The Song of the Winns (15 page)

“A burning tree

A rock of gold

A fracture in the mountain's fold,

In the sun's last rays when the shadows grow long

And the rustling reeds play the Winns's north song.”

“Of course,” Alistair breathed. “That's why we couldn't see it earlier—the tree doesn't burn and the rock doesn't glow until they're hit by the sun's last rays.”

“A fracture in the mountain's fold,” Tibby repeated.
“What do you suppose that means?”

The two ginger mice turned to stare at the sheer rock face, then approached and began to trace its sharp creases. Alistair ran his palm along the sheer face until he was stopped by a small fissure. He slipped his hand into the crack, expecting to be impeded by another seam of rock, but instead he was able to extend his whole arm into the space. His pulse racing, he ran his hand further down the crack, which grew wider and wider until, at the base of the rock, he found a hole wide enough to squeeze through. He dropped to his knees and wriggled through into a cavernous space. Here and there the darkness was pierced by light filtering through small holes and cracks in the rock. He walked clockwise around the space, looking for some sign that this place was what he was seeking, though he wasn't sure exactly how he'd be able to tell. But surely it couldn't be a coincidence—that rock shining gold in the sun's last rays, the tree that looked as though it had burst into flame.

He was about a quarter of the way around the cavern when he found it: a light-filled alcove, its roof open to the sky. The walls were whitewashed so that they seemed to glow in the light of the setting sun, and there, painted directly on the wall in vivid colors, was a familiar arrangement of shapes and squiggles with a wide blue stripe running down its center. Holding his breath, Alistair unwound his scarf and held it up beside the painting. They were exactly the same.

With growing excitement, he wrapped his scarf around
his neck once more and resumed his exploration of the cavern. There was something here, he was certain now. Something to do with the secret paths. He had almost finished his circumnavigation, and doubt was creeping in, when he came to an opening carved into the wall, concealed from the mouth of the cavern by a jutting rock. Alistair stepped inside, and then took another step. The rock arched above him, a little higher than his head.

It was a tunnel.

Then, as if from a great distance, he heard Tibby's voice calling his name.

“Alistair? Where are you? Alistair!” She sounded worried.

Realizing he must have been gone for some time, Alistair hurried back to the cavern mouth and crawled through the hole.

Tibby was standing several meters away, glancing around anxiously.

“I'm here,” he said.

Turning at the sound of his voice, Tibby said, “I thought you'd disappeared off the face of the earth. Where were you?”

Alistair indicated the crack in the side of the rock face. “In there,” he said. “It leads into a huge cavern and, Tibby—I've found it!”

“Found what?”

“A tunnel!”

“A tunnel?” she repeated excitedly. “Where to?”

“I don't know, but it must be one of the secret paths—I
saw a painting that matches my scarf exactly. Hang on . . .” Alistair quickly unwound the scarf from around his neck again and, crouching, laid it out flat on the ground. Tibby kneeled next to him as he found the dash of gold and splash of red knitted into the uppermost part of the scarf, just to the left of the wide blue stripe. Close by, he saw, was a small brown arch.

“Tib, look—do you think that brown arch could be a tunnel?”

Tibby followed his pointing finger. “It makes sense,” she said. Peering closer she added, “And there are brown arches running part of the way down this side of the river with more leading off to the side.”

“That line running down the left-hand edge must be the coastline of the Cannolian Ocean,” Alistair surmised. “So those paths must lead to the coast.” He lifted his eyes from their contemplation of the scarf to look at his friend. “Which means . . .”

Tibby's eyes widened as Alistair's meaning sank in. “Which means we can take the tunnels almost all the way to Atticus Island!”

“With no fear of meeting a Sourian patrol!” Alistair cried jubilantly. His parents seemed closer than ever—he couldn't wait to get going. “Let's go find Slippers and Feast.”

Feast Thompson and Slippers Pink were rounding the bend. Feast was limping heavily, leaning on the stick.

“Alistair, you're safe,” Slippers said with obvious relief. “When we heard Tibby calling we thought something
must have happened.”

Alistair felt a pang of guilt as he saw the fatigue creasing Feast's face and the anxiety lining Slippers's. He really shouldn't have taken off like that.

But before he could apologize, Tibby was telling them about Alistair's discovery, and he saw their expressions brighten.

A few minutes later, the four of them had crawled through the entrance to the cavern, which was completely dark now that the sun had slipped below the ridge.

“How do you turn on the light?” Feast joked.

“With these,” said Slippers. In a niche in the wall, she had found a candlestick and candles.

They lit a candle and Alistair showed the others the alcove and the mouth of the tunnel before returning to the cavern where they'd left their rucksacks.

“We can sleep in here tonight,” Slippers decided. “The ground might be a bit cold, since it hasn't been warmed by the sun, but at least we'll be safe.”

