The Secret of Zanzibar: Gerander Trilogy Book 3

Dedication

For Cousin Andrew and Cousin Frank

Contents

Cover

Dedication

Map

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also in the Gerander Trilogy

Copyright

Map

1

FIG’s last chance

‘What was that?’ The fur on the back of Alistair’s neck prickled as he stared at the path below. ‘Tibby, did you see something move?’ he whispered. He tensed, ready to spring from the rock on which he was sitting and race back to the camp to sound the alarm.

There was a pause, during which Alistair was aware of the faint rush of the river at the bottom of the narrow gorge and the rattle of dry leaves in a murmur of breeze.

Tibby Rose, who was perched on a rock nearby, replied in a low voice, ‘No. Maybe it was the wind.’

The two mice were high up on a cliff, watching a path that climbed the steep-sided gorge. They had seen no movement on the trail since Slippers Pink and Feast Thompson had arrived earlier that afternoon.

Alistair scanned their surrounds, his gaze travelling from the dusty path to the sheer rocks that plunged all the way down to the thin ribbon of river. He had come such a long way since the first time he and Tibby Rose sat by a river together, he reflected. Back then, they had been planning how to get Alistair home to Shetlock from Souris, with no idea of how he had got to Souris in the first place – and no idea of the adventures and dangers that lay ahead. Their journey down that river had led to another when they met Timmy the Winns, who had sung them a song about Gerander’s great river. Soon after, Alistair and Tibby learned that they themselves were Gerandan, and not long after that they found themselves travelling to the Winns on a secret mission. They had been accompanied by Slippers Pink and Feast Thompson, two agents of FIG, an underground resistance group fighting to free Gerander from Sourian occupation. It was a fight they were currently losing …

‘How did Slippers and Feast seem to you?’ Alistair asked his friend. ‘I mean, they were kind of serious, don’t you think? Like they’d had some bad news.’

Tibby shook her head. ‘I don’t see how things could get worse,’ she said. ‘Queen Eugenia is planning to kill every member of your family because you’re the heirs to the Gerandan throne and she wants it for herself.’

On this depressing note Alistair rested his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand and focused on the path once more. But the sun was sinking below the immense rock wall on the other side of the gorge, throwing everything into shadow and making it increasingly hard to see.

Alistair sighed and shifted positions to ease a cramp in his leg. It wasn’t just the shadows that were playing tricks on his eyes, he knew; fatigue was making his vision blur. Ever since the FIG headquarters in Stetson had been compromised by the discovery that Tobias, FIG’s former chief of operations, had betrayed them to the Sourians, they had been on the move. They had camped the first night in the hills above Stetson and a couple of nights in the foothills of Mount Sharpnest. Sometimes they didn’t camp at all, but walked through the night, through forests and fields, avoiding the roads. They had been four nights now in the Sheldon Gorge, but they’d have to leave soon. It was dangerous to stay in any one place too long.

For the first time Alistair had a sense of how hard the life of a full-time FIG operative was. Always on the move, never certain of where one would sleep that night, never sure if enemies were lurking around the next corner …

Suddenly all Alistair’s senses were thrown into high alert at an unexpected sound. Footsteps crunching on pebbles?

‘Tibby,’ he began, his pulse racing. ‘Did you …?’

‘I heard it,’ she breathed. Glancing over, Alistair saw that she was peering around in the fading light. ‘But it seemed to be coming from over –’

Alistair cried out as something – or someone – seized his tail and pulled. Spinning around, he lashed out automatically, only to hear a voice say indignantly, ‘Hey, watch where you’re aiming that fist.’

Alistair’s body sagged in relief as he realised that the footsteps he’d heard belonged to his brother and sister. ‘You scared the life out of me,’ he told his brother.

‘You really shouldn’t do that, Alex,’ Alice said. ‘I wouldn’t blame Alistair if he punched you anyway.’

Alex ignored his sister. ‘Dad and Uncle Ebenezer are taking next watch. They’re on their way now.’

He had no sooner spoken than the stout figure of the triplets’ uncle appeared around the edge of a giant boulder. The lean white figure of their father, Rebus, was close behind.

‘Alex, you didn’t sneak up on them, did you?’ scolded Uncle Ebenezer. ‘You really shouldn’t be playing silly games at a time like this.’

Alex hung his head guiltily, but Alistair could see that he was trying to suppress a smile. In all the years that the triplets had lived with their uncle and Aunt Beezer while their parents were in a Gerandan prison, their warm-hearted uncle had never managed to sound actually cross.

‘There’s nothing else to do around here,’ Alex muttered.

‘That’s not true,’ Ebenezer objected. ‘I have a very important job for you. I need you to find some wild thyme to add flavour to tonight’s vegetable stew.’

