In the original Great Mouse Detective film, the plot begins with Hiram Flaversham abducted by Fidget, Ratigan's right-hand bat, and thus ruining what was supposed to have been Olivia's "very best birthday." After she is abducted by the pirate bat himself, there is a very brief, but obvious conflict between the two characters just before Fidget shoves her inside that giant green bottle. In this story that you're about to read, you'll soon realize that conflict in the movie is nothing compared to the conflict that arises when it involves Fidget's beloved daughter. Fidget, Olivia, Basil, and Dawson are properties of Great Mouse Detective. Madame Ratburn belongs to Mouse Avenger, all other characters belong to me.

Chapter 1: Returning to London

I never thought I'd live to see this day. I could still remember how my eighth birthday was ruined, thanks to that ugly old bat who kidnapped my father (Fidget, was it not?)! Although Basil of Baker Street defeated him, along with that ruthless rat professor of his, I could never forget that event and neither could my father! How could anyone DO such a thing, I would ask my father? Why would anyone want to kidnap or hurt someone! My father would explain to me some children are not as fortunate as we are. "Not every child has his mother or father for guidance or comfort," he would tell me. Some children are born mentally disturbed, while others become misguided in life (losing their parents at a young age to be apprehended and raised by criminals). My father even advised me that, like good Christian mice, we should forgive them. But how can I? I haven't been able to enjoy a birthday ever since! I plead with my father to celebrate my birthdays during the day, or fear that a kidnapping could take place again. And come nightfall, I jolted at the sound of any footsteps from outside that passed by our house. Even making friends at our new home in good old Scotland. Some mice laughed at me when I cowered at the sight of peg-legged mice, and their daily games that involved the roleplay of someone being kidnapped ... I couldn't bear another minute without cringing! For seventeen years, I've endured this fear and for that I swore that I would never, ever forgive that horrible creature! Then suddenly, things began to change ...

My father was getting old, and became very ill. The doctor informed me that he was not expected to last the night. I knelt by his side in tears. My father always had an average, but lovely face. Now it was all wrinkled. The stress of that night must've hurt him a lot more than it did me. He was so good to me, shielding me from the evils of the world, comforting me in my misery like any good father would. It never occurred to me until now that he had been very lonely, with no wife to support him. For his sake, I never moved out nor have I married. He needed me ... but sometimes I wondered if I was being too selfish. I blame myself for his present condition. Just before his eyes would close and he would be asleep to me forever, he held my hands firmly but affectionately. "Olivia ..."

"Yes, Father?"

"I knoh ... this is hard for you ... but, you must forgive him ..."

"What?"

"He is dead, Olivia ... we cannot change the past, but ... you must move on ..."

Even though he was dying, I still couldn't find it in my heart to keep such a promise. But my father deserved redemption, so I thought it best to tell a comforting lie. "I'll do my best, Father."

My father had the very best funeral. There wasn't a mouse in town, child or adult, who did not know the name of Hiram Flaversham. He was the best toymaker in Scotland and the children all loved him. As I ran my finger underneath my black veil to dry my eyes, I felt an inexplicable pull inside my chest. Strangely enough, it had nothing to do with my father's death. No doubt my father's departure from this world grieved me deeply beyond words, and I've shed enough tears that would make puddles at my feet. But this deep-seeded feeling began to puzzle me. Go to London, it would tell me. Go to London ... Was father's ghost trying to speak with me? I departed from the church shortly after the funeral ended, but this feeling inside of me didn't. It made me rush down the path toward my house, then I accidentally bumped into somebody. When I regained my composure, I saw that it was an elderly rat woman in a forest green dress with brown patches and ... a violet turban? This was definitely not a Scotswoman!

"I'm so sorry, madam!" I apologized. "Are you alright?"

The rat woman rose to her feet and swept the dirt off her dress. "I am fine, dear child," she replied. She had a deep voice which sounded almost ... cat-like! "But I see that you've suffered much grief. It's very natural when you lose someone you love."

Her last comment took me by surprise. "H-How did you know?"

"I know many things, dear child," the rat woman replied. "You are Olivia Flaversham, are you not?"

I nodded, though uncomfortable at the thought of a complete stranger knowing my name.

"And you have this feeling inside you. This restless urge that you can't ignore, am I right?"

Again, I nodded. I decided it was my turn to speak this time. "Who are you?"

"I am Madame Ratburn, dear child," said the rat-woman. "And I am a traveling fortune-teller."

