Of Mice and Magic Page 2

  “It sounds wonderful,” one young mouse said. “Why would she want to save us from that?”

  “Because,” Barley Beard said, “there is something better than being embraced. There is something called freedom.”

  He turned from the young mouse that had spoken, and studied the babe. She was small, blind, hairless, and too weak to move. “Once, long ago, another mouse came here a—wild mouse—who scurried under the pet shop door. He told about life beyond the cage, life away from the big pinkies, in a sunny place called the Endless Meadow. It lies just outside the pet shop, he said. It is a place that the Great Master of Field and Fen created just for mice. There food grows untamed atop the tall grasses, and all you have to do is shake a hay stalk, and grain tumbles to the ground. There, you can drink sweet water from dewdrops that cling to the clover. There, he said, beautiful wildflowers tower overhead in a riot of color. Wild peas grow thick among the fields, and strawberries lie fat on the vine, just waiting for you to nibble. There, he said, the sky fills with sunlight and rainbows by day, and twinkling stars and crescent moons by night.

  “The Endless Meadow,” Barley Beard sighed. “I have never seen it, except in dreams. But that is our true home. That is our destiny. And if you will live, little mouse, you can lead us there.”

  The baby mouse listened, but Barley Beard could not tell if she heard him. Her eyes were cloudy. Most likely, she was off in a dream, and she would slip in and out of it until she starved.

  All day long and far into the night, Barley Beard rested beside her, warming her with his own body, nuzzling her tummy so that he could stimulate it to hunger.

  He prayed to the Great Master of Field and Fen, begging Him to spare her. And at dawn his prayer was answered. A big pinky, a human woman that the mice called Feeder, came to their pens, humming an ancient tune. She carried away six blind kittens.

  “Hooray,” the kittens cried as Feeder lifted them. “We’re being embraced. Good-bye. Have a good life!”

  So the pet shop mice rejoiced for the young ones. And with them gone, the thirteenth mouse finally had a chance to get some food.

  But Barley Beard worried that the relief from hunger came too late. The little one had starved too long. “She’s so thin and sickly,” he mused, “will she even be able to lift her head to eat?” For though there was now space for her to drink, she was too far gone to crawl to her mother. That night, the young kitten lay as still as a corpse.

  Several times in the darkness, Barley Beard felt her chest fall, and then it seemed it did not rise again for a long time. He feared that she had stopped breathing altogether.

  But at sunrise, she raised her head once more and began to struggle through the deep wood shavings to her mother’s side.

  “Go,” Barley Beard urged her, tears flowing. “Go now and feed.” The other mice cheered, rallying her on, and the thirteenth mouse kicked until she reached her mother.

  On that glorious morning she fed.

  By the end of her first week, she began to grow. She looked different from other pet shop mice. She wasn’t brownish gray like her brothers and sisters. Instead, her coat came in with a slight yellow tint. Because of her strange color, her mother named her Amber.

  And in three weeks, tiny Amber began to play with other pet shop mice.

  Now, a week to a mouse is like a year to a human, so Amber grew quickly. Each day, Barley Beard urged her to test her magical powers.

  But as far as Barley Beard could tell, Amber had none. “Don’t worry,” Barley Beard tried to soothe her. “Just put your trust in the Great Master of Field and Fen.”

  Amber sat for hours that night, snuggled in a corner, peering through the glass wall toward the fish tanks and the frog terrariums. She wondered what purpose her life really served. There was none that she could see.

  On the shelf above her, the fancy spotted mice raced about in their elegant mouse habitat, exploring brightly colored tunnels. They often called out, “Wow, I found another yogurt chip in our gourmet feed. Too bad you brown mice don’t get any.” Then the other spotted mice would laugh and shout down to the brown mice, “Say, why don’t you get out of your cage and come up to play on our exercise wheel?”

  What will I ever do? Amber wondered. Is this all that there is to life, burrowing in my wood shavings, trying to find a clean place to sleep?

  She wanted to be special, more special than even a spotted mouse. She wanted to believe old Barley Beard. But it was clear to her that she had no magical powers. She couldn’t free herself, much less the rest of mousekind.

  * * *

  But that morning, Amber’s mother was embraced. Barley Beard was taken a day later.