Alex’s eyes lit up, as they always did at the mention of food. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he promised.

‘Try to keep the noise down when you get back to camp, though, kids,’ Rebus warned them. ‘Your mother is under the rock ledge, trying to get some sleep.’

Alistair felt a pang of concern at his father’s words. Emmeline was still weak from her years in the Sourians’ notorious prison on Atticus Island, and being on the move all the time was not helping her to regain her strength.

‘That reminds me, did I ever tell you about the time I found a beautifully pungent Gorgonzola on a rock ledge?’ asked Uncle Ebenezer.

‘I think so,’ said Alice. ‘Is that the time when Dad fainted because he was scared of heights and you had to abseil down from the ledge carrying him over your shoulder?’

‘Leaving the Gorgonzola behind,’ Alex remembered, looking bereft at the idea.

‘Me, scared of heights?’ Rebus hooted. ‘Not likely. The way I remember it, dear brother, I had to carry you home after you fainted. Not that I’d have a hope of lifting you these days.’ He poked his brother’s impressive belly.

Uncle Ebenezer patted his stomach. ‘It’s true I’ve never let a Gorgonzola get away since,’ he conceded with a chuckle.

The two brothers, still bickering good-naturedly over the true story of the Gorgonzola on the ledge, settled on the rocks Alistair and Tibby had just vacated.

The four young mice set off for the camp hidden in the bushes nearby. They rounded the boulder then one by one squeezed through a narrow crevasse. Feeling the cold rough stone scraping his sides, Alistair didn’t know by what miracle Ebenezer was able to pass through the chasm.

Once they had pushed through the green-grey scrub and entered the clearing where they were camped, Alistair’s eyes quickly sought out his mother. As Rebus had said, she was lying under the shelter of the rock ledge, one hand flung over her eyes. Aunt Beezer sat beside her. On the other side of the clearing, Zanzibar was talking softly with Slippers Pink and Feast Thompson. The two FIG operatives were listening intently to the golden mouse who was the rightful king of Gerander.

‘Looks serious,’ Alice murmured, following Alistair’s gaze.

‘We’d better not disturb them,’ Alistair agreed. He collapsed onto the ground with a groan and Tibby Rose slumped beside him, rubbing her eyes.

‘Hey, what are you two doing?’ said Alex. ‘Get up. We have to find some thyme.’

‘Can’t you find it yourself?’ Alistair objected. ‘Tibby and I have been on watch for the last couple of hours. We’re tired.’

‘You heard what Uncle Ebenezer said, Alistair,’ Alex told him. ‘We need the thyme to flavour the stew.’

‘I heard Uncle Ebenezer telling you to find it,’ Alistair pointed out.

‘But Tibby’s the best at finding herbs,’ said Alex. ‘And you don’t want a bland dinner, do you? You’ll come with me, won’t you, Tib?’

Tibby sighed. ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

Alice, Alistair and Tibby Rose had taken to calling Alex ‘Your Highness’ since their discovery that the triplets were heirs to the Gerandan throne. Alex had been quick to point out that he was the most likely of the three of them to become king.

‘I’m the oldest, right?’ Alex had said. ‘Think about it: if Zanzibar, Mum and Timmy the Winns should die, then I’ll be the king of Gerander. And they’re all much older than me, so chances are they will die before me, and I will be king. So you’d better get used to it.’

‘You’re not king yet,’ Alice reminded her brother now, helping a yawning Tibby to her feet. ‘And there’s a lot more to being a king than ordering people around. You have to think about what your subjects need.’

‘I know that,’ said Alex, sounding off ended. ‘And I’ve got lots of great ideas.’

‘Oh really?’ said Alice as she and Alex followed Tibby towards a patch of scrub at the edge of the clearing. ‘Like what?’

‘The first thing I’d do is change the name of Tuesday to Cheeseday.’

Alice’s incredulous voice, rising above Tibby’s smothered laugh, floated back to where Alistair still lay on the ground, his hands behind his head. ‘Cheeseday?’

‘Yeah: Monday, Cheeseday, Wednesday … Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?’

Alice’s response to this question was lost as they moved further from the clearing, their voices becoming murmurs.

Alistair tilted his head towards the adults. Zanzibar was still talking and the others were leaning forward. Alistair tried to ignore the twinge of impatience he felt. He knew that their next step needed careful planning. Somehow, they had to stop the Sourians from invading Shetlock, stop Queen Eugenia from taking over Cornoliana, the capital of Gerander, and declaring it the capital of Greater Gerander. Slippers and Feast were constantly coming and going, carrying messages, rendezvousing with other FIG operatives. But it seemed to Alistair that all FIG members were doing at the moment was running for their lives. The more time passed without any hint of action, the more frustrated he felt. The Sourian army was massing on the border of Gerander even at this minute. The Sourian navy was preparing to cross the Sourian Sea to Shetlock. If they didn’t act soon, it would be too late!

