WITH A LOUD CLUNK THE TRAPDOORS DROPPED down, casting shards of bright light onto the river.
Two of the pirates came plummeting through to the river, but one remained suspended. Emiline was horrified by the sight of Scratcher hanging halfway through the trapdoor.
Drewshank and Mousebeard hit the water and struggled to remain afloat. Drewshank saw the submarine and shouted at Mousebeard. With their hands bound it was difficult to swim, but they struggled to the submarine’s side. Emiline, still watching Scratcher’s feet anxiously, grabbed Drewshank and pulled him closer with all the strength that she had.
“Scratcher!” she screamed.
“Oh no,” muttered Drewshank as he clambered to safety, his eyes falling on the terrible sight.
Scratcher’s body had dropped a few inches, but no farther, and his movements were getting slower.
On top of the scaffold, the three Boffin Mice were feverishly biting through Scratcher’s rope. At the pirate’s signal they had scurried from his beard, darted up his rope to the scaffold, and chewed through the prisoners’ nooses — but the third had proved difficult. Mr. Droob had replaced it with a particularly strong kind. They gnawed away with immense determination at each separate strand of twine, every second seeming to last an eternity. But then, with the very last thread, the rope snapped, and Scratcher dropped like a stone into the water.
All three squeaked triumphantly. Algernon’s training had taught them to be pleased with success, and their ears were bolt upright soaking in the pleasure and relief of finally saving Scratcher. But their time was short. The executioner had noticed that something odd had happened on top of the scaffold and was staring up at them.
The mice rushed along the long joist and scampered down to the platform, where they ran out unnoticed through the soldiers charging back and forth. They made their way to the cobblestones, scuttled along the riverside, and disappeared into the crowds.
The cheering suddenly stopped as the crowd inhaled in unison. Soldiers hurried to the river’s edge and focused their rifles on the river. Battersby jumped up from his seat in the stands and pushed past Lady Pettifogger, who let slip a brief, wry smile. Isiah Lovelock yelled out as though a knife had been driven into his heart.
As Scratcher hit the water, Emiline cried with joy. She jumped into the river and caught hold of her friend as he sank below the surface. Then they both popped up, coughing. Scratcher could hardly breathe, his windpipe constricted by the rope around his neck, but he was alive at least. He struggled to speak. And then gunshots blasted out from the riverside. The Old Town Guard had opened fire on them. Bullets whizzed overhead and popped as they shot into the river.
Algernon reached out from the submarine and mustered enough strength to pull Scratcher in. The boy managed a delighted cry as he realized he was safe.
Emiline then turned for Mousebeard. His strength was returning rapidly, but he still needed help and was struggling to keep on the surface. Both Algernon and Emiline caught hold of his jacket. Emiline pushed and Algernon tugged as hard as they could. Thin as he’d become, the pirate was still incredibly heavy, but together they managed to get him to the hatch where he could pull himself in. Mousebeard looked up quickly to see Scragneck’s body hanging limply below the scaffold.
“Thank you,” he said, before squeezing into the submarine. “Your mice were unbelievable . . . .”
“They are a clever bunch,” said Algernon. “They’ll be all right out there. I’m sure of it.”
Emiline let the pirate and Algernon drop down and then followed them. Soldiers had jumped into the water and were closing in. She lowered her head and secured the hatch.
“Get a move on!” she shouted — a call that was echoed by everyone inside.
The submarine’s engine kicked in louder than ever, and they sped off, leaving Old Town to become a dark and hated memory.
“No!” shouted Battersby, charging down from the viewing platform. “Where’s that girl? Where’s that Miserley girl?”
Isiah Lovelock and his butler met him at the bottom of the stand.
“Alexander,” said Lovelock calmly. Inside he was fuming. “We have the mice and Mousebeard’s ship. The pirate can do us no harm in the foreseeable future.”
“They’ve made a laughingstock of us. And that girl knew it all along. Where’s she gone?”
