by King, Daren
MOUSE
NOSES
ON
TOAST
To Kevin Conroy Scott
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
A division of Penguin Young Readers Group.
Published by The Penguin Group.
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014, U.S.A. Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.). Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England. Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.). Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd). Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India. Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.). Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa. Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England.
Text copyright © 2006 by Daren King. Illustrations copyright © 2006 by David Roberts.
All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, G. P. Putnam’s Sons, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014. G. P. Putnam’s Sons, Reg. U.S. Pat. & Tm. Off. Published in Great Britain in 2006 by Faber and Faber Limited, London. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Printed in the United States of America. Text set in Goudy Oldstyle.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
King, Daren, 1972– Mouse noses on toast / Daren King; illustrated by David Roberts. p. cm. Summary: Paul Mouse gathers a group of mouse activists to uncover the mystery behind the delicacy known as “Mouse noses on toast,” which is served in a fancy human restaurant. [1. Food habits—Fiction. 2. Mice—Fiction. 3. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Roberts, David, 1970– ill. II. Title. PZ7.K5764Mou 2008 [Fic]—dc22 2007016579
ISBN: 978-1-101-65233-6
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MOUSE
NOSES
ON
TOAST
DAREN KING
Illustrated by DAVID ROBERTS
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
CONTENTS
Paul Mouse
The Anti-Cheese Suit
The Blue Bottom
The Ghost
Rowley Barker Hobbs
The Mouse Restaurant
Mouse Noses on Toast
Tinby Trouble
The Rescue
The Savage
More Tinby Trouble
Old Friends
The Meeting
Trouble in the Storeroom
The Protest
What Now?
The Most Patient Dog in the World
Larry the Coward
Direct Action!
The Petition
The Prime Minister
The Prime Minister’s Speech
The Prime Mouse Minister
Raid!
The Mouse Nose Abattoir
Cheddar Mountain
PAUL MOUSE
IN A BUSY TOURIST TOWN LIVED A MOUSE NAMED PAUL.
Most mouses are friends with other mouses. Paul was an unusual mouse, not just because he was in a story, but because his friends were a variety of animals, creatures and objects.
One of his friends was a Tinby, which is a sort of monster, though smaller than a monster and a lot more fun to be around. Like all Tinbys, it was curved at the top and flat at the bottom, with little square legs, tiny black eyes and nothing else. It was yellow and patterned with lime-green checks.
If you are wondering why a Tinby is called a Tinby, you will find out later in the story, when the Tinby falls out of a window and makes a funny sound.
Another of Paul’s friends was a Christmas-tree decoration, a plastic angel named Sandra who had been brought to life by a magician in another story.
Paul, Sandra and the Tinby lived in a cardboard shoe box at the bottom of an overgrown garden. They didn’t know who owned the garden, but whoever it was had a dog named Rowley Barker Hobbs, who would run out into the garden every day and say hello.
Rowley Barker Hobbs was a shaggy sheepdog, with a hairy head at one end and a busy tail at the other. If the head was happy the tail was happier, and wagged all day long to prove it.
THE ANTI-CHEESE SUIT
PAUL DID HAVE SOME MOUSE FRIENDS, BUT HE DIDN’T SEE them often because he was allergic to cheese, and the mouses ate cheese all day long.
Whenever Paul wanted to visit his mouse friends he had to wear a special suit called an anti-cheese suit. If he stood too close to some cheese without the suit, his bottom would turn blue, the fur would fall out and his tail would curl up like a question mark.
Paul had made the suit himself out of plastic wrap. You and I know that plastic wrap is a type of clear plastic for wrapping sandwiches. Paul knew this too, but the other mouses didn’t. Whenever they saw him in the suit, they thought he was wearing the height of mouse fashion.
“Nice suit, Paul,” the mouses would say when he arrived.
“Thanks,” he would reply, brushing himself down. The mouses lived under the floorboards in the storeroom of a restaurant, and the storeroom was always dusty.
Paul Mouse would look around at all the happy mouses, sitting in cheesy chairs, eating cheese and watching Cheddar Television, and wish that he was not allergic to cheese.
On Paul’s most recent visit, one morning in high summer, Graham Mouse asked Paul Mouse why he always sat on the floor.
“There aren’t enough chairs,” Paul said. He didn’t want to tell the mouses about his allergy. They might laugh. Who ever heard of a mouse allergic to cheese?
“You can have my chair,” Graham Mouse said, standing up. “I’m off to the mouse café for a pint of Old Stilton.”
Paul frowned. If he sat in the cheesy chair, even with his anti-cheese suit on, his bottom would turn blue, the fur would fall out and his tail would curl up like a question mark.
“You’d better sit in the chair,” one of the mouses said, “or Graham will be offended.”
Paul had always been afraid of Graham Mouse. He was a big, burly mouse with the words LIKE and HATE tattooed across his paws.
Graham Mouse put on his denim jacket, the one he wore when he felt like punching someone on the whiskers, and said, “Paul, do you want my chair or not?”
