‘There you are then: anything else and they’re ours. But thems for Him first. Got it? The skirt and the grey!’
The rats nodded grudgingly.
Oswald nudged Piccadilly. ‘He means you,’ he said appalled.
‘And Audrey too,’ the grey mouse replied.
‘But this is dreadful,’ stammered Oswald. ‘They’re going out of their way to find you – why?’
Piccadilly shook his head. ‘I don’t know – unless Jupiter thinks whatever Albert heard I did too and he doesn’t want it to get about.’
‘But Audrey?’
‘I don’t know. She is Albert’s daughter. Maybe he thinks she knows too. But that’s daft.’
‘I wonder what it could be that he doesn’t want to get out,’ wondered Oswald.
‘Well I, for one, don’t know,’ shrugged Piccadilly.
Suddenly Oswald gave a strangled cry of shock. ‘Oh no!’ he gasped. ‘They must be going to the Skirtings to find you and Audrey.’
‘You’re right! Crikey, what can we do?’
‘We’ve got to stop them,’ cried Oswald, thinking of the chaos the rats would cause amongst the mice in the old, empty house.
‘But how? They’re so many – and here we are down here: they could get us as quick as anything.’ Piccadilly snapped his fingers. ‘Two more peeled mice won’t help anyone.’
Oswald gulped. ‘Maybe we could lure them away though.’
Piccadilly agreed. He knew they had to do something.
‘How fast do you think you can paddle?’ he asked.
‘Oh not as fast as you, I’m sure, but we might give them a good chase – for a while, anyway.’
‘All right then,’ said Piccadilly. If we’re sure.’ Oswald nodded back. The grey mouse looked up at the rats on the ledge. I suppose they might have seen us soon anyway, he thought to himself. He cupped his paws around his mouth and yelled at the top of his voice: ‘Oi! Slime-stuffers! Where’s your hankies to wipe your snotty noses?’
The rats stopped and looked around in amazement.
‘Maggot brains!’ Piccadilly resumed. ‘Peel me if you can!’
‘Yes . . . you nasty whisker pullers,’ added Oswald, a trifle less dramatically. ‘Me too!’
The rats saw them now. ‘There they are!’ they called. ‘Two floating mouseys!’
‘Wait!’ shouted Jake. ‘One of ’em’s a grey – get him lads.’
‘Twerps!’ Piccadilly continued.
‘Smelly feet!’ It was the worst Oswald could think of.
The rats flung their torches at the raft. Like flaming spears they hurtled down on the two mice.
‘Paddle now,’ urged Piccadilly, and he and Oswald began pawing madly at the water on either side of the raft.
Fortunately, when the rats had stopped, the raft had not and the mice already had a slight lead. The burning missiles fell just short of them. They plunged into the water in a great cloud of steam.
The rats on the ledge howled in dismay.
‘Get down there,’ snarled Jake and kicked one over the edge. Twelve others followed him, gnashing and snarling as they jumped.
‘Look!’ exclaimed Oswald when he saw the thirteen rats dive into the water behind them. ‘They’re after us!’
Piccadilly put his head down and concentrated on paddling.
‘Keep up, Oswald,’ he called, annoyed, ‘or we’ll go round in circles.’
‘I want the grey alive,’ Jake’s voice came down to them. ‘Do what you like with the other one!’
And then it was Piccadilly who found it difficult to keep up with Oswald.
Behind them thirteen rats swam; their tails thrashing the water like angry snakes.
On the ledge Jake watched the chase in amusement. This was the sort of thing he had missed and he promised himself never to dig in the mine again. The rat called Fletch swaggered up to him. He was a tatty, dark brown rat with big yellow pimples on his black nose.
‘Not goin’ in for a dip?’ Jake asked dryly.
Fletch shook his head. ‘Don’t feel like it today Jake.’
‘You and water were never friends, Fletch,’ remarked Jake, trying to avoid the other’s bad breath.
‘There’s plenty down there to catch those two,’ grunted Fletch. ‘I thought I’d best stick with you.’
‘What fer?’ asked Jake suspiciously.
‘Oh I just like to stick with the winners.’
‘Think I’m a winner, eh?’
‘Well, one what knows where he’s goin’, then.’
‘And you wanna come with me, right?’