They improvised a meal of bread and cheese, with some mushrooms from the supply Tibby had picked the day before. As they moved about in the candlelight, their shadows were huge and grotesque against the cavern walls, and Alistair was glad when, as soon as they'd eaten, Slippers Pink blew the candle out to conserve it.

“Well, Alistair, you've done it,” Feast Thompson remarked as they lay in the dark. “You and Tibby have found the secret paths, just as Emmeline intended.”

Alistair felt a glow of satisfaction at hearing Feast's
words, but he couldn't suppress a tug of impatience. “I just hope they help us to free Mom and Dad,” he said, adding, “And that they're useful for FIG.” After all, he remembered, it was in order to help FIG that his parents had set off for Gerander and the secret paths in the first place. He still couldn't get over the idea of his gentle mother as a FIG agent. He wondered when she had joined, and if she'd been on many dangerous missions before marrying his father and settling in Stubbins to raise a family. Slippers Pink, who he thought was about the same age as Emmeline, had been on lots of missions, he knew.

“Slippers,” he said, “when did you join FIG?”

“When did I join FIG?” she repeated from where she lay on the other side of Tibby, who was on Alistair's right. Her voice echoed slightly off the walls of the cavern. “Let me see, it must be fourteen or fifteen years ago, I suppose. I was at university in Grouch when a friend of mine told me about a secret meeting for Gerandan-born students. All the Gerandan families in Grouch knew each other, although none of us ever spoke about our heritage publicly—you know how Sourians feel about us.” Alistair nodded vigorously, having been chased halfway across Souris because of his ginger fur.

There was the sound of shifting, and Alistair guessed that she had rolled over onto her side to face him. “I met Zanzibar at that meeting,” she said. “He and his brother and sister had been living in hiding in Gerander since they were children. Their parents had died in prison. Zanzibar grew up determined to free his country. He started FIG,
and began to travel around Souris and Shetlock, talking with Gerandan exiles and sympathetic friends of exiles. He was at the secret meeting and, after he'd finished telling us what life was like in Gerander, every person at the meeting joined FIG on the spot. Zanzibar is very inspiring.”

“He sure is,” Feast Thompson chipped in. “I went along to a meeting with a friend of mine whose father was Gerandan, and I was shocked to hear about the poverty and hunger in Gerander. And the way Gerandans were treated like second-class citizens, unable to travel freely, to express their opinions; any Gerandan who criticized the Sourians was jailed without a trial. Even if you were only suspected of being anti-Sourian you could be taken away for interrogation.”

“But Zanzibar didn't speak only of despair,” Slippers recalled. “He spoke of hope. He spoke of what we could learn from the experience of Gerander, and how we could use that to build a new and better society.”

“Did you see Zanzibar again after that meeting?” Tibby Rose asked.

Slippers laughed. “I'll say I did. I introduced him to my best friend and they got married.”

“Zanzibar is married?” Alistair said in surprise. Somehow he had never pictured Gerander's exiled leader as having a family. He always seemed so . . . so solitary when people spoke of him.

“Was married,” Slippers said. There was no trace of laughter in her voice now. “His wife—my best
friend—died not long after.”

“That's so sad,” said Tibby. “What about his brother and sister? What happened to them?”

Slippers paused a moment before she replied, “Last I heard, they'd both been captured by the Sourians.” Then, before Alistair or Tibby could ask anymore questions, she said abruptly, “We'd better get some sleep. Good night all.”

Alistair had hoped to turn the conversation around to his mother, but Slippers Pink had been so definite in her ending of the discussion that he decided to let the subject drop. After all, he would be able to ask Emmeline herself the questions before long. And with that happy thought, he fell asleep.

10

Undercover

A
lice couldn't imagine where Solomon Honker was taking them as they filed behind him along the narrow path. Perhaps Alex's guess—that they were going to be traveling by eagle—was correct, though she sincerely hoped not.

A few minutes later they emerged into a small clearing to see a white mouse with tan spots darting nimbly around a tall white basket. A tangle of ropes led to a large swath of sky-blue silk stretched out flat across the ground.

Alex looked transported with joy. “A hot-air balloon! I bet Alistair has never flown in one of these before.”

Even Alice, nervous as she was, felt a flutter of excitement.

Solomon Honker approached the tan-spotted mouse and exchanged a few quiet words then returned with her to the small group standing at the edge of the clearing.

“It might not be as fast as an owl, but Claudia says
the conditions are perfect for ballooning.” He nodded to the pilot.

“That's right,” said the tan-spotted mouse. “Nice and calm. Let's hope it stays that way. If you two are all set”—she raised an inquiring eyebrow at Alice and Alex—“I'll get the inflator fan going.”

“Inflator fan?” Alex asked eagerly. “Is that what you use to blow up the balloon?”

“That's right—though we call it an envelope, rather than a balloon,” she explained.

Alice watched the balloon (she couldn't quite think of it as an envelope) begin to inflate slowly; Solomon Honker handed her the letter he'd been holding.