The Mousehunter Read Free

beam. It was a Long-legged River Mouse, a common species, and one of the most pleasing to collectors because of its exceptionally long and elegant legs. Their cages have to be made especially tall to allow for them.
    Emiline placed the mouse safely in a mousebox — she always carried one, like any good mouser should — and hung it on her belt. It didn’t make any fuss, nestling softly down into the fluffy lining.
    Her vision was slightly obscured, but she had a good view of Lovelock’s desk. She could see the wooden box clearly. It was a mousebox, just like the one hanging from her waist.
    Once the butler and Mr. Droob had left, Lovelock withdrew a small silver knife from his velvet jacket and skewered it carefully into the lid of the box. He twisted it sharply and the lid split open.
    His face paled even further. Then he banged the desk violently and slumped into his chair. After a few more moments, Emiline saw his gray spidery fingers reemerge on the desk and rummage in the box. Lovelock withdrew a small cloth mouse stitched from tatters of old material, and Emiline gasped and covered her mouth. She’d heard of this object many times but never thought she’d ever see one: it was the calling card of the most famous pirate of all. Lovelock pulled a cord to his right and a bell rang out downstairs.
    After a minute of waiting, Lovelock’s patience withered.
    “Spires, blast it, where are you?” he shouted, his words thick with outrage.
    Almost immediately, the butler burst through the door, out of breath.
    “The pirate’s gone one step too far this time,” said Lovelock, the cloth mouse swinging ominously from between his fingers. “Who does he think he is?”
    “Sir?” said the butler quizzically, breathing heavily.
    Lovelock stood up and turned to the window. He tugged sharply at the head of the mouse, and the glass steamed up with the warmth of his breath.
    “Head to the harbor and find a vessel under the charge of Captain Devlin Drewshank. Tell him that I wish to speak to him as a matter of urgency.”
    “But, sir,” protested the butler, “the port is the last place I should be visiting at this hour. It’s a place for pirates and brigands, not butlers . . . .”
    Safe in her hiding place, Emiline jumped with excitement. Captain Drewshank was a celebrity among the mousing community ever since he’d stumbled upon a colony of mice on Moon Island. What business would he have coming to Grandview? Lovelock turned and slammed the desk.
    “I have no care for them, and neither should you,” he said. “Look at you worrying about such a thing as pirates. You’re the butler of Isiah Lovelock! You wear my crest, man. Who would touch you?”
    “But, sir . . . ”
    “Plans are already in motion, Spires, and we must act fast to take advantage. Take my carriage and pay the driver whatever is required. I’m sure you’ll make it in one piece.”
    Spires swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
    Lovelock raised the tattered cloth mouse and flicked its head sharply, over and over in his hand. It bounced back up time and time again until, in one quick movement, Lovelock grasped the mouse’s head and tore it fully from its body. He turned and cast both pieces to the floor, looking at Spires with an intensity the butler had never seen in him before.
    “Be sure of it,” said Lovelock, “This is the last time Mousebeard gets the better of me.”
    Emiline shrank back into the passageway, the word
Mousebeard
circling endlessly through her thoughts. He was the pirate of pirates: bigger, nastier, and hairier than any other. Ever since she was tiny she’d heard horrible tales of him and the infamous mice that lived in his beard.
    With her heart beating heavily, Emiline checked the mouse in her care. It was snoring sweetly, and making occasional sleepy squeaks. Something exciting was happening — something bigger and greater than anything that normally happened to a mousekeeper. She wanted to be part of it, and from the look on