The Tale of Despereaux - Kate DiCamillo [7]
“He’s so small.”
“They say he was born with his eyes open.”
Some of the mice pulled away from Despereaux in disgust, and others, thrill seekers, reached out to touch him with a whisker or a paw.
“The princess put a finger on him.”
“They say he sat at the foot of the king.”
“It is simply not done!” came the distinctive voice of Despereaux’s aunt Florence.
“Make way, make way!” shouted Furlough. “I have him right here. I have Despereaux Tilling, who has been called to sit with the Mouse Council.”
He led Despereaux to the front of the room. “Honored members of the Mouse Council,” shouted Furlough, “I have brought you Despereaux Tilling, as you requested, to sit with you.” He looked over his shoulder at Despereaux. “Let go of me,” Furlough said.
Despereaux dropped Furlough’s tail. He looked up at the members of the Mouse Council. His father met his gaze and then shook his head and looked away. Despereaux turned and faced the sea of mice.
“To the dungeon!” a voice cried out. “Straight to the dungeon with him.”
Despereaux’s head, which had been full of such delightful phrases as “happily ever after” and “lovely ears” and “I honor you,” suddenly cleared.
“Straight to the dungeon!” another voice shouted.
“Enough,” said the Most Very Honored Head Mouse. “This trial will be conducted in an orderly fashion. We will act civilized.” He cleared his throat. He said to Despereaux, “Son, turn and look at me.”
Despereaux turned. He looked up and into the Head Mouse’s eyes. They were dark eyes, deep and sad and frightened. And looking into them, Despereaux’s heart thudded once, twice.
“Despereaux Tilling,” said the Head Mouse.
“Yes, sir,” said Despereaux.
“We, the fourteen members of the Mouse Council, have discussed your behavior. First, we will give you a chance to defend yourself against these rumors of your egregious acts. Did you or did you not sit at the foot of the human king?”
“I did,” said Despereaux, “but I was listening to the music, sir. I was there to hear the song that the king was singing.”
“To hear the what?”
“The song, sir. He was singing a song about the deep purple falling over sleepy garden walls.”
The Head Mouse shook his head. “Whatever you are talking about is beside the point. The question is this and only this: Did you sit at the foot of the human king?”
“I did, sir.”
The community of mice shifted their tails and paws and whiskers. They waited.
“And did you allow the girl human, the princess, to touch you?”
“Her name is Pea.”
“Never mind her name. Did you allow her to touch you?”
“Yes, sir,” said Despereaux. “I let her touch me. It felt good.”
A gasp arose from the assembled mice.
Despereaux heard his mother’s voice. “Mon Dieu, it is not the end of the world. It was a touch, what of it?”
“It is simply not done!” came Aunt Florence’s voice from the crowd.
“To the dungeon,” said a mouse in the front row.
“Silence!” roared the Most Very Honored Head Mouse. “Silence.” He looked down at Despereaux.
“Do you, Despereaux Tilling, understand the sacred, never-to-be-broken rules of conduct for being a mouse?”
“Yes, sir,” said Despereaux, “I guess so. But . . .”
“Did you break them?”
“Yes, sir,” said Despereaux. He raised his voice. “But . . . I broke the rules for good reasons. Because of music. And because of love.”
“Love!” said the Head Mouse.
“Oh, cripes,” said Furlough, “here we go.”
“I love her, sir,” said Despereaux.
“We are not here to talk about love. This trial is not about love. This trial is about you being a mouse,” shouted the Most Very Honored Head Mouse from high atop the bricks, “and not acting like one!!!”
“Yes, sir,” said Despereaux. “I know.”
“No, I don’t think that you do know. And because you do not deny the charges, you must be punished. You are to be sent, as ancient castle-mouse law decrees, to the dungeon. You are being sent to the rats.”
“That’s right!” shouted a mouse in the crowd. “That’s the ticket.”
The dungeon! The rats! Despereaux’s small heart sank all the way to the tip of his tail. There would be no light in the dungeon. No stained-glass