The Song of the Winns (32 page)

He felt a warm, solid hand on his shoulder and looked up into the sympathetic gaze of Feast Thompson. “They weren't there, Feast. They weren't there!” He was trembling violently now, his body so racked with shivers he could barely stand. The crashing waves, the wind, the sand beneath his feet all seemed to recede.

As if from a great distance he heard Slippers Pink say, “Feast, quick, catch him. I think he's going into shock.”

He wanted to assure them that he was okay, but he felt so far away from his legs, his voice, that he didn't know how. And then a black fog engulfed his brain and he was falling.

When he opened his eyes he was lying beside a crackling fire, staring at the shadows of flames as they flickered on a wall of rock. He lay quietly for a few moments, taking in the scene. Tibby was sitting next to him, a book in her hands, his scarf stretched across her knees. The colors glowed in the firelight, and Alistair knew she must have washed it. On the other side of the fire, Slippers Pink and
Feast Thompson were talking in low voices.

“Good book?” Alistair rasped.

Tibby glanced down and saw his open eyes and smiled.

“Great book,” she said, slamming it shut.

He sat up, swaying for a moment as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

“Where are we?”

The hum of conversation from Slippers and Feast had stopped, and his voice sounded uncommonly loud, echoing in the stone chamber.

“Hey there, stranger,” said Slippers softly. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm okay,” said Alistair, though it wasn't exactly true. He felt numb, like all the emotion had been wrung out of him leaving him dry and empty.

“We're back in the tunnel,” Feast told him.

“Feast carried you all the way,” Tibby chimed in. “While you two were on Atticus Island, we did a bit of exploring, and we found a path through the scrub that meant we could get back to the tunnel without having to go through the town.”

“After you fainted, we decided we'd better make a hasty exit from the beach in case Keaters and his friend had a rendezvous planned with the Queen's Guards,” Slippers explained.

Alistair nodded. It made sense. Keaters was working for the Sourians, after all.

“So what do we do now?” asked Tibby.

“We have to go to the Cranken Alps,” Alistair broke in.
“To the prison there. That's where my parents are now, Keaters said.”

“Alistair,” Slippers said in a reasonable tone, “we can't go to the Crankens. It's too dangerous.”

“But we have to rescue them,” Alistair protested. “That's our mission.”

“Our mission was to find the secret paths and rescue Emmeline and Rebus from Atticus Island,” Slippers corrected him. “We've found the secret paths and we've been to Atticus Island.”

“But my parents . . .” Alistair could hear how his voice was rising, and struggled to control it. “Tibby and I have crossed the Crankens before,” he said. “We can do it again.”

“But you were lucky, Alistair,” Slippers pointed out. “You only had to traverse a couple of valleys. The prison is deep in the mountains, and none of us is equipped for that.”

“Nor are we equipped to take on a whole garrison of Queen's Guards,” Feast added.

“Besides,” Slippers continued, “we don't even know if Emmeline and Rebus are there.”

“Keaters said they were,” Alistair argued.

“Keaters is not exactly renowned for his honesty,” Feast observed drily.

“But if they're not there,” Alistair began, then stopped. If his parents weren't in prison in the Crankens, where were they? He had been told they were alive and in prison on Atticus Island. If they weren't really in prison
on Atticus Island, did that mean . . . ? He swallowed as his mind followed the sentence through to its logical conclusion. Did that mean they weren't really alive?

Shoulders slumped, he stared into the fire as Slippers said, “We walked into an elaborately constructed trap. The question is, how did Keaters know we were coming?”

“There's that leak Tobias was talking about.” Feast sighed heavily. “If even Timmy the Winns can be caught. . .”

Alistair slumped further at the reminder of Timmy the Winns.

“We have to face the fact that no FIG operation will be safe until that leak is plugged,” Slippers said. She stood up. “We have to go back to Stetson and tell Tobias what happened,” she decided. “Until we know who the traitor is, it's just too risky to continue.”

“And if the traitor is in Stetson?” Feast asked.

Slippers shuddered. “That's just too dreadful to contemplate.”

Alistair shuddered too. Alex, Alice, and his aunt and uncle—possibly all the family he had left—were in Stetson. He got to his feet. “Let's hurry,” he said.

If the others were surprised by his change of heart, no one said anything. Tibby handed Alistair his scarf, their rucksacks were hastily repacked and the fire quenched, all in silence.

When they had shouldered their packs, Feast took a candle from the niche in the wall, lit it, and led the way down the dark passage, followed by Tibby, then Alistair
with Slippers Pink bringing up the rear.

As they retraced their steps, a journey that he had been expecting to make with his parents, Alistair realized that despite the crushing disappointment of returning without them he was lucky to be returning at all. Because of him, he and Slippers nearly hadn't made it back.

