The Deptford Mice 3: The Final Reckoning Page 24

  The full force of the cold hit her and Audrey lost all sensation in her toes. She had no idea why she had been compelled to come. There was nothing out of the ordinary, it was exactly the same as ever before. She shook herself and the desperate instinct to return melted away – what was she doing here? Audrey was suddenly appalled at her stupidity. She thought of the risks she had taken to get here and could not believe her rash actions. She had cut herself off from family and friends and did not even know why. Her mind was in chaos as she tried to remember what had made her return. Perhaps she was going insane: Audrey put a paw to her forehead to steady herself.

  In the centre of the yard were the remains of the Starwife’s pyre. Nothing was left but a circle of soft, grey ash. Audrey stared fixedly at it and her eyes grew wide and round. Poking up out of the cinders was a small, green shoot.

  She hurried over, amazed that anything could grow so quickly in this severe cold. Bewildered at this miracle Audrey stretched out her paw, but as she touched it the bulb came away in her fingers and she lifted it gently from the ashes.

  The girl marvelled at the tiny green blade in her palm. It gave her hope. It seemed to show that Jupiter had not destroyed everything. Somehow nature would always fight through. She tucked the delicate plant into the waistband of her dress and decided it was time to leave.

  The dismal afternoon light grew even dimmer as the snow fell more heavily. Audrey hurried to the hole in the wall and ran into the kitchen once more. Now her only thought was to get back to her family. She could not understand what had possessed her to run off like that and could not remember where the crazy idea had originated from. She walked hastily through the Hall, shuddering at the creepy noises the bannister made, and only relaxed when the cellar door was behind her. Gleefully Audrey leapt down the steps, anxious to catch up with the others. She wondered what Thomas’s ship was like inside and recalled Twit saying something about lots of figureheads. Past the piles of boxes and bric-a-brac she hastened to the Grille.

  A misty shape moved in the forbidding darkness beyond but she did not see it and approached with no thought of danger. Her mind was too full of questions that she could not answer. The figure moved further into the shadows, allowing the unwary mouse to get within reach. Audrey knelt down before the entrance and above her head a fine tendril of fog curled as a flicker of starfire shone between the grating.

  With a rasping hiss a ghostly claw flashed out and swiped the air. Audrey screamed as more arms flailed out of the Grille and the chilling wails of the spectral army filled the cellar. Evil talons tore at her. One of them snatched her ribbon and shredded it in her hair, another sliced a vicious cut across her arm. Spears glinted beyond the ironwork and grisly cackles issued from dead throats. A face pressed against one of the holes and leered blindly at her.

  Audrey whirled round and fled in horror as a cruel, glittering spike jabbed out and sailed through the darkness. It smashed only inches from her head as she clambered up the steps.

  ‘Help me someone,’ she sobbed in vain as the ghosts seeped out and pursued her malevolently. She tore up the stairs in a fit of anguish, ripping her nails and bruising her knees with the speed of her flight. The phantoms howled behind her with empty, petrifying voices. They sank their claws deep into the stone and hauled themselves stealthily and relentlessly higher.

  As she reached the top step Audrey glanced fearfully down. She was horrified to see how quickly they were moving. A foul head reared over the edge and stared wickedly at her, the savage jaws wide open and a grisly tongue dangling greedily out. The horrendous spirit lunged for her but Audrey shot through the door and threw all her weight against it. The immense barrier of wood swung slowly and stiffly but did not close. A ravening claw slashed out through the crack. Audrey heaved her shoulder against it with all her might and dug her heels in.

  The door slammed shut and the old latch far above snicked shut. The full force of the wraiths fell upon the door with frightening fury. They hammered and crashed into it, pounding with their fists and shrieking their frustration. Audrey backed away; it would not hold them for long. She looked wildly round the Hall, desperate for a place to hide but Thomas’s words rang in her ears, ‘If you run back to your homes they will find and kill you.’ Where then could she go?

  The door juddered as the tip of an ice spear crashed through it. Audrey wept in terror as she saw the wood shiver and yield to the battering host. Choking back her cries she raced through the kitchen and into the garden. She had to escape! But Thomas had also told everyone that it was just as dangerous to stay out there for the winter would claim them as surely as the ghosts.

