Undergardeners (6 page)

The Ancient Rhymer cleared his throat again, cupped his hand behind his ear and prepared to read, but at this point, unable to contain themselves any longer, Snick and Snock ran excitedly into the cave with cries of glee. This sudden commotion startled the tortoise, who reared up, dislodging the candle, which fell into the discarded paper. There was a
whoosh
and almost instantly the crisp dry paper was alight. The fire spread unbelievably swiftly. Mouse watched, horrified, as Snick and Snock, the Rhymer and the tortoise were enveloped in a cloud of billowing acrid smoke.

Chapter 7

Filling his lungs with air, Mouse dashed forward into the burning cave. Choking smoke engulfed him in an instant, going up his nose and making him sneeze. It filled his throat and made him cough. It made his eyes water so much that he had to squeeze them shut and feel his way along. “Where are you?” he called as he fumbled about in the murk.

He felt a tug at each pajama leg dragging him forward as two squeaky voices said, “We'll…

…guide…

…you.”

Of course! Smoke rises. Down there, near the ground, it must still be fairly clear. “The tortoise and the Rhymer,” Mouse shouted to the deer mice, “where are they?” As soon as he spoke, he found the tortoise—painfully. The big toe of his bare foot smashed against the upturned shell, making Mouse wince and sending the tortoise into a spin. He picked up the rotating reptile and tucked him under his arm. “Now the Rhymer,” he gasped as he bent down and gulped a breath of the cleaner air near the ground.

The mice dragged him to where the little man was bumbling around, coughing. Mouse grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground. “Okay, find the way, quickly,” he called down to the deer mice. Mouse went where they pulled him, hoping they knew where they were going because he was completely disoriented and almost out of air.

To his great relief, the smoke began to lessen and they were soon free of the smothering clouds altogether. The deer mice let go of his pajamas and ran ahead, taking gasping drags of clean air into their little lungs. Spluttering and coughing, Mouse staggered a short distance from the cave before he put down his two passengers and wiped his smarting eyes on his sleeve. After a moment, his rasping breath eased and his eyes cleared. Smoke continued to pour from the Rhymer's cave. They'd have to do something about that fire. “Any water here?” Mouse asked Alkus breathlessly.

“No water.” Alkus shook her head.

“Digger!” Mouse exclaimed as a solution occurred to him.

“Digger?” said Chuck.

“You want to throw Digger on the fire?” asked an incredulous Podge. “'Pon my word. What a novel idea.” He ran his front paws one after the other down his long snout as though he was trying to make it even longer.

“No, no. Get him to throw earth on the flames by digging as fast as he can.”

“Right!” said Alkus, flinging aside her shoulder bag. “Hop to it!”

“Super…

…dooper!” squealed the deer mice, with hardly a cough between them.

“Get him primed!” blared Podge.

The bewildered Mole was hoisted and carried face down and hind feet forward to the entrance of the Rhymer's cave. A trail of spectacles from his many pockets littered the ground in his wake as they hauled him into position.

“Dig!” ordered Alkus.

Digger began doing just that. His front paws scrabbled at the ground so rapidly that they were a blur as they shoveled the flame-smothering earth backward toward the fire. Everyone joined in now, flinging the loosened earth into the cave using hands, feet, Alkus's clipboard, pieces of planking—whatever they could find to smother the burning papers.

It was hard and sweaty work, but finally they succeeded; the flames died away and the smoke became a trickle. The fire was out. Puffing and panting, the smudged friends all smiled with relief and, when they got their breath back, let out a cheer that reverberated through the tunnel.

Then, “Hurray for Mouse,” somebody shouted, and another cheer went up.

“Hurray for Snick and Snock,” said Mouse, and they all cheered again. The deer mice looked at each other shyly, silent for once. Alkus chuckled and, reaching down, scratched the deer mice on the tops of their heads before she and Qwolsh went into the cave to check on the extent of the damage.

