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Goldwhiskers |  |
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Goldwhiskers | |
But this jolly holiday winds up being anything but when Goldwhiskers, the richest rat in the entire world, is discovered enslaving the orphan mice of Great Britain to do his thievery.
And when the Crown Jewels are stolen, Oz, D. B., and Glory are in store for a James-Bond-meets-Scotland-Yard kind of mission?the likes of which the spy world has never seen!
作者简介 Heather Vogel Frederick is the author of the first two books in the Mother-Daughter Book Club series, as well as the highly acclaimed The Voyage of Patience Goodspeed, The Education of Patience Goodspeed, and the Spy Mice series. She resides with her husband and sons in Portland, Oregon.^Sally Wern Comport is the illustrator of many books for children, including Brave Margaret by Robert D. San Souci. She resides in Annapolis, Maryland.
文摘
At exactly one minute past midnight, a large black taxicab turned into the sweeping drive in front of London's Savoy Hotel.
A mouseling stepped out of the shadow of the curb as the vehicle approached. Its headlights caught the hopeful gleam in his bright little eyes. He watched as the cab pulled up smartly in front of the entrance. It swished through a puddle as it did so, drenching him with icy water.
The mouseling slumped back against the curb, the hopeful look instantly extinguished. He'd thought that perhaps his luck had finally changed. It hadn't. Not one bit. He swiped dejectedly at his sodden face with a grimy paw and sneezed. What a horrid night! The skies were spouting the kind of cold, sleeting rain that only London in late December could produce -- and now this. His slight body shook violently, and the mouseling wrapped his tail tightly around himself in a vain attempt to keep warm.
Shivering, he watched as the cab driver hopped out and trotted round to open the door for his passengers. The mouseling's tummy rumbled. Not only had he had no luck tonight, he'd had nothing to eat either. He hadn't earned it yet. "Only mouselings who sing for their supper get their supper," Master always said.
And the mouseling desperately wanted to please Master. Master was the giver of all that was good: food, warmth, praise. The mouseling owed Master his life. Before Master, he'd been nothing. An urchin. A throwaway. "Nobody wants worthless street trash like you," Master reminded him often. Reminded all of them often. "Nobody but me."
Still shivering, the mouseling peered over the curb as two pairs of feet emerged from the taxi: a lady's and a gentleman's. His tiny heart began to beat a little faster. Maybe his luck had changed after all. The gentleman's shoes were highly polished and expensive looking. The lady's stylish sandals crisscrossed her pale toes with narrow straps. Useless for walking, especially in
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