  Audrey struggled through the snow and leant against the fence panting and breathing with difficulty. She prayed the spectres would not follow for her heart was pounding and her legs quivered with fear. The girl bowed her head and wiped the cold sweat from her face as she fought to control her panic. She had to try and get to Greenwich somehow and needed all her wits about her.

  A thundering uproar signalled the destruction of the cellar door and she heard the yammering phantoms screech into the Hall, but the fiendish voices grew faint as they charged up the stairs to rampage through the Landings.

  Audrey’s short, erratic gasps eased and she breathed deeply. Gradually her scrambled nerves were settling. She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh of relief. Now she could escape without fear of pursuit. She brushed the hair off her face and was about to pass between the fence posts when she heard a sound that froze her blood.

  ‘Rosieee,’ hissed a sepulchral voice. ‘Rosieee.’

  Audrey spun round and stared down the garden in horror. Stalking towards her was a grisly spirit. It was not a rat yet it was terrible to witness. The phantom carried on its back many bags and bundles, and hung about its neck were straps and chains. But the bags contained grinning skulls and ghostly bundles of bones, and the chains were necklaces of teeth. But even under all those horrible trophies it was still possible to see that the awful spectre was that of a mouse. Audrey felt her stomach turn over as she recognized it.

  ‘Kempe!’ she cried. Here was the shade of the pedlar who had guided her to Fennywolde last summer.

  The phantom’s mouth opened as it came closer to the stricken mouse. It reached into one of its bags. ‘Rosieee . . . Rosieee,’ it chanted with a flat, jarring murmur – soft as a whisper in a tomb.

  From the bag it began to draw out an ice spear. ‘I’ll tell you of poor Rosieee,’ it sang in dead, mournful tones, ‘The tragedy that was Rosieee!’ On the word ‘tragedy’ it raised the spear and a cruel snarl formed on the bloodless lips.

  Audrey stumbled back, too afraid to tear her eyes from the macabre apparition bearing down on her. The spear was aimed at her and the empty sockets burned into her soul. With a last evil laugh Kempe’s ghost shrieked, ‘And why she died so lonely.’ The spear flew out of his grasp. Audrey ducked and it plunged into a snow drift behind her.

  The wraith hissed and ran forward with outstretched fingers. Audrey cried out and started to run but her foot twisted awkwardly and she fell to the ground. At once the cackling spirit pounced and leapt onto the floundering girl. ‘Why she died!’ it laughed harshly, ‘Died! Died! Died!’

  Audrey kicked and fought but Kempe held on grimly. The intense cold that beat out of the starfire in his chest pricked and stabbed into her fur. He brought his face close to hers and she nearly fainted at the stench. She felt his horrible fingers tighten round her throat and he threw back his head to scream with infernal laughter. Audrey could do nothing to save herself for her paws passed straight through him. Her face turned purple as he squeezed and wrung her neck. She writhed pitifully on the snow and all her strength drained away. Audrey’s arms went limp and the fingers of her right paw opened. The little silver bell rolled out and tinkled sweetly.

  At the sound of this the phantom lifted its head and gazed down at the trinket which was rolling in the wind. Kempe took his fingers from the girl’s throat and stared after it. T
he starfire wavered in him as the apparition recalled the manner of its death. It gasped and put a paw to its chest where the white flames crackled and spat. Kempe staggered to his feet and swayed uncontrollably as the memories crowded in and he relived those last moments of agony.

  Spluttering for breath, Audrey took her chance and crawled through the fence leaving the confused spectre behind.

  Kempe picked up the bell and his paws trembled. ‘Noooo!’ he screamed defiantly, the starfire throbbed and flashed as it tried to regain control. ‘I won’t . . .’ but his words were lost as the power flooded through him once more and he turned purposefully back to his victim – but she was gone.

  Audrey lurched through the wintry gardens, fleeing blindly. Under hedges she ducked and round frost-glimmering sheds until she reached the end of the terrace. A metal gate clanged in the wind before her. Beyond it stretched the wide, snow-covered road. Audrey pushed herself out and rushed into the bleak landscape.

