For Your Paws Only (14 page)

“Looks like it's bye-bye, Cherry Jubilee, and hello, Glory Goldenleaf,” snarled Dupont. He bared his fangs in a triumphant smile. “You're coming with us.”

DAY TWO • WEDNESDAY • 2230 HOURS

Bound, blindfolded, gagged,
and slung over Dupont's shoulder by her tail, Glory jolted up and down, her teeth rattling like dice in a cup.

“Through here!” Dupont ordered. “Quick!”

Glory heard the sharp rasp of claws on metal as the rats hustled her into the building's ventilation shaft. “See you at the bottom, boys!” Dupont called, and Glory felt her stomach drop as her captor dove headfirst into the web of ducts that snaked down through Thirty Rockefeller Plaza. Slipping and sliding, they plunged down, down, down, bumping and crashing as they went. Rat transport was much rougher than riding a skateboard. As she was flung from side to side, her little head banging against the hard metal at every turn, Glory wished fervently that she had her safety helmet.

“This way!” Dupont cried, his voice echoing on the hard cement floor as they finally emerged into the
cavernous basement. Again Glory heard the click of claws, and again her stomach dropped as they plunged downward. Only this time they weren't traveling through a ventilation shaft. This time, they were traveling through the sewer. Glory's nose told her so. She wrinkled it in distaste, recalling the stench only too well from her last run-in with Dupont in his lair back in Washington.

They splashed on through the slimy subterranean tunnels, and the rats fell silent, breathing hard. From somewhere far above Glory heard the screech of metal wheels against metal tracks: a subway train clattering by. Now Glory was fairly sure they were heading for Track 77 at Grand Central.

Finally, Dupont halted, panting. He let go of Glory's tail, and she tumbled down his back, landing with a splash in a deep puddle. Coughing and choking through her gag, she scrabbled with her hind paws, frantically trying to keep her head above water. Dupont was trying to drown her!

Dupont gave a soft chuckle. “It's not going to be that easy,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “I have other plans for you.”

Jerking her up out of the sewer water, he removed her blindfold and ripped off her gag. Glory cried out as several of her whiskers were torn off along with it.

“It's no use screaming for help,” Dupont told her. “No one can hear you.”

“So zis is ze famous Glory you are always talking about,
mon cher,
” Glory heard a soft female voice say. She squirmed around in Dupont's grasp to find herself eye to eye with Brie de Sorbonne. “What eez so special about zees particular mouse?” Glory detected a note of jealousy in the she-rat's voice. She flinched as Brie reached out and stroked her fur. “Her coat eez thick and warm,
oui
—good for slippers, perhaps, or a nice winter hat. Otherwise, she eez quite ordinary in appearance.”

Slippers? A hat? Glory's heart beat faster. Was that to be her fate then, to wind up as accessories for this Coco Chanel with fangs?

“Don't let appearances fool you,” Dupont growled in reply. “This is no ordinary mouse.” His voice had a cold edge, and Glory felt a chill run down her spine. The other Global Rodent Roundtable delegates crowded forward and sniffed her curiously. Their breath was as nasty as Dupont's, and Glory recoiled.

“Fearless Morning Glory Goldenleaf,” sneered Stilton Piccadilly. “Not so fearless now, are you?”

Gorgonzola, his low-slung belly skimming the wet surface of the sewer floor, crept closer. He eyed Glory, licking his lips. She shrank back in terror, heart pounding. Were the rumors true, then? Was Gorgonzola a mousivore? Before she could find out, Dupont thrust Glory up over his head in triumph. “Behold the power of the written word!” he cried, his voice echoing along the dank walls of the sewer. “I came, I read, I
conquered! Now let the proceedings begin!”

Limburger Lulu and Limburger Louie crept forward. Taking their places on either side of Roquefort Dupont, they began to sing. Their high ratling voices hadn't achieved the harshness of full rodent adulthood, and while they were nowhere near the caliber of Lavinia Levinson, they weren't entirely unpleasant. Glory listened, curiosity momentarily overriding her fear.

“Who will it be?” they sang, as the mob of rats formed a circle, tails linked in a hairless chain. “Who is the rat we will choose for Big Cheese?”

They're electing a leader, Glory thought with a start. They're going to crown a rat king!

Brie stepped forward. “Members of ze G.R.R.!”

