The Secret of Zanzibar, page 20
The three mice accepted gratefully, with Alex offering to cook all the meals and Alice and Tom volunteering to wash up.
The younger mice also agreed to take it in turns between the three of them to keep watch on the square during those hours when they were at home, as an added precaution in case one of them was followed.
And so, at last, their mission began in earnest. Every morning Alice, Alex and Tom left the house before dawn to ensure that they weren’t seen by any of Maxine’s neighbours. Without a word, they would go their separate ways, each heading for the part of town they had claimed as their own, not to return till late, sneaking through the streets after curfew.
Alice’s sector covered the quarter by the east gate. It was an old and poor part of town. The cobblestones that paved the streets were worn smooth and paint peeled from the shabby buildings. Washing hung on lines which stretched across the narrow alleys, the clothes worn and threadbare. But Alice liked the cramped streets better than the grand boulevards that ran through the city centre. It felt more like a neighbourhood, somehow – and, she noted with some relief, the Queen’s Guards tended not to linger in this part of town. The patrols marched quickly through, sticking to the wider streets and rarely venturing into the maze of alleyways in which they could easily become lost.
At first Alice was shy about approaching strangers to speak of the protest, aware of the danger both to herself and to those she spoke with. But gradually she grew better at it. Many of the old shopkeepers were sympathetic, and Alice spent a number of rainy afternoons sitting behind shop counters hearing of the days when the children of the neighbourhood would laugh and play in the streets while their parents gossiped in doorways. The children didn’t run and play any more, but Alice found she was able to strike up conversations with kids waiting outside shops while their parents queued for rations inside.
As the week passed, she found that many of the mice she approached, both young and old, were already aware of the protest and were planning to attend. Indeed, there seemed to be a buzz in the air; the sad-eyed mice she had once seen drifting through the streets like shadows walked with a new sense of purpose and energy. They still shrank from the Queen’s Guards, but now they seemed reluctant and resentful rather than resigned.
By the day before the protest, Alice was weary from the early rising, the long days spent tramping the streets – always watching over her shoulder for the flash of a red coat, an ear cocked for the sound of marching boots – and nights broken by taking her turn at watching the dark square outside.
One more day, Alice told herself as she entered the now-familiar maze of streets. The thought of the protest the next day filled her with a strange mix of hope and apprehension. Success, she feared, as she was forced to change her route to avoid a Sourian patrol, was far from certain.
She was helping an old mouse carry her shopping home early that evening when she first had the uneasy sense that she was being watched.
‘I always knew Zanzibar would come home,’ the old mouse was saying, pausing to shift her basket to her other hand. ‘I knew it in my bones.’
Alice glanced up and down the tiny street. There were a couple of old metal rubbish bins just ahead of her; a faded terracotta pot, its flowers long dead, stood beside the steps of an apartment building across the street. Other than that, the street was deserted, the pavement empty. But still, the uneasy feeling persisted.
‘How much further?’ Alice asked the old mouse anxiously.
‘It’s that cream-coloured building up ahead,’ the old mouse said. ‘With the green door. At least –’ she eyed the shabby door critically ‘– it used to be green.’
‘Let’s walk faster,’ Alice urged, for she had caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. ‘I think someone’s coming.’
‘There, there, dear,’ soothed the old mouse. ‘You’re just feeling jumpy because of the protest tomorrow. And here we are, see?’
She pushed open the heavy green door and held it as Alice, a shopping bag in each hand, walked through into a small foyer.
‘Just the one flight, dear.’ The old mouse began to stump slowly up the stairs.
Oh, hurry, hurry, Alice begged silently as they inched up the stairs. Then, Please hurry, as the old mouse fumbled in her basket for her door key.
‘There we are.’ As the key turned in the lock, Alice heard a squeal of hinges as the heavy green door was pushed open on the ground floor.
With rising terror, she heard a silvery voice say, ‘She came in here. I’m sure of it.’
Sophia!
