Goldwhiskers (4 page)

‘Rise and shine, mouselings!'

Reluctantly, Twist opened one eye. Master was calling, and when Master called, mouselings obeyed. He blinked sleepily, then stretched and yawned. All around him, in the nests lining the room's remotest corner, other mouselings did the same.

‘Morning chores first!'

Twist climbed obediently out of his nest. He tidied it quickly, gave his furry face a quick splash in the nearby basin (a gold-rimmed china egg cup), then shuffled over to the clock face. Two other mouselings joined him, and the three of them swung open the heavy shutters covering the cubbyhole's bank of windows. Twist opened one window a sliver and poked his nose out.

The morning air was bracingly cold, but the rain had stopped, and the broad river below sparkled in the sunlight. Even at this early hour, barges and tourist boats ploughed its murky waters, some furrowing their way downriver towards the Tower of London, others heading in the opposite direction towards Big Ben. Across the Thames stood the London Eye, the gigantic Ferris wheel that was one of the city's newest landmarks. Twist regarded it curiously.
What would it be like to ride the wheel up, up, up into the sky?
he wondered.

‘Finish up, mouselings, then gather round!'

Twist shut the window reluctantly. He scurried to join the other mice as they completed their chores, taking his place alongside the rope that serviced the dumb waiter. The sun was stronger now, and as it poured through the windows, it revealed the cubbyhole to be not a bleak, cheerless space, but something more along the lines of Ali Baba's cave. The battered floorboards were layered thickly with bright oriental carpets; the walls were hung with lengths of rich silk brocade heavily fringed in gold. At one end of the room a cheery fire blazed behind an ornate brass grate. Beside the fireplace stood a handsome, red leather chair. In the chair sat the one the mouselings called Master.

Twist avoided looking at him. He focused instead on the task at hand, and on the mice nearby who were tidying Master's grand bed, smoothing its linen sheets and fluffing its down coverlet and many pillows. Even after all these weeks, being in Master's presence still inspired feelings of awe in Twist. Fear too.

‘Once more, lads!' called the brawny mouseling at the head of the rope. ‘Put your backs into it!'

Twist grunted and heaved with the others as they swayed a large basket up through a trapdoor in the floorboards. The scent of something delicious wafted out from under a napkin-covered platter inside, and Twist's tummy rumbled. Master's breakfast. He hoped that there would be something left over for them. When, what and how much they ate – or if they ate at all – depended entirely on Master's mood and whims. There were plenty of times that Twist and the other mouselings had displeased Master and gone hungry as a result. Twist helped secure the basket, then assembled with the other mouselings in front of the red leather chair. Gathering his courage, he looked up. Seated in the chair was a grey rat. A huge grey rat. The most enormous rat, in fact, that Twist had ever seen.

‘I have a treat for you this morning,' Master announced.

Twist, who hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath, exhaled in relief. Master was in a good mood! He could hear it in his voice. Life was always so much easier when Master was in a good mood.

Twist watched as Dodge, Master's most trusted mouseling, finished applying the gold nail polish that she brushed on Master's whiskers every morning. Long and bristling, they glittered in the morning sunlight. Dodge puffed on them briefly to set the finish, then returned the brush to its trial-sized vial, which she placed carefully in a gold-lacquered box on the table beside the red leather chair.

‘One of you did well last night,' said the rat. ‘Very well. And you know Master's rule: when one mouseling surprises, all mouselings get prizes.' His voice was deep and melodious. It was a soothing voice. Hypnotic, almost. The tight, anxious places inside Twist relaxed when he heard Master's voice. It made him feel safe. Not like he'd felt when he was living on the streets.

‘This morning's prize is something special for breakfast. And what do you say to that?' The big rat cupped a paw expectantly behind the colossal flap of grey fur that was his ear.

‘We thank you kindly, Master, giver of all that is good,' the mice chanted obediently in response.

The rat nodded, pleased. He scanned the crowd of mice that stood before him. ‘Twist, where are you?'

The mouseling's tiny heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name. ‘Here, sir!' he squeaked.

The rat motioned him forward with a wave of a manicured paw. Twist stepped timidly on to the soft carpet, his hind paws swallowed up completely by its deep pile. He approached the chair and bobbed his head in respect.

‘Barely a month on the job, this one, and already one of Master's top performers,' said the rat. His voice brimmed with approval, and Twist felt a wave of warmth creep over him from the tip of his tail to the tips of his tiny ears. He'd never been singled out before. Not like this, anyway. He'd been singled out plenty of times for punishment, especially in the beginning. But never for praise.

The big rat waved his paw again, and Dodge reached into the box on the table. She pulled out a velvet pouch and handed it to him. The rat extracted a heavy sapphire earring and held it up in the sunlight, turning it this way and that. The precious stone gleamed as blue as the faraway sea.

‘Fetched us a good haul of sparklies last night, did our young Twist,' said the rat. He eyed the other mouselings. ‘More than some of you rubbishy orphans fetch in a week. This clever one found himself a pair of toffs, he did.' He fished out the earring's mate, along with a diamond necklace and a sapphire and diamond ring, which he slipped over one of his enormous paws. He sat there for a moment, admiring it. ‘Haven't seen the likes of this since…well, since Dodge herself was on the job. Isn't that right, Dodge?'

Dodge gave a saucy flip of her tail and smiled, but she didn't reply. She was a mouse of few words.

