Free The Mousehunter by Alex Milway

across to greet it. Trumper burped a squeak of greeting, leading Fenwick to apologize for letting him sip his beer.
    “It’s good to see you back in the land of the living,” said Drewshank. “Nothing has ever wrenched Chervil from the ship before, but he wouldn’t leave your side. I guess he’s pleased you saved his life, as we all are, and we have to be thankful for small mercies.”
    Emiline looked puzzled.
    “We lost many men to the Grak — eaten whole or swallowed by the deep. I even received a cut across my eyebrow! You were lucky, Emiline!” Drewshank stared mournfully into his beer, then banged the table. “What Long-eared Mice came to be doing in the sea off Hamlyn is a question I want answered.”
    “Wouldn’t surprise me,” said Fenwick, “if it were that Mousebeard who put ’em there.”
    The table immediately went silent.
    “You could be right,” added Drewshank. “Not only cannons lie in our path, but angry sea monsters.”
    Emiline’s mind wandered again at the thought of Mousebeard and the Grak. She remembered being terrified as a child at the entry in
The Mousehunter’s Almanac
about Long-eared Mice, and how they turned into sea monsters when they came into contact with salt water. As she was reliving her horrific experience once more, a voice pierced the din and brought her back to the real world.
    “Is she awake? Is she alive?” it shouted. A short man came barging through the room, barely able to see above the shouting people and tables. He was dressed in neat, yet oil-splattered, work clothes, and his little face was almost covered by enormous round glasses.
    “Ah! She made it, Drewshank, I knew she would! I told you that potion would do the job!”
    The man took Emiline’s hand and shook it vigorously, all the while inspecting her for any continuing signs of damage.
    “I’m Algernon Mountjack!” he said brightly, perching on the end of the bench next to her. “Welcome to the Giant’s Reach — the best inn in Hamlyn!”
    Drewshank cut in, fearing the short man’s gusto might overwhelm Emiline.
    “Thank you, Algernon, it seems your cure worked wonders! That Fire Mouse spit really does make good medicine,” he said.
    Emiline and Scratcher both felt suddenly sick.
    “But I told you it would! Now, Emiline,” Algernon said, in his supercharged manner, “I hear you’re a famous mousekeeper, and I think I like you already. If you have time I’ll show you my workshop. I’m currently working on a rocket-powered attachment for my Whale Mouse. I think you might be interested? Yes?”
    “I’m sure she’d love to see it,” said Drewshank firmly, “but I think she might like a bit of quiet now.”
    “Ah, of course,” said Algernon. “I’ll look forward to taking you round.”
    “That would be perfect,” said Emiline cheerfully.
    “Yes, it would,” he replied. “You’ll find me behind the bar when you’re ready. Oh yes, one more thing. That Beatrice Pettifogger was asking after you, Drewshank. Said she had something for you.”
    Before Drewshank could utter a reply, Algernon had shot off at a cracking pace, picking up a few glasses on the way. His excitable manner could be as infuriating as it was endearing.
    “Is that
Lady
Pettifogger?” asked Fenwick, slightly concerned.
    “I’m afraid it is,” said Drewshank, sighing. “I suppose I should go and grace her with my presence. There’s only so long I can put it off.”
    He huffed and rose slowly from the table.
    “She’s probably only got a bundle of trouble for you, sir!” said Fenwick.
    “I know . . . ,” the captain replied regretfully. “I’ll be careful. Could you return to the
Fox
and check that the repairs are coming along all right? See if you can find any more sailors to join the crew too. As you know, we’re a bit thin on the ground.”
    “Aye, sir,” he replied, “but what about Emiline here? Can’t leave her with old Algernon — he’s a nut!”
    “She’ll be fine if Scratcher