It was the night of the Mali's party and Basil was getting as quickly as possible so he and Dawson could before the party was full of guests and students from Christopher's Fencing school. However, Mrs. Judson wasn't letting him leave until she looked over his attire."Looking nice is not the purpose of my going to this party, Mrs. Judson," Basil said irritably, fending off her fusses over his coat for the upteenth time. "There's a criminal out there to catch."
"There are always criminals out there to catch, Mr. Basil. That doesn't mean you can just waltz into a party looking like that." Mrs. Judson retorted. "If you're not going to smooth out your jacket, at least let me fix that missing button." Basil groaned in annoyance, but let the landlady fix his jacket. Dawson stifled a chuckle and looked back at the list of students that Basil had swiped. Everyone on the list seemed to be mostly males, with a few female students that didn't really come very often. As Dawson looked over the list a few more times, Basil sighed with relief when Mrs. Judson finally finished fixing his jacket. "There you go, right as rain," Mrs. Judson said, satisfied with her handiwork.
"Yes, yes. Thank you, Mrs. Judson," came the hurried reply. Basil hurried and took the list from Dawson and stuffed it in his coat pocket as he hurried outside. He sent out a sharp whistle. "Toby!"
The loyal bloodhound bounded out from his waiting place to meet him. Toby had been waiting so, so long for Basil to call him and he was so excited that he was finally going to see him, oh yes! He sent an approving grunt at Dr. Dawson (having warmed up to him somewhat) before moving towards Basil. "Stop, stop, stop!" Basil began, but it was too late. A long wet tongue slurped at Basil in greeting, covering him in saliva. Basil flicked his arms in disgust, sending droplets flinging towards the ground. "Bad dog, Toby," he scolded. Toby whimpered. He had only
"So much for smoothing your jacket," Dawson teased playfully.
Basil snorted, smoothing out his mussed fur irritably. "Come along, Toby," he ordered. "Take us to Mali Manor."
Luckily for Basil, the wind whistling past them as they rode atop Toby's head blew his suit mostly dry, leaving it only slightly damp and wrinkled. "Wait here, Toby," Basil instructed. Toby obediently sat.
Lights and laughter wafted through the windows, making the Mali home a glowing beacon in the night. The manor was filled with guests, some family, some of Mr. Mali's students, and some other aristocrats from the top of London's food chain. Dawson knocked at the door, which opened promptly. They were greeted one of the few servants Christopher had employed. This mouse was a very small one, the only big thing about him being his mustache. "Welcome," he said cheerfully. "One of Mr. Mali's guests?" Suddenly, he paused and gave Basil and Dawson both a curious once-over, his eyes lingering briefly on Basil's still damp suit before settling on their faces, glancing between them. "Have I...met you, sir?" he asked to neither one in particular. Basil didn't pay much attention to the servant. Instead, he simply walked right past him. Dawson looked at him and introduced himself and Basil, who already was looking around for clues.
Basil studied some of the students. Some of them looked familiar. He watched them for any suspicious behavior. One young one in particular caught his attention, the surly mouse from the class he had walked in on, who was skulking in a corner. Basil's eyes narrowed.
"That was a bit rude, Basil," Dawson muttered to Basil, handing him a small glass of champagne that he had picked up off a passing servant's tray. Basil shrugged and took a sip of champagne.
"Whatever." Basil continued to eye the guests.
"So, you're Mr. Basil?" The detective and his partner looked and saw Erica walking up to them. She wore a lovely navy blue gown.
Basil flashed a radiant smile. "Of Baker Street, in the flesh. This is my associate, Mr. Dawson." He gestured at Dawson, who waved cheerfully. "And who might I have the pleasure of addressing?"
"Oh, excuse me. I'm Erica Mali, Christopher's niece." She smiled at them. "I'm very glad you came to help my uncle and I. To be frank, I was a bit concerned about the gentlemen who said they would send you to us. They seemed, well, a bit dodgy, if you ask me."
Dawson frowned. Dodgy? He had been nothing but a gentleman when they had first visited; she must have been talking about Basil's character. "Then again," she continued, " I was hoping would help us with our little problem. Someone that's much...faster with the job." Both Basil and Dawson looked at the girl, confused. However, Basil was also a bit offended.
