Basil and the Royal Dare

by Eve Titus

  Cast of Characters

  BASIL

  English mouse detective

  DR. DAWSON

  his friend and associate

  ELWOOD

  mouse messenger

  MISS HAZEL

  proprietress of Holmestead Cheese Emporium

  CECIL

  royally lazy cat

  PES

  a scoundrel of a Bohemian dog

  THE DUKE

  British mouse royal

  THE DUCHESS

  British mouse royal

  THE KING OF BOHEMIA

  royal mouse visitor

  THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA

  royal mouse visitor

  LADISLAV

  Bohemian royal cousin

  GEORGE

  British mouse earl

  PRINCE LEO

  human Bohemian royal

  MAREK

  crown prince of Bohemia (a mouse)

  PAVLA, SILVIE, AND RADIM

  other young Bohemian royals

  CLARA

  teen daughter of the duke and duchess

  FLORRIE AND HUGO

  other young British mouse royals

  EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES

  human royal

  PRINCESS ALEXANDRA OF DENMARK

  Edward’s wife

  PRINCESS HELENA

  Edward’s sister

  VARIOUS SERVANTS (MOUSE AND HUMAN), ROYAL FAMILY MEMBERS, AND OTHERS

  1

  At Loose Ends

  “HAVE A TASTE OF THIS, Basil.” I held out a crumb of cheddar.

  There was no response from across the table. My dear friend Basil—better known throughout mousedom as Basil of Baker Street, the world-famous detective—sat staring glumly out the front window of the Holmestead Cheese Emporium. His chin rested on his paw, his whiskers drooped, and even his deerstalker cap appeared less jaunty than usual.

  I sighed. “Basil!” I said in a louder tone. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Mr. Holmes says so quite frequently himself, remember? You need to eat something.”

  I figured that would induce Basil to eat if anything could. He admired Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the famous human detective, to no end. For some years, he had regularly dragged me through the dangerous London streets to visit the great man’s study at 221B Baker Street so he could listen to Holmes’s conversations with his friend Dr. John H. Watson. The two of us would hide in the walls or beneath the furniture as they discussed how Mr. Holmes solved his many cases. Eventually Basil had struck upon the idea to build the town of Holmestead in Mr. Holmes’s cellar, and there we and many other mice had lived happily since the year 1885. The cellar was warm and dry and safe from cats and other dangers, which was important to most of us. But even more important to Basil was its proximity to that study. Now we made the trip upstairs daily—sometimes more than once!

  But on this particular day, Mr. Holmes was absent from the house and, in fact, from London itself. He’d departed for the Continent the previous afternoon, leaving Basil at loose ends with no case of his own to distract him from his idol’s absence.

  “What shall we do today, Dawson?” Basil asked me with a sigh, poking at the uneaten cheese on his plate. “Shall we take a long ramble by the Thames or pay a visit to the British Museum? Or perhaps we should stay here and assist Mrs. Judson with the laundry for want of loftier occupations.”

  Despite my concern for Basil’s mood, I couldn’t help smiling at the thought of him assisting our mousekeeper with her work. I had little doubt that my friend could conquer the laundry of all of Holmestead if he put his mind to it. But I suspected his perfectionist nature might drive poor Mrs. Judson crazy in the meantime!

  “We haven’t visited the museum for some time,” I said. “I have no patients to see today, though I’d hoped to catch up on my paperwork.”

  Basil eyed me blankly. Sometimes I think he forgets entirely that I am a medical mouse—Dr. David Q. Dawson, to be precise—and not merely the sidekick for his detecting adventures!

  “More cheese, sirs?” asked Miss Hazel, the proprietress of the cheese shop. “Oh dear, Mr. Basil, you haven’t touched your Camembert! Is there something wrong with it?”

  “Not a thing, my dear,” Basil responded in his gallant way. “It is my appetite that is amiss.”

