The Song of the Winns (28 page)

“Zanzibar is the primary threat, of course,” Sophia agreed. “But there are other heirs. Zanzibar has a brother, a sister—and don't forget the next generation.”

“You mean they all have to be killed?” Horace asked. He sounded rather weary, Alice thought.

“That's right,” Sophia said. “It would be best if Queen Eugenia's was the only claim to the throne of Greater Gerander. Simpler.”

“Exactly,” said Lester. “And thanks to Songbird, we can just work our way through the list. Look, I believe you have some old scores to settle with these two.”

“Indeed we do,” Sophia replied. “And I see the ginger brat is high on the list.”

“Ginger brat?” echoed the general. “Which one's that?”

“This one,” Sophia said, and Alice guessed she was pointing to someone on the list. “Queen Eugenia is particularly interested in him. If you see a ginger brat with a scarf, let me know.”

A ginger brat with a scarf ? That had to be Alistair! How many ginger mice in scarves could the Sourians possibly know?

“What's this question mark below his name?” Sophia asked. “Is Songbird holding out on us?”

Lester bent over the list. “Ah, that—no, that relates to
a rumor. Something Keaters thought he heard years ago. We're still seeking confirmation. But the good news is, the brat with the scarf may be within reach. Songbird has given us some very helpful information—the brat is on his way to Atticus Island, apparently.”

Atticus Island? Did that mean Alistair was on a mission to rescue their parents? Alice felt hope flare within her, only to be abruptly dampened as she realized that he was unlikely to succeed if the Sourians knew all about his mission.

“Though Songbird has left out a few details which we'd rather like to know. Like, how can he be so sure that the brat would make it all the way to Atticus Island without us capturing him? The rebels must have devised some way of moving around the country while evading our patrols. But Keaters has been preparing a little trap. He'll worm the brat's secrets out of him. I'm expecting word any time.”

Someone called Keaters was going to trap Alistair?! Alice began to tremble. They had to do something. . . . Stop Keaters—stop Songbird. But how? She had no idea who they were. They had to get back to Stetson, to warn FIG. Oh, if only the Sourians would hurry up and leave the room so she could get out from under this desk!

“Keaters?” Sophia snorted. “Are you sure he's the right mouse for the job? He always makes things so needlessly complicated. All those elaborate tricks and schemes, ‘worming' secrets out of our enemies. What's wrong with simply kidnapping the brat and forcing him to reveal his secrets?”

“We tried that, Sophia, remember?” Lester said. “You were supposed to kidnap him. Instead you ended up bogged down in a wild-goose chase.”

“We—” Sophia began, but Lester interrupted her.

“The trick is not to let the brat know he's been captured. How does that old saying go? Ah yes: you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

“Now hold on just a minute,” said Sophia. She sounded offended. “I don't need lessons from anyone in how to persuade our enemies to cooperate.”

Alice, who had herself been fooled by Sophia's sweet manner, had to agree. But General Ashwover wasn't interested in the rivalry between the spies.

“So Keaters is taking care of the brat, eh? Excellent, excellent,” the general was saying. “Though really, Her Majesty won't be satisfied until she has Zanzibar.” He slumped back in his chair again.

Sophia's silvery voice chimed in, “You know, General, I think it's just a matter of applying a bit more pressure. Songbird has been trying to bargain with you. It's time to show our friend in FIG exactly who's in control here. We do have our hostage, after all.”

The general chuckled, a high, unpleasant sound. “Hee hee hee. You're quite right. I think Songbird will find the whiskers are on the other cheek now. Lester, tell Songbird . . .” He idly picked up another cupcake and chewed thoughtfully. “Tell Songbird the information about the ginger brat with the scarf is good, but not good enough. Queen Eugenia wants Zanzibar too, or . . . how
should I put it? Ah yes, I have it. Unless Zanzibar's hiding place is revealed to us, Songbird's own chick will be . . .” The general let out a series of high giggles. “Songbird's own chick will be pushed out of the nest.”

“Very good, General,” Sophia said appreciatively as Lester bustled officiously from the room. “I'm sure that will achieve results.” She stood up and stretched. “Such a long and dangerous journey we've been on,” she remarked. “Wouldn't you like a spot of tea and a cupcake, Horace dear? I would. Excuse me, General.” Alice heard the rattle of cups and saucers as Sophia pulled the tea tray across the desk away from the general. After a pause, the silvery voice rang out again. “General, does Cook usually write on the cupcakes?”

“Write on the cupcakes? Don't be absurd.”

“But look,” Sophia persisted. “This cake has a
G
on it.”

“A what?” The general's knees shifted as he leaned across the desk. “Well I suppose it does look a bit like a
G
,” he conceded gruffly. “Perhaps it stands for ‘General,' since they're my cupcakes. But look at this one.” The chair creaked as he leaned farther forward. “There's no
G
on that. And what about this one? No
G
on that.”

“No, General,” Sophia agreed. “You've picked up an I, and . . .” She studied the general's second cupcake. “An
F
.”

“
G
,
I
,
F
? Bah!” There was a soft thud as the general threw his cupcakes back onto the tray. “What's got into Cook? What on earth would possess her to spell out GIF on my cupcakes?”

Sophia added her cupcake to the two the general had
discarded. “Not GIF, General,” she said. “Look.”

