Quilter study seemed a good way to fill the last free afternoon before the experts arrived for their Sea-Level meeting. Before they had to start worrying too much about Coconut Man, and whether he’d come, and whether he’d have proof that he owned the forest and could help them save it.
Megan and her mom set off after lunch, when the quilter herd they were stalking would have been fed, which usually makes herds easier to approach.
Megan led the way to where she guessed the quilters would be setting up in one of the meeting rooms at the back of the house—rooms she and Joey had passed on their long trek back from the stables that morning.
It wasn’t hard to find the quilter room from the sound of furniture being moved, as footmen helped set up tables where half-finished quilts were being laid out. As Megan and her mom peered into the room, a woman in a bright pink jacket came over.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m intrigued by quilting,” said Susie. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”
The woman didn’t look happy at the interruption, giving the shortest possible answers to Susie’s questions about quilter evolution (most of them had mothers who quilted) and quilter habitat (they came from all over) and quilter customs (this group got together at least once a year to quilt). Susie was starting on some more searching questions when Megan tugged urgently on her sleeve.
Her mom gave her the “What makes you think I’m finished?” look. And asked a couple more questions before letting Megan pull her down the corridor as the quilter turned away with what could have been an expression of relief.
“What the…?” Susie began when they were safely in the corridor.
“Mom, didn’t you see?” asked Megan.
“See what?”
“That quilter in the blue skirt? Her legs were really hairy.”
Susie put her hand on Megan’s shoulder, which usually meant a lecture was coming. Something that would help Megan be a better human.
“Honey,” said Susie. “We’re not in Ohio anymore. This is a different culture. Maybe women in England aren’t too worried about a little hair on their legs. It’s only natural, after all!”
“But Mom!” said Megan. “It was more than just a little hair! And another woman, the one in pink pants. She had huge hands! As big as Uncle Fred’s! Oh, and the one in the leopard skin shirt? Her face was stubbly!”
Her mom’s hands dropped to her sides, where they hung loose. Then she leaned against the wall for a moment before she turned back to Megan, her expression bleak, because there could be only one explanation.
egan and her mom ran back up the spiral staircase to the sitting room, where Jake and Joey had fallen asleep watching a billiards game on television.
“Wake up,” said Susie, shaking Jake’s shoulder.
She told him about the hairy legs. Told him about the stubbly face. Told him about the massive hands.
It was Trey who took charge. He jumped out of Megan’s pocket and ran to the back of a couch, forcing his mouth into a strange shape that Megan had seen only a few times before. He was giving the mouse whistle, pitched so high that it was inaudible to humans.
There was a soft tremor in the tapestries, and a messenger mouse emerged. And in response to some short, sharp gestures from Trey he turned and ran behind the tapestries to the hole that led to the palace’s underpinnings, and the mouse power that lived there.
The humans all collapsed on the two huge couches of the sitting room while they waited to see what explanation—what excuse—the local mice would come up with. Because how could they have let this palace fill up with quilters who could only be Loggocorp spies?
Megan wanted her own mice for comfort, but for once there were none available. Trey was too tense to come near her, walking around with an expression that Megan knew well. When things went wrong, he had a tendency to blame himself, and she guessed that was happening now. Not a good time to pick him up for a cuddle.
Sir Quentin had attached himself to the platoon of mice on duty in the North Tower, where they kept an eye on the duke himself. Ken was spending the afternoon in Mouse Hall, where he now had a big fan club for his limericks.
And where was Julia?
“Trey!” Megan called out. “Have you seen—”
“She’s fine,” he said, reading her mind. “Julia’s fine. Told me she had a plan. Something she had to do.”
But without telling Megan? Without a word to her human?
It was only a few minutes before a mouse with a blue thread around his neck emerged from behind the tapestry, followed by Ken and a bearer-mouse with a Thumbtop strapped to his back.
“Bit of a setback, yeah?” said Ken. “Them quilters being Julius Caesars. Geezers. Who’d have thought? This bloke will sort things out. The Director of Security.”
The director started to speak, as Trey translated.
“We were preparing a report for you,” the director said. “We had of course realized instantly that those alleged quilters are in fact male, a few of whom are known to MMI5.”
“Shouldn’t that be MI5?” said Jake. “Military Intelligence, Section 5? The British FBI?”
“Mouse MI5,” corrected the director. “That’s our investigative agency in London that keeps track of human criminals. They do indeed have three or four of these gentlemen, these quilters, in their database.”
“What were their crimes?” asked Jake.
“Unauthorized access to computer systems,” said the director. “In other words, hacking. And planting listening devices. Most of the alleged quilters, however, are junior executives who work for Loggocorp.”
“Oh, Jake, what are we going to do!” said Susie in a very small voice. “That whole sea-level thing didn’t fool them for a minute! Let’s tell the duke. Then let’s leave, right now.”
“There is no need for that,” said the director, “because you will of course have the upper hand.”
“How?” asked Jake.
The director made a small sign for “Smile” and waved for the bearer-mouse to step forward so Jake could peer at the Thumbtop on his back.
“Observe!” he said. “These gentlemen—these quilters—did not waste time. They have already installed a number of listening devices.”
