‘Mr Triton!’ Arthur called again. ‘I’m coming with you!’
Thomas was amused and scratched his head. ‘If you think I’m going to let your mother bawl me out for takin’ you with me you need your head examining.’
But Arthur was not to be fobbed off – he folded his arms resolutely. ‘If you send me back I’ll only follow you, and think of all the time we’re wasting now.’
Thomas scowled and then his face brightened. ‘I’m not going to argue here, and I could do with the company. Come on matey.’ He turned back to the Grille and with a swish of his tail was gone. Arthur grinned and followed through the once fearful entrance.
The sewers were dank and dripping and the arched, red brick passages had a fine layer of glittering, frosty, diamond dust. Below, the deep water carried along small, drifting islands of filthy, black ice. A bitter draught whistled through the tunnels, cutting straight through the two mice.
Thomas and Arthur hurried along as fast as they could without saying a word to each other. It needed all their concentration to watch out for hidden slippery patches that lurked on the shadowy levels. Arthur trotted behind the midshipmouse glad to be away from the Skirtings – at least his mind was not dwelling on food any more. Silently they made their way along the narrow ledges and winding ways, avoiding the dangers as best as they could. Arthur did not venture down into the sewers very often, the last time had been on the way back from Fennywolde, and so his sense of direction in the tunnels was easily confounded. To him it seemed as if they were going entirely the wrong way, but for Thomas this was a journey he made every day and what’s more, his instinct for the points of the compass was so strong he could have navigated his way blindfold out of the darkest, most difficult maze ever invented.
‘Here we are miladdo,’ the midshipmouse said eventually as they turned a corner and entered a passage that was filled with pale blue light, ‘this is where we get out.’
They squirmed through a grating and Arthur looked round to discover the great locked gates of Greenwich Park nearby, rising high and stark against the midnight sky. The naked trees beyond were flecked with frost and their branches reared up menacingly, waving their sharp, savage twigs, shredding the eerie mist which dared to drift too close to their barbs.
The two mice ducked under the iron gates and pattered stealthily up the path to where they could get a clear view of the observatory. There they caught their breaths and stared. The hill was shrouded in thick fog, through which occasional flashes of cold light burst and crackled heavenwards. ‘He’s in there and no mistake,’ Thomas said sternly, ‘but what the devil is he up to?’
Arthur shivered. It was a weird sight: the fog seemed to be almost a solid thing with a life of its own. It clung tenaciously to the hillside, wrapping round and round, obliterating the hill and the observatory built there. Only when the strange internal lightning jabbed out could the dim outline of the onion-shaped dome be seen for the briefest of moments before the fog snatched the sight away once more.
‘We go up there,’ Thomas said, pointing into the heart of the unnatural cloud.
Arthur gulped and agreed. Somewhere in there lurked Jupiter. Up the slope they tramped until they reached the edge of the swirling mist. As they approached, fine tendrils of vapour snaked out and writhed smokily around their ankles, trying to pull them in.
‘I don’t like this,’ said Thomas, disgusted at the clammy touch of those whispering caresses. The vapour rose above his knees then covered his waist. ‘I never saw owt like this in all my years at sea,’ he muttered as the fog swelled up to his chest. He noticed with a shudder that the parts of his body that were covered began to tingle and prick uncomfortably as though the mist were attacking them. ‘Give me your paw lad,’ he called out quickly. ‘If we’re separated in this we’ll be lost forever.’
Arthur gladly grabbed hold of Thomas’s extended paw. He hated the insidious cloud: it seemed to be devouring him, making him feel as though he was drowning in a phantom swamp. The urge to run away nearly overpowered him as, with horror in his large, round eyes, he saw the midshipmouse disappear completely. The frightening mist brimmed up to his own chin. Arthur tried to hold his breath, he didn’t want any of that hateful stuff in his mouth, but by the time he had to exhale he too was engulfed.
Thomas swept his free paw over his forehead and coughed; the damp was already seeping into his lungs. He had thought it would be a simple task to walk uphill in any fog, after all one only had to keep going up the slope and eventually the summit would be reached, but he was not finding it as easy as that. The soles of his feet were numb from the cold and any sensation that they did manage to feel was merely the tingle of the mist needling and pricking them. After a short while he decided that they should have reached the observatory and frowned in consternation. He knelt down, an action which Arthur found very alarming as he imagined the unseen mouse to have fallen down a hole.