Fletch grinned and his breath whistled through his sharp teeth. Where we bound?’
Jake looked down to the water where the swimming rats were gaining on the little raft. ‘There’s still the skirt to catch. You lot!’ he called to the five remaining rats on the ledge.
‘Leave ’em to it. Let’s find our own mouse.’
The rats cheered and Jake led them away. Through the tunnels they went until they came to the Grille. To their great glee they found there the very mouse they were looking for. Audrey had just sent Twit to fetch Arthur when Jake reached out and grabbed her from behind.
Piccadilly paddled furiously. The water splashed his face and his hair hung in a wet curtain over his eyes. Mechanically his arms rose and fell as if driven by pistons. Into the water – pull – out of the water – over – into the water – pull – out of the water – over . . . He glanced back. The pursuing rats were very close now. One had a knife between his teeth. He could see the shining greedy eyes and the snorting wet noses. It would take a miracle to save them.
The rat with the knife caught up with them and scrambled on to the raft. His great claws tore at the wood and the plank lurched dangerously in the water. Just as the ugly brute was getting his balance, Piccadilly sprang at him and with a startled wail, the rat fell back and landed on one of his comrades. There was an almighty smack and a fountain of water spouted up around them.
Piccadilly hastily resumed paddling. Ahead he saw the end of a pipe jutting out of the sewer wall. He wondered if he and Oswald could reach it and climb inside. He called to him and signalled his plan: Oswald understood and nodded vigorously. Anything to get off the raft!
They steadied themselves on the plank and stood up shakily – clutching each other’s paws for safety. The pipe drew near.
‘We won’t be able to reach it,’ howled Oswald. ‘It’s too high.’
‘Well then, we’ll have to jump. Get ready.’
‘Oh no that rat’s got us.’
‘One.’
‘He’s trying to climb up again! Oh Piccadilly!’
‘Two.’
‘Eek!’
‘Three.’
All at once a number of things happened. Firstly the raft passed under the pipe and Piccadilly jumped, which was fortunate for him because the rat suddenly lunged at him with his mouth wide open. But the most surprising thing came with a fierceness that stunned everyone, rats and all with a roar of foam and spray a great rush of water flushed out of the pipe above.
The rat got a mouthful of it and was knocked off the raft into the stream – which had suddenly become a raging torrent. He sank to the murky bottom, never to surface. The other rats were cut off by the sudden waterfall and could not cope with its frothing force. They snapped angrily behind the storm, swearing terrible oaths and punching each other.
Piccadilly’s luck held. Although he missed the pipe, he managed to land back on the raft just as it was gripped by the new current and was swept away at breakneck speed. Oswald grasped the sides for dear life.
‘Ha, ha,’ laughed Piccadilly. ‘That did it. Wheeee!’ The raft was tossed around like a straw. It was a wild bounce of a ride for the two mice as they shot along.
‘I don’t like this!’ Oswald cried.
‘Well, we’re free of them anyway,’ replied Piccadilly, having a great time.
The water surged about them. ‘Where are we going?’
Oswald had closed his eyes.
Piccadilly smiled at his squeamish friend and fixed his attention ahead. The tunnel appeared to come to a dead end.
‘We’re gonna crash!’ he cried in alarm. Oswald opened one eye, then snapped it shut again. ‘Oh no,’ he wailed. Piccadilly had a thought; why would the tunnel end so abruptly like that? Where did the water go?
He strained his eyes to look at the rapidly approaching blank wall once more. There, at the bottom, was a dark space: the top of a submerged archway.
‘Lie flat!’ Piccadilly shouted to Oswald, and he pulled him down. The gushing water crashed against the wall in huge, frothy, violent spurts. Piccadilly clenched his paws and trusted to luck again.
The raft burst down the shallow opening.
Oswald’s nose scraped against the low brick ceiling until he turned his head to one side slightly, careful that his ears did not suffer similarly.
What a place! They had no idea where they were going. Piccadilly hoped the water level would not rise any more or they would drown.
‘I don’t like this either,’ mumbled Oswald.
‘I counted seven rats left on the ledge,’ said Piccadilly. ‘If they go to the Skirtings then at least there won’t be so many of them.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Cheer up Oswald – you’re a hero.’
‘Am I?’
‘Course. They’ll sing songs about you.’