His thoughts were interrupted by his sister’s voice as she, Alex and Tibby Rose re-entered the clearing. ‘And I suppose when you’re king we’ll all have poison soup for dinner every Cheeseday?’ Alice was saying.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Alex snapped. ‘We’ll eat cheese on Cheeseday. And how was I supposed to know that was a poisonous weed and not wild thyme? They look identical, don’t they, Tibby?’

‘They look completely different, Tibby, don’t they?’ Alice retorted.

Alistair stood up and brushed the dirt from his fur. ‘Let’s get the stew started,’ he suggested, saving Tibby from answering.

‘Good idea,’ she said, shooting him a grateful look.

By the time Rebus and Ebenezer had returned to the camp, the stew was bubbling away over a small fire in the centre of the clearing. Emmeline had woken from her nap and the other adults had abandoned their discussion, drawn to the aroma wafting from the pot.

‘Who’s got next watch?’ Ebenezer asked as he strode towards the group around the fire, nose twitching appreciatively. ‘It’s Alex and Alice, isn’t it?’

‘I haven’t had any stew yet,’ Alex began to protest, but he was interrupted by Zanzibar.

‘It’s okay, Alex. Stay and have your dinner. We’ll risk not having a watch for a little while.’ He glanced at Slippers Pink, who had taken over as FIG’s chief of operations. ‘We’ve got some news to discuss with you all.’

Feast Thompson began to ladle generous portions of the stew into bowls and Alistair passed them around.

Zanzibar set his bowl aside and cleared his throat. ‘Slippers, why don’t you tell everyone what you and Feast learned today?’

Slippers gazed down at her long black boots for a moment, then looked up. ‘Today Feast and I had word from a FIG member who has made a contact within Queen Eugenia’s palace. The Queen is preparing to leave Grouch in ten days’ time. Accompanied by a special regiment of guards, she will travel west, cross the Gerandan border and march to Cornoliana.’

‘As the Queen is crossing the Gerandan border,’ Feast continued, ‘thousands of Sourian troops that have been massing all the way along the border will pour into Gerander, and the Sourian navy will sail on Shetlock.’

‘The Sourians anticipate that Queen Eugenia will reach the Gerandan capital within three days of leaving Grouch. There she will claim the throne of Cornolius and declare Cornoliana the capital of Greater Gerander and herself the Queen of all three lands. So within two weeks,’ Slippers finished, ‘Gerander, and Shetlock, too, will be lost forever.’

‘Unless we stop it,’ Feast added.

2

Assignments

Alistair felt his heart drop to his feet. ‘But what can we do?’ he said. ‘The Sourians have all those troops and weapons. They’ve got all the power and we’ve got nothing.’

‘That’s not quite true, Alistair,’ his mother said softly. ‘We have right on our side. And I truly believe that most mice are essentially good. If we can persuade them of the justness of our cause, persuade them to act, we will prevail.’

‘Gerandans have been held captive by fear and intimidation,’ Zanzibar said. ‘We need to inspire them to overthrow the Sourian leadership, but we want to avoid violence at all costs. The new Gerander must be born out of peace, not bloodshed.’

‘But how is that possible?’ Alex objected. ‘How can we win against troops and weapons without using violence ourselves?’

For a moment nobody spoke, and the only sound was of the crackling fire. Then Aunt Beezer cleared her throat. ‘There is a long tradition throughout history of peaceful revolutions,’ she mused. ‘Of passive resistance and non-violent protests. Of ordinary mice standing up to their oppressors and defeating them through sheer force of numbers.’

‘A peaceful revolution is exactly the kind of thing I have in mind,’ Zanzibar agreed. ‘What do you think, Slippers?’

Alistair felt a stirring of hope as Slippers nodded thoughtfully.

‘It could work, couldn’t it?’ she said. ‘But it won’t be easy. We’ve only got ten days to convince all of Gerander to take to the streets and rally against their occupiers.’

‘Imagine it,’ said Emmeline, her eyes shining. ‘Thousands of Gerandans filling the streets of Cornoliana, so that when Queen Eugenia reaches the city gates she’ll be unable to enter.’

Alistair, though he had never been to Cornoliana, felt a shiver of excitement at the image.

‘Given the urgency,’ said Feast Thompson, ‘let’s talk practicalities. How do we do it?’

Rebus, who had been stroking his long whiskers quietly as he listened to the discussion, spoke up. ‘Communication,’ he said. ‘That’s the key. We need to spread the message as far and wide as possible.’

