The Black Paw

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  The twin rats-in-waiting fell instantly silent.

  ‘Scurvy!’

  Dupont's aide snapped to attention. ‘Yes, Boss?’

  ‘Return the prisoners to the cage, then go find Gnaw and report back here on the double. It's time to start the countdown to Operation P.E.S.T. Control.’

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  Oz pressed his ear to the knot-hole of the towering tree just inside the gates to Dumbarton Oaks. Somewhere deep inside, he could hear the faint sound of music. Rock music.

  ‘This must be it,’ he said.

  Bunsen popped his head out of Oz's shirt pocket. ‘Let me have a listen,’ he said.

  Oz held out his hand and Bunsen climbed on, gripping Oz's thumb tightly as the boy lifted him closer to the tree. He cocked one pale ear towards the knot-hole. ‘Definitely the right place,’ he said, wincing. ‘There's no mistaking the, uh, robust sound of the Steel Acorns.’

  Oz placed Bunsen back in his pocket and put his mouth to the knot-hole. ‘B-Nut, if you're in there, Glory's in trouble!’ he called.

  He stood back and waited. Nothing.

  ‘Try again,’ said DB. ‘Only louder this time.’

  ‘Much louder,’ added Bunsen, ‘if you want to be heard above that racket.’

  ‘B-NUT! GLORY'S IN TROUBLE!’ Oz yelled, but again there was no reply.

  ‘I can't believe he didn't hear you that time,’ said DB.

  ‘Maybe we have the wrong tree,’ said Oz doubtfully, scanning the estate grounds for a likelier candidate.

  ‘I heard you just fine.’

  Oz whirled around to see a nose emerge from the knot-hole. A nose remarkably similar to Glory's.

  ‘B-Nut?’ asked Oz.

  Glory's brother eyed him cautiously. Bunsen poked his head out of Oz's pocket. ‘It all right, B-Nut,’ he said. ‘They're friends of Glory's.’

  ‘Friends of Glory's?’ B-Nut looked astounded. ‘My sister broke the Mouse Code? She really must be in trouble.’

  ‘It's a long story,’ said Bunsen, ‘and we haven't much time.’

  ‘What's up?’

  As Oz started to explain what had happened back at Dupont Circle, B-Nut's whiskers twitched in alarm. ‘Glory went into his lair? Without backup?’

  ‘There's more,’ said Bunsen. ‘She got the Kiss of Death back, but then she went in again.’ He hesitated. ‘B-Nut, she found your father.’

  B-Nut's whiskers trembled. ‘My father?’

  Oz nodded. ‘He's still alive. Dupont has him in a cage.’

  ‘And then something went wrong –’ added DB.

  ‘We tried to reel them in, but –’

  ‘The fishing line was cut, and –

  B-Nut's head swivelled from DB to Oz to Bunsen and back again as they all rushed to tell him what had happened. Finally, he held up a paw. ‘Hold on a minute. You're all talking at once. Bunsen, you explain.’

  Briskly, the lab mouse outlined the afternoon's events, starting with Glory's email to him and ending with her capture.

  ‘I see, B-Nut said when Bunsen had finished. ‘She certainly has nerve, my sister. Took photos of Dupont's lair, you say? And planted a transmitter?’ He shook his head in admiration. ‘Well, there's no time to be lost. We have to go in after them.’

  ‘Don't you think we should alert the Mouse Guard?’ said Bunsen. ‘Or Julius?’

  B-Nut frowned. ‘It would take them hours to mount a rescue. We can be back at the Metro station in two shakes of a rat's tail. Besides, I've learned a thing or two about Dupont and his famous rat kingdom on my surveillance runs. I think I know just the thing to rattle his cage. But we're going to need more help.’

  Poking his head back into the knot-hole, he gave a sharp whistle.

  A minute later, three more small heads popped out. Three pairs of bright little mouse eyes widened in alarm at the sight of Oz and DB.

  ‘Dude!’ said a dark grey mouse who had slicked the fur on top of his head into sharp spikes. ‘Are you talking to humans?’

  ‘It's cool, Tulip,’ said B-Nut. ‘They're friends of Glory's.’

  His band mate frowned. ‘It's just Lip, dude, remember? I hate it when you call me Tulip.’

  ‘Right,’ said B-Nut. ‘Sorry, Lip. Oz, DB, Bunsen, meet the Steel Acorns. This is Lip – he's lead guitar. Romeo plays bass and Nutmeg's our drummer.’

  The band members waved shyly. Oz and DB waved back.