‘Really? Well I never. Gosh, I suppose so. Ouch.’
The roof of the tunnel had dropped suddenly and the albino had hit his nose. ‘OOH! Ow – oh, ow,’ he squeaked in agony.
‘I hope we don’t get any higher,’ said Piccadilly. ‘We’ll get scraped to bits before we drown.’ He flattened himself against the raft.
‘Peeled anyway,’ gibbered Oswald. ‘Oh ow!’
Still the water hurtled along and the number of cuts and grazes doubled.
They did not know that as they continued their uncomfortable journey, Arthur and Twit were in the hall of the old house wondering what to do while Audrey had been dragged off by Jake and his lads.
The raft raced along, bumping and scraping through the low passage.
Then, with one last bang on the ceiling they shot out into a lofty, spacious tunnel.
The water swirled and eddied as its force was spent. The raft slowed and twirled around calmly. Piccadilly sat up. ‘Hooray!’ he shouted in relief.
‘Oh by boor doze,’ moaned Oswald feeling his sore snout.
‘Id’s swellid already.’ He fingered the bruises gingerly.
‘Bathe it in the water then,’ said Piccadilly, glad that his own nose was not as big as his friend’s.
‘Dad’s dasty,’ came the blocked response.
‘It’s all we’ve got. Go on!’
Oswald tenderly dabbed some water on to his nose. ‘Ooh dad’s bedder,’ he sighed.
The raft bumped gently against the side of the sewer wall.
‘How’s your conk now?’
‘Oh id sbards. Look ad be, vull ov cuds and scradches.’
The raft drifted slowly along. ‘We ought to get off this now,’ Piccadilly said.
‘Oh doh,’ whined Oswald immediately. ‘I’b zo dired. Led’s waid a bid.’
‘All right then but I hope your nose gets better soon. I can hardly understand you.’
Piccadilly dangled his legs over the side of the raft and splashed them casually in the water, humming quietly to himself, while Oswald tended to his nose and other wounds. What a light, giddy head Piccadilly had! All the fear had drained away. None of those rats could possibly follow them here. He was practically drunk with relief and smiled happily.
The tunnel opened out into three others. For a while the raft moved between them as if wondering which to choose. In the end Piccadilly kicked his feet in the water and propelled them into one of them. The ledges in this tunnel were low, low enough to climb on to, in fact.
‘Come on Oswald,’ Piccadilly said cheerfully. ‘Time to get off.’
Oswald stirred and gave his nose one last pat. Piccadilly hauled himself up and then turned to give him a helping paw. Gracelessly Oswald scrambled up on to the ledge.
His nose felt a little better and the swelling seemed to be going down, so he was able to speak more normally. ‘Oh wait, what about de raft?’ he asked.
‘Well we can’t take it with us and there’s no turnin’ back so we’ve got all we could out of it.’
‘I suppose so,’ Oswald murmured as he watched the piece of wood float gently out of reach.
‘We’ve got things to do,’ said Piccadilly breezily, as if they were going for a picnic. ‘Come on Oswald!’
Oswald felt glum. He had no idea where they were now. ‘But what can we do?’ he asked lamely.
‘First off, let’s try and see if we recognise where we are; then get back to the Skirtings if we can.’
‘And Audrey’s bousebrass?’
‘You said you lost the divining rod, didn’t you old chum? Pity – I’d dearly like to see her face if we did find it. That’d show her.’
‘Oh, she won’t think you’re a coward Piccadilly. I’ll tell her how barvellous you’ve been.’
Small tunnels led away from this larger one and the mice chose one that was not too dirty to go down.
‘Wait a bo,’ said Oswald before they set off. He pulled the scarf from around his neck and wrung it tightly, then gave it a good shake.
‘It’ll only bake be worse,’ he explained.
Piccadilly sighed. ‘Now can we start?’
Into the small tunnel they went.
‘Doesn’t smell too bad in here,’ commented Piccadilly.
‘I woulden doh,’ Oswald replied. ‘Can’t smell a thing.’
But it was drier than most of the tunnels they had been in. Slime did not drip off the walls or lurk treacherously on the floor.
‘Wonder where we are now?’ thought Piccadilly aloud. ‘Don’t ever remember this place even when I was wandering around before I met Albert.’