Victor shook his head violently and pointed upward. They both followed his finger and looked on with dismay.
The top drawer of the dresser was open. Krum, who pinned the owners of the house for slobs, thought that they had just been lazy and forgot to close the drawer. Innocent as the mistake was, Krum knew it put all of their lives in dire straits. Staring down at them was the most colossal cat he had ever seen. It was striped white and orange and had eyes the color of emeralds. In the split second that Krum looked into its eyes, he knew it was a slayer of Mice kind.
“Run!” Krum yelled.
They had all made it outside the bedroom door before they heard the sound of the cat’s paws hitting the floor.
“Towards the end of the hall, go!” Krum unsheathed his sword as they ran single file along the wall toward the intersection. Krum took the caboose out of honor. He knew his chances of living were the slimmest at the end of the line. You don’t gotta outrun the cat, you just gotta outrun your friends, he thought. It was a common enough saying, and he never thought he would intentionally let his friends outrun him. His time in the Royal Tail Corps taught him to protect civilians at all cost, though, and his sense of honor always prevailed.
The sound of paws hitting hardwood was getting louder; the cat was closing in. If they could make the last turn toward the stairs they would be safe. Ginger, in the lead, turned right, and Victor was right on her tail, so to speak. Krum could smell the cat’s breath as he finally made the turn. Homestretch, just a few more feet and we’re there.
As he was running, his overhead view turned to an orange and white blur for the tiniest of seconds. He realized that the one thing that changed in that infinitesimal moment of time was that Victor was no longer in between him and Ginger.
Ginger kept running until she was inside the hole in the wall. She doesn’t know Vic’s been snatched.
He turned around and looked back. Victor was on his back, pinned by the cat’s paw, letting out the most horrifying and ear-piercing cries he had ever heard. Krum had seen fellow soldiers die in the line of duty, but this was different. This was sheer horror and surprise, mingled with excruciating pain and the realization that that pain may go on for a long time, depending on how sadistic the cat was.
Krum could do nothing. He knew his odds of winning a fight one-on-one with a cat were precisely zero. He looked at the cat one more time, and it returned his gaze. The cat grinned and winked. Then it looked back down at its prey and put Victor’s left foot in between two of its razor sharp teeth and jerked its head sideways, tearing off the foot completely. The shriek that followed was deafening.
Krum couldn’t bear to watch anymore. He ran inside the hole, where he found Ginger in tears.
“Is he gone? Gone for good?” she sobbed.
“He’s gone, Ging. Nothing we can do.”
“Who’s gonna tell Violet? Who’s gonna tell his mum? Oh this is rotten! Just rotten!”
“I’ll tell them. I’ll tell them the truth. He died bravely on an important mission.”
Ginger sniffled. She had to change the subject. She couldn’t bear to think of poor Victor dead or suffering. “Where are we? I’ve never taken this tunnel before.”
“Not too many know about it. It was a tunnel that was used in a war long ago. It takes us through the Catbone Forest and down the Rust Road.”
“Where will we end up?” Ginger asked
“In the catacombs under the abbey. From there I can find our way to a cellar on the east wing.”
The small talk gave them a way to temporarily mask their feelings about Victor as well as a task to concentrate on. Slowly and solemnly, they set on their journey back home.
* * *
Sarah was tired of picking up after Michael. When they first got together, he never failed to take his plate to the sink, pick up his socks, clean his hair out of the sink, or pick up his dirty clothes off the bathroom floor. She didn’t want to believe that he was just playing Galahad the whole time they were dating and for the first four months were they married, but she couldn’t think of any alternatives.
Now he never did anything but work on his computer and talk business on the phone all day. When he was talking to her, which was seldom enough, it wasn’t about anything that really interested her. He didn’t want to talk about their future anymore, and he avoided the subject of having kids like the Bubonic Plague.
She sighed. He was probably just going through a bad patch, was all. After all, he did have a lot on his mind and a lot going on in his business affairs. But how long would she tell herself that before she came to a different conclusion?