The general said aloud, “
F
,
I
,
G
. . . Why that spells FIG!” He pushed back his chair. “Lester!” he roared.

Almost at once the oily black mouse appeared in the doorway.

“Yes, General?” he said smoothly.

“Get Cook in here at once!” General Ashwover ordered.

“Right away, General,” the secretary promised.

“Why must I be plagued by these petty acts of sabotage?” the general blustered. He slumped so low in his chair that Alistair and Alex had to squeeze to the outermost edges of the desk. Even so, their whiskers were almost tickling the general's kneecaps.

“Did you see the flowerbeds?” he demanded. “I ordered them replanted in readiness for Her Majesty's arrival, and when the flowers bloomed they spelled FIG. Can you imagine if Queen Eugenia had seen that?” The general's high voice sank to a hoarse whisper. “Her Majesty would not be pleased.”

“No,” Sophia agreed. She sounded distracted. “She wouldn't. General, these cupcakes are remarkably good. I'd like to meet this Cook of yours and ask her a few questions.”

“That's why I've sent for her,” the general said irritably. “This business of sabotaging cupcakes is inexcusable. I—”

There was a rap on the door, and when the general barked, “Come in,” Lester entered, followed by a frightened-looking Cook clutching a wooden spoon.

“Here's Cook, sir, as you requested,” purred Lester.

“Thank you, my man,” said the general. “Now, Cook, what is the meaning of these cupcakes?”

“I-I'm sorry, General, sir,” said Cook. “I don't know what you—”

“You used fresh butter, didn't you, Cook?” asked Sophia.

“I did, ma'am,” said Cook, turning to the silvery gray mouse in confusion. “And eggs freshly laid, and—”

“But what about the writing, Cook?” Ashwover bellowed. “Why did you write ‘FIG' on my cupcakes?”

“FIG on your . . . ?” Cook raised a hand to her chest. “But, General, I did no such thing.”

The general moved forward in his chair. “Then how do you explain this?”

Cook bustled over and squinted at the cupcakes. The shock in her voice sounded genuine as she said, “I can't explain it. But I can tell you this, General: I have a six-course dinner to prepare for your guests here. . . .”

Sophia gave a happy murmur.

“. . . and I have no time for such nonsense as writing on cupcakes.”

“Then who did?” the general wanted to know. “Could it have been your kitchen hand, perhaps?”

“Not likely,” said Cook definitely. “He's got measles. I had to get those two young mice of Fiercely's to give me a hand this afternoon. Though I don't know where they've got to,” she added crossly. “They promised to come back and peel my potatoes, and they never did, and potatoes
don't peel themselves you know, General.”

“No,” said Ashwover. “I don't suppose they do.”

“Two young mice of Fiercely's?” Sophia butted in. “Who are they?”

“Fiercely Jones is the gardener, ma'am,” Cook explained. “And he's took on a couple of new helpers of late—young orphans from Souris.”

“You don't say,” murmured Sophia, stroking her long whiskers.

Alice froze.

“What do these helpers of Fiercely Jones look like, Cook?” Sophia asked.

“Well let me think,” said Cook, wrinkling her nose thoughtfully. “The girlie is a chocolatey brown with a white patch.” As Alice peeked out apprehensively from under the desk, Cook rubbed her hip in the approximate place of Alice's white patch. “And the boyo is white with a brown patch.” Cook tapped her shoulder. “Here.”

“Thank you, Cook, you may go,” Sophia said. The door closed behind her, and there was a few minutes' silence, during which Sophia made the appreciative noises of someone whose mouth was full of cupcake.

Finally the general heaved a sigh. “Well, Cook didn't do much to shed light on the situation.”

“Oh, I don't know about that, General,” Sophia disagreed. “It sounds to me like our young friends are close at hand, doesn't it, Horace? They carried the cupcakes here from the kitchen, but they didn't return to the kitchen as promised. Where are they now, I wonder. . . .”

Suddenly Sophia pushed her chair back and dropped to the floor.

Alice screamed as Sophia's face come into view, staring right at her.

“Aha!” cried Sophia. “These are no young orphans from Souris, General. They're spies!”

As Sophia's hand shot out to grab her, Alice wriggled backward, colliding with the knee of the general, who reared back in surprise. She was trapped!

She felt a hand seize her wrist. “No!” she cried, but then she heard Alex say urgently, “This way, sis!” He dragged her under the general's chair and, to the sound of startled gasps from those assembled in the room, they shot out from under the desk and bolted for the door set into the wall.

“Alex,” Alice cried as they plunged into darkness. “Where are we?” She stumbled and almost lost her footing as the ground dropped away abruptly. They were on a set of stairs, she realized.

“Servants' stairs,” said Alex, releasing her wrist. “Stay close.”

Alice put one hand on the rough stone wall to guide her as she scampered down the winding stairs behind her brother. Above, she could hear Sophia's voice, sharper than usual.

“Where do the stairs lead, General?” Sophia demanded, her voice loud against the bare stone.

“I don't know,” came back Ashwover's voice. “They're the old servants' stairs.”

“Then they must lead to the servants' areas. Someone alert the guards.” Sophia's voice was growing fainter the further Alice descended, but she clearly heard the silvery voice say, “I'm going after them.”

“I'll wait here!” the general called after Sophia, as the stairwell above Alice echoed with the pounding of footsteps.

19