Alice flung herself through the door after the old mouse and shut it behind them, her hand trembling on the lock.
‘I need to hide,’ she whispered urgently. ‘There’s someone downstairs. She’s looking for me. A Sourian spy …’ Who killed Solomon, she added silently. She looked around the old mouse’s apartment to see that it was only a single room. Besides, if she was found here, the old mouse would be in trouble too. A vision of Sophia advancing, knife in hand, flared in Alice’s mind.
The old mouse was looking frightened now. ‘The window,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to go out the window.’
It was only one flight up, Alice reminded herself as the old mouse opened the window.
She heard footsteps on the stairs outside and a silvery voice saying, ‘Of course I don’t know which apartment she went into, Horace. We’ll just have to look in every one till we find her.’
Alice scrambled out onto the window ledge, almost losing her balance as the old mouse hastily shut the window. Only one flight up. But still … Alice looked at the drop onto the hard cobblestones below. If she hurt herself she’d never be able to outrun Sophia and Horace. She could wait out here until they left maybe? But if they searched the room they’d surely spot her …
Her heartbeat quickened. She had to do something, and fast. She would have to jump. There was no other option … Or was there? For just to the left of the window a washing line was attached to a hook with a pulley on the wall. It stretched across the narrow street to a hook on the opposite wall. Apart from a few tea towels fluttering limply, the line was bare. Would it hold her weight?
It would have to. She edged across the window ledge until she was close enough to grab a tea towel. Throwing it over the line, she grasped one end in each hand. Then, taking a deep breath, she stepped off the ledge.
She slid towards the street, a rush of air whistling in her ears, the line bending beneath her weight. Would it snap? She looked down at the street then quickly looked up again. Her arms were straining almost out of their sockets, the line straining at the hooks on the walls, as she reached the centre of the washing line and stopped. She was dangling just a few metres above the ground. She let go of the tea towel and dropped to the street, and was preparing to sprint away as she heard a squeal of hinges. The green door was opening again!
With no time to run, her eyes landed on the only possible hiding place and she raced over. She shifted the lid of the metal garbage bin and peered in. It was smelly but, luckily, it was empty. She clambered inside, then pulled the lid back to its original position.
Her heart was pounding so loud she thought it must surely echo off the metal sides.
‘I was sure she went into that building.’ It was Sophia, and she sounded frustrated.
‘But she wasn’t in there,’ said the gloomy voice of her coal-black companion.
‘Thank you, Horace dear, I did notice that,’ Sophia said waspishly. The usual amused note was gone from her silvery voice, Alice noticed. ‘Oh, I could just scream. There’s something about that girl that just gets to me. I hate those thoughtful, watchful types. They have a nasty way of spoiling one’s best-laid plans. Just like Solomon …’
‘You shouldn’t have killed him, Sophia,’ Horace said quietly. ‘You went too far.’
‘Did I ask for your opinion, Horace? No I did not. Now stop your blathering and start searching. She must be here somewhere.’
‘Search where?’ Horace objected. ‘Apart from these bins –’ Alice heard a clang as Horace lifted the lid of the bin beside her then dropped it again ‘– there’s nowhere to hide.’
As the lid above her head was lifted Alice clamped her hands over her mouth to smother her scream and screwed her eyes shut – but just before she did, she caught a glimpse of coal-black fur and … did their eyes meet, ever so briefly? She couldn’t be sure, and so she trembled in silence, waiting for the cry of discovery.
But the lid clanged down on the bin and Horace’s doleful voice said, ‘There’s no sign of her, Sophia. Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?’
‘Do I look like I’m in an imaginative mood, Horace?’ Sophia snapped.
‘No, Sophia,’ Horace answered.
‘Let’s just sit here on the steps for a while,’ Sophia decided. ‘She might come out of whichever building she slipped into.’
‘Okay.’
For several minutes neither mouse spoke and Alice, crouching in the bin, groaned inwardly. Her muscles were starting to cramp. How long would they sit there?
