The Secret of the Ginger Mice (21 page)

15

A
lice and Alex jogged through the dark for the next few hours, pausing often to listen for voices and footsteps behind them. But they heard nothing.

The sun was well and truly up by the time the exhausted pair reached the coast. The fishing boats had returned with their catch, and as they entered the outskirts of Shambles, they saw a dozen or so mice heading in the opposite direction, pushing carts stacked with crates of fish, bound for nearby towns and villages. Drawing closer to the port, they could hear the cries of the stallholders at the market that spread around the
quay and into the streets of the old town.

“Shambles' shellfish, get it 'ere! All yer oysters, cockles like the clappers, wee willie winkles, and the mostest mussels. Shellfish alive-o!”

“Freddo's fresh fish! Come to Freddo's for your fill of the freshest!”

The fishermen were perched on the sea wall, untangling nets or mending them and watching the action of the market, while all along the quay shopkeepers were sweeping down the pavement and arranging their wares, and restaurateurs were putting out chairs and tables under striped awnings.

Alice and Alex skirted around the edge of the crowd of early risers who were clustered around the stalls. Alice peered up at every awning and shingle they passed, looking for the Three Sheets Tavern.

It was Alex who spotted it. “There!” Down a dark alley off the port was a rather battered old shingle with the words
THREE SHEETS TAVERN
inscribed on it.

Alex pushed open the heavy door into the tavern and Alice followed. Dust motes drifted in the sun rays that streamed through the window. Alex dropped the rucksack from his back with a groan of relief.

A big old wooden bar stretched down the right-hand side, while to their left was a line of cozy booths underneath the windows, and a scattering of tables and
chairs in between. What struck Alice first was how quiet it was. No one stood behind the bar, and apart from a couple of customers sitting at a table toward the back, the tavern was empty.

“Excuse me?” Alice called into the silence. “Hello?”

The two customers at the back looked over, and Alice let out a piercing scream.

It was Sophia and Horace!

She staggered backward into Alex, who was staring at the silver-gray and coal-black apparitions open-mouthed.

“Alex, run!” Alice cried.

They turned, only to find the doorway blocked by two smoky gray mice.

Trapped between the two pairs of mice, Alice cast around desperately for another exit, but she couldn't see one.

“Julius!” she shouted. “Augustus! Help!”

“Help
you
?” said one of the smoky gray mice by the door.

“I don't think so,” said the other.

Alice gaped at them. “You mean you're . . .?”

“Julius,” said the tall, thin mouse with a nose that turned down.

“Augustus,” said the other, who was short and stout with a nose that turned up. “We don't help spies.”

“Spies?” Alex bellowed. “We're not the spies—they
are!” He pointed an accusing finger at Sophia and Horace. “They pretended they were from FIG and they—”

“You see?” said Sophia, tilting her head to one side and looking at Julius and Augustus with wide, innocent eyes. “It's just as I said. Next they'll try to convince you that they're Alex and Alice, the nephew and niece of our dear friends Beezer and Ebenezer.”

“But we
are
Alex and Alice!” Alice broke in.

“Isn't it just too awful of those evil Sourians,” Sophia continued, as if Alice hadn't spoken. “They're even embroiling children in their fiendish plots! That's why we must find dear little Alistair before they do. You will help us, won't you?” Her face was a picture of concern. “Why, if they harm a single hair on his ginger head, I'll . . . I'll . . .” She broke off and Horace handed her a small white handkerchief with which she proceeded to dab her eyes. Alice had to admit it was a masterful performance.

“You—you . . .!” Alex, incoherent with rage, stormed toward her, but before he had gone more than a couple of paces Julius had caught him by one arm and Augustus by the other.

“Don't even think about it,” snarled Julius as Alex struggled to free himself.

“Wait!” said Alice. “We can prove who we are. We have a letter for you written by our Aunt Beezer.”

“Oh yeah?” said Augustus. “Let's see it.”

Alice dropped to the floor and opened the front pocket of the rucksack. The note wasn't there! Maybe she'd put it in the main part of the bag? Quickly she unbuckled the straps, lifted out the heavy half-wheel of cheese and rummaged through the bag's contents. Nothing. Where could it . . .? She lifted her head to look at Sophia, who gazed back serenely. Of course. That was why Sophia had insisted that Horace carry their bag to their room at the Riverside Inn: so he could search it.

She looked up at Alex, who was still being held by Julius and Augustus.

“They've stolen the letter,” she said dully.

“Gentlemen, I'm so sorry to inconvenience you like this. Indeed, if dear Beezer hadn't assured me I could rely on you I certainly never would have troubled you.”

“It's no bother at all, Sophia,” Julius told her. “We're happy we could help.”

“Any friend of Beezer's is a friend of ours,” Augustus added.

“Now, if you just had somewhere we could lock them up for a few hours? I need to find a ship sailing to Souris tonight so I can deliver these two into the captain's keeping. I know they're wicked”—she shook her head sorrowfully—“but they're only children. I think the best thing to do is return them home.”

Julius raised his eyebrows at Augustus, who nodded. “The cellar,” they said in unison.

Augustus began to drag Alex toward the bar, and Julius grabbed Alice by the arm and followed.

“What about our rucksack?” Alice protested.

“Leave it,” snapped Julius.