"What do you mean?" Basil asked. Erica then realized she had said that out loud and giggled nervously in response.
"Oh, I'm sorry...I didn't mean to say that out loud. Forgive me." Erica gave a small curtsy to the two older men. Basil sniffed. "Anyways, I have something to do. A great honor meeting you, Mr. Basil of Baker Street. Until we see each other again." Erica gave them a smile before taking her leave.
"That was...peculiar." Dawson remarked. He looked over at Basil and saw the familiar gear-turning expression in his eyes. Basil opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again, like he didn't know how to put it into words.
Dawson took a sip of wine, waiting for the detective to say what he was thinking. After a moment or two of silence between them, Dawson inquired awkwardly, "erm...penny for your thoughts?"
"I think...that perhaps we're looking in the wrong place." Basil set his champagne glass gracefully on the tray of a passing butler and started weaving his way through the crowd. "Come along, Dawson."
Dawson fumbled with his champagne glass, unsure of what to do with it. He tried to place it on a passing tray, like Basil, but the tray wandered too far out of his reach and Dawson decided hell with it and brought it along, puffing behind his partner. Suddenly, a voice called out to them. "Mr. Basil!" Basil and Dawson looked saw it was Christopher Mali who called out to the detective. He walked over and greeted with them. Shaking their hands. "I'm so glad you could come. I'm really in desperate need of-"
"My-My good sir...What ar-are you doing here...?" Sudden gasps and some silent screams caught the trio's attention. Basil looked and saw a certain rodent walking in nonchalantly with some..."workers" of his. At the same time, Basil's blood both froze in shock and boiled in anger.
"What in heaven-" Dawson began.
Basil growled under his breath. Just as he was about to step forward to confront the "large mouse", Christopher beat him to it. The older man walked at a slow, yet quick pace, towards the uninvited guest entering his home.
"Excuse me, but I'm going to have to ask you, politely, to leave." He said, his voice almost having no emotion.
Ratigan's yellow eyes darted around. "Really, I'd love to, Christopher. You have let the old place go a bit, haven't you?" An eerie toothy grin spread across his face. "But you know I can't until I get what I need."
Christopher sucked in a breath. "I will not give in to your demands."
A laugh. "Oh, really. Do be sensible. You're not really in a position to negotiate, now are you?" Before Christopher could say a word, a jeweled cane swiped at his legs, knocking him over. Christopher screamed in agony, clutching his bad leg. There was a gasp from the crowd. Some tried to rush forward to help, but were quickly blocked off by Ratigan's leering goons. "Stand back!" Ratigan ordered. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be. Or on second thought," he gave a positively malicious giggle, "do."
"You'll never get away with this!" One brave voice in the crowd spoke up. "This is a party for fencers! We've got swords!"
"And we've got guns," Ratigan said, clearly unimpressed. His goons snickered. "Anything else?"
"Yeah, they got me!" Suddenly, three knives came down from above and attack three goons, making them drop their weapons. Everyone looked in the direction of where the knives came from, and there they saw a young musketeer mouse standing on the railing of the upstairs balcony. The costume... it was the same musketeer Edmund had told Basil about. The musketeer eyed the crowd as if searching for someone in particular. Then, the musketeer finally said, "You want the family treasure? Well then..." The musketeer pulled out the family treasure from inside their cape. And emerald-jeweled fencing sword that shined like the solid silver it was. "...Come and get it, ya bloody rat of rubbish!" The musketeer taunted the rodent professor and waited for his reply.
Ratigan pursed his lips, glancing down at Christopher as if he was going to say something, but didn't.
"Come now, Professor, I'm WAITING." The musketeer taunted again. Ratigan sighed and reached into his jacket pocket, took out his pistols, aimed and fired at the musketeer. They dodged gracefully.
The crowd erupted into chaos. Women and men alike screamed and fainted. Mice were running everywhere. Basil was jostled as mice scurried past him, but his eyes did not leave the musketeer, who was showing an impressive ability to not get shot. What sort of physics...never mind. People were in danger, and he had to act now. His eyes glnced around before settling on the door in the back. Basil's emerald eyes widened. "Dawson," he hissed. "I have an idea." Above them, the musketeer started running, as Ratigan ordered his goons to go after the vigilante. Meanwhile, Basil's plan was set in motion. "Quickly, Dawson," he whisper-shouted as they ran to the back room. He kicked open the door and grabbed the swords off the rack in the training room. Dawson followed suit.