Paul looked at the cheesy chair, then up at Graham’s mean face, then back at the cheesy chair. How bad could it be?
So Paul Mouse sat on the cheesy chair.
Later, when none of the other mouses were looking, Paul stood up and peered at his bottom in a mirror. It was blue, and completely bald. The anti-cheese suit hadn’t made the slightest difference.
THE BLUE BOTTOM
SOMEHOW, PAUL MANAGED TO SLIP OUT OF THE MOUSEHOLE without the other mouses seeing his bottom. The scamper home was more difficult. A lady mouse called him a blue-bottomed maniac. He was chased by a policemouse and laughed at by a group of teenage rats.
In the overgrown garden, Rowley Barker Hobbs was running around in circles, barking at himself and chasing his tail. “Hello,” he said when Paul Mouse ste
pped out from behind a tuft of grass.
“Rowley Barker Hobbs, if only I had bumped into you an hour ago,” Paul said. “You could have given me a ride home.”
“Sorry about that,” Rowley Barker Hobbs said, poking out his pink tongue. “What happened to your bottom?”
“The anti-cheese suit was supposed to protect it,” Paul said, tearing off the suit and stamping it into the mud.
“I like cheese,” Rowley Barker Hobbs said. “I buried one just this morning.”
“You’re thinking of bones,” Paul said. “You always get cheese and bones muddled up. Cheese is yellow and smelly, and it makes my bottom turn blue.”
Rowley Barker Hobbs nodded his big shaggy head. “I have to go now,” he said, “but I will come and say hello again tomorrow.” And he ran in through the back door of the house.
Paul Mouse made his way to the end of the garden. It had rained recently and the shoe box was sopping wet. Sandra was trying to dry it by wiping it with a huge tissue. For a plastic Christmas-tree decoration, Sandra was very house-proud.
“Where did you get the tissue?” Paul asked.
“The Tinby borrowed a whole box from the supermarket,” Sandra replied, pretending not to have noticed Paul’s blue bottom.
Paul was impressed. How the Tinby had carried the box home with no arms was a mystery. He gave the Tinby a thumbs-up. The Tinby bowed its curved top half, but said nothing.
“Have you been to see the mouses at the restaurant?” Sandra asked.
“Yes,” Paul said, “and while I was there, something terrible happened.” He turned around and bent over.
“Your poor bottom!”
“I will never go to that restaurant again,” Paul said, trying to straighten out his question-mark-shaped tail.
Sandra thought.
The Tinby thought too, but no one knew what it was thinking, as Tinbys think in colors and shapes.
“I have an idea,” Sandra said. “I think you should go to the restaurant one more time, not to see the mouses, but for a posh meal. You deserve it after what you’ve been through.”
Paul smiled. He liked this idea a lot.
“We can go today,” Sandra said. “You, me, the Tinby and Rowley Barker Hobbs.”
THE GHOST
PAUL, SANDRA AND THE TINBY SPENT THE REST OF THE morning drying the shoe box with tissues. No one likes to return home to a soggy shoe box.
When they had made the shoe box as dry as they could, they lifted the lid and climbed inside. It was time to get ready for their posh meal.
Sandra took the longest to get ready, as she had to choose a dress. She only had one dress and was already wearing it, but she took a long time to choose it anyway because she wanted to look her best.
The Tinby didn’t wear clothes, so Paul drew a bow tie on its front, just below the eyes, with a black felt-tip pen. “Shall I color it in?”
“No,” Sandra said, “it would look too formal.”
Paul left the bow tie as it was, yellow with lime-green checks.
In return for the bow tie, the Tinby made Paul an elegant cape out of tissue, and Sandra found an acorn for him and carved it into a posh acorn hat.
And finally, they were ready. They climbed out of the shoe box and went to knock for Rowley Barker Hobbs.
When they reached the house, they half expected Rowley Barker Hobbs to come bouncing out through the back door, wagging his tail and saying hello. But Rowley Barker Hobbs only came out once a day, and he had said hello once today already.
“We could knock for him,” Paul said.
Sandra put her hand on her silver hip. “You do the knocking, Paul Mouse. I’m an angel, and knocking is not very angelic.”
So Paul knocked on the wood with his paw.
They waited and waited and waited, but the door did not open and Rowley Barker Hobbs did not come out and say hello.
“We could shout his name,” Paul said. “He will hear us if we all shout together.”
“The Tinby can’t shout, Paul. It hasn’t got a mouth.”
“Where is the Tinby anyway?”
The Tinby was doing something daring. It had climbed up the outside of the back door and was jumping up and down on the door handle, with no arms and no regard for its own safety.
“I hope it doesn’t fall,” Sandra said, almost in tears.
“Me too,” Paul said. “We don’t want broken Tinby bits all over the patio.”
Suddenly, the door handle turned and the door swung open. Paul and Sandra climbed up the doorstep and walked into the house.
“The carpet looks hot,” Paul said. It was mauve and patterned with fiery orange swirls.