After making the bed, she was ready to start cleaning the bathroom. Cleaning and cooking, day in and day out. I want to finish my novel, maybe I’ll write for a few hours today.
She heard a faint mewling across the room. Must be nice. I bet lying around all day and eating Fancy Feast is tough work. Don’t break your back dragging around that colorful ball of yarn, you hear?
She went across the room and found the cat lying next to her nightstand.
“Hey, Monroe. What are you playing with?”
Monroe looked up and revealed the mouse in between her paws.
The shriek that escaped from Sarah’s lips scared Monroe out the door and all the way to the upstairs guest room.
After 20 seconds, she was certain that the mouse was dead, and decided it was safe to get off the bed she was standing on. She got some toilet paper from the bathroom to wrap the mouse in so she wouldn’t have to touch it before she threw it away.
Great, now I have to call an exterminator. If I bring it up to Mike it’ll take him three weeks to get around to it. Minimum.
As she knelt down to do the deed, something peculiar caught her eye. Besides the fact that the hands and feet were missing as if they’d been surgically removed, there was something shiny around the mouse’s neck. She took a closer look and saw that it was a miniature locket. Upon further examination, she noticed it was wearing a belt as well. She went to the bathroom to fetch some rubber gloves and a magnifying glass.
* * *
“I don’t know,” Mike said. “It’s the damndest thing I ever saw.”
“Look closer,” Sarah urged. “The locket opens, and inside there’s an engraving. It says, ‘From Violet – For All The Nights’”
“It’s amazing,” Mike said as he looked through the magnifying glass. “And look at the belt! It’s fully functional for its size, and the craftsmanship is remarkable. The person who did this must have a fascination with mice, and must be a hell of a machinist. It’s incredible, but what’s more unbelievable is that someone out there is weird enough to do this. He probably marries them and makes the wedding dresses and the lockets and the belts and whatever else.”
“So what are we gonna do?”
“Well,” Mike said, “We’re gonna call an exterminator and set mouse traps. I know this is an amazing oddity, but that’s all it is, an oddity. I don’t want mice in the house, regardless of whether or not they’re decked out in human garb.”
“Don’t you think we should investigate before we just kill them all?” Sarah was genuinely interested. It was the most exciting thing to happen to her since they moved in. “I don’t mind mice.”
“You’re terrified of them. What are you talking about?”
“Not anymore. This is cool, Mike. I don’t just wanna kill all of them. The locket and belts make them like, um—”
“Humans? That’s ridiculous.”
I guess it is. She knew she had no legitimate argument. “Fine, then just do whatever. I’m going to call my mom.”
She walked out of the room, her head swimming with ideas that were to fantastical to hold on to. Instead of talking to her mom, she wrote two notes in the smallest hand she could and slipped one into what she thought was a mouse hole at the back corner of the kitchen counter.
Dear mice,
I’m so sorry about what Monroe did. Her feelings toward you don’t re
flect mine. If you get this, please respond. I can give you cheese.
Sarah
* * *
“Where did you get this?” Phillip the High Counselor asked.
Jedediah Cheesewick, a cobbler from the south end of Darkyew, answered truthfully. “I found it at the very end of the Drawton Tunnel.”
“And what, pray tell, was your purpose of being in the Drawton Tunnel?”
“Scavenging, sir.”
“Scavenging for what?”
“Anything. One mouse’s trash is another’s treasure. You can find good stuff, if’n you’re so inclined. Found me a Jujube once, and a piece of a Gummy Bear. Was a bit linty but none the worse for wear. Ate it for dessert two days in a row.”
Phillip detested commoners. He detested idiot commoners even more so. “I do appreciate you bringing this to me, Jeremiah.”
“Jedediah.”
“Uh-huh. I shall bring it to the council, and we’ll come to a decision accordingly. You’re dismissed.”
Jedediah, uncertain and perturbed, bowed and left.
