The Secret of the Ginger Mice (12 page)

As they drew closer to the outcrop of rocks Sophia had pointed out, Alex slowed and turned to face Alice, his finger to his lips. Alice didn't need reminding of the danger. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears, both from fear and exertion, she feared that the sound of her heartbeat alone might give them away.

Slowly, they crept forward. Slowly, slowly. They could hear the breathing of the sleeping mice, but they
couldn't see them in the dark. Alice kept one hand on the rock face rearing up beside them, edging forward behind her brother, careful not to make a sound. Then suddenly, Alex jumped backward, bumping into Alice, who was thrown off-balance. Her hands clawed desperately at the earth as she skidded toward the edge but her momentum was too great. Her scream shattered the silence as she fell into the abyss.

8

A
s the first rays of light touched the river, Alistair opened his eyes. He was surprised, at first, to feel a stone under his back, a slight pain in his shoulder, the whisper of a breeze ruffling his fur. To see the pale sky instead of the ceiling of Aunt Beezer's study. But as the events of the past twenty-four hours filtered through his mind he sprang to his feet.

There was no sign of Tibby Rose.

“Tibby?” Alistair called in a low voice. “Tibby Rose?”

To his relief, she immediately appeared from behind the bamboo grove. In each hand she held a long thick piece of rounded bark. “Paddles,” she said, holding them up.

Not for the first time Alistair reflected on how fortunate he was to have fallen on Tibby Rose, who was proving the ideal companion for his journey. “You really do think of everything,” he said.

After an unexciting breakfast of blackberries, they launched the raft as they had practiced the evening before, and soon were in the middle of the river, floating slowly downstream. Tibby stood at the rear of the craft, correcting their course slightly now and then with the aid of the bamboo pole, while Alistair sat at the front and paddled.

At first they passed several clearings similar to the one they had spent the night in, and the odd beach—all deserted at this early hour, thank goodness—but as they left Templeton behind, the shrubs lining the river became more wild and tangled. There was no sign of life other than the silvery shape of fish below the water's surface and birds soaring in the distance.

As the sun crept above the left bank to cast a benign glow on their peaceful progress, Alistair sighed with satisfaction.

“The current's getting stronger,” Tibby observed. “We're picking up speed.”

Soon they were moving so swiftly there was no need for Alistair to paddle. Instead he scanned the banks to their left and right; he was keen to avoid another close
encounter with the ginger-hating mice of Souris.

Fortunately, those mice they did see—strolling along the river bank, weeding small vegetable plots abutting the river, fishing in small dinghies—barely had time to take in the fact that there were two ginger mice sailing toward them on a bamboo raft before they had passed by.

“This really is an excellent way to travel,” Alistair remarked.

“At this rate we'll reach Lake Eugenia by nightfall,” Tibby agreed.

“Though I guess we'll need to do something about food before then,” Alistair said. He'd had a gnawing sensation in his stomach for some time that the odd blackberry from the pile they had amassed the night before wasn't easing. “We don't have that many blackberries left. We probably should have stopped when we saw those vegetable gardens a while back. Maybe we could have offered to help with the work in exchange for some food.”

“Sure,” said Tibby. “We could have weeded the carrot patch while the gardener ran for the Queen's Guards.”

“You're right,” said Alistair. “I doubt anyone around here would appreciate our help. And I suppose there's no point stopping at that town up ahead.”

They had just swept around a wide lazy curve to see a long straight stretch of river running alongside a town
as gray as Templeton had been, other than a distant flash of red. As they grew closer a bell began to toll, and that, combined with the hot sun which was now directly over their heads, put the idea of lunch firmly in Alistair's head. “It must be midday,” he said.

“Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen,” Tibby counted aloud. “I don't think so.”

As the river moved inexorably toward the cluster of gray stone buildings surrounded by a high wall, the flash of red up ahead gradually revealed itself to be a member of the Queen's Guards, standing on a bridge.

“Tibby, look!” Alistair pointed at the red-clad mouse. Did the guards of this town always keep watch on river traffic or was the guard on the lookout for two ginger mice?

