Free The Mousehunter by Alex Milway Page A

stays.”
    Drewshank patted the boy on the back. “I’ll return to pay Algernon for the room, and get you two and Chervil at the same time. Get as much rest as you can, Emiline; if the ship’s in order we’ll be off as soon as we can, and I’ll need you to be at your best.”
    Everyone stood up and left the two mousekeepers to themselves.
    “How’s your head?” asked Scratcher, watching Emiline take Portly from her shoulder.
    “It’s all right,” she replied, “but we should go and visit Algernon’s workshop. Can you see him?”
    “But the captain told you to get rest!”
    “Don’t be boring.” She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
    It was clear that Emiline’s injuries were healing quickly.

The Sylakia Mouse
    RECOGNIZED AS THE FIRST HUMAN-DESIGNED MOUSE (ITS NAME DERIVES
from the ancient Andirian word sylak, meaning “to build,”) the Sylakia was conceived and bred with one purpose in mind — money. A hybrid of numerous stout-bodied mice, it was initially deemed exceptionally useful for factories, where it was kept to run on treadmills to power machinery.
    Notable for its thick legs and high arching back, the Sylakia has since become a cause célèbre for Old Town, where it was first bred. Now known to suffer from a peculiar strain of arthritis in its tiny joints, the Sylakia feels immense pain from a young age. Unfortunately, the protracted breeding process that resulted in the Sylakia also bred out most vocal capacity, so the animal had little way of showing its suffering throughout the long hours it worked. However, after nearly sixty years of use by the populace, the Mouse Liberation Front highlighted the Sylakia’s cause, and it is now banned from any workplace.
    MOUSING NOTES
    An unusual mouse to find in any collection these days. For better or worse, the Sylakia is a vanishing breed.

Algernon
    D REWSHANK RANG THE BELL OF THE MOUSE TRADING Center and peered through the small glass panel of the door. The old, battered building slotted perfectly between two smarter houses overlooking the harbor. It was tiny, and a lot less grand than he’d expected. There were no windows at its front, just a sign nailed onto the limpet-riddled stone wall, with MICE FOR TRADE painted in big swirling letters. It looked a most unfriendly place, not at all suited for showing off expensive rare mice. Drewshank wondered why anyone would ever visit it. It was certainly nothing like the one in Old Town, nor even the gleaming new Umberto’s Trading Center situated farther up the road.
    He pulled his jacket tighter around his chest and patted down his hair. Eventually a light came on and the door opened.
    “Devlin Drewshank. Come on in, it’s been a while.”
    Lady Pettifogger stood in the dimly lit entrance, her sharp beauty radiating like a beacon. She beckoned him into the room and shut the door, taking time to bolt numerous locks on the inside. Her long brown hair lilted softly over her shoulders, and Drewshank, unusually, felt nervous. There was something about Beatrice Pettifogger that had always made him uneasy.
    The room he’d entered smelled of washed floors and disinfectant, and could easily have been mistaken for a doctor’s office.
    “Never one to rush, were you?” she said playfully.
    “To this shoddy building?” he said sarcastically. “Or to you? Seeing you again has made me realize why I wanted to stay away in the first place.”
    “Devlin!” she tutted. “After all we’ve been through!”
    “I’m here for business only, Beatrice,” he said seriously.
    “It’s just been so long since I last saw you,” she said, taking Drewshank through to the next room, which was much larger and lit by flickering gas lamps. “I’ve missed seeing your face. And before you make any more nasty comments about my home, Isiah likes to keep it like this for a reason.”
    “A reason?” queried Drewshank.
    “Obviously, it’s not a reason we freely talk about, Devlin.”
    Her