“We caught Mousebeard once, Alexander; we’ll catch him again. He now has no crew — he can’t do a thing. In two months’ time we’ll have piles of golden fur and enough money to buy an even larger army and navy. He won’t get away . . . .”
Battersby’s red, angry face gradually lost some of its fire.
“Well, for now we’ll let them run, Isiah. But they know too much of our plans. It will come back to haunt us if we’re not careful.”
“I’m always careful, Alexander.”
Battersby nodded. “But just to make me feel happier, I’m going to find out who among the Old Town Guard let this happen, then make them pay with their lives.”
“If it makes you happier,” said Lovelock. “Maybe you’ll find our spy that way!”
“I will find that traitor if it’s the last thing I do,” Battersby said angrily, and marched off.
Spires stood quietly, looking along the river to where the estuary panned out into the sea. He knew all too well that his time in Old Town would soon have to come to an end.
“Spires!” called Lady Pettifogger. Ever poised, she arrived beside them, seemingly unruffled by the recent drama. “Is our carriage ready?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his mind elsewhere. “Sir?”
Lovelock looked at him.
“We should be going. The streets will prove a horror to travel in with this crowd, sir.”
“You’re right, Spires, of course. What would I do without you?”
The butler smiled.
“Thank you, sir,” he said.
Once the submarine had passed the navy blockade of the harbor, Algernon set it motoring of its own accord and breathed a sigh of relief. Despite having lost his mice to Old Town, he was sure they could look after themselves. He swiveled the pilot’s chair and flicked a small switch, turning on a thin blue line of lights that traveled around the interior. Algernon looked back into the rather cramped submarine and couldn’t help but laugh. Mousebeard was taking up an unfair amount of room, with his legs turning at an awkward angle to avoid Drewshank, who was contorted around the sub-marine’s curved side — it wasn’t built for men of their stature. Emiline and Scratcher were sitting right at the far end, with even less room. No one was particularly comfortable, but it was definitely preferable to standing under the gallows.
“Algernon,” said Mousebeard, “I owe you my life.”
“It’s these mousekeepers you should thank,” he said honestly. “A braver pair I’ve never known.”
The pirate twisted his heavy head around to look at them, sitting at the back. Scratcher was holding his neck. He was still in great pain and could hardly talk. Emiline was simply exhausted. She looked back at Mousebeard nervously. The pirate, though much thinner, was still a sizable man and his brooding face continued to fill her and Scratcher with a certain amount of dread.
“I knew there was something about you two when we first met. Accept my apologies for any pain I caused.”
Emiline thought back to the moment she and Scratcher had been flung at Mousebeard’s feet onboard the Silver Shark. It seemed strange they were now sharing Algernon’s submarine with him.
“It’s fine,” she said bravely. Scratcher rubbed his neck and tried to form a smile.
“I shall make up for it, I give you my word,” said the pirate solemnly.
“But my, you’re looking thinner, Jonathan!” laughed Algernon. “You look like you did fresh out of Mousing Academy — apart from the gray hair, of course.”
“Gray hair?” said Mousebeard, shuffling around to make his body fit the small space better. He grabbed his soaking beard, wrung it out like a wet cloth, and lifted it to his eyes.
“It’s gray! No!” he said, panic rising within him. Throughout all the time that the curse ate into his being, he hadn’t realized his black beard had been losing all its color, while his clothes now looked as though they had space for six of him.
“This is ridiculous!” he said, pulling at the saggy folds of his shirt. “That damned Isiah Lovelock! How will anyone take me seriously looking like this?”
“You’ll need a ship first, Mousebeard!” said Drewshank wearily. He felt utterly bedraggled and couldn’t even bring himself to look at the state of his clothes.
“The Shark!” proclaimed Mousebeard, jumping to his feet. The submarine rocked and faltered in the water. Its engine started to roar unhappily.
“Jonathan!” yelled Algernon, stretching to the controls and steadying the ship. “This sub isn’t made for big oafs like you!”
Mousebeard froze and held his arms out to find a balance.
“Don’t worry, it’s all right,” added Algernon finally, after tweaking the controls.
