The Song of the Winns (19 page)

Alice gulped. “FIG?” she said, trying to sound both innocent and curious.

“Were you looking for fruit?” Alex asked through a mouthful of sandwich.

Scorpio laughed but his voice was serious when he said,
“No, not the fruit—the Gerandan rebels.” He sighed. “Most Gerandans are grateful for our presence; they understand that their country is too poor and backward to survive without Sourian strength and organization. But there are always a few bad apples, I suppose. Anyway, it seems it was just a false alarm.”

Most Gerandans were grateful for the occupation? That couldn't be true—and yet the kind captain sounded as if he really believed it.

As they walked on through the darkness, Alice continued to mull this over, along with the surprising information that the Queen's Guards had been on the lookout for FIG activity. What kind of activity? Was it possible that there was another FIG operation underway in the same region? Yet both Tobias and FIG had mentioned the difficulty of transporting FIG operatives into Gerander secretly, so it was unlikely that there would be other FIG members so close by. But if there wasn't another FIG operation going on, that meant the Sourians had been expecting her and Alex! The captain didn't seem to suspect them, though. . . . Alice sighed. She wondered what her brother had made of it all. It was really very confusing.

Her confusion, she had to admit, was made worse by the fact that she was feeling bone tired. It was hard to believe that only that morning she had woken in Stetson, with no idea that she'd be in Gerander by nightfall.

Her brother, as usual, didn't seem to know the meaning of the word tired. He was chatting happily with
Groodley, whose attitude toward Raz from Tornley had completely changed once Alex started peppering him with questions about Gerandan food.

“Dirt,” Groodley was sniffing now. “It all tastes like dirt. The basic ingredients are all right, mind you—it's just that the Gerandans have no talent for cooking whatsoever. If I were you, I'd try to make sure you get all your food from the soldiers' mess when you're at the palace. The army brings their own cooks, you know.”

At last Captain Scorpio pointed to a dull orange glow emanating from a hilltop and said, “There's our camp,” and they trudged up the short steep slope to where three rows of tents stood.

Flaming torches posted every few meters lit their way as they walked between two rows of large, square white tents, their shadows flickering on the canvas. Mice were lounging around the tent flaps chatting. Some were playing board games and others were polishing their boots. They all saluted Captain Scorpio respectfully as he passed, and he greeted many of the guards with a little joke or comment.

“Watch out for Boggles here,” he said, stopping near a group playing tiddlywinks and placing a hand on the shoulder of a plump gray mouse. “He wins so often I'd swear he has springs on his thumbs.”

“Is that a letter from home, Shirley?” he asked a slender mouse who was reading a letter with a crease of anxiety furrowing her brow. “I hope your husband's broken tail is healing well.”

They went straight to the mess tent for a bowl of tomato soup. “Gerandan tomatoes,” Groodley said, “but Sourian soup, you see?” He smacked his lips. “That's what makes it good.”

Finally, when Alice feared she was about to drop on her feet, Captain Scorpio said, “There's a couple of spare cots in the sick bay—Longnose, why don't you show them the way?”

And at long last she was in bed. Curling onto her side, she asked her brother, “Alex, remember what Captain Scorpio was saying about how they were investigating possible FIG activity? They were expecting activity right where we landed!”

“It's just a coincidence,” Alex said, then yawned loudly. “He obviously didn't suspect us or he would have arrested us. Besides, who could have told them? We didn't even know we'd be landing in that field today until right before we took off, so it's impossible that the Sourians could have known.”

“But what about the dirigible?” Alice asked. “Isn't it strange that it just happened to be flying around in the same patch of sky that we were?”

“Another coincidence.” Alex's voice was growing fainter. “Stop worrying, sis. Everything will be . . .” There was a long pause.

“Alex?” said Alice impatiently. “Everything will be what?”

But her brother was asleep.

As she stepped out of the tent the next morning, Alice could see why the soldiers had chosen this site to make their camp. Their position on the hilltop gave them a good view of the surrounding countryside. The hill seemed to be marooned in a sea of golden wheat, the feathery tips of the grain gleaming in the sun. Lines of tall, dark green cypress trees separated the fields from the road. Beyond the wheat fields were patches of gray-green interspersed with bursts of yellow and the occasional red dot of a farmhouse roof.

“Cornoliana's on the other side of the plain.”

Alice turned, startled, to see Captain Scorpio.

“Once you've had some breakfast, Groodley and Longnose will accompany you to the city gate.”

“Thank you, Captain Scorpio,” said Alice.

“I've got two kids of my own back in Souris,” the captain replied. “Seeing the two of you alone in the world with no one to look out for you . . . It reminds me how lucky I am that my family is safe and well.” Once again Alice was struck by the kindness of the Sourian soldier—until he added, “And it makes me all the more determined to ensure that the Gerandans are kept in their place so no more good men like your father have to die in defense of our country.”

