The Deptford Mice 1: The Dark Portal by Robin Jarvis Page B

stay?’
    The two mice politely refused, saying that Mrs Chitter would have some dinner ready for them and that they could ask about Audrey on the way. So they departed and Arthur told them he would see them later.
    ‘We haven’t tried upstairs yet Mother,’ he reassured her.
    ‘She’ll be mooching around up there somewhere.’
    He ate his breakfast and then started on his dinner.
    * * *
     
    When Arthur met Twit and Oswald later they had already asked all the families around the Skirtings with no luck. So they began upstairs. For some reason the mice on the landing always acted superior to those below. Sniffy, Arthur called it and if truth be known Mrs Chitter had always wanted to live there. Yet despite this they were all very sorry to hear of Audrey’s disappearance and gave all the help they could in the search.
    ‘You know,’ Arthur said after a time, ‘there is one place we haven’t looked: in the cellar.’
    Oswald was alarmed.
    ‘But you can’t go down there Arthur, you daren’t!’
    Twit was interested. He had heard all the stories of the Grille from the elders and recalled how they would shiver in their skins when they told warning stories of it. Even his mother, Mrs Chitter’s sister, had taken tales of the sewers out to the country with her and made up lullabies to sing to him when he was a babe. The fieldmouse’s eyes were sparkling now.
    ‘Oh yes let’s go. It’ll be good.’
    But Oswald was worried.
    ‘Nobody, but nobody, goes down there! Arthur don’t!’
    ‘It’s all right. It’s not that bad, I’ve been before,’ said Arthur not a little boastfully. ‘Besides, we really have looked everywhere else for her.’
    His mind was made up and Twit was eager. Oswald trailed behind them putting forward well-reasoned arguments, but they did not listen. They gathered some stout sticks ‘just in case’ and headed for the cellar door. But Oswald’s legs trembled when they reached the great object. He had never wanted to pass beyond it.
    ‘I’m not going,’ he said flatly.
    ‘Suit yourself,’ replied Arthur, ‘but don’t tell anyone where we are.’
    ‘I promise. Oh you’ll be in such trouble. Twit, you really shouldn’t.’
    ‘Look, just make sure no one sees us go in and keep a lookout. If we’re not back soon, well, don’t come after us.’
    ‘I won’t, don’t worry.’
    Arthur looked at the door.
    ‘Well, see you Oswald. Come on Twit.’ He passed through into the darkness and Twit made to follow him.
    Oswald was in a terrible state. He felt an awful coward, just standing there, but he was desperately afraid of the cellar and the Grille. In frustration he looked about him. Would he see his friends again? He cursed his own failings and was about to wish them well when he heard footsteps, and with them the affected cough of Master Oldnose. All his fear, all his nerves, were suddenly switched off by the need to be out of sight. To be caught here was the worst thing possible.
    So Oswald pushed Twit in front of him and dashed through the door. He stumbled, tripped and flew through the air, knocking his cousin over. Together they tumbled down the steps, bowling Arthur over in the process. Three bruised mice lay in a tangled lump at the bottom of the cellar steps. The first to move was Arthur.
    ‘You thumping great nit!’ he fumed at Oswald and staggered to his feet, shaking the dust off his shoulders.
    Oswald groaned.
    ‘I’m sorry, but Oldnose was coming. Oh Twit, are you all right? What’s the matter?’
    ‘He’s laughing,’ said Arthur.
    Twit took control of himself.
    ‘I’m all right. I took no hurt, I landed on Arthur’s belly.’
    ‘Ha, ha,’ said Arthur dryly.
    Oswald stood and looked about him. The musty smell of the damp paper rolls made his nose wrinkle. The cellar was cluttered with tall wooden rods and large crates. They wondered what some of the objects were for. Oswald took a step forward and gasped.
    ‘Arthur! Help, something’s got me.’
    Arthur