  Miss Hazel looked concerned. But before she could say anything else, the shop door flew open. A mouse stood there, though not one I’d ever seen before. He was nearly as tall as Basil, with an elegant set to his ears, and dressed rather formally in a cutaway coat and dark breeches.

  “Pardon me,” the stranger said, sweeping into a bow. “I am in search of a certain Basil of Baker Street, the famous detective—it’s rather urgent that I find him at once.”

  Miss Hazel and I were so startled by the well-dressed mouse’s sudden appearance that we could not respond for a moment. Basil, however, is rarely at a loss for words. He stood immediately and returned the stranger’s bow.

  “I am the mouse you seek,” he said. “How may I be of service?”

  “Oh, thank goodness I’ve found you.” The stranger hurried forward. “I must beg of you to come with me at once. Your services are required by the noblemice of Marlborough House.”

  “Marlborough House?” Hazel cried. “Why, that’s where the royal family lives!”

  “Precisely.” The stranger didn’t spare her—or me—so much as a glance, keeping his gaze intent upon Basil. “Please, sir. You must come quickly!”

  2

  Marlborough House

  “COME, DAWSON.” BASIL GRABBED THE last bit of cheddar from my plate and tossed it into his mouth. “You heard the mouse. Lead the way, good sir.”

  The stranger did so, scurrying ahead of us out of the shop and down the street toward the basement window. Along the way, he told us that his name was Elwood.

  “I work for the noblemice,” he explained. “The duke sent me as a messenger to fetch you, as I am the fastest of foot.”

  “We shall try to keep up,” Basil assured him. “Now, tell us what is wrong if you can.”

  I was impressed by his calmness. As for myself, I was in awe at the thought of meeting the duke!

  Elwood glanced around. Holmestead was quiet at that hour of the morning, but a few mice were out and about—shopkeepers opening their businesses, mousewives shaking out their dishrags, and others out for an early stroll. Still, Elwood shook his head.

  “The noblemice prefer strict discretion when it comes to their family affairs,” he said. “Therefore, I’d rather let the duke tell you why he requires your services. However, I can fill you in on some of the background.”

  “All right,” Basil said, hopping up onto the windowsill where we would make our exit from the house. “Please begin.”

  Elwood nodded, following Basil through the crack in the window. I was at his heels, listening carefully to whatever he might be about to say, for I was curious. What would the noblemice of the famous Marlborough House need with Basil’s detective services?

  Outside, we had to remain silent for a moment as we rushed across the open street and into the relative safety of an alley. I kept a wary eye out for cats, crows, and dogs, along with the many other dangers a mouse might face on the busy city streets.

  And then a stroke of luck. Basil spotted a carriage heading south—exactly the direction we needed to go. Quick as a wink, the three of us had scampered up the wheel into the luggage rack at the back.

  That gave us a chance to rest—and to hear what Elwood had to tell us.

  “As you know,” he began, “Marlborough House is the primary residence of the human Prince of Wales, along with his wife and various children and other family members.”
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  “Yes, of course,” Basil said. “It is also the residence of the Duke of British Mousedom and his fine family.”

  I scratched my whiskers. “Hang on,” I said, having only the vaguest notion of the comings and goings of the royals, mouse and human alike. “What about the king and queen? The mouse royals, that is.”

  “Don’t be foolish, Dawson,” Basil said rather sharply. “They reside at Windsor Castle with Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, of course.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Feeling properly chastised, I listened in silence as Elwood continued.

  “At the moment,” he said, “the human royals are hosting the visiting royal family of Bohemia. The Bohemian mouse royals managed to stow along on the voyage, and the duke and duchess have been thrilled to entertain them during the visit.”

  “How lovely,” I said politely.

  Meanwhile, Basil seemed barely to have heard the last part of Elwood’s speech. He was peering out at the street.

  “Hurry,” he said. “We’re nearly to Piccadilly Circus, and I can tell by the tilt of the horse’s ears that we’re about to turn east toward Covent Garden.”

  Elwood nodded. “We’ll proceed on foot from here. It’s only a short journey now.”