The musketeer ran off and hid behind pillars, hiding themselves from the bullets. Soon, they decided it was time for action. The musketeer jumped down from the balcony and attacked the goons using the family treasure they had apparently hidden in their cape. Jewels and small gold coins rained down on them like bullets. The goons screeched and whimpered, trying to cover themselves from the flying treasure. They waved their guns, shooting blindly at the musketeer, who was dodging the bullets as fast as they could. Whoever it was did the best they could to gather up the pieces of the treasure they had thrown, trying to protect it. However, the Musketeer ducked quickly when Ratigan swung his cane over their head. Ratigan dove at the musketeer with a furious shriek. The gold and jewels the musketeer had been holding flew around them in a shower of valuables. Claws flying, Ratigan swiped at the mask on the mysterious mouse's face.
"Now!" A voice behind the shouted. Suddenly Ratigan found himself shoved to the side by a previously unseen enemy, toppling over in surprise. He stumbled to his feet, catching sight of his attacker. It was the little fat mouse Basil kept company with. With a growl, Ratigan began to launch himself at him, before...shwoop! The perfectly round chandelier above him snapped, falling over his shoulders and stopping around his middle, pinning his arms at his sides.
"Excellent placement, Dawson," Basil, who was perched on the upstairs balcony railing, brandishing the sword he used to cut down the chandelier.
Ratigan's eyes flicked to the side. His goons had been pinned to the wall with a few small knives, stolen from Christopher's stash, no doubt. They stared apologetically at him, silently begging him not to feed them to his cat when this was all over.
The musketeer recovered quickly and checked to make sure the mask was still on their face. It was, good. The musketeer stood up and walked over to Ratigan. "Stay back!" Basil warned. Dawson reached forward to pull the musketeer back, but they flinched, drawing their sword on him. Dawson wisely backed off. Basil studied the Musketeer and the way they acted. It seemed that musketeer had no intention of hurting Dawson, but was giving a fair warning. The musketeer put their sword away again and looked back at Ratigan and Basil.
"...I thank you, Basil. You were very quick in your plan." The musketeer complimented. The voice was rough and gargly. "Now-" The musketeer pointed his (?) sword at Ratigan. "I believe we should rid ourselves of this monster! The Scotland Yard should-"
The musketeer time to finish their sentence when a thug, apparently having freed himself while everyone was distracted, lunged forward and punched them. Christopher Mali, from his place on the ground, yelled out. "No!"
Dawson lunged at the mook, sending him to the ground. "Oh no, you don't!" The normally gentle Dawson bellowed. He had been in the military, after all. The musketeer slowly recovered from the punch. Christopher Mali watched the scene helplessly, finally spotting Ratigan trying to escape while Dawson dealt with the goon. He was about to step forward but felt his leg hurt. He stopped, for he knew if he moved too fast it would result in more injury for himself. Basil noticed Ratigan as he finally made his exit, and the mouse detective chased after him through the back door of the Mali House.
"Ratigan!" Basil shouted the villain's name in rage. Toby's ears perked up. He got up from the ground and bounded over to Basil. "Find Ratigan!" Basil shouted. Toby obediently leapt into action, barking and growling, skidding through the streets. His howls of disappointment rang in Basil's ears. Nothing and no one was there. Ratigan had escaped, again. Basil fought the urge to scream in frustration, settling for hissing vile curses under his breath. Toby returned, ears drooping in sadness. He hadn't wanted to disappoint his master. Basil sighed. "Go home, Toby," he muttered, giving him a feeble pat on the nose. Toby hesitated. "I said, go home," Basil repeated. Toby walked dejectedly back towards Baker Street as Basil returned to the party scene.
Inside, the Scotland Yard had just arrived and taking the goons in for questioning. That's when Basil remembered. The detective looked around but soon realized then mysterious Musketeer vanished out of the party without a trace. Basil turned the other to see Christopher and Erica fussing over each other, making sure they were alright, before finally hugging each other.
"Basil!" Basil's partner rushed over. ""Basil! What happened?!" Dawson started out. "Where's-"
"Escaped again," Basil growled. Dawson opened his mouth to respond when Mr. Mali interrupted.