"Traveling fortune-teller?" I repeated, my voice barely audible to my own ears. "Where do you come from?"

"I am from Egypt," said Madame Ratburn. "Please don't be alarmed by my approach, dear child. I won't hurt you."

Common sense would've generally warned me not to trust the woman. Though my father loved everybody, he always taught me to be cautious toward strangers. And I never believed in fortune-telling either. But somehow I didn't sense anything dangerous about her. She was only an old woman, and her eyes, though small and mysterious, held no malice.

"I ... trust you," I shyly replied.

Madame Ratburn gave me a mysterious smile. "I can tell you about that feeling of yours ... if you'll let me."

I must've let my childish wonder get the better of me because I agreed with utmost curiosity. I did want to know what this feeling was. If she really was a fortune-teller as she claimed to be, she could tell me whether or not my father's spirit was trying to tell me something. She held out her hands to me, a sign that she wanted to hold mine. I humbly indulged her request. Madame Ratburn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she spoke: "The future is clear ... You will be taking the next train to London a week from today. When you arrive there, you will meet a child and you two will become good friends."

I was suddenly overwhelmed with a happiness I had once forgotten before my eighth birthday. I was to make a friend? My childish wonder was soaring! But Madame Ratburn continued; her next prediction turned my wonder into horror.

"But be warned; through your new friend, you will run into an enemy from the past. Old wounds will surface, and there will be discord between you and your new friend. But how you deal with that discord will be up to you."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing! An enemy from the past? No, it couldn't be! He couldn't be alive! That creature couldn't possibly be alive!

"You will be put to the ultimate test," Madame Ratburn continued, her voice now rising. "Only you can choose whether or not to heed your father's request. Only you can regain balance between yourself and the enemy. Only you-"

"You are mad, woman!" I interrupted, shaking my hands loose. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I did not want to hear another word that rat woman had to say. I bolted the doors of my house and stayed there. I hid under the covers, shivering. I did not dare to leave the house that day.

Five days have passed since that incident. I never saw that rat woman again, and that inexplicable feeling of wonder returned. Surprisingly, I found myself packing my clothes. There was a train heading straight for London by the end of the week. I couldn't help but feel that this trip to London was my calling. Yes, that's what the feeling was. My calling. There was something that needed to be done, and I was the only one to do it! At the same time, I was overwhelmed with the thrill of childish thirst for adventure. I have lived within the confines of my father's box for too long. I may not have been able to grant his final wish, but that didn't mean I wouldn't acknowledge the idea of moving on with my life. As my father did say, that creature has been dead for many years. It wouldn't hurt me to return the place of my childhood. I could visit Basil of Baker Street and Dr. Dawson! I wondered if they would remember me?

That day finally came. It was Friday morning and I was stepping on board the train. I shivered with excitement as I held my suitcase to my chest. My calling was getting stronger, I could feel it! Would my old house be there (or what was left of it)? I closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of the train in motion. Then I drifted off into dreamland.

"The time is 4:45pm, departin' at London! Please watch your step!"

I had awakened upon the conductor's loud announcement. I rubbed my sleepy eyes with one hand while carrying my luggage with the other. I was fortunate that I didn't walk among a big crowd of mice. The train doors were wide open and London was just waiting for me on the other side. As I stepped onto the pavement, I gazed up at the clouds that blanketed the sky. London ... just like I remembered it during my childhood. The only difference was the style of clothing the mice citizens wore. After all, King George V was ruler of mousedom now. Queen Mousetoria died years ago, and was succeeded by her son, King Mouseward VII. After Mouseward passed away, his son George claimed the throne. England was also in the middle of The Great War. No doubt mice-lings' fathers were drafted. Would Basil of Baker Street endure that same fate? I prayed not!

I stopped by the inn to request a room. My father left me with a fair amount of money. I also worked as a cashier at a toy store back in Scotland, so I have earned and saved some money for myself. The manager was kind enough to give me the keys to my room. I wasted no time in going upstairs to my room to settle down and unpack my things. The room was old, as was the entire inn, but it was clean. One sole window framed the view of St. James Park. Through it, I saw a group of mice children playing. I folded my arms on the sill as I knelt on the floor. Watching those children play made me reminisce my own childhood. After school was over, I would spend hours in the park with my friends George and Roman. Most of my friends were boys. In fact, all my friends were boys. I was quite the tomboy of my age. Suddenly, that feeling in my chest returned. I began to yearn to go outside and get a better view of those children. And that's exactly what I did.