  I leaped down from the carriage after them. However, I soon found fault with Elwood’s proclamation. The journey certainly didn’t feel short! We had to scurry all the way around Piccadilly Circus to avoid the congestion within the busy interchange. Then it was down several other bustling streets, past Trafalgar Square, and finally down Pall Mall.

  It was with relief that I spotted the stately facade of Marlborough House rising out of its well-tended grounds. “This way,” Elwood instructed, darting through the fence and around the side of the massive house. As we crept along, the sound of loud, eager barking came from somewhere nearby.

  “Those dogs sound big,” I said nervously, glancing over my shoulder for any sign of a bounding beast heading our way.

  “Those are the prince’s dogs,” Elwood said. “Not to worry. They’re safely housed in their kennels outdoors at the moment.” He made a sort of funny grimace. “No, not to worry. They won’t be bothering us. . . .”

  Basil’s keen skills must have picked up on something odd in his tone, for he rounded on the mouse immediately. “What do you mean, sir?”

  “I’ll tell you in a moment—let’s get inside first.” Elwood gestured toward a window low to the ground, which stood slightly open—more than enough so for a mouse to enter. “This way, if you please.”

  Inside, we found ourselves in a lavishly appointed sitting room. Elwood led us across and into the hallway beyond.

  “There’s a shortcut just through here,” he said, gesturing toward another door across the way. “Go on. I’ll keep watch.”

  Keep watch for what? I wondered, thinking once more of the howling hounds outside.

  But I squeezed beneath the door and stood—only to find myself facing an absolutely enormous cat with its jaws wide open to reveal gleaming fangs!

  3

  Cats and Dogs

  “RUN!” I CROAKED OUT, MY life flashing before my eyes as the cat’s mouth stretched open even wider. I wasn’t sure I could make it back out beneath the door before the slavering creature was upon me, but perhaps at least Basil and Elwood could still escape with their lives. . . .

  Behind me, though, Basil merely chuckled as he emerged from beneath the door. “Relax, Dawson,” he said. “I don’t think you have to worry about this particular feline.”

  Elwood appeared in time to hear him. He glanced at the cat. “Yes, this is Cecil,” he informed me.

  “Cecil?” I stared, glassy-eyed with fear, at the cat.

  “Cecil, the royal cat.” Basil strolled past the creature, which hadn’t stirred from its position sprawled on a Persian rug. “It’s well known that he has reached a state of détente with the resident mice.”

  “H-he has?” I realized that the cat had closed its jaws by now. Had he indeed been preparing to eat me—or had it been merely a yawn?

  “Basil is correct,” Elwood said. “Cecil won’t bother chasing us—he’s far too lazy.”

  The cat regarded him with his green eyes held half-open, seeming disinclined to argue with the mouse’s assessment. Then he yawned again, rolled over, and stretched. I stared, mesmerized, as he exposed and then retracted the claws on one large, furry paw. Détente or not, I intended to keep my distance from those weapons of death!

  “Shall we go?” I said to the others, trying to sound blasé. “I’m sure the duke is waiting.”

  “This way.” Elwood pointed across the room at a mouse-size hole in the wainscoting, informing us that it was the fastest way to the royal mice’s quarters. Then he led the way toward it, directly past Cecil.

  I followed, still keeping a wary eye on the beast. But Cecil didn’t move, aside from a slow twitch of his tail.

  Suddenly there was a flurry of barking from just beyond another door in the room, which stood slightly ajar. The door flew open, and a dog rushed in. The creature wasn’t much larger than Cecil, with floppy ears and a wiry coat.

  I felt slightly relieved, expecting the dog to do what dogs did best—that is, chase cats. Despite Elwood’s assurances, I knew I would feel better if Cecil were a bit farther away!

  Beside me, I saw Basil stiffen. “Make haste, Dawson,” he said, grabbing me by the sleeve. “To the hole—now!”

