The Song of the Winns (31 page)

They walked on and on, the stream burbling away beside them, speculating as to Songbird's identity, but not getting anywhere.

“The only thing we know for sure,” said Alice finally, the realization yawning before her like a dark abyss, “is that Songbird knows a lot about FIG's operations.”

“We know one other thing,” Alex reminded her. “We know that the Sourians have a hostage. It must be that
mouse I saw in the dungeon.”

Alice put a hand to her mouth. “You're right!” She stopped. “Maybe we should have tried to rescue him?”

Alex grabbed her arm to hurry her along. “Keep walking, sis. We've lost our chance.” His voice was somber. “There's no way we can get back into the palace now. And you've forgotten something: we need to get back to Stetson as quick as we can. We have to let FIG know that someone called Keaters has set a trap for Alistair and that Zanzibar is in danger—before it's too late.”

They picked up their pace as the road swept around to the left, then ended at an intersection with a larger road.

“I know this road,” Alice said when she had glanced left and right. “It's the one we walked along the night we first arrived in Gerander. That hill in the distance there, away to the left, that's where Captain Scorpio's camp is. If we turn right, it'll take us almost all the way to the field where Claudia let us off.” She looked over her shoulder to where the sun was creeping toward the horizon. “I just hope we make it there by sunset.”

“Let's pick up the pace then,” said her brother, and they began to run, passing golden fields, some newly shorn and dotted with haystacks and others screened from the road with cypress trees.

“I think the field where we're meeting Claudia is just up ahead,” Alice panted. “The silhouette of those cypresses looks familiar.”

They were almost to it when, in the distance, they saw a block of red coming toward them.

“It's another patrol,” said Alex with a weary groan. As they darted off the road and into the nearest field he urged, “Into that haystack, sis.” And they dived in.

The hay poked at Alice's arms and legs, making her itch, and she wriggled in discomfort.

“Keep still,” Alex hissed. He was peering at the road, and Alice shifted forward till she too had a clear view.

The patrol was getting closer, and Alice's heart almost stopped when she realized that the guards were actually searching the haystacks. Had they been seen? She watched in horror as a guard suddenly plunged his spear into a neighboring haystack. “Alex, look!”

“Uh-oh! This way,” said Alex, and the two of them backed out of the haystack—right into a pair of Queen's Guards.

“Ha!” the first guard crowed. “I told the sergeant I saw a couple of mice running for the haystacks.”

“Didn't think we were smart enough to look on both sides of them, eh?” said the other.

“Papers,” the first one demanded, holding out a hand.

“We, er, we don't have any,” said Alex.

“Don't have any papers?” The guard smiled, showing a row of pointed teeth. “Then you are in a sticky situation, aren't you?” He called over his shoulder, “Sergeant! Over here, sir.”

The rest of the patrol rounded the haystack, and now Alice and Alex were surrounded by six red-coated guards, each holding a spear in a threatening pose.

“They were backing out of this haystack, and they don't
have any papers,” said the sharp-toothed guard. “They're in a lot of trouble, aren't they, Sergeant?”

“I'll say they are,” said the sergeant. “Who are you, and what are you up to?”

“We're . . . we're. . .” Alex stopped.

As the guards drew closer, looking ever more menacing, Alice did the only thing that occurred to her: she burst into tears.

The guards looked taken aback.

“Stop that,” the sergeant ordered, but Alice didn't.

“It's all my fault,” she sobbed. “We're orphans, you see, and we were sent from Souris to work in the palace. . . .”

Through her tear-filled eyes she saw that most of the guards had lowered their spears.

“But L-l-lester . . . ,” she hiccoughed.

“Yes?” said the sergeant, leaning forward. “Lester?”

“Lester was so mean that we . . . that we . . . ran away,” Alice finished with a wail.

The sergeant straightened. “Ha,” she said. “Don't talk to me about Lester. I was posted to the palace for a year, and I found myself hoping that a Gerandan spy would sneak in and assassinate him.”

“Please don't send us back there,” Alex begged, putting an arm around Alice's shoulder as she continued to whimper. “We just want to go home to our grandparents in Tornley.”

The sergeant tilted her head to one side to study them for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. As far as I'm concerned, we never saw you.”

“But we'll have to put it in the report, Sergeant,” said the mouse with the sharp teeth.

“Put what in the report, Ringbark?” asked the sergeant.

“About the two mice that we found hiding in the haystack,” said Ringbark.

“What two mice?” said the sergeant, tipping a wink at Alice and Alex, who crept silently backward until they were hidden in the haystack once more. The other guards were trying to stifle their laughter.

“Those two mice!” shouted Ringbark in frustration, turning to point at the spot where Alice and Alex had stood.

As Alice and Alex pushed their way through the other side of the haystack and took off down the road, they could hear the roars of laughter of the patrol.

When at last they pelted between the trees at the edge of the field where they would rendezvous with Claudia in the balloon, Alice turned toward the west and caught the glint of the sun above the trees.