I came within three feet of St. James Park. The children were playing a game of tag. I sat on the bench to watch them. There were five mice, all of them boys. And there was also ... a bat! I saw the back of a bat's head, with an English hat on its head. Impossible! Were my eyes deceiving me! I ran from the bench in the creature's direction with unguided force. My hands grabbed the bat by its shoulders and forced it to face me.

"Hey! What are you doing!"

It wasn't until I regained my composure that I got a better look. My eyes could hardly credit what I was facing! I stared at a gray, modestly pudgy face with dark brown-green eyes framed with long eyelashes, a black nose, and a small mouth with baby fangs. Its ears were long and wide and underneath that English cap was a mass of long, red-brown hair tied in a ponytail. It was a young, skinny girl bat! A young child dressed in commoner's clothing. And there was something oddly familiar about her. I had never seen this girl in my whole life, yet she bore some resemblance to someone I've seen before. But I couldn't remember who.

"I said, 'what are you doing!'"

I realized that my manner of approaching was scaring the poor girl. Embarrassed by my own foolishness, I released her from my grip.

"Are you mad!" cried the girl bat as she rubbed her shoulders with her webbed hands. "You 'urt me wings!"

"I'm so sorry," I apologized. "I ... I didn't know. I thought you were ... someone else."

The girl bat laughed; the other mice laughed with her. "'Oo else could I possibly be, silly girl?" she blurted. "There's no one else 'ere but us children!"

"I really am sorry," I repeated, ignoring her last comment.

She suddenly gave me a curious look and approached me with the stealth of a cat. "You're not from around 'ere, are you?"

I shook my head. "I'm from Scotland."

"I can see that!" the girl bat spat out with a devilish giggle. "You wear strange clothes, and you talk funny."

I was insulted by that last comment. I was a mature woman, disciplined to not let comments like that get the better of me. Yet I still felt insulted by the idea of a young child telling me that I wear strange clothes or talk funny. Furthermore, I thought the girl was just being rude. Just because I made the mistake of grabbing her did not give her the right to be rude to me.

The children (including the girl bat) shifted their attention from me to the sound of distant voices calling. It was most likely their mothers, beckoning their children to come home for dinner. The children bade each other farewell and departed. Only the bat child remained. She looked at me with uncanny interest. "I don't know why you came 'ere, but there's nothing that would be of interest to you. You'd best be returnin' to your 'ome."

"I think I'll be the judge of that," I replied, unappreciative of her tone. "And I'm not leaving."

"Oh?" The girl bat didn't seem to be shaken by my last comment in any manner. "Aren't you the brave 'un, eh? Then at the very least, tell me 'oo you are."

"Flaversham," I responded. "Olivia Flaversham."

"Flaversham?" the girl bat repeated with a giggle. "I've never 'eard of such a name."

"Really?" I uttered in a displeased manner. "Then why don't you tell me who you are?"

"Jeanette," she replied. "Jeanette 'Olloway. But me friends call me Jenny for short."

The girl called Jeanette Holloway extended her wings as she turned away from me. Her ponytail of brown-red hair shifted in the wind like mist. "Wait!" I called to her, before giving her the chance to take off. "How will I find you again?"

"'Ere, of course!" she replied. "I always come 'ere!"

I watched as she flew away in the starlit sky. But I still couldn't shake the thought of how she reminded me of someone, especially with that standoffish demeanor. Who was this Jeanette Holloway?

