The Deptford Mice 2: The Crystal Prison by Robin Jarvis Page A

‘mister’ by this uncouth and obviously ignorant city mouse but decided to pass over it. ‘You boy,’ he addressed Piccadilly. ‘What is the meaning of this riotous gathering? Explain yourself.’ He stood with his paws clasped firmly behind his back and rocked slightly on his heels awaiting a reply.
    ‘It’s the Chitters, mister. Oswald’s in what Mrs Brown calls “the crisis” and she an’ Arthur are doin’ their level best for ‘em but this lot aren’t happy with just knowin’ that and won’t shift.’
    ‘I see.’ Master Oldnose glared at the crowd as if they were children. ‘Go about your business – there is nothing more for you to learn here.’
    The mice stirred and mumbled feebly, and the two old maids fluttered shyly and hid their mouths behind nervous paws. Algy coughed and put on his most stubborn face. Nobody moved away.
    ‘Tough luck, mister,’ grinned Piccadilly cheekily. ‘I thought you had ’em then.’
    ‘We only want to know how they are,’ said a small voice. It was Tom Cockle. ‘We owe the lad a lot, you see, and well – I’ve been stewin’ all day, not knowin’ how he was doin’, so I come here and blow me if there wasn’t a blessed crowd already.’
    ‘That’s right,’ broke in Mrs Coltfoot. ‘Algy an’ me were terrible restless – poor Oswald, I had an awful feeling about today.’ Murmurs of agreement tan through the crowd.
    ‘We’re not doin’ any harm,’ continued Tom. ‘We’re sorry if we were a bit rowdy but we’re not budgin’.’
    Even the Raddle spinsters nodded. Master Oldnose sighed. He could see that today he would not be obeyed. Indeed, he had been sitting in his workroom unable to concentrate on the unfinished mousebrasses before him. He was quite prepared to remain with the others now and wait for news. Everyone expected the curtain to be pulled to one side at any moment and to see Gwen Brown’s tearful face appear and relate grave, tragic words. All eyes were fixed on the curtain and even Piccadilly was forced to turn and stare at it glumly.
    The evening drew close. Outside, the day was still warm and the sun had not yet disappeared but no mouse took any notice.
    Eventually, the mice on the Landings crept down the stairway and stood, silent and depressed, with the Skirtings folk. Time stole by – only the breathing of many mice disturbed the blanketing stillness.
    All at once, confusion broke out. Cries of alarm rippled through the crowd. Piccadilly looked round. The Raddle spinsters, as usual, had the same expression on their faces. Even in panic they were identical. No one seemed to know what was happening. Master Oldnose scowled. The disturbance seemed to emanate from the back of the crowd near the cellar door. Be gulped and wondered with dread what had crept out of that dark place. Something was forcing its way through the assembled mice. Master Oldnose drew back in fear.
    ‘Out of my way!’ shouted a gruff voice. ‘Let me through there!’
    Piccadilly managed a smile – he knew that voice.
    ‘Hey! Avast there!’ A blue woollen hat bobbed into view amongst the sea of startled mice.
    Master Oldnose was relieved, but glowered as he saw Thomas Triton emerge from the crowd. ‘Mr Triton,’ he declared, ‘what means this rude interruption?’
    Master Oldnose was not fond of the midshipmouse, for on the few occasions they had met, Thomas had flagrantly disregarded his authority.
    ‘Evenin’ Nosey!’ greeted Thomas cheerily.
    Master Oldnose’s mouth dropped open as he watched the midshipmouse barge past him. Thomas ruffled Piccadilly’s hair on his way then nipped behind the Chitters’ curtain.
    Excited whoops then came from the crowd. ‘How do Algy! Hello Algy’s mum!’ called a small but unmistakable voice. It was Twit, finding it more difficult to get through the crowd than the midshipmouse had done.
    Master Oldnose came out of his sulk and looked up quickly. ‘What you got in that bag, Twit?’ asked Tom Cockle.
    ‘Oh