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the piece of paper in his fist. ‘Of all the dirty double-crossing …’ He ran a hand over his face then looked at Alistair and Tibby Rose. ‘The president of Shetlock struck a secret deal with the Sourians,’ he growled.
    â€˜That’s terrible,’ Tibby gasped.
    â€˜It gets worse,’ Feast told her. He was breathing heavily, as if struggling to control his rage.
    â€˜How could it be worse?’ said Alistair.
    It was Slippers who answered him, her eyes blazing as she announced: ‘The Queen’s Guards were waiting. Zanzibar has been recaptured!’

8

Snake Mouse
    â€˜Alex!’ Alice shrieked at the spot where her brother had disappeared.
    The water was still now, and Alice wondered whether it was possible she had imagined that glimpse of Alex’s nose, that horrible gurgle.
    But the desperation in Solomon’s voice as he said, ‘Alice, we need to find a long stick – now ,’ told her she hadn’t. Solomon was rummaging in the rotting wood and leaf litter, but despite his exhortations Alice was frozen near the spot where her brother had been. ‘Solomon, I can’t see him.’ Her voice quavered, her throat thick with tears. She could feel the panic rising in her chest. ‘Please,’ she begged, ‘do something. Hurry! ’
    â€˜Here.’ Solomon was at her side holding a long slender branch, still green, which he carefully extended into the quicksand. He moved it carefully around, then stopped. ‘There he is,’ he muttered to himself, then urged, ‘grabthe stick, Alex. Come on … That’s it – he’s got it!’ As Solomon began to pull the stick out of the water, a strange swamp monster emerged.
    Alex lay on the muddy ground, alternately drawing long, ragged breaths and spitting sand from his mouth. His white fur was coated in thick brown mud.
    Alice took off her rucksack and dug inside it for her water bottle. She dropped to her knees beside her brother and handed it to him.
    He rinsed out his mouth then took several long swigs. ‘Thanks, sis,’ he said hoarsely, then looked up at Solomon. ‘And thank you for saving me.’
    â€˜Don’t mention it,’ said Solomon. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for losing the future king of Gerander, do I?’
    Alex managed a weak laugh.
    â€˜Quicksand,’ Solomon said, shaking his head ruefully. ‘And I thought we had enough to worry about with the snakes.’
    As he spoke Alice glanced at the trees pressing in around them. Were those thick green vines around the trunks moving? Was that fallen branch lying across the path really lying in wait for them to pass? The whole swamp seemed to be alive, undulating.
    â€˜Let’s go,’ she suggested nervously.
    â€˜Stay close to me,’ Solomon told them. ‘I’ll prod the ground ahead of me for snakes and quicksand, so try to walk where I walk.’
    They set off again, Solomon in front testing the ground with his stick, a subdued Alex behind him, and Alice bringing up the rear.
    They walked in this way for some hours. The forest grew darker and denser, the trickle of green light from above grew dim and, finally, when they could barely make out the path, Solomon said, ‘We’d better find a place to camp for the night.’
    A few minutes later, he stopped. ‘This poor excuse for a clearing will have to do.’ He took off his rucksack and Alex and Alice did the same, looking around.
    Solomon was right: it was a poor excuse for a clearing. The patch of marshy ground was barely wide enough for three mice to lie down; the encroaching vines were kept at bay by a fallen tree trunk.
    The idea of passing the night in this dreadful place filled Alice with horror – the only thing more horrible, she decided, would be stumbling through the swamp in the dark, unable to see where you were putting your feet: in quicksand; in a smelly, stagnant puddle; in