IT WAS MARIE’S IDEA TO send Kinyata out for more information.

Stefan watched, impressed, as the girl knelt by the cat and whispered the task into her ear.

“Find us another mouseling, Kinyata. But don’t hurt it. Bring it to us. Uncle Drosselmeyer wants to talk to it.”

“You speak Catish?” Stefan asked.

Marie shook her head, eyes still on her pet. “I haven’t a clue. But Kinyata understands me.”

The cat blinked her yellow eyes slowly. With a soft mrrowl, she padded to the window and leapt out onto the open ledge.

“She climbs down the tree next door. Scared me half to death coming home one night, scratching at the window. I must’ve closed it not knowing she was gone. But now, no matter the weather, I keep it open just enough for her.”

Christian frowned. “If a cat can get out, a mouse can get in. When Kinyata returns, we’ll have to find a better way of securing your room. It’s not safe here until we do.”

“It will be if I leave,” Stefan said. “I can’t stay here if they know where I am. I won’t put anyone else in danger.”

“They don’t know where you are yet,” Christian said. “And, quite frankly, I don’t know where else to go. Let’s not make decisions until we have our stool pigeon. And then we’ll know where we stand.”

A knock at the door announced the light supper Marie had ordered.

Stefan froze into the perfect likeness of a doll as Marie opened the door.

A gray-haired woman entered with a tray.

“Thank you, Clara,” Marie said with emphasis.

Stefan stifled a chuckle.

“Now don’t leave a mess, Miss Marie. We don’t want to draw any nasty pests,” the maid admonished. Clearly, she had once been Marie’s nurse. “Merry Christmas, Miss, Herr Drosselmeyer.” Clara dipped a curtsy and left them to their snack.

Half an hour later, Kinyata returned, her fur damp from prowling the misty night. In her mouth was a motionless gray-and-white mouse.

“She’s killed it,” Stefan said.

“No, she hasn’t,” Marie replied. She picked the mouse up from Kinyata’s delicate grip. “It’s fainted.” Her mouth pursed in concern. “How do you revive a mouse?”

Efficient as an army nurse, Marie laid her patient on the dressing table. After a moment’s thought, she reached for a small bottle, and waved the stopper beneath the mouse’s nose.

“Rose water,” she explained.

It seemed to work. The mouse’s nostrils twitched, and then its eyelids fluttered, revealing pink, albino eyes.

• • •

“BE CALM, WE WON’T hurt you,” the human growled.

Dusker forced himself to squirm the way a mouse would be expected to. But his mind was not clouded by fear. He assessed the situation the way he was trained to.

The smell of the cat that had caught him was fading, but a sniff told him the beast was still in the room. Stupid, being caught like that. He’d be demoted if he ever survived this encounter. It would be no less than he deserved.

Dusker had been on reconnaissance for the chief of intelligence himself, having just left the presence of his commander and a glimpse of the wondrous King. It was the sight of the King that had set Dusker’s head whirling off the task at hand. He had to concentrate to deal with the situation. Ponder the wonders of the universe later, he told himself. For now, survive.

Dusker squealed incomprehensibly, in a convincing imitation of dumb terror. The human frowned at him. It was a male. From the description Dusker had been given, he supposed it was the clockmaker himself, the one who had thwarted the Queen’s curse in Boldavia with that despicable nut.

Dusker scented the air. Perhaps the boy was here, too. The piebald shuddered for real this time, but in pleasure, not fear. To bring the new King this prize would establish him forever in the intelligence branch.

“Don’t kill me, don’t kill me!” Dusker cried in his best country accent. He doubted the human was familiar with mouse dialects, but it was always best to be thorough when undercover.

A second human, the one with the rose water, appeared distressed by his cries. Good. A sympathizer.

The cat was still in the room. It leapt up onto the table to peer at him with murderous interest.

Dusker cursed himself for a fool. Best to get this scene over with, discover how much the humans knew.

“What do you want?” He spoke more clearly, dropping the country act.

The clockmaker’s lips parted in a vicious smile. “Ah,” he said in passable Mouseish, “you know who I am?”

There was no use lying. Honesty brought answers more quickly. He nodded once, yes.

The girl beside the clockmaker seemed anxious, or curious. Dusker wished he had a better grasp of human languages.

“Have you reported our location yet?” the clockmaker asked.

Dusker hesitated. If he said yes, the humans might kill him now, with nothing else to lose. If he said no, they still might kill him, or they might keep him for later.

Dusker shook his head, no.

“When do they expect to hear from you next?” The human seemed to have all the right questions.

“At dawn,” Dusker lied. In for a nibble, in for a bite—dawn was as good a time as any to die, if it came to that. There were too many mice out to even consider a periodic report from each of them. Instead, each scout had been given one command—report when you find the clockmaker and his boy, or do not come back. The King’s intelligence had spies out in every quarter, scouring the city for the clockmaker. Dusker had found him only by misfortune.

The clockmaker nodded, and exchanged some words with the girl, who’d been watching with great interest. She produced a small cage and ushered him inside. The lock was simple, a latch he could easily throw with a paw. But, he would not do it. Even when the girl took the extra step of covering the cage with a thick towel, dampening sounds and blocking his sight, Dusker merely smiled.

It was difficult enough to be a piebald in this day and age, but being albino was worse. Dusker would have been lucky to make sergeant. But, his luck had changed. He had the clockmaker, one way or another, which meant a promotion. He’d be a hero to the crown. Not to mention warm and dry until sunrise. His comrades in the sewers and streets of Nuremberg would not be so lucky tonight.

• • •

“WE’RE SAFE UNTIL DAWN, at least. That gives us some time,” Christian told them.

“That was Mouseish? Such a painful-sounding language,” Marie said.

“I’m sure German sounds quite clunky to them,” Christian replied.

“Where is my father?” Stefan wanted to know.

“Safe for the moment at the Kindlesmarkt.” Christian pulled a watch from his pocket. “Which lasts for another hour. Time to put on our thinking caps. By then we’ll need a plan.”

“What about the cats?” Marie asked. “Can’t they do something against an army of mice?”

Christian shrugged. “If they wanted to, I suppose. But, aside from your friendship with Kinyata, diplomacy is difficult in the language of cats. Furthermore, what the politics are between other animal kingdoms, I can’t say. Let’s not forget our history. In Boldavia, and in Hameln years ago, cats were nowhere to be found. We’ve no reason to think Nuremberg will be any different.”

“Well, that hardly seems fair.” Marie frowned and flounced down on the edge of her bed. “Let’s rouse the mouse again and ask him about his army. Kinyata will make him tell the truth.”

“Marie, my dear, we already know the truth. The King is here. His soldiers are beneath the city—” Christian broke off, thinking.

Stefan’s own mind had wandered, flowing beneath Nuremberg, following paths they had walked just weeks ago. “The catacombs of the Brotherhood!” he exclaimed. “If the mice are here, wouldn’t your friend Gullet know where?”

“Without a doubt.” Christian nodded. “It’s time for a little reconnaissance mission of our own. Keep an eye on our guest, you two. Rest, if you can. And Stefan, watch over Marie.”

She gave him a look.

Christian cleared his throat. “I mean . . . look after each other. If I’m not back by morning, send for Samir. He and Zacharias are supposed to meet me at the clock tower at midnight. Send for them there. Samir will make sure you are all safe. But then, God help us all.”