Fredrik clumped and clattered his way up the stairs. “Come on, Trudie, there’s plenty of room up here.”
Trudie wasn’t so sure, but she followed him up, nose twitching and sniffing.
“Something’s missing here,” she said after another sniff of the air.
“Nah, it’s cool. No one else here, no fight for the food.”
“No food,” she remarked, now she’d figured what was missing. “This isn’t a mill for grinding grain. No wonder there’s no one here of our kind.”
Fredrik stopped at the top step and looked around him. “Hmm. Not agricultural land, only grazing.”
“Plenty of room… but no place for mice.”
St Olave’s Mill is a windpump, for draining the marshes