“In the basement,” Silversides went on, “is an old sewer connection. That’s what interests us. There will be only one guard there.”
Graybar nodded. “You got all this from that white mouse, right?”
“Correct.”
“And you believe him?” Graybar asked.
“Yes.”
“He wouldn’t cross us, would he?”
“Blinker? Not a chance. I’ve just about scared him to death. Besides, he thinks I’m going to spare his friends.”
“Yeah, right,” Graybar said. He gazed at the rotting food. “Want anything to eat before we go?” he asked. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“We’ll be eating when we get there,” Silversides reminded him.
Graybar laughed. “Silversides, I like your style.”
“Let’s just go,” the white cat said sourly.
“Sure thing,” Graybar returned. “This way. Look out for slime.”
The two cats headed into the sewer. Built of brick, the old sewer had a round, vaulted ceiling. In many places the brick and lime mortar had crumbled and fallen into the old sluiceway. This sluiceway was clogged with refuse—moldy leaves, antique garbage, and motor oil, all blended together into a gummy, bad-smelling ooze. Such light as there was came only where grates opened to the street above.
On a level slightly higher than the sluiceway was a fairly uncluttered ledge. It was along this ledge that the two cats moved. Graybar limped along in the lead. Silversides, her white coat quickly streaked with muck, followed.
The cats walked in silence. Now and again, when something unusual turned up on the ledge—the limb of a doll, a grinning Pez head, a sneaker tongue—the cats paused, sniffed it, then moved on.
Silversides was excited but suppressed her feelings. She had the sense that she was approaching the culmination of a long journey. If Blinker had spoken true—and she had no doubt the terrified mouse had—she was about to trap most of the Amperville mice in one place. If she and Graybar did their task properly, methodically, and efficiently, they would be able to break the back of Amperville’s rodent problem.
She reminded herself that she must make it her personal business to deal with this outsider, the one named Ragweed. She would seek him out first. Then she would deal with the green-headed one—Clutch. When all was done, she would return home and rid the world of Blinker.
After the carnage was over, she would seek out a comfortable rest home for cats and live out her golden years amid tranquillity and calm. First among felines, she would accept accolades with dignified pride. Her life would be mellow and complete.
“Hold it!”
The cats had reached a place where sewer tunnels converged. It was a large, circular area with a ceiling higher and a basin deeper than normal. Other tunnels led off in different directions.
In the middle of the ceiling was a star-shaped grate, through which light came. “Let’s see,” Graybar said, “we’re at Starr Square. It’s where the city sewers come together. That pipe comes from Eudora Street. That one comes from Providence Place. Over there is Washington Avenue. There’s East Lane. What we want is Vail Way. Hang on, we’re almost there.”
The cats proceeded more slowly. Graybar set the pace. The sewer tunnel he took was smaller, narrower, older, and even dimmer than the one they had been in before. More bricks were dislodged. Now and again they had to squeeze forward.
“Lots of good stuff around here,” Graybar murmured, “if you want to take the time to look.”
Silversides shuddered. As they went along she became caught up in her thoughts again. How, she asked herself, had she ever come to such a pass, picking her way through such a horrid place with such a low-life cat, with the intent of wreaking havoc on disgusting mice? Could she have done something better with her life?
For a moment the white cat felt sorrowful. Was this all she had achieved, to be so full of anger and hate that she could think of nothing else but destroying mice? What would she do, she suddenly asked herself, when there were no mice left to hate?
“I think we’ve reached the right street,” Graybar announced.
Silversides looked up and around. Here, along the curved walls, rusty pipes jutted into the main sewer at various intervals.
“One of these pipes should lead into that bookstore,” Graybar said. “We just have to find the right one.”
“Listen!” Silversides cried.
They lifted their heads. Faintly but distinctly came the sound of music with a heavy beat. With it came a thin chorus of squeaking.
“What’s that?” Graybar asked.
“Mice,” Silversides hissed. Just to be close rekindled her anger and rage. “It’s their new club.”
“It’s going to be their old club soon,” Graybar scoffed.
“Which pipe leads into the store?” Silversides wondered out loud. She listened intently. “The music is coming from this pipe,” she said and hauled herself up into it, proceeding to wiggle forward. It proved to be the narrowest pipe she’d been in that evening. Still, it was clear of any obstruction and she was able to move forward with relative ease. As she proceeded the music grew louder.
The end of the pipe loomed before her. The music was quite loud. There was singing, too, plus a great deal of muffled tapping, which puzzled her at first. Then she grasped what it was. “Dancing!” she muttered under her breath. “How perfectly disgusting.”
She inched forward. The smell of mouse was so offensive she was nauseated. But the strength of the odor was evidence of great numbers of mice.
Approaching the end of the pipe, Silversides slithered forward and took a quick peek out. The pipe led into a small, cluttered basement. Off to one side Silversides caught sight of some steps: easy entry to the floor above, where the mice were assembled. The question was, was someone guarding the stairs?
She took another peek. That time she caught sight of a mouse on the steps. He was sitting there, eyes closed, a dreamy look on his face, nodding his head to the beat of the music.
Withdrawing, Silversides backed out of the pipe.
“Any luck?” Graybar asked.
“We’ve got them,” Silversides replied with barely contained glee. “There’s just one
