Goldwhiskers (10 page)

‘Aha, here we go,' said Goldwhiskers, ignoring them both.

Curiosity won out over anger again, and Dupont and Piccadilly drew closer. A schematic of the building's electrical and computer systems flashed on to the BlackBerry's screen. It looked like a pile of spaghetti.

‘What's that?' sneered Dupont. ‘The menu for an Italian restaurant?' He snickered at his lame joke.

Goldwhiskers pointed at the screen with his tail. ‘We'll need to shut it down here and here,' he told Dodge, who nodded and scampered away. Then he looked over at Twist. ‘Do you know what you need to do, mouseling?'

‘Yes, Master,' Twist replied obediently.

Goldwhiskers nodded in satisfaction. ‘Then you will please Master, and you will feast tonight!' he promised. ‘More food than you can possibly imagine, if you and Dodge do your jobs right.'

‘How about us?' demanded Dupont. ‘What do we do?'

Goldwhiskers turned back to his two rat companions. ‘What do we do?' he replied. ‘Simple. We wait.'

‘THEY'RE GONE!' shrieked Lavinia Levinson.

A diva's shriek can shatter glass, and it quickly brought Oz, his father and DB running.

‘What's gone, darling?' asked Luigi Levinson anxiously.

‘My rubies!' wailed Oz's mother.

‘Are you sure?' said her husband.

Lavinia Levinson nodded. She held her jewellery case upside down over her bed and shook it. Nothing came out. ‘I was going to wear the earrings tonight, the ones the Italian ambassador gave me after I sang at La Scala. They're so festive, and they match my outfit.'

She looked sadly down at her flowing, floor-length
caftan. It was made of red satin and covered in red spangles. Oz thought it made his mother look even more like Mrs Santa Claus than her red wool cape.

‘The ruby necklace? The bracelet and earrings too?'

‘Gone! All gone!' wailed Oz's mother.

Oz's father rushed to the phone and called hotel security. In next to no time their lavish suite was bustling with concerned staff.

‘This is dreadful!' said the hotel manager. ‘Simply dreadful! I can assure you that we at the Savoy will do everything in our power to see that your jewellery is returned to you, Mrs Levinson. I only wish you'd entrusted it to our hotel safe.'

Oz's mother dabbed at her eyes with a hankie and nodded. ‘I was planning to, but then I had to rush to rehearsal almost the minute we got here, and I simply forgot.'

Scotland Yard arrived in full force, and Oz heard the hotel manager whisper the words ‘cat burglar' to the detectives. One of them approached Lavinia Levinson. ‘So sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, madam. I'm a devoted fan.'

‘Thank you,' whispered Oz's mother, dabbing at her eyes again. ‘You're too kind.'

The detective whipped out a notebook and pen. ‘Would you like to tell me what happened?'

Sniffling, Lavinia Levinson nodded. ‘Well, I was getting ready for a party – we were all getting ready for a party –'

The detective looked up. ‘The one at the Tower of London? I read about that in the papers.'

Oz's mother nodded again. ‘Yes, that's the one. Anyway, I went to put on my ruby earrings, and they weren't there. I thought maybe I'd put them in a drawer, or tucked them inside a shoe – good hiding place, you know, shoes – but no. And then I checked and all my other jewellery was gone as well!'

‘Would you mind if we inspect the room while you're away – for fingerprints and such?' asked the detective.

‘That would be fine, Inspector,' replied Oz's father. ‘I do hope you'll find the thief who did this.'

‘We'll do our very best.'

It was a subdued ride to the Tower of London. Oz's parents held hands silently in the back of the limousine. Oz and DB stared out at the passing city. London was lit up for the holidays, and they passed shop after shop whose windows glowed with gaily decorated Christmas trees and brightly wrapped
packages. High above the streets, strung between the tall lamp posts, were strands of twinkling snowflakes. The glitter did little to lift their spirits, however.

Oz leaned over to DB. ‘I tried to get in touch with Glory,' he whispered, pulling his CD player from his trouser pocket. Thanks to Bunsen's tinkering, it was now a radio transmitter and receiver preset to the Spy Mice Agency's frequencies. ‘She didn't answer.'

‘She's on holiday, Oz, remember?' DB whispered back.

Oz shrugged. ‘I know, but I still thought it might be worth a try. Maybe she can help somehow.'

‘A mouse catching a cat burglar?' DB snorted. ‘I don't think even Glory's up to that.'

The limousine slowed as it approached the Tower, bumping its way over the broad cobblestone drive towards the front gate. A security guard checked their invitation, then waved them through.

‘It's showtime,' said Oz's father, as they pulled up in front of an imposing stone building. He climbed out and extended a hand to his wife. ‘No more long faces now!'

‘You're right, dear,' said Oz's mother, managing a weak smile. ‘It's only jewellery, after all.'

Her husband gallantly kissed her hand. ‘Which
you, Lavinia, with your natural sparkle, don't need to look beautiful.'

Oz's mother's smile broadened. ‘Thank you, dear. You look very handsome too. Just like James Bond.'

‘A dinner jacket makes any man look like James Bond,' said Oz's father, winking at Oz. ‘Even a shaggy bear like me.'

Oz's mother leaned down and kissed her son on the cheek as he emerged from the limo. ‘You look just like James Bond, Junior, sweetie.'

Oz reddened and plucked awkwardly at his bow tie. For the first time in his life, he actually felt a bit like James Bond. Except for his shoes. He gazed down at them glumly. Finally, his chance to wear a tuxedo, and he'd blown it. He'd forgotten his black dress shoes. They were still at home in his wardrobe. He was stuck wearing the brown museum grandpa shoes instead. Luckily, with all the excitement his parents hadn't noticed.

