Young Fredle - Louise Yates [23]
“I know you’re under there. I think you’re a mouse.”
Fredle didn’t move.
“I’m just a dog,” Sadie said. She waited. “Can’t you hear me? You’re living under the porch, aren’t you.”
“No,” whispered Fredle, as softly as he could so as not to sound at all like a mouse.
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “I thought …” She must have turned her head away because Fredle had to strain his ears to hear what she said next. “You’re right, there’s no one there.”
“I told you,” Angus answered.
“He said so,” Sadie said, and the dogs ran off.
Fredle remained in his nest for a time, alert, watchful. He was waiting for the light outside to increase a little, but not too much. That was the time he had decided was safest for the long journey to the compost pile. Whispering voices distracted him from his thoughts—and they were whispering mouse voices! He perked up his ears to catch what they were saying and made himself stay still, despite his excitement.
“I said, go away,” said an irritated voice that Fredle recognized as Bardo’s. The voice that answered he did not know.
“Won’t.”
“You followed me.”
“So what?”
“You know the rules. Only the go-between is allowed. You better go home, Neldo.”
“You can’t make me.”
There were two of them, quarreling in angry whispers just beyond the lattice.
“You don’t know these house mice.”
“He’s just a mouse.”
“He’s bigger than us, and stronger, and gray.”
“I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of him and I’m not afraid of you, either, so don’t bother showing me your teeth, Bardo. You don’t scare me.”
“Then I’ll tell Father and he’ll make you afraid. Believe me, if you don’t go home right now I’m telling him.”
“Just let me look. Just one peek?”
“Then you’ll go?”
“I promise.”
Fredle relaxed his ears, closed his eyes and breathed slowly, in and out, in and out. He waited. He heard soft sounds from beyond the lattice and then Bardo said, “You promised,” and everything was quiet again.
It stayed quiet for a long time, until finally Fredle heard just the smallest sound, as if tiny claws were scratching lightly for a hold on one of the openings. This was followed by the softest of thumps, as a mouse landed behind the lattice wall. Fredle sprang up, eyes wide open, and got himself between Bardo and escape before that scrawny little mouse even knew what was happening.
Bardo dropped the orange peel he’d been carrying in his mouth. His eyes looked from side to side, to see where he might run, but when he spoke it was in a normal and friendly voice that Fredle didn’t trust for one minute. “Hey, Fredle. You’re awake.”
Fredle didn’t say anything. He waited, to hear what lies and half-truths Bardo would try out on him. He had figured out, during all the long, lonely nights and days, that if he looked carefully at the untrue things Bardo said, he could catch glimpses of the true things Bardo was trying to hide.
“So,” said Bardo. “In that case”—he pushed the orange peel toward Fredle—“this is for you.” Then he waited, paws moving restlessly. When Fredle neither moved nor spoke, Bardo said, “Don’t you say thanks to the someone who’s been bringing you food whenever he can? Getting himself in trouble for it?”
“What do you mean trouble?” asked Fredle, not even trying to sound friendly.
“Everybody-angry-at-you trouble.”
“You’re the go-between. It’s your job.”
“You don’t know anything about anything, Fredle,” Bardo told him and Fredle guessed that here, outside, that was pretty true.
“What do you say we go out for a forage?” Bardo asked.
“Sure. OK.” Fredle had a lot more questions he wanted to ask.
“What about this peel I brought you?”
“You can keep it,” Fredle said.
“What is garbage, anyway?” he asked Bardo when they had come to a safe shelter behind one of the large green containers.
“Stuff that’s too heavy to carry all the way to the compost,” he answered, in the confident way that made Fredle suspect that he didn’t know.
“Like what?” Fredle asked.
“Are you trying to irritate me?” Bardo demanded. “Because you’re starting to, with all these questions. Just pay attention to not getting