The Secret of Zanzibar by Frances Watts Page B

and sister. But he didn’t live in Smiggins any more, he supposed, not now that they had their parents back. Would they move back to Stubbins, to the old cottage of honey-coloured stone where they used to live? Or would they move to Gerander? Or … He thought of Shetlock, now in an alliance with Souris. Of Zanzibar, recaptured. They might fail, he realised with a heavy heart. And there would be no home for him and his family, not in Shetlock or Gerander. What then? Would he have to live in hiding forever, always on the run? One day, he thought, he’d love to live in a house like this, a big old rambling house on a hill with a library full of books and nothing to do but read his way through them all.
    â€˜I see you’ve found Charlotte Tibby’s books.’
    Alistair spun around.
    Great-Aunt Harriet stood in the doorway clutching a pillow. She was looking at the books he was touching. ‘They were always Tibby Rose’s favourites.’
    Alistair looked back at the books his fingers rested on and gave them a pat. ‘These are the books that saved our lives, then,’ he said.
    Great-Aunt Harriet didn’t look surprised or alarmed by his statement. ‘Good,’ she said, with a satisfied nod. ‘I always knew books could save lives.’
    â€˜You did?’
    â€˜Of course,’ said the steel-grey mouse. ‘A good book can allow you to see into the souls of others, to understand what motivates them, what makes them behave in certain ways. It’s like Atticus Finch said: You never really understand a mouse until you consider things from his point of view – until you climb into his skin and walk around init . And if you ask me, it’s that understanding of others which is the way to peace between all mice. We can never have peace without understanding.’
    â€˜Who’s Atticus Finch?’ Alistair asked. ‘I know Atticus Island – that’s where my parents were held prisoner – but I haven’t heard of Atticus Finch.’
    â€˜Atticus Finch is a wise mouse indeed. He’s a character in a book called To Kill a Mockingbird .’
    â€˜So he’s not real then,’ said Alistair.
    â€˜He’s real all right,’ Great-Aunt Harriet replied. ‘He’s real in the minds of everyone who has ever read and loved that book.’ She put the pillow on the leather sofa and walked over to stand next to Alistair at the bookshelf. She scanned a row of books just above his head, then pulled down a leather-bound volume. ‘Here it is,’ she said. She stroked the cover. ‘This is perhaps the best book ever written about the evils of prejudice and small-mindedness. Atticus Finch had respect for all mice, no matter the colour of their fur, no matter what walk of life they came from.’
    Suddenly Alistair remembered sitting by a river not far from here, telling Tibby Rose about one of his own favourite books. ‘Like in Huckleberry Finn ,’ he said. ‘I could never understand why other mice could hate Jim and make him a slave, just because he had black fur.’ He continued softly, ‘But Tibby and I learned what it was like to be hated because of the colour of our fur, because we were ginger.’
    With something like regret in her voice, Great-Aunt Harriet said, ‘I may sound harsh when I talk about Gerander and about Zanzibar, but it’s only because of the tragedy their fight for independence brought to my family. Zanzibar is a fine mouse and the Gerandan cause is a just one.’ She gave a ragged sigh and looked down at the book in her hand. ‘When you are older, Alistair, I’ll lend you this book. I think you will appreciate it.’ She slipped the book back into its place on the shelf. ‘Now off to bed with you,’ she said, her voice brisk once more. ‘I’m sure you could do with a good night’s sleep.’ And she left the room, closing the door firmly behind