The Deptford Mice 3: The Final Reckoning (12 page)

The bats looked at each other, ‘She cannot mean . . .’ spluttered Orfeo.

‘I fear she does,’ laughed his brother raucously. ‘She really expects us to carry her to our meeting.’ He prodded the squirrel with his wings. ‘You do don’t you?’

‘I see nothing amusing in the suggestion,’ she replied acidly. ‘Surely it is the only thing we can do – with my knowledge added to yours we might stand a chance.’

Eldritch wiped the tears from his eyes and shook his head, ‘Apologies dear, whimsical Madam but no, we are not going to take you to our council, that is not what we had in mind – unless . . .’ The Starwife raised her eyebrows expectantly. ‘unless . . . you were the one who saw our coming before all others.’

‘What nonsense is this?’ she asked. ‘The albino marked you first but what does that signify?’

‘My dear lady,’ they cried together, ‘it means that Master Pink Eyes is to be our honoured guest at the council’ The bats turned their attention on Oswald who gulped and bit his mittens.

‘Do you think it was the beacon which drew us hither?’ Orfeo asked. ‘We knew who was behind it: your tricks do not work on us any more, ancient crone, but you did enough to bring the white one up to the roof.
He
is the one we sought, he is the last link. We need him at our council, not you.’

Oswald stammered and the Starwife fumed. She cursed the bats and their prophecies, incensed that a dithering albino runt should be chosen to attend the great meeting instead of her. ‘You idiots,’ she stormed furiously.

But they were not listening. The bats sidled up to Oswald and wrapped their wings about him, ‘This is the one,’ they crooned. ‘Come, fly with us, into the night air, Master Pink Eyes, soar up and forget your feet have ever touched the soil’

‘I . . . I,’ Oswald gabbled idiotically in disbelief, ‘I don’t know . . .’

Mrs Chitter had been listening to the proceedings with mounting concern, now she could bear it no longer and tried to pull her son away. ‘Just you leave my boy alone you nasty creatures,’ she told them. ‘Come here Oswald, leave them be, they’ll go away and leave you alone.’

Oswald was yanked by the scarf as his mother tried to drag him from the bats. With his head in a whirl he found himself shouting, ‘Yes, yes I’ll go with you.’ Mrs Chitter squealed and collapsed into her husband’s arms.

‘Don’t worry Mother,’ Oswald cried as the bats flew up and lowered their feet for him to take hold of. He stretched out his arms and tried to catch one of the dangling legs but it was no good in his mittens, so he pulled them off with his teeth and tried once more.

‘Oh my,’ he breathed as his feet left the tiles.

‘Goodness me,’ was all he could find to say as the roof receded below him.

‘Goodbye son,’ called his father.

‘Aaagghh!’ wailed his mother.

‘See you soon,’ waved Arthur cheerfully.

The roof tops sailed by as Oswald and the bats soared higher and higher into the black night. The albino held on to their feet tightly and wondered if he had done the right thing, but it was too late to turn back and the glittering sight of the city sprawled ahead of him.

‘This is it,’ he said to himself, ‘a real adventure all my own.’ Oswald stared down; they were very high now, and the houses looked like matchboxes.

He suddenly felt terribly sick. ‘Oh dear,’ he thought, ‘what have I got myself into?’

‘What is that place?’ asked Oswald curiously.

‘Yonder is the divine hall of the many bat guilds,’ replied Eldritch importantly. ‘For ages uncounted have we met there in times of peril, though never has the danger been greater than now.’

They circled the huge dome three times and called to the thousands of other bats in their own language. Dangling below, Oswald could not help feeling that they were talking about him. Several black shapes drew near and bright, alarming eyes stared for a moment at the albino and then were gone. Their faces were incredibly ugly and as different from Orfeo and Eldritch as it was possible to be. The strange bats weaved around the gold cross on the top of the building then came back and spoke to each other in harsh voices. A wide nostrilled snout jabbed the mouse’s stomach and snuffled up to his face. Oswald closed his eyes in disgust and his skin crawled at the touch of that horrible wet nose but he knew he was being inspected and so endured it. These were the bat guards, a fierce squadron who patrolled the air space making sure no intruders or spies could get into the council.

