Goldwhiskers by Heather Vogel Frederick Page B

Dodge sprang to attention. ‘Laptop, please,’ ordered the big rat. Dodge gave a sharp whistle, and the mouselings crowded round a rolling table, angling it in front of the red leather chair.
    Dupont and Piccadilly watched in astonished silence as Goldwhiskers reached out his tail and tapped rapidly on the keyboard. Dupont felt anotherswelling of inferiority, followed quickly by envy, then fury.
    â€˜Let’s see what Mr Google has to say about our visitors,’ said Goldwhiskers, talking softly to himself as he typed. ‘Ah, here we are. Christmas Eve gala at the Royal Opera House, followed by an exclusive reception. That much we know already. Wait, here’s a news update from Reuters. Looks like they arrived at Heathrow safe and sound and checked into the Savoy. How convenient – they’re right next door.’
    â€˜Just give us a time and a place, and we’ll take it from there,’ said Stilton Piccadilly.
    Goldwhiskers eyed him. ‘You will, will you? Trust me, you’ll need much more than just a time and a place.’ He inspected the computer screen again. ‘Hmmm. Grand tour of London planned today for the accompanying family – now, that could be interesting.’ Something else caught his eye, and the big rat straightened up in his chair. ‘What’s this? Dinner and dancing tonight at the Tower of London? Now that is
definitely
interesting.’ He gave his two guests a sly glance. ‘Perhaps we might work together after all.’
    â€˜What time is all this stuff – the tour and that dinner?’ said Dupont, a trifle belligerently. He waslosing control here. It was bad enough being on unfamiliar turf and having to hand over the reins to Stilton Piccadilly. Now Goldwhiskers was taking over. Roquefort Dupont’s tail began to thrash back and forth.
    Goldwhiskers ignored him. He tapped on the keyboard again. ‘We’ll need their itinerary. Just need to…hack into…the Savoy’s…records. Right, here we go.’ He clapped his paws together again. ‘Twist! Where’s Twist?’
    The throng of mice parted as Twist stepped forward. Goldwhiskers leaned down from his throne-like chair and placed a large paw on the mouseling’s thin shoulder.
    â€˜Time to test your mettle,’ he said. ‘The Savoy, room 607. Make it snappy. You’re looking for a piece of paper with a tour schedule on it.’
    The mouseling nodded and started to go.
    â€˜Oh, and Twist?’
    Twist paused, looking back at the big rat expectantly.
    â€˜Keep an eye out for sparklies,’ said Goldwhiskers. ‘No use letting a good opportunity go to waste. The mother is a diva. She knows she’s meeting royalty. She’ll have brought along her best.’
    Twist nodded obediently and melted into the shadows.
    â€˜Sparklies?’ said Roquefort Dupont. ‘What the heck are sparklies?’
    â€˜All in good time, my American friend,’ Goldwhiskers replied. ‘All in good time.’ He nodded at Dodge, who leaped on to the back of his chair and tied a crisp white linen napkin round his thick grey neck. ‘First things first. Smoked salmon, anyone?’

CHAPTER EIGHT
DAY ONE – MONDAY 1015 HOURS
    â€˜But I don’t want to see the Changing of the Guard!’ whined Priscilla Winterbottom. Their limousine was parked in front of the Royal Opera House. The two sopranos were standing beside it. ‘I’ve been to Buckingham Palace a million times before!’
    Prudence Winterbottom poked her head back into the vehicle. ‘Now, Priss,’ she chided, ‘remember what I told you. You are the hostess today, and good hostesses wear cheery faces in public! Buckingham Palace is a high treat for our American guests.’
    Priscilla shot a resentful look at her American guests.
    â€˜Please?’ coaxed her mother. She thrust a wad of cash into Priscilla’s hand. ‘Here,’ she said.