Finally, Horace said, ‘Sophia, what are you going to do?’
‘Do when, Horace?’
‘After the protest – if the Gerandans succeed.’
So they knew about the protest, Alice thought. Well, of course they did. It was impossible to keep something that big a secret.
‘The Gerandans can’t succeed,’ Sophia said vehemently. ‘You know that. Queen Eugenia isn’t worried about it and nor should you be.’
‘I know,’ said Horace. ‘I know they can’t succeed. But … if they do?’
There was a long silence, and for a moment Alice considered the possibility that Sophia had walked away without replying.
Then the silvery voice said, ‘I’ve never thought about it. I’d … I’d go home, I suppose.’ She sounded almost surprised by the idea. ‘I have family in Skardon. Perhaps I’d visit them. Have a holiday. Learn to cook. Who knows? I could live an ordinary life.’ She laughed her bell-like laugh. ‘But, Horace, before I do –’ her voice turned low and vicious ‘– I want to get that girl!’
‘Sophia, I don’t even think it was her,’ Horace said. ‘Surely she and her brother would have left Cornoliana after they rescued the boy from the dungeon. You must have seen some other brown mouse. So can we please go back to the palace? I thought I heard General Ashwover say something about there being a cheese roast with all the trimmings for dinner tonight. Of course, we might have missed it already.’
‘Cheese roast? Are you sure? Then come on, Horace, what are you waiting for? We don’t want to keep the cheese roast – I mean, the general – waiting.’
Alice heard their footsteps walking away, growing fainter. After several minutes she judged they would have left the street and was about to emerge from the bin when she had second thoughts. What if it was a trap? What if they knew she was there and were just waiting for her to reveal herself and lead them back to Maxine’s place?
She couldn’t take the risk and so she stayed, huddled in the bin, too scared to leave. Every time she thought enough time had passed, she’d get scared and decide to stay where she was. From time to time she heard voices and footsteps on the street outside and waited in tense silence until they had passed by, but for the most part the street remained quiet and she was left with only her fears for company. Her mind kept returning to one question. Had Horace seen her? And if he had, why hadn’t he said anything?
She had no idea of knowing how long she been in the bin by the time she had worked up the courage to push the lid aside and climb out. Her limbs were aching, and she was hungry and desperately tired as she ran through the silent streets, expecting to be stopped at any moment. When at last she reached Maxine’s house at the edge of the darkened square, the door was opened almost immediately by her brother, who had first watch that night.
‘Where have you been?’ Alex demanded, his voice angry, as he closed the door behind her. ‘It’s close to midnight. I thought the Sourians had got you!’
‘They nearly did.’ Alice described her close encounter with Sophia and Horace.
Her brother wrinkled his nose. ‘You sat in a bin for six hours? No wonder you stink.’ But his tone was kind.
‘Have a shower, Alice,’ said Maxine, ‘and we’ll fix you a light supper. Then you can go straight to bed. We’ve a big day ahead of us tomorrow.’
‘I’ll take your four am watch,’ Tom volunteered.
Within half an hour Alice was stretched out on the couch under a blanket, ready to sink into sleep. But sleep was a long time coming as adrenalin continued to surge through her. Finally she fell into a light doze, only to awaken immediately when she heard her cousin’s low voice.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Tom. ‘Looks like trouble.’
Alice sprang from the couch and rushed to the window, her pulse racing, her worst fears realised. She had not been cautious enough! She had led Sophia and Horace to their hiding place!
‘What is it?’ Alex mumbled, still half asleep.
Without turning from the window Tom uttered the dreaded words: ‘I think the Sourians are coming.’
21
Fire!
‘How will we get into the city?’ Alistair asked, rubbing at his shoulder where the strap of his rucksack was pinching him. ‘We can’t just enter through the gates.’
They were in the secret tunnel, all of them except Great-Aunt Harriet and Grandpa Nelson, who declared that the tubes through the Crankens had been quite enough excitement for them. It was the same secret tunnel Alistair, Tibby, Feast and Slippers had travelled through on their unsuccessful mission to Atticus Island; he and Tibby had used it again after they had fled the Queen’s Guards with Zanzibar and found Emmeline and Rebus.
