Out of sight, tucked away in the tall, whispering grass, Tabasco, Randy, and Paprika caught their breath. Then, Tabasco nudged them towards the mountain’s edge, far from the gates of Villagloriosa. Randy peered down into a deep, ragged scar circling the hill — The Gorge. Far below, like scattered crumbs, two tiny figures moved.
“That’s The Gorge,” Tabasco pointed out. “And down there? That’s Cilantro and Chimichurri.”
“I’ll climb down first,” Randy announced, trying his best to show he was a daring adventurer, and hoping Paprika was watching.
“Hold on!” Tabasco grabbed two flat pieces of bark from a nearby bush, grinning. “We’re not climbing. We’re sliding.”
The slope plunged downwards, steep and treacherous. Randy eyed it, quite sure his neck was in mortal danger. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Perfectly good,” Tabasco scoffed. “Here, show you how it’s done. Hop on.”
Randy hesitantly stepped onto the makeshift board. Before he could blink, Tabasco gave a mighty shove, sending him hurtling off the edge. Paprika gasped, a sharp word lost on the wind as Randy shot down the slope like a cannonball. Weeds blurred past, bushes snagged at his jumper, branches whipped by, and rocks leapt out at him. It was nothing short of a miracle he stayed on the board.
He skidded to a halt at the bottom, relief flooding him just as the board smacked a half-buried rock. Randy went flying, head over heels, tumbling into Cilantro and Chimichurri with the force of a well-aimed bowling ball striking two unsuspecting pins.
From the top, Tabasco’s booming laugh echoed down. “See? He’s fine,” he called to an unimpressed Paprika. “Now, let’s go.”
“You’re an idiot, Randy,” Cilantro groaned, picking himself up. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Randy retorted, brushing dust from his fur. “Next time I’m shoved down a cliff, I’ll try not to die quite so clumsily.”
A second whoosh and a spray of pebbles announced Tabasco’s arrival, with Paprika clinging to his back. He swerved with skilful grace, depositing Paprika neatly at the bottom.
“That’s how you do it, Randy,” Tabasco said.
“Let me guess,” Randy muttered, dusting himself off again. “Sliding down was Paprika’s idea, right?”
“How did you know, Randy?” she asked, her smile dazzling.
“Just a wild guess.”
“Right then,” Tabasco said, suddenly businesslike. “I suppose you know why you’re here.”
“He knows nothing,” Cilantro sneered, giving Randy a dismissive look. “He’s dazed and confused.”
Randy couldn’t argue, though the sneer stung. A flicker of annoyance sparked within him. He was deeply irked they had ventured out here before him. Randy still saw himself as Villagloriosa’s premier adventurer, thank you very much.
“I heard some young mice were up to no good,” Randy said, trying to sound casual. “I suppose this is another game?”
“No game at all, Randy,” Tabasco whispered. “Haven’t you heard of The Spiders?”
“Yes,” Randy nodded. “Seen a couple scuttling up walls. We usually squash them, though. Not many left in town.”
“Not those spiders, you idiot,” Chimichurri snapped. “We’re talking about us. Our gang. Our organisation. Tabasco’s Spiders.”
“Right, let’s move,” Tabasco ordered. “We’re gathering south of The Gorge. That’s where the meeting’s happening.”
“What meeting?” Randy asked, trailing behind.
“Just move it,” Cilantro grumbled.
They followed the winding path of The Gorge, a strange landscape of cracked, dry mud, twisted roots snaking out from the earth, and dark, cave-like hollows. Randy was so busy gaping at this peculiar, desolate place that he almost forgot to wonder where they were headed.
“My grandma told me,” Paprika said, gesturing towards the layers of dried mud, “that The Gorge was carved out ages ago, maybe a thousand moons, by a giant flood. A river used to rush right through here.”
“Legends,” Tabasco scoffed. “Who knows for sure?”
Randy could picture it perfectly — the roaring water, the tumbling rocks. He nodded, captivated.