  He nearly yanked me off my feet as he sprinted for the hole. “Wait!” I protested, rather relishing the thought of watching the lazy cat chased from the room.

  But I’d long since learned to trust Basil’s instincts. And so I allowed him to drag me into the hole in the wainscoting. Elwood was right behind us, in fact giving me a hearty shove as he dove after me into the hole.

  “That was close!” he said, his voice shaking slightly.

  I frowned, glancing out through the hole—directly into the moist, toothy mouth of the dog! He let out a shrill bark, nearly deafening me.

  “Let’s get away,” Basil told Elwood, raising his voice to be heard above the barks and growls from outside. “Then you can explain.”

  We hurried along the narrow passage within the walls, around the corner, and out of earshot—at least nearly—of the dog. Then Basil stopped and faced Elwood.

  “You said the prince’s dogs are outside in the kennels,” he said.

  Elwood nodded. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you about that one.” He shuddered as he glanced back the way we’d just come. “I didn’t think we’d encounter him before the duke had a chance to fill you in.”

  “Why did he ignore the cat to chase us?” I asked, still perplexed by the animal’s odd behavior. True, many dogs will pursue mice—but not if there’s a cat nearby to be chased instead! I glanced at Basil, realizing something else. “You knew,” I told him. “You saw that he was about to come after us. How?”

  Basil shrugged one thin shoulder. “Mr. Holmes is very interested in canine behavior and body language—it’s come into play in several of his cases,” he said, as if that explained anything!

  Meanwhile, Elwood was speaking again. “That dog belongs to the Bohemian nobles,” he told us. “One of the human princes, a lad named Leo, has a mouse phobia.”

  I blinked. “He fears mice?” I exclaimed. “How ridiculous! What danger could we pose to a human?”

  “I have no idea.” Elwood shook his head. “But it’s true, I’m afraid. The Bohemian noblemice have explained that they can’t let even a whisker show when the humans are around due to Leo’s fear and loathing of our kind. He even trained that dog to hunt and kill any mouse he sees!”

  I traded a sober look with Basil. We were well accustomed to staying out of sight of humans, of course—all mice were. Many of them could be a bit funny about sharing their food, water, and homes with us. But it was an uncomfortable feeling to think of a human hating mousekind so much that he would train a dog to kill us!

  “That’s what I w
as referring to earlier,” Elwood went on. “The prince has kenneled his own dogs outside, since they’re so much larger than the visiting canine, and Prince Leo takes his pet with him everywhere.”

  “How terrible to have to live with a creature like that,” I mused, thinking of the Bohemian noblemice. “The local royals are lucky indeed that Cecil poses no threat to them.”

  Elwood smiled slightly. “Indeed. Now, come—let’s meet the duke and his family, and they can fill you in on the rest.”

  4

  A Royal Problem

  THE DUKE WAS A TALL, stout mouse with gray whiskers, and the duchess, a lovely older lady with perfect manners. They stood at the front of a delegation of nearly twenty mice that emerged to meet us in a roomy, comfortably appointed space in the wall behind the humans’ drawing room. Most were members of the duke’s family and associated servants, while a few oddly dressed mice were introduced as the Bohemian visitors.

  “Thank you for coming,” the duke told Basil somberly once all introductions had been made. “If you are ready to hear of the terrible dilemma that has brought you here, I am ready to share it.”

  “You are most welcome, Your Grace.” Basil’s sharp gaze scanned the group of mice gathered behind the duke and duchess. “But I suspect I might already have guessed what is wrong.”

  “Oh?” The duke raised his brow in the direction of Elwood.

  “No, Your Grace.” Basil held up a paw. “Elwood was the soul of discretion. He hasn’t told me a thing. However, my powers of observation are telling me that you have introduced me to adult mice of all ages, along with several younger children.” He patted the head of a wide-eyed little girl from the Bohemian delegation, then glanced at an even younger pup playing with the tassels of the rug. “However, I see no teenage mice at all—though I am aware that your son, daughter, and niece are all within this age range.”