heart, and his own heart immediately took up the rhythm of hers.
“Papa,” the Pea said when the music was over, “I am going to keep this mouse. We are going to be great friends.”
The king looked at Despereaux cupped in his daughter’s hands. He narrowed his eyes. “A mouse,” he muttered. “A
“What?” said the Pea.
“Put it down,” the king commanded.
“No,” said the Pea, who was a person not at all used to being told what to do. “I mean, why should I?”
“Because I told you to.”
“But why?” protested the Pea.
“Because it’s a mouse.”
“I know. I’m the one who told you he was a mouse.”
“I wasn’t thinking,” said the king.
“Thinking of what?”
“Your mother. The queen.”
“My mother,” said the Pea sadly.
“Mice are rodents,” said the king. He adjusted his crown. “They are related to . . . rats. You know how we feel about rats. You know of our own dark history with rats.”
The Pea shuddered.
“But Papa,” she said, “he is not a rat. He’s a mouse. There’s a difference.”
“Royalty,” the king said, “has many responsibilities. And one of them is not becoming involved personally with even the distant relatives of one’s enemies. Put him down, Pea.”
The princess put Despereaux down.
“Good girl,” said the king. And then he looked at Despereaux. “Scat,” he said.
Despereaux, however, did not scat. He sat and stared up at the princess.
The king stamped his foot. “Scat!” he shouted.
“Papa,” said the princess, “please, don’t be mean to him.” And she began to weep.
Despereaux, seeing her tears, broke the last of the great, ancient rules of mice. He spoke. To a human.
“Please,” said Despereaux, “don’t cry.” He held out his handkerchief to the princess.
The Pea sniffed and leaned down close to him.
“
Despereaux dropped his handkerchief. He backed away from the king.
“Rodents do not speak to princesses. We will not have this becoming a topsy-turvy, wrong-headed world. There are rules. Scat. Get lost, before my common sense returns and I have you killed.”
The king stamped his foot again. Despereaux found it alarming to have such a big foot brought down with so much force and anger so close to his own small head. He ran toward the hole in the wall.
But he turned before he entered it. He turned and shouted to the princess. “My name is Despereaux!”
“Despereaux?” she said.
“I honor you!” shouted Despereaux.
“I honor you” was what the knight said to the fair maiden in the story that Despereaux read every day in the book in the library. Despereaux had muttered the phrase often to himself, but he had never before this evening had occasion to use it when speaking to someone else.
“Get out of here!” shouted the king, stamping his foot harder and then harder still so it seemed as if the whole castle, the very world, were shaking. “Rodents know nothing of honor.”
Despereaux ran into the hole and from there he looked out at the princess. She had picked up his handkerchief and she was looking at him . . . right, directly into his soul.
“Despereaux,” she said. He saw his name on her lips.
“I honor you,” whispered Despereaux. “I honor you.” He put his paw over his heart. He bowed so low that his whiskers touched the floor.
He was, alas, a mouse deeply in love.
8
THE MOUSE COUNCIL, thirteen honored mice and one Most Very Honored Head Mouse, heeded the call of Lester’s drum and gathered in a small, secret hole off King Phillip’s throne room. The fourteen mice sat around a piece of wood balanced on spools of thread and listened in horror while Despereaux’s father related the story of what Furlough had seen.
“At the foot of the king,” said Lester.
“Her finger right on top of his head,” said Lester.
“He was looking up at her, and . . . it was not in fear.”
The Mouse Council members listened with their mouths open. They listened with their whiskers drooping and their ears flat against their heads. They listened in dismay and outrage and fear.
When Lester finished, there was a silence dismal and deep.
“Something,” intoned the Most Very Honored Head Mouse, “is wrong with your son. He is not well. This goes beyond his fevers, beyond his large ears and his lack of growth. He is deeply disturbed. His behavior endangers us all. Humans cannot be trusted. We know this to be an indisputable fact. A mouse who consorts with humans, a mouse who would sit right at the foot of a man,
“Fellow mice, it is my most fervent hope that Despereaux has not spoken to these humans. But obviously, we can assume nothing. And this is a time to act, not wonder.”
Lester nodded his head in agreement. And the twelve other members of the Mouse Council nodded their heads, too.
“We have no choice,” said the Head Mouse. “He must go to the dungeon.” He pounded his fisted paw on the table. “He must go to the rats. Immediately. Members of the council, I will now ask you to vote. Those in favor of Despereaux being sent to the dungeon, say ‘aye.’ ”
There was a chorus of sad “ayes.”
“Those opposed say ‘nay.’ ”
Silence reigned in the room.
The only noise came from Lester. He was crying.
And thirteen mice, ashamed for Lester, looked away.
Reader, can you imagine your own father not voting against your being sent to a dungeon full of rats? Can you imagine him not saying one word in your defense?
Despereaux’s father wept and the Most Very Honored Head Mouse beat his paw against the table again and said, “Despereaux Tilling will appear before the mouse community. He will hear of his sins; he will be given a chance to deny them. If he does not deny them, he will be allowed to renounce them so that he may go to the dungeon with a pure heart. Despereaux Tilling is hereby called to sit with the Mouse Council.”
At least Lester had the decency to weep at his act of perfidy. Reader, do you know what “perfidy” means? I have a feeling you do, based on the little scene that has just unfolded here. But you should look up the word in your dictionary, just to be sure.
9