‘This is what Master wants!' the big rat cried, his voice rising sharply. The assembled mice drew back in alarm. He shook the jewels at them. ‘Sparklies! Not that useless rubbish most of you bring me! Master needs sparklies! Master needs – what is it those appalling Yanks call it? Master needs
bling
!' The big rat heaved himself off the chair. He towered over his small band of jewel thieves, glaring. Twist gulped and shrank back. ‘And why does Master need sparklies?' the rat snarled, leaning down towards them. ‘Master needs sparklies because of
you
! Because it costs
money
to raise ungrateful ragamuffins!
Worthless orphan mouselings nobody else
wants
!'

The big rat took a step forward, and every tail in the room quivered with fear. He stared at the mouselings, his gaze penetrating, hypnotic. ‘Don't you remember what it's like to be unwanted?' he continued, his voice dropping to a resonant whisper. ‘To be out on the streets, alone? With no one to take care of you? No one to feed you?'

The mice nodded, their bright little eyes fixed on his glowing red ones.

‘Don't you want to please Master? Master who loves you, who keeps you safe?'

‘Master, giver of all that is good,' chanted the mice automatically.

The big rat nodded in approval. ‘That's right,' he said. ‘That's what Master wants to hear.' He sat down again, and his gaze fell on Twist. His glare softened. ‘Mouselings like this one know how to please Master!' Once again he held up Twist's haul from the evening before. ‘These sparklies will fetch Master a pretty price. Well done, Twist.'

The rat waved his glittering paw again, and Dodge scampered nimbly over to the breakfast basket. She whisked the napkin off the platter inside, releasing a tantalizing smell into the cubbyhole.

‘Buttered crumpets and strawberry jam!' cried the big rat, and the mice cheered.

Dodge motioned to a trio of sturdy mouselings who rushed over and lifted up one of the two Thermoses in the basket. As they tipped it forward, Dodge flipped open the spout and poured out a thimble of hot cocoa. She passed it to Twist, along with a hefty chunk of buttered crumpet.

‘The rest of you lot line up in an orderly fashion,' commanded the big rat as the mouselings crowded forward. ‘Line up for Master's bounty.'

‘Master, giver of all that is good!' chanted the mice again.

‘What about Farthing?' cried a voice from the back of the throng.

The big rat looked up sharply. ‘Who said that?' The mice froze. There was a shuffling of paws, but no one replied.

‘Worried about our little prisoner, are you?' The rat stroked his glittering whiskers. ‘Well, I suppose the rascal has had enough punishment for the moment.' He clapped his paws together. ‘Open the oubliette!'

A mouseling scampered obediently to the far end of the cubbyhole, lifted up a corner of the carpet,
and flung open a small door in the floorboards beneath. He reached down and hauled a teeny mouseling out of the crevice that the door concealed.

‘Farthing!' whispered Twist, as the wee heap of fur was deposited on to the carpet beside him. ‘Are you all right?'

Farthing merely sniffled in reply. He was the youngest of the mouselings and had been brought in from an orphan raid by mistake. Too little to be useful, too young to be properly trained, he'd nevertheless caught the big rat's fancy and been kept on as a pet. A naughty pet, as it turned out, whose antics frequently resulted in the ultimate punishment: banishment to the oubliette.

The mere mention of the word sent the mouselings racing for cover. A sunless, airless hole, the oubliette was one of Master's most terrifying punishments.

Twist slipped a bite of crumpet to Farthing and took another sip from his thimble. He gave a start, nearly choking on his cocoa, as the big rat announced, ‘Twist may do the honours this morning.'

Twist's heart began to pound like a tiny jackhammer. He was being asked to serve breakfast to Master! He wiped the crumbs from his whiskers
with the back of his paw and crossed to where Dodge was waiting. He'd never been given this honour – or this responsibility – before! Usually it went to one of the older, more experienced mouselings. Motioning to the trio of mice behind her to tilt the second Thermos, Dodge carefully guided another stream of steaming liquid into a miniature china cup. She placed it on a small tray, along with a crumpet, and passed the tray to Twist. Frowning in concentration, the mouseling carried it ever so carefully to the red leather chair. It wouldn't do to spill on Master's prized carpet. He'd seen what happened to those who spilled on Master's prized carpet. He had no desire to spend the day in the oubliette.

‘Ah, nothing like a latte first thing in the morning,' said the big rat, taking a sip from the offered cup and biting into his crumpet. ‘The Savoy does do a nice breakfast, if I say so myself. Paper, please.'

Twist scampered back to the basket and returned bearing the front page of
The Times
. He smoothed it carefully on the floor in front of the leather chair. The big rat scanned the morning's headlines. He smiled, and his golden whiskers shimmered again in the sunlight. ‘There we are. Made page one again.
Lovely. “Notorious Cat Burglar Strikes Again – London's Poshest Hotels on Full Alert for the Holidays.”' He chuckled to himself and took another sip of coffee. ‘“Cat burglar”, eh? Little do they know. “Rat burglar” is more like it. With a bit of help from you lot, of course,' he added, nodding at the ranks of orphan mice munching contentedly before him. ‘Would you mouselings like to know a secret?'

The mice stopped chewing. They nodded, their bright little eyes alight with interest.

‘Very well, then, you shall hear a secret,' said the rat. He leaned down closer to his band of diminutive pickpockets. ‘It's not only our fair city's hotels that need to be on full alert,' he whispered conspiratorially. ‘Not at all. Master has bigger fish to fry. Much bigger fish. Bigger even than any of those pea-brained humans can imagine.' He placed a bejewelled paw on Twist's thin shoulder. ‘And with this clever mouseling, Master may have finally found a way to carry it off.'