Hello my fabulous readers!
This is an immediate sequel to "The Heart Diamond Mystery," picking up right where the last one left off. I hope you enjoy it!
I don't own any of this Great Mouse Detective stuff, that right belongs to Eve Titus and the Walt Disney Company.
When Basil, Relda, and Dawson arrived home, Mrs. Judson had been waiting anxiously at the door for over an hour, wringing her apron mercilessly until the poor apron had become almost threadbare beneath her fingers.
"Ooh, what's happened? Are you all alright? What's been going on?" Mrs. Judson asked nervously, flitting around the three tired mice like an overexcited butterfly.
"It's quite a long story," Dawson sighed tiredly, plopping into his chair in exhaustion.
Mrs. Judson continued to lok expectantly at them.
"Well, you see, Mrs. Judson," Basil cut in smoothly, eager to recount the events of the night, "this is how it all played out…"
As Basil animatedly relived the tale for Dawson and Mrs. Judson, Relda slipped unseen behind them and sank into Basil's fluffy red armchair. My GOD, was it soft. She had grown rather fond of it, actually.
The fire was quite warm, and Relda felt herself growing drowsy. Through rapidly heavying eyes, she watched contentedly as Basil swung around the room, demonstrating the exact way everything happened in the story. It was kind of endearing, she thought briefly, how excited he sometimes got about things.
"And then Toby burst in, howling and generally making a ruckus, and after that the police flooded in, arresting all these goons and…and Ratigan…" Basil's tone dropped, his eyes shifting to the ground. "He…he slipped away again."
Mrs. Judson gasped. "Again? What do you mean, again? He can't still be out there, Basil!"
"He is," Basil said mournfully. "And I suppose we'll have to wait until he does another truly terrible thing before we are able to find him. And it doesn't make any sense!" Basil's tone changed to an angrier, harsher sound. "Where could he have gone? I saw him, that slimy piece of filth known as Padriac Ratigan was unconscious and lying helpless on the floor. How could he have gotten away, and under the officer's noses, too! How is that even possible?"
"Now, now, dear," Mrs. Judson tried to soothe him, "You're getting a bit overexcited. It might be better if you just sit down, relax. Here, have a crumpet."
"I don't want a crumpet," he pushed her hand away. "I want to see Ratigan behind bars. As he should be."
Basil went over and tried to sit down in his fluffy red chair with a dramatic "hmph!" like he usually did when pouting. Unfortunately, he did not realize that his chair was already occupied with a lightly snoozing lady.
"Oof!" Relda cried out. Basil leapt up in surprise.
"Excuse me," he apologized, "I didn't mean to-"
"It's all right," Relda said, hastily (but rather reluctantly) leaving the comfiness of the fluffy red armchair. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, I…I forgot myself for a moment."
"Oh, you poor dear," Mrs. Judson said, taking Relda's hand in her own sympathetically. "You must be exhausted. All of you must be," she said, gesturing to the three indeed weary mice in the parlor. "You should all go and get some rest."
"Gladly," Dawson muttered from his spot in his chair, clearly only a few minutes from falling asleep.
"Oh, thank you for the hospitality, but-"Relda began, about to explain that it wasn't necessary to keep her here, that she'd gladly go to a hotel or something, but Basil interrupted.
"Nonsense, nonsense, you can stay here," Basil assured her. "You can stay in my room."
Dawson's eyelids snapped open at the suggestion of such impropriety. "Basil!" He cried, shocked.
Basil realized his words and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Not with ME in it!" He said, annoyed. "I'll sleep in the parlor."
Mrs. Judson and Dawson calmed down slightly, and Relda smirked. Goodness, you two, she thought. So untrusting. And suspicious. Suspicious of what, I wonder?
"Thank you Basil, that's very generous of you," Relda thanked politely.
Basil bowed courteously.
Basil's room, Relda realized, was a perfect reflection of Basil's personality. Even better so than his mantel. Cluttered in the strangest assortment of objects imaginable (Are those…never mind, thought Relda as she passed a jar of unidentifiable floating objects, I don't want to know), Basil's room was untidy yet remarkably wonderful at the same time. The bed was hardly even visible under the piles of things that Relda didn't even know existed. Everywhere, mementos from all over the world and maps of foreign countries, everything exotic and beautiful even in its jumbled, disorganized state. Oh, and the typical shrine to himself was in the corner, a framed and immaculately tidy collection of various medals and newspaper clippings about himself. It was, however, not very large, and easily eclipsed by the large and almost manically eccentric collection of oddities.
"Is it what you expected?" Asked Basil uneasily as she stood in the center of the room, analyzing everything. Criticizing, he thought fleetingly, worriedly.
"Actually, it is…exactly what I expected," Relda said. "It's a good thing," she added, seeing Basil's alarmed expression.
"It is a bit of a mess, isn't it," Basil apologized. Odd. He usually didn't apologize for things as trivial as untidy rooms. Usually he just accepted what people thought about him and moved on to more important things, like cases. Basil walked over and carefully picked up a few items from the bed, trying to smooth the covers as best he could.
"What is that?" Relda asked, pointing at one of the objects Basil had picked up.