“That’s how mice first got to this mountain, you know – before humans,” Paprika continued, her eyes shining. “Dragged here by the flood, they climbed up to survive. See? Sometimes bad luck leads to good things,” she finished with a smile. Lost in the vision, and perhaps a little lost in her smile, Randy stumbled over a protruding root.
“There they are,” Tabasco pointed ahead. A huddle of young mice gathered in a sheltered corner, overlooking a clearing where The Gorge opened into The Wild itself. Beyond them, a dense canopy of brambles and bushes swallowed the light, creating a gloomy, mysterious passage.
“Tabasco!” the mice waved. Randy noticed that they all were from smaller families, mice without dozens of siblings.
“What did you bring?” Tabasco asked them, looking more anxious than Randy had ever seen him. “We need good stuff to trade. I don’t want to upset Randal.”
“Randal? That’s an unusual name. Who’s Randal?” Randy asked.
“Randal,” Tabasco announced, a thrill barely contained in his voice, “is a rat.” He puffed his chest out, clearly proud of this dangerous connection.
Randy felt a jolt, sharp and electric. A rat? Here? Why hadn’t he met a rat first? Jealousy prickled under his fur, quickly followed by a cold knot of fear tightening in his chest. He was going to meet a rat.
The meeting was moments away. He had to be brave. Braver than all these mice put together. As brave as Tiny Hops. If he couldn’t manage that, what hope did he have of ever being a true adventurer?
The gathered mice presented their offerings: mostly cheese. Piles of it.
Tabasco surveyed the cheesy mound with disdain. “Idiots! He won’t be impressed with this. Why would a king need cheese when he has everything? This isn’t just any rat, this is a king! Do you even know what a king is? Think Euphemia, but ten times bigger. A hundred times! Maybe even a thousand! He runs everything out there. We need something special, something unique.” he rounded on Randy, his eyes narrowed.
“Randy. Those peaches. Where did you find them?”
“Peaches?” Randy feigned innocence, though his fur still carried the faint, sweet scent. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Tabasco growled, sniffing the air around Randy pointedly. “We can all smell it. We looked for peaches for Randal — he loves them — but the tree’s bare.”
“That’s not true,” Randy mumbled, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “There was one left… but we ate it.”
“We?” Cilantro sharply inquired.
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“Just… me and a friend.”
“What friend?” Tabasco demanded, stepping closer.
Before Randy could answer, a rustling in the undergrowth beyond the clearing silenced them. A shadow detached itself from the deeper gloom. Small figures emerged, pulling a child’s battered toy truck. They didn’t seem particularly menacing at first glance, but as they drew nearer, crossing the threshold from The Wild into The Gorge, Randy understood why the rats were so feared — they were much larger and infinitely more frightening than he had ever imagined.
Four gaunt, ragged rats strained at ropes attached to the truck, its cargo hidden beneath a dirty cloth. Riding on the truck bed, lounging like royalty, sat a fifth rat. He was bigger, more muscular, draped in a tattered piece of fabric that might once have been a cape, with a bent, rusty bottle cap perched jauntily on his head like a crown. He was, Randy thought with a shudder, horrifying – a grotesque, oversized mouse seemingly carved from malice.
But worse than the sight of him, far worse, was the smell. A thick, cloying stench rolled off the rats, an odour so foul it made Duria’s stinky cheese feel like a field of wildflowers. It clung to the air, heavy and suffocating.
This was The Wild? Randy now understood the fear in Villagloriosa. Perhaps Euphemia, with her endless rules and cheese obsession, wasn’t entirely wrong to want nothing to do with this.
“So,” the rat king said, surveying the trembling mice, his voice a gravelly rasp. “Here I am. Again.” He sniffed the air. “A pathetic little place, filled with pathetic little mice. Still, I, the just and generous Randal, the glorious king, have arrived. Am I not simply the greatest?”
“Oh, glorious king!” his ragged retainers chorused dutifully.
“You are indeed, your majesty,” Tabasco squeaked, bowing so low his nose nearly touched the dirt. Randy had never seen the boisterous Tabasco look so small, so utterly subservient.