Mousebeard slowly returned to the floor, and avoided the sprawl of everyone’s legs.
“But they stole my ship!”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Drewshank, “at least they didn’t destroy her as you did mine.”
“Ah, yes,” growled Mousebeard, “but you were asking for it . . . .”
“Hey!” said Algernon, looking at the pirate sternly.
“You’re right,” said Mousebeard moodily. He turned to Drewshank, his face tightening as he attempted not to frown. “I think we should let all that’s happened in the past be forgotten, captain. You’ve made up for your bad judgments.”
“Those words,” said Drewshank sarcastically. “From a pirate like you they mean the world.”
Mousebeard lifted one of his bushy eyebrows. Behind them Emiline and Scratcher held their breath.
“You need me as much as I need you now, Drewshank. Lovelock won’t let us get away with this. He’s going to come after us harder than ever before, and don’t be surprised if we find we now have even more enemies.”
“Ah, yes,” said Algernon. “The Mousing Federation will rally the nations of the world to seek us out. We’ll be cutthroat fugitives!”
He looked rather excited.
“Battersby will never let us rest,” added Drewshank bitterly.
“So what are we going to do?” asked Emiline, who was nursing Portly’s wounded tail. The mouse hadn’t been right since Weazle’s attack.
“We’re going to strike back,” boomed Mousebeard, making Emiline shrink back against the submarine wall. “We’ll start afresh. There’s fight left in me yet. We can’t let Lovelock turn all the mice in the world into his slaves!”
“What about my crew on your island?” asked Drewshank.
“Your friends? They’ll be good for a while. The volcano — if it’s still standing — is the best defense there is. Once we have a ship, it’ll be our first port of call. We can send them a message to let them know our plans; I’m sure I can spare some of the Rodent Rum in my cellar . . . .”
Mousebeard’s left eye almost trembled into a wink.
“I guess they’re old enough now to look after themselves for a while,” Drewshank concluded. “Fenwick will see to it that they’re all right.”
Mousebeard scrunched his beard in his hand. “And how will they feel when I ask them to join us, Drewshank?”
“Us?” he said, slightly shocked.
“Of course,” exclaimed Mousebeard. “I’ll need a first mate, and I’ll be needing a new crew . . . .”
“Well, I don’t know about being first mate!” spluttered Drewshank.
“How about Captain of Land-based Adventures?”
Drewshank shrugged in acceptance. That sounded quite grand, he thought, trying to persuade himself. He was finding it difficult to picture himself on a ship full of fugitives, after his rather dazzling career as captain.
“And we’ll be requiring some mousers too . . . ,” said Mousebeard.
Emiline and Scratcher sat up.
“You want us too?” said Emiline.
Mousebeard eyed them thoughtfully.
“You saved my life. At some point I want to repay that debt. I can teach you a lot about the mousehunting world, as long as you’re prepared to live the life of a wanted pirate?”
Scratcher looked nervous, but despite everything she knew about Mousebeard, Emiline was starting to feel some excitement as well as trepidation. She still wasn’t sure if Mousebeard was more bad than good, and he was definitely the most terrifying man she had ever met, but she could understand a bit more about why he had become that way. The world of mice was a much darker and more dangerous place than she’d ever imagined, but that only made her want to see more.
The excitement of the day had taken quite a toll on Portly and, against Emiline’s wishes, he crawled down her arm and scampered off to stand on Mousebeard’s stomach. The pirate had always been popular with mice, and he knew full well what Portly wanted. He bent over slightly, allowing the Grey Mouse to scurry up his body and find a warm nest right in the heart of his damp beard. Mousebeard let out a growl of a sigh. Even though Portly wasn’t like his own mice, it was comforting to have him there, and it made him feel like himself again — so much so that the feeling of revenge started to bubble deep inside him.
“Algernon,” he said darkly. “It’s time . . . ,” His voice trailed off.
“Time for what?” Algernon replied, looking at him with puzzlement.
“To break the curse that lies within me. I am ready . . . .”