Arthur fidgeted in embarrassment.
‘I am Eldritch,’ declared the bat. ‘You are late, Master Brown.’ Arthur apologised, uncomfortable at being expected. Then he said, ‘I am here for a purpose, oh Eldritch.’
The bat stretched and yawned. He unfurled his wings, then in a mocking, mellifluous tone said mysteriously: ‘I see a mouse, young and fair. Her brass is lost, and so is she; ribbons and lace adorn her.’
‘That’s Audrey – my sister,’ cried Arthur. ‘Where is she?’
Eldritch glared at him for interrupting, and then continued: ‘ . . . ribbons and lace adorn her, but into heathen darkness is she dragged. Oh where is she, the fatherless? Whose eyes are red at her going? Who will save her from the half-blind? With brutal partners shall she dance; from bloody temples and through the ash of the dead does her fate lead her.’ Eldritch stared at Arthur for a moment and then whispered, ‘Only the spinning, shining circle can save her from the fiend below.’
The bat paused and looked into the heavens. ‘Orfeo approaches,’ he said.
Arthur stood at the edge of the starlit area, wondering what the bat had been rambling on about. And who was this Orfeo? He could see no one else in the attic and he heard nothing. Arthur was puzzled.
He stood in silence. Eldritch continued gazing upward at the stars. Suddenly a shadow flitted outside, cutting off the starlight. Then, as Arthur watched half fearfully a second bat entered through the hole and alighted silently next to the first.
‘Salutations Orfeo,’ greeted Eldritch.
Arthur noticed how similar the two bats were in appearance.
‘Hail Eldritch,’ the newcomer returned. ‘Is this the company we sought?’ He stared at Arthur imperiously.
Eldritch yawned again and replied in a bored, dry tone, ‘It is the one but not the other.’
‘Then our time is wasting here – you, Master Brown,’ Orfeo rapped out sharply. ‘You would seek counsel of us, my brother and I? Well, listen and may you have your fill for an age and more when we are done.’
Arthur clasped his paws together, fearing what they would say. Bats are only interested in themselves and unless something amuses them they do not care for the drudgery of petty lives. They can give or withhold information as the fancy takes them – but all of it is true, however undesirable it is to hear. This is what Arthur braced himself for.
Eldritch began: ‘Threefold the life threats. How shall he be vanquished? By water deep, fire blazing and the unknown path. Remember brown mouse, pain and horror stalk the summer fields in straw-clad form. When noon is hot and corn is gold, beware the ear that whispers, Master Brown, and shun the darkness. Through fire into fire, break not the sphere and let the demon out.’
Eldritch raised his skin-webbed wings and gathered them about his face until he was a crouched, cowled figure and said no more.
Then Orfeo began, intense and urgent: ‘Look to the mouse with bells on her tail – she who made the doll. Through ice and blizzard great doom will hail. However sweet the bell may sound, stray not into the fog, for bitter spears shall rain. Who is the mouse without the brass? What silver shall she wear if all survive the dark months?’
Orfeo closed his eyes of jet. They had both finished with Arthur.
‘Depart Master Brown,’ they said as one.
Arthur shook himself. What a load of twaddle, he thought. He wouldn’t be able to remember any of the stupid riddles.
He could not understand why they felt they had to cloak their advice in them. Arthur thanked the bats courteously and bade them farewell.
Eldritch regarded his retreating figure and called after him, ‘If any live through the winter, Master Brown, look to your own children – of what stuff will they be made?’
‘Beware the three,’ added Orfeo.
Slowly Arthur walked back to the eaves, trying to piece together the ridiculous bat advice. He abandoned the attempt, and dismissed the bats as crazy. An interesting but wasted journey – they had not helped him at all.
If Arthur had not been so intent on these thoughts, maybe he would have noticed the small figure hiding in the shadows, watching him with bright round eyes. But Arthur did not notice and with renewed efforts began the climb down once more, muttering angrily to himself.
From the dark corner Twit emerged. He had lain hidden for a short while – afraid to interrupt the bats’ discourse. Now Arthur had left, Twit was unsure what to do. He knew he should follow his friend, but Eldritch and Orfeo had greatly impressed the little fieldmouse. The dramatic gestures they made with their wings captivated him and he dearly wanted to see more of them. From his corner he watched them and then brought himself up sharply. They were watching him!
Eldritch had one eye glaring out from behind his wing curtain, but Orfeo was staring directly at him. The fieldmouse gulped.
‘Come forward witch husband,’ demanded Orfeo.
Eldritch stirred in his wing cocoon. ‘Step out, friend of the trapped mouse,’ he said, finally raising his head.