  The glaring white snow dazzled and blinded her eyes while the fatigue from her struggles gnawed at her. It was too cold to move, all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep. Her legs started to wobble as she trudged wearily on, not knowing in which direction she was moving, for the rising blizzard cut her off and whole buildings disappeared behind the lashing storm. All hope of finding her family faded and the terror of Jupiter, with his diabolical warriors vanished as, with a last, forsaken cry, she collapsed into the snow and waited, like the Starwife before her, for the end to come. A curious warmth spread through her body as she felt herself sink into the welcoming arms of deadly slumber. A familiar voice called to her from the depths of her despair as she closed her eyes and surrendered, lost in the freezing waste of Deptford.

  13. Battle Onboard

  The Cutty Sark reared high and black above the refugees’ heads as they blinked in the light. The masts stretched tall and stark against the leaden sky, like accusing, spindly fingers pointing up to heaven. Thomas grinned fondly at his ship; now that everything was covered in snow she looked like she was sailing on wintry seas and land-locked; no longer.

  ‘There’s my darlin’,’ he said running a loving paw over her timbers, ‘are you rememberin’ the salty days of your ocean rollin’ girlhood?’ He smiled to himself and turned to the crowd. ‘Follow me,’ he called out, marching up to the rudder and climbing into the little hole which served as his personal entrance.

  The mice stared up at the unfamiliar shape of the magnificent vessel in awe. None had ever seen a ship before and some of them were frightened. They looked desperately round the deep concrete trough that rose sheer and smooth on all four sides and felt as though they were imprisoned. But the prospect of staying out in the shivering cold was too dreadful so they swallowed their fears and entered the clipper cautiously.

  Thomas led them up a low, dark passage that smelt of tar but which opened out onto an enormous space.

  ‘Aaayyeee!’ screeched the Raddle sisters in unison as they pattered into the hold, ‘Giants!’ They flapped their paws at the rows of figureheads and gibbered fitfully. Thomas left others to explain while he ran up to a white figure wearing a gold turban and ducked into a hole round the back.

  ‘Now then,’ he shouted when he emerged again brandishing his own sword, ‘let’s make ourselves a plan of action.’

  ‘But what can we do?’ asked Master Oldnose doubtfully.

  ‘We can post a watch on deck for starters,’ he said making practice sweeps with his sword, ‘I’ll not be caught unawares again.’

  He picked five other mice, including Arthur, and led them to a steep flight of wooden stairs. Up they went and disappeared from sight. Gwen watched them leave. Her spirits were low. She thought miserably of Audrey and prayed she was safe. Mrs Chitter came and took hold of her paw. A gentle, uncharacteristic understanding shone in the gossip’s eyes; she knew what it was like to lose a child. ‘We must be patient and have faith,’ she said.

  Gwen managed a frail smile of thanks and nodded, ‘Yes,’ but she remembered the Starwife’s warning about what would happen the next time Jupiter used the Starglass. She covered her face as she realized that that would be this evening.

  The wind tore round the deck and snatched at the rigging. Thomas strode out, sword in paw, and waited for the others to follow. Into the gale came Arthur, Mr Cockle, Algy Coltfoot, Master Oldnose and Jacob Chitter.

  ‘Right,’ Thomas shouted above the noise of the wind, ‘Nosey and Cockle, you go starboard, Algy and Mr Chitter, portside for you, Arthur get astern. Keep all your eyes peeled, as soon as you spot Jupiter’s scurvy wretches just holler.’

  The mice scurried to their designated sentry posts and leaned over the deck rail to stare at the snow-covered ground. Thomas made his way to the prow of the ship and gazed steadily down. Nothing moved over the white expanse. The midshipmouse raised his eyes to the river; it was completely frozen now, a flat, wide sheet of grey, grim ice. A twinge of discomfort bit into his leg – the wound did not like the cold. He looked up at the sky. The sun was hidden behind the thick layers of blizzard-ridden cloud but Thomas knew the evening was drawing near.