  By then, all of Amber’s brothers and sisters had gone, and though there were still plenty of pet shop mice in the cage, Amber felt uprooted, completely alone.

  She longed to be free of her dull surroundings and only hoped to be embraced.

  * * *

  All week long, Ben coddled the monitor lizard. He took baths with it and found that the lizard, whose name was Imhotep, loved to dive and thrash his tail. Then Ben would take Imhotep out, dry him with a blow dryer, and they would watch cartoons beneath a special lizard lamp.

  Ben made sure that Imhotep got plenty of water to drink and kept him warm.

  And late in the afternoon on Ben’s birthday, March twenty-sixth, his mom told him, “Hop in the car. We’re going to the pet shop.”

  Though Noah’s Ark Pet Shop was only three miles from his home, this was the first time that Ben had ever been allowed to go inside. He immediately felt drawn to the hedgehogs that rooted in their sawdust, merrily grunting.

  But his mother marched him to the back of the store, handed him a dollar, and said, “Ugh, pick a mouse.”

  “Which one?” Ben asked.

  “Any mouse,” his mom said. “Just buy it, and put it in a bag. I don’t want to see the horrible thing.” She sneezed and covered her nose. “I’ve got to get away from these cats before I choke.” She took off running.

  “A mouse,” Ben whispered. “I never thought of getting a mouse.”

  But it made sense. Dad had said that if he showed that he could be responsible, he could get a small pet. And what was smaller than a mouse?

  He imagined what fun he could have. He could hold it and pet it and carry it to school in his lunchbox. He’d let it run around his room while he did homework.

  It wouldn’t eat much, and no one was allergic to mice. A mouse could be a wonderful pet!

  Ben peered into the cage. Dozens of fine mice burrowed in the wood shavings, drank at the feeder, or raced around playing tag.

  They were plain brown with beady black eyes. A cage nearby had white mice with brown spots, but they were two dollars each. Ben didn’t have enough money for a fancy mouse. The ones he looked at were only fifty cents.

  He finally noticed one mouse that was different, the smallest of the lot, sitting in the shavings. It had a yellow tinge to its fur, and it folded its paws across its belly. It peered right into Ben’s eyes, as if it had been waiting all of its life for Ben to appear.

  “May I help you?” a clerk asked, stepping up to him.

  “Yes,” Ben said. “I want the little one.”

  * * *

  “I’ll name it Amber,” Ben said in the car. He sat in the back seat with his mouse in its sack. It peered up at him as he petted it with one finger. The mouse sniffed at him, its little whiskers pulling back. Ben didn’t know where he got the name Amber. It had just popped into his head.

  “I wouldn’t get too attached,” his mom said as she drove.

  “What do you think it eats?” Ben asked. “Would it like pickles? Do we have any pickles in the fridge?”

  Mom just kept driving.

  “Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t think it matters. Just keep it in the sack.”

  Ben sneaked his mouse out. His mouse, his first pet. It climbed up the front of his shirt. It perched in
a fold of cloth on his chest and closed its eyes. Ben kissed it.

  “Did you just kiss that mouse?” his mom asked, peering at him through the rearview mirror.

  “No,” Ben lied.

  “Never kiss a mouse. They’re like rats. Like midget rats. The dirty things carry disease.”

  “What kinds?” Ben asked, suddenly worried.

  “Like the Poopopolous virus and the Black Plague. Now put it back in the sack!”

  Ben frowned. He picked up his mouse and hid it in his cupped hand. It didn’t look dirty or sick. It just sat with its eyes closed, sleeping. He held still, afraid that the mouse might wake if he moved. Amber rode without making a sound until they got home.

  When the car stopped, Ben rushed to the living room where Dad was watching Samurai Jack. “Dad, look,” Ben called. “I got a mouse, a real mouse. Its name is Amber!”

  Dad leaned forward in his chair, eyes on the TV. “Fine,” he said in an annoyed tone. “Now march upstairs and feed it to the lizard.”

  Ben’s stomach sank. “Why? What do you mean?”

  “You read Hakim’s note,” Dad said. “You have to feed the lizard once a week.”

  It seemed to Ben that the heavens opened then. Hakim had said that his lizard didn’t eat much, but it had to eat something. Of course! Mice. It ate mice!

