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

you’ll see Tom, you’ll see.’ Twit blundered out of the assembled mice carrying the Starwife’s bag as high as his little arms could manage.
    ‘Hello William,’ said Master Oldnose warmly. ‘Are you feelin’ well boy?’
    ‘The best I ever did!’ And as if to prove it Twit burst into a fit of joyful laughter.
    The crowd thought he had gone potty and sighed and tutted with disapproval. Audrey had been following Twit unnoticed by everyone, but now she stepped out and took his paw.
    ‘He really is fine,’ she explained to them all, and hurried the still giggling fieldmouse into the Chitters’ rooms.
    ‘Audrey?’ Piccadilly stopped her. ‘What is going on? Why were you so long and why is Twit acting so barmy?’
    ‘He’s just happy because Oswald is going to get well,’ she answered. Piccadilly looked at her doubtfully. ‘Come off it,’ he whispered. ‘There’s no way to save him now.’
    ‘Oh yes there is,’ said Audrey in a strange, sombre voice. ‘There’s one way to save him.’ She turned suddenly and ran through the curtain.
    The city mouse stared after her. He could have sworn he had seen tears in Audrey’s eyes. But if Oswald was going to be cured, why was she so unhappy?
    In Oswald’s sickroom excitement charged the air. Thomas had told Gwen Brown about the Starwife’s bag and she was already boiling some water.
    Oswald, lay still and silent on the bed like a broken statue of cold marble. He was unaware of everyone around him. He felt so weak that even breathing seemed a dreadful labour. It was as if he had been falling down a deep black well: gradually the light at the top had grown fainter and more distant, until he accepted that there was no way out for him. Down he sank into the blackest night imaginable. He could hear nothing but the darkness filling his ears and closing in around him. How easy it was to sleep and forget everything, all he had known and all he had been – to be one with the rich velvet blackness.
    Mrs Brown came into the sickroom carrying a bowl of hot steaming water. Twit was about to drop the bag in when he hesitated. Was this a cruel trick of the Starwife? He glanced round at his friends and at once drew heart from Thomas’ wise, whiskered face. The bag plopped into the bowl.
    At once the steam snaked higher and filled the sickroom completely. All who breathed it in felt refreshed and tingles ran all the way down their tails.
    A silver light began to shine in the room. In his chair Jacob Chitter stirred in his sleep. Small stars gleamed through the steam and once again Twit felt as if he was swept up into the bright heavens. Only this time Oswald was next to him and there seemed to be music everywhere. As he looked at his cousin the fieldmouse gasped. For a moment it seemed as if he could see the Starwife lying in his place but the vision was snatched away and Twit could see that it was indeed Oswald lying there.
    ‘The water is cooler now,’ said Gwen. ‘Twit dear, see if he will drink it.’
    Twit took the bowl from her and knelt beside Oswald. He used one paw to raise his cousin’s head and tilted the bowl slightly with the other.
    At first the water simply touched Oswald’s lips and trickled down on to the pillows.
    ‘Come on Cuz,’ cried Twit urgently. ‘Drink it!’
    Everyone held their breath and watched. More of the precious water spilled on to the pillows. The albino looked dead.
    Twit’s paw trembled as he feared they were too late. The pillow was very wet now and there was not much left in the bowl. Thomas lowered his eyes and removed his hat. Mrs Brown buried her face in her paws.
    ‘Oh Oswald,’ the little fieldmouse cried. ‘Oswald, Oswald.’ Twit’s little heart was breaking.
    And then Oswald’s lips moved.
    ‘Look!’ yelled Twit. ‘He be drinkin’.’ Oswald swallowed the liquid and then opened one eye feebly. He gazed at them all and managed a smile.
    ‘Hooray!’ shouted Twit skipping round the room. ‘Hooray!’ He took Mrs