Goldwhiskers (20 page)

‘Eight,' Nigel mumbled.

‘I'll bet you don't have many friends, do you?' said Oz gently.

Nigel shook his head miserably. His pale blue eyes filled with tears. Oz tried not to cringe. Looking at Nigel was like looking at himself a couple of years ago.

‘Neither did I,' said Oz. ‘But now I have lots of them. Do you know how?'

Nigel shook his head again. Oz leaned in close. ‘I became a secret agent,' he whispered.

The boy's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Oz nodded. ‘That's right. I help my spy friends, and they help me. And they can help you too. How would you like it if my friends and I fixed it so that Priscilla Winterbottom never bothered you again?'

Nigel brightened. ‘You could do that?'

‘Uh-huh,' said Oz. ‘You have to do something for us too, though. You have to swear you'll do it, on your honour.'

‘On my honour,' Nigel promised solemnly.

‘You can never, ever tell anyone what you see here in this room tonight,' said Oz.

Nigel nodded. ‘OK.'

DB elbowed Oz sharply. ‘This is a bad idea,' she whispered.

‘I know what I'm doing,' Oz whispered back.

DB shrugged. ‘Have it your way.'

‘Squeak?' said Oz. ‘Come on out and meet Nigel Henshaw.'

The bristles on the make-up brush parted and
Squeak stepped out into the light. She looked nervous. So did Nigel.

‘Remember those friends of mine I was telling you about? Well, Squeak is one of them, Nigel. And she's in trouble. Big trouble.'

Nigel's eyes were as round as pennies. He looked from the mouse to Oz and back again.

‘Hello,' said Squeak.

Nigel managed a wave.

‘Squeak, do you happen to have a MICE-6 badge?' asked Oz.

The mouse rummaged through her backpack, pulling out a tiny object and passing it to Oz. Like the Spy Mice Agency badge, it was round and very simple in design. But the MICE-6 crest was different: a candle against a navy blue background.
True blue
, thought Oz. He read the inscription that encircled it haltingly. ‘“
Lux tenebras exstinguit
.” That's Latin, right?'

Squeak nodded.

‘
Lux
is “light”,' Nigel piped up. ‘I'm taking Latin at school.'

‘Very good, Nigel,' said Squeak. ‘It means “light extinguishes darkness”. That's the MICE-6 motto.'

‘And that's what you will help the brave mice of London do, from this time forward,' said Oz, holding
up the badge. ‘I hereby deputize you, Nigel Henshaw, as an honorary member of MICE-6. Adjunct spy mouse and defender of mice against evil rats.'

‘Sir Edmund is going to kill you,' muttered DB.

Nigel looked at the three of them wonderingly.

‘I'll explain more later,' said Oz. ‘Right now, I need you to bring me something. Can you get into the wardrobe department's cupboards?

'Nigel nodded.

‘Good. I saw the posters in the lobby for the
Nutcracker
ballet – it's being performed here this week, right?'

Nigel nodded again.

Oz scribbled something down on a slip of paper and handed it to his new colleague. ‘I need you to bring me this. Remember, it's for a good cause.'

‘Mice?' asked Nigel, shooting Squeak a shy glance.

‘Priscilla,' said Oz. ‘She's due for a rude awakening later tonight.'

‘We need to think of a way to make her go to sleep first, though,' said DB. ‘If that cough syrup doesn't do the trick.'

‘Chamomile tea always makes me sleepy,' suggested Nigel. ‘My dad has some in his dressing room.'

Oz looked over at DB. ‘See?' he said with pride.
‘He's a natural.' He turned to the younger boy. ‘Good thinking. You go get the tea and the stuff from the
Nutcracker
cupboard, and we'll wait right here for you. Oh, and don't let the policemen catch you! Remember, this is a top-secret mission!'

Nigel nodded, his eyes shining with excitement, and darted out of the dressing room.

‘How am I going to explain this to Sir Edmund?' Squeak demanded.

‘Desperate times call for desperate measures,' Oz replied.

‘Yes, but talking to another human is
really
desperate, Oz,' said Squeak unhappily. ‘You and DB are an exception. I could lose my job for this.'

DB reached out a finger and gently patted her shoulder. ‘Don't worry, Squeak. You can just say it's all Oz's fault if anything goes wrong.'

‘Thanks a bunch,' said Oz.

‘Well it is,' DB retorted. ‘Wasn't my idea, that's for sure.'

‘So, how are we going to get you out of here, Oz?' asked Squeak. ‘Too bad you aren't smaller, or I'd lend you my board.'

Oz looked at her lolly-stick skateboard and grinned. ‘I'm definitely too big for that.'

DB picked up the make-up brush on Lavinia Levinson's dressing table. ‘I have an idea,' she said. ‘Remember that workshop we took at the Spy Museum a couple of Saturdays ago? The one on disguises?'

Oz nodded.

‘How about we disguise you as an old man?' said DB. ‘You can wear your father's coat over your clothes, and maybe Nigel can find us a scarf and a hat somewhere. Too bad Scotland Yard took your grandpa shoes.'

Oz stared down at his feet, which were now clad in black trainers. ‘Even if you can pull it off, how am I going to get past the police guard?'

‘We'll think of something,' said DB. ‘Sit down.'

Oz sat, and while Squeak looked on, DB took a greasepaint pencil and started drawing lines on his forehead and face. She worked swiftly and efficiently, and, when she was done, she stood back and admired her handiwork. ‘Wrinkled as a prune,' she said. ‘But take your glasses off. You'll never get past the police wearing those. They're a dead giveaway.'