He slowed his pace a little so that he and Slippers Pink lagged a bit behind the others. “Slippers,” he said quietly over his shoulder to the shadowy figure behind him, “when we were back on the island—I'm sorry that I didn't listen when you told me to wait.”

“It's okay, Alistair,” she said kindly. “I understand. You thought you were going to see your parents. You were thinking with your heart and not your head. That's the hardest part about the kind of struggle we're engaged in—learning when to think with your heart and when with your head. Sometimes I wonder if Tobias did the right thing sending you on this mission.”

Alistair hung his head miserably. He didn't blame Slippers for thinking that after he'd messed up so badly.

But she continued, “Not because I think you've done anything wrong—just because it is so very difficult to think with your head and not your heart when loved ones are involved.” Then she said in a voice so soft Alistair thought she must be talking to herself, “Believe me, I know.”

They walked on in silence until they reached the fork in the tunnel where Althea had left them. Tibby pointed to the patterns she and the older mouse had traced in the dirt
floor with their feet.

“I hope Althea made it home all right. It sounded like she had a long way to go.”

As did they. Without anticipation to spur him on, the underground miles seemed endless to Alistair. For most of the time Tibby walked beside him, and though they didn't speak much, her presence was comforting. His despair weighed on him like a heavy burden, one that never lifted and threatened occasionally to overwhelm him.

“It's like my parents have died all over again,” he confided to Tibby, his voice tight from the constriction in his chest.

She said nothing, just put a small, warm hand on his shoulder until he was breathing easily again.

For two days they walked underground, and the shadowy, subterranean path fitted Alistair's dark, heavy mood. Eventually, small landmarks they had noted in their first hours in the tunnel, days before, told them they must be getting close to the cavern near the source: a sharp rock protruding knee-high in the center of the path; a patch of feathery tree roots growing through the roof of the tunnel to brush the tops of their heads. Slippers raised the question which had been at the back of Alistair's mind, though he had feared to voice it.

“I wonder if Oswald will be there?”

For of course if Oswald didn't appear at the rendezvous point, they had no certain way of getting back to Stetson—and none of them knew if Oswald had even survived the eagles' attack.

“Let's cross that bridge when we come to it,” Feast suggested.

At long last they reached the cavern where the tunnel began and squeezed through the entrance one by one into the warm still air of early evening.

Blinking in the unaccustomed light, Alistair's heavy heart immediately felt lighter as he breathed in the scent of the Winns, so sweet compared to the dank mustiness underground. The tops of the trees on the opposite bank were rimmed with gold from the setting sun and the sky above was a clear cloudless blue. The broad river reflected the sky so that the sense of air and spaciousness seemed endless after the closeness of the tunnel.

Gazing at the scene, Alistair had the strangest feeling that time had stood still while they'd been gone; that all of it—the tunnel, Althea and Billy Mac, the frightening swim, and the terrible events of Atticus Island—had been a bad dream. He turned to look at the ridge behind him, the last sliver of sun just skimming its top, and even as he watched he saw a gold sheen wash across the rock face, saw the bush appear to ignite in flame.

As they retraced their steps north, toward the river's source, everything looked much as they'd left it—the reeds still swayed, the cicadas hummed undisturbed, the old stone house slumbered on—until, finally, they reached the source of the Winns. Alistair rubbed the fur on his arms as he felt the chill emanating from the pool.
The sun had disappeared behind the ridge and the sky was a deep violet, the pines etched in black against it.

“Oswald?” Slippers Pink called softly. There was a rattle of leaves in the treetops as if in reply, but there was no answering hoot, no rush of wind as a large brown bird swooped from a branch.

Slippers let out a heavy breath which sounded close to despair, but Feast said, “At least wait till the moon has risen before we give up on him, Slips. You know Oswald likes the companionship of the moon when he travels. Alistair, Tibby Rose, why don't you fetch some firewood?”

The two ginger mice headed into the trees at the northern edge of the clearing and began to collect kindling.

“What do you think we'll do if Oswald doesn't come?” Tibby asked in an undertone.

Alistair snapped a long stick in half and placed it in his friend's outstretched arms. “I don't know, Tib. I don't even know if there is another way.” A twig became caught in the ends of his scarf; as he was untangling it he had a thought. “Unless—” He was about to suggest that there might be a secret path they could use. Hadn't Althea said that she lived to the east of the Winns? Perhaps there were paths on the other side of the river, maybe even one that led to the border with Shetlock? But his thoughts were interrupted by a murmuring, and as Tibby said, “Unless what?” he put a hand on her shoulder and a finger to his lips to silence her. “Listen,” he breathed in her ear, and
felt her stiffen in alarm.

That murmuring—was it coming from the trickle of water that slipped down the hillside to the south of the clearing to become the river? No, it was coming from the other direction, from above them. As the murmur grew more distinct, Alistair felt a jab of fear between his shoulder blades. It was voices he could hear, and that could only mean one thing.