“I don’t like it,” Sandra said. “My wings are made of tinsel, and tinsel is highly flammable.”
“I hope we don’t get carpet burns,” Paul said. “It is warm in here. I may have to take off my hat.”
They kept close to the wall in case there were humans wearing boots, but something far worse than boots awaited them. In the center of the room, crouched on the fiery carpet, was a huge white ghost.
Paul hid behind Sandra and Sandra hid behind Paul.
“Look at its eyes,” Paul said. “Rowley Barker Hobbs has eyes like that.”
“Maybe it is Rowley Barker Hobbs,” Sandra said. “He might have died and turned into a ghost.”
This was a horrible thought, but it was too late. The thought had been thought.
“Get a bit closer,” Paul said, “and ask it its name.”
Sandra took several steps forward, so that she was almost close enough to smell the ghost’s ghostly breath. “Is your name Rowley?”
The ghost shook its head.
Sandra turned and ran, more scared than she had ever been in her life.
ROWLEY BARKER HOBBS
PAUL DIDN’T RUN. HE MARCHED RIGHT UP TO THE GHOST, so close he really could smell its ghostly breath, which actually smelled more like dog food, and asked the ghost if its name was Rowley Barker Hobbs.
The ghost nodded, reached out a hairy paw, and pulled the white blanket from its shaggy head.
“We thought you were a ghost,” Paul said.
Rowley Barker Hobbs looked down at the ghostly blanket, and gave it a playful bite.
Sandra came back from where she’d been hiding, behind a chair leg. “I asked if your name was Rowley and you shook your head.”
“His name isn’t Rowley,” Paul said. “It’s Rowley Barker Hobbs. Isn’t that right, Rowley Barker Hobbs?”
Rowley Barker Hobbs nodded, barked a hello and ran around in a circle, catching the tip of his tail between his teeth.
“I like your hat,” Rowley Barker Hobbs said when he had finished chasing his tail.
“Thank you,” Paul said handsomely. “We’re off to a restaurant. Will you come?”
“I only go out once a day,” Rowley Barker Hobbs said, “and I’ve been out once today already.”
“You could go out twice today,” Sandra said, “and stay in all day tomorrow.”
Rowley Barker Hobbs thought about this. He thought about a today with two Rowley Barker Hobbs in it and a tomorrow with no Rowley Barker Hobbs in it. Then he thought about a restaurant with a bone in it, and a Rowley Barker Hobbs who licked the bone until it shined.
Back outside, the Tinby was still on the door handle. When it saw its three friends, it dropped off the door handle and landed on the patio with a heavy thud.
“Oh dear,” Sandra said, wiping an angelic tear from her eye. “I hope it isn’t broken.”
But Tinbys are made of tough stuff. Perhaps this is why they are so brave.
Rowley Barker Hobbs crouched down so that Paul, Sandra and the Tinby could climb onto his back. He pushed open the garden gate with his wet nose and padded out into the street.
“I hope you know the way,” Paul said, lifting a shaggy ear.
Rowley Barker Hobbs shook his head. “I thought I would follow my tummy.”
“Don’t worry, Paul,” Sandra said. “We se
em to be going in the right direction. If he takes a wrong turn, the Tinby can tug his tail.”
Somehow, Rowley Barker Hobbs delivered them directly to the restaurant door. And this was where they met their next problem. A sign on the door read: NO DOGS.
“You have to wait out here, Rowley Barker Hobbs,” Sandra said.
“What about my tummy? Does my tummy have to wait out here too?”
“I’m afraid it does,” Sandra said. “The Tinby will bring you a bone from the kitchen.”
THE MOUSE RESTAURANT
THE DOOR WAS MADE OF VERY OLD WOOD, AND HAD A tiny crack in one corner.
Paul squeezed through first, followed by the Tinby and then Sandra, who removed her tinsel halo to prevent it from breaking. The tip of Rowley Barker Hobbs’s nose poked through too, to say hello.
“The mouses live out back,” Paul said, pointing toward the dusty storeroom.
“Forget the mouses,” Sandra said. “Let’s eat!”
The Mouse Restaurant was by the far wall of the human restaurant, under a charming antique dresser. To reach it, you had to cross an area of polished stone tiles and weave between the chair legs and table legs of the dining table without getting squished.
They were lucky to get a table. The Mouse Restaurant had recently been awarded Five Golden Cheeses in Mouse About Town magazine, and was packed with fashionable rodents from all over the country. Fortunately, the mouse waiter mistook the Tinby for a famous film star, and offered them a table reserved for the Mouse Mayor.
“We should order a bottle of wine,” Sandra said. “It’s not a posh meal without wine.”
“A bottle of mouse red,” Paul told the mouse waiter.
“Certainly, sir,” the waiter said, and disappeared through a hole in the baseboard.
“I don’t know what to have,” Sandra said as they studied the menu.
They were still choosing when the waiter came back with the wine, so Paul straightened his acorn hat and asked the waiter to recommend something.