“I didn’t ask you,” Randal snapped, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. “It was a rhetorical question, you ignorant mouse. Rhetorical. Do you even know what that means?”
“No, your majesty.”
“That was rhetorical too. Or are you genuinely as stupid as you look?” Randal chuckled, clearly enjoying the power play. Tabasco, wisely, stayed silent.
Randal hopped down from his makeshift throne on the toy truck, pacing slowly before the terrified mice. He towered over them, a sneer twisting his muzzle. He stopped abruptly in front of Cilantro, his shadow engulfing the smaller mouse. Cilantro’s eyes rolled back, and he crumpled in a dead faint, only saved from hitting the ground by Chimichurri’s quick catch. Randal roared with laughter.
“Such cute little faces,” he mocked, his gaze sweeping over them. “I bet you do cute little things all day in your cute little town. What a precious, cute little life.”
The stench was overwhelming. Randy felt bile rise in his throat. He wanted desperately to run, to escape the smell, the rat king, the whole terrifying situation, but fear pinned his paws to the ground.
Randal swaggered back towards Tabasco.
“I bring you delights,” Randal declared, gesturing vaguely towards the covered truck, “and all I smell is cheese. Stale, cheap, mouse cheese.” He gave the pile of offerings a vicious kick, sending wedges scattering. He snorted. “Did I travel all this way for garbage?”
He glared down at Tabasco, whose legs were visibly trembling.
“We — we — I — well,” Tabasco stammered, “our cheese… it’s the pride of our town.”
“I — do — NOT — care,” Randal snarled, biting off each word, “about the pride of your pathetic town. There are only three things worth having from this rotten place: peaches, honey, and gold. And you have brought me none of them.”
“The — the — the peaches,” Tabasco stuttered, “they’re not in season. And… and we don’t know anything about gold or honey.”
With startling speed, Randal lunged, his grimy paw closing around Tabasco’s neck. He lifted the mouse effortlessly, dangling him like a limp rag doll. Randy froze, the image of Randal choking the life out of Tabasco reminding him vividly of Fenela’s tapestry. A silent scream trapped in his chest. He wanted to move, to help, but his limbs felt like lead.
“Don’t you dare make a fool of me, insolent mouse,” Randal barked, his face inches from Tabasco’s. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to. I can smell the peaches on one of you. Trying to keep them for yourselves, eh? Giving me rubbish instead. Do I look like the King of Garbage to you? Do I? Answer me, you greedy little runt!”
Paprika dissolved into tears, her words small and pleading. “Please… your majesty… please put my boyfriend down.”
Randal’s gaze shifted to her, a slow, predatory inspection. “Well now, what’s this?” he leered, his eyes gleaming greedily. “Isn’t this the sweetest little peach of them all? Perhaps I should take her as payment instead. She might make a… tasty dinner.”
Do something! Randy screamed silently at himself. This is your chance! Be an adventurer — daring and courageous like Tiny Hops!
But his body remained stubbornly unresponsive. He tried to shout, to confess that he was the one who smelled of peach, but only a strangled squeak escaped his throat. Tabasco shot him a desperate glance but said nothing.
Randal contemptuously tossed Tabasco aside. He crept towards Paprika, who sobbed harder, shrinking away. Tabasco struggled to intervene but was roughly pinned down by one of Randal’s guards.
The clearing fell deathly silent. Even the birds seemed to hold their breath. The only sound was the faint, frantic chattering of the Spiders’ teeth. They regretted everything now — sneaking out, meeting the rat, disobeying Euphemia.
Randy tried again to speak, to sacrifice himself, but only a pathetic whimper emerged. “I…”
Then, something utterly unexpected happened. The pearl, hidden beneath his jumper, began to glow. It pulsed with a soft, warm light, growing brighter and brighter, shining through the fabric. Randal, his back still to Randy, froze. He hadn’t seen the light, but somehow, he felt it. Slowly, he turned around.
His eyes fixed on the glow emanating from Randy’s chest. “That…” Randal looked at the item with uncontained avarice. “That’s the magic pearl.”
