The Song of the Winns (18 page)

“What's that? Emmeline?” Althea said.

“That's my mother's name,” said Alistair. “Do you—?”

But Althea was already shaking her head. “No, no. I don't know your mother. I did know of a mouse called Emmeline once, but surely it couldn't be. . . .” She fixed her birdlike eyes on Alistair for a few seconds, then said, “No, I'm sorry, Alistair. Atticus Island . . .” She
pressed her lips together. “You'll be needing help to get to the island, and I have a cousin living very close by, as it happens. William Mackerel. He's a fisherman, living in Cobb, which is the nearest town to that despicable place.” She tapped her walking stick on the earthen floor thoughtfully, then said, “I'll walk with you as far as the tunnel leading to Cobb.”

“We'd be much obliged,” said Slippers Pink.

“You two young ones walk up here with me,” said Althea, directing her gaze at Alistair and Tibby Rose. “You can carry my candlestick, Miss Tibby Rose, and I'll lean on your shoulder if I may, Master Alistair.”

“So the secret paths you use in the east aren't tunnels?” Alistair asked as they set off at a surprisingly fast stride, leaving Slippers Pink and Feast Thompson to follow at a more sedate pace.

“No,” said Althea. “They're not.” She tipped her head consideringly. “Or perhaps they are. But not in the way of these tunnels.”

“Have you taught your family about the secret paths that you know?”

“Alas, no. I'm still waiting for the right one. I'll know when he or she comes along. You always do. But sometimes you have to wait a generation or two. Your mother was lucky to recognize you so early.”

“I've never understood why my mother gave the scarf to me and not my brother or sister,” Alistair confessed.

“It's like I said,” Althea replied. “You just know who the right one is. I was taught by my aunt, and she was
taught by her great-grandfather. Who knows who you'll teach? Maybe you'll have to wait for generations too.”

Alistair had to laugh at the thought of himself as a great-grandfather.

“But the times are changing,” Althea continued. “You've told your friends about the tunnels, after all.”

Alistair nodded guiltily, even though he knew he never could have found the tunnels, let alone reached them, without the help of Tibby Rose, Slippers Pink, and Feast Thompson. Or Oswald, he added to himself, feeling another stab of guilt.

“And perhaps that's as it should be,” the elderly mouse mused. “For if the secret of the paths can help to free Gerander from tyranny, what greater purpose could they serve?” She stumped along in silence for a few minutes, then said, “But I'm an old mouse, and it's too late for me to change my ways. The old traditions still live strong in me. I could only ever share the secret within my family. What they choose to do with it”—she lifted her shoulders—“is up to them.”

Only by his disappointment did Alistair realize that he had been hoping they would learn more of the secret paths from Althea.

“We're getting close now,” Althea said. “I can smell the sea. Do you smell it?”

Alistair lifted his nose and sniffed. The dusty, earthy smell of the tunnel was slowly but surely giving way to the salty tang of sea air. “Yes,” he said.

“I never understood why William Mackerel preferred
to live here by the sea,” Althea said. “Every day the pounding of waves against the shore. Me, I like the whisper of the trees that grow alongside the Winns.” She gave a peculiar flutelike sigh. “As much a whistle as a whisper, I suppose. Not everyone can hear it, but to me it's the most beautiful music.”

She released her grip on Alistair's shoulder and danced a few steps, gliding and weaving with her feet never leaving the ground, so that an intricate pattern was traced into the earth behind her.

“Wow, where did you learn to dance like that?” Tibby asked. “It leaves such a pretty pattern on the ground.”

“I've been doing it since I was a girl,” said Althea. “Come on, I'll show you.” She handed Alistair her walking stick and took Tibby Rose by the arm. “Now glide out and round with the left foot, straight through with the right . . . that's the way.” Alistair, chuckling to himself, followed their braided steps as the old mouse and the younger one danced through the tunnel.

“Don't just laugh away back there, Master Alistair,” Althea called over her shoulder. “Make yourself useful and give us some accompaniment. Like this.” And she began to breathe and sigh her strange whistle. At first all Alistair could produce was a hissing sound, and it was Tibby's turn to laugh, but with Althea's encouragement—“Inhale between your teeth, that's right, now exhale . . . ah, you've got it”—he was whistling and sighing along behind them in no time.

When Tibby had mastered the complicated steps,
Althea patted the younger mouse's arm then released it. “You dance very nicely, Miss Tibby Rose,” she said approvingly. “But that's enough for an old mouse like me. Besides, we're almost at Cobb, so if Master Alistair would be so good as to give me my stick and his shoulder . . .”

Alistair gave Althea her walking stick and she put her hand on his shoulder as before. She seemed to be leaning on him more heavily now, as if the dancing had worn her out, and the trio slowed their pace.

