The Deptford Mice 3: The Final Reckoning by Robin Jarvis Page A

hunger and looked at Piccadilly hopefully, ‘unless nice mousey boy has present for Barker – biscuit perhaps, yes, no?’
    Piccadilly could have kicked himself for not, anticipating this. ‘Sorry Barker,’ he said, ‘I haven’t got anything with me.’
    The rat pulled a disappointed face and snorted. ‘But if you tell me what I want to know,’ Piccadilly continued hurriedly, ‘I’ll give you’ enough biscuits to last a lifetime.’
    But Barker was not impressed. ‘Barker want grub now, not next time or tomorrow –he say nowt!’ he folded his arms and shut his mouth resolutely.
    ‘Tell me about Old Stumpy you barmy old snot gobbler,’ said Piccadilly sharply. ‘What are his plans?’
    Barker fell back dismayed. ‘No, Barker not spill beans – he want no more ’ed lumps, you keep away from Barker mousey boy. He knows nowt!’
    Piccadilly rushed forward and caught hold of the rat’s shoulders. Barker flapped his arms wildly, trying to escape.
    ‘Last time you were going to tell me who Old Stumpy was,’ cried Piccadilly angrily, ‘why can’t you tell me now?’
    Barker gasped and yammered, wriggling and twisting like a worm on a hook in his desperate efforts to escape. ‘We been told to say nuffin’ till He tells us to. There’s big secrets in dark places Barker not like them. Let him go mousey boy, Barker got to go now, mustn’t be late.’
    ‘You’re staying put until you tell me what I want to know.’
    The rat was horrified and in a panic he screamed, ‘No, no! Barker must go, all must be there for the meet. He says all have to go or we get our throats cut.’ And with a tremendous burst of strength he broke free of the mouse’s grasp and leapt off the platform into the tunnel.
    Marty ran over to Piccadilly who was tapping his feet in annoyance.
    ‘What was that all about?’ he asked staring after the crazy rat running along the rails. ‘What did he mean about meetings? I’ve never heard of them doing that before. He really is barmy.’
    Piccadilly spun round and took hold of his friend’s paw urgently, ‘This is it!’ he exclaimed. ‘This is our chance to discover what is going on. If we follow Barker to this meeting we could learn who Old Stumpy is and listen to his plans.’
    ‘Oh,’ murmured Marty in surprise, ‘but isn’t that terribly dangerous?’
    ‘You don’t have to come if you don’t want to Marty,’ said Piccadilly as he jumped off the platform.
    Marty wished he was at home with his three sisters. Now it came to it he didn’t feel like being brave and fearless at all. He dithered on the edge of the platform not knowing what to do, when suddenly he found that he had stepped off it and was standing between the shining Tube rails.
    ‘Knew you’d make it,’ said Piccadilly by his side. ‘Now, let’s go.’
    * * *
     
    Smiff held a flaming torch high above his head and peered into the chamber. Everything was ready. A platform of bricks and boxes had been made in the centre for the speaker to address them. Torches had been placed all round and their brazen light licked over the grimy walls with lurid, dancing tongues. Everyone would be able to see their glorious leader.
    The chamber was a forgotten service passage lined with thick, heavy-duty pipes and cables which ran from floor to ceiling. A ragged, foul smelling cloth had been hung over the entrance and Smiff found himself clucking with anticipation. Soon Old Stumpy would divulge his plans.
    He sniffed violently and the two green candles which had been dangling from his nose shot back up his nostrils. There came the sound of many feet dragging on the ground, accompanied by the sweep of half as many strong, thick tails trailing behind. Smiff yanked the curtain aside and the entire rat population of the city poured in like a colossal flood of fur.
    Even Smiff was amazed at the number of rats. He had never seen so many of his own kind gathered in one place before. There were young rats and old, strong ones, bony