Of course, he had no intention of taking it to the council. It would only stir up needless emotions and sentiments toward evil, contemptible, and eternal foes. The last thing mice kind needed was another protest. He folded the note and put it in his cloak pocket. I shall have to make good use of this the next time I use the water closet.
* * *
Ginger and Krum were sitting in the courtyard of the abbey, waiting on the decision from the Council of Ten. Actually, everyone in the township was waiting in the courtyard. Once they brought the news of what happened, it swept through the township like wildfire.
Ginger took a sip of her raspberry cordial and pondered the outcome. “What do you think will happen?”
Krum drank deep from his flagon. Ginger didn’t know what was in it, but she was certain it wasn’t something as weak as raspberry cordial. “In all the years I’ve lived in, the council has never suffered a human to live. Doesn’t matter if they didn’t do a thing to us. Blood is thicker than water, and the human-mouse feud’s been going on since time immemorial.
“Why can’t there just be peace?” Ginger asked.
“Humans got no concept of it. They systematically murder us by the thousands. They set traps that could take days to die in if you get caught in one. They use poison, too. Nasty stuff. A mate of mine died from it. Took him two days, and he was coughing up blood for half of it.” Krum spat.
Ginger was about to say something about the futility of an eye for an eye, but was interrupted by a trumpet blast.
“Hear ye, hear ye!” The trumpeter said from the balcony overlooking the courtyard. He was wearing flowing red robes and a red cowl. “The Council of Ten have come to a clear and concise decision regarding the death of Victor Talltooth and the consequences thereof. I shall now direct your attention to Phillip the High Councilor.”
Phillip was a shrewd looking mouse, with smaller-than-normal eyes and mismatched whiskers. Just the look of him annoyed Krum.
“People of Darkyew, as you know full well, Victor Talltooth has been taken from us unrightfully, unlawfully, and unforgivably. A gentle and kind mouse, he was also a husband and a father of two. The wretched beast that took him was none other than a cat. Cat kind, wretched as it is, is not half as wretched as the humans that feed and condone their killing of mice kind. It has been decided that the cat and the humans are equally responsible for the murder of Victor, and that revenge must be exacted swiftly and efficiently. For a month we have suffered these dastardly scoundrels to live in our dwelling, and this day’s lawlessness is how they repay our leniency.
“Justice will be served piping hot. We call upon the Royal Tail Corps, and set them to slay until not one of those wicked and condemnable wretches are able to draw breath.”
The scribe standing to his left scribbled furiously in an attempt to write a verbatim account of the High Councilor’s words. He turned to the scribe and said, “So let it be written. So let it be done.” He then walked back in the abbey. Probably to a plate of grapes and honey with a snifter of cloudberry brandy, Krum thought. He’d spent most of his life in uniform obeying the orders of royalty, but he never cared for them much.
“So there you have it, then,” Krum told Ginger. “More blood’s yet to be spilt. Didn’t suspect any other outcome, frankly.”
Tears streamed down Ginger’s nose. She looks so damn pretty when she cries, he thought. He wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be fine. He wanted to make her feel better somehow, but he knew she needed time to mend. Absorbing the loss of anyone you knew was tough for someone with a good heart. “There, there, Ging.” He knew it wasn’t a very comforting thing to say, but he was never much for delicate words. Damn the luck.
All around them the mice of Darkyew Township left the abbey courtyard. Soon they were all alone, and already they could hear the clanging of steel coming from the abbey. Soldiers were practicing their swordplay, blacksmiths were making repairs, and all the other sounds that foretold the beginning of a war emanated through the stone walls.
“You’re not going, are you?” Ginger asked.
“Have to, love.”
“But you’re retired, you served your whole life!”
“They’ll call me in. Even if they don’t, they need me. Lord Archibald won’t refuse me if I ask.”
She rested her hands on his shoulders and looked at him through bloodshot eyes. “Please don’t go, Krum. Please. I can’t lose you, too.”
