MI29: Mouseweb International to the Rescue!. Sarah Tozer

mice were stuck there, and they often wished they could have adventures beyond the terminal – in the great big world beyond. Plus, the airport wasn’t the safest place to live, what with airport manager Mr Clamp and his mission to wipe out rodents…

      The mice were just checking for any remaining soapy paw prints on the sink when they were interrupted by a loud squeak from the ground.

      “Help!”

      It was Florence. Her four paws were completely stuck to a sheet of cardboard that was lying on the shiny floor.

      “Help! I can’t move!”

      The other mice leapt down. They pushed. They pulled. They poked. But no matter how hard they tried, they just couldn’t free their sister. In fact, she just became more and more stuck.

      “I haven’t seen one of these before,” said Sydney. “It must be a new kind of trap.”

      “Stickies,” Doris said.

      “They must have laid sticky traps,” said Rio.

      India looked frightened. “What are we going to do now?”

      “Dad,” said Sydney. “Rio, go and get Dad.”

      Off Rio scampered.

      Moments later, the mice heard footsteps approaching the door.

      “Quick, back behind the vent!” Sydney grabbed India and off they went.

      “What about me!” squeaked Florence in alarm.

      But Sydney had no time to reassure his sister. For there was Hilda, gazing down at the frightened and trapped little mouse.

      “Well, what have we got here then? Looks like we’ve finally caught something. Not a rat, though,” Hilda said, poking Florence in the ribs. “Still alive too. The pest controller can soon change that. Dear me, Mr Clamp won’t be pleased to hear that there are rats and mice around here. Ah well. At least there’ll be one less rodent once the pest controller finishes with you, little mouse.”

      Hilda pulled Florence off the cardboard. The mouse squealed with pain as some of her fur was pulled off. The cleaning lady withdrew a small box from her pocket, placed the mouse inside and then walked out.

      All Sydney and India could do was watch in horror as their sister disappeared. To the pest controller. To be exterminated.

      CHAPTER 2

      “What is it? What’s happened? Where is she?”

      Sydney and India had never been so happy to see their dad, Windsor. Minutes after Florence’s abduction, there he was, puffing towards them through the dusty air duct in his old red tartan waistcoat and cloth cap, Rio bringing up the rear. Quickly, Sydney explained what had happened.

      “What do we do now?” demanded India.

      “There’s no time to lose,” said Windsor. “We’ve got to find Florence, and fast. The pest controller must work in the quarantine area. We’ll try there first. I think I’ve got a contact there who might be able to help. Come on!”

      Down the air duct ran the mice, and then out of a vent onto the main concourse of the airport. It was late evening and the place was deserted. Windsor led the way to a big computer screen and tapped it urgently.

      “Right. This map says the quarantine area is between Arrivals and Departures. Follow me!”

      They scurried down the main thoroughfare, past scores of shops selling everything you could possibly imagine and more.

      “Look! Remote-controlled helicopters over there, Rio,” shouted Sydney as they hurried ever onwards.

      “Chocolate! Everywhere you look!” exclaimed India. There were piles and piles of the stuff. Large bars, small bars, buttons and drops, gift boxes, eggs, chocolate truffles, mints, toffees, fudges, caramels, raisins and nuts. The young mice slowed to take in the sight.

      “Come on, keep up!” said their father. “You know the drill: leftovers only – unlike that lot.”

      Windsor pointed to one of the cafes where a number of shadowy figures were playing with the machines, laughing and shrieking hysterically. Coffee grounds were going everywhere, the juicer was overflowing, the toaster was smoking and rubbish bags had been ripped open, their contents spilling out everywhere.

      “Rats,” said their father gravely. “They’re hooligans! Only moved in recently, and they’ve caused nothing but trouble ever since. Mr Clamp wants to kill them all. I’m sure he feels the same way about mice. Come along now. We must find Florence!”

      On they ran until they reached the door to the quarantine area and squeezed under the gap beneath. They were greeted with a rather astonishing sight. The room was full of cages, hutches and pens with all kinds of dogs, cats, birds, reptiles, rabbits, snakes and other animals. They began to search each cage in turn, calling Florence’s name. There was no answer.

      “Oh!” sobbed India. “What if they’ve k-k-kill…”

      Just then they heard a call from one of the cages furthest from the door. Rushing over, they finally found her. She looked ridiculous: sawdust was stuck to all her paws and in matted clumps in her fur. She brightened visibly when she saw them all.

      “Get me out of here!” she squeaked.

      “Windsor? Is that agent Windsor Smith?” said a fluffy white mouse in Florence’s cage, who had very long whiskers and wore a monocle. He climbed off the exercise wheel and came to the front. “Is that really you? Is she…one of yours?”

      Windsor nodded. “Hello, Whiskers. I wondered if we might find you here.”

      The young mice were very baffled by this conversation. They’d never heard their father use the name “Smith” before, let alone “Agent”, and they had no idea who Whiskers was.

      “I didn’t realise. Let me help.” Whiskers climbed up the metal bars at the front of the cage and slid open the fasteners. The door fell open. “It’s an old trick,” he said, smiling. “People just don’t realise how easy it is to escape from one of these things.”

      Delighted, Florence leapt down to be with her family. Whiskers followed suit, and he and Windsor exchanged a special paw shake with only three fingers extended instead of the usual five.

      “If you knew how to get out, why didn’t you escape before?” India asked Whiskers, confused.

      “Oh, unlike Florence here I wasn’t captured. It’s my job to hang out here. I keep an eye on the animals, so that your father and the rest of MI29 can intervene if there’s a problem.”

      “MI29?” asked Sydney, Rio, Florence and India as one.

      Windsor cleared his throat. “Right, well. Bye now, Whiskers, and thank you for your help.”

      “All part of the job,” said Whiskers, winking.

      “Yes, yes. Now come along, children. Your mother will be worried.”

      “Use the vent over there and once you get through to the ducting, follow the arrows in the dust on the wall marked with an ‘A’ for Arrivals, Windsor. You know the way from there,” said Whiskers. “See you at the party!”

      As they hurried back to the lost property cupboard, the mice bombarded their father with questions:

      “How do you know Whiskers?”

      “What party?”

      “What’s MI29?”

      Finally, seeing that his children weren’t about to give up, Windsor stopped, scratched his head thoughtfully, looked about the deserted air duct in which they were standing, sighed,