EMILINE HAD LEFT THE PACKED STREETS AND REACHED the deserted riverside downstream of Pirate’s Wharf with little time to spare. The chants of the crowd carried down the river. The view of the scaffold was now partially blocked by a wooden barricade on the river path intended to restrict movement so close to the site of execution. Emiline knew that just on the other side were armed soldiers, but they would be far more interested in the hangings than the goings-on along the river.
At the inside curve of the river, Emiline saw the copper dome of Algernon’s submarine breaking the surface. He’d cunningly covered it with a few pieces of scrubby bush that had fallen in the river, and it was well concealed a short way out from the river bank.
“Algernon and his submarine . . . ,” said a voice from behind Emiline. “I figured there had to be some way you escaped the island.”
Emiline span round and saw Miserley.
“You’re not going get away this time!” said Miserley, two daggers held at the ready. Emiline sighed.
“Emiline? Is that you?” said Algernon, his head and arms appearing from the hatch. He shoved all the greenery out of the way.
“You keep out of this, little freak man,” said Miserley, pointing the dagger in his direction. “It’s between me and Blonde here!”
“Stop calling me that!” said Emiline. Miserley just looked at her with a sneer. Portly rushed onto Emiline’s shoulder and squeaked as angrily as he could.
Miserley leaped forward and lunged with her daggers outstretched. One pierced Emiline’s jacket as she twisted to avoid the attack: it caught her between arm and body, and she clamped her elbow tight to trap Miserley. Sensing blood, Weazle couldn’t hold himself back. He rushed onto Emiline’s shoulder and snapped at Portly with his dirty teeth. The Grey Mouse swiped his small paw in defense before running under Emiline’s hair. Weazle followed, biting hard at the smaller mouse’s tail. Emiline heard a loud squeak of distress close to her ear and, still holding onto Miserley’s arm, kicked out, knocking the other dagger to the ground.
Emiline kicked out again, her anger rising, and this time aimed hard into Miserley’s stomach. Her attacker crumpled in two, and Emiline released her arm and pushed her back. She felt the other mouse move under her hair and grabbed it, bringing it out for Miserley to see swinging from her fingers. Portly continued to squeak sadly, and appeared at Emiline’s shoulder; the end of his tail was completely bitten off and a small trail of blood was running down Emiline’s jacket.
“You want me to kill it!” said Emiline, filled with rage. “You want your mouse to die? I’ll kill it!”
Miserley snarled and flicked her hair to the side in a gesture of defiance.
“Do it, Blonde!” she said, trying to call Emiline’s bluff. “Go on, I dare you! You don’t have the guts.”
Weazle twisted his body and stared at Emiline with his jet-black eyes. She faltered, and Miserley sneered in disgust.
“Emiline!” shouted Algernon, who had brought his submarine directly behind her. Its engine was chugging along contentedly. “It’s Spires . . . the sign!”
Emiline looked up to see a lone Messenger Mouse fly into the sky over the river.
Seizing her chance, Miserley charged and rammed Emiline with her shoulder. Weazle was catapulted into the air and Emiline screamed as she tumbled helplessly backward. She grabbed Miserley’s jacket in a last-ditch attempt to right herself, and held it with all her might as they both careered head-first into the river with a great messy splash.
“Emiline!” shouted Algernon, grabbing his head in exasperation. He leaned farther out of the submarine and peered into the dirty river, but he could see nothing. Suddenly, Portly appeared at the surface with a burst of bubbles, struggling frantically against the current. Algernon swept him up and saw the horrible mess of his tail.
“Oh, what can I do? What can I do?” he muttered, using his other hand to clear dirt from the surface of the water. Each second that passed gave him less time to save his friends.
“Emiline! Where are you?”
The water started to bubble, then jitter. A shadow started to form below the surface, and then it broke and Emiline burst out, inhaling a massive gulp of air.
“Oh, thank heavens,” cried Algernon, stretching out both hands and pulling her up and then hauling her into the little submarine. He pushed her down into the hull and slammed the hatch shut.
Emiline caught hold of the metal side and struggled for breath.
“Are we too late?” she asked, her heart thumping and water dripping from her jacket.
“We might be,” he said grimly.
Algernon pushed the gear stick to send them powering through the water just a few feet below the surface to Pirate’s Wharf. It was then that Emiline saw Portly and his poor tail.
“Portly!” she cried, picking him up and stroking him tenderly.
“He’ll be fine with a bit of love and care,” said Algernon. “But we’re here now, Emiline. There’s more to do yet!”
With all the commotion going on at the riverside no one noticed the submarine’s tiny bubble trail popping on top of the water. They surfaced directly under the large execution platform, where they were hidden in shadow. Emiline quietly unlocked the hatch and looked up anxiously. She felt her heartbeat quicken. The trapdoors were still in place but she could hear the drums rolling.
“We made it!” she said, poking her head back into the submarine. She hoped that Algernon’s mice had done their work. She clambered out onto the top of the submarine, conscious of her fingers twitching nervously.
The drums stopped. Emiline held her breath.