Oz took his glasses off. He blinked. Everything was blurry. ‘I can't see a thing,' he said, starting to panic. What Sir Edmund was asking him to do was scary enough with twenty-twenty vision.

‘I'll be with you the whole time,' said Squeak. ‘I can be your eyes.'

‘Great,' muttered Oz.

‘Take a look,' said DB, when she was done.

‘How?' Oz complained. ‘I can't see.'

DB held a hand mirror two inches from his face. He peered into it. ‘Not bad,' he said, turning this way and that. ‘I really look old. Amazing!'

‘Thanks,' said DB.

‘I wish we had a wig, though. I need some grey hair.'

‘A hat will work just fine,' said Squeak. She looked at her watch. ‘We've got to get going. There's no time to lose if we're going to rescue the orphans and stop the exterminations.'

There was a gentle tap on the door and Nigel entered. ‘Got it!' he said breathlessly, holding up what looked like a huge grey bath mat.

He stared at Oz and blinked.

‘It's me, Nigel,' Oz said. ‘I'm in disguise.'

‘Did the policeman see you?' asked DB.

Nigel shook his head. ‘I pretended to go into my dad's dressing room, then waited until the guard was busy with his newspaper again.'

Oz slapped him a high five. ‘Double-O-Nigel!' he
said. ‘You're on your way to becoming a real secret agent!'

The younger boy's pale face flushed with pride.

‘Any chance you can find us a scarf and a hat?' asked DB.

‘A grey wig and some size ten shoes would be even better,' added Oz.

‘I'll see what I can do,' said Nigel, and darted out again.

‘Let's go over the plan,' said Squeak. ‘We take the Tube to the museum first.'

‘The underground?' said DB. ‘Cool.'

‘I tell the night watchman I lost my glasses,' continued Oz, handing them reluctantly over to DB, ‘and get him to lock me in –'

‘And we retrieve the Summoner,' finished Squeak. ‘It's foolproof.'

Oz grunted. Things were never foolproof. Especially when they involved him. ‘What if the night watchman doesn't answer the door, or won't let me in?'

Squeak shrugged. ‘We'll think of something. He's definitely on duty – the computer gymnasts already checked.'

Oz shook his head. There were too many ‘what ifs?' for comfort.

‘What does this Summoner look like, anyway?'

Squeak shrugged. ‘I haven't a clue. Nobody's ever seen it but Sir Peregrine Inkwell and Winston Churchill.'

‘Great,' muttered Oz again.

‘So while you head for the rendezvous, Nigel and I lure Prissy Slushbutt in here and see if we can put her to sleep,' continued DB. ‘I just hope she likes chamomile tea.'

The door opened again and Nigel slipped in. He held up a ratty grey scarf and a matching wool cap in triumph. ‘These were in my dad's cupboard,' he said. ‘Couldn't find a wig or shoes, though.'

DB bundled Oz into his father's coat. It reached nearly to his ankles, and the arms were so long she had to turn the sleeves back three times before his hands appeared.

‘How do I look?' said Oz.

‘Like a demented old man playing dressing-up,' said DB. She jammed the cap over his blond hair, then wound the scarf round his neck. She looked him over and sighed. ‘It will have to do. Just keep your chin down, stay in the shadows as much as possible, and don't stop for anything.'

Squeak scrambled up the coat and somersaulted
into its chest pocket. ‘Right, then,' she said. ‘We're off.'

‘Wait!' cried DB. ‘What do we do if the policeman comes in looking for Oz?'

Oz eyed Nigel, then passed him his dinner jacket. Nigel put it on. It reached below his knobbly knees.

‘Put my glasses on,' Oz ordered, as DB handed them to him.

Nigel obliged. The result was ridiculous. The only similarity between the two boys was the fact that they were both fair-haired.

‘I'll pad the coat to make him look fatter – I mean bigger,' said DB hastily. ‘If he sits in the chair in the corner with the lights off, maybe we can fool the guard.'

‘We really must go,' said Squeak. ‘Good luck, DB.'

‘Good luck to you too,' DB replied.

‘Thanks,' said Oz. ‘We're going to need it.'

MICE-6 headquarters erupted in pandemonium as Goldwhiskers abruptly ended his phone call.

‘They're on the move!' shouted Sir Edmund Hazelnut-Cadbury. ‘Mobilize the Royal Guard! Alert the surveillance pilots!
Save those mice!
'

Behind him, the videoconference screen was dark. The Scrambler's satellite feed had gone down, and Z was frantically trying to repair it.

‘Have the gymnasts keep Washington updated by email for now,' Sir Edmund barked at his secretary. ‘And Miss Honeyberry?'

‘Sir?'

‘Fetch me the best cryptologist we've got. We need to solve that puzzle.'

‘He did mention “up on the rooftop”, sir. One can't help but think of Santa's sleigh. And something about “round and round we'll go” – perhaps he's referring to the rotor blade on a helicopter? We know he has a credit card – could he have hired one? There's a helipad on the roof of the Savoy.'

Sir Edmund contemplated this suggestion. A rat with a credit card was a dangerous thing indeed. ‘Excellent thinking, Honeyberry,' he said. ‘Remind me to promote you. Hang on, scrub that, I need you right where you are. And get me Squeak Savoy on the transmitter. We'll need her expertise over at the hotel, if that's where the rats are heading. She's being recalled, effective immediately.'

‘But the human boy –'

‘Ozymandias?' said Sir Edmund. He shook his head in regret. ‘He'll just have to go it alone.'