The Final Reckoning Read online

  After a while a strange triangle descended from above. The end of the rope had been tied to a piece of wood just big enough to sit on and then knotted a little way above that to form a kind of swing. It was lowered gently to the ground where the Starwife struggled into it. Sitting on the wooden seat and still clutching her stick she grasped the rope with her paws and called to be pulled up.

  In the attic the mice took the strain and heaved on the rope. Slowly the Starwife was raised, ascending through the wall space, using her stick to stop herself bumping into the bricks. She seemed to be quite enjoying herself and hummed an ancient squirrel tune in the dark. Eventually she reached the attic and was helped out onto the roof.

  The afternoon came and wore on and the leaden sky began to turn black. Not content with waiting below, all the other mice wanted to know what was happening so the remaining husbands climbed up and their wives took turns in the Starwife’s cradle. In the end everyone was up in the attic or standing precariously on the roof where the Starwife began to tie the twigs into a pyramid shape.

  When the framework had been made the squirrel searched in the velvet bag she had brought from Greenwich. ‘Good,’ she muttered, ‘I have all I need.’ Clutching the bag close to her the Starwife raised her head and told everyone, ‘We shall not light the beacon till night falls; it will not be long.’

  Audrey was sitting next to her mother. She closed her eyes against the blustering wind and huddled closer to Gwen. Oswald was nearby and Mrs Chitter was fussing with his scarf, ‘Don’t you get a chill like that last one,’ she clucked.

  Arthur gazed at the world in astonishment. When he had been in Fennywolde he had climbed the corn stalks and enjoyed the feeling of being high above the ground but that was nothing compared to this. He did not feel the cold as he was too absorbed in the panoramic views. In the distance he could see the vague blur of the city and not too far away the tower of St Nicholas’s church rose between the buildings. Beyond that . . . Arthur put a paw over his eyes, the tall chimney of Deptford Power Station loomed out of a strange white mist. He frowned, scratched his head and shivered, but not because of the weather; there was something uncanny about that place. Arthur fancied that he was being watched – he did not like it and tried to look away, but the power station fascinated him. It seemed to have a presence – he could almost hear it breathing and waiting. Arthur shivered a second time.

  The short winter day was drawing to a close, deep shadows gathered under the surrounding houses and street lamps clicked and buzzed as they blinked on. The dusk fell and the mice on the roof had to strain their eyes to see each other.

  ‘It is time,’ said the dim shape of the Starwife.

  For an instant Thomas’s face was illuminated as he struck a light from his tinder box. He passed it to the squirrel and she bent over the beacon and waited patiently for it to catch.

  The twigs kindled and a warm yellow glow lit the circle of mice who drew instinctively closer to the welcome flames.

  The Starwife pulled from her bag a glass phial containing a dark red syrup, the juice of special berries. She sprinkled it over the fire and at once it spat and sparks flew out. The mice gasped and fell back in alarm. The flames then turned a rich, deep purple and tapered high over the roof tops.

  ‘Now, we wait,’ said the Starwife, crouching down.

  The beacon blazed furiously, yet the flames did not seem to be burning the wood. They remained in its fierce heart untouched by the heat. It was the tallest fire the mice had ever seen, a slender, violet beam reaching up into the heavens.

  The beacon was seen by many; far away, resting for the night beneath a hedge, the Starwife’s subjects looked up and wondered, pigeons ruffled in their roosts, a fox slinking up to a dustbin paused and raised his brows. From Deptford Power Station there came a deep rumbling purr.

  On the roof everyone waited anxiously. All eyes were trained on the sky, searching for the flutter of bat wings. The Starwife did not move. Her paws rested on her knees and before the flames her silvery fur shone like a brilliant amethyst. She stared silently into the fire.

  The hours dragged slowly by. The mice rubbed their sore eyes and warmed their paws. The slates of the roof were cold and terribly uncomfortable. Some mice gave up looking for the bats and mumbled in disappointment.

  Audrey lay on her back gazing upwards. She could see only the black sky with the livid finger of flame stretching above her.

  Arthur had stopped looking for the bats long ago and now concentrated his attention on the mist around the power station. Now and then he thought he saw a faint blue glow flicker in there perhaps it was his imagination but he continued to watch the distant building suspiciously.

