The Deptford Mice 1: The Dark Portal by Robin Jarvis Page A

‘This will not be as painful a journey, Master Scuttle. Just hold up your paws,’
    Twit reached up into the air.
    The bats began to flap their wings and rose elegantly upwards. They each gripped a tiny pink paw in their feet and beat their wings harder until the dust that lay on the beams around them was disturbed and swirled about the fieldmouse’s feet. Up went Twit exclaiming in wild delight.
    ‘Hold tight, Master Scuttle,’ shouted Orfeo.
    With graceful and easy movements, the bats carried Twit higher and higher, until they were out of the hole in the roof and into the night air.

7. The Midshipmouse
     
    Twit dangled beneath the two bats as they flew up into the darkness. He could not believe his eyes. They left the red chimney pots behind them and soared higher still, leaving the old empty house far below.
    The night air streamed through his fur, making him wriggle with delight. It was a wonderful sensation to feel nothing under his feet and his tail hanging in empty space.
    ‘Oh my,’ Twit sighed. The stars above were so beautiful.
    The two bats carried him through wispy clouds, which fell like fine damp mist. For a while his tail trailed in them leaving a long thin smoky wake behind.
    Orfeo looked down at him. ‘Observe the night, Master Scuttle, you are a part of it now. We move in our element but only by permission: of the Lady of the Moon. It is she who tempts us out, enticing us with tender, shadowy caresses. All who move in the clear night feel her presence.’
    ‘Patience brother,’ cut in’ Eldritch. ‘Master Scuttle desired to view the city. Look now, mouse of the fields, it is below you.’
    Twit lowered his eyes away from the stars and his mouth fell open.
    All around and beneath them lay glittering sea of light. The great city of London sprawled magnificently in all directions, an incomparable, matchless, slumbering creature, bejewelled and dangerous.
    It was impossibly large for a tiny mouse to imagine. Twit just breathed in wonderment like a fish gasping on land.
    The bats wheeled in circles, chuckling to one another. ‘It’s luvverly,’ Twit managed to say at last. ‘Perfect.’
    At this the brothers laughed loudly. ‘Not perfect, Master Scuttle. Come see.’ They dived. Down they went, past the flat roofs of slim blank tower blocks and through the tops of trees. They reached a weird buzzing orange light on the top of a tall post and Twit had to kick away the moths that fluttered like ghosts around him.
    ‘We will take you to the dark side of the city,’ explained Orfeo. ‘In the night the ferae roam.’
    ‘The what?’ asked Twit.
    ‘The feral creatures – wild, hungry and frightened.’
    They flew over a road where great glaring engines hurtled along at a frightening speed. The bats skimmed some garden fences and Twit received a splinter in his tail.
    A hollow clang clattered nearby.
    ‘What was that?’ asked Twit.
    ‘It is the feral cats,’ said Orfeo.
    And Twit saw thin skulking animals that might once have been cats scavenging in dustbins. Forlorn and ravenous, they tore open bags and spat at each other in their fight for food. The fur on them was thick and dusty, their tails were bushy and their whiskers were more like bristles.
    ‘Do you know others of this untame breed in your field Master Scuttle?’
    ‘Well no, there ain’t nothin’ like that, they’m so scrawny,’ shivered Twit.
    ‘The city makes them so.’
    Twit noticed with alarm the green hungry eyes turned to them as they flew over. The mournful wails scraped into the night air.
    ‘The tune of the dark,’ uttered Eldritch. ‘Come, more to see.’
    They soared up once more and Twit was grateful to be out of sight of those pitiful creatures scattered below.
    Up they went over houses and derelict shops.
    ‘See the feral man,’ said Orfeo.
    The fieldmouse stared down. Amongst the deep grass in the middle of a rough area of wasteland lay a crumpled figure. His hair was long and matted, dirt soiled his