The Mousehunter by Alex Milway Page B

lever and three lamps fizzled into life nearby. As their glow grew stronger, a wonderful sight greeted him. A narrow underground river surged through the cave on its way out to sea, with the sparkling water reflecting off the twisted stalactites. Resting on the water, calmly bobbing up and down, was his favorite invention. It was his splendid small copper submarine — a more rounded and perfectly designed craft you couldn’t find.
    Algernon rushed over to his pride and joy, and grabbed hold of the metallic ladder that was attached to the sub’s side. He cranked the wheel that unlocked the entry hatch and waited a few moments before it popped and swung upward. A bright light beamed out.
    With a huge bang the door to the cave exploded and smoke rose into the air. Algernon jumped frantically into the submarine.
    “Fire at will, men! Don’t let him escape!” shouted the officer.
    Algernon’s heart leaped as he settled down into the cockpit; it was so exciting to be heading out to sea. He secured the hatch above him and flicked the power switch. Lights lit up all over the dashboard, and the engine kicked in with a mild grumbling splutter.
    The submarine started to sink, and despite the constant sound of bullets chiming on the body of the submarine, Algernon settled himself comfortably into the pilot’s seat. At his call, three of his highly trained Boffin Mice appeared from a pipe near his head, and made themselves comfortable on his shoulder.
    Through the small glass window, Algernon watched the water rise up and over the vessel. He tightened his hat, lowered his goggles, and with a push of the gear stick, his submarine rocketed off into the deep.
    On the
Flying Fox,
sailors sat huddled on the lower decks with their weapons in hand. The fog continued to surround the vessel, and it completely obscured any view from the portholes.
    Emiline waited with Scratcher in their quarters, mouse cages filling every conceivable space, and candles dimly lighting the interior. She was trying to make Portly jump over a makeshift hurdle, but he was showing no interest in obliging. He’d been acting oddly since the fog had appeared, and Emiline was concerned.
    “He doesn’t seem himself,” said Scratcher, clearing condensation from a steamed-up porthole.
    “I think he might be a bit seasick,” replied Emiline, tempting her mouse with a slice of nutty cheese.
    “I noticed some of the Messengers were under the weather too,” added Scratcher, “but I reckon it’s this fog that’s got them down.”
    Emiline changed the subject. “I never asked you why you were called Scratcher. It seems a funny name.”
    “Ah . . . ,” he replied reluctantly, “I knew you’d ask that at some point.”
    “Well?”
    “Well, on my first voyage with Drewshank we were transporting a cargo of Scruffy Mice . . . .”
    “You caught lice!” interrupted Emiline, and Scratcher was immediately embarrassed.
    “I was scratching for weeks . . . .”
    Emiline laughed out loud, causing her friend to blush terribly.
    “You learn from your mistakes,” he added quietly.
    Portly suddenly looked to the porthole, then lay down and covered his ears.
    “What was that?” asked Emiline, gently stroking the mouse. Scratcher placed his ear to the window.
    “I can hear something,” he said.
    Emiline looked confused.
    “Listen!” he said.
    The whistling wind was carrying another noise altogether. It was faint, but growing louder all the time.
    “What is it?” asked Emiline, a worried expression falling over her face. She could now hear it too: it sounded like the haunted wailing of a hundred lost babies, and it was terrifying.
    Portly rose with a start and scurried straight up Emiline’s arm to hide under her hair. The wailing grew louder and louder, forcing the mousekeepers to shield their ears with their hands. Above the din, they heard the ship’s bell ring out from top deck to summon everyone with their weapons.
    Emiline rushed to look out of the porthole