As the bell continued to toll, echoing loudly across the river, two columns of mice in red coats and black boots marched through the town gate at double speed. On the beach below the bridge, Alistair could just make out two narrow boats with six pairs of oars apiece. The guard on the bridge was shouting and gesticulating in the direction of the bamboo raft, and it was clear that this was no friendly welcoming party.

Alistair snatched up his paddle. “Help me, Tib,” he called.

Tibby Rose pulled the pole onto the raft and grabbed
the other piece of bark, and with Alistair on the left and Tibby on the right they began to paddle.

They sailed under the bridge as the Queen's Guards reached the bank. “You two!” yelled the guard on the bridge. “In the name of Queen Eugenia, I order you to stop! I order you to—” His last order was drowned out by the sound of a splash, and Alistair glanced over his shoulder to see that the first of the two boats had been launched, followed quickly by the second.

“Rowers, stroke!” called the guard in the fore of the boat. “Left, right, left . . .,” he began.

Ignoring the screaming of his arm muscles, Alistair tried to increase his own stroke. “Come on, Tib,” he urged, his heart pounding in his ribcage. “As fast as you can.”

“There's no way we can outpace them,” Tibby gasped.

“Well, I don't like the alternative,” Alistair said grimly, putting all his muscle into the effort.

But as hard as they paddled, the pursuing boats grew closer.

“Left, right,” boomed the guard, in time to the splash of oars.

“Oh no,” Tibby cried. “We'll run aground!” Up ahead, the river widened and the riverbed was visible as the water ran shallow over sandbars separated by narrow channels.

“Take the pole,” Alistair instructed. “Use it to keep us off the sandbars. This might work in our favor.”

And so it did. Alistair propelled them forward with the paddle, Tibby guided with the pole, and their lightweight raft skimmed through the shallows into deeper water. The Queen's Guards, on the other hand, lost precious time as they ran aground and were forced to climb out and carry their boat through the ankle-deep water, their polished boots slipping on the wet rocks and sinking into the sandy bottom.

“Yes!” Alistair cried. “Now back to the paddle, Tib.”

Tibby Rose nimbly pulled up the pole and slid back into her position with the second paddle. They had gained precious time, and they needed it as the river narrowed and started to wind, increasing the strain on their arms as they paddled hard, first on one side of the raft and then the other to avoid crashing into the bank when the river made another of its tortuous bends. A quick glance back told Alistair the lead boat was making up the time it had lost.

“They're gaining on us!” he yelled.

“I don't know how much longer I can keep going,” Tibby panted, her face etched with fatigue.

Just as it occurred to Alistair that it was pointless to flee, really, that there was no way two young mice on a homemade raft could outrun the boats of the Queen's Guards, they rounded another sharp bend and his eyes lit
on a weeping willow at the river's edge, its long green branches falling to the ground like a curtain. Could they possibly get away with the same trick twice?

“Tibby, head for the bank,” he said urgently. “The willow tree.” He didn't have the breath to explain any further, but fortunately Tibby seemed to understand the plan, because only a few strokes later the raft shot through the long ribbons of leaves. Tibby flung down her paddle and snatched up the pole, planting it in the sand to bring the raft to a stop. They sat in terrified silence, hardly daring to breathe, as the Queen's Guards came around the bend.

9

A
lice's scream echoed down into the black abyss falling away beneath her feet, but just as she feared she would be swallowed by the gaping black chasm below, her scrabbling hands made contact with a hard surface and she closed her fingers around it. It was the edge of the path. For several long seconds she just hung there, panting, feeling the full weight of her body straining against her tenuous hold. Then she carefully craned her neck to see what was happening above.

In the moonlight, she could make out the silhouettes of Horace and Sophia, standing atop a large boulder
which reared up above the path. Alex was standing beneath it, his eyes frantically scanning the spot where his sister had stood only moments before. She wished she could cry out to tell him where she was, but that would only alert the suspicious mice above to their presence. So would any attempt to clamber back onto the path.

“What was that?” Horace asked, his voice quavering.