“We've made it!” said Alice, and Alex punched the air with his fist. “Yes! Stetson here we come!”

Then there was a movement in front of them, and another kind of glint. With a sickening sense of dread, Alice recognized the silvery gray mouse who stepped out from behind a slender trunk, recognized the silvery glint of metal from the knife in her hand. Sophia.

Alice looked around wildly, thinking to turn back, only to see a coal-black figure with a mournful expression step out of the shadows behind them. It was Horace.

“I wouldn't bother running,” Sophia said. “I think you'll find Queen's Guards treat FIG spies with rather less sympathy than Sourian orphans. My bag, please, Horace dear.”

Horace hurried over, carrying Sophia's large bag. Still holding the knife, and with her gaze fixed firmly on her two captives, Sophia fished in her bag and produced a coil of rope.

“Tie them up, will you, dear?” she said to Horace.

“You won't get away with—” Alex began, as Horace wound the rope around his wrists, but Sophia interrupted him.

“Please spare me the clichés,” she said with a yawn. “I'm really not interested in anything you have to say.” She peered into the depths of her bag and produced two lace handkerchiefs with the letter
S
embroidered in one corner.

She shoved one into Alice's mouth, the other into Alex's.

“You know, Horace dear, what I really don't like about these two—and there are many, many things,” she added, looking at her captives with distaste, “is the amount of extra work they cause us. Now I suppose we'll have to go all the way back to the palace with them. What a bore. Unless . . .” Her expression brightened and she asked, “Horace, I don't suppose you remembered to pack my magic carpet, did you?”

“Your magic . . . ?” Horace cast an anxious glance at the bag. “I'm sorry, Sophia, I . . .” Horace stopped. “That was
a joke, wasn't it?” he said gloomily. “I wish you wouldn't do that.”

Sophia laughed delightedly. “There, there, Horace. I'm only teasing. You couldn't possibly believe that I own a magic carpet!”

Alice knew how Horace felt. She didn't believe in magic carpets herself, yet she wouldn't have been at all surprised to find out that Sophia had one.

“It would be handy to fly, though,” the silvery mouse said thoughtfully. “I don't suppose you two know where we could find a hot-air balloon?”

It was as if the silvery mouse was a mind reader, Alice thought in dismay. Or . . . as if she knew about their rendezvous. But how could she? And then Alice remembered: Songbird. The traitorous Songbird who was revealing all FIG's secrets to the Sourians must have told Sophia and Horace about the hot-air balloon, which would land in the field at sunset.

Almost as soon as she'd had the thought a big blue shape appeared over the trees. Oh no! Go back, Claudia. Alice put all her energy into the thought, willing the pilot to turn around lest she be caught too.

Sophia looked up. “Now I wonder who this could be?”

Alice watched mutely as the unsuspecting pilot worked the rope to let hot air out of the valve and the balloon began to descend. Down, down, down . . . and she saw that the pilot didn't have the tan-spotted fur of Claudia. No, this pilot was white. And with a sudden jolt she recognized him: the pilot was Solomon Honker! They were saved!

She turned to look at her brother, widening her eyes and raising her eyebrows to indicate her relief. If anyone could take on Sophia and Horace it was Solomon Honker.

The balloon bumped along the ground and came to a stop a few meters away. Solomon Honker switched off the burner and climbed out of the basket as the balloon slowly began to deflate.

As he walked toward them, Alice thought he looked different somehow. He wasn't wearing a bow tie, for one thing, and he didn't have either the cantankerous expression of their teacher or the friendly demeanor he'd had when they saw him in the cafeteria. If anything, he seemed more like the serious mouse who had bid them farewell in Stetson. But when he spoke, his manner was decidedly jaunty, and his words stunned Alice with the force of an electric shock.

“Anyone need a lift to Grouch?”

21

Back to the Source

A
listair! Oh, I'm so happy you're okay.”

Alistair climbed out of the boat and waded through the shallows onto the shore where Tibby Rose was waiting impatiently.

“You were gone so long and I thought—” She didn't finish her sentence, but threw her arms around him. “I just couldn't bear it if anything had happened to you.” Then she took a step backward. “But, Alistair, where are your parents?”

Alistair felt as if the sand he was standing on was about to cave in. Since the moment he had discovered Keaters in the corner of the cell, his focus had been on escape—escape from the cell, escape from Atticus Island. He hadn't thought ahead to this moment, when he would be standing on a beach, having returned from Atticus Island . . . without his parents. He opened his mouth to speak—then found he couldn't. The words wouldn't come.

“Alistair?” Tibby's voice was quieter now, her eyes filled with concern.

“They . . . they . . . they weren't there,” he croaked finally, his words barely carrying over the pounding of the surf. Suddenly he was aware of a chill breeze ruffling his salt-encrusted fur, and he began to tremble with the cold. “Th-th-they . . . they weren't there, Tibby.” And now his voice was cracking.