  Thomas Triton thought of the rum he had left unfinished in his quarters. He stroked his whiskers slowly and his mind wandered down the sea lanes of his youth – he coughed and hid his face quickly.

  The beacon spluttered and the tall fire shrank and grew yellow. The flames crackled and consumed the twigs greedily. The Starwife sighed and a tear fell from her eyes, ‘They do not come,’ she whispered hoarsely, ‘we are alone and must die.’ The mice got to their feet and began to file along to the hole in the roof.

  Oswald was the only one still watching the blank, dark sky. His mittened paws swept over his cold, pink nose. ‘If only the bats had come,’ he sighed longingly.

  ‘Oswald, Oswald,’ called his mother, ‘the show’s over now dear, come inside at once.’

  Reluctantly the albino had to look away from the sky as he cautiously got to his feet and followed his mother. Then just as he lowered himself down into the attic he lifted his face one last time and held his breath incredulously. There, in the faint distance were two dark shapes flying towards the house.

  ‘Look, look!’ yelled Oswald jumping up and down, ‘The bats are coming, the bats are coming.’

  The few mice who were left outside peered into the sky and gradually, their eyes being less sensitive than Oswald’s, they discerned the flitting shapes high in the air.

  ‘He’s right,’ shouted Audrey joyously, ‘they really are coming.’

  A chorus of approval broke out spontaneously as the mice cheered the bats and applauded the cleverness of the Starwife. The old squirrel merely nodded and lightly touched her silver amulet in gratitude.

  Those who had disappeared into the attic now popped their heads out and hoisted themselves onto the roof once more.

  ‘Triton,’ chirped the Starwife, ‘help me to my feet, I think my bones have set. I cannot greet our cousins in such a manner. That’s better, aahh.’ Her back creaked as she stood with the midshipmouse’s help.

  By now the bats were well in view, the orange light of the street lamps lit them from beneath and it was Arthur who recognized them. ‘It’s Orfeo and Eldritch,’ he piped up as he waved to the newcomers.

  ‘Welcome you voyagers of the twilight,’ called the Starwife solemnly.

  The two creatures alighted daintily on the tiles and wrapped their leathery wings about themselves as though they were cloaks. Orfeo raised his foxy face and looked down his long nose at the Starwife, ‘By what right does the Handmaiden of Orion summon us?’ he demanded haughtily. ‘Was the debt our ancestors once owed to her forebears not paid long ago?’ He waited for an answer.

  The Starwife shook her stick at him bad-temperedly. ‘Don’t you start any of that malarkey with me young lad, this has nothing to do with what happened then and well you know it. I asked you here because of Jupiter.’

  Orfeo snorted and spread his wings. ‘Beware the ear that whispers, did we not tell the fat one?’ he pointed accusingly at Arthur and allowed his brother to continue.

  Eldritch moved his noble head and shifted his position. ‘Old dame of the night,’ he said to the Starwife, ‘you did not “ask” us here, you sought to summon and by an old trick of one of your venerable predecessors. She was wilier than you and her power greater – for do I not see the truth here? You have lost your trinket, that secret you kept hidde
n under oak has been stolen.’

  ‘Hah,’ scoffed Orfeo joining in, ‘what a merry jest this is, the queenly one bereft of her magic devices – what misfortune!’ And he laughed out loud. ‘No more tricks from her, no longer does she sit enthroned, her realm is ended.’

  The Starwife endured their jibes and hateful comments without saying anything, but Audrey could not. This was the first time she had heard the bats speak and she found them just as intolerably rude as she had once found the Starwife.

  She pushed forward and interrupted their mocking voices. ‘Oh very funny,’ she said, ‘just stop it, it isn’t fair to pick on her – why are you so cruel? She hasn’t done anything to you.’

  The bats glared at the mouse who had dared to speak up. Orfeo hid his mouth behind his wings and murmured, ‘She has a champion.’

  ‘Enough,’ said the Starwife at last. ‘You have had your fun. By all means laugh at me – I am nothing, just an old squirrel who grew too proud and thought she was invincible. I am still paying for my mistakes, do not make any of your own to regret.’

