The Song of the Winns (33 page)

On trembling legs he and Tibby Rose picked their way between the trees and undergrowth back to the clearing, careful not to step on any dry twigs, barely daring to exhale lest the rustle of leaves alert the Sourians to their presence.

Together they tiptoed back into the clearing to alert Slippers Pink and Feast Thompson.

With a few quick gestures, Feast signaled that they should take their rucksacks and hide in the bushes on the far side of the pool. By the time the voices reached the clearing, there was no trace of the FIG members.

Through the leaves of the bush he was crouched behind, Alistair could make out the silhouettes of four mice.

“Is this the place?” said a deep voice.

“I think so,” came a gravelly reply. “The sarge reckoned he saw an owl coming and going.”

“But how does he know it's their owl?” a third voice squeaked.

“Well, if it's an owl, it has to be theirs, doesn't it?” said Gravelly Voice.

“All owls look alike to me,” yawned a fourth voice.

“So what do we do now?” Deep Voice asked. “I don't see any owl.”

“We wait,” said Gravelly.

And wait they did, while the four Queen's Guards moaned about having been chosen for this task, talked about their teams' chances in the Sourian Football League, and jumped at the sight of any winged creature, from blackbird to dragonfly.

As the moon crept above the trees, bathing the clearing in a cool silver light, Alistair wished he could shift position to avoid the sharp branch scratching at his leg, but he didn't dare make any movement that might draw the attention of the guards to their hiding spot. Now that the first rush of fear had passed, he was feeling more impatient and uncomfortable than frightened. Something tickled his nose and he brushed at it in irritation; it floated to the ground. Curious, he picked it up. It was a feather. Where had that come from? There'd been no sign of birds in the trees surrounding them. He glanced up but couldn't see anything in the shadows above.

He handed the feather to Tibby, who was next to him. Her eyes widened, and she passed it to Slippers. Slippers looked around Tibby to Alistair, who shrugged and pointed into the treetops. Slippers tilted her head back and gazed searchingly but didn't appear to find anything. As the voices of the guards droned on, though, she continued to hold the feather, stroking it absentmindedly and occasionally lifting her head to peer into the shadows above.

After what seemed like an eternity, Gravelly said in a bored tone, “This is a waste of time, there's nothing here.”

“But the sarge said—” began Squeaky.

“I don't care what the sarge said. He was probably just trying to get rid of us so there'd be more cheesecake for him.”

“Cheesecake?” Yawning Voice sounded alert now.

“That's what they were serving in the mess for dessert tonight,” said Gravelly casually.

“Do you mean to tell me I've been sitting out here eating field rations while the sarge is eating my share of cheesecake?” Deep Voice demanded.

“Of all the low, mean acts,” snarled Yawning Voice, standing up. “I'm going back to the mess to get my share of cheesecake.”

“Me too,” said Deep Voice, springing to his feet

Gravelly, who had egged them on, rose and stretched and said, “Well, if you really think so . . .”

As they crashed through the trees and back up the hillside, Alistair could just hear Squeaky protesting, “But the sarge . . .” as the voices retreated.

When the voices had been swallowed up by the night, the four mice in the bushes stood, stretching their limbs and brushing twigs from their fur, and walked into the center of the clearing.

“Oswald?” Slippers called, and Alistair's heart soared in symphony with the movement of the giant bird who swooped down to join them.

The owl looked bedraggled, Alistair thought, his
feathers ruffled and patchy, but his hooded eyes gleamed with something akin to pleasure as he regarded the four mice.

“We haven't got time to stand around talking,” he said gruffly. “Tobias needs you back. Glad to see you're all here.”

“We're glad to see you, Os.” Slippers ran her hand briefly along the owl's wing.

“Let's not risk anymore separations,” Oswald proposed. “It'll mean a slower flight, but I will carry the four of you together.”

“Are you sure, Os?” Feast asked, concerned. “That's a heavy load.”

The owl simply inclined his head.

Tibby Rose moved over to stand close to Slippers Pink, who had her eyes closed and her face screwed up as if she was concentrating fiercely on something very important. It reminded Alistair of the expression Alex sometimes wore when Uncle Ebenezer asked him whether he'd prefer a chocolate and blue cheese brownie or a strawberry and Parmesan muffin in his school lunchbox—though he suspected Slippers was thinking of air sickness rather than cakes.

Feast Thompson pulled Alistair into position so they were standing side by side, rucksacks securely over their shoulders. Alistair noticed that Feast had crossed his arms over his body so that each hand touched the opposite shoulder, and he did the same.

Oswald lifted off the ground to hover above them, and
carefully closed each talon around a pair of mice in a tight grip. Minutes later, they were airborne, the darkened landscape, moonlit, passing beneath them in a blur of black and white.

He couldn't have said how long their journey took, but Alistair noticed that the beat of the owl's wings, which had once seemed so strong and sure, seemed tremulous, subject to every eddy and whim of the wind.