  ‘Lip, you and the guys grab our gear and catch a pigeon to Dupont Circle,’ said B-Nut. ‘Oh, and bring my skateboard. I'm going to go with Bunsen and the humans –’

  ‘We've got a gig at Dupont Circle?’ Lip looked confused.

  B-Nut sighed. Just bring the gear, dude. I'll explain everything when we get there. And hurry, there are lives at stake.’

  ‘Oh, I get it, spy stuff. Awesome!’

  The Steel Acorns vanished, and Oz held out his hand. B-Nut hesitated for a moment, then hopped on to his palm.

  ‘Closest I've been to a human before,’ said B-Nut, giving Oz a tentative sniff. ‘You don't smell all that bad.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Oz doubtfully. ‘I guess.’

  The rendezvous at Dupont Circle went off without a hitch. Lip, Romeo and Nutmeg were waiting for them under one of the chess tables at the park, and after stowing the Steel Acorns and their gear into shirt and jacket pockets, Oz and DB headed for the escalator to the Metro station.

  ‘So what's your plan, B-Nut?’ Oz asked as they approached the bench that concealed the entrance to Dupont's lair.

  B-Nut poked his head out of Oz's shirt pocket and gave him a cocky grin. ‘You'll see,’ he replied. ‘Bunsen, is that dog-doo transmitter Glory took in with her still in place?’

  Bunsen poked Oz with his paw. Oz held up his CD player and the lab mouse hopped on to it. He fiddled with the dial, tuning it in to the transmitter's frequency. Then he and B-Nut stationed themselves by the headphones and listened closely.

  ‘It's past my DINNERTIME!’ Roquefort Dupont's unmistakable voice came booming through loud and clear. ‘Where are those worthless rats-in-waiting?’

  B-Nut clapped Bunsen on the back. ‘Nice work, Bunsen.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Bunsen, slightly puzzled. ‘Though I don't see how eavesdropping on Dupont is going to help Glory.’

  ‘Actually,’ said B-Nut, ‘I was hoping we could reverse the feed and let the rats do a little eavesdropping on us instead.’

  Bunsen's pink eyes widened. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I think I catch your drift. Very clever.’

  ‘What can we do to help?’ asked Oz.

  ‘Keep an eye out for rats,’ said B-Nut. ‘Oh, and here.’ He passed his skateboard to Oz. ‘Glory's should be around here somewhere, too, right? See if you can tie them together. A rubber band should do the trick. Then secure them both to the fishing line.’

  ‘Check,’ said Oz.

  As B-Nut and Bunsen busied themselves loading a backpack with supplies, Lip and Romeo and Nutmeg plugged their electric guitars (made from tongue depressors wired for sound by a second cousin of Bunsen's) into the amplifiers (Mouse Music's finest, crafted from foraged hearing aids).

  ‘Time to suit up, Bunsen, we're going in,’ said B-Nut, strapping the backpack on.

  ‘Me?’ squeaked Bunsen in alarm.

  ‘Can't play the guitar, can you?’

  The slim white mouse shook his head. ‘Well, no, I –’

  ‘Then you're it, dude! I can't go in without backup.’

  ‘But I'm a lab mouse!’

  B-Nut slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Sure, dude. One heck of a lab mouse. Look like you're in good shape, too. Been working out?’

  ‘I, uh –’

  ‘Thought so. Quiet lab mouse is just your cover, isn't it? There's more to old Bunsen than meets the eye. It'll be a cinch – just follow my lead.’

  Jamming his helmet on, B-Nut stuffed a small wad of cotton in each ear. He handed some to Bunsen and instructed him to do the same. Reluctantly, Bunsen did as he was told. B-Nut p
laced a helmet on his colleague's head and gave him a once-over. ‘You are so pale, dude,’ he said. ‘You could use some camouflage. The rats will spot you a mile away.’

  ‘I told you, I'm a lab mouse,’ said Bunsen sadly, glancing down at his white fur. Then he brightened. ‘Maybe I have something that will help.’ He rummaged in his duffel bag and emerged a moment later with a small tin of black shoe polish.

  ‘Bunsen, you think of everything!’ said B-Nut.

  ‘One does one's best,’ Bunsen replied modestly.

  While DB helped Bunsen swipe shoe polish on to his pale coat and tail, B-Nut made the final preparations.

  ‘Skateboards ready?’ he called to Oz.

  Oz gave him a thumbs-up.

  ‘Acorns ready?’

  Lip played a quick riff on his guitar in reply.

  ‘Good luck,’ said Oz. ‘I wish we could go in there with you.’

