The Deptford Mice 2: The Crystal Prison by Robin Jarvis

at the figure asleep on the chair. Jacob Chitter was pale and weak – he appeared as ill as Oswald.
    ‘I looked in on Mrs Chitter before,’ whispered Arthur. ‘She’s as bad as he is.’
    ‘Yes,’ nodded Gwen. ‘The lives of this family are all tied together. As Oswald fades – so do they. It’s so terrible.’ She laid the covered bowl which she had been carrying on the low table next to the pieces of raw onion.
    ‘More ointment from Mrs Coltfoot?’ guessed Arthur. ‘A bit late for that now.’
    ‘Let’s not presume the end before it’s come,’ breathed his mother. ‘We must continue as before. Audrey and I will see to Mrs Chitter, you see to . . .’ She paused and puckered her brow as Arthur bit his lip. ‘Arthur?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t seen Audrey since I woke up . . . and Twit wasn’t in his bed when I looked in on him. Where are they?’
    Arthur gritted his teeth, then took a long deep breath whilst he shuffled his feet awkwardly.
    ‘Arthur!’ demanded his mother sternly.
    ‘Well you had just gone to sleep so we didn’t like to disturb you,’ he began earnestly.
    ‘Who’s “we”?’
    ‘Well us and Mr Triton.’
    ‘Mr Triton!’ Gwen Brown exclaimed. ‘What did he want?’
    ‘He took Audrey and Twit to Greenwich,’ said Arthur nervously.
    ‘To Greenwich? Oh Arthur, what’s got into the old fool’s head? And why did you let them go? I’m surprised at Twit – upping and leaving like that.’
    Arthur waved his arms and tried to calm her down. ‘But it wasn’t like that! He promised they’d be back in time and Twit needed to get away for a bit. Mr Triton can be very persuasive you know,’ he added lamely.
    ‘Oh, I’m sorry I snapped, Arthur’ smiled Gwen apologetically. ‘I do remember Mr Triton’s way – he’s a forceful one, there’s no denying. I suppose they didn’t have time to think what they were doing when he arrived. But why take Twit and Audrey to Greenwich? Audrey hardly knows him for one thing, and it isn’t like her to be interested in boats and such.’
    ‘Oh didn’t I say?’ put in Arthur quickly. ‘Mr Triton brought a message from someone called the Starwife. She apparently wanted to speak with Audrey.’
    Gwen Brown was taken aback. ‘The Starwife! Let me see now . . . yes, I do seem to have heard of her. Oh dear – what can she want with our Audrey? I don’t like it, Arthur. If I had been awake I would not have allowed her to go. Just wait till I see that midshipmouse – I’ll bend his ear for him.’
    The afternoon crept by. The hot sun veered west and the evening clouds gathered lightly about the horizon.
    In the hall of the old house many mice were gathered: Algy Coltfoot and his mother, the two Raddle spinsters, flirty Miss Poot and many more had mustered together to see how the Chitters were faring. It was as if some instinct had told them that the end was near for that family. A dark shadow lay over all their hearts.
    Poor Piccadilly was getting impatient with them all. They kept badgering him for information and they evidently considered his bulletins too few and scanty in detail. Just when the city mouse felt like punching a couple of stupid, nosey heads, Master Oldnose, disturbed by the row, strode out of his rooms and waded through the crowd.
    ‘Now then, now then!’ He clapped his paws and looked round crossly.
    Master Oldnose had been the tutor of most of the mice present, and their memories of him with his ears white with anger awoke their old respect for him. Voices were hushed and silence fell.
    Master Oldnose eyed everyone severely – even those mice who were older than him respected him and held their tongues. Besides his school duties, Master Oldnose was the mousebrass maker and that was a position of great honour.
    Now he surveyed them all and waited until he was satisfied.
    Piccadilly flicked the hair out of his eyes.
    ‘Ta, mister, they were gettin’ out of hand.’
    Master Oldnose bristled at being called