‘Stay very still White One,’ whispered Orfeo hastily, ‘if you move suddenly they will cast you down.’

Oswald bit his lip and tried not to move as the brute sniffed his head. But the slimy bat slobber ran down into his ears and the mouse was tormented with a desperate urge to wipe it off and shoo the ugly thing away.

He must have passed the test for at that moment the guard plummeted down and Orfeo and Eldritch followed. Oswald rubbed his ear on his arm and grimaced. He hoped there would be no more guards like that.

They spiralled down, past mighty pillars and figures carved in stone. Oswald saw the guard in front swoop sharply up and then alight on a wide balcony that ran all the way round the base of the dome.

‘Prepare yourself Master Pink Eyes,’ cried Orfeo, ‘your lofty journey is at an end.’ With their wings outstretched they glided onto the balcony and dropped the mouse gently down.

The guard gave Oswald a black look and with hunched wings marched over to a fissure in the stonework. He grunted and motioned for the mouse to crawl through. Eldritch, however, stepped in and said softly, ‘Do not fear White One, I shall pass through first and my brother after you. We are safe now.’ He disappeared into the gap and Oswald followed him.

Through a narrow space they squeezed and Oswald heard Orfeo say something to the guard before he joined them. The way was difficult, and once or twice the mouse thought he had got stuck, but the thought of staying in that dark place forever forced him on grimly.

Eventually the passage gave way to the inside of the dome. It was the most magnificent sight Oswald had ever witnessed; the place was cavernous. Below the gallery on which he stood were eight immense arches richly decorated with mosaics of angels, bordered with blazing gold. In the niches between the high windows there were enormous sculptures of saints with their fingers raised in blessing and overhead were rich paintings. Yet all around, clinging to the gilded carvings, huddled in the shadows of the great, hanging from the rails and sitting beneath the statues were thousands upon thousands of bats. They were everywhere: the beautiful walls were absolutely covered in furry bodies, and hushed whispers echoed round like an angry sea crashing against cliffs, rising and falling like the sound of the tide.

Oswald was amazed. The bats filled the building, clustered on every available foothold and ledge. Orfeo raised his voice and called solemnly, ‘He is here, the pale one has arrived.’

The clamour rose immediately as the assembled bats all squeaked shrilly. Oswald had to put his fingers in his ears because the noise threatened to pierce the drums. Some of the bats began to cry out in the common tongue, ‘He is here, he is here,’ and others cried, ‘Show him to us, where is he?’

‘Master Pink Eyes,’ said Eldritch, ‘we must show you to our brethren. All wish to see you, come.’ The bat flew up and Oswald reached for his feet once more. Slowly they ascended and Eldritch circled inside the dome so that everyone could get a good look at the mouse. Keen, curious eyes gleamed steadily at Oswald, who did his share of staring. Sombre voices whispered and proud heads nodded as the mouse flew by.

Eldritch flew higher and he bowed his head reverently. Before him was a line of four ancient, white haired bats. Their wings were tattered with age and their tall ears drooped, their brows were crossed by a hundred wrinkles yet their eyes were as sharp and as disconcertingly bright as ever they had been.

Eldritch hovered in front of them and greeted each one, ‘Hail to thee Ohthere, Lord of the Twilight; hail Heardred, Keeper of the Hidden Ways; hail Ingeld, Consort of the Lady; and hail Ashmere, Wisest of all Counsellors.’

The venerable bats welcomed him, ‘Salutations Eldritch,’ said the one called Heardred, ‘you have done well.’ His voice was like the rustle of leaves and he extended a flimsy, papery wing to Oswald. ‘So this is the pink-eyed one whose coming was foreseen long ago.’