"Mr. Basil! Are you alright?" He asked.
Basil looked around the room. The other guests seemed to be in shock, pacing, chattering incoherently or trying to wake up their friends who had fainted. Basil frowned. "What happened to the vigilante?"
"Just as you ran out after the professor," Christopher explained, "that...vigilante, as you said, dashed out the front door. Some of my students chased after them, but no such luck in finding the mouse in that costume. Not yet, I'm afraid."
"...I see." Basil replied, his mind already set in deep thought. Erica hurried over to her Uncle.
"Uncle, I believe we should close up for the night. I think all the guests are quite shocked after the events that took place." The niece suggested. Christopher nodded, agreeing with her. The master of the household dismissed his guests at once, also telling them to be safe on their way home. No one argued with that as most of them, who haven't already fled the party, scurried out of the house. As the last few guests left the room, Christopher sighed.
"What's wrong?" Dawson asked, couldn't help but showing concern.
"Maybe I should've given him the family treasure and the sword...No one would've-"
"No Uncle!" Erica shouted, startling the men around by the sudden act. "That rat is nothing more than a thief, con artist, liar, and murderer all rolled up into one! Even if you did give him the sword of our family, and the treasure, he would still...he would still..." Erica was on the verge of tears because of the thought, but strongly held them back. Christopher smiled and hugged his niece, trying to comfort her.
"You're right, Erica. You are right. The Mali family is very proud family. I will not let that go into vain." Erica hugged him back. When they broke from the hug, Christopher approached Basil and bowed.
"I'm deeply sorry for all the trouble, Mr. Basil. Please forgive-"
Dawson recognized that flash in Basil's green eyes. Something had just clicked in his brain. "Don't apologize. I promise I will do everything in my power to stop Ratigan," he vowed. Christopher smiled and thanked the detective and his friend. Basil and Dawson took their leave so after that. However, Basil was still thinking.
Dawson listened to Basil think aloud.
"The Malis seem to have a connection with Ratigan," basil observed. "When he and Christopher spoke, it seemed they have met before."
"Perhaps this isn't the first time Ratigan has attempted to steal their treasure," Dawson suggested.
Basil rolled his eyes. "Well, yes Dawson, but there is something else there. The Malis, while clearly having a long tradition in the art of fencing, do not seem to have more money than any other family of class in London. In fact, when we spoke to dear Mr. Christopher in disguise, I got the distinct impression their financial situation was on the decline. And yet they have a store of treasure that they have not used to keep up the lifestyle they so enjoyed in years past. Enough treasure, seemingly, to attract a sewer rat of lavish tastes. To coax one such as Ratigan to make a personal appearance, at a party full of guests, no less, one would have to have much treasure indeed. Priceless treasure. Something valuable enough that Ratigan would go out of his way to collect it in front of dozens of mice."
Dawson rolled the words through his mind as he listened. "Perhaps something besides the treasure caused him to show up personally," Dawson said slowly. "He did seem particularly intent on Mr. Mali. Perhaps he was more interested in humiliating him."
"Hm." Basil lowered his eyes to his feet as they walked the slightly damp cobblestone streets. "It would have to be quite a history between them to cause Ratigan to come out just to humiliate." He laughed humorlessly. "The only one I thought he hated that much was me."
"One thing bothers me, Basil." Dawson admitted. "The musketeer used family treasure as a weapon. Besides the obvious question ability of that, how did the musketeer know where it was? Considering the Malis situation, isn't it likely they kept it in a safe, or another safe spot?"
Basil's eyes gleamed. "Well done, Dawson," he said (while silently chiding himself for overlooking that fact). "That may be our biggest clue to this mystery mouse's identity. Whoever..." He made a vague gesture in the air with his hands, "that was is most likely someone very familiar with the Malis." He stopped short.
"Basil?"
"Shh, I'm thinking," Basil hissed. Details whirred through his head. Mali. Ratigan. Swords. Treasure. Thoughts organized themselves in his head, opening up mental files and scanning for relevant information. Something clicked. "I need to do some reading!" He announced suddenly.
His sudden outburst startled Dawson, who had spent the past five minutes waiting patiently for Basil to finish considering.