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

ones, and wizened, hatchet-faced old sinners who cursed and swore. Numerous shady characters shifted uneasily, on their guard in case of treachery. Nobody knew everyone there and no-one was sure of the purpose of the meeting. A small group at the back began a gambling game and foul words filled the already polluted air. The atmosphere was tense but expectant.
    Eventually every single one of the vile creatures had squeezed into the foul den. Some had climbed up the wall and perched themselves on the cables for a better view of the platform. There were several thousand evil, gleaming eyes in the chamber and all of them reflected the flickering torchlight like a treasury of hellish jewels. The stench of all their filthy sweating bodies was atrocious.
    Smiff leaned against the wall, glad to have pushed the stragglers into the packed chamber. He put his claws into his mouth and blew a loud whistle to tell Kelly to escort in their leader.
    A frantic pattering caught Smiff’s attention and he looked crossly down the passage wondering who would dare arrive so late.
    ‘You poxy slug!’ he bawled when he recognized Barker puffing up to him. ‘Where you been? We told you not to be late,’ and he dealt the old rat a cruel blow with his claws. Barker yelled and ran through the curtain cowering and yelping.
    Piccadilly and Marty had followed Barker at a safe distance – he had no idea they were following. They pursued him down pitch black passages and tunnels, splashed through ice cold puddles of stinking water and squelched through ghastly stretches of thick mud. They knew that they were deep in the heart of rat territory; bad smells hung about like mists and slithery slime dripped from the walls and oozed over the ground.
    ‘I think we’re nearly there,’ whispered Piccadilly, ‘there’s a faint light up ahead.’
    They were viewing the entrance to the meeting chamber at some distance. They heard Barker’s rough treatment at the claws of Smiff and saw a brighter chink of light as the old rat dodged inside.
    ‘What was that whistle?’ asked Marty.
    Piccadilly was not certain. ‘Sounded like some kind of signal – I wonder what for? We must find out what’s going on in there.’
    ‘But we can’t march right up and listen, there’s someone on guard.’
    Their discussion was brought to an end when they heard a noise that froze their blood. Heavy rat footsteps were coming up the tunnel behind them.
    Marty closed his eyes, waiting to be grabbed by rough claws, but Piccadilly caught hold of his paw and tugged him to one side. The rats drew closer and the mice heard Kelly’s voice speaking.
    ‘Everyone should be in there now Boss. They’re all dying to know what you’ve got to tell ’em.’
    Marty scuttled fearfully along the wall, away from the approaching rats. He and Piccadilly were trapped with no chance of escape. Suddenly the wall against his back seemed to crumble and fall away.
    Piccadilly wondered where his friend had gone. One minute he was at his side, the next he seemed to have vanished. He dared not call out, for Kelly and Old Stumpy had nearly reached him and would be bound to hear his voice. Something yanked Piccadilly’s tail and he went sprawling backwards into a hole in the wall.
    Kelly and Old Stumpy passed by without noticing. Piccadilly had landed on top of Marty and the two mice rubbed their bruises. Piccadilly looked about him.
    ‘I think it’s some sort of pipe,’ Marty breathed when the rats were out of earshot, ‘what a piece of luck.’
    Piccadilly wished that he had been able to see Old Stumpy but Kelly’s large bulk had screened him. Now he ran his paws over the pipe thoughtfully. ‘I wonder where this goes?’ he asked himself.
    ‘Never mind about that, let’s go home,’ Marty pleaded.
    ‘No, we still haven’t discovered anything useful. I’m going to see where this pipe comes out. I think I can see a light up there.’ He got to his knees, for it was a very narrow pipe, and