Free The Deptford Mice 1: The Dark Portal by Robin Jarvis Page A

at Piccadilly – a hard stare that seemed to say, ‘Go on, prove you’re not a coward, go with them!’
    The grey mouse battled with his fears. He remembered vividly the altar chamber and could never forget Albert’s last cries. There truly had been nothing he could have done, yet he felt that he should have tried.
    ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’ll go instead of Oswald.’
    ‘But I’ve got to go,’ said Oswald miserably. ‘We won’t find it without dowsing for it.’
    ‘Then instead of Twit,’ said Piccadilly. ‘Now don’t argue, you said yourself it was a job for two.’
    Reluctantly, Twit agreed and they descended the cellar steps. At the Grille they stopped for a moment. Audrey hesitated: she knew she was wrong. Twit tugged at his cousin’s elbow and wished them all luck.
    ‘May the green Mouse watch after ’ee,’ he said.
    ‘Fat lot of good he is,’ laughed Piccadilly. He looked at Audrey and said forcefully, ‘Keep your phoney Green Mouse. I don’t need him,’ and he slipped through the grating.
    ‘Oh my, oh my,’ squeaked Oswald, ‘he oughtn’t to say such things.’ He looked woefully at Audrey and Twit. He had never expected to pass beyond the Grille once and here he was twice in one day.
    Audrey felt wretched making them do this for her.
    ‘I’ll stay here and wait for you,’ she said.
    ‘Oh my,’ was all Oswald could manage as he wriggled through the gap.
    Twit and Audrey were left alone in the cellar. She hit her nails and felt guilty and afraid.
    ‘They be fine,’ assured the fieldmouse. ‘Cousin Oswald, he’ll find it in a trice an’ there ain’t no one who’ll know the way back better’n he.’
    Still Audrey knew she had been unforgivably selfish and wished they had not gone.
    In the sewers Oswald held his divining rod in outstretched arms.
    ‘Does that work?’ asked a sceptical Piccadilly.
    ‘Oh yes, every time.’
    They set off, Oswald, leading the way, the rod giving an occasional twitch.
    The two mice did not know that at that moment in the chamber of Jupiter, news of their escape had reached Morgan’s ears from the rat with the broken teeth. Gingerly Morgan approached the altar. Jupiter had to be told. He looked up and saw that the eyes already blazed out of the dark portal. Morgan abased himself before them.
    ‘You have news,’ said the voice.
    ‘Oh my Lord, word is those mice bandits escaped.’
    Morgan hid his face.
    Jupiter’s voice boomed out of the blackness.
    ‘Is there nothing I can trust you with, you spotted Simpleton?’
    Morgan blocked his ears against the deafening roars.
    ‘Send the best of your scurvy lads. I want those mice here!’
    Morgan crawled away to give the orders.
    Piccadilly felt a little better than he had done the last time he was in the sewers; Mrs Brown had given him a good meal and now he had a chance to show Audrey he was not a coward. It might even let him rest easier.
    The tunnels were familiar to him now: the wet brick arches, the strange slimy moss which grew in the dark, and the turgid water that swilled around below. He wondered if anything lived in it – what fish would swim in the muddy currents? Perhaps no fish at all, but scaly toad monsters with big pale eyes sightlessly groping in the dark, hunting for food. Piccadilly pulled himself together and rebuked himself severely – thoughts like that led to panic. Oswald was concentrating on Audrey’s mousebrass, picturing it before him, recalling every detail. The image was translated through his veins, travelled down his arms and entered the wood of his divining rod. It searched for the brass, jerking in agitation whenever they took a wrong turn. Oswald was an accomplished dowser.
    ‘Is it far do you think?’ whispered Piccadilly.
    ‘Shshsh. You’ll spoil my concentration. Actually I can’t tell – it’s quite odd.’
    Suddenly Piccadilly gave a cry of discovery. ‘Look, look,’ he called. ‘It’s a scarf!’
    Oswald lowered the rod. ‘That’s a relief