  Ben had never felt so awful. He got sick to his stomach, and the room seemed to sway.

  Dad commanded, “Just drop the mouse in the cage. The lizard knows what to do.”

  “No,” Ben pleaded in a small voice. “Please. I . . . can’t.”

  Dad gave him a hard look. “Ben,” he said. “You agreed. Imhotep is your responsibility.”

  “But Dad—”

  “Butts,” Dad rumbled in his sternest tone, “are for spanking.” He pierced Ben with his steely eyes. “Now be a good Marine.”

  Mom spoke up. “Look, if you go feed this mouse to Imhotep, maybe we’ll get one for you next week.”

  Dad gave Mom a sharp look. They hadn’t talked about this.

  “Really?” Ben asked. “Can I get my own mouse?”

  Dad grew angry but said, “Maybe.”

  “What if . . . what if I keep this one?” Ben asked. “I’ll pay you for it with my own allowance.” Ben’s mom was really lousy at paying allowance. She would put it off and put it off until she owed Ben a small fortune. He figured that right now he had about fifty dollars in back allowance owed to him. “We could go back down to the pet shop and get another mouse,” he said eagerly. “That way I could keep Amber.”

  Dad bayoneted him with a stare. “The pet shop is closed now. The lizard is hungry. Do your duty, soldier.”

  Ben faltered. Dad never called him “soldier” unless he was in deep trouble.

  Ben’s heart sank. He tried one last desperate plea. “Couldn’t we just feed it Spam or something?”

  His mom looked up at him and said in a sad voice, “Honey, no one—human or animal—should be forced to eat Spam. That’s just too cruel.”

  Caught between his father’s threats and his mother’s promise, Ben didn’t have a choice.

  Cupping Amber in his hand, Ben marched upstairs, lumbering painfully up each step.

  As he reached the top, his heart pounded in his ears. He wondered if he dared fake it. Maybe he could hide the mouse under his bed and pretend that he’d fed the lizard.

  No, he decided, that would be too dangerous. The lizard might get hungry and die.

  He opened his bedroom door.

  The beautiful Nile monitor stood regally in his cage, front paws on his sunning log. Imhotep flicked his dark tongue and eyed Ben expectantly. It was as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

  Maybe I could give him some candy, Ben thought. He still had some marshmallow chicks in his drawer, leftover from Easter. But that wouldn’t do, Ben knew. The lizard ate mice. Candy might make it sick.

  Amber huddled in Ben’s palm, fast asleep. “I’m sorry,” Ben told her. “I’m so sorry.”

  Amber half woke. The mouse sniffed the air.

  Ben couldn’t think of anything else to do. He carried Amber to the lizard’s cage and slid the screen lid partway open. He took Amber by the tail and lifted her gently.

  “Good-bye, Amber,” Ben said with quavering lips.

  Amber woke. Her dark eyes peered at the lizard. She began squeaking fearfully and wiggled from side to side, swaying as she tried to escape.

  The mouse’s terror riveted the lizard.

  Imhotep flicked his forked tongue, tasting the air, and he stood eagerly with head raised, ready to pounce.

  Then something strange happened.

  The mouse shrieked louder and louder, until the whole room echoed with its cries.

  Ben heard a rumbling sound, like thunder. A blinding blue light flashed.

  In an instant, everything changed. Ben shrank out of his clothes, or else his shirt suddenly grew as large as a circus tent. At the same time, something yanked his nose and ears and pinched the skin at the top of his bottom—stretching him in impossible directions. His thumbs shrank to nothing, and his front teeth grew enormous.

  Tears of pain blinded Ben.

  The mouse was screaming. Screaming.

  Ben let out a high shriek.

  Amber’s tail grew huge. One second, Ben held it between two fingers. The next, he could hardly hold it at all.

  He fell with Amber, headfirst, and landed—splat!—right into the deep sand by the lizard’s water dish.

  Ben blinked. He was no larger than Amber, who sprawled next to him. The glass walls of the cage rose like cliffs around them.

  The lizard towered above him too. Ben suddenly knew what it would be like to stare into the face of a hungry dinosaur.

  “Allah be praised,” the lizard said, flicking his tongue. “Now, if only I had some fava beans and a nice Hawaiian Punch. I love having friends for dinner.”

