related to Old Town. Hamlyn was a noisy place, full of tight alleyways and rough-and-ready taverns. Such an unruly place showed few signs of riches and wealth, but, unknown to Emiline, her old master held a great influence over it. Hamlyn had been linked to Old Town for many years, serving as a useful outpost and stopping point for trading and naval ships en route to other lands in the Great Sea. As such, its population consisted of pirates, privateers, and old seahands wanting a rest from the sailing life. Old Town paid little attention to its lawlessness and the black-market dealings that took place there, simply because it liked to use Hamlyn for its own means whenever the need arose. The Old Town Guard rarely interfered, and this proved beneficial for all parties, including Isiah Lovelock, who had two Mouse Trading Centers on the island. Without the gaze of the authorities, his empire had full control over its trade in mice.
Emiline stepped off the bed, battling the dizziness that threatened to send her back under its covers. She picked up her bag and mousing belt that lay beside her, opened the creaky wooden door, and found herself in an uneven wood-timbered corridor. She could hear laughter and cheering from the floor below, but her attention was taken by a huge mouse plodding toward her. It was almost waist-height, with thick tree-trunk legs and ears that drooped down to the floor. It looked like an Elephant Mouse, but Emiline had only ever seen one in
The Mousehunter’s Almanac
before. They weren’t your typical everyday mouse, and Emiline was taken aback by how friendly it seemed.
The mouse made a deep, gravelly yelp of a squeak as it approached and stopped in front of her, nudging her leg with its side. Upon its back was a tray carrying a glass of water, and Emiline took it and drank deeply, as she was so thirsty. The mouse squeaked again and wandered off happily. If everywhere outside Old Town was this wonderful, thought Emiline, leaving Lovelock’s mansion was the best thing she’d ever done.
She followed the Elephant Mouse as it lolloped along and eventually reached a narrow staircase that led to where all the noise was coming from. She watched it turn sideways in the staircase so that it wedged itself firmly between walls, and then it clomped downward one front and back leg at a time.
At the bottom of the stairs, the expansive room that emerged before Emiline’s eyes was filled with bearded sailors and laughing women. Tables stretched around the room, with tall candles flickering at their centers, smoke lilting up into the rafters above.
At these tables, people were playing games with their pet mice on their shoulders. Dice and small mouse counters were being thrown on checkered boards, and any scraps of food or coins that landed on the floor were quickly collected by Scavenger Mice, who always found a happy home in Mousing Taverns. Hamlyn’s potent Pipsqueak Beer was swilling over tables and down throats at an alarming rate, and the atmosphere was one of slight chaos. It was an inn — a dark, rowdy, pirate- and mouse-infested watering hole — and Emiline loved it.
“Emiline!” shouted Scratcher, jumping up and running over to her. “You’re awake! It’s been days!”
“Days?” Emiline questioned.
Scratcher took her glass and dragged her to a table where Drewshank, Fenwick, and a number of other sailors were standing and smiling ecstatically. Their clothes were looking a bit battered since the last time she saw them, and some of the men carried cuts and bruises on their face. Drewshank, however, looked as snappy as ever.
“A welcome sight!” said Drewshank happily, beckoning Emiline to take a seat.
“Elbert!” shouted Fenwick to the bar boy, as Emiline sat beside him. “A pint of Pipsqueak for our brave mousekeeper here!”
He placed his hand on her shoulder and smiled cheerfully as he drank from a huge tankard of his own. His mouse sat languidly on the table, and Portly scurried
Emiline stepped off the bed, battling the dizziness that threatened to send her back under its covers. She picked up her bag and mousing belt that lay beside her, opened the creaky wooden door, and found herself in an uneven wood-timbered corridor. She could hear laughter and cheering from the floor below, but her attention was taken by a huge mouse plodding toward her. It was almost waist-height, with thick tree-trunk legs and ears that drooped down to the floor. It looked like an Elephant Mouse, but Emiline had only ever seen one in
The Mousehunter’s Almanac
before. They weren’t your typical everyday mouse, and Emiline was taken aback by how friendly it seemed.
The mouse made a deep, gravelly yelp of a squeak as it approached and stopped in front of her, nudging her leg with its side. Upon its back was a tray carrying a glass of water, and Emiline took it and drank deeply, as she was so thirsty. The mouse squeaked again and wandered off happily. If everywhere outside Old Town was this wonderful, thought Emiline, leaving Lovelock’s mansion was the best thing she’d ever done.
She followed the Elephant Mouse as it lolloped along and eventually reached a narrow staircase that led to where all the noise was coming from. She watched it turn sideways in the staircase so that it wedged itself firmly between walls, and then it clomped downward one front and back leg at a time.
At the bottom of the stairs, the expansive room that emerged before Emiline’s eyes was filled with bearded sailors and laughing women. Tables stretched around the room, with tall candles flickering at their centers, smoke lilting up into the rafters above.
At these tables, people were playing games with their pet mice on their shoulders. Dice and small mouse counters were being thrown on checkered boards, and any scraps of food or coins that landed on the floor were quickly collected by Scavenger Mice, who always found a happy home in Mousing Taverns. Hamlyn’s potent Pipsqueak Beer was swilling over tables and down throats at an alarming rate, and the atmosphere was one of slight chaos. It was an inn — a dark, rowdy, pirate- and mouse-infested watering hole — and Emiline loved it.
“Emiline!” shouted Scratcher, jumping up and running over to her. “You’re awake! It’s been days!”
“Days?” Emiline questioned.
Scratcher took her glass and dragged her to a table where Drewshank, Fenwick, and a number of other sailors were standing and smiling ecstatically. Their clothes were looking a bit battered since the last time she saw them, and some of the men carried cuts and bruises on their face. Drewshank, however, looked as snappy as ever.
“A welcome sight!” said Drewshank happily, beckoning Emiline to take a seat.
“Elbert!” shouted Fenwick to the bar boy, as Emiline sat beside him. “A pint of Pipsqueak for our brave mousekeeper here!”
He placed his hand on her shoulder and smiled cheerfully as he drank from a huge tankard of his own. His mouse sat languidly on the table, and Portly scurried
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