The Deptford Mice 3: The Final Reckoning (10 page)

The Starwife then turned to a group of mourners wailing hopelessly. She tottered over to them and waved her stick impatiently. ‘Make yourselves useful you dozy lot,’ she snapped, ‘go find the fuel and help with the packing. There’ll be time enough for tears later.’

Thomas watched her with a wry smile on his lips. He had to admire the old thing – she never spared herself. The way she doggedly went on whatever happened was an inspiration. Not long ago he had thought she had come to the end of her strength yet here she was bossing and ordering once more, doing what was best for her subjects whether they liked it or not.

The little he knew about squirrel ways was enough to know that they always burnt their dead on funeral pyres. That now was the reason for their labours: one great bonfire to cremate all their murdered folk. No outsider had ever witnessed the ceremony before and Thomas felt honoured to have been allowed to see this much.

Dry twigs and branches were brought and reverently placed between the bodies by young squirrel maidens who wore bands of silver round their brows. Then old leaves and pieces of oil-soaked cloth were put into the wood and all the squirrels began to gather round.

From the tunnel entrance a solemn group came bearing the frozen body of Piers. They lifted him into the centre of the pyre and a hush descended.

Thomas wondered whether he ought to leave but the Starwife caught his eye and signalled for him to remain. She hobbled round the great circle with her head lifted to the sky and the ceremony began.

‘Under the stars we are as one,’ she called out. ‘Theirs is the power of countless years. They see our grief and know our pain, yet still they shine and their light gives us hope.’ The Starwife paused and beckoned to the maidens who came forward carrying small lamps. There was one for each of the dead and they burned with a small tongue of silver flame. The maidens bowed their heads and held the lamps in outstretched paws.

The Starwife removed the amulet from around her neck. It was the symbol of her authority – a silver acorn. She held it up and the starlight flashed and gleamed over it. ‘From acorn to oak,’ she intoned gravely, ‘but even the mightiest of oaks shall fall. Thus do we recognize the great wheel of life and death and life once more. We surrender our departed souls under the stars and may the Green gather them to him.’ She kissed the amulet and at once the maidens began a soft, sad song. And as they sang they knelt by the pyre and pushed the lamps into the leaves and oil-soaked cloths.

Everyone took a step back and waited for the flames to spread. The maidens’ song became louder and all the other squirrels joined in. With his head bowed, Thomas listened respectfully; there did not seem to be any words, just a mournful tune which haunted him ever after.

The twigs and branches began to crackle and snap as the fire took hold and the whole ring was ablaze, but the flames were silver white and leapt high into the air until a tall cone of cold light shone out on the hillside. All the squirrels took hold of each other’s paws and moved slowly round the pyre. One of the maidens brought a small bag to the Starwife. It was of dark blue velvet with a solitary star design stitched onto it.

‘Speed to the Green,’ she said delving into the bag and bringing out a pawful of leaves and herbs. She cast them into the fire and the flames burned a brilliant emerald and roared in Triton’s ears.

Thomas was astonished. The years seemed to melt away from the ancient squirrel. He felt as though her spirit was standing before the fire, not her bent old body, and it was a proud, noble force. She appeared more regal and beautiful than anything Thomas had ever seen – an almost divine majesty with a silver acorn burning fiercely at her breast.

And then, it was over. With a final burst, the green flames dazzled the eyes and died down. The fire turned to embers and black ash flew upwards. The bodies of the dead were gone and the world seemed grey and dull. The maidens left in a graceful line and all the other squirrels turned away. Thomas fidgeted with his hat and waited for the Starwife to join him.

She was old once more and staggered over, muttering to herself, ‘Never had to do that many before – we had less deaths in the uprising.’ The velvet bag was still clutched in her paw as she dismissed those who tried to help her. She came before Thomas and jabbed him in the stomach with the handle of her stick, ‘Swear on your life you’ll make sure I get a send-off like that one,’ she said.

Thomas frowned. ‘Me?’ he asked. What about your folk – they’ll see to it surely?’

The Starwife snorted. ‘Don’t be a fool Triton, why do you think I let you watch? My ‘folk’ as you put it are leaving, haven’t you seen them packing and getting ready?’

‘Leaving?’ gasped the midshipmouse. ‘But why?’

‘Because I’ve commanded it. I am sending them all away, this place is not safe any more – nowhere is really, but it will keep them busy whilst I do what I can.’

Thomas began to suspect what the Starwife was up to. ‘You, you’re not going with them then?’

