New York City, Central Park. April, 1992.

The rain poured down in torrents. It had been pouring for days, and showed no indication that it was finished with it's gray task. The residents of the city seemed content to pack themselves away indoors, to ride out the storm front as best they could in comfort. Some residents, however, were able to cope better than others.

Within the walls of Rescue Ranger Headquarters, Gadget Maplewood clung to her sanity as she listened to the complaints of both Dale, and her small daughter Mariel, who it seemed hadn't stopped crying since the storm had started, days earlier.

"Isn't it ever gonna stop rainin'?" Dale sighed, gazing out a nearby window. Beside him, Mariel screamed her agreement, dumping the abacus she'd been playing with into the floor.

"All right, that's enough out of both of you!" Gadget said sharply. The two offending Rangers looked understandably chastised, and she put a hand to her face.

"Look, I'm sorry guys. I guess the rain's getting to me too."

Looking around, her eyes lit on a book which lay conveniently open on the end table. Picking it up with hope, she turned back to her unhappy charges.

"Hey, how about a story?"

As the words were uttered, every room in HQ emptied, as always happened. Not only was Gadget the team's head technician, she was also their historian. Within minutes, she found every Ranger seated either around her or at her feet.

"Well, which one is it this time, luv?" Monterey asked, finding a comfortable seat in a large armchair. Smiling slightly, she thumbed the old, gilt-edged volume to a well-marked place.

"Well, we'll delve back into the past century for this one, guys. I'll tell you about an ancestor of mine who narrowly saved all mousedom from the clutches of the greatest criminal mind in history...Professor James Ratigan."

London, England. December, 1896.

"Tally-ho!"

The battle cry rang across the streets of London, as Toby the basset hound bounded across the cobblestones of Trafalgar Square. Clinging to his leash, two mice held on for dear life, one clearly enjoying himself more than the other. The taller of the two wore a brown tweed Inverness cloak, and a deerstalker cap on his head. The other, a short, squat mouse, was dressed in a well-groomed doctor's suit, a bowler hat barely clinging between his ears.

Ahead of them, a small vehicle sped away at breakneak speed. Gouts of steam shot from small cylinders at the sides, as the miniature locomotive engine within propelled it's wheels down the London streets.

"Faster, Toby! We're nearly on top of the blackguard!" shouted Basil of Baker Street. He was in his element, and the thrill of the chase was full upon him. His companion, Doctor Dawson, was slightly more faint of heart, and was sincerely wishing he had not partaken of Mrs. Judson's cheese crumpets before leaving 221B.

"Basil, I don't think we're going to catch him. He has too much of a head start!"

These words brought a snort from Toby, and the hound poured on a burst of speed that nearly caused Dawson to lose his grip. Basil laughed into the wind.

"Never insult the prowess of a motivated bloodhound, old chap!"

The chase led on throughout the city, the detective and his companion more determined than ever to capture the elusive fiend. For aboard his mechanical beast, Professor Ratigan carried young George Adam, the crown prince of all mousedom, and grandson of the queen. Basil knew that if Ratigan was allowed to ransom the boy, he would demand the crown. And out of love for the little one, Queen Anne would give in.

Their pursuit led them near London Bridge, and Toby drew close to Ratigan's vehicle. With a sinister chuckle from within his rolling fortress, the villain played his trump card. As he sped across the Bridge, he opened a hatch on the contraption's underside, and released it's payload. Three sticks of high yield dynamite rolled, lit, to the center of the bridge, and exploded. Basil and Dawson were thrown from Toby's back by the concussion, and the hound himself was flung near the edge of the bridge as a yawning chasm opened at it's center. He held on with his claws, and pulled himself back from the brink, finding Basil and Dawson nearby.

"We've lost them now for sure," Basil said, smacking a fist into his palm. "He's hit the keystone. The entire bridge is in peril. There's no way we can get across in time!"

"Oi wouldn't say that, mates!" an Australian accent said from behind. A large, well built mouse trotted toward them from an access ladder near a support column.

"And who might you be, good sir?" Dawson enquired.

"Gouda Jack Colby's th' name, and adventure's m'game! If you're lookin' for help, you came to the right mouse!"

"Well, help seems to be what we are in dire need of," Basil commented. "That vehicle was carrying-"

"Oi know wot it was carryin', mate. Been seein' this kidnappin' all over the news, oi 'ave. Just like oi know who you are, Mr. Basil. Gimme a minute to signal me mates on th' other side of the river. They'll slow that rat down a mite!"

