Young Fredle - Louise Yates [57]
“You’re a cellar mouse,” he said.
“Got it in one, friend. What about yourself?”
“Kitchen.”
“You’re used to a wider variety of eats, I bet. But what were you doing in our onion basket? No, don’t answer that yet. Everyone will want to hear. Have you decided that you’re going to trust me?” Tarnu asked.
“Yes,” Fredle said, and he had. He was also quite curious about how this mouse got so relaxed and calm, even when a stranger showed up in the middle of his private food supply.
“It’s not hard to get down to the floor from here,” Tarnu said to his uninvited guest. “Keep close. If you fall behind, I’ll wait.”
“What about predators?” asked Fredle.
“What kind of predator would there be in the cellar?”
“There’s the cat. Patches.”
“Nope.”
“There are traps.”
“Not here. They don’t have any idea we’re living down here. Either that or we don’t bother them, so they don’t bother with us. You almost never see Mister in the cellar, and Missus only comes to use her machines and that’s only in daytime. She’s no trouble. Shall we go?” And he turned and moved away.
Fredle followed, even more curious. No predators? He couldn’t imagine it.
They crossed in front of two more baskets and that was the end of the board. Tarnu waited for Fredle to catch up with him before explaining, “This wall is easy to climb up, or down. They used such big stones, see? There’s no trick to it. You can follow me or go your own way, whatever.” He stepped off onto a big stone that stuck out of the mortar like one of the steps, outside.
Fredle continued to follow Tarnu. Soon he stood on a cool, pleasantly moist dirt floor. Large, curved shapes stood in the distant shadows, motionless, and small things scurried along the floor close by.
“You’re in trouble with me now, mouselets,” Tarnu said, but he didn’t sound angry, or even impatient.
“Big trouble,” said the little voices, “big, big trouble,” and they didn’t sound frightened or even worried. “Who’s that, Tarnu?”
“It’s Fredle. He’s a kitchen mouse.”
“Did he escape to come live with us?”
“I thought kitchen mice were only in stories.”
“He’s not so big.”
“But he looks tough. Don’t you think?”
“I think he looks normal.”
“But skinny.”
“Yeah, skinny.”
“How’d he get here?”
“Yeah, how’d he get here, Tarnu?”
“Give him a minute and he’ll tell us. You will tell us, won’t you, Fredle? So, since I’m guessing that you mouselets aren’t about to go back to your nests, I’m going to give you a job. Go get everyone together. We’ll be waiting in front of the water heater. Call everyone.”
After the mouselets ran off, Tarnu said to Fredle, “I hope it’s an exciting story. We like an exciting story, and a long one, too. But I lied to you. I didn’t mean to, but I lied about predators. Sometimes—see up there?” He pointed with his nose to the wall far across from them, in front of which stood two square white shapes.
Fredle looked and saw the shapes, with pipes rising up behind one, and above them a window in the wall. Through the window, he could see air that shone a little brighter than the dark air of the cellar.
“I don’t know what that’s called, or what it’s for—” Tarnu began.
“It’s a window. You can see through it,” Fredle said helpfully.
“Really? Who’d have thought. But why would they want something like that in their walls?”
“To look outside.”
“What’s to see outside?” Fredle took a breath to tell him, but Tarnu was already going on. “About predators. There’s a time, usually the same time as the carrots and onions and potatoes are running out—the apples always run out first—although we never have to worry, because food hasn’t ever run entirely out … Anyway, during that time, Missus sometimes moves that thing, that window, and the air that comes in is warmer, and smells fresher.”
Fredle interrupted. “Summertime, I bet.”
“Whatever. And it’s not that there’s anything wrong with our air, it’s just something she likes to do, and when she does that, sometimes, there are a couple of cats that come in through it.”
“The barn cats,” Fredle guessed. “One’s white and the other’s