The Deptford Mice 3: The Final Reckoning Read Free

climb.
    ‘“Don’t go, Tom!” hisses my friend suddenly, “Let’s go back!”
    “‘No way,” I answered, “come on Woodget lad! Don’t stand there frettin’! Ain’t no such thing as ghosties.”
    ‘I climbed up to the loft and looked about me. The wind was gettin’ in somewhere an’ rustlin’ the old rotten heaps of hay. It was black as tar up there an’ I was glad when Woodget put his paw in mine. “Come on,” I said, “let’s scout round a bit.” Through the smelly old straw we went, a-fearin’ what was round the next corner or what might pop out at us. But apart from the rustlin’ all you could hear were two mice breathin’ – him an’ me. We walked all round that loft an’ not one ghost did we see. I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed so we returned to the loft entrance an’ I let go of Woodget’s paw to climb down the ladder.
    ‘“What a waste of time,” I said exasperated. “I told you there were no such thing as ghosties, Woodget!’
    Here Thomas stopped his tale and his eyes bulged as he raised his eyebrows. ‘Then,’ he continued in a wavering voice, ‘to my horror I hear my little friend a callin’ up to me from the barn floor shoutin’, ‘You comin’ down now Tom? I’m gettin’ scared down here on my own.’ My fur stood on end and for a moment I was frozen to the spot. I dare not look to right or left and the silence – you could have cut it with a knife. I don’t know how long I was frozen there, maybe only a second, but it felt like a lifetime. Then Woodget twitched his tail and rustled the straw below, breaking the ghostly spell.’
    The audience gasped and cooed, ‘But whose paw were you holding, Mr Triton?’ piped up one of the youngsters.
    ‘That I don’t know lad,’ Thomas replied, ‘an’ I didn’t stay to find out. Woodget an’ me were out of that barn faster than anything.’
    A shiver of excitement rippled through the assembled mice. They liked Thomas’s stories – he had been to so many places and they loved to hear of his adventures.
    ‘Tell us another,’ they pleaded.
    The midshipmouse laughed but shook his head. ‘No,’ he refused gently, ‘I’ve worn the hat too long and you know your rules. One yarn per wear – let someone else have a turn.’ He removed the faded velvet hat from his head and passed it on to Master Oldnose who had been waiting close by for some time. He used to be the main storyteller and he spent many evenings making up new stories especially for the Yule Festival. He did not like Thomas’s popularity and he took the hat from him stiffly. Several young mice groaned rudely and wandered away from the fire as Master Oldnose began ‘The story of Bohart and the friendly moon spirits’.
    Thomas stretched himself and left the circle winking at his admirers. A young albino mouse came running up to him excitedly.
    ‘Oh Mr Triton,’ he said, twisting the ends of a green scarf together in his paws with enthusiasm, ‘that was smashing! How on earth did you manage to sleep after that?’
    ‘None too well, young Oswald,’ the midshipmouse replied with an amused twinkle.
    The albino blinked his bright pink eyes and nodded. ‘It was the best ghost story we’ve had here for years and it was true as well – it actually happened to you – gosh!’
    ‘That’s right lad, but don’t you start goin’ off again on dangerous journeys like the last one. You know how terrible they can be and what they can lead to.’
    Oswald nodded. Earlier in the year he had ventured down into the sewers. He returned suffering from such a dreadful cold that nobody thought he would survive. Now he hugged himself and sucked his teeth. ‘What happened to your friend Woodget, Mr Triton?’ he asked. ‘Did he go to sea with you or did he stay at the farmhouse?’
    The change in Thomas’s mood was startling. His expression altered dramatically and pain registered in his face. ‘By Neptune I wish he had stayed there,’ he said thickly