At last, though, they began to descend, and as the school on the hilltop above Stetson came into view Alistair finally allowed himself to anticipate the joyous reunion with his family. For the first time since he entered the prison cell on Atticus Island and found that his parents were not in it, he felt happiness welling up inside him.

When the owl had set his passengers on the ground and released his grip, Alistair asked, “Do you think they'll be in the cafeteria, Tib, or back at the dormitory?”

But before his friend could answer Flanagan appeared from the shadows.

“I'm afraid your family will have to wait,” the dark gray mouse said. “Tobias wants to see you straight away. Oswald, you're to wait here. You're still needed.”

Before any of them could protest, Flanagan was ushering them toward the school office. They passed several mice along the way, but there was no time to stop and talk as Flanagan hurried them up the steps, down the corridor and into the principal's office, where Tobias, looking more weary than ever, was waiting.

“Tobias, please,” Slippers began, as soon as the door
closed behind them, “can't the debrief wait till morning? Or at least let Alistair and Tibby Rose go find their family.” She glanced at Alistair and lowered her voice. “The mission to rescue Emmeline and Rebus did not go well.”

“I'm sorry to hear it,” Tobias said gravely, and his expression was indeed sorrowful. “And yes, the debrief can wait—but this can't: Alistair, Tibby Rose, I have another mission for you, and you need to leave immediately.”

Alistair stared at the older mouse in disbelief. “Another mission? But we just got back! Can't I at least see—”

“There's no time,” said the marmalade mouse harshly. “It's urgent.”

“Tobias, they're exhausted, Alistair has had a terrible shock . . . and there's the leak. We were almost caught in a Sourian trap: they knew exactly where we'd be and why. Surely no one should be sent on any missions until—”

But Tobias cut her off too.

“We have no choice, Slippers. Zanzibar himself has ordered it. Slippers, Feast, I need to speak to Alistair and Tibby alone, if you don't mind.”

But no sooner had Slippers Pink and Feast Thompson left the room and been swept away by Flanagan than Tobias was on his feet, urging Alistair and Tibby Rose out into the corridor.

“I have here a letter for you to deliver,” he explained rapidly, handing Alistair an envelope as they strode outside and down toward the oval. “Oswald will tell you more when you get to your destination.”

It was all happening so fast Alistair's head was spinning. He and Tibby Rose had made it back to Stetson, only to be sent off on another mission immediately? By themselves? And on Zanzibar's orders? He had a thousand questions, but as he watched Tobias whisper instructions to Oswald, he didn't dare ask any of them. As the owl tilted his great head quizzically, Alistair turned to Tibby, who looked as mystified and apprehensive as he felt.

Then Tobias turned to nod at them curtly, the owl enclosed them in his vicelike grip, and they were airborne once more.

As they soared above the school, Alistair caught sight of Tobias. To his surprise, the marmalade mouse wasn't walking back to his office. He appeared to be heading toward the road—at a run.

22

Songbird

G
rouch?! If Alice could have gasped without inhaling a mouthful of lace handkerchief she would have. Why on earth was Solomon Honker planning to take the balloon to the capital of Souris? His next words surprised her even more.

“Sophia,” said Solomon Honker. “You're looking as lovely as ever.”

As Sophia stroked her whiskers vainly, Alice and Alex exchanged a wide-eyed look, then gaped at their teacher. The realization filled Alice with a dark, cold dread: Solomon Honker was Songbird.

“Hello, Horace. Feeling chipper, are you?”

The coal-black mouse regarded the rusty-orange and white one glumly. “Hello, Solomon. Couldn't be better.”

“So, four passengers then? I'll crank up the inflator fan.” As the balloon began to fill, Sophia explained to her captives, “Solomon taught me everything I know about
spycraft—which, as I'm sure you'll agree, is a lot.”

“Now, Sophia, you're being too modest, as usual,” chided Solomon Honker. “I dare say I learned one or two things from you. You always were my best pupil. And you've captured the brats, I see.”

“Yes,” said Sophia, looking at Alice and Alex almost fondly. “I found them at the palace in Cornoliana. It was quite serendipitous meeting them the way we did. We had some unfinished business.”

Alice had a sudden image of the flash of a knife blade and struggled against her bonds.

His eye must have been caught by the movement, for Solomon said, “Wriggly, aren't they? I'm going to secure them to the basket so they don't get any ideas about throwing themselves overboard when we take off.”

He hefted Alex over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, while Horace lifted Alice, and the two captives were soon tied to the inside of the basket.

And then they were lifting off, the balloon almost brushing the tips of the cypress trees at the edge of the field. The last traces of red and orange to the west, the dying embers of a fiery sunset, told Alice that they were headed east—to Souris.

For a while Sophia seemed content just to lean over the edge of the basket, watching the darkening landscape go by, while Horace, who didn't like heights, huddled at the bottom of the basket looking queasy. When Sophia finally tired of the view, she turned to face her fellow passengers.