There was no way, even with their magnifying glasses, that the humans could make out the details on the floor plan that was squashed onto the tiny screen.
“Just a moment,” said Jake, and hurried into the bedroom to fetch the connector that the humans kept ready at all times in case they needed to attach a Thumbtop to something with a larger screen.
It took only a minute to bring up the floor plan on the big television set in the corner, a floor plan with flashing lights that showed exactly where tiny microphones or magic video pens had already been planted.
Nothing in this tower. But bugs in the meeting room labeled “Sea-Level Task Force”? Check. Blue drawing room? Check. Gold salon? Absolutely. Green morning room? You betcha.
Terrible news, yes? So why was Jake grinning?
“What?” asked Susie.
“The director is right,” he said. “We absolutely have the upper hand.”
“Huh?” said Susie.
“They don’t know we know about those microphones,” said Jake. “And we have mice. You know what mice say?”
There are many things that mice say, of course, and for a moment the other humans couldn’t guess what he meant. But Trey got it immediately.
“There is no disaster,” he said, “that we cannot turn to the advantage of ourselves and our Nation.”
“Got it in one, Treyzy Weyzy,” said Ken, giving Trey a thump on the back that almost sent him flying. “Not as dumb as you look, me old codger.”
“We can get all those quilters into a gigantic mousetrap,” said Jake.
Megan sneaked a look at her mom to check her mood, and was relieved to see the beginnings of a smile on Susie’s face as she said, “A virtual mousetrap.”
“P
recisely,” said Jake. “With false clues in all those microphones. Red herrings—like actually talking about rising seas. And our friends in Mouse Hall will let us know just how well those red herrings are working.”
“There’s one problem,” said Susie.
Megan guessed what it could be. “Your guys might not know that much about rising seas?”
“You got it,” said her mom. “I’m sure they all know something about the problem, but I don’t think they could fill up those microphones for long.”
“The Big Cheese,” said Joey. “Let’s ask the Big Cheese.”
Right. If ever there was a job for mice, this was it. Some quick research on rising seas by the experts in Cleveland.
“So who’s going to ask the Big Cheese to get all those facts for us?” asked Susie. “Trey? Ken?”
“Ken, I think you…” Trey began, and—
“That’s your job, innit, Treyzy Weyzy?” said Ken at the same time.
“Oh, I see,” said Joey. “You’re afraid that the boss will blame you for letting the place fill up with quilters.”
Trey looked at his paws, and Ken found an urgent need to inspect his tail. Megan guessed that, yes, they were afraid they would be blamed, because weren’t mice always expected to see disaster coming and head it off before it hurt their humans? Before it hurt the planet?
“I’ll go,” said Susie. “I’ll tell the Big Cheese what we need, and while I’m at it, I’ll ask him how on earth he let us be blindsided like this. Where do I go?”
“It’s through a trapdoor in a broom closet,” said Trey. “Down near the kitchen, but I don’t think—”
Susie wasn’t waiting for “buts,” and Megan could see that the prospect of action, of doing something positive, did wonders for her mood.
“I’ll pretend I’m doing research on the staff,” said Susie. “Because it must be a dying profession, being in service in these massive homes. Then I could slip away to your broom closet.”
“There’s a problem, yeah?” said Ken. “It’s a bit of a squash down there, for a full-size human. Don’t think you’d fit, to be honest. It would have to be one of them shorter ones.”
Joey and Megan looked at each other. “How about the shortest?” he said.
“Hey—” Megan started to object on principle, as she usually did when Joey tried to stick her with the nastiest mousekeeping jobs. But then she remembered her visit to Headquarters when it was in Silicon Valley—how scary that was at first, but how very glad she was to have gone there. And then Jake gave her the final push.
“Probably best if you do it, Megan,” he said, “because you get on so well with the Big Cheese.”
“I’ll help,” said Joey. “We’ll play hide-and-seek. I’ll distract the staff or the servants or whatever they call themselves. Maybe get that John guy to come hunt for you. In the wrong direction.”
It took Susie only five minutes to write out the names of the most useful journals—the ones that would be stuffed with facts about rising sea levels.
Before Megan set off she looked for Julia, who would surely love to be in on any videoconference with Headquarters. With maybe a chance to see Curly and Larry. But Julia still wasn’t around, so Megan put Trey in one pocket and a flashlight in the other and followed Joey down the stairs.
They made their way to the passage that led to the kitchen area, then stopped a little way from the clatter of pots and pans before Megan sang out, “Count to twenty and I’ll hide!”
As Joey counted, she darted past a game larder, where dead pheasants were hanging, past a room full of hunting rifles and finally to the broom closet, where she hurtled in, closed the door, and lifted up the trapdoor that led to the underpinnings of the massive house.
She dropped down to the damp earth, closed the trapdoor above her, and shone her flashlight around the space as Trey climbed out of her pocket.
“There,” he said. “In the corner.”
And she saw it. The opening of what looked like a tunnel with a ceiling so low that she had to ooch along it on her stomach with her flashlight in her mouth. For a moment she felt those waves of panic that hit when you imagine that a trapdoor has sealed itself behind you, or an earthquake is about to crumble a massive palace over your head.
