Goldwhiskers by Heather Vogel Frederick

at all.
    â€˜Yes,’ said Goldwhiskers. ‘Yes, I see. Very wise, Fleming. You have my permission to sell.’ He nodded to Dodge, who leaped on to the button again in response, ending the call.
    â€˜My broker,’ Goldwhiskers explained to his guests with a wink. ‘Oil has peaked.’
    â€˜You have a stockbroker? A
human
stockbroker?’ asked Dupont.
    â€˜Of course. Don’t you?’ replied Goldwhiskers with a smug smile.
    Roquefort Dupont stared at the big rat. He was beginning to feel inferior. Dupont didn’t like feeling inferior. He was accustomed to being the meanest, most powerful rodent everywhere he went. A tidal wave of rage surged through him. It was time to knock this big, arrogant rat off his leather chair andon to his big, arrogant tail. Dupont lunged forward.
    Once again, Piccadilly jerked him back.
    â€˜I’ll let you two chaps in on a little secret,’ said Goldwhiskers, leaning forward. His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘You know what makes the world go round? It’s not revenge. It’s not claws and jaws. It’s
money
.’
    Stilton Piccadilly and Roquefort Dupont eyed him suspiciously.
    Goldwhiskers nodded. ‘That’s right, chaps. Our ancestors did live in castles, and you can live in castles again – if you’re dead set on it. Or in penthouses or villas, or aboard yachts. Anywhere you please. But you’re not going to get there by feuding with the short-tails. That misses the entire point. One thing and one thing only is going to land you in the lap of luxury, and that’s cold, hard cash.’
    â€˜And where exactly do you get this cold, hard cash?’ scoffed Piccadilly.
    A crafty look settled over Goldwhiskers’s snout. ‘I have my ways.’ There was a knock at the door of the office below. ‘That will be lunch,’ he said. ‘Silence again, everyone! Dodge?’ He motioned to his valet, who leaped on to another button on the table beside him, this one for the intercom. ‘May I help you?’ she said politely into the speaker.
    â€˜Delivery for D. G. Whiskers, Esquire,’ came the reply.
    â€˜Place it on the floor to the right of the door, please,’ instructed Dodge. ‘You’ll find an envelope there waiting for you.’
    â€˜Right. Ta, luv.’
    Goldwhiskers flicked his tail towards a screen that hung on the wall opposite from them. ‘Take a look at this,’ he said. ‘My latest toy. Cost me a pretty penny.’
    Dupont and Piccadilly watched as Dodge leaped on to yet another button, activating the surveillance camera. An image flashed onscreen: the office door and the hallway beyond. A human delivery boy placed a large box on the floor, collected the payment envelope that had been placed there for him, and walked briskly away.
    Goldwhiskers grinned at his visitors. ‘See? This is what money can do for a rat with vision. Everything I could possibly want, delivered right to my doorstep.’
    â€˜Don’t they get suspicious?’ asked Dupont, fascinated in spite of himself.
    â€˜The humans?’ Goldwhiskers shook his head. ‘Suspicious of a businessman who’s a bit of a recluse? Who’s a bit eccentric? Come now, surely even an ignorant Yank like yourself must know that Londonis full of eccentrics. What’s one more? Especially one who tips as well as I do.’
    The mangy hackles on the back of Dupont’s thick neck bristled angrily at the insult, but before he could reply, Goldwhiskers cracked his tail. ‘Fetch, mouselings!’ he ordered, and the orphans sprang into action. A dozen or so leaped into the empty basket; the rest lined up along the rope and lowered it through the trapdoor to the office below.
    â€˜Watch and learn, chaps – watch and learn,’ said Goldwhiskers to his visitors proudly. ‘You can’t lead the high life without an entourage.’ He eyed Fumble pointedly, then smirked at