The Dark Portal: Chapter One: The Altar of Jupiter

[copperfyre]

Chapter 1: The Altar of Jupiter

Last time on this review of The Dark Portal (which was, um, about four months ago, oops), I spent a ridiculously long time talking about the cover and the prologue, rats were unfairly maligned, and we learned about the Ominous Grille.

We begin our first proper chapter with Albert Brown finding himself in the sewers, beyond that Ominous Grille, and wondering how he got there.

Albert had gone quite a way before he shook himself and suddenly became aware of where he was. Quickly he stifled the yell that gurgled up from his stomach and raced out of his mouth.

I really enjoy that second sentence.

“Got to get out! Got to get back!’ he said, but his voice came out all choked and squeaky and echoed eerily around the tunnel. That frightened him more than anything: the rats lived down here.

I think Jarvis does a good job of creating the tension of this scene: I’m definitely feeling the ominous fear of the sewers through Albert, despite the fact that nothing has actually happened yet.

Albert doesn’t let himself sit around being scared for long, though, being a resourceful sort of mouse: The only thing to do was to remain calm: if he succumbed to fright then he would stay rooted to the spot and the rats would surely find him. he stood up and set his jaw in determination. ‘If I stay calm and use my wits then all I have to do is retrace my footsteps and return to the Grille,’ he told himself.

Yes, go Albert, you can do it! Common sense your way out of this pickle!

It was many hours later when Albert sat down on yet another ledge and wept.

Or maybe you can’t.

We get a little bit of Albert deciding he is thoroughly lost and can’t find his way out, feeling hopeless and wondering if he has any hope of returning to his family, and then a bit of As You Know exposition, where we learn that today is the Great Spring Celebration, with games, dancing, and most importantly the presentations. His own children, Arthur and Audrey, were to be presented this year; they had come of age and would receive their mousebrasses. Today was the most special day in their lives and he would miss it.

I have no idea if we’re meant to assume these these anthropomorphic mice just have small litters, or if all the rest of Arthur and Audrey’s siblings died. I think it’s the former, because as I remember we never run into a mouse with a plausibly large number of siblings. On the other hand, mice die so much in these books that maybe people just don’t mention the massive child mortality. But that’s really dark, so let’s go with the former option.

Anyway, extra sadness for Albert because he’s missing his children’s coming of age moment.

Then we learn about Albert’s mousebrass: It was a small circle of brass that fitted in the palm of his paw. Inside the golden, shining hoop three mouse tails met in the middle. It was a sign of life and an emblem of his family. Albert took new hope from tracing the pattern with his fingers - it reminded him that there were brighter places than this dark sewer and he resolved to continue searching until he found home or death.

Perhaps it won’t surprise you to learn that mousebrasses are going to be important in this book, both symbolically and for plot reasons.

Arthur carries on walking, and then… he heard a faint pit-a-pat from around the corner. Something was approaching.

Oh no! But, luckily, this approaching someone turns out to be a mouse!

The stranger breathed a sigh of relief. “Me too, though you gave me an ‘orrid fright pouncing on me like that. I’m Piccadilly. Wotcha.’ He took his paw from Albert’s and pushed back his fringe.

Fringe? What? Do these mice have humanoid head hair? I guess so? Also, thanks to phonetic accent depiction, we get the impression that Piccadilly Isn’t From Around Here. I'm always on the fence about writing out accents, so many times it just ends up bizarre, but this is subtle enough that I don't really object.

Piccadilly turns out to be a little older than Albert’s children… He was also grey, which was unusual in the Skirtings, and he had a cheeky way of speaking. Albert put that down to Piccadilly’s lack of parents: they had been killed by an Underground train.

Everyone knows that as soon as your parents die you become cheeky! That’s definitely how that works. It’s also not mentioned if Piccadilly was called Piccadilly before his parents got run over by a train or not, or if any of the mice know he's got the same name as a train station.  

Piccadilly decides to start calling Albert Alby, which annoys Albert but which I find hilarious.

They talk a bit about the fact that they’re very lost, and then they get onto the subject of rats, who Picadilly dismisses: “Rats! Slime-stuffers! Are you afraid of them? Why, I’ll handle them for you, grandpa. A few bits of well-chosen chat from me will get ‘em runnin’.”

Albert shook his head. “Around here the rats are different. They’re not the feckless bacon rind-chewers that you have in the city, Piccadilly. No, these are far worse. They will eat each other, let alone us. They have cruel yellow eyes and they are driven by a burning hatred of all other creatures.”

“I’ll drive ‘em!” Piccadilly scoffed. “Ain’t nothing different, Alby, rats is rats wherever!”

I’m sure nothing is about to happen that is going to make Piccadilly regret his words! Nope, everything is going to be fine! I also love slime-stuffer as an insult. One of my favourite things about children’s books is that you can’t have everyone going around saying “They’re total fuckers” so you have to come up with fun insults. 

Anyway. Why are the Deptford rats so different? Because, Albert says, “They have Jupiter.”

