H Vogel Frederick

Spy Mice: The Black Paw

'There!' shouted Glory. 'By the subway entrance! It's Dupont!'
  'I see him,' said Hank. 'No mistaking that ugly mug. Wonder where he's been hiding all week.'
  Dupont had spotted the two of them as well. He bared his sharp yellow teeth at them in an evil grin, and Glory shivered again, grateful that she was safely out of paw's reach atop Hank.
  'That no-good rat is up to something,' said Hank. 'I can smell it.'
  'Maybe we should take a closer look,' Glory replied. 'While there's still daylight.  
  Can you get us in lower?'
  In response, Hank swooped towards the ground. As Glory leaned forward for a better view, the top of her backpack flapped open. The metal cylinder inside gave a lurch. Glory felt it sliding forward. She grabbed for it in alarm, but it slipped between her paws and went hurtling down, down, down through the air.
  'The Kiss of Death!' cried Glory. 'Oh, Hank, I dropped the Kiss of Death!'
  'Hang on,' said Hank, and folding his wings closed, he tucked his beak into his gleaming purple breast feathers and took a nosedive straight towards Dupont.
  The metal cylinder flashed in the last rays of October sun as it spiralled towards the ground. The rat spotted it and raced forward, his paws stretched out greedily as he manoeuvred to position himself beneath it. Glory tucked her hind paws through the paper clip stirrups and stretched out into midair as she too reached for the Kiss of Death.
  In a flurry of feathers and fur, rat, mouse and pigeon collided. Glory grabbed not the Kiss of Death but a pawful of Dupont's mangy hide instead. Dupont grabbed Hank, and the Kiss of Death went clattering to the ground and rolled away.
  Hank let out a screech and pulled up sharply, leaving Dupont clutching a few purple feathers.
  'Try again, Hank!' Glory urged, shaking Dupont's nasty grey hairs off her paw and grabbing the reins as they circled back. But it was too late. With a shriek of triumph,  
  Dupont snatched up the metal cylinder and waved it at them like a trophy.
  'Oh, no!' wailed Glory.
  'It ain't over yet,' replied Hank, and dive-bombed the rat once again.
  Dupont was ready for them this time. As Glory reached for - and got her right paw around - the Kiss of Death, the rat grabbed her by the neck. The jolt nearly grounded Hank, who flapped his wings furiously trying to stay aloft. Dupont thrust his patchy face up to Glory's and fixed her with a fiery red eye.
  'A Goldenleaf, if I'm not mistaken,' he said. His raspy voice sounded like a bucket of nails tumbling down a waste disposal. 'I'd know those ears anywhere. Have a pair of 'em nailed to the wall down at HQ.'
  Glory paled. Dupont was talking about her father. 'You're scum,' she croaked, struggling to free herself. 'Nothing but rat scum. Always have been, always will be.'
  Angered by her words, Dupont released the Kiss of Death and squeezed Glory's neck with both paws.
  'Scum, am I?' he snarled. His breath reeked, and Glory's eyes watered. 'I'll have you know I'm the descendant of kings! My ancestors kept your kind as servants!' He squeezed harder, and stars swam before Glory's eyes. She gasped for air. 'Did you get the little present I sent you?' Dupont said, taunting her. 'Didn't think I'd have the pleasure of your company so soon. But no one outruns the Black Paw. Not even a Goldenleaf.'
  Struggling mightily, Glory managed to free one of her hind paws. She aimed a kick straight at the rat's ugly nose. Dupont screeched and clutched at his wounded snout.  
  As he did so, one of his claws caught in the chain around Glory's neck. It wrenched free with a forceful jerk that brought Glory tumbling off Hank. She landed on the pavement with a thud. Ignoring the pain, she leaped to her paws and sprinted towards the Kiss of Death, but Dupont was too quick for her. With a sinister grin, he snatched up the metal cylinder.
  'The only good mouse is a dead mouse,' he sneered, and lunged at her.
  'Look out, Glory!' squawked Hank as the rat's sharp claws raked her shoulder.   
  Swooping in, the pigeon plucked her from the pavement and they soared upward,  
  Glory clutching at her rescuer's feathers for dear life.
  'I'll make mousemeat out of you yet, mark my words!' screamed Dupont, shaking his paw at them angrily.
  'Are you OK?' Hank called anxiously to Glory.
  She nodded, wincing. She climbed gingerly up on to Hank's back and inspected her shoulder. Dupont had drawn blood. It could have been worse, though, she thought with a shudder. Much worse. And they still weren't out of danger. Below them, the rat had slung the homing device around his neck and was hefting the Kiss of Death on to his shoulder. He scanned the sky, then pointed it straight at them.
  'Look out, Hank!' Glory cried out in warning. 'Duck!'
  Not a moment too soon, the pigeon banked steeply left. A puff of smoke emerged from the mouth of the small metal cylinder, followed by a sharp report. Something whistled past them.
  'What in tarnation was that?' shouted Hank.
  'I told you, it's the Kiss of Death.'
  'I thought it was a lipstick!'
  'That's what you're supposed to think,' said Glory. 'It's a pistol. Single-shot, four point five millimetres. It's Russian-made, circa 1965. KGB issue.'
  'A pistol?' Hank faltered slightly, and Glory clutched at his feathers again to keep from toppling off. He gave a low whistle. 'No wonder Julius's tail was in a twist. All we need in this city are armed rats!'

Spy Mice: The Black Paw © Heather Vogel Frederick, 2006. Published by Puffin Books.