  Chapter 3

  THE GREAT ESCAPE

  No matter how fast you run,

  you can’t escape your own fear.

  The only way to beat it is to face it.

  —BUSHMASTER

  “I’ll name it Amber,” Ben said in the car.

  AMBER BACKED AWAY from the gigantic lizard. Its black tongue snapped like a whip over her head. She stared at Ben in shock. He was absolutely, heartbreakingly, the most handsome mouse she had ever seen!

  His onyx eyes mirrored the sparkling light from the lizard lamp. His lustrous pelt had grown a striking reddish gold, darkening until it was nearly black on top. His lithe tail was elegant, dashing. His perfect whiskers made Amber’s stomach flip.

  “What going on?” Ben asked, blinking. “Who took my thumbs? Where’d I get the mink coat?” He whirled, and his long tail scrambled away behind him. Ben spun, trying to get a good look at it. Suddenly, Amber saw, the truth dawned on him.

  “Mom!” Ben screamed, whirling about in a blind panic. “Mom, I’ve got a problem! I . . . I think I’m a vermin!”

  The huge lizard, Imhotep, stepped forward. His black tongue stabbed the air above Ben’s head. “More than just vermin,” Imhotep said in a thick accent. “You’re a succulent, full-flavored jumping mouse, if my tongue doesn’t deceive me. Firm muscles, well marbled. Just do me a favor: don’t squeak on your way down. Hearing my food shriek in my throat really ruins my meal.”

  “But, but, how did I get this way?” Ben pleaded.

  “A curse, of course,” Imhotep said. “We invented them in Egypt—mummy’s curses, pharaoh’s magicians. Why, my own cousin is a genie’s apprentice.”

  “But who cursed me?” Ben wondered.

  “The young wizardess.” The lizard jutted a chin toward Amber.

  Amber’s heart pounded. “Me?” Amber squeaked, eyes wide. “I zapped him? I can’t do magic!”

  But someone had turned the boy into a mouse, and Amber knew in her heart that old Barley Beard had been right—she did have magical powers!

  Ben whirled toward Amber, as if just noti
cing her. “You’re a girl,” he shouted. “And I’m naked!” He threw one paw over his chest and crossed his legs.

  “Of course you cursed him,” Imhotep told Amber in a deep, sedate voice. “You wished that he could see how it feels to be a mouse.” He paused, as Amber realized that she had screamed that just as Ben was dropping her into the lizard cage. “Now he’s a mouse,” Imhotep said with finality. “So, about my dinner . . .”

  “Mom!” Ben screamed. His shout echoed off the glass cage, no louder than a mouse’s squeak. “The lizard is saying mean things!”

  Imhotep lunged.

  Amber dove behind a stick. Her fur stood on end. The lizard lamp blazed overhead like a bonfire.

  Ben froze with fear for an instant, then stepped back and tripped over his own feet. He crawled behind the lizard’s sunning log to hide.

  “Wait,” Ben called to Imhotep. “Why eat me? I took good care of you!”

  “Good care?” Imhotep growled. “You thought I liked watching your favorite cartoons over and over? You thought I liked bubble baths?”

  “But,” Ben begged, “what about Amber? She’s the one you’re supposed to eat!”

  “Me?” Amber squeaked.

  The lizard froze for an instant, as if considering, but suddenly backed away. He was frightened. “I don’t like magic mice,” the lizard said. “They give me gas.”

  The lizard stalked forward, angling his body, forcing Ben toward a corner.

  Amber looked up and saw that Ben had left the lid halfway open. She got an idea. “Ben,” Amber shouted. “Jump!” She pointed up to the lid.

  “That’s got to be fifty feet in the air,” Ben screamed. “I can’t jump that high. I need a ladder, or a rope . . .”

  Amber scampered up the sunning log. In all of her days as a pet shop mouse, she’d never had a stick like this in her cage. She’d never gotten high enough to try to jump out. Now she scaled to the top of the log and leaped an enormous distance. With all of her might, she wished that she could reach the top. She snagged the edge of the lid, clinging by the tips of her paws.

  Ben peered up, and saw her tail hanging. “A rope!” Ben said, just as the lizard lunged at him.