‘And you look equally smashing,' said Lavinia Levinson, patting DB's cheek. ‘That yellow dress makes you look like a princess.'

‘I can't believe I'm finally going to see the Crown Jewels!' DB crowed, bouncing excitedly up and down. She thrust her programme at Oz. ‘See, Oz?
After dinner, there's dancing and a private viewing of the jewels just for us. It's gonna be awesome! No crowds, no long lines.'

Oz, who had been shown the programme repeatedly over the past few hours, nodded absently.

A limousine pulled up beside them, and Prudence Winterbottom climbed out. The British soprano was dressed in a silver gown, and she was practically encrusted with diamonds. Diamond earrings, a diamond necklace, diamond bracelets, diamond rings – even a diamond tiara. ‘Lavinia, darling!' she cooed. ‘You look lovely!' Her sharp ferret eyes bulged in surprise as they travelled from Oz's mother's bare ears to her bare neck and arms. ‘No jewels tonight?' she said. ‘Saving them for the concert tomorrow and the royal reception, are you?'

Oz's mother pressed her lips together.

‘Stolen,' said Oz's father.

The British soprano gasped. ‘No! What happened?'

‘Scotland Yard is on the case,' Luigi Levinson continued. ‘Apparently there's a jewel thief on the loose.'

‘The cat burglar!' exclaimed Prudence Winterbottom. ‘I've been reading about him in the papers.' She adjusted the tiara, and slanted a ferret-like glance at
her jewellery-less American colleague. ‘Pity,' she said smugly.

Oz frowned. Clearly, Prudence Winterbottom didn't think it was a pity at all.

There was a barrage of blinding flashes as a horde of reporters spotted the divas and began snapping photos.

‘Is it true the two of you are rivals?' demanded one, thrusting a microphone under the two women's noses. ‘Can we look forward to a Christmas Eve battle of the sopranos?'

‘Rivals? Battle?' Prudence Winterbottom laughed a fake tinkling laugh. ‘Whatever gave you that impression! Lavinia and I are the dearest of friends.'

‘That's right,' said Oz's mother, with a bit more sincerity. ‘We're here to sing together. It's Christmas, after all.'

Oz and DB were squeezed to the edge of the crowd as the reporters surged forward to follow the two opera stars inside.

‘Do all Americans wear such strange shoes with dinner jackets?'

Oz whirled round. Priscilla Winterbottom was standing behind him, along with Nigel Henshaw. She
smiled, and her sharp little ferret teeth gleamed in the distant flash from a camera.
Amazing
, thought Oz. Even Jordan and Tank on their best days didn't have the kind of shark skills that Priscilla Winterbottom had. She'd managed to zero right in on his Achilles heel in two seconds flat.
Make that Achilles shoe
, he thought morosely, gazing down at his toes.

‘Put a sock in it, Prissy Slushbutt,' said DB. ‘Nobody cares about Oz's shoes.'

Priscilla gaped at DB. Her cheeks flamed bright red. She opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut again. Grabbing the hapless Nigel Henshaw by his reed-like arm, she stuck her nose in the air and flounced off after her mother, dragging the conductor's son with her.

‘
Prissy Slushbutt!
' crowed Oz, slapping DB a high five. ‘I wish I'd thought of that!'

DB looked pleased. ‘Winterbottom – Slushbutt. It's a natural,' she explained. ‘I've been waiting to spring it on her ever since this morning.'

Oz gazed at his friend in admiration. DB was so much quicker on her feet than he was when it came to dealing with sharks. He made a mental note to himself for future reference –
Anti-shark Tactics 101: a swift counterattack can be highly successful in repelling the foe
.

Dinner dragged on in a blur of toasts and speeches accompanied by more courses and silverware than Oz had ever seen in his life. (‘Why do we need seven forks?' he whispered to DB at one point.) Priscilla Winterbottom, who was seated next to Nigel across the wide table, made a point of ignoring them, except to glare occasionally over her roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. After the remains of dessert (a spectacular Christmas trifle) were cleared away, the hired orchestra swung into a medley of up-tempo holiday tunes.

Over at the head table, Mr Henshaw stood up and extended his hand to Oz's mother. Luigi Levinson quickly stood up and did the same to Prudence Winterbottom. Around the room, chairs emptied as couples headed for the dance floor.

‘Come along, Nigel,' ordered Priscilla Winter-bottom, pushing back her chair.

Nigel wilted in his seat. Priscilla grabbed his ear and twisted it. ‘I said, come along!'

The younger boy had no choice but to obey. As Priscilla dragged him on to the dance floor, DB leaned over to Oz. ‘That poor kid might as well have “shark bait” tattooed across his forehead,' she said.

Oz nodded in agreement.

DB threw down her napkin. ‘Oh well, nothing we can do about it now,' she said. ‘Time to go see the jewels.'

Oz trotted after his classmate. Outside the banquet hall, a guard in a scarlet uniform – ‘He's called a Yeoman Warder, or Beefeater,' DB informed Oz – directed them across the courtyard to the Waterloo Barracks. They passed through the building's heavy wooden doors, followed by the increasingly faint strains of ‘Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer'.

‘It's kind of creepy in here, isn't it?' said DB, shivering slightly. The building's stone walls and stone floor were as chilly as the night air.

‘No kidding,' said Oz. ‘Where is everyone? You wouldn't think we'd be the only ones who'd want to see the jewels, would you?'

DB shrugged. ‘I guess everyone else would rather dance.'

The two children followed the signs to the exhibit, pausing to watch a short video that explained some of the history behind the collection.