“GRR!” answered the mob.

“Ze time has come to let your voices be heard! Ze time has come to make your choice! Roquefort Dupont or Stilton Piccadilly, who will we elect as Big Cheese?”

“Some choice,” muttered Glory. “Rat scum or rat poison.”

Brie whirled around. “Gag her again,” she snarled, and Scurvy rushed to obey.

Roquefort Dupont and Stilton Piccadilly stepped to the center of the ring. “Eez there anything more you boys would like to say before ze vote?” asked Brie.

“My record speaks for itself,” boasted Piccadilly. From their places in the surrounding circle, Gorgonzola and Muenster nodded in agreement.

Dupont cleared his throat. “Your choice is clear—tradition versus innovation. Old school versus new school. A rat of the past or a rat of the future. Me! Roquefort Dupont!” He thumped his chest with a filthy paw, then paused. “I have a confession to make. I've been holding out on you.”

“This is an outrage!” cried Stilton. “I protest! He's trying to steal the election!”

“Steal the election? Nonsense,” said Dupont with a dismissive wave of his paw. He glanced around slyly. “Doesn't anybody want to see my secret weapon?”

“Now you're talking!” cried Mozzarella Canal. “Weapons are more like it!” He turned to the big Greek rat beside him. “See, Misery, all that talk about books was just a bluff. I knew my nephew wouldn't let us down. Claws and jaws always win in the end.”

Dupont's smile broadened. He turned and beckoned toward a side-tunnel. “Come on out,” he said.

A small figure stepped from the shadows. Glory squinted in the gloom, trying to make out who it was. Another ratling?

“The first thing you need to do,” said the small figure quietly, so quietly that his words couldn't be picked up by the audio feed, “is get rid of those.” He raised his paw and pointed toward the video sunglasses suspended from the sewer vent overhead.

Glory gasped. It was Fumble.

DAY TWO • WEDNESDAY • 2300 HOURS

Backstage in the practice
room at BANANAS! the eavesdropping mice stared at the cell phone screen in consternation.

“Something's wrong!” cried Bunsen. “Look! Something's wrong with Glory!”

Her paws twisted cruelly behind her back, her gag silencing her once again, Glory bounced up and down in frustration, struggling to free herself from Dupont's firm grip.

“MMM-MM!” she squeaked frantically. “MMM-MM!”

“She's trying to tell us something,” said B-Nut, staring at his sister.

“I told her this would never work!” cried Bunsen in despair. “I—I mean we—never should have let her go!”

Onscreen, the rats suddenly tilted their heads back and stared directly at the mice. The remote camera tracked their movement, and the cell phone screen
reflected a mass of red, glowing eyes. Seventy-seven pairs of eyes, to be exact.

“Uh-oh,” said B-Nut. “That's not good.”

“They spotted the sunglasses,” observed Bubble. “That must be what Glory is trying to tell us.”

The mice watched in worried fascination as Brie de Sorbonne slunk toward the sewer wall and began to scale its slick brick surface. Her face loomed across the screen for a split second, her fangs appeared, and then a jumble of images flashed across the screen as she bit through the dental floss holding the sunglasses in place and they tumbled downward to the sewer floor.

The spy mice heard a splash of approaching claws as the rats ran toward the windfall.

“MMM-MM! MMM-MM!” came Glory's mumbled message again, louder and more frantic than before.

“Oh, I do wish we knew what she was trying to tell us!” cried Bunsen, wringing his paws in despair.

A trio of long, ugly snouts popped onto the screen. The audio feed relayed a cacophony of snorts and sniffs as the rats inspected the sunglasses.

“Dupont's bluffing,” they heard Stilton Piccadilly sneer. “These are just ordinary human sunglasses.”

“No,” growled a deep voice.

“Gorgonzilla!” said Squeak with a shudder.

“Is not right. Is strange,” the elderly Italian rat continued. “Is camera,
sì
?”

Suddenly, Dupont's face loomed into view. He
smiled, his sharp yellow fangs magnified by the video camera. The mice drew back in alarm.

“That is one scary dude,” said Lip.

“You mice think you're clever, don't you?” Dupont said, addressing them directly. “Well, let me tell you something—your day is over.
Finito. Ende. Ciao!
It's time for a whole new world order! It's time we rats took our rightful place as rulers! It's time for this planet to go MOUSE-FREE!”