“Your turning is just up ahead,” the old mouse said as Slippers and Feast came up behind them. “It's been many years since William Mackerel and I last spoke, and I'm afraid I can't recall where in the village he lives. But if you should find him, mention I sent you.” She shrugged. “He might help you or he might not. There's no telling with William Mackerel. The only thing he really cares for is pigeons. One pigeon, that is—and dead now, I'm sorry to say.” Her voice had sunk almost to a whisper. “I'll take my leave of you now. My family worry if I'm away too long.”

And she must have traveled quite some distance, Alistair realized, if she lived to the east of the Winns. She would face a long journey home.

“Will you be all right?” he asked. “Have you very far to travel?”

“Don't you worry,” she said dreamily. “I'll have the murmur of the Winns below, guiding my feet toward home. And you—you have your scarf to guide you.”

12

Cornoliana

A
lice swallowed, and felt the tip of the tall guard's spear prick her throat.

“Name?”

“Rita,” Alice answered, a bit breathlessly. Had the Queen's Guards seen the balloon? Had they failed in their mission already? She clasped her hands together to hide their trembling.

“What about you?” said a shorter, stouter guard, poking his spear at Alex's belly.

“Do you mind?” Alex replied, swiping away the spear. “Don't go poking me like I'm some common Gerandan.”

At first Alice was impressed by Alex's unruffled demeanor, but the guard clearly wasn't; indeed, he seemed to take offense at Alex's insolent tone.

“I asked you a question,” snarled the guard, aiming the point of his spear at Alex's heart now.

“R-Raz,” quavered Alice, “tell him your name.” Oh,
why was her brother antagonizing the guards?

“Well I don't need to tell him now, do I, sis?” said Alex. “You just did.” He turned back to the guard and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “So now you know.”

The guard, bristling at having his question repeatedly ignored, stamped his foot. “But you were meant to tell me,” he whined.

“Hold on there, Groodley.” The third guard, who appeared to be the leader of the trio, stepped forward. “Stand down, Longnose.”

The tall guard dropped his spear, and Alice instinctively rubbed her throat.

“So, Raz and Rita, I'm Captain Scorpio,” said the third guard. “How about we dispense with the spears, and you dispense with the attitude and show us your papers?”

Papers! Of course! Alice thrust the letter she was holding at Captain Scorpio. “Our papers burned in a fire,” she said. “But we've got this.”

The captain scanned the letter, nodding as he did so.

“What does it say, Captain?” Groodley had been trying but failing to read over Scorpio's shoulder. “Shall we take them prisoner?” he asked hopefully.

“We most certainly shall not, Groodley,” the captain responded, folding the letter and handing it back to Alice. “These young orphans are two of our own. Their dad is a hero—killed by rebel Gerandans while serving in the Crankens. Now they're on their way to Cornoliana to work in the palace.”

“You're going to work in the palace?” Longnose
shuddered. “Better you than me.”

“Is General Ashwover very fierce?” asked Alice.

“Oh no, the general's harmless enough—it's Lester you've got to watch out for.”

“Who's Lester?” said Alex.

“He's the general's eyes and ears and right-hand mouse,” Captain Scorpio explained. “The general runs Gerander, but it's Lester who runs the palace. And a more unpleasant mouse I've never come across,” he reflected.

“A friend of mine, Jackson Johnson, was a sentry at the palace,” said Groodley. “Lester once came into the mess hall and demanded to know why Jackson Johnson had spaghetti in his whiskers. When Jackson Johnson said he didn't, Lester tipped a plate of spaghetti over his head and told Jackson Johnson never to contradict him.”

“Poor Jackson Johnson,” said Longnose, shaking his head in sympathy, but it seemed to Alice that the smirking Groodley found his friend's misfortune rather entertaining.

“So these two are free to go then, Captain?” asked Groodley. He sounded disappointed.

“I don't think so,” Captain Scorpio said, and Alice's breath caught in her throat. Were they prisoners after all?

“The gates of Cornoliana are closed at sunset, and I don't like the idea of you two wandering around in the dark,” Scorpio continued, turning to the two young mice. “Our camp isn't far from the city walls. You can stay with us tonight, and we'll take you to the east gate in the morning. How does that sound?”

“That sounds . . . very kind, thank you.” The one thing Alice hadn't really expected from Sourians—and Queen's Guards in particular—was to be treated with kindness.

“Are you hungry?” Captain Scorpio asked as he led the way through a line of cypress trees to the road. “Groodley, Longnose, who has some field rations to spare for our young friends here?”

“Not me,” said Groodley quickly.

“I do,” said Longnose. He shrugged his pack from his back and stooped to retrieve an orange and half a sandwich.

Alice took the orange and Alex the sandwich, and they set off down the road into the dying rays of the sun.

“Are we far from your camp?” Alice asked as the darkness closed in around them.

“A couple of hours' walk. Why, are you scared of the dark, Rita?” The captain's voice was teasing.

“N-no,” said Alice, though it was creepy in the twilight, with the bushes by the side of the road looming in unexpected shapes.

“We don't usually have call to venture into these parts ourselves,” the captain remarked. “It's mostly just farmland around here—but we were sent to investigate possible FIG activity.”