  The bats calmed down and became serious. ‘Did you think we were ignorant of the Unbeest?’ asked Eldritch. ‘We knew He had returned in spectral form, that is why all our brethren are gathered together at this very moment in the greatest council ever held in our long history.’

  ‘The road is dark, Starwife,’ warned Orfeo sombrely. ‘There are paths we cannot see; the future is closed to us also, yet a solution must be found. The fiend must be dispatched and soon.’

  The Starwife listened to them and a determined expression crept over her wrinkled face. ‘Very well,’ she said when they had finished. ‘I had hoped you could advise me but it would seem you are as powerless as I.’ She could not resist letting slip a quick, smug smile. ‘It would seem we must join forces properly.’

  The bats looked at each other, ‘She cannot mean . . .’ spluttered Orfeo.

  ‘I fear she does,’ laughed his brother raucously. ‘She really expects us to carry her to our meeting.’ He prodded the squirrel with his wings. ‘You do don’t you?’

  ‘I see nothing amusing in the suggestion,’ she replied acidly. ‘Surely it is the only thing we can do – with my knowledge added to yours we might stand a chance.’

  Eldritch wiped the tears from his eyes and shook his head, ‘Apologies dear, whimsical Madam but no, we are not going to take you to our council, that is not what we had in mind – unless . . .’ The Starwife raised her eyebrows expectantly. ‘unless . . . you were the one who saw our coming before all others.’

  ‘What nonsense is this?’ she asked. ‘The albino marked you first but what does that signify?’

  ‘My dear lady,’ they cried together, ‘it means that Master Pink Eyes is to be our honoured guest at the council’ The bats turned their attention on Oswald who gulped and bit his mittens.

  ‘Do you think it was the beacon which drew us hither?’ Orfeo asked. ‘We knew who was behind it: your tricks do not work on us any more, ancient crone, but you did enough to bring the white one up to the roof. He is the one we sought, he is the last link. We need him at our council, not you.’

  Oswald stammered and the Starwife fumed. She cursed the bats and their prophecies, incensed that a dithering albino runt should be chosen to attend the great meeting instead of her. ‘You idiots,’ she stormed furiously.

  But they were not listening. The bats sidled up to Oswald and wrapped their wings about him, ‘This is the one,’ they crooned. ‘Come, fly with us, into the night air, Master Pink Eyes, soar up and forget your feet have ever touched the soil’

  ‘I . . . I,’ Oswald gabbled idiotically in disbelief, ‘I don’t know . . .’

  Mrs Chitter had been listening to the proceedings with mounting concern, now she could bear it no longer and tried to pull her son away. ‘Just you leave my boy alone you nasty creatures,’ she told them. ‘Come here Oswald, leave them be, they’ll go away and leave you alone.’

  Oswald was yanked by the scarf as his mother tried to drag him from the bats. With his head in a whirl he found himself shouting, ‘Yes, yes I’ll go with you.’ Mrs Chitter squealed and collapsed into her husband’s arms.

  ‘Don’t worry Mother,’ Oswald cried as the bats flew up and lowered their feet for him to take hold of. He stretched out his arms and tried to catch one of the dangling legs but it was no good in his mittens, so he pulled them off with his teeth and tried once more.

  ‘Oh my,’ he breathed as his feet left the tiles.

  ‘Goodness me,’ was all he could find to say as the roof receded below him.

  ‘Goodbye son,’ called his father.

  ‘Aaagghh!’ wailed his mother.

  ‘See you soon,’ waved Arthur cheerfully.

  The roof tops sailed by as Oswald and the bats soared higher and higher into the black night. The albino held on to their feet tightly and wondered if he had done the right thing, but it was too late to turn back and the glittering sight of the city sprawled ahead of him.

  ‘This is it,’ he said to himself, ‘a real adventure all my own.’ Oswald stared down; they were very high now, and the houses looked like matchboxes.

  He suddenly felt terribly sick. ‘Oh dear,’ he thought, ‘what have I got myself into?’

  6. The Book of Hrethel

  The biting wind cut right through Oswald’s fur and his scarf thrashed and flapped wildly about. A sudden icy gust snatched and tore the woollen hat from his head. He cried out as he saw it sail far away into the night.

