Book 3

Jack be Nimble

October 1898

The Rattish Museum, London

With the group all collected, they had returned to London. Deep beneath the city, in the society rats and mice had built in the complex array of sewer tunnels and storm drains, was the Rattish Museum, where the subjects of Queen Mousetoria went to see such iconic items as the armour worn by the Greek hero Meridarpax. Deep beneath that was the forgotten cellar where D'Angermouse had arranged to meet them.

With one thing and another, Tanya had found herself walking down the corridor to that cellar alongside him, while the others, presumably, were already there.

"So what do you make of our League, Miss Mousekewitz?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. Rikki-tikki-tavi is ... well, I don't know what the lifespan of a mongoose is, but I'm guessing he's seen most of it since he fought Nag and Nagaina. He seems excited at the thought of another adventure, but I don't know how much of that is denial. He was in a real depressed state when I found him. It could be he's looking for a suicide run."

"The Sea Rat is quite old as well," D'Angermouse pointed out.

"Sure, but he hasn't spent so much time in a funk like Rikki-tikki has. Part of Rikki-tikki is always going to be in that bungalow. The Sea Rat doesn't seem to have any strong connection to anywhere." She frowned, "That kind of worries me as well. I mean, I joined you to protect my parents and Feivel back home. If he doesn't have a sense of place, does he have anything to fight for?"

"Interesting. And Mr Hare?"

"Oh, the big guy's crazy. If we can keep the crazy pointed at the bad guys, whoever they are, I'm sure we'll be fine."

"Somewhat flippantly put, but accurate. What about our invisible mouse?"

"Hawthorn? He strikes me as the most well-adjusted person here, present company included. Although given that he is here, I could be wrong."

D'Angermouse might have replied to that, but they reached the door to the meeting room. The others were all present. Tanya took a seat as he stood at the front, like a teacher preparing to lecture the class. Behind him, she noticed, was a portrait of the Four Mouseketeers: Amouse, Aramouse, Porterhouse and D'Artagmouse. She wondered if they had been members of a previous incarnation of the League.

"Now you are all here, I can explain the situation. There is a cat living in Deptford whom we believe to be very dangerous."

"Do you mean more dangerous than just being a cat?" Hawthorn asked ironically.

D'Angermouse scowled at the interruption. "Yes, I do. As far as we can tell, he's immortal. He's believed to have belonged to an alchemist in the 17th century, and developed a cult following among the rats of the borough. But until now he seemed relatively harmless; he never had enough power to extend his reach."

"So what changed?" asked Tanya.

"He acquired a portion of auroral gold. Mr Hare, I believe you can tell us more about this?"

Marchmont, who seemed relatively lucid for the moment, although clearly on edge due to being underground again, nodded. "It's an old legend in our family, older even than the Long Patrol. As you may know, hares and rabbits are associated with the Moon by humans. Apparently, even humans can be right about things sometimes, because the legend says a hare was the goddess of the Moon's servant.

"The goddess loved the god of the Sun, who we lagomorphs call Lord Frith. And she sent her servant, Jack, to give Lord Frith a token of her esteem which was made from gold taken from the dawn sky. He had many adventures on his travels, but when he reached Lord Frith, he found he had lost the jewel. And as far as I know it's been lost ever since."

"Until now," said D'Angermouse.

Rikki-tikki chittered impatiently, "All very fascinating, but where's the danger? What makes this 'auroral gold' such a threat?"

Marchmont shrugged, "I've no idea. As far as I'm aware, that's all the story tells."

"It's not dangerous on its own," ' D'Angermouse explained, "For the most part, it's just like any other gold. Shiny, inedible, humans seem to be fascinated by the stuff. But it has some interesting alchemical properties that ordinary gold does not."

Tanya nodded, "Okay. And this Deptford cat belonged to an alchemist."

"Precisely, Miss Mouskewitz. Our resident boffin at Rodent Intelligence, Gizmo Hackwrench, has a few ideas as to what that might mean, none of them good."

"He's the fella that built the engine onto the Vermin," put in the Sea Rat, "He knows a thing or two."

A cream-furred mouse in spectacles and a labcoat emerged from a door opposite the one Tanya and D'Angermouse had entered.

"Thank you, Mr Sea Rat," he murmured. "As far as I can make out the most obvious use for the auroral gold would be a flying machine. But perhaps that's just my own interests talking."

"A flying machine?" the Sea Rat replied incredulously.

"Yes, the principles are simple enough; we all know about dirigibles and I've been experimenting with gliders myself, although so far I've failed to produce powered flight. Weight of the engines, you know, even at our scale. But the auroral gold could certainly do it if treated with the correct reagents. What the alchemists would call the law of contagion; it wants to return to the dawn sky, you see?"

Rikki-tikki frowned, "All sounds a bit mystical to me." he tutted.

"Well of course it does, it's alchemy. But there's nothing unscientific about an attraction between two objects, even if we don't yet fully understand the forces involved." He adjusted his spectacles in thought. "However, 'the dawn' is a lot further away than the alchemists believed. I suspect that, suitably treated and left to its own devices, the gold would actually settle in the magnetic field of the atmosphere, with the force of attraction coming from the aurora borealis."

"Which, interesting though it may be, is irrelevant since it's unlikely the Alchemist's Cat is going to leave it to its own devices," D'Angermouse added smoothly but with some irony, trying to keep the lab-mouse on the point.

"Oh, indeed not!" exclaimed Hackwrench. "I suspect he's going to harness that power to create a flying machine! A machine that could ... well, I can't imagine what it might do!"

"Unfortunately, I can," said Hawthorn. "Dropping things on people he doesn't like, for a start. Maybe rocks, maybe some ghastly alchemical concoction."

"Indeed," said D'Angermouse, "And 'people the Alchemist's Cat doesn't like' covers just about everyone, his own followers decidedly included."