh!’
she screamed again. She thought she had finally gone out of her mind. ‘Akkikuyu is cracked! Oh poor Akkikuyu,’ she sobbed.

‘Listen to me Akkikuyu,’ Nicodemus ordered, ‘trust me, you are not mad.’

‘Stop, stop,’ whined the rat. ‘Stop, or Akkikuyu murder herself. This cannot be. Inky faces do not talk – they are doodles on skin, not real peoples.’

The face on her ear began again. ‘Akkikuyu listen, I am merely using this tattoo to talk to you. It is a channel through which you are able to hear me. I am really far, far away.’

The fortune-teller ceased her sobs. ‘What are you?’ she asked slowly.

‘I am a spirit of the fields,’ said the tattoo smiling. ‘I am the essence of the harvest, the sunlight on a distant hill, the splendour of a golden meadow, the heady perfume of the hawthorn in bloom.’

‘Why you speak to Akkikuyu? Spirits not supposed to talk to feather or fur.’

‘Because, dearest lady, I am trapped. Caught in a void – a horrible limbo where nightmare spirits of darkness, dwell. I must escape. You must help me, I must return to the fields ere I perish for eternity.’

‘How you get trapped?’ asked the fortune-teller doubtfully.

‘That is a long and frightening tale which I cannot relate. Help me Akkikuyu – give me sweet liberty.’

She considered his entreaty then shook her head.

‘No,’ she answered plainly. ‘Akkikuyu is mad – you not there – she imagine all this, so shut up.’

‘What proof do you need, woman?’ demanded Nicodemus sternly and in his impatience his voice faltered and became ugly. ‘You must release me.’

‘So you say,’ said Madame Akkikuyu, ‘but how is this to be? Akkikuyu have no great magicks to work for you. She know only herbs and medicines to make mouselings better.’

The voice shouted, ‘But I can teach you Akkikuyu. All the forces of nature are mine to command. You could learn from me secret knowledge known to none of your kind – just think of it.’ The voice lulled and coaxed most invitingly.

Madame Akkikuyu thought hard. A yearning awoke inside her – it seemed to be a very old feeling nudged to the surface by Nicodemus’ promises. Magical power, he would give her that! The hunger for it which welled up inside her felt so new, yet also strangely familiar. Nicodemus’ voice began again.

‘You could be a queen, Akkikuyu,’ the tattoo went on, ‘mighty above all others.’ Madame Akkikuyu seemed to come out of the illusions he was weaving about her.