  ‘My hat,’ he moaned as he felt his large, naked ears throb with the cold.

  The bats showed no sign that they had noticed. They were talking to each other in their secret tongue which, to the albino, sounded like a mixed-up jumble of high pitched squeaks. He was beginning to feel quite alone and thoroughly regretted his rashness.

  The world was much larger than he had ever imagined. It twinkled and glittered below – a vast sprawl of tiny lights stretching in every direction, as far as his sensitive eyes could see. The great River Thames wound darkly round the renovated wharves and disappeared beneath slender bridges like a path of glass. The glow of the city danced brightly over its still surface and the reflections of the brilliant white stars shone like gleaming diamonds set in the river bed.

  ‘What think you of the night Master Pink Eyes?’ asked Orfeo out of the blue.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ replied Oswald, gazing round breathlessly.

  ‘He does not hear the music,’ said Eldritch to his brother, ‘unlike his cousin the witch husband, the night speaks not to him.’

  ‘Nor shall it speak to any of us if the Unbeest remains in the world,’ added Orfeo, ‘let us hurry to the council.’

  They flew over the river and made for a grand, domed building and Oswald saw that the sky around it was crowded with dark winged shapes. The air was thick with bats all fluttering about the great dome.

  ‘What is that place?’ asked Oswald curiously.

  ‘Yonder is the divine hall of the many bat guilds,’ replied Eldritch importantly. ‘For ages uncounted have we met there in times of peril, though never has the danger been greater than now.’

  They circled the huge dome three times and called to the thousands of other bats in their own language. Dangling below, Oswald could not help feeling that they were talking about him. Several black shapes drew near and bright, alarming eyes stared for a moment at the albino and then were gone. Their faces were incredibly ugly and as different from Orfeo and Eldritch as it was possible to be. The strange bats weaved around the gold cross on the top of the building then came back and spoke to each other in harsh voices. A wide nostrilled snout jabbed the mouse’s stomach and snuffled up to his face. Oswald closed his eyes in disgust and his skin crawled at the touch of that horrible wet nose but he knew he was being inspected and so endured it. These were the bat guards, a fierce squadron who patrolled the air space making sure no intruders or spies could get into the council.

  ‘Stay very sti
ll White One,’ whispered Orfeo hastily, ‘if you move suddenly they will cast you down.’

  Oswald bit his lip and tried not to move as the brute sniffed his head. But the slimy bat slobber ran down into his ears and the mouse was tormented with a desperate urge to wipe it off and shoo the ugly thing away.

  He must have passed the test for at that moment the guard plummeted down and Orfeo and Eldritch followed. Oswald rubbed his ear on his arm and grimaced. He hoped there would be no more guards like that.

  They spiralled down, past mighty pillars and figures carved in stone. Oswald saw the guard in front swoop sharply up and then alight on a wide balcony that ran all the way round the base of the dome.

  ‘Prepare yourself Master Pink Eyes,’ cried Orfeo, ‘your lofty journey is at an end.’ With their wings outstretched they glided onto the balcony and dropped the mouse gently down.

  The guard gave Oswald a black look and with hunched wings marched over to a fissure in the stonework. He grunted and motioned for the mouse to crawl through. Eldritch, however, stepped in and said softly, ‘Do not fear White One, I shall pass through first and my brother after you. We are safe now.’ He disappeared into the gap and Oswald followed him.

  Through a narrow space they squeezed and Oswald heard Orfeo say something to the guard before he joined them. The way was difficult, and once or twice the mouse thought he had got stuck, but the thought of staying in that dark place forever forced him on grimly.

  Eventually the passage gave way to the inside of the dome. It was the most magnificent sight Oswald had ever witnessed; the place was cavernous. Below the gallery on which he stood were eight immense arches richly decorated with mosaics of angels, bordered with blazing gold. In the niches between the high windows there were enormous sculptures of saints with their fingers raised in blessing and overhead were rich paintings. Yet all around, clinging to the gilded carvings, huddled in the shadows of the great, hanging from the rails and sitting beneath the statues were thousands upon thousands of bats. They were everywhere: the beautiful walls were absolutely covered in furry bodies, and hushed whispers echoed round like an angry sea crashing against cliffs, rising and falling like the sound of the tide.