‘Isn’t there a tunnel that goes to Cornoliana?’ Tibby asked.
‘I’m sure there is,’ said Emmeline. ‘Alistair, check the map.’
Alistair unwound the scarf from around his neck and he, Emmeline and Tibby pored over it.
Tibby pointed. ‘We can follow this branch,’ she said.
Alistair sighed. It was a long way off and the excitement of being back in the underground tunnel, perhaps passing under the very feet of the Queen’s Guards, had worn off many, many hours ago. They had already passed one night in the passage carved from earth and rock and he was longing for sunlight, fresh air.
Tibby carried the scarf, counting the forks as they passed them. From time to time they stopped to rest for fifteen minutes or half an hour, but time was running short and they would have to walk through the night if they were to reach the capital in time.
Alistair was too tired to feel excited when Tibby finally said, ‘It’s this one!’
One by one they filed into the narrow tunnel, ducking under a tangle of tree roots that protruded through the earthen ceiling. Tibby led the way, Alistair following close behind.
Unlike the main tunnel, this branch wound its way under the earth, so that it seemed at times as if they must be doubling back rather than moving forward.
‘It’s a good thing Ebenezer isn’t here,’ Rebus joked as the already-cramped passage constricted further. ‘I doubt he’d get that big belly of his through.’
Suddenly Tibby stopped. ‘It’s a dead end.’
Emmeline spoke up. ‘That can’t be right,’ she said. ‘If the tunnel is marked on the map there must be an exit.’
Tibby held up her candle. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It is an exit – but something’s blocking it. A big stone, I think.’
‘Let me give it a push,’ said Feast Thompson, who was the strongest of the group.
They all flattened themselves against the walls of the tunnel to allow Feast to move to the front of the line.
Once there, he put his shoulder to the stone and threw all his weight against it.
‘It’s not budging,’ he gasped.
‘Let me help,’ said Rebus, and he too put his shoulder to the stone.
After a few seconds there was a scraping sound and the stone shifted just enough to leave a narrow gap. Alistair squeezed through behind Feast, Rebus and Tibby Rose to find himself in a small square. It was barely light – just before dawn, he guessed. He gazed around at the apartment houses and small terraces lining the square, before turning back to face a wall and the stone that had been blocking the tunnel. It was, he saw now, a statue of a mouse holding a quill.
Timmy the Winns was patting it affectionately. ‘Who would have guessed?’ he whispered. ‘Old Doffy, eh?’
Emmeline laughed softly. ‘Oh, I never imagined I’d see Doffy again!’
Alistair was shrugging at Tibby Rose when a movement in the small house butting up against the wall caught his eye.
‘Someone’s there,’ he hissed, and they all froze as the door to the house creaked open.
‘This way!’ said a voice, and Alistair did a double take as he recognised the voice as Alice’s.
Without a word he rushed through the door she was holding open, followed by Tibby and the others.
‘Tom was on watch,’ Alice was saying as she hugged her mother and father, and then carried on hugging everyone within reach. ‘He saw you. Not that he knew who you were. He thought you might be Sourian invaders.’
‘Who’s Tom?’ Alistair asked as he tried to disentangle himself from her embrace.
‘Tobias’s son,’ his sister explained, pointing to a tall skinny mouse with marmalade fur who was standing in the doorway next to Alex. ‘Our cousin.’
‘We rescued him from the dungeon,’ his brother added casually.
Emmeline moved forward, smiling. ‘Hello, Tom,’ she said. ‘Of course I recognise you – you look just like your father. Doesn’t he, Tim?’ She turned to her younger brother.
‘What’s going on here?’ A small grey mouse had joined Tom and Alex in the doorway. She looked irritated, Alistair thought, as she scanned the crowd. ‘What are all these strangers doing in my house?’
