Free The Deptford Mice 2: The Crystal Prison by Robin Jarvis

knife – yes, that was there, mousebrass – yes, the belt was looped through it securely, and finally, biscuit supply – well, the leather pouch was there but it was empty. He wondered if Mrs Brown would mind if he took some of her biscuits. It might take a long time to walk back to the city. Piccadilly frowned – it would seem like stealing to take without asking, but he wanted to slip away without any fuss – maybe he ought to leave a note. He crept into the Browns’ kitchen.
    The biscuits were next to the crackers, so Piccadilly took two of each, broke them into small pieces and slipped them into his pouch. He looked around for a bit of paper to write on. Then he wondered what he could put – it needed a long explanation to tell Mrs Brown why he was going but how could he put into words all that he felt?
    In the end, Piccadilly simply wrote: ‘Have gon back to the city. Thank you for having me. Have took some biskitts hope you don’t mind – Piccadilly.’
    He was not very good at writing. Long ago he had neglected his schooling for more exciting adventures. Now he regarded his handiwork with some doubt. Would anyone read his note? His handwriting was unsteady and he had pressed too hard with the pencil. He pulled a wry face. ‘I bet Audrey can read an’ write perfect,’ he grumbled to himself.
    Outside the house a sparrow began to sing to the new day. Piccadilly looked up quickly. It had taken longer than he had intended to write that note. Now he had no time to spare. He propped the piece of paper on the table, tiptoed out of the Brown’s home and passed through the cellar doorway. Quickly he scrambled down the cellar steps and through the Grille into the sewers.
    The morning stretched and shook itself. The clouds were few and wispy – it was going to be another blazing June day.
    When Audrey woke, her mother handed the note to her. She read it quietly and with dismay. ‘Has he really gone?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes love,’ said her mother. ‘Arthur has looked everywhere.’
    ‘Oh, it’s all my fault,’ was all Audrey was able to say.
    She ate her breakfast dismally as she thought about Piccadilly. Her heart told her that she was the reason he had gone off without a word. When Arthur came in she avoided his accusing eyes and went to start her packing.
    Arthur was unhappy too. He had begun to consider Piccadilly as his best friend and he guessed that Audrey had something to do with his abrupt departure. It was about time she stopped playing games with everyone. Ever since poor old Piccadilly had arrived she had used him, made him feel guilty for surviving the horrors of the rats when their father had not. She had sent him into peril with Oswald, down into the rat-infested sewers to look for her mousebrass and had never really apologised for that. She really was a silly lump. To cheer himself up Arthur went with his mother to see the Chitters.
    In the sickroom even the air felt healthier. The sickly smell had gone completely. Oswald was propped up in bed with a great smile on his face as Twit told him funny stories. Mrs Chitter was up and about, chiding and tutting, finding dust where there was none and rearranging all her ornaments. She herded Gwen Brown into the kitchen where she demanded to know all the latest doings of everyone in the Skirtings.
    Arthur sat himself on the end of the bed next to Twit and waited for a tale to end. Idly he looked about the room. Something was missing, something which had seemed such a fixture that now it was gone he couldn’t think what it could be. Oswald saw his puzzled expression and laughed.
    ‘Father’s gone to bed finally,’ he said. ‘It does seem odd without him in here doesn’t it? I wanted to get up today but Mother wouldn’t let me. She says I’ll be here for at least two weeks – or until she’s satisfied with my health.’
    ‘You’re in bed forever then,’ giggled Twit, holding his feet and rocking backwards.
    ‘Twit says he’s going home