  B-Nut grinned at him. ‘Sorry, kid. This is a job for a mouse.’ He turned to Bunsen, who now resembled a small black mole. ‘That's more like it, dude. You look like a real commando. OK, Acorns, it's time to rock and roll!’

  Bunsen flipped a switch on Oz's CD player and turned the volume up to maximum. As the Acorns lit into their number-one hit (‘Born to Shake My Tail’), B-Nut leaped on to the lead skateboard. Bunsen climbed cautiously on to the one in the rear and sat down, gripping his paws around the edges for dear life.

  ‘Remember, three tugs on the line when we're ready for you to pull us up,’ said B-Nut.

  ‘You got it,’ Oz replied.

  With a powerful thrust of his hind paw, B-Nut pushed off and sped towards the hole beneath the bench, whisking Bunsen – pink eyes squeezed tightly shut – along behind him like the caboose on a train.

  As the tiny rescue party vanished from sight, Oz shook his head in concern. ‘I hope this works,’ he said to DB. ‘I just hope this works.’

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  ‘EeeeeeeeeOWWWWW!’

  Dupont shrieked as a deafening blast of hard-driving rock music pierced the air of his headquarters. Scurvy and Gnaw squealed and dived for cover, their paws clamped firmly over their ears (Gnaw covered just one). Limburger Lulu and her brother fled down the corridor towards the sewer, squeaking in terror.

  ‘WHAT IS THAT RACKET?!’ screeched Dupont.

  guitars. The music pulsed and throbbed and split the air. It seemed to be coming from all directions.

  Back in their cage in the shadows, Glory and her father had their paws clamped over their ears too. After a minute, though, Glory nudged her father.

  ‘Pop,’ she whispered. ‘Pop, that's the Steel Acorns.’

  Dumbarton Goldenleaf cautiously lifted one paw away from one dignified ear. ‘I do believe you're right,’ he said, listening intently. ‘“Born to Shake My Tail”, if I'm not mistaken.’

  ‘You're not mistaken. It's B-Nut!’ said Glory. ‘He's come for us!’

  Her father smiled. ‘Clever boy,’ he said. ‘Rat ears are highly sensitive – much more so than ours. Dupont and his cronies must be going berserk.’

  Indeed they were, to judge from the thrashing and howling that could be heard through the raucous wails of the Acorns' guitars.

  Glory stood up and helped her father to his feet. ‘We have to be ready for him,’ she said. ‘B-Nut will be moving fast.’

  Indeed he was – and so was Bunsen. Still gripping the edges of Glory's skateboard grimly in his blackened paws, Bunsen shot through the tunnel and into Dupont's lair right behind B-Nut. The two mice landed in a heap atop a crumpled brown paper lunch bag. Fortunately, they arrived unobserved, as every rat eye in the chamber was squeezed tightly shut in a vain attempt to help block out the earsplitting music.

  B-Nut hopped off his skateboard and gave Bunsen an enthusiastic grin. Bunsen, looking dazed, managed a weak smile in return. The two mice grabbed their skateboards – still linked together with a rubber band – and scuttled for cover behind the lunch bag. B-Nut peered around it just as a fresh wave of feedback screeched from the dog-doo transmitter.

  ‘OWWWWWWWW!!! MAKE IT STOP!!!’ wailed Dupont, but for once neither Gnaw nor Scurvy, who still lay prone on the floor, rushed to do his bidding.

  B-Nut opened his backpack and removed what appeared to be a pen. Hefting it on to his shoulder, he aimed it towards the middle of the chamber and pressed down on the clip. Instantly, a misty stream of liquid jetted out towards the rats. B-Nut ducked back down again and Bunsen passed him a gas mask (crafted from bits of an old rubber glove stuffed with cheesecloth), then hastily pulled on his own. A thick haze of homemade tear gas (juice from foraged onions) began to fill the chamber.

  ‘IT'S – A – RAID!’ Dupont managed to choke out before he sagged to the floor by his aides. The three of them lay there, gasping for breath and weeping uncontrollably. Roquefort Dupont, descendant of kings, Lord of the Sewers and supreme ruler of Washington's rat underworld, was powerless. He could do nothing but swipe his tail at B-Nut and Bunsen in feeble anger as the two mice leaped over the lunch bag and sped across the room towards the far corner.

  In a trice they reached the cage and wrenched open the door. B-Nut swiftly removed the handcuffs from his father and sister. He flung his father – who was also overcome by the onion juice – over his shoulder and motioned to Bunsen to grab Glory. Dupont watched in helpless rage as the rescue party secured their charges and then sat down behind them on the skateboards.

  ‘Just – you – wait!’ he sobbed, wiping at his streaming red eyes. ‘It's – not – over – yet!’