Mouse looked at those he had pulled from the smoke. The tortoise hadn't budged; he remained tucked inside his armored home, black holes where the legs and head should be. The Rhymer appeared to be totally unmoved by the danger he had been in. There was a faraway look in his eyes, and as Mouse watched him curiously, the huge eyebrows started to twitch and his lips began to move. Another poem, Mouse supposed. The Rhymer kept repeating the same line over and over. As if the verse he was trying to write was a car that would eventually start if it was pushed hard enough. “From the wise man's home came the billowing smoke…From the wise man's home came the billowing smoke…Came the billowing smoke. What rhymes with smoke?” the Rhymer asked of nobody in particular.

“Choke,” said Mouse with a cough.

“Yes, yes indeed,” nodded the Rhymer, throwing his head back and scratching beneath his chin to help himself think better. “Choke…Choke…Great wobbling wordsmiths!” he exclaimed as his gaze focused on Mouse. “Who under the earth…?” he stammered. “Wha…Wha… What a monster!”

“I'm not a monster,” Mouse explained patiently. The novelty of his relative hugeness was beginning to wear off. In fact, he didn't think he'd mind too much the next time someone Uptop made fun of his size. “I'm an ordinary boy,” he said. “Who just saved you from your burning cave,” he added. He thought it was rude of the Rhymer not to have even said thanks.

The Rhymer's eyes and mouth opened wide and round. “Oh,” he said. He had been so intent on his verse he hadn't thought about the fire. “My pens and papers. My desks and dictionaries and dabbled-in diaries. Everything ruined and burned and gone.”

“I wouldn't worry too much about it,” said Qwolsh, emerging from the cave combing his slightly sooty mustache with his fingers.

“Mostly smoke damage,” said Alkus, following him. “We got to it in time, thanks to Mouse here. But let that be a lesson to you,” she continued sternly, wiping her hands on a cloth. “You shouldn't be using candles. You have light.”

She hummed and lights came on in the cave behind them. Then, looking up “Fans—extractor type” in her notes book, she hummed the given note and the smoke swirling around in the tunnel was rapidly whisked away. For a brief moment—a very brief moment—Mouse was tempted to join in.

The tortoise poked his head out from his shell and swung it from side to side, looking about him; craning his neck he peered around at his back, where Snick and Snock were perched as though he were a park bench. The Rhymer screwed up his eyes against the light and pulled his eyebrows down. From behind those woolly blinds he said, “Oh, no, no, no! Such mechanical light I have long eschewed. Bright light destroys the poet's mood.”

“You nearly had more than your mood destroyed,” said Qwolsh gruffly. “If it hadn't been for Mouse…”

“And,” butted in Podge, “you haven't thanked him yet for saving your life.”

Parting his eyebrows, the Rhymer peered upward. “You call this gigantic mound a mouse? Good gracious me! He's big as a house.” Then he smiled. “But I thank you greatly for being so brave, and charging into the smoke-filled cave. And for saving me and my friend, he that Snick and Snock did upend.” He gave the deer mice a fierce look and wagged a finger at them. The mice skittered away from the wagging finger and hid behind Mouse's legs as the Ancient Rhymer went back into his cave, followed by the others.

“Not at all,” said Mouse. “I'm very glad I was here.” With the benefit of the lighting, Mouse could see that the burned area didn't stretch very far; a small ring of charred paper marked the extent of it. But it's a good job we acted quickly, he thought. If it had all caught fire we'd never have been able to put it out, no matter how fast Digger had been able to dig.

Digger! Mouse looked around but he couldn't see the mole anywhere. “Where's Digger?” he asked.

“Whoops! Nobody told the silly fellow to stop,” said Podge. They gathered around the hole in the ground. Of the mole himself there was no sign.

“My goodness me, he's gone,” said Chuck. The mole's many pairs of spectacles were the only evidence that he'd ever been there.

“Digger…Stop,” called Alkus through cupped hands as she stood at the mole-made rim. They could hear no sound from below. “Digger,” she called again. No reply!

“He has…

…probably fallen…

…asleep,” said Snick and Snock.

Qwolsh laughed and said, “Thought it was a new bedroom he was digging.”

“Digger,” Alkus called loudly into the hole. Her own voice echoing back was the only reply. “That's odd.” She flashed a worried look at Chuck.

“I'll go down and see,” said the groundhog and he disappeared headfirst into the hole.