I went to bed that night back at my room in the inn. My first day back in London was a very strange one indeed. I closed my eyes and was pulled into a dream. It was a moonlit night, with an endless horizon of grassy hills. I saw that girl bat, Jeanette Holloway, standing on top of one. She looked at me, laughed, then beckoned me to follow her; I obeyed, though I must've been her marionette because some force was tugging me in her direction. Jeanette laughed like a common school-girl as she playfully skipped from hill to hill. I panted for breath, but continued to follow. I couldn't tell if she was laughing with me as a friend or at me for being too slow. I was suddenly in control of my movements again when she stopped in a bed of blue flowers. Jeanette plucked one of them and held it to her black, button nose. Ten stars fell from the black sky and appeared to be dancing circles around her head. No, those weren't stars, I realized. Those were fireflies. Jeanette giggled as one of them landed on one of her webbed hands. With her other hand, she removed her English cap and placed the blue flower in her hair. I fixed my gaze on her webbed hands as she formed V shape with them. All ten fireflies encircled her wrists like bracelets, five on each. As if she found this so amusing, Jeanette began to dance. I was surprised that someone like her could dance ballet and do it so gracefully. I could never imagine a creature so tomboyish would ever do such a thing. The flawlessness of her movements were like a swan from a quiet lake. I supposed someone must've taught her ballet professionally. The fireflies unraveled themselves from her wrists and appeared to mimic her movements. As amazed as I was by the view, the girl showed no sign of acknowledging my presence. Why would she pull me all this way just to pretend like I didn't exist? The thought of it displeased me to the temptation of calling her name ... until she finally stopped and looked in my direction. With the wave of her webbed hand, she motioned for me to approach her. That force returned and I was pulled forward until I was three inches from her. She gave me a neutral stare as she took hold of both my hands. Her firefly friends encircled themselves around both our wrists like ropes. A gentle breeze blew her brown-red hair as she closed her eyes. Then I heard a distant voice ... "You will meet a child and you two will become good friends ... good friends ... good friends ..."

I woke up the next morning. It was a very dreary and cold rainy morning. It wasn't a typical day for children to play outside ... unless one child was a bat. I wasted no time in dressing up in warm clothes. I reached for my umbrella, thankful that I brought it with me from Scotland. As I walked down the stairs and out the door, I had a feeling that I would run into that creature again. Would she be in St. James Park? That was the first place I was heading. My thoughts were interrupted by a musical sound. It was coming from those trees just beyond the path. I followed the sound and soon discovered that someone was playing the violin. My heart leapt. There was only one person I knew who played violin. Basil of Baker Street! In all my excitement, I ran to find the source of that sound, then my foot slid on the slippery sidewalk and I lost control of myself. I fell on my bum as I slid toward the tree trunk ... then I heard a laugh.

"Didn't mother e'er tell you not to run in the rain?"

I turned to face the one who spoke to me. From the shadows emerged Jeanette Holloway, with a violin underneath her left wing.

"It was you who played the violin!" I gasped.

Jeanette nodded, before she changed the subject. "You're an absolute mess!" she pointed. "If you had a mother like mine, she would've scolded you for getting your clothes dirty."

I crossed my arms, un-amused with her comment. "My mother is dead."

A frown appeared on the girl bat's face. "Oh, pardon me. Your father then. He would find the sight of you disgraceful."

"My father is dead!" I reacted, my heart now livid with anger. "And let me point out, that it's not polite to tease, especially when a person is miserable enough!"

I covered my face with my hands, masking the flow of tears that now emerged from my eyes. How could anyone be so ungrateful! Have I returned to London only to be scorned by a spoiled brat! How dare she fool me into thinking it was Basil of Baker Street with her violin! Suddenly, I felt a webbed hand on my shoulder.

"Please stop!" I heard Jeanette beg. "I didn't mean to 'urt your feelin's. I was just angry about yesterday when you grabbed me. I thought you were 'un of those bat 'aters."

I uncovered my face to look at her. "Bat haters?"

Jeanette nodded. "Remember those mice you saw me with? Well, Franz and Lawrence 'ad to sneak out to play with me because their parents don't want 'em 'angin' around the likes of me."

"Is this a jest?"

Jeanette shook her head. "There aren't too many bats in mousedom, 'cept for me and me family. Some mice are very terrified of bats. I was whisperin' in Franz's ear one night that I would be waitin' for 'im by this tree, and 'is mother screamed bloody murder because she thought I was goin' to drink 'is blood."

I scratched the back of my head. "But I always thought bats drank blood."

Jeanette's expression of concern turned to scorn. "Oh, you're one of those ignorant bat 'aters too!"

"I was kidnapped by one!" I blurted. "If you were kidnapped by a mouse, wouldn't you be afraid of all mice?"

"That's no reason to 'ate all bats!" Jeanette retorted. "I didn't ask to be born a bat, no more than you asked to be born a mouse!"

I would've argued further, but she spoke such words of wisdom that I kept silent. I sighed and raised my hands in surrender. "You're right. I shouldn't be blaming you for what someone else did. I apologize for that. Can't we just be friends?"

Jeanette rubbed her chin in deep thought. "Well ... I suppose. You may be a strange 'un, you seem like a nice lady."

I smiled and extended my hand to her. "Then I'll take that as a yes?"

The girl bat smiled and shook my hand in return. Then we both laughed.