Who Piccadilly has heard of! “In the city we’ve heard rumours of Jupiter,” he stammered at last. “The great God of the Rats, Lord of the Rotting Darkness… is he here?”

I love the continuing hints we get throughout this book and its sequels to wider belief systems of the mice and the rats (and other animals they encounter) all of which are pretty important both for the plot and for the characters. It makes the whole world feel more real and lived in, and Jarvis does a really good job of stitching those beliefs into the story and making them matter, as well as dropping little hints or throw-aways in early chapters or books that suddenly make a lot more sense later on. And Piccadilly knowing of Jupiter as this scary legendary figure is a great way to ramp up the tension, because anyone introduced as the Lord of Rotting Darkness is probably not a fun guy.

Albert also mentions Morgan, Jupiter’s chief henchrat, which leaves me wondering how on earth Albert knows what Jupiter’s chief henchrat is called. If the Deptford mice go around desperately trying to avoid the rats, and any mouse who does encounter the rats comes to a sticky end, then why do they know names of rats? Is Morgan leaving calling cards places? I can accept them knowing Jupiter as this boogeyman terrifying figure, but knowing what his head minion is called is kind of weird. Maybe Jupiter and Morgan just have very good PR.

The two of them set off paw in paw to try and find a way out, and don’t meet with any success. Piccadily’s earlier bravado falls away and Albert comforts him, telling him “Why, I’ve known mice in worse pickles than this come out tail and all. Take Twit - now there’s an example!”

Twit is a friend of Albert’s kids, but comes from the country, and ended up in the Skirtings via a perilous midwinter journey to rescue his cousin. Piccadilly is cheered up by talking about something other than their doomladen situation, and it’s cute how Albert took about thirty seconds to decide to dad at the younger mouse. 

And off they go again. This chapter could feel irritatingly stop-and-starty, with all this ‘wander along being lost, stop for a while to contemplate how lost you are, rinse and repeat’ but the narrative doesn’t linger or drag, and the points where they stop to contemplate are different enough that for me the pacing works. We need to feel trapped and helpless along with the characters, but also not be bored by it, and I think this section does a good job of walking that fine line.

They find an Ominous Hole In The Bricks and decide to enter it, in the hopes it leads somewhere. Inside the hole is mostly just really, really dark.

Albert felt they were crossing an abyss, descending into a deep black gulf. He was unable to make out the paw in front of his face, and in the raven darkness his imagination drew images before his eyes: visions of his wife Gwen, and Arthur and Audrey, forever beckoning yet always distant. Albert despaired and held his sorrow, nursing it in silence.

Following blindly, Piccadilly clung to Albert’s paw. He had never experienced a darkness like this before, not even in the tunnels of the Underground in the city. This was a total dumbfounding of the senses; he could see nothing, he could smell nothing, and even sound was muffled by the suffocating night. He tried not to think of the sense of taste, as he had not eaten for a very long time. The only thing left to him was touch and he was kept painfully aware of this every time his toes banged gainst stones and fumbled over rough brickwork. The dark seemed to have become an enemy in its own right, a being which swallowed him. Even now he felt he could be staggering down its throat.

I just love these paragraphs. There’s a few more along the same lines, and I really like the way that Jarvis gets across the sheer terror of a lack of light, and the way brains just can’t handle it. He’s going for horror and tension and boy does it work.

Through the suffocating darkness they see a literal light at the end of the tunnel, and start feeling hopeful, but - don’t get your hopes up, ever! - because instead of escape, they see a rat.

Between the candles was a figure, crouching in an attitude of subservient grovelling. It was a rat… It was Morgan - the Cornish rat, Jupiter’s lieutenant.

I don’t know how they know he’s Cornish (I also don’t know why that matters?), I also don’t know why they recognise him, but that minor quibble aside, I am pretty engrossed in how tense this whole scene is.

Although Albert was dreadfully afraid, he strained to see what the rat was doing. It seemed as if Morgan was humbling himself before something. Looking beyond the orange tip of the candle flame Albert could see an arched portal in the brick, and there, blazing in the shadows, were two fiery red eyed, impossibly large and equally evil. Albert put his paw to his mouth as the awful reality dawned. He and Piccadilly had marched into the heart of the rat empire. They were within whispering distance of the altar of Jupiter.

Well, shit. Folks, don’t crawl into weird dark holes if you find them, you will end up in the middle of your worst fears. I don’t actually remember how I felt reading this as a child (I have incredibly vivid memories of how I felt about other bits of this book, despite not having reread them since I was a child, but not this bit) but right now I can tell you that I am Very Concerned about everything, and that creeping fear and horror is being very successfully communicated.

Anyway, Jupiter and Morgan are arguing about things. I find it really interesting that we get Jupiter confirmed as an actual character so early on. He jumps from ‘scary mythical something we’ve heard stories about’ to on-screen and arguing about a lack of tribute and his rat minions being slow and useless in the space of about five pages. We’re not left to wonder if this Jupiter figure really exists, and what the rats are up to - nope, Jupiter really does exist, and he is actively ordering the rats around. We don’t really know why, but apparently he’s got them digging things.

