The Mousehunter (6 page)

“Going through,” she said, pointing to the harbor.

The soldier looked her up and down, and then moved to the gate.

“Right you are, miss,” he said, and let her through.

Emiline ran forward without hesitation. She slipped into the moving crowd, darting back and forth to avoid planks, crates, and all sorts of objects that all were carried at her head height.

Drewshank’s ship was even more magnificent up close and in the splendid light of day. It was made of a radiant dark brown wood, which twinkled with the water’s reflection. Beautiful decorative golden mice embellished the cabin windows, and the top of the bow was edged with golden wings. The detail was so well carved that the angry mousehead that adorned the bow looked as though it might jump down and run at you. The gun deck, highlighted by a band of lighter wood running along the hull, rested much higher than Emiline’s head, and each cannon protruded forth from its metal cover. The
Flying Fox
’s sails were wrapped and sagging gently, while colored flags fluttered in the breeze from above the crow’s nest. It was everything Emiline hoped it would be, and yet something strange was going on.

The ship was quiet, and there was no movement upon deck. She approached its mooring and realized all its sailors were on the quayside, watching excitedly for something to happen aboard.

“What’s going on?” she asked, trying to get the attention of a tall red-cheeked sailor.

“Go away!” he replied harshly.

“Excuse me, sir!” she said defiantly. “Would you please tell me what’s happening!”

The sailor turned round and peered down at her. He had piercing, aggressive eyes, and he took hold of her forcefully.

“There’s a Sharpclaw onboard, causin’ havoc. Will that do ya?” he said angrily.

“A Sharpclaw?” she gasped.

Suddenly, the crowd stirred and cheered, and the sailor turned back to the ship. A fully armored figure had come charging onto deck, spear in hand. Whoever it was wasn’t very tall, and Emiline figured it must be a mousekeeper. She barged her way to the front of the crowd to try and see better.

The mousekeeper stopped dead in his tracks and raised his spear to strike. He thrust it down, and as the spike vanished from view the Sharpclaw jumped high into the air, its gleaming, menacing claws primed and ready for a strike. It landed feet first back onto the spear and then sliced down with its claws, shearing the weapon in two.

The crowd hushed. The mousekeeper jumped backward, and the Sharpclaw dropped out of sight. Emiline crept along the sea wall. She eventually reached the gangplank and saw Captain Drewshank resting against a pile of chests, his hand placed on his head in frustration.

“Captain Drewshank!” said Emiline confidently. Although she was nervous about approaching the man, this was no time for her to give in to nerves. “I can catch that Sharpclaw,” she said proudly. “Let me help out that mousekeeper you’ve got onboard!”

Drewshank looked at Emiline. It was clear he was unimpressed with her stature.

“That boy needs a challenge like this from time to time,” he said. “I doubt a small girl like you can help.”

The crowd cheered and started to laugh. Drewshank and Emiline turned to watch a hanging bag of sand fall from the masts and hit the mousekeeper full on the head.

“Gah!” shouted Drewshank. He sensed the crew were enjoying the situation too much. And at this rate the ship could never be ready to sail at high tide.

“Captain Drewshank!” said Emiline with exasperation. “He’s useless!”

Drewshank’s nerve broke.

“Oh, go on!” he muttered. “You couldn’t do much worse . . . .”

Emiline jumped up immediately and passed Drewshank her shoulder bag and Portly’s box. He unwittingly accepted them, and let her onto the ship.

All the sailors cheered as if another gladiator had entered the arena. Emiline was a little concerned about her lack of armor, but she paced over to the stunned mousekeeper and checked if he was okay. He seemed to be breathing all right, and he started to stir as she tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” she asked, “can I borrow your helmet?”

Before he could give an answer, she’d yanked it free of the boy’s head.

Emiline looked around her and spotted the mouse descending the mast. Once she’d spotted its extraordinarily long talons, she knew it was the escaped mouse from Lovelock’s collection. That was the only Sharpclaw in Old Town — somehow it must have hitched a lift with Drewshank.

“Come here!” she said, creeping up to the mast. The Sharpclaw leaped to the ground and scurried to the top of a wooden trunk. It appeared to recognize Emiline, and stopped to stare at her.

“I’ll get you, mouse!” she declared. While holding the helmet in one hand, she loosened a net from her belt and held it out at the ready. She knew the net couldn’t hold the mouse, but as she slung it out, and the Sharpclaw reared and slashed violently with its claws, the one thing it wasn’t expecting was a solid iron helmet to come plummeting down on top of it.

She immediately jumped onto the trunk and knelt firmly upon the helmet and the restless, wriggling mouse beneath. It was scratching frantically at its sides, but at least for the moment it was secure.

The crowd roared from the quayside, and Captain Drewshank charged onto deck.

“Fantastic! I thought we’d be stuck here for days!” he bellowed, and returned her bag and mouse box. “What’s your name?”

“Emiline,” she replied proudly, clearly struggling to maintain her hold on the jostling helmet.

“Do you have much planned for the months ahead?” he asked hopefully.

“Not that I know of,” she said, “and yes, I’d love to sail with you!”

Drewshank laughed.

“Of course! You can teach Mr. Piper here a thing or two!”

Scratcher had risen gently to his feet and was standing unsteadily. He looked thoroughly depressed.

“Ah! Mr. Piper,” cheered Drewshank, “meet Emiline. She’ll show you how to catch mice!”

Emiline saw him attempt a smile, but only manage a small grimace. He looked quite friendly, she thought, if a touch helpless. Drewshank called the sailors to get on with their jobs and ordered Scratcher to fetch the strongest iron-lined chest he could find. He duly returned with a battered old box the length of his arm, and after he squirted a dash of Knockout Spirit under the helmet, the Sharpclaw fell gently to sleep. Emiline cautiously pulled the creature out and secured it in the chest, ready for returning to Lovelock’s collection.