Pulling a small mirror from the pocket of his oilskin, Gouda began flashing it in the moonlight. A similar signal answered him from across the water.

"Ol' Corkscrew Hackwrench won't lemme down. Ran into 'im in Philadelphia a good many years back, an' we been adventurin' together ever since. Now come on, buckoes, oi got a boat down below, an' we'd best be off. Corkscrew's good, but even 'im and his crew won't be able to 'old that one off for long!"

"Lead the way, my good man!" Basil cried. "The game is yet afoot!"

Across the Thames, Professor Ratigan had encountered an unexpected setback. Two apparently clockwork vehicles were in pursuit of him, turning his steamcar this way and that around the square he had run into. Roaring with fury, he jerked the controls mercilessly, looking for an escape. In one of the windup wagons, a grinning, blonde-haired mouse looked out through his bicycling goggles.

"That's it boys, keep him hedged in," Corkscrew said to his friends. "We've gotta hold him till Gouda gets here!"

The Aussie in question was speeding across the river at that moment, with two very impressed Englishmice in tow.

"You say your friend builds these vehicles?" Basil asked, indicating the gear-driven boat beneath them.

"Too roight. 'Ol Corkscrew's a regular genius, he is. Give 'im some gears and cogs and a little other scrap, and he'll have you some transport goin' in no time flat!"

"Look there, Basil!" Dawson exclaimed. "It's Ratigan's steam buggy! He's going to get away!"

In spite of the intrepid Hackwrench's best efforts, Ratigan had broken through his pursuit, and was rapidly speeding out of the square.

"Not on Gouda Jack's watch!" their companion yelled. He bent the boat's tiller to the position for full speed, and struck a small mouse-sized dock with maximum force. Through the air the small craft flew, like a homing missile of the next century.

"Hang on!" Basil warned, and in the next instant...

CRASH!

They landed directly atop Ratigan's getaway car, turning both vehicles into piles of scrap.

Checking himself quickly for broken bones, the Great Mouse Detective leaped atop the enemy's transport, and jerked open the hatch. Inside, Ratigan was lying limp against the controls, his eyes nearly spinning.

"I give up, Basil," he slurred, "you have me."

In the back seat, the young prince bounced in glee.

"That was fun! Can we do it again?"

"Bonza job there, Corkscrew!" Gouda called, as his friend alit from his wagon.

"Thanks, Gouda! Looks like our little fishing cruise will have to wait until I get some parts, though."

"I imagine Her Majesty will be suitably grateful to reimburse you for your parts and labor," Basil assured.

And grateful the queen was. The next day, she welcomed all of those involved (minus Ratigan, who had been sent to the mouse prison at the Tower of London) to her personal chambers.

"My dear Basil," she said. "How can I ever thank you for returning young George to me?"

"Oh it was merely a trifle, marm, you needn't..."

Seeing the expressions around him, he cleared his throat.

"Then again, this was not only my own effort. All of these fine gentlemen assisted me greatly. Had it not been for the timely intervention of Mr. Colby and Mr. Hackwrench, the entire case might have been lost."

"And I shall not forget them," she said. "For as of this moment, I name you all knights of the empire. Knights of Rescue!"

Looks of amazement and pleasure burst onto every face.

"Blimey," Gouda said, "me, a knight! Who'd have thought it?"

"I sure wouldn't have," Corkscrew chuckled. "But then, you always do manage to surprise me."

"Also!" Queen Anne continued. "I would like all of you to join me in my royal box at the London Opera tonight. There is a new talent from America, and she is said to be quite good!"

"It would be our pleasure, your highness," Dawson said. "I have been wanting to see this young singer myself. Miss Rachel Maplewood, is it?"

"Wow. We've got more in common than I ever thought," Chip said. "I didn't know our ancestors kept running into each other like that!"

"Well, to my knowledge, this is the first time we've met anybody of Tammy or Sparky's family names," Gadget replied. "But the rest of us have a past tied up together in many ways. It makes for an interesting story afternoon, I know that! Look at the time!"

The watch on the living room wall read 7:00 PM.

"Time for dinner," Monty said. "Who's up for cheddar casserole?"

Everyone groaned inwardly, but managed to keep brave smiles on their faces, preserving their happy moment.