The rats don’t seem to be very engaged in this digging, though, so Jupiter is complaining that progress is too slow, and Morgan is pointing out that the rats are bored and want to go kill mice. Jupiter is not at all pleased by this.

“Nevertheless, I have asked for one simple task to be undertaken, and all I hear is incessant whining. I fear they have little affection for me.” The voice rose and a sour tinge crept into it.

Jupiter managing to be a terrifying nightmare figure and also petulant and sulky is kind of great. He also goes from ‘I want them to love me’ to ‘Actually, no, I’m really only here for them to FEAR ME’ in the space of the next two sentences, so add fickle to that list of character attributes.

“You do well to prostrate yourself before me,” he told Morgan. “Perhaps you forget my power and hope to blind me with the honeyed words that ooze from your deceitful tongue. Remember your place as my servant!” The candle flames suddenly spluttered and turned an infernal red, so that Morgan appeared to be bathed in blood.

“Oh Master spare me!” he squealed and buried his snout in his grimy claws. “They conspire and grumble, and I am caught between. What can I do?”

Morgan seems rightly concerned about the longevity of both his job and his existence. I am too - I get the feeling Jupiter is kind of a stressful guy to work for. Also he apparently can do fancy things to candles! Never cross a mysterious shadowy figure with glowing eyes who can do magic things with candles.

Jupiter decides to deal with his discipline problems by first getting some of the troublemakers sent to him to serve me here in the void, on this side of the candles, and by giving everyone else a demonstration of his unease. None of those sound very fun for anyone else involved.

Morgan goes off to see those instructions carried out, and Jupiter’s eyes disappear into the blackness, though they can still hear him muttering to himself.

Piccadilly sensibly decides that this is a good time to get the hell out of Dodge, but Albert has been struck by the investigative spirit, and wants to find out what Jupiter and the rats are up to.

“No lad,” said Albert, taking a step forward. “There’s some terrible evil here and it will affect us all - rats, mice, and the world beyond.”

Albert, I really do appreciate your heroic impulses and desire to do the right thing and all, but I cant help but feel that this is going to end really badly!

Albert sneaks closer to listen to what Jupiter is saying, while Piccadilly is horrified and really just wants to get as far away from here as possible. (I’m with Piccadilly on this one, terrifying disembodied voices with glowing eyes should be run away from as fast as you can.)

Albert could obviously hear the rat-god, and what he heard was clearly not good news.

Uh oh… But before we can worry about that, Albert ends up captured by Morgan!

“Ho, my Lord!” cried the rat. “See what I, Morgan, have found - a spy!”

This probably isn’t going to end well. I have that feeling.

Piccadilly runs out into the tunnel yelling “Alby!” (aw) in an attempt to help, but hundreds more rats suddenly appear out of the tunnels.

“Piccadilly! Don’t even try,” Albert shouted. ‘Run as fast as you can!” Albert twisted and tore at the mousebrass around his neck. “For Gwennie!” he cried and threw the charm to the young mouse.

Piccadilly catches the mousebrass and books it, while a whole bunch of rats chase after him, while Albert gets a moment of defiance, yelling "I bet you don't know what His Nibs has got in store for you! You're all going to catch it hot!" in the general direction of all the rats.

Unfortunately we don't get to find out what Jupiter is actually planning beyond that ominous statement.

Jupiter’s voice suddenly boomed in the confusion. “Catch that mouse and bring him to me!” Cries and whoops came from the rats enjoying the chase. “Now,” Jupiter turned to Morgan, “Deliver your spy - I shall peel him myself.”

As Piccadilly ran blindly in the dark passage, over the tumult of the pursuing enemies, he heard Albert cry out, then no more.

And that’s where we end this chapter, which went from ‘well shit I’m lost in the sewers’ to ‘WELL SHIT I’ve found the rat god figure and have been captured by rats and am getting skinned alive” incredibly quickly.

We leave Albert captured by rats, his last screams being heard by his new friend Piccadilly frantically running away from a bunch of murderous rats. Good times! I’m not kind of horrorstruck at all!

When I first read this I assumed that Albert was absolutely going to show up again later, battered and seriously traumatised, but ultimately rescued. This is… not the case. (Spoilers!) No, Jarvis did actually introduce us to this sympathetic mouse character, give us a chapter to get to know him, and then brutally murder him. And, folks, we’re only on page 24 of 230.

Terrifying Illustration Of The Chapter! This isn’t actually the most horrifying illustration ever, but I love the way the candles look like eyes. And Albert is so small compared to Morgan! And Piccadilly dashing in at the side! And this does sort of answer my question about fringes in that, yes, it seems they do sort of have human hair on their heads.

Comments

[kalinara]

This is a traumatizing book already! That poor little mouse!