The Mousehunter (31 page)

Mousebeard froze and held his arms out to find a balance.

“Don’t worry, it’s all right,” added Algernon finally, after tweaking the controls.

Mousebeard slowly returned to the floor, and avoided the sprawl of everyone’s legs.

“But they stole my ship!”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Drewshank, “at least they didn’t destroy her as you did mine.”

“Ah, yes,” growled Mousebeard, “but you were asking for it . . . .”

“Hey!” said Algernon, looking at the pirate sternly.

“You’re right,” said Mousebeard moodily. He turned to Drewshank, his face tightening as he attempted not to frown. “I think we should let all that’s happened in the past be forgotten, captain. You’ve made up for your bad judgments.”

“Those words,” said Drewshank sarcastically. “From a pirate like you they mean the world.”

Mousebeard lifted one of his bushy eyebrows. Behind them Emiline and Scratcher held their breath.

“You need me as much as I need you now, Drewshank. Lovelock won’t let us get away with this. He’s going to come after us harder than ever before, and don’t be surprised if we find we now have even more enemies.”

“Ah, yes,” said Algernon. “The Mousing Federation will rally the nations of the world to seek us out. We’ll be cutthroat fugitives!”

He looked rather excited.

“Battersby will never let us rest,” added Drewshank bitterly.

“So what are we going to do?” asked Emiline, who was nursing Portly’s wounded tail. The mouse hadn’t been right since Weazle’s attack.

“We’re going to strike back,” boomed Mousebeard, making Emiline shrink back against the submarine wall. “We’ll start afresh. There’s fight left in me yet. We can’t let Lovelock turn all the mice in the world into his slaves!”

“What about my crew on your island?” asked Drewshank.

“Your friends? They’ll be good for a while. The volcano — if it’s still standing — is the best defense there is. Once we have a ship, it’ll be our first port of call. We can send them a message to let them know our plans; I’m sure I can spare some of the Rodent Rum in my cellar . . . .”

Mousebeard’s left eye almost trembled into a wink.

“I guess they’re old enough now to look after themselves for a while,” Drewshank concluded. “Fenwick will see to it that they’re all right.”

Mousebeard scrunched his beard in his hand. “And how will they feel when I ask them to join us, Drewshank?”

“Us?” he said, slightly shocked.

“Of course,” exclaimed Mousebeard. “I’ll need a first mate, and I’ll be needing a new crew . . . .”

“Well, I don’t know about being first mate!” spluttered Drewshank.

“How about Captain of Land-based Adventures?”

Drewshank shrugged in acceptance. That sounded quite grand, he thought, trying to persuade himself. He was finding it difficult to picture himself on a ship full of fugitives, after his rather dazzling career as captain.

“And we’ll be requiring some mousers too . . . ,” said Mousebeard.

Emiline and Scratcher sat up.

“You want us too?” said Emiline.

Mousebeard eyed them thoughtfully.

“You saved my life. At some point I want to repay that debt. I can teach you a lot about the mousehunting world, as long as you’re prepared to live the life of a wanted pirate?”

Scratcher looked nervous, but despite everything she knew about Mousebeard, Emiline was starting to feel some excitement as well as trepidation. She still wasn’t sure if Mousebeard was more bad than good, and he was definitely the most terrifying man she had ever met, but she could understand a bit more about why he had become that way. The world of mice was a much darker and more dangerous place than she’d ever imagined, but that only made her want to see more.

The excitement of the day had taken quite a toll on Portly and, against Emiline’s wishes, he crawled down her arm and scampered off to stand on Mousebeard’s stomach. The pirate had always been popular with mice, and he knew full well what Portly wanted. He bent over slightly, allowing the Grey Mouse to scurry up his body and find a warm nest right in the heart of his damp beard. Mousebeard let out a growl of a sigh. Even though Portly wasn’t like his own mice, it was comforting to have him there, and it made him feel like himself again — so much so that the feeling of revenge started to bubble deep inside him.

“Algernon,” he said darkly. “It’s time . . . ,” His voice trailed off.

“Time for what?” Algernon replied, looking at him with puzzlement.

“To break the curse that lies within me. I am ready . . . .”

Epilogue

M
R. DROOB PACED PIRATE’S WHARF, SURVEYING THE
last remaining soldiers as they dismantled the huge scaffold over the river. Bodies had recently stopped washing ashore, possibly due to the high presence of soldiers in Old Town guarding against any wrongdoing. Over the past few weeks, his assistant had had next to nothing to do, and spent many hours wandering along the riverside with his hook and lamp, dragging his heels. Today had changed their fortunes, however.

It was a dark and misty night yet again, and a cold breeze — enough to chill the tips of your fingers in your fingerless gloves — blew across the wharf. Despite the lack of recent rich pickings washing up from the river, Mr. Droob’s pockets were bulging with money, and while keeping his hands warm he flicked through the dollars.

He was pleased with his work and had been paid a lot to see to all the pirate bodies. He would have liked the chance to deal with Mousebeard, but even without the captain he couldn’t argue with what he’d been given. There was no body in the world as colorful as a pirate’s, and he took a last look at the cage of the gibbet, swinging gently. It was his masterpiece, and he took great effort to make it as imposing as possible.

The ironwork trapped the pirate perfectly, with only one arm falling limply through the bars. Apparently, the pirate had been called Scragneck, and Mr. Droob thought the name most apt. He was an excellent warning to any would-be pirates.

Mr. Droob called to his assistant to come out of the cold, and then headed back to his hut, where a warm fire was burning away. The night was going to be a long one.

Acknowledgments

OVER THE COURSE OF WRITING THIS BOOK, SO MANY
people have given me so much, but there are a select few who deserve a special thanks:

Mum, Dad, Rob, Gran, Nan, and Granddad —
your support has always been there, and I couldn’t have asked for more.

John, Lia, Caroline, and Oli
— you gave so much more to The Mousehunter than just your names.

Richard, Patrick, and Billy Gibson
— your encouragement really helped me get to the end.

Everyone at
PC Pro
magazine
— never before has a group of people endured such incessant musings, ramblings, and drawings on the theme of mice.

Emma Snow and Catherine Daly
— one chance meeting turned a dream into a reality. Thank you.

Laura Cecil
— your confidence and support have been incredible.

Roisin Heycock
— your enthusiasm from the outset made this little book so much more than it was.

Katie Lee
— the love of my life and my best friend. This book was written for you.