The old squirrel prodded him in the ribs. ‘Don’t be an idiot! Why do you think I brought you here in the first place? You are going to take me to the Skirtings.’

Thomas spluttered in protest, ‘But, but . . . whatever for?’

‘I have business there,’ she snapped, ‘you need to warn the Brown family and as I cannot see what will happen in the days to come I must see the bats and ask their advice.’

Thomas groaned.

The morning was chill and dismal. Large colourless clouds were fixed in the bleak sky and a ghostly frost touched everything. The grass in Deptford Park was white and the branches of the trees seemed to shiver miserably. The sun was hidden by the thick, blanketing clouds and the light which fell on the land was dull and lifeless.

Audrey ate a small breakfast. The news about the food supply had dismayed all the mice in the house and the elders were trying to think of possible new sources. She left the breakfast table where Arthur was staring morosely at his empty bowl and went out into the Hall.

A heated discussion about the food situation was taking place there. Master Oldnose vainly called for order but everyone ignored him and thumped their tails on the floor, shouting at the tops of their voices.

‘We won’t last long with no grub,’ cried Tom Cockle.

‘I don’t fancy living off cabbage water for weeks on end,’ moaned a despondent Algy Coltfoot.

Audrey passed them by. They would find a solution without any help from her. Besides, she wanted to see the outside world and have a look at the weather. When she had returned from Fennywolde she discovered that she missed sleeping out of doors, and the atmosphere of the house now seemed oppressive and suffocating to her.

Into the kitchen she went and quickly ran over to the little passage which led to the yard. It was still unblocked, just in case the mice were forced to go foraging should the crisis grow worse. A terrible, icy draught blew through it and Audrey rubbed her arms as she pattered outside.

The yard looked naked and ugly; the concrete ground was covered by a thin layer of rasping ice and the hawthorn bushes were a dangerous tangle of spiky branches and needle-like twigs. The fine strands of spider’s web linking the sharp thorns were picked out by the frost and looked like shreds of phantom rags torn from a spectre’s robe. Beneath the hawthorns a wren pecked hungrily at the frozen earth, chipping away at the stone hard soil for all she was worth. Audrey watched it hop here and there trying to find softer ground.

‘The poor thing,’ said a voice behind her.

Audrey turned, startled, but it was only Oswald. He looked very comical in his scarf with the matching hat and mittens.

‘It’s going to be a hard winter,’ predicted Oswald grimly.

Audrey agreed. She usually looked forward to the long winter nights with the rushing wind howling round the house and layers of beautiful, soft snow covering the rooftops, transforming them into fairy tale mountains. It was nice to hear the bitter weather beating against the walls while she was cosy in her bed or sitting in front of a fire listening to tales with a bowl of hot milk steaming in her paws. She fondly remembered other winters when her father was alive and how he would put his comforting arm round her as she snuggled next to him and dozed dreamily. In those days she thought that nothing in the world could harm her, because he was there, to protect and look after the family.

Oswald huddled into his scarf and blew through his chattering teeth. Audrey shook herself out of her thoughts and considered the present weather. It was not like previous winters, there was no beauty in it – even the frost was unlovely. Gone were the delicate lace patterns on the windows, only a phantom greyness lay over the yard and the world looked dead and smothered.

‘Let’s go back inside,’ she suggested and Oswald readily agreed.

When they were in the kitchen once more a confused babbling reached their ears. It came from the Hall and many voices were raised in curious exclamations.

‘What can be going on?’ asked Oswald scurrying over the linoleum to find out. Audrey ran after him and they helped each other up the step into the Hall. There, the discussion had broken up and all the mice were gathered round the cellar door.

Oswald glanced at Audrey with a puzzled expression on his white face. Few in the Skirtings ever ventured near the cellar; the Grille was down there and beyond were the sewers that had once been Jupiter’s terrifying realm. All the mice feared the cellar. Nervously, Oswald approached the crowd and fiddled with his scarf.

A hearty voice boomed from behind the cellar door, ‘Budge up mates, make room for us there!’ It was Thomas Triton.

Oswald sighed thankfully but his relief turned to surprise when a different voice added sternly, ‘Out of my way you stupid mice!’

Audrey clutched her paws and stepped back in fear – she knew who that was and she hated her.

‘What’s going on?’ Oswald asked Algy.

‘It’s Mr Triton,’ the mouse replied with round, excited eyes, ‘he’s brought the Queen of the squirrels to visit us.’