Randy instinctively tried to cover it, to hide it, but it was too late.
“That pearl,” Randal commanded, his eyes greedily locked onto the prize. “Give it to me.”
“No! Not the pearl, please…” Randy shuddered, clutching at his chest. He would protect it. It was all he had left of his uncle.
“Give it to me, I say!” Randal roared, unnerved by Randy’s defiance. He lunged. Randy scrambled backwards, dodging the grasping claw. Randal lunged again, missing. But the third time, his claws snagged Randy’s jumper. He lifted Randy by the scruff of his neck, ripped the pearl necklace off, and tossed the mouse aside like a tattered gift wrap.
“This,” Randal gloated, holding the pearl aloft, its light reflecting in his greedy eyes, “is better than I expected. The magic pearl. I thought it was just a stupid legend, but perhaps it really did exist after all.”
“Give it back! Please!” Randy pleaded, tears blurring his vision. He wanted to fight, to leap at the rat king, but he felt utterly powerless, small and helpless.
“Don’t be upset, little mouse,” Randal said condescendingly. “A pearl like this belongs to a king. It was never meant for the likes of you.” He tucked the pearl safely away. “But, as I always say, justice is a kingly virtue. Consider this pearl just payment for sparing all your miserable lives. And, as a token of my royal generosity, I’ll even throw in a little something extra.”
He motioned to his guards. They pulled the dirty cloth off the toy truck, revealing a small stash of candy. They selected a large chocolate coin, still wrapped in its glittering gold foil, and dropped it onto the dusty ground before the stunned mice.
Then, with a final dismissive wave, Randal and his retinue turned and swaggered back into the shadows of The Wild, Randal’s harsh, maniacal laughter echoing behind them.
Randy lay where he’d been tossed, whispering to the dirt. “I couldn’t do anything… I’m such a coward. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
“Randy, I’m so sorry,” Paprika murmured, gently stroking his head. “This is not your fault.”
Tabasco staggered to his feet, rubbing his sore neck. “What about me? I’m the one who took a beating!”
“Shut up, Tabasco!” Paprika snapped. “This is all your fault! What made you think meeting a rat was a good idea?”
“Fine! Fine, it’s all my fault. So, if you don’t mind, since it’s my fault, we’re going to share the loot.” He pointed towards the gleaming chocolate coin.
“Don’t you touch that,” Paprika cried. “That belongs to Randy!”
“Let them have it,” Randy said, pushing himself up. “I don’t want it. I don’t deserve any of it.”
At his words, the Spiders scrambled towards the coin. They tore off the gold foil, revealing the dark chocolate beneath. Greedily, they broke off pieces, stuffing the forbidden sweet into their mouths. Tabasco grabbed the largest chunk, demanding Paprika join him.
“Let’s go, Paprika,” Tabasco insisted, his mouth full.
“I’m not going anywhere without Randy,” she declared, turning back to him. “Randy, please come with us.”
“No,” he mumbled, turning away. “I want to be alone. I’ll go back by myself.”
Just then, a clatter of stones from above made them all freeze. Figures scrambled down the slope of The Gorge — mice in guard uniforms, wielding tiny spears, led by Boldo.
Tabasco didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Paprika, slinging her over his shoulder despite her kicks and protests, snatched a final piece of chocolate, and disappeared back into the brambles with the rest of the Spiders. Randy, devoid of any fight or flight, remained where he was, head bowed, accepting his fate.
“You are all under arrest!” Boldo bellowed, his words echoing in The Gorge. “For consumption of sweets and for being in The Gorge!” his eyes fell on the lone figure. “…Except it’s just you, isn’t it?” Randy lay there, weeping softly.
He regretted ever dreaming of adventure. He regretted the taste of peach. He regretted his foolish belief that he could ever face down a rat. He’d been living a lie, he was no brave adventurer like Tiny Hops — he was just a coward, a simple mouse from Villagloriosa destined for a trivial, mundane life. Maybe Euphemia was right all along. Maybe mice were meant to stay safe in Villagloriosa, eating their cheese and knowing their place.