  The mice ignored him. B-Nut gave three sharp tugs on the fishing line, and the skateboards shot forward into the darkness of the tunnel.

  The doors to Central Command flew open as Glory burst into the Spy Mice Agency headquarters. She was breathless and dishevelled, her normally glossy and impeccably groomed brown fur streaked with dust and bits of garbage.

  ‘Julius!’ she cried.

  Her boss, who was deep in conversation with Fumble, looked up in surprise. He frowned.

  Julius, you're never going to believe –’

  The elder mouse held up a paw, silencing her. ‘Glory, tell me the truth,’ he said sternly, crossing the room towards her. ‘Did you break the Mouse Code? Fumble here tells me he saw you speaking to two children this afternoon.’

  Fumble was trying to appear regretful at having to be the one to impart this distressing information, but he was failing miserably. A smug smile crept across his broad grey face. Glory shot him a poisonous glance. She turned back to Julius. ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘And unauthorized use of Agency property? Is this also true?’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘Did Bunsen provide you with equipment from Deep Freeze?’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘I'm sorry, Glory, there are no buts about it. This is a serious breach of protocol. Outright insubordination, in fact.’

  Julius, please give me a chance to explain!’ Glory implored. ‘My pigeon taxi got me here just as fast as he could! The others are on their way. You see, the rats –’

  The Spy Mice Agency director cut her off. ‘Excuses are pointless,’ he said. ‘I'm afraid I'm going to have to call in the Mouse Guard. You're under arrest, Glory.’

  Glory's shoulders sagged. Her elegant little ears drooped. She glared at Fumble, who was now grinning broadly. Odious great toadying lump! This was all his fault! Hot tears of anger and frustration welled up in Glory's bright little eyes.

  The doors to Central Command burst open again with a loud bang. Julius flinched and snapped, ‘Haven't I told you mice not to –’

  ‘Well, if it isn't Julius Folger, as I live and breathe.’

  Julius whirled around. Dumbarton Goldenleaf stood in the doorway. The Spy Mice Agency director's mouth dropped open. Glory's father saluted him and winked at Glory. ‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ he said to her. ‘B-Nut and I got stuck on a trainee pigeon, of all the worst luck, and ended up halfway to the White House. We had to
practically draw the birdbrain a map to get here.’

  ‘General Goldenleaf!’ Julius was astounded.

  ‘The very same – well, almost.’ Glory's father glanced ruefully at the stub of his once-proud tail.

  ‘But, Dumbarton, I thought – we all thought –’

  ‘That I was dead? Naturally, as would have I. But Dupont decided that I might prove of use as a bargaining chip eventually and that it was worth his while to keep me alive. If you can call being stuck in a cage for three months with nothing but disgusting rat leftovers living.’ Glory's father shuddered.

  ‘How did you –’

  ‘Escape? I didn't. My brave children rescued me.’

  ‘Oh my,’ said Julius faintly.

  B-Nut pushed past his father into the room. He held the Kiss of Death in his paws. ‘Glory got this back for you,’ he announced, laying it at Julius's feet.

  ‘And,’ said Bunsen, who was right behind him, ‘she also managed to photograph Rat HQ. Not to mention plant a homing device on Dupont.’ He handed the watch-camera to Julius and smiled shyly at Glory.

  ‘Did she, indeed?’ murmured Julius. He glanced at the slim lab mouse and did a double take. ‘Bunsen? Is that you? What on earth are you doing covered in shoe polish?’

  Glory stepped forward and took Bunsen by the paw. A close observer might have detected the faint tinge of pink that appeared beneath the lab mouse's disguise. ‘Bunsen was the brains behind the rescue mission.’

  ‘Not to mention much of the brawn,’ added B-Nut. ‘He came with me when I went into Dupont's lair after these two.’

  Behind Julius, the smug smile began to falter on Fumble's face. Julius looked at the mice who stood before him. ‘It appears I may have been a bit hasty,’ he said.

  A tendril of hope sprouted in Glory's heart. ‘You mean I'm not under arrest?’

  The elder mouse shook his head. ‘No, my dear, you are most definitely not under arrest. And I most humbly apologize for mistrusting you. Your ingenuity and pluck are an example to us all. I only wish all my staff were so clever.’ He shot a troubled glance at Fumble, who by now was squirming visibly. Julius placed his paw on Glory's shoulder, being careful to avoid the bandage. ‘Glory Goldenleaf,’ he intoned solemnly, ‘I hereby fully reinstate you as a field agent for the Spy Mice Agency. And not only that, but I also promote you to Silver Skateboard.’