Goldwhiskers

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  ‘Here she is,’ he said nervously, whisking away a white handkerchief to reveal what looked like some sort of bizarre sculpture. ‘Artificial Mouse Intelligence. AMI for short.’

  Julius inspected the contraption. AMI was the first ever mouse-built computer, a goal the agency had been working towards for quite some time now. Currently, they had to rely on human computers, which the gymnasts could only use after hours at the museum to lessen the risk of being spotted by museum employees. Being spotted was forbidden; it could mean a visit from the exterminator. Besides rats, there was nothing that any mouse feared more than a visit from the exterminator.

  Foraging the right parts for AMI had been slow – a microchip here, a microprocessor there – but just this past week Glory’s brother Chip had scored a small, collapsible keyboard (tossed into a rubbish bin outside a dormitory at Georgetown University), and Bunsen himself had finally solved the monitor problem. This had been their biggest hurdle. Even the smallest laptop monitor, had they been able to forage one, would be too tall to fit in the agency’s headquarters beneath the floorboards of the Spy City Cafe. Bunsen had been the one to suggest hot-wiring AMI’s hard drive to a hand-held game player and using its screen. His idea had worked beautifully – at least in initial tests.

  Julius put in a call to the typing pool, and in two shakes of a cat’s tail Miss Eiderdown reported back for duty.

  ‘You have Paws Only clearance?’ Julius asked. The computer gymnast nodded.

  ‘And you’ve had practice on AMI?’ Bunsen added.

  The computer gymnast warily eyed the laboratory ceiling to which a thick layer of padding had been stapled – and nodded again, reluctantly this time.

  ‘Good,’ said Bunsen, handing her a safety helmet. Similar to the one he used on his skateboard, it was fashioned from a bottle cap. Inside, however, it contained an extra-thick layer of foraged sponge. Miss Eiderdown fastened it securely and gave him a nod.

  ‘A message to Sir Edmund Hazelnut-Cadbury, MICE-6, London,’ Julius began, clasping his paws behind his back and pacing back and forth. ‘Just heard the news, stop. Agents in peril, top priority their release, stop. Our full resources at your disposal, stop. Please advise, stop.’

  As he rattled off his message, the computer gymnast sprang onto the small keyboard, flipping and tumbling and diving from one letter to the next. She squeaked twice – first when she banged her head against the ceiling while leaping for the C in ‘Cadbury’, and the second time when she did it again while performing a triple somersault on to the p in the final ‘stop’. Working on AMI was hazardous duty, for unlike the spacious human offices upstairs in the museum, the agency’s own ceilings were low, wedged as its offices were beneath the floor of the Spy City Cafe. There had been one concussion already this week, along with several slightly dazed gymnasts.

  ‘Well done, Miss Eiderdown,’ said Julius after she finished.

  His employee smiled wanly, rubbing her forehead. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Google, please,’ said Bunsen, and Miss Eiderdown again leaped and twirled. ‘Scotland Yard.’

  Once the home page for Scotland Yard appeared, Bunsen issued a series of crisp orders, keeping a close eye on the screen. Miss Eiderdown obediently tapped in various strings of code, hacking into the website. It didn’t take Bunsen long to find the file about the missing jewels – and the two human suspects.

  His pink eyes narrowed as he scanned the report on the screen. Beside him, Julius read along, stroking his tail thoughtfully.

  ‘“Koh-i-Noor diamond and Sovereign’s Ring missing,”’ Bunsen read aloud. ‘“Well-planned theft of detachable gem and small, portable ring most likely carried out by two American children.”’ He shook his head glumly. ‘Look here,’ he continued, tapping the screen. ‘They found the secret compartment in Oz’s shoe. They think he planned to hide the Koh-i-Noor in it.’

  ‘And they found his CD player as well,’ added Julius. ‘That must be how Oz got word to Glory.’

  Bunsen tugged unhappily on his ears. ‘This is terrible!’ he moaned.

  ‘Keep reading,’ said Julius. ‘It gets worse. They think Oz’s parents are accomplices. Listen to this: “Suspect’s mother reported theft of her own jewellery from the Savoy earlier in the day, likely as decoy. Mentioned shoe as a good hiding place. Possible nervous slip?”’

  The head of the Spy Mice Agency and the lab mouse regarded each other soberly.