Thomas edged past the cellar door and led the old squirrel after him. It had taken a long time to bring her through the sewers from Greenwich. It was the first time in many long years that the Starwife had left the observatory and her old legs were not used to it. She had limped along, cursing her crippled body and continually stopping to rest. When they had come to the Grille she had run her arthritic fingers over the ornate metal and shuddered. ‘The spells on this were strong,’ she had said, wiping her paw disgustedly. ‘The iron remembers its Lord and now that he has returned perhaps the dark magic will awake.’

Now she blinked in the light of the Hall and peered round at all the expectant, curious faces trained on her.

‘What are you staring at?’ she said haughtily. ‘Haven’t you ever seen a squirrel before?’

Actually, the mice hadn’t and all wanted a good look. They elbowed each other for a better view and stared quite rudely with their mouths open.

The Starwife slammed her stick down. ‘Have you nothing better to do you idiots?’ she cried. ‘Out of my way there,’ and she swung her stick before her. The mice fell back in surprise and cleared a path. Tom Cockle was not fast enough and the old squirrel’s walking stick caught him sharply on the shin. He hopped away howling.

The Starwife made her way through the crowd and looked at the stairs vexedly. ‘More of them,’ she muttered rubbing her aching back.

Just then Master Oldnose came forward to welcome her. ‘Greetings,’ he said beaming from ear to ear, ‘what an honour, to have the great Starwife herself in our midst.’

She squinted at him and sniffed. ‘You must be Oldnose, I’ve heard about you.’ He bowed, greatly flattered, and smiled even wider until she added, ‘It’s true – you are a daft, pompous old nibbler whose opinion of himself is greater than his brain.’ The Starwife left him opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish and walked over to Audrey whom she had just noticed slowly backing away and heading for home.

‘Stay there girl,’ the old squirrel snapped, ‘don’t pout, it spoils your looks.’ She stood in front of Audrey and tapped her stick thoughtfully. ‘I’ve heard about Fennywolde,’ she said. ‘You must tell me what happened in detail later.’ Audrey nodded respectfully but the Starwife had turned away and was looking for Thomas. ‘Where’s that old fool of a sailor got to?’ she grumbled irritably.

The midshipmouse had slipped in to see Audrey’s mother and the two of them now came out of the Brown’s home. Gwen looked at the squirrel steadily – she had not forgiven her for sending Audrey away. ‘Hello,’ she said politely but without her usual warmth, ‘can we do anything for you?’

‘Don’t worry,’ the Starwife reassured her, ‘I’m not going to steal your daughter, but you can help me – could I have a seat please? I think my legs will give way if I don’t sit down soon.

Gwen Brown called for Arthur to bring out a stool. By this time every mouse in the house had gathered in the Hall to see the unusual visitor. Those snobs from the Landings crept down the stairs and gawped unashamedly. The Raddle sisters took their usual place on the second step and peeped round the bannister rails, nudging one another and tittering to themselves. Oswald’s mother came out but could not get through the throng to talk to Mrs Brown and introduce herself to the Starwife – it really was most infuriating and she scolded her husband for not calling her out sooner. Arthur came out carrying a stool and took it to the Starwife. She thanked him and eased herself down. A hush fell. Apart from the sound of Mrs Chitter’s gossiping, everyone grew silent; evidently the squirrel was going to address them. The Starwife surveyed the mice and pounded the floor with her stick. Mrs Chitter jumped and stopped prattling.

‘Mice of Deptford,’ the squirrel began, ‘I bring grave news. I believe that your greatest enemy, Jupiter, has returned from the other side.’

For a second there was a stunned silence, then uproar with everyone talking at once. ‘Pooh!’ said Mrs Chitter. ‘Rubbish,’ laughed Tom Cockle. Audrey said nothing. A shadow fell over her and over everyone who had been in the altar chamber when the Lord of the Sewers fell to his doom. Audrey, Arthur, Mrs Brown, Thomas and Oswald remained silent and waited for the Starwife to continue.

‘Enough!’ she shouted angrily. ‘Stop this at once. Dare you doubt my words? Listen, the world is weeping, nature is plagued by a dark spirit, unleashed from the darkness of beyond. In life he was called Jupiter – now he is a phantom, an Unbeest more powerful than anything this troubled world has ever known. You pathetic, weedling, idiotic creatures cannot imagine the forces this abomination controls now that he has my Starglass.’