‘We’ve got an advantage there,’ Feast responded. ‘Now that we’ve discovered the secret paths, we have a way to travel through Gerander and spread the word about Zanzibar’s return and the campaign to resist the Sourian occupiers. Of course, we’ll also need FIG members in Cornoliana itself to organise the protest there.’

‘Perhaps we need to think beyond Gerander, too,’ Slippers suggested. ‘It seems to me that one of FIG’s strengths has always been that it unites mice from different nations. Queen Eugenia’s plan affects Gerander, Souris and Shetlock. It will take mice from all three countries standing shoulder to shoulder to stop the Sourian troops – and Queen Eugenia’s ability to rule.’

‘You mean we should get Sourians to protest too?’ Alistair asked. Surely that was impossible!

But Zanzibar was nodding. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘And that’s where our greatest difficulty lies. We need to convince the Sourian population that their occupation of Gerander is wrong – that they should stand up to Queen Eugenia in support of Gerandan independence. But that means overturning decades of propaganda.’

Silence fell across the group. Alistair was sure that the others were thinking the same as him: persuading the citizens of Souris to support the liberation of Gerander was a hopeless cause. He remembered his own journey through Souris, back when he had first met Tibby Rose. The fact of their ginger fur alone had provoked hatred. Spies, they had been called. And rebels. They had tried to explain that they weren’t, but no one would listen.

‘Getting the Sourians to listen will be the problem,’ he said aloud. ‘Won’t it, Tibby?’ The words reminded him of something he’d read. Where? That’s right, in The Trumpet of the Swan, a book by one of his favourite authors, E.B. White. And he quoted: ‘I assure you that you can pick up more information when you are listening than when you are talking.’ Then he added, ‘I read that in a book. If you ask me, it should say that you pick up more information when you are listening or reading. Maybe we should get the Sourians to read the Gerandans’ side of the story?’

‘I think I have an idea,’ Tibby said hesitantly.

‘What is it, Tibby Rose?’ Zanzibar turned his warm gaze on her.

‘Granville, my mother’s godfather in Souris, is a newspaper editor. What if I could convince him to help us write a pamphlet explaining the truth to Sourians? He’d know how to print it and distribute it, too.’

Zanzibar looked interested. ‘I wonder … It’s a good thought, but what if he is loyal to the Queen? He could betray us.’

‘You think my mother’s godfather would betray me?’ Tibby looked shocked.

‘My own cousin betrayed me, Tibby,’ Zanzibar reminded her gently.

Tibby hung her head. Then she looked up again. ‘He is a friend of my grandfather’s. I could ask Grandpa Nelson to sound him out.’

Zanzibar turned to FIG’s chief of operations. ‘Slippers?’

Slippers tilted her head to one side, weighing up the options. ‘I think it’s worth a shot,’ she decided. ‘Feast and I can take Tibby to Templeton.’

Alistair had hoped never to return to Souris. But he knew he had to support his friend. ‘I’d like to go too.’

Emmeline looked at Zanzibar. ‘Do you think it’s safe?’

The golden mouse’s expression was grave as he said, ‘No. But we are none of us safe. And if we don’t succeed now, we never will be.’

‘What about us?’ demanded Alex. ‘If Alistair and Tibby get to go to Souris, there’s got to be something dangerous me and Alice can do.’

Alice glared at her brother. ‘Put a sock in it,’ she said. ‘When will you grow up and learn that there’s nothing cool about danger?’

‘I’m not saying that danger is cool,’ Alex argued. ‘I just mean that we can’t leave all the risks to others. I am the future king, after all.’

‘Sorry,’ said Alice. ‘I mean, put a sock in it, Your Highness.’

‘Actually, there is something dangerous you two can do, if you’re willing,’ said Slippers. ‘In fact, it was something Solomon Honker said that’s given me the idea.’

‘You spoke to Solomon?’ Alice’s face lit up at the mention of the FIG secret agent.

Slippers nodded once. ‘We were talking about how well you carried out your mission in Gerander. He seems to think you made some good contacts while you were undercover at the palace in Cornoliana.’

Alice looked puzzled. ‘Good contacts?’

Alex snorted. ‘They found out we were spies. I don’t think anyone at the palace would remember us in a friendly light.’

‘But didn’t someone help you escape?’

Alice’s expression cleared. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘The cook helped us, and so did the gardener, Fiercely Jones.’

‘And did you have the impression that they were FIG sympathisers?’

‘It was when we said we were from FIG and told them that Zanzibar was free that they decided to help us.’ Understanding dawned in Alice’s eyes. ‘You think we should go back, don’t you?’

‘It occurred to me that you might be able to use those contacts to help organise the uprising in Cornoliana. There’ll be others in place too, but it seems to