The Mousehunter by Alex Milway

worse, and as dusk approached, Emiline heard her name called from below. It was Scratcher, and he was making his way precariously up the rigging with a steaming tin of food in one hand.
    “Time for some grub!” he shouted. He finally emerged over the top of the nest and dropped down next to Emiline. A wonderful smell of warm beef broth arrived with him.
    “It seems like I’ve been here for days,” said Emiline.
    Scratcher stared at Emiline for a while before replying. It was unusual to have someone close to his own age onboard, and a girl at that.
    “You’re halfway through now,” he said, regaining his voice. “It’s dull at first, but you get used to it. And you’ve found Chervil! That’ll please everyone.”
    Emiline took the food graciously and scooped the broth into her mouth with a large clump of bread that Scratcher brought out from his pocket. It was delicious, and tore Emiline’s thoughts from the monotony of being lookout.
    “So did you always want to be a mousekeeper?”
    “Of course,” she replied, lingering over another mouthful of food, “but I’ll soon be a mousehunter!”
    “You — a mousehunter?”
    “I’ll be the youngest the world’s ever seen,” she replied with the utmost sincerity. “I’ll pass the tests, catch the mice . . . become the most famous mousehunter there is.”
    “I’ll believe it when I see it,” laughed Scratcher.
    “Don’t you want to be a mousehunter?” asked Emiline, somewhat bewildered by the boy’s attitude. Portly had stirred from his sleep, and was sniffing the air, wondering what smelled so nice.
    “I’m a good mousekeeper, but my skills leave me when it comes to catching the darn things. I know my limits.”
    “That’s the wimpiest thing I’ve ever heard! You can be whatever you want. Look at Portly here; he’s just a Grey, but he’s as clever as any Bojimbo Conjuring Mouse!”
    “Well, maybe,” stuttered Scratcher. He took hold of the rigging and nervously kicked his ankles. “I think I should be getting back now,” he said. “I have the Messenger Mice cages to clean.”
    “Suit yourself,” muttered Emiline, and she returned to her food. Despite him being slightly underwhelming, she couldn’t help liking Scratcher, and his brief company had been a relief.
    Chervil had woken with the commotion, and had also started taking an interest in Emiline’s dinner. With the two animals now craving something to eat, Emiline distributed her leftovers between them. Food was the best thing to lift spirits after all, and they sat contentedly as the sky faded into darkness.
    The gloomy conditions turned even gloomier when Emiline felt a faint drizzle start to fall, and she tightened her coat to stop the chill from creeping in. Unlike normal cats, Chervil seemed to revel in the dim light and damp conditions, and sat upright again to keep watch.
    While peering through the telescope into near darkness, Emiline heard movements on deck, and leaned over the nest to see small lamps being lit. The sailors were readying the ship for the long dark night ahead; the day-shift mice were put to rest while the Night-light Mice were brought out to illuminate the deck. Emiline watched a young sailor place some Listener Mice at the bow.
    “Ingenious,” murmured Emiline, realizing they were there to warn of oncoming ships: there really was no mouse put to waste onboard ship.
    Emiline felt a soft prodding on her arm, and saw Chervil was trying to get her attention. On the horizon she saw a quick burst of lightning connect the sky and sea. It lit up huge brooding clouds rising up into the heavens. A low grumble of thunder traveled over the waves, and immediately a bell rang out from the deck.
    “Drop the sails, storm front ahead!” shouted Fenwick. Drewshank appeared on deck and started to pace up and down, his striking form lit up by the lamplight, even from such a distance.
    “Hold tight, men!” he shouted. “We’ll keep sure and let this one pass!” Hearty