Another of the old bats coughed and peered at the albino with a sneer on his face. ‘He is too sickly a specimen,’ said Ohthere, ‘he will never do – I agree with Ingeld and fear Ashmere is mistaken in this.’

Oswald scowled – he did not like to be called sickly. He decided it was time to say something. ‘Excuse me,’ he piped up, but the ancient bats ignored this and continued discussing him as if he were not there.

‘I say he will not succeed,’ remarked the one called Ingeld, ‘we cannot rely on those outside our brotherhood. Folly I have called it and folly it remains.’

‘Peace,’ said Heardred, ‘the runt has been chosen – there is nothing we can do.’ Oswald scowled again and this time positively shouted, ‘Excuse me!’

The row of bats looked up in surprise and all around thousands of voices were raised in scorn, ‘Did he say that?’ they asked, scandalized. ‘The cheeky whelp!’ They beat their wings together demonstratively, ‘Be still peasant,’ they booed.

Ashmere, the only councillor who had not yet spoken, studied the mouse carefully and the shadow of a smile crept over his bearded face. ‘Master White Skin,’ he said gently, ‘forgive my brothers. It is their way to talk thus and no ill was intended. You must remember, it is a long time since we have spoken to an outsider.’ He opened his wings and made a space beside him. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘sit here and listen to our council – for you are important in our designs.’ Eldritch heaved a sigh of relief as he deposited Oswald next to Ashmere, but before he flew back to Orfeo he gave the mouse a reassuring wink.

Oswald was terribly nervous. Here he was at the most important meeting ever held, to discuss the worst foe the world had ever known, with the greatest number of bats anyone had ever seen. He felt extremely small and alone. What use would he be? He looked at the four proud elders and his heart quailed. What an experience this was! If only Arthur were here or his friend Piccadilly – they wouldn’t be afraid like he was.

‘Master runt,’ said Ingeld abruptly and Oswald quickly gathered his wits, ‘you know the reason for this meeting?’

‘I think so,’ the mouse replied shyly, ‘it’s because of him isn’t it? You’re going to think of a way to get rid of him.’

The elders chuckled to each other and shook their heads. ‘Get rid you say,’ began Heardred amused, ‘if that were only possible – but you of all creatures should know that that is impossible. Were you not present at Jupiter’s death? Did you not think then that he was gone forever? His spirit is far too great for us in this age to deal with. Long ago our ancestors had the cunning but we do not. Many skills have been forgotten and neglected and the crafts we practised in the dark years have no place in the world of today.’ He hung his grizzled head sadly.

‘Yet Jupiter was a creature of the old times,’ said Ashmere. ‘He lengthened his life through secret arts and endured long centuries hidden in the blackness under Deptford. Only by the old ways can his spirit be quashed and banished forever to the furthest reaches of the Pit.’

‘That is only your belief,’ interrupted Ingeld, ‘we cannot be certain. Heardred has said that the Hidden Ways are closed to us, we cannot know how this unholy spirit may be despatched.’

Ashmere turned to Oswald and explained, ‘The dilemma is this, White One: we have tried to glimpse the future to see what will befall us, yet we cannot.’

‘That is why we summoned all our kin to this council,’ said Ohthere. ‘For two nights we have joined our powers and attempted to project our souls beyond these desperate hours but it has proved futile.’

‘But why can’t you see what will happen?’ asked Oswald.

‘Because there is no future to see,’ replied Heardred darkly. ‘Jupiter is trapping the world in an eternal winter. There will be no more seasons, no spring or summer to count the days by and break down the years; he is freezing everything and locking us into eternal blackness. There will be no future for anything: fish, flesh, feathers or fur – all will end.’

‘And soon,’ nodded Ohthere, ‘for the tally of remaining days is short – we have foreseen that much.’

‘But this is dreadful,’ cried Oswald miserably, ‘if this is the end of everything I want to be with my friends and family – why have you brought me here?’

‘Because of the hope of Ashmere,’ answered Ingeld, stretching himself and sniffing affectedly. ‘Personally I wish it to be known that I do not agree with his theory.’