The Tale of Despereaux Read online

  “Oh, so dramatic,” said Antoinette. She held out one paw and studied her painted nails. “He is a small mouse. How much of the harm can he do?”

  “If there is one thing I have learned in this world,” said Lester, “it is that mice must act like mice or else there is bound to be trouble. I will call a special meeting of the Mouse Council. Together, we will decide what must be done.”

  “Oh,” said Antoinette, “you and this council of the mouse. It is a waste of the time in my opinion.”

  “Don’t you understand?” shouted Lester. “He must be punished. He must be brought up before the tribunal.” He pushed past her and dug furiously through a pile of paper scraps, until he uncovered a thimble with a piece of leather stretched across its open end.

  “Oh, please,” said Antoinette. She covered her ears. “Not this drum of the council of the mouse.”

  “Yes,” said Lester, “the drum.” He held it up high above his head, first to the north and then to the south, and then to the east and the west. He lowered it and turned his back to his wife and closed his eyes and took a deep breath and began to beat the drum slowly, one long beat with his tail, two staccato beats with his paws.

  Boom. Tat-tat. Boom. Tat-tat. Boom. Tat-tat.

  The rhythm of the drum was a signal for the members of the Mouse Council.

  Boom. Tat-tat. Boom. Tat-tat. Boom.

  The beating of the drum let them know that an important decision would have to be made, one that affected the safety and well-being of the entire mouse community.

  Boom. Tat-tat. Boom. Tat-tat.

  Boom.

  AND WHAT WAS OUR OWN favorite member of the mouse community doing while the sound of the Mouse Council drum echoed through the walls of the castle?

  Reader, I must report that Furlough had not seen the worst of it. Despereaux sat with the princess and the king and listened to song after song. At one point, gently, oh so gently, the Pea picked up the mouse in her hand. She cupped him in her palm and scratched his oversize ears.

  “You have lovely ears,” the Pea said to him. “They are like small pieces of velvet.”

  Despereaux thought that he might faint with the pleasure of someone referring to his ears as small and lovely. He laid his tail against the Pea’s wrist to steady himself and he felt the princess’s pulse, the pounding of her 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 rodent.”

  “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.

  “Do not speak to her!” thundered the king.

  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.

  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, a mouse who would allow a human to touch him” — and here, the entire Mouse Council indulged in a collective shiver of disgust — “cannot be trusted. That is the way of the world, our world.

  “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 ro
om.

  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.

  THE MOUSE COUNCIL sent Furlough to collect Despereaux. And Furlough found his brother in the library, standing on top of the great, open book, his tail wrapped tightly around his feet, his small body shivering.

  Despereaux was reading the story out loud to himself. He was reading from the beginning so that he could get to the end, where the reader was assured that the knight and the fair maiden lived together happily ever after.

  Despereaux wanted to read those words. Happily ever after. He needed to say them aloud; he needed some assurance that this feeling he had for the Princess Pea, this love, would come to a good end. And so he was reading the story as if it were a spell and the words of it, spoken aloud, could make magic happen.

  “See here,” said Furlough out loud to himself. He looked at his brother and then looked away. “This is just the kind of thing I’m talking about. This is exactly the kind of thing. What’s he doing here for cripes’ sake? He’s not eating the paper. He’s talking to the paper. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong.”

  “Hey,” he said to Despereaux.

  Despereaux kept reading.

  “Hey!” shouted Furlough. “Despereaux! The Mouse Council wants you.”

  “Pardon?” said Despereaux. He looked up from the book.

  “The Mouse Council has called you to sit with them.”

  “Me?” said Despereaux.

  “You.”

  “I’m busy right now,” said Despereaux, and he bent his head again to the open book.

  Furlough sighed. “Geez,” he said. “Cripes. Nothing makes sense to this guy. Nothing. I was right to turn him in. He’s sick.”

  Furlough crawled up the chair leg and then hopped onto the book. He sat next to Despereaux. He tapped him on the head once, twice.

  “Hey,” he said. “The Mouse Council isn’t asking. They’re telling. They’re commanding. You have to come with me. Right now.”

  Despereaux turned to Furlough. “Do you know what love is?” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Love.”

  Furlough shook his head. “You’re asking the wrong question,” he said. “The question you should be asking is why the Mouse Council wants to see you.”

  “There is somebody who loves me,” said Despereaux. “And I love her and that is the only thing that matters to me.”

  “Somebody who loves you? Somebody who you love? What difference does that make? What matters is that you’re in a lot of trouble with the Mouse Council.”

  “Her name,” said Despereaux, “is Pea.”

  “What?”

  “The person who loves me. Her name is Pea.”

  “Cripes,” said Furlough, “you’re missing the whole point of everything here. You’re missing the point of being a mouse. You’re missing the point of being called to sit with the Mouse Council. You’ve got to come with me. It’s the law. You’ve been called.”

  Despereaux sighed. He reached out and touched the words fair maiden in the book. He traced them with one paw. And then he put his paw to his mouth.

  “Cripes,” said Furlough. “You’re making a fool of yourself. Let’s go.”

  “I honor you,” whispered Despereaux. “I honor you.”