  ‘This is not good,’ said Bunsen. ‘Not good at all.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DAY TWO – TUESDAY 1130 HOURS

  ‘What are we supposed to do with THIS?’ roared Roquefort Dupont, hurling the ring that Goldwhiskers had just given him across the floor. It bounced to a stop in the far corner of the cubbyhole, where Farthing, who had been released from the oubliette, was cowering. The tiny mouseling squeaked in alarm and darted away as fast as his little legs would carry him, taking shelter behind Twist. ‘It’s a ring, not revenge!’

  ‘Are all Americans this dim, or is it just you?’ said Goldwhiskers. He was typing away on his laptop keyboard, the Koh-i-Noor beside him, safely wedged into the seat of his red leather chair. Every few seconds he paused to admire it. ‘Aha, here we are.’ He swivelled the laptop round towards Dupont and Piccadilly and pointed wordlessly at the screen.

  ‘What?’ demanded Dupont.

  Goldwhiskers sighed. ‘I thought you said you could read.’

  The hackles on Dupont’s thick neck rose angrily. ‘I can!’

  ‘Well then, what are you waiting for?’

  Dupont shot him a murderous glance and scowled at the screen. ‘After last night’s shocking Crown Jewels theft, Ozymandias Levinson and Delilah Bean, two American schoolchildren, were interrogated before dawn at Scotland Yard,’ he muttered aloud. He looked up at Goldwhiskers, who smiled.

  ‘Wire service,’ the big rat said smugly. ‘Latest news flash. It’ll be the main headline on every paper in the world in a few hours. Revenge enough for you?’

  Dupont shrugged and nodded reluctantly.

  ‘How about you, Stilton, old chap?’

  ‘Don’t forget the mother,’ Piccadilly replied.

  Goldwhiskers smiled again. ‘Oh, don’t worry – I haven’t forgotten her. Twist!’

  The mouseling scampered forward, Farthing clinging to his tail like a limpet. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Where’s that piece of paper you brought me yesterday, the one from the Savoy?’

  Twist trotted off, returning momentarily with Lavinia Levinson’s London itinerary.

  ‘That’s the one,’ said Goldwhiskers, plucking it out of his paw. He chortled with glee. ‘Oh, this is more fun than I’ve had in ages! Perhaps revenge does do a rat good now and then.’ He waved the itinerary at Dupont and Piccadilly. ‘It’s bound to have her fingerprints on it, right? We’ll just print the ransom note on the back, send it to Scotland Yard, and bingo! One less soprano bellowing onstage.’

  He tapped out a few sentences on his laptop, then handed the piece of paper to Dodge. ‘Take this downstairs to the printer, would you?’ he said. His assistant nodded and headed for the office below.

  While they waited for Dodge to return with the ransom note, Farthing ran off in search of the ring. He retrieved it from the far corner where Dupont had thrown it and dragged it back to the red leather chair. Squatting down on the carpet beside it, he patted it with his tiny paws. ‘Pretty!’ the wee mouse cried, tracing the circle of diamonds that surrounded the ring’s huge sapphire, and the rubies that criss-crossed its surface.

  ‘More than pretty, my pet – priceless,’ said Goldwhiskers.

  ‘It’s a stupid human ring,’ grumbled Dupont.

  ‘It’s the Sovereign’s Ring, you idiot – worn by the rulers of England,’ Goldwhiskers retorted. ‘It will fetch an enormous sum.’ He leaned forward in his chair. ‘That’s cold, hard cash, remember? Which you and Piccadilly may share between you for your services. Enough to set you up in that castle you’ve been mooning about. Or p
erhaps your own island in the Caribbean? The two of you would make marvellous pirates.’

  A flicker of greed ignited in Dupont’s red eyes. He glanced from the Sovereign’s Ring to the Koh-i-Noor. ‘If the ring’s so valuable, how about that? What’s our share of the diamond?’

  Goldwhiskers hesitated. He picked up the Koh-i-Noor in his manicured paws and gazed into its depths. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘Actually, there’s been a slight change of plan.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DAY TWO – TUESDAY 1145 HOURS

  Click! Click! Click!

  Glory peeked over the top of what looked like a packet of chewing gum – in reality a subminiature spy camera, on loan from MICE-6 – and frowned. Paw prints, plain as day. Mouse paw prints. No – mouseling paw prints, to be exact. A twin trail of them, creeping along the edge of the wall inside the Jewel House at the Tower of London.