Alkus's tone had affected everybody. Even Snick and Snock were quiet. All waited in silence until the groundhog's worried face popped up again. His lower jaw wobbled up and down as he stammered out, “He…he…he…” Stopping, he swallowed and tried again. “He's g…g… gone.” He got it out finally.

“Gone!” exclaimed Alkus. “How can he be gone?”

“I don't know,” said the groundhog, sounding frightened.

“Nonsense! He can't have just vanished,” said Podge.

“What's at the bottom of the hole?” Qwolsh wanted to know.

“Nothing.” The groundhog's voice was so low they could hardly hear him.

“There must be something down there,” reasoned Alkus. “It can't be just nothing!”

The groundhog said, “He dug down so far,” he hesitated a moment, “that he fell through into a tunnel below this.”

“We have no tunnel below this,” said Alkus sharply.

“Exactly!” The groundhog nodded his head. “It's not one of ours. It must be…” He stopped suddenly and listened.

In alarm they looked toward the edge of the hole. They all heard it. It began as a dull rumble that got louder and louder until they found themselves stopping their ears against the noise. The ground around the hole shook, and Chuck scrambled from it just in time to avoid being sucked down. The irate creature below got a large dollop of earth kicked from the rim, and the Undergardeners heard a scream of anger as it clattered off, coughing and spluttering. Ashen-faced, they looked at each other as the awful realization sank in. Digger had fallen into the Creepscreech's lair.

Chapter 8

In stunned silence they stood around the hole. There was a chance—it was what they all hoped for—that the mole was hiding somewhere safe. But perhaps he was lying hurt from the fall and in need of help. Or, most awful thought of all, maybe he had already been discovered by the Creepscreech and was past help. Slowly, one after another, the Undergardeners turned their heads and looked up at Mouse. With mixed emotions it dawned on him that he was the one they were turning to for help. He'd never been looked up to as a leader before. His friends at school always expected him to follow them. A warm glow ran though him. He liked this new role.

“What do you think, Mouse?” asked Alkus.

Mouse didn't know anything about this Creepscreech except that the Undergardeners were terrified of it. What did it look like? Was it big, small, fat, thin? What did it do to people it caught? Imprison them? Beat them? Eat them? What? “For a start,” he said, “tell me a bit about the Creepscreech.”

“Well, it's very…” began Qwolsh. He shook his head, pulled off his cap and began to chew the ends of his long mustache.

“It's rather more than that, d'you see,” said Podge. “It's…It's…” Then he too faltered and turned to Alkus for help. She shook her head in consternation.

Chuck screwed up his face in a vain attempt to produce a solution. Snick and Snock made no pretence of thought at all; they just lifted a shoulder apiece in a blended shrug.

“Okay,” Mouse asked next, “why does it hate you so much?”

“The truth is,” Alkus admitted, “we don't really know much about it.”

“But if that's the case,” Mouse wanted to know, “how do you know it's an enemy? Perhaps it's friendly if you give it a chance.”

“Ha!” snorted Qwolsh, his mustache bristling. “There are stories from the old days of those who ventured into its lair and were never seen again.”

“You heard it yourself just now,” said Alkus. “The way it came charging at us screaming and snorting—that didn't sound friendly, did it?”

“Broke into its lair once m'self by accident,” said Podge. “I was digging a larder, d'you see? It must have been waitin', because next thing, it charged on the other side of the wall. Couldn't get to me, d'you see, hole was too small, but its foul breath came whistlin' through that hole like a hurricane. Twisted m'quills somethin' shockin'.”

“Well, the first thing we should do is try to find out what happened to Digger,” said Mouse. “What's it like down there, Chuck?”

“The tunnel slopes down at an angle of one-in-three,” said Chuck professionally, “then suddenly goes straight down into blackness.”

“Then we'll need a light, for a start,” said Mouse.

Alkus scratched her head. “Bit of a problem, that. Our lighting system doesn't stretch to the Creepscreech's lair.” She looked about her, a frown wrinkling her brow.

“Wait a minute,” Mouse exclaimed. “There's lots of the Rhymer's papers here.”

“Papers?” inquired Podge. “ 'Pon my… At a time like this you want us to read poems?”

“No,” said Mouse. “But if we set fire to them, how would that be?”