“I have to go, Ging. This isn’t just for Victor. This is for all the other mice that those filthy humans might kill in the future.” He never wanted anything more in his life than to just hold her in his arms and stay. Ginger was young, beautiful, and single, and as much as he secretly loved her, he didn’t want her to end up with an old grunt like himself. She deserved better. She rested her head on his shoulder and sobbed.
He put his arms around her waist and whispered in her ear. “This’ll be my last go, love. I promise I’ll come back. No scurvy feline or human’ll get the better of me.”
She took her head off his shoulders and looked up to him. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“When you come back, will you tell me stories of all the places you’ve been? And of your adventures?”
“Anytime you please. We’ll have a pint at the Squeaky Hinge and I’ll tell you about how I escaped death from a wolverine in the Glades of Never Summer.”
Her voice quivered as she spoke. “Can we order the spiced lemon-honey cakes? I’ve always wanted to try them.”
“We’ll order the lot of them, love.”
She looked in his eyes, and for a second he was sure she was going to kiss him. Instead she squeezed his hands firmly one last time before she let go, spun around, and ran out of the courtyard.
He pulled his sword from his sheath and looked at it. Live by it, die by it. The blade was crafted from a nail taken out of the Mayflower after it landed on the shores of the New World. It had been passed on from father to son for over 12 generations. He hoped it would serve him well one last time. He ran his first finger along the edge to test the sharpness. He always sharpened it if it didn’t draw blood. He licked the blood off of his finger and wiped the edge of the blade on his breeches. They were both ready for one last battle.
* * *
Lord Archibald decided that 500 mice were sufficient to extinguish two humans and a cat. Old, feeble, and incapable of marching, the old war lord couldn’t go along on the mission. His bones were too brittle, though his wit never lost its keen edge.
Krum knelt before him. “My lord, I’ve served in the Royal Corps for 36 years. Allow me to come out of retirement for this one last campaign, allow me to lead the mice, and I shall be eternally grateful.”
“Krum, brave Krum, you’ve done much and more for all mice kind, and no finer soldier have I ever known. Your service entitles you to whatever you may ask of me, but this I must refuse. You’ve seen
enough enemy blood. Go home, and enjoy your remaining days in peace.”
“My lord, I’ve nothing for me at home; no wife, no children. As for peace, I won’t know it until I see the blood spray from the neck of that cat.”
Lord Archibald shifted uncomfortably in his onyx and jade throne. “Has the cat wronged you personally?”
“He has, my lord.”
“You were close to Victor Talltooth?”
“I was,” Krum lied.
“I can’t allow it for the sake of personal revenge.”
“Then allow it for the sake of our history.”
At that, Lord Archibald scratched where his ear used to be and bit his lower lip. It’s working, Krum thought. Just gotta play a little more on his nostalgia of the good ol’ days.
Krum continued. “We’ve seen much together, my lord. We fought side by side in the Battle of the Crystal Cliffs against hordes of prairie dogs. We nearly died fighting against the scorpions in the War of Fifty Ferns. Please, this is my last request. Allow me to lead the mice to victory. I beg you.”
Lord Archibald struggled to stand up off his throne.
“Allow me to help, my lord,” Krum said, offering an outstretched arm.
All that gesture earned Krum was a smack to the side of his head from Lord Archibald’s blackthorn cane. “I’ll manage just fine. I’d rather die than have someone help me stand.”
Finally, he stood straight and tall. “Go, then. Lead the soldiers to victory. Tell War chief Yarbrough to yield to your command. Come back victorious or not at all.” He saluted and sat back down, wheezing and trying to catch his breath.
“Thank you, my lord.”
* * *
At midnight, they marched. Krum led them through the same tunnel that he and Ginger took back. To take the one that led to the countertop would be difficult, as every soldier would have to scale the cabinets down to the floor.
The men could only march three abreast, so narrow was the tunnel. Seven soldiers alone died on the way from an ambush of spiders in the Catbone Forest. Nothing could be done but slay the spiders and leave the dead where they lay. Krum hoped they would still be there on the return march.