"This?" He glanced at it. "Oh, this. It is a tribal mask, from Africa. It was made by a native of the Punu tribe," he said, holding up the mask so Relda could see it better. Relda's nimble fingers gently curved around the mask's edges, picking it up and holding it closer. The mask was meant to look like a woman, Relda guessed, from the way it was carved.
"It is meant to represent feminine beauty," Basil explained, gently tracing the features of the mask with his fingers. "See the almond-shaped eyes, the curled eyelashes, and the narrow chin? They are all features associated with the ideal woman. At least, in Punu culture."
"Fascinating," Relda breathed. She turned the mask over and held it up to her face. Basil snorted. The mask made her head appear at least five sizes too big, like a living caricature.
"Not for me, huh? Oh well," Relda took off the mask and handed it back to him.
"It's a bit of a good thing, too," Basil said. "These masks are usually reserved for the males of the tribe."
Relda raised an eyebrow. "What?" She asked, confused. "Why? How does that make any sense?"
Basil shrugged. "It's just the way it is," he waved his hand.
One couldn't argue with that. Relda shrugged. "Fair enough." She plopped down on the side of the bed. Her eyes studied his face, and she cocked her had slightly. "You're still worried about Ratigan," she stated.
Basil stiffened. "Er-yes."
"You know, I would say that it's going to be alright, but I can't promise that. Noone can." Relda said bluntly.
Basil swallowed thickly.
A softer edge to her voice came through when she added, "but I know that whatever happens, you'll find a way to get through it."
It was the same sort of vague yet empowering moral support that Basil thrived on, and he took it in readily. "Thank you, Relda," he said, grinning at her.
She smiled back at him, but only for a moment. Her grin evaporated rather quickly as she glanced at the door. "Are they…" she whispered, "are they listening to what we're saying?"
Basil looked over at the door. The light from the hallway that was peeking through the crack under the door was cut apart by two shadows.
"I believe they are," Basil whispered back. He looked back at Relda, who was giggling. She stopped long enough to say rather loudly than normal,
"Well, Mr. Basil, thank you very much for your fascinating tou of your room. Now, if you excuse me, I think I shall retire." She gave him a wink, followed by a barely audible, "You'd better go."
"Yes. Uh, You're welcome." Basil hastily set down some of his assorted items and quickly turned to open the door. The eavesdroppers scurried out of sight just as Basil opened the door. "Good night, Relda."
"Same to you, Basil," she replied casually as he left.
Basil walked down the hall and through the kitchen into the parlor, where Mrs. Judson and Dawson were sitting innocently in their chairs.
"Ah, Basil. What do you think? Will she be quite comfortable?" Dawson asked.
"She'll be fine, I'm sure." Basil said. His eyes narrowed at the two eavesdroppers. "She took a special interest in some of my collections."
"Really? I didn't know she found masks fascinating," Dawson said innocently.
Aha! Gotcha. "I never said anything about masks," Basil said, grinning at Dawson and Mrs. Judson's guilty expressions. He put his hands on his hips in mock sternness. "You didn't happen to be listening in on us, have you?"
"There's nothing wrong with a little extra monitoring once in a while," Mrs. Judson said casually, shaking off the guilty expression faster than Dawson. "Oh, and dear? If you really don't want people to be suspicious, you should leave the door open next time."
Basil stared at her as she left the parlor, speechless. She waved her hand dismissively at the two of them. "Goodnight, my good sirs." She said.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Judson," Dawson said cheerily. He looked at Basil questioningly. "Are you sure you'll be all right sleeping down here for the night?" he asked.
"I'll be fine, I've done it before." Basil said dismissively, snapping out of his shock and moving towards his comfy red chair. Dawson shrugged.
"Very well, Basil. Goodnight."
"Goodnight." Dawson left the parlor, leaving Basil alone, staring into the dying embers of the fire on the hearth. With nothing to distract him, Basil's fine-tuned mind kicked into high gear. He fretted himself into a restless sleep, dreaming uneasy dreams about the return of Ratigan and an army of evil demonic thugs bent on destroying everything he held dear…
A doorbell rang.
Basil gasped, falling out of the armchair and groaning, clutching his head. "What…"
Dim streaks of light pierced the windowpanes. Early, early morning.
"What on Earth…" Basil grumbled angrily under his breath as he picked himself up and marched over to the door, prepared to yell at whomever had dared to disturb his sleep (however unpleasantly nightmarish it had been).
"What do you-" Basil began, before being cut short by shock.
On the doorstep sat an unconscious rat, tied up in ribbon with a large red bow flopped on his head. Standing beside the gift-wrapped Ratigan stood a mouse that looked a lot like Basil, albeit taller and with much darker, forest green eyes (and a small mustache). He leaned easily on the side of the slumbering rat, shoving a hand into the pocket of his smart-looking coat.
"Good morning, little brother." Edmund said cheerfully. "Consider this an early Christmas present."
Author's Note- Before you ask, yes, the Punu tribe is a real thing, and all of the details about the masks are true. And yes, I spend my time looking up African tribal masks in encyclopedias. In essence, I don't really have a life.
Hope you enjoyed this chapter. It might be a little while before I'm able to post the second one, so stay tuned.
Oh, and review if humanly possible.
Danke sehr!
Narwhals Forever