In the background, above Glory's urgent mumbling, the mice could hear the other rats as they took up the chant. “Dupont! Dupont! Dupont!”

Dupont bared his fangs again. “Yes!” he cried in triumph as the mass of rodents behind him raised their paws to vote, sweeping him into office. “Yes! I am Roquefort Dupont! I am your leader! I am the BIG CHEESE!”

He opened his jaws wide. There was a loud
snap
as he severed the sunglasses in two. The cell phone screen blinked once and then went dead.

DAY TWO • WEDNESDAY • 2300 HOURS

“Smile for the camera!”
called Amelia Bean.

“I do not believe she hasn't put that thing down by now,” whispered D. B. to Oz through gritted teeth. “My cheeks hurt from smiling.”

They were sitting in a horse-drawn carriage in front of Central Park, about to take a ride to celebrate their Bake-Off victory. As D. B.'s mother climbed in and sat down beside Lavinia Levinson, the driver urged his horse forward. Oz pulled the heavy blanket up to his chin. It was cold. Late, too—nearly midnight. He yawned. It had been a long day. The steady clip-clop of the horse's hooves was soothing. So was the steady drone of the two grown-ups' voices. Oz's eyelids started to droop.

“Ouch!” he cried, sitting bolt upright. D. B. had elbowed him in the ribs. Her elbow was bony, and it hurt. “What'd you do that for?”

D. B. jerked her chin skyward. A pigeon was circling
overhead. It was Vinnie. “Incoming,” she warned.

Oz waited until his mother and Amelia Bean turned their heads to admire the moonlight on a nearby pond, then gave Vinnie a thumbs-up. The pigeon swooped down and dropped a scroll of paper into his lap. Oz whisked it under the blanket.

“Do you have a flashlight?” he whispered to D. B., as their mothers resumed their conversation.

“Does Roquefort Dupont have a tail?” she whispered back, holding up a small penlight.

Oz slid the cipher disk from his pocket. He lifted a corner of the blanket, unrolled the pigeon post and shone the light on the tiny page. Squinting, he began mentally decoding its message.

“What does it say?” D. B. asked.

“ ‘FOR YOUR PAWS ONLY,' ” Oz replied.

“I
know
that part already. The rest of it, I mean.”

“ ‘MISSION LAUNCHED. PROCEEDING ACCORDING TO PLAN. FULL STEAM AHEAD FOR TOMORROW.' ”

Oz and D. B. exchanged a glance. If everything was proceeding according to plan, that meant Glory was in Dupont's clutches.

“Good luck, Glory,” Oz whispered to himself. His tiny friend was going to need it.

DAY TWO • WEDNESDAY • 2330 HOURS

“Now,
that
is a rat,”
said Roquefort Dupont, gazing up in admiration at the towering skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus rex.

Outside, a full moon shone in the sky over Manhattan. It glinted through the high windows of the Museum of Natural History's fourth floor, bathing the bones in an eerie light. Dupont waved a paw expansively at the exhibit, as if it were his own personal possession. “Look at that tail!” he crowed. “Look at those sharp teeth! Definitely a rat.”

The delegates of the G.R.R. nodded.

“
Sì,
” said Gorgonzola.

“
Ja,
” agreed Muenster.

“
Oui, absolument,
” purred Brie.

Even Stilton Piccadilly looked impressed.

Clearly relishing his new role as Big Cheese, Dupont swaggered about in front of the group, his eyes glowing
red in the moonlight. “You see what I'm telling you? This is our history! We are the descendents of giants, my friends—giants! Once we roamed the earth proudly, like old Rex here. With me leading the G.R.R.—”

“GRR!” growled the assembled rats automatically.

“ . . . this will be our destiny once again. We rats will crush those small-paws like the vermin they are! Cats and dogs will tremble at our name! Even humans will call us master! Rats will be SUPREME! Rats will RULE THE WORLD!”

From where she had been unceremoniously dumped under a bench, Glory gave a tiny snort.
Descendant of giants, my paw,
she thought in disgust. The only thing T. Rex-size about Roquefort Dupont was his ego. More likely he'd sprung from some prehistoric cockroach.

She shifted uncomfortably on the hard marble floor and glared at the stout gray mouse who was guarding her. “How could you do it, Fumble?” she asked. “How could you be such a turntail?”