‘Don’t worry matey,’ Thomas’s thin, flat voice reassured him. ‘I’m just getting my bearings. There this isn’t too removed from normal fog after all: there’s always a clearer bit just above the ground, I’ve been leading you round in circles my young friend – old grog-swiller that I am. It’s all right now though – I’ll be bewildered no more.’ He groped back to his feet and strode smartly up the invisible slope.
A dark, vast shape reared out of the mist before them. Arthur tugged at Thomas’s paw but the midshipmouse laughed grimly. ‘’Tis only a bush, don’t fret.’ The large, leathery leaves of the rhododendron swept over the mice’s heads as they passed it by. Thomas was more confident now. He nodded and spoke quietly to himself as new landmarks sailed out of the vapour. Black railings flew into view and when he saw these he patted them and sighed with relief, ‘Thank the Green for that,’ he said to Arthur, ‘now we can follow these and get to the top in no time – I just hope we’re not too late.’
Keeping the railings on their right the mice travelled on more quickly than before. Arthur could now see the blurred shape of the midshipmouse’s hat bob in front of him and thought his eyes were growing accustomed to the dense fog. There, he could distinctly see Thomas’s ears – the fog was getting thinner. ‘Mr Triton,’ he uttered in surprise.
Thomas spun round and Arthur could see his face clearly. It was very grave. ‘Yes,’ said the midshipmouse quietly, ‘I’ve noticed, the cloud’s not as thick now, and this is where things get real hairy for you an’ me.’
‘But we can see now,’ said Arthur in a brighter voice.
‘Maybe,’ returned the other soberly, ‘but by the same token, we can also
be
seen. The dangers are not yet over, they merely begin. We have crossed the barrier – the fog was just a shield to foil prying eyes, now we shall see the demon hiding inside and maybe we shall wish to be blind once more.’
The path came to an end and they found themselves on top of the hill. Wisps of mist flowed by but it was not as dense as before. The grand structure of the observatory towered up behind the rails, disappearing into the shrouded night – Arthur could even see the stars when he looked up. He let go of Thomas’s paw and rubbed his own together. He suddenly felt very vulnerable and exposed, as though there were countless eyes all around trained fixedly on him, watching and waiting.
Thomas pattered along the bottom of the railing and darted over to the cover of a statue. He beckoned to Arthur to do the same. When they were both crouching at the foot of the sculpture Arthur turned a curious face to the midshipmouse and asked ‘What is it? Have you seen something?’
‘No lad, not seen – listen.’
Arthur cocked an ear towards the observatory and held his breath. Amid the clatter of the nearby frozen oak branches, an evil voice was speaking, no it was chanting. It was very faint but the quality of that sound was unmistakable: it was totally fiendish.
‘Jupiter!’ exclaimed Arthur hoarsely. ‘But where is he and who’s he talking to?’
‘He ain’t talkin’ to no-one, lad,’ replied Thomas in a sour tone. ‘I’ve heard him speak like this afore, when me an’ young Willum spied him and that henchrat of his on the heath yonder. Jupiter is castin’ a spell’
The world was lit suddenly by a brilliant flash of lightning. Thunder rolled and the earth trembled. At last the Lord of the Winter was revealed and the two mice covered their faces in fear. The last traces of mist swept back like a curtain and there he was, the Tyrant of the Dark. He stood astride the observatory dome and cackled. The unquiet spirit of Jupiter was immense, his huge, flickering outline reached high into the night sky. It was still that of a cat, but one of nightmare proportions. Ice fell from his transparent fur and where his gleaming, cruel feet touched a bitter, arctic frost sparked and fizzled, freezing everything it touched. The dome creaked and a long crack shivered round it. The ice which flowed over it was as strong as steel. It gleamed bitterly with the deep blue of the eternal void and icicles larger than stalactites stretched down to the ground. A howling gale tore round Jupiter’s huge head. From his mouth his deadly breath hailed down, full of winter’s hatred for the living. His savage teeth were like swords of polished, pale metal, forged by cruel, satanic fingers for a demon’s armoury, his nostrils dripped with tongues of cold flame and his ears were pressed flat against his spectral skull. But the eyes of the Unbeest were the most terrifying of all – they shone out into the darkness, blazing fires of pure malice. They seared into anything their baleful glance fell upon, withering the trees and cracking the ground. This was where the lightning was born. As Jupiter recited his dread words his eyes dazzled and a stream of fatal energy burst forth, tearing the sky apart and searing into the blackness of space. His snarls were like thunder and his anger a blizzard.