  ‘Check it out,’ she called softly. Bubble and Squeak scampered over as she pointed to her discovery.

  ‘Fresh?’ asked Squeak.

  Bubble inspected the prints closely. ‘Looks like it,’ he reported.

  ‘Let’s see where they go, then,’ said Glory, and, clinging carefully to the shadows at the base of the wall, she started to follow the trail. Bubble and Squeak crept along behind her.

  So much for my holiday in London, thought Glory ruefully. Her Christmas break had quickly turned into a working holiday. Not that she minded – Oz and DB were infinitely more important than touring the city. Glory halted. In front of her, the paw prints suddenly veered off towards the centre of the room – and the glass case.

  ‘This is as far as we go,’ cautioned Bubble. ‘Mustn’t risk being seen.’

  The exhibit – which was closed to the public pending a full investigation into the jewel heist – was crawling with detectives from Scotland Yard. The three spy mice agents had taken quite a risk getting even this far. Fortunately, their Pigeon Air flights had managed to avoid the security cameras on the roof, but they’d had a couple of close calls inside the building.

  ‘But we’ve got to see where the trail leads!’ Glory protested. ‘Two of our agents are at stake!’

  ‘It was probably just a pair of little thrill-seekers, come to see what all the excitement’s about,’ said Squeak.

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ replied Glory. ‘But I still need to know for sure. Something smells fishy to me.’

  ‘How are we going to get from here,’ said Bubble, tapping the wall, ‘to there?’ He pointed at the display case. ‘Without being seen, I mean.’

  Three pairs of bright little eyes scanned the room. Above them, bolted to the ceiling at regular intervals, were security cameras just waiting to catch their every move. Across from them stood a throng of sharp-eyed human investigators. It was hopeless.

  Just then, there was a rumble in the hallway outside, and a guard pushed a cart laden with tea and coffee and snacks into the room.

  ‘Break time!’ he called out cheerfully, and the humans quickly crowded around.

  ‘One down,’ said Bubble softly. ‘Bit of luck, that. But there are still the cameras.’

  ‘Wait a minute – I have an idea,’ said Squeak. She rummaged in her backpack and pulled out a large hankie. ‘A bit low-tech, but sometimes the simplest way is best. I found it in the lobby of the Savoy on the way to work this morning.’ She rubbed at a lipstick smudge in one corner of the fabric and frowned. ‘Just needs a bit of a wash and it’ll be good as new. I’m going to give it to my mum for Christmas. She’s been wanting a new bedspread for ages.’

  ‘So what’s your plan?’ asked Glory, puzzled.

  In reply, Squeak draped the hankie on the floor. ‘Look – it’s the same colour.’

  ‘Squeak, you’re a genius!’ said Glory.

  ‘I heartily agree,’ added Bubble. ‘Perfect camouflage! We’ll be practically invisible!’

  Each mouse grasped a corner of the hankie, and together they gave it a shake. As the square of fabric ballooned up, they quickly huddled beneath it. It drifted down, concealing them from view. Squeak poked her head out from under one side and glanced over at the humans. ‘Ready, steady – go!’ she called, pulling her head back in. The hankie scuttled across the floor towards the glass display case.

  Not a single Scotland Yard detective noticed. Not a single security camera whirred to life. The hankie bumped up against the display case and came to a halt. Three small furry heads appeared as the mice cautiously emerged.

  ‘There!’ said Glory triumphantly. She pointed to a crack at the base of the display case. It was small enough not to arouse the suspicion of human investigators, but large enough for a mouse to pass through.

  ‘Do you really think a pair of mouselings could have pulled this off?’ said Squeak.

  Click! Click! Click! Glory’s camera whirred. ‘I have no idea,’ she replied. ‘But if there’s an opening above, and any sign of paw prints, we’ve got our man. Er, mouse, I mean. Mice. Whatever – let’s go!’

  Leading the way, Glory disappeared through the crack. Bubble and Squeak were right on her tail. A minute later, three little noses poked out beneath the Imperial State Crown.

  ‘Oh, my,’ said Glory, dazzled.

  Before them, stretching the length of the long display case, gleamed a bright river of gold and gems. The Crown Jewels of England! The trio of secret agents crept forward and craned their little necks up at the crown that had shielded them from view. Worn by human queens and kings at their coronations, it was enormous. Its surface glittered with diamonds, sapphires, pearls and other precious stones. Affixed to its front, at the centre, was a glowing red stone the size of a pigeon’s egg.