“Hang in there,” called Trey, who’d been walking ahead. “I see daylight.”
With a few more ooches, Megan found herself in Mouse Hall, lit now by the rays of a late sun squeezing their way through a ventilation grille, with motes of dust dancing in the beams. Here there was room to sit up and face the group of mice waiting for her, a Thumbtop in front of them. They had already made the connection with Cleveland, because there was the Big Cheese himself on the tiny screen.
“Oh sir,” said Megan. “We could really use your help. They know we’re here. Loggocorp knows we’re here.”
She told him about the quilters. Told him about the need to fill Loggocorp’s microphones with facts about rising seas. Then she added her mom’s question. How did mice let their humans be blindsided? Let them walk into a trap?
What had Megan expected? The twitch of the whiskers that meant a storm was coming? Rage at the British mice who had failed to warn his humans? An apology, because this safe haven had turned out to be anything but?
What she got was only a slight smile.
“With regard to the infestation of Buckford Hall by Loggocorp spies,” he said, “although mice are powerful, not all human actions are under our control! However, I will of course provide you with a full explanation of how the infestation came about in due course.”
“But…” Megan began, because she guessed that her mom would like at least a partial explanation right now.
“But you may tell your parents that they need not worry,” said the Big Cheese, with something in his gestures that plainly meant that the topic of Loggocorp spies was now closed. “The original plan is still in place, and the representative of Coconut Man’s family will make contact as planned, before the end of the week.”
“And the research?” Megan prompted.
“That will be provided overnight,” said the Big Cheese, “so the experts can talk with confidence on the subject of rising seas. Fortunately, most of the scientists in the group are known to have some concern about the oceans, so there is a good chance that Loggocorp will accept that their interest is real. However, such is not the case with President Pindoran, whose presence would of course immediately reveal the group’s connection with Marisco and its rain forest. It would therefore be best if no president were in attendance.”
“But sir,” said Megan, “I don’t think my mom can tell him not to come. Our phones and computers don’t work here.”
“Did I say that the gentleman should not attend?” asked the Big Cheese. He was looking at Megan with the sort of triumphant expression that she was quite used to by now, the one that means, “Don’t you know how lucky you are to have mice doing your thinking for you?”
“We took the precaution of booking his room under the name of Dr. Patel, a scientist from Fiji. That nation comprises hundreds of islands, many of them in danger from rising sea levels. Now, please let me talk to a member of the Buckford Hall IT team so I can arrange the delivery of the research you require.”
An IT mouse stepped forward, and Megan sat back from the Thumbtop, watching the signs of MSL shooting back and forth. She could hear feet thundering above her head, with shouts from maybe a footman, maybe a maid or two, helping Joey to hunt. She looked at her watch. Only three minutes until the time they’d arranged for Joey to do his distracting in the other direction, making it safe for her to emerge.
The IT mouse had received his instructions, and the Big Cheese had one last word for Megan.
“You will find the information on rising seas tomorrow morning in the storeroom adjacent to the main office,” he said. “The transformation of President Pindoran into Dr. Patel I leave to you.”
The Big Cheese’s image had just faded away when Megan jump
ed, which wasn’t good in that confined space, because her head hit a beam. A mouse had run up her arm. If the truth be told, strange mice still carried an EEEEK factor for the five Humans Who Knew. Megan froze, which prompted the mouse to run down her arm again and stand in front of her, pointing to its ear. Two dots. Julia. And was that a wisp of cobweb on her, as if she’d been exploring the maze of tunnels in this place?
“Where’ve you been?” Megan whispered a bit crossly.
It wasn’t as if she owned her mice. She couldn’t tell them what to do. But still, when one of them just took off like that without telling her…She couldn’t help glaring now, and Julia’s ears drooped as if she felt guilty. Then she made a couple of tentative gestures. The sign for “Mouse” (paws reach up to ears). Then a paw at about half mouse height. Young mice. Hanging out with young mice? Some more signs that Megan didn’t recognize.
She glanced at Trey. Help needed here!
He grinned at her and whispered, “You don’t want to know.” Then he did a pirouette. Was he in a great mood because of something Julia had said? Or because his own boss seemed to be in charge again, all the way from Cleveland?
Trey didn’t explain, and it was time for Megan to go, with the two mice walking ahead of her for the slow ooching journey out of Mouse Hall. When they reached the space under the trapdoor, Megan waited until the thunder of feet and the happy hunting sounds faded off into the middle distance. Then she pushed up through the trapdoor, left the broom closet and sang out, “Na na, na na na, you never found me!” She sprinted for the spiral staircase, because of course she couldn’t let Joey and the servants find her. Not with her jeans coated in dust and the cobwebs of centuries making her hair look almost gray.
arly the next morning Megan and Joey headed for the storeroom where mice had stashed the seventy-five pages that they had printed up in the night, downloaded by way of Mr. Peabody’s computer. Megan kept watch while Joey darted into the room to grab the stack of paper, and to help himself to a file folder and a marker pen.
Mouse Mission Page 10