‘Hear me servants of the dark void,’ his voice hissed upwards. ‘I am the Lord of the World. Whilst you cringe, trapped forever in your exile, know that I, Jupiter, have unlocked the gates of Death and trouble once more the unhappy land. I call you to witness now the tumult I bring.’ He raised his mighty arms over his head and laughed wildly. Between his cruel claws something small shimmered with a silver light.
‘The Starglass,’ breathed Thomas fearfully. He and Arthur were very afraid; they could not believe what their eyes were seeing. Jupiter was indeed a creature of nightmares. They felt like two insects brought before a god, but they could not run to save themselves. Everything now seemed hopeless, there was nothing they could do against such a foe – all was lost.
In his huge, brutish claws the Starglass of the Starwife looked like a tiny toy, but it was the only way Jupiter could achieve his goal. If the old squirrel had been there she would have ordered Thomas to destroy it at once. But she was far away and the mice had no idea what was about to take place. They thought that nothing worse could happen – they were never more wrong.
‘Slave of the timeless stars,’ bellowed Jupiter, ‘obey your new master!’ and he called out a sentence of harsh, powerful words from the far reaches of the abyss. ‘Remael sen Hoarmath eis Hagolceald!’ he proclaimed defiantly and he threw back his head with a mad, insane gurgle in his ghostly throat.
The world seemed to hold its breath. All noise ceased and even the wind dropped as Jupiter completed his spell. The hush became deafening as the seconds stretched into minutes. In his claws the Starglass began to pulse with light. It throbbed and vibrated violently until Jupiter himself shook. The dome split further and bricks tumbled to the frozen ground. But Jupiter laughed at the top of his voice and his screeching cackles were heard all over the trembling world.
Down at the base of the statue Arthur fell to the floor and hid his face. The noise was too much and he thought he was going to faint at any moment. Thomas pressed his nails up into his hair, the woollen hat was pushed off his head and he ground his teeth together in agony as the Unbeest’s voice pierced his very soul. Arthur squealed and writhed around in his torment, then with one final groan of despair he fainted and for him the pain came to an end. The midshipmouse looked at his young companion but was unable to help. Shortly he too would pass out, but he summoned his reserves of strength and raised his head back to the black fiend on top of the observatory. The Starglass in Jupiter’s iron grasp spilled out its power. The magic of centuries, stored in the depths, poured forth and a high pitched scream issued from its heart.
‘No,’ gloated Jupiter coldly, ‘you must obey me, I know your secret name and have uttered the charm laid down long ago. The celestial pivots are loosened and I command you to hold the heavens once more.’ The silver light from the Starglass suddenly soared upwards. The Unbeest yelled in his triumph and danced on the dome like a maniac.
Thomas felt Jupiter’s shrieks of joy boom round his head and he cried out in pain. It hurt so much that he started to hallucinate. It seemed as if the very stars swirled and boiled. Thomas shook his head and dragged the paws from his face and stared intently at the heavens. He was not imagining it – the stars were indeed exploding and seething. That was the final horror. The midshipmouse felt all his strength trickle away and he collapsed senseless next to Arthur.
The night sky quivered, the fierce starlight shook and waned. A host of wailing voices filled the air as one by one the stars were extinguished. Their light streamed to the Earth, slivers of brilliant thread shooting out of the black chasm. The slender beams were sucked down to the observatory, down to where Jupiter was waiting, flourishing the Starglass, down into its depths where the brilliance was impossible to look on. As fiery rain they descended and lamentations issued from all creation. The constellations were quenched, snuffed out by the tremendous powers of both Jupiter and the age-old Starglass and all who witnessed it fell to their knees and prayed. The endless, eternal void came flooding in and the world was plunged into darkness.
Not one single star was left in the pitch black sky – all their precious, angry light was trapped in the glass and Jupiter was its master.