On the other side of the bar was a trapdoor, which Augustus opened to reveal a set of stairs leading into darkness. Julius gave her a push and Alice stumbled down the stairs behind her brother. The trapdoor slammed shut above them, and they were alone.

Alice stood in the pitch black, the smell of cold stone filling her nostrils. She felt completely helpless and hopeless. She couldn't even see her brother. “Alex?”

“Here,” said a voice to her right. “Ouch!”

“What's wrong?” asked Alice, worried.

“I've just banged into something.” Alice heard a tapping sound and then Alex said, “This wall's just got empty wooden crates stacked in front of it.”

“What are you doing?” asked Alice.

“Looking for another door,” said Alex impatiently. “Come on, give me a hand.”

“Oh, good idea.” Alice stepped forward tentatively, arms outstretched. She took a second step, then another and another, then, “Ouch!” She had grazed her fingers on the rough stone of the cellar's back wall. Cautiously she
felt along it, moving to the left corner, then the right. “Nothing here,” she reported. “Just stone.”

Alex, who had worked his way along the opposite wall, under the wooden staircase, said, “A couple of empty barrels over here. No door though.” He sighed heavily.

Alice slumped to the dirt floor and put her head in her hands. “Oh, why did we ever leave Smiggins?” she sobbed. “Uncle Ebenezer was right: it was too dangerous. Now we'll never see Alistair again, and we don't even know what's happened to him. And Uncle Ebenezer and Aunt Beezer will never know what's happened to us, and . . .”

Then Alex was at her side. “Come on, sis. Don't go to pieces on me now. We're not dead yet, are we? And as long as we're still alive we've got a chance.”

Alice straightened and wiped her eyes with her hands. “You're right.” She sniffed. “Maybe they really will take us on a ship? We could jump overboard—we're both strong swimmers.”

“That's the spirit,” said Alex.

They passed the time remembering some of Uncle Ebenezer's most daring escapades and imagining themselves performing their uncle's daring feats.

“We could climb a tree,” said Alex.

“And when they came after us, we could somersault
off it,” said Alice. She was starting to feel better now. What was it Aunt Beezer had said? They were brave, resourceful, and capable, that was it. Well, if there was ever a time to be brave, resourceful, and capable, it was now. She felt for her brother's hand in the dark and gave it a squeeze. “Thanks, Alex,” she said.

Alex returned the squeeze briefly and then snatched his hand back. “Of course, it's easy to somersault out of a tree,” he said. “Unless you're holding another mouse by the tail.”

They were giggling as the trapdoor was suddenly flung open and light spilled down the stairs. There was a scuffle, and Alice heard Horace say, “Please don't make me go down there, Sophia. I don't like cellars,” and Sophia respond, “Oh, very well, Horace—it seems I must do
everything
myself.”

Blinking, Alice peered up the stairs at the figure silhouetted against the glare.

“So glad to see you're having fun,” Sophia said. As her eyes adjusted, Alice saw that she wore an acid expression. “Enjoy yourselves while you still can, won't you?”

Alice felt all her earlier bravado drain away, leaving her timid and scared, but still curiosity compelled her to ask: “How did you—?”

A brief cold smile flashed across Sophia's face. “Get
here so fast?” she said. “Boat. Really, dear, we'd get along much better if you just accepted the fact that I will always be a step ahead of you.” She shook her head. “Anyway, Tweedledum and Tweedledee upstairs seem to think we're obliged to feed you.” Without ceremony, she dropped two bread rolls into the dirt at the foot of the stairs. “Your last meal,” she said. “I do hope you find it to your liking.”

Then the trapdoor was slammed shut, and Alice and her brother were plunged back into darkness once more. They slowly felt their way across the ground on their hands and knees, trying to find where the bread rolls had fallen.

“Got them,” said Alex after a couple of minutes. It never took him long to find food.

He handed one of the rolls to Alice and she carefully brushed the dirt from it. Sophia's reference to their impending death had not done much for her appetite, but she knew she needed to keep her strength up.

“Cheese and sardine, not bad,” said Alex. “Though not as inventive as Uncle Ebenezer's sandwiches—blue cheese and tuna, yum. Still, thoughtful of Julius and Augustus. They must be all right, really.”

“I'm sure they are,” said Alice, who was finding the pungent little fish a bit, well,
fishy
for her liking. “After all, they think we're Sourian spies out to get Alistair.
We can hardly blame them for throwing us in the cellar. And they're not the first people to be fooled by Sophia, are they?” She looked at her brother meaningfully, but since it was too dark to see meaningful looks, Alex was oblivious.

“If only there was a way to convince them that we are who we say we are,” mused Alex.

“There's no need.”

“What?” Alex started. “What's wrong with your voice, sis?”

“That wasn't my voice, Alex,” said Alice, who had sprung to her feet. “Who said that?” She looked around wildly, frustrated by her inability to see.

“Me . . . Julius.” There was a sound of crates creaking and shifting, then they could just make out a tall, thin mouse standing beside them.

The two young mice gaped at him.

“Where did you come from?” said Alex. “We couldn't find another way out.”

“There's an old smuggler's tunnel which comes out in one of the crates,” the tall mouse explained. “Quick. We don't have much time. Horace is upstairs with Augustus watching the trapdoor, and Sophia's gone out to meet the ship's captain she mentioned earlier.”