The Deptford Mice 3: The Final Reckoning by Robin Jarvis Page B

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.