  ‘The Black Prince’s Ruby,’ whispered Squeak.

  ‘Oh, my,’ said Glory again, her camera clicking furiously. ‘We don’t have anything like this back in Washington.’ She contemplated the enormous ruby. ‘So why didn’t that get stolen too? It must be worth a fortune.’

  ‘The Koh-i-Noor is the only stone in the collection that’s detachable,’ explained Bubble. ‘Whoever pulled this off knew exactly what they were doing.’

  Squeak nudged them. ‘Look!’ she said softly. ‘A paw print.’

  Sure enough, impressed very faintly into the velvet that draped across the display case in front of them was a single, tiny paw print.

  Click! Click! Click! went Glory’s camera. ‘I still don’t get it,’ she said, looking up at her colleagues. ‘It doesn’t add up. What mouselings do you know that could mastermind a stunt like this? Even if they did manage to grab the Koh-i-Noor and the ring – then what?’

  ‘The answer’s got to be here somewhere,’ Squeak replied. ‘Let’s go back down and see if we can pick up the trail again.’

  The three spy mice withdrew beneath the Imperial Crown and re-emerged a minute later at the base of the display case.

  ‘Hurry,’ urged Bubble, casting an anxious glance over at the knot of humans by the cart. ‘Break time’s nearly over.’

  Once again using the hankie as a shield, the mice quickly retraced their steps to the shadows of the far wall. They fanned out and began searching for more paw prints. Several minutes ticked by. Then –

  ‘Here!’ cried Squeak excitedly. ‘Look, these ones lead in a different direction!’

  Glory and Bubble rushed over.

  ‘Looks like the two of them were dragging something heavy,’ said Bubble, pointing to a wide swathe in the dust between the twin trails.

  ‘Like a diamond and a ring?’ suggested Glory, her camera clicking furiously as she photographed the crime scene.

  ‘Hard to say,’ Bubble replied. ‘But look here – the trail just stops.’

  The mice frowned at the floor. He was right.

  ‘A cat got them, perhaps?’ suggested Squeak.

  Bubble shook his head. ‘No cats allowed in the Tower,’ he said. ‘On account of the ravens.’

  ‘It’s a dead end,’ said Squeak, disappointed.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Glory re
plied. She pointed to the ventilation grate in the wall above them. ‘Did either of you happen to bring along your grappling equipment?’

  In reply, Bubble reached into his backpack and pulled out a fish hook. Tied to it was a long piece of dental floss. Swinging it expertly around his head, he flung the fish hook up at the grating. It wound itself round the metal grid and caught. Bubble tugged on the line to be sure it was secure, then passed it politely to Glory. ‘After you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. Grabbing the floss in her front paws, Glory braced her hind paws against the wall and hauled herself swiftly up. Squeak followed, and Bubble brought up the rear, keeping a sharp eye on the humans.

  ‘They must have gone through here,’ said Glory, clinging to the grating and peering into the darkness beyond.

  ‘Pretty slick for a pair of mouselings,’ said Squeak.

  ‘Not if our boogeymouse was directing them,’ Glory replied. ‘I’m beginning to think these two cases are related.’

  Bubble nodded in agreement. ‘I think perhaps you’re right,’ he said.

  ‘But what mouse would do such a thing?’ cried Squeak. ‘Steal from humans, I mean?’

  ‘Don’t forget our old friend Fumble,’ said Glory. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time a mouse did something dishonourable.’ She pulled up the line of dental floss and dropped it through the grating to the darkness below. ‘We need evidence, though, if we’re going to help Oz and DB.’

  Bubble and Squeak stared at her, horrified. ‘You mean we’d tell the humans at Scotland Yard that a mouse did this?’

  Glory patted her camera. ‘We wouldn’t exactly have to break the Mouse Code and talk to them,’ she explained. ‘We could just return the jewels, along with a few photographs. Humans are pretty smart; they’d put two and two together.’

  ‘They’d never believe it,’ said Bubble. ‘Not in a million years.’

  ‘We have to try,’ said Glory. ‘This is Oz and DB we’re talking about. They’re true blue – and they’re innocent. A criminal is a criminal, no matter how many legs he or she has. We need to find the Koh-i-Noor and the Sovereign’s Ring and bring these misguided mice to justice. Here.’