  A tremendous rumble shook the world and the Cutty Sark quivered on its struts.

  The mice looked round, startled. ‘What was that?’ quavered Master Oldnose.

  Thomas did not know, but something glimmered in the corner of his eye. He turned and looked at the mist-enshrouded power station in the distance. The tiny windows were ablaze with white fire and he could hear a deep purr echo from it. Jupiter was on the move. A bolt of jagged, blue lightning , streaked up from the chimney and sliced through the clouds. Thomas shuddered.

  With a thundering roar the towering chimney split and great chunks of it crumbled away. The lightning crackled round it and the fissures widened. With a deafening groan the chimney toppled towards the Thames and crashed onto the ice. It shattered and huge spouts of water gushed up as the massive structure burst through and sank into the depths.

  A smoking, ragged shaft was left jutting out of the roof from which an enormous stream of hissing vapour issued. Into the air rose Jupiter. His mountainous bulk soared and gathered god-like in the sky. Out of his fortress he stormed and as he left it the walls shook and swayed perilously. The last of his steaming form billowed from the power station and it collapsed beneath him, smashing and exploding into ruin.

  A blizzard of hail and ice rained down from the Unbeest’s mouth as he roared amid the clouds, the lightning flashed about his head like a crown of cold fire and in his savage claws something small shone. It was the Starglass and he had one final task for it. Tonight the sun would set for the last time.

  The mice on the deck of the Cutty Sark stared at the petrifying vision and felt the doom of every living creature loom near. Master Oldnose slumped to the deck in fright and all the colour bleached out of Mr Cockle’s face as he beheld the evil glory of winter’s monarch. Jacob Chitter wiped his appalled eyes and his knees became water. He fell with a bump on his tail and the breath caught in his throat. Arthur bit his lip fearfully and shrank against the deck rail in fear. Only two nights had passed since he had first witnessed Jupiter but in that short length of time the horrendous spirit had grown, bloated now beyond all belief. It did not seem possible that the power station had ever managed to contain him.

  Jupiter hung over the land like a great dark cloud. He waited for all the vapour to leave the crumbled wreck of his cathedral of cold and drift up to swell his monstrous size. His raucous, trumpeting laughter travelled round the quaking Earth which would soon be his alone.

  With a purr that vibrated through the air and set all teeth on edge he rumbled towards Greenwich, his baleful eyes scalding everything with frost. Thomas ducked behind the rail as the massive, nightmarish shape flew overhead and a dark shadow fell heavily over the ship, plunging it into night. The masts were touched by the outermost tips of Jupiter’s trailing, foggy majesty and immediately a mutilating ice rifled down them, causing the wood to creak in despair. Chun
ks of hail, large as cannon balls, dropped from the hideous cat spirit and mercilessly battered the deck.

  Arthur clung to a rope as the Cutty Sark rocked violently and the steel struts tore vicious rents in her listing hull. He was flung against the rail and it cracked his skull. With a cry of pain Arthur held his head and averted his eyes from Jupiter. The blackness of the enormous shadow stole across the cratered deck as the purring Unbeest veered round and made for the observatory.

  Arthur hung over the rail and stared woefully down, ‘Green spare us!’ he exclaimed.

  Following beneath their evil master marched the spectral army. The phantoms flourished their ice spears and yammered eagerly for blood.

  Arthur sprang back and shouted, ‘They’re here! They’re here!’

  The others came rushing to him and looked over the edge. ‘Curse them,’ swore Thomas, ‘they’re surrounding the ship.’ Sure enough, the ghosts were spreading out and creeping all round the concrete trench that held the trapped clipper. They lifted their ghastly faces and let out shrieks of hate.

  ‘Cockle,’ shouted Thomas urgently, ‘go warn everyone. Tell ’em we’re besieged and they’ll have to brace themselves.’

  Mr Cockle and Algy darted down the steps to the hold and Thomas gripped his sword with determination. ‘I’ll not go down without a fight,’ he told himself.

  The cackling wraiths licked their lips and moved in. With slow menace they crept to the edge of the trough and with frenzied hoots flung themselves onto the long metal poles that impaled the vessel.