“Well done, Emiline,” said Scratcher sourly, at the least trying a little to be friendly.

“Easy when you know how,” she said, sliding from the trunk and returning his helmet. “I’ll help you learn, if you like?”

“I suppose,” replied the boy quietly.

From the edge of the ship, Emiline heard a familiar voice.

“Drewshank!” it called. “How is everything? Ready to sail?”

The captain turned and greeted Isiah Lovelock and his butler as they stepped onboard. They’d been watching Emiline’s display of mousehunting from the quayside and had remained unseen up to now. It was such a rare occurrence to see Isiah Lovelock that all the crew stopped in their tracks to get a look.

“Is that Isiah Lovelock?” asked Scratcher, his jaw thoroughly dropped.

Emiline was about to reply when something odd happened. Lovelock took a few more steps along the deck and then suddenly stopped, clutching his chest. His head bent over, and his hand clung to his knee to stop from toppling over. He looked to be in pain, breathing heavily, struggling for air. His butler rushed to his side.

“Are you all right, sir?” asked Spires, uncertain as to what had happened.

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” replied Lovelock. “Just an old war wound playing up. Come on, let’s carry on. We’ll not stay long . . . .”

He put a handkerchief to his mouth, and his pain seemed to subside, but he held his chest and made only a few more steps onto the boat before halting.

“Drewshank!” he called, punching out the words breathlessly. “How is everything? Ready to sail?”

“Back on course, thankfully, due to this mouser,” he replied. “Are you all right?”

Lovelock raised one hand in acknowledgment, stretching himself upright. His breathing continued to be forced.

“Ah, Emiline,” said Mr. Spires. “We’d wondered where you’d gone to.”

Emiline walked closer and nodded to her employer. Drewshank’s face looked puzzled.

“You know each other?” he asked.

“She works for me. Emiline’s my mousekeeper,” replied Lovelock, leaning against the rigging to steady himself.

“She’s only a mere mousekeeper?” asked Drewshank. “Her title sells her short — she could be a mousehunter with those abilities!”

“You have your bag and your mouse there, Emiline,” quizzed the butler. “You weren’t planning on running away?”

Emiline’s face started to glow red.

“Captain Drewshank has asked me to sail with him,” she said rather sheepishly.

“No. There’s no way you can leave Mr. Lovelock’s service, Emiline,” said the butler firmly.

“Spires!” snapped Lovelock, authoritatively. “Let me decide these matters.”

The butler fell silent.

“She has too much spirit at times, but Emiline is certainly one of the best mousekeepers around,” he said. “Yet if she thinks she would do better onboard this ship than in my employment, then maybe I should let her go.”

“Emiline could be of great worth to us,” added Drewshank.

“Fine. So be it. Spires, arrange for the employment of a new mousekeeper. It’s good to have a change once in a while.”

“Yes, sir!” he choked.

“Now, Drewshank, show me that things are in order,” said Lovelock. He took the captain aside and made for the quayside once more. The butler remained with Emiline and seized the chance to talk to her.

“Emiline, this voyage isn’t safe!” he said worriedly. “You know exactly where it might lead, and with all these pirates!”

Emiline smiled.

“They’re not pirates, Mr. Spires, and this could be everything I ever dreamed of.”

“Very well . . . ,” he said, delving deep inside his cloak, “ . . . then take this. It might help keep you safe, and if you ever come face-to-face with that godforsaken Mousebeard, don’t be afraid to put it in him.”

The butler withdrew a sheathed dagger and passed it to Emiline. It was an ornate, ancient object, with a lumpy red handle. When Emiline pulled it from its casing, a magnificent etched silver blade was revealed. Emiline couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“Like I said, if you come across danger, don’t shy from using it.”

Emiline held it up in her hand, letting its surface sparkle and fizz in the light.

Spires cast a glance at his master and then back to the mousekeeper.

“You take care now, Emiline,” he said finally, and clutched her shoulder in a rare moment of affection.

“Of course I will!” she replied, reassuring him with a smile and placing the dagger into her bag.

Spires nodded, and went to join Lovelock and Drewshank. The ship was crawling with sailors once more. In a few hours Emiline would be leaving Old Town for the first time in her life, and sailing with none other than Devlin Drewshank. It had been an exciting day already and it wasn’t yet lunchtime.

“Come on,” called Scratcher, restlessly, “I’ll show you to our quarters.”

The Rigger Mouse

THIS WONDERFULLY USEFUL MOUSE ORIGINATED IN THE FORESTS OF THE
Northern Peninsula and is now found on sailing ships the world over. In the wild, Rigger Mice live high up in Alberry trees and use their dexterous claws to construct networks of walkways and nests using the sinews of plants and leaves. This habit so intrigued the first human settlers that they sought to utilize it onboard their shipping vessels. Rigger Mice soon became famous for making the strongest rope in the world.

When first put to use, Rigger Mice were set free on a ship’s mast with the right materials, and their vine-like constructions were cut down and used as rigging. However, it was found that Rigger Mice had an acute knowledge of the strengths and weaknesses of rope, so a mousing school was created to train them further. It is now common to find these mice working alongside sailors all over the rigging — from securing loosened stitching in the sails to mending frayed and aging stretches of rope.

MOUSING NOTES

Rigger Mice can prove faithful companions and willing workers, although they’ve been noticed to suffer from extreme lethargy after long voyages. Mousekeepers must ensure that their daily schedule includes time for meals and rest periods.