Read Online The Deptford Mice 3: The Final Reckoning by Robin Jarvis - Free Book Online
Authors: Robin Jarvis
Tags: Fiction
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began to wriggle along. Marty heaved a sigh of resignation and followed.
Piccadilly crawled over heaps of debris until he made it to the end of the pipe and his face was lit from underneath by lurid torchlight.
The meeting chamber was below him, he was looking out from high up in one of its walls. He was partially hidden from view by the thick cables which disappeared into the lofty ceiling. Piccadilly gazed down at the rat assembly in wonder and dread. He had never dreamt that there could be so many rats in all London. He shuddered and edged back into the pipe a little.
‘What is it?’ asked Marty catching up with him and craning his neck to peer over his shoulder. ‘Oh my!’ he exclaimed on seeing the chamber and its occupants. He felt his knees turn to water and he looked fearfully at Piccadilly.
‘Don’t worry,’ said his friend calmly, ‘they won’t see us up here, they’ll all be too busy looking at Old Stumpy.’
A commotion below made the mice look down again. The sea of rats near the curtain was parted as Smiff led their leader in.
‘Make way, make way,’ he yelled ploughing through the throng.
Smiff stepped onto the platform and wiped his running nose on his arm. ‘Brother rats,’ he called out proudly. ‘I ’as the ’onour to introduce to you our great leader, known to some of us lads as Old Stumpy!’ There was a tremendous roar as the rats cheered and banged their tails with approval.
Old Stumpy came onto the stage; somewhere in the crowd Barker cringed and high above, watching from the pipe, Piccadilly choked back a cry of shock.
Old Stumpy was an ugly piebald rat. He had a ring through one ear and something glittery hung round his neck. His tail was just a stump, hence his nickname. Piccadilly recognized him at once.
‘Morgan!’ he spat the name contemptuously.
Here was Jupiter’s old lieutenant – that master of slyness whom everyone had presumed had perished when his foul master’s tail had swept him into the sewer water. Piccadilly’s face hardened; he remembered that it was Morgan who had given his friend Albert Brown to Jupiter.
‘Do you know him?’ asked Marty in surprise.
‘I once swore I’d kill him,’ said Piccadilly. ‘I thought fate had cheated me of that but now . . . who knows?’ Marty saw the grim look on his friend’s face and was alarmed. He had never seen Piccadilly like this before and it frightened him.
Down on the platform Morgan greeted his subjects. He waddled across the stage rubbing his claws together.
‘Lads,’ he shouted, ‘how pleased I be to see all yer pug ugly faces.’ The rats cheered and warmed to him immediately. Morgan stretched his arms open wide and began his speech.
‘You be here because of blood,’ he screamed. You have none! Where be the hot, burning blood of the ravenous rat? It don’t run in your veins – I should know, I comes from Deptford.’ The crowd murmured admiringly. Everyone had heard of the rats of Deptford and how vicious they were. ‘When I come ’ere,’ Morgan continued, ‘I couldn’t believe me eyes. There you were, you miserable vermin, fawning and scraping – afraid of mice and yer own shadders! It made me honk I were so disgusted.’
He pointed to Smiff and Kelly and a few other fierce-looking brutes. ‘See what can be done if’n you forget yer lily-livered ways and follow me. Turn to the path of Tooth an’ Claw. Let blood flow in the Underground.’
The crowd began to buzz. Some of the rats nodded eagerly and opened their slavering jaws. Morgan danced round the platform whipping his audience into a frenzy.
‘Why should us stay away from the puny mouse halls? What right have they got to the best pickin’s? Rats are strong – we are mighty. Our teeth bite an’ tear, we ’ave claws to slash and split open. Hear me you rats, have yer never ’ad the blood craze? Have yer eyeballs never burned with hate for everything save yerselves? Have yer never slaughtered and gorged on
Piccadilly crawled over heaps of debris until he made it to the end of the pipe and his face was lit from underneath by lurid torchlight.
The meeting chamber was below him, he was looking out from high up in one of its walls. He was partially hidden from view by the thick cables which disappeared into the lofty ceiling. Piccadilly gazed down at the rat assembly in wonder and dread. He had never dreamt that there could be so many rats in all London. He shuddered and edged back into the pipe a little.
‘What is it?’ asked Marty catching up with him and craning his neck to peer over his shoulder. ‘Oh my!’ he exclaimed on seeing the chamber and its occupants. He felt his knees turn to water and he looked fearfully at Piccadilly.
‘Don’t worry,’ said his friend calmly, ‘they won’t see us up here, they’ll all be too busy looking at Old Stumpy.’
A commotion below made the mice look down again. The sea of rats near the curtain was parted as Smiff led their leader in.
‘Make way, make way,’ he yelled ploughing through the throng.
Smiff stepped onto the platform and wiped his running nose on his arm. ‘Brother rats,’ he called out proudly. ‘I ’as the ’onour to introduce to you our great leader, known to some of us lads as Old Stumpy!’ There was a tremendous roar as the rats cheered and banged their tails with approval.
Old Stumpy came onto the stage; somewhere in the crowd Barker cringed and high above, watching from the pipe, Piccadilly choked back a cry of shock.
Old Stumpy was an ugly piebald rat. He had a ring through one ear and something glittery hung round his neck. His tail was just a stump, hence his nickname. Piccadilly recognized him at once.
‘Morgan!’ he spat the name contemptuously.
Here was Jupiter’s old lieutenant – that master of slyness whom everyone had presumed had perished when his foul master’s tail had swept him into the sewer water. Piccadilly’s face hardened; he remembered that it was Morgan who had given his friend Albert Brown to Jupiter.
‘Do you know him?’ asked Marty in surprise.
‘I once swore I’d kill him,’ said Piccadilly. ‘I thought fate had cheated me of that but now . . . who knows?’ Marty saw the grim look on his friend’s face and was alarmed. He had never seen Piccadilly like this before and it frightened him.
Down on the platform Morgan greeted his subjects. He waddled across the stage rubbing his claws together.
‘Lads,’ he shouted, ‘how pleased I be to see all yer pug ugly faces.’ The rats cheered and warmed to him immediately. Morgan stretched his arms open wide and began his speech.
‘You be here because of blood,’ he screamed. You have none! Where be the hot, burning blood of the ravenous rat? It don’t run in your veins – I should know, I comes from Deptford.’ The crowd murmured admiringly. Everyone had heard of the rats of Deptford and how vicious they were. ‘When I come ’ere,’ Morgan continued, ‘I couldn’t believe me eyes. There you were, you miserable vermin, fawning and scraping – afraid of mice and yer own shadders! It made me honk I were so disgusted.’
He pointed to Smiff and Kelly and a few other fierce-looking brutes. ‘See what can be done if’n you forget yer lily-livered ways and follow me. Turn to the path of Tooth an’ Claw. Let blood flow in the Underground.’
The crowd began to buzz. Some of the rats nodded eagerly and opened their slavering jaws. Morgan danced round the platform whipping his audience into a frenzy.
‘Why should us stay away from the puny mouse halls? What right have they got to the best pickin’s? Rats are strong – we are mighty. Our teeth bite an’ tear, we ’ave claws to slash and split open. Hear me you rats, have yer never ’ad the blood craze? Have yer eyeballs never burned with hate for everything save yerselves? Have yer never slaughtered and gorged on
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