Twit meekly shambled towards them. ‘I be sorry if I offended ’ee by lurkin’ there,’ he ventured to say, ‘but I was desperate to lay eyes on you – ain’t never seen a bat before.’
The brothers looked at each other with an odd smirk on their faces.
‘Into the light, childless one,’ they encouraged. Twit obeyed, entering the circle of starlight. He looked up at them perched high above.
‘Noble mouse!’ laughed Orfeo.
Eldritch tossed his head and said darkly, ‘When troubles stir and passions rouse, whose paw will you take to save all?’
‘And when your bride returns home why are you not by her side?’
Orfeo was enjoying himself.
‘Beg pardon, but I ain’t got no wife,’ Twit informed them.
‘This is he, this is the one,’ cried Orfeo delightedly. ‘The Simpleton, the cheeseless mouse,’ he gurgled with amusement.
‘Hey you ain’t got no right to go a-callin’ me that, bats or no,’ the fieldmouse interjected. ‘You ain’t got no manners for lordly folk, that’s certain.’
Orfeo and Eldritch laughed all the louder. ‘Ah, but you are precious to us.’
Twit eyed them uncertainly. The bats puffed up their furry little bodies and strutted along the rafter, waving their wings pompously.
‘Yes, you are the seed that will bear all our fruit.’
‘We need you, witch husband.’
Twit put his paws on his hips and shook his head crossly. ‘As I said already, I got no wife and I’ve no mind to take a witch to meself. What fer I do a daft thing like that?’
Eldritch clapped his wings together for silence. They made a leathery dry, rasping sound. ‘Quite – you are not as addled as others make you Master Scuttle. Come brother, make no jests at our guest’s expense. I fear we now displease.’
He looked sternly at Orfeo but there was still that odd twinkle in his eyes.
Twit cleared his throat.
‘Well that’s all right,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to go a-sayin’ you’re sorry. I’ve had folk laugh at me ‘afore an’ I reckon they’ll not stop now.’
The bats winked at each other, drew themselves up to their full height and dived off the rafter. For a moment they flew over Twit’s head and the fieldmouse watched them dart to and fro. Then they flitted down to him, seeming very grave and serious. They pressed round him closely and put their open wings about him.
‘Hear not the scorn of others,’ said Orfeo.
‘Not many are as brave and true,’ continued Eldritch.
‘When horror stalks your field you shall win through.’
‘Despair not in the long lonely years.’
They hugged Twit tightly as if trying to console him for some hurt that was yet to come.
The fieldmouse struggled, embarrassed by their embraces. He wriggled his arms and flicked his tail about.
‘Now what are you a-blatherin’ about?’ he asked, his small voice muffled by bat wing. ‘I can scarce breathe with you so tight round me.’
He disentangled himself from the two brothers and gasped for breath.
‘You’ll do me in at this rate,’ he said crossly.
‘Forgive us master,’ they said and bowed formally, draping their languid wings on the ground in dainty apology.
‘He needs air,’ declared Orfeo.
‘Fresh air,’ cooed Eldritch and that strange smirk lit his furred fox-like face.
‘Now come, Master Scuttle, I believe you enjoy visiting folk. Is this so?’
Twit nodded. ‘Truly that’s how I come to be in the city to pay a visit to my mother’s kin.’
Orfeo smiled broadly showing a fine row of neat white teeth, ‘Verily and how much of this grand city have you yet seen?’
Twit admitted that he hadn’t seen anything.
Eldritch appeared shocked and dismayed, then his forehead crinkled as he glanced quickly to his brother. ‘You must attend to this Master Scuttle, while there is yet time,’ he said. ‘Let us rectify the situation and pay for our bad manners.’
‘We shall give you air,’ cried Orfeo gleefully.
Twit scratched his head. He wasn’t sure what the bats were up to.
‘Come, come, they both said.
‘Where to?’ he asked nervously.
Orfeo clambered on to Eldritch’s shoulders and pointed to the sky. ‘Into the night,’ he called down. ‘Let us show you the world as it should be seen – from the air.’
Twit blew a raspberry. ‘What me? I can’t fly like you.’ He wondered if they were making fun of him again.
But the bats persisted.
Eldritch raised one eyebrow and said casually, ‘Is it not in your blood to fly?’
‘Beg pardon?’
‘Did your father not fly once?’
‘Why he did, as a matter of fact – with an owl.’ Twit suddenly realised their meaning and a slow grin spread across his face. ‘It were one night when my old dad was—’
‘No time for that,’ sniffed Orfeo. ‘No dull family histories here, if you please.’
Eldritch made himself ready. ‘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.
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 skin and clothes and an empty bottle was clenched tightly in his hand.