  And then, reader, he followed Furlough over the book and down the chair leg and across the library floor to the waiting Mouse Council.

  He allowed his brother to lead him to his fate.

  THE ENTIRE MOUSE COMMUNITY, as instructed by the Most Very Honored Head Mouse, had gathered behind the wall of the castle ballroom. The members of the Mouse Council sat atop three bricks piled high, and spread out before them was every mouse, old and young, foolish and wise, who lived in the castle.

  They were all waiting for Despereaux.

  “Make way,” said Furlough. “Here he is. I’ve got him. Make way.”

  Furlough pushed through the crowd of mice. Despereaux clung to his brother’s tail.

  “There he is,” the mice whispered. “There he is.”

  “He’s so small.”

  “They say he was born with his eyes open.”

  Some of the mice pulled away from Despereaux in disgust, and others, thrill seekers, reached out to touch him with a whisker or a paw.

  “The princess put a finger on him.”

  “They say he sat at the foot of the king.”

  “It is simply not done!” came the distinctive voice of Despereaux’s aunt Florence.

  “Make way, make way!” shouted Furlough. “I have him right here. I have Despereaux Tilling, who has been called to sit with the Mouse Council.”

  He led Despereaux to the front of the room. “Honored members of the Mouse Council,” shouted Furlough, “I have brought you Despereaux Tilling, as you requested, to sit with you.” He looked over his shoulder at Despereaux. “Let go of me,” Furlough said.

  Despereaux dropped Furlough’s tail. He looked up at the members of the Mouse Council. His father met his gaze and then shook his head and looked away. Despereaux turned and faced the sea of mice.

  “To the dungeon!” a voice cried out. “Straight to the dungeon with him.”

  Despereaux’s head, which had been full of such delightful phrases as “happily ever after” and “lovely ears” and “I honor you,” suddenly cleared.

  “Straight to the dungeon!” another voice shouted.

  “Enough,” said the Most Very Honored Head Mouse. “This trial will be conducted in an orderly fashion. We will act civilized.” He cleared his throat. He said to Despereaux, “Son, turn and look at me.”

  Despereaux turned. He looked up and into the Head Mouse’s eyes. They were dark eyes, deep and sad and frightened. And looking into them, Despereaux’s heart thudded once, twice.

  “Despereaux Tilling,” said the Head Mouse.

  “Yes, sir,” said Despereaux.

  “We, the fourteen members of the Mouse Council, have discussed your behavior. First, we will give you a chance to defend yourself against these rumors of your egregious acts. Did you or did you not sit at the foot of the human king?”

  “I did,” said Despereaux, “but I was listening to the music, sir. I was there to hear the song that the king was singing.”

  “To hear the what?”

  “The song, sir. He was singing a song about the deep purple falling over sleepy garden walls.”

  The Head Mouse shook his head. “Whatever you are talking about is beside the point. The question is this and only this: Did you sit at the foot of the human king?”

  “I did, sir.”

  The community of mice shifted their tails and paws and whiskers. They waited.

  “And did you allow the girl human, the princess, to touch you?”

  “Her name is Pea.”

  “Never mind her name. Did you allow her to touch you?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Despereaux. “I let her touch me. It felt good.”

  A gasp arose from the assembled mice.

  Despereaux heard his mother’s voice. “Mon Dieu, it is not the end of the world. It was a touch, what of it?”

  “It is simply not done!” came Aunt
Florence’s voice from the crowd.

  “To the dungeon,” said a mouse in the front row.

  “Silence!” roared the Most Very Honored Head Mouse. “Silence.” He looked down at Despereaux.

  “Do you, Despereaux Tilling, understand the sacred, never-to-be-broken rules of conduct for being a mouse?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Despereaux, “I guess so. But . . .”

  “Did you break them?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Despereaux. He raised his voice. “But . . . I broke the rules for good reasons. Because of music. And because of love.”

  “Love!” said the Head Mouse.

  “Oh, cripes,” said Furlough, “here we go.”

  “I love her, sir,” said Despereaux.

  “We are not here to talk about love. This trial is not about love. This trial is about you being a mouse,” shouted the Most Very Honored Head Mouse from high atop the bricks, “and not acting like one!!!”

  “Yes, sir,” said Despereaux. “I know.”

  “No, I don’t think that you do know. And because you do not deny the charges, you must be punished. You are to be sent, as ancient castle-mouse law decrees, to the dungeon. You are being sent to the rats.”

  “That’s right!” shouted a mouse in the crowd. “That’s the ticket.”

  The dungeon! The rats! Despereaux’s small heart sank all the way to the tip of his tail. There would be no light in the dungeon. No stained-glass windows. No library and no books. There would be no Princess Pea.

  “But first,” said the Most Very Honored Head Mouse, “we will give you the chance to renounce your actions. We will allow you to go to the dungeon with a pure heart.”

  “Renounce?”

  “Repent. Say that you are sorry you sat at the foot of the human king. Say that you are sorry you allowed the human princess to touch you. Say that you regret these actions.”

  Despereaux felt hot and then cold and then hot again. Renounce her? Renounce the princess?

  “Mon Dieu!” shouted his mother. “Son, do not act the fool. Renounce! Repent!”