The way he said that Gerandans should be “kept in their place,” it was as if he didn't understand that this was their own country! Was it possible for someone to be good and bad at the same time? Alice wondered.

They had a quick breakfast of fruit and yogurt, then
the four mice set off across the golden plain. It was only a half-hour walk, and Groodley passed the time telling them more horror stories about the dreaded Lester. He told the stories with a certain relish, and it seemed to Alice that he hadn't really forgiven them for being innocent Sourian orphans rather than evil FIG spies.

To stop herself becoming too frightened by his stories, Alice focused instead on her surroundings. As they left the fields of wheat behind, she saw that the patches of gray-green she'd noticed from the guards' camp were olive groves, and the bursts of yellow were sunflowers, their heads tilted toward the sun. As they drew closer to the high castellated stone wall encircling Gerander's capital, they passed through a series of market gardens. On either side of the road were neat squares of earth with rows of lettuce, and beans strung along wire and vines of plump red tomatoes.

Before long they were at the city's east gate.

Longnose saluted the red-coated sentries and said, “Captain Scorpio sends his compliments and asks that you escort these two young mice to the palace gates.”

“They're going to see Lester,” explained Groodley.

The two sentries saluted, and one replied, “Why would anyone want to see Festering Lester?”

Groodley chortled. “Festering Lester—good one.”

“Good luck,” said Longnose to Alex and Alice.

“You'll need it!” added Groodley.

They turned and strode away.

“Well, come on then,” said the guard who'd referred
to Festering Lester. “Better not keep Lester the Pester waiting.” She set off at a brisk pace, calling over her shoulder, “I'll be back soon, Pearce. Try to keep the rampaging hordes from the gates until then.” She sighed. “Guarding that gate is the world's most boring job,” she said as she led Alex and Alice down a narrow street, “in the world's most boring city.”

“It's so old!” Alice exclaimed as they passed rustic stone buildings painted in faded shades of cream and ocher and topped with red-tiled roofs.

“Just goes to show how backward the Gerandans are,” sneered the guard on her left. “In Souris, if a building gets old we knock it down and build a new one.”

But Alice hadn't meant it as an insult. She was enchanted by the tall, rickety buildings that seemed to lean in toward one another as if for support. Even the cobblestones were worn smooth, as if mice had been walking these streets for centuries. It occurred to her that her ancestors might have walked on these very stones.

They wound through a maze of cramped alleyways. At street level there were tiny shops: outside one, woven baskets were tacked to the wall and lined up along the window ledge; another had a collection of terra-cotta pots in all shapes and sizes arranged on either side of the doorway; a third had leather belts and bags strung in the window. A glimpse into a dark workshop revealed a mouse blowing glass through a long tube. And from the worn pillowcases and ragged towels draped on clotheslines high above the streets, it was obvious that the upper levels
of these buildings were living quarters.

They came out into a wider street and Alice started to sense the grandeur of the city. The buildings here were larger and sturdier, with arcades at street level and porticos above the doors. Many had some kind of ornamentation carved in stone above the high arched windows. Then they rounded the corner into an enormous plaza and were confronted with the most beautiful building Alice had ever seen.

“Is this the palace?” she gasped. A pair of bronze doors divided into panels and adorned with various scenes stood almost as high as their old apartment block in Smiggins, with a smaller pair of wooden doors on either side. Above each door was a rose window of stained glass. The building was richly decorated in strips of pink, white, and green marble, which outlined a series of tall arched windows—with more stained glass—and square panels inlaid with intricate terra-cotta patterns. At the very top were a dozen or so niches, in which marble statues were just visible. Set back from the facade Alice could see an enormous red-tiled dome roof.

“The palace? Nah, that's just the cathedral.” The guard looked at it critically. “It's all right, I suppose. But the cathedral in Grouch is much bigger.” And with a sniff she dismissed the breathtaking building.

They hurried across the large square, past the cathedral, and along another elegant avenue. With all this beauty Cornoliana should have been a happy, vibrant place, but the mood on the streets was somber. Mice went about
their business with their heads bowed and shrank from them as they passed. Alice saw a child cry out on seeing them, only to be swiftly hushed by his parents, as if they were afraid to draw attention to themselves. She couldn't help but notice how thin they were, these sad-looking mice. There was no way any of them could be said to look grateful. The only mice who appeared at ease, lingering in the cafés and gazing in shop windows, wore red coats. They seemed strangely unaware of the Gerandans, who moved through the streets of their own capital city like shadows.

At the end of the avenue they crossed a bridge over a shallow, fast-flowing river into another enormous square. An imposing building stretched along the full length of its far side.

“Right,” said the guard. “Cross the square and you're at the palace gates. Give my love to Fester.” She sniggered unkindly then turned on her heel and marched away, the heels of her boots clattering loudly on the cobblestones.

“Ready?” said Alex, when the guard had gone. He sounded unusually nervous.

Alice swallowed. This was where their undercover operation really began. She tightened her grip on the letter in her hand. “Ready.” And she began to walk across the square.