Busted

Emerging through the "window" (a gap between a pair of crumbling bricks), I find myself in a trash-blown alley. A cautious scan of my surroundings...

"No zealous policerodents or murderous, time-traveling rats. Good!"

...and I'm off.

A busy rodentway looms ahead.

"Wow!" I gasp in wonder at what greets me there.

****ATTENTION: We interrupt for this important announcement:

The Time Under Heaven, by Laurinda Wallace, has just been published by 3-Mice Productions and is available at Amazon.com

You can purchase this inspiring story of faith, love, and relationships 

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We now resume Prudence's usual bleat ****

Ahem... Thank you.

Rodents surge past in gabardine suits, stiff collars narrow ties, and straw skimmers; dapper cutaways, pin-striped trousers, waistcoats, ascot ties, and toppers; and dresses long and old-fashioned, short and daring, either on foot or riding wind-up automobiles with big radiators, running boards, and headlights like bug's eyes, and beetle-drawn carriages and wagons. Overhead, colorful billboards loom on the walls of towering buildings, advertising everything from headfur oil to dyspepsia cures and clover cigars. The loud clatter of the autos, the ka-HOOO-ga and blat of their horns; the clickety-skitter of beetles' feet on the pavement, the shouts of cloth-clapped newsies, announcing headlines of the latest scandals and disasters, fill my ears.

"This really is 1922!" I murmur... as though I hadn't truly believed it before.

I step into the stream of rushing rodents and am immediately swept down the rodentway. As I "float" down the avenue, I glimpse a newspaper headline, hear the newsy shout:

"Biz-aare Robbery at Shipyard!" 

An alarm goes off in my head. Suddenly, I've got to have one of those newspapers to "read all about it."

I wrench myself loose from the flow and rush up to the newsy -- a young rat with a squint, a scowl, and bad teeth. I pass him a coin from my pinafore pocket. (Thanks, Felix. Geez!) He passes me a paper. I walk away, reading.

"Hoy!" a voice shouts after me. "Stop you! Police!" 

Before I can even turn around, a pair of large, ham-fisted Guinea pig coppers grab me.

"Hey! What the--?!" I yelp.

"Quiet!" one of them snarls. "You can do yer explaining' down the station!"

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Safe House

Gosh! I'm in the Witness Protection Program -- 1922 style. Inspector Dapperling has disguised me in some really ugly and uncomfortable 1922 "girl" clothes, planted me in a shabby hole on Baker Street, and forbidden me from leaving it under any circumstances.

"What am I supposed to do here all alone?" I whine.

"Read a book, take up knitting, sort some socks," he clips... quite callously, in my opinion.

"But, I don't--"

He leaves, slamming the door.

"--have any socks," I finish lamely, staring after him.

I glare at the locked door awhile, before declaring, "OK. If you're going to be like that!"

... and promptly crawl out of a window.

Felix Takes Charge

"But that's not all, Felix!" I say.

Felix's face folds itself into a grimace so extreme, chunks of dried cheese come loose and fall onto the desk.

"You mean... there's more?" he groans.

"Yes. You see, I didn't come alone. There's these three lab rats..."

I proceed to tell him all about Blue Vinny, Cheshire, and Hudson--how they're the results of experiments gone wrong in the dim and distant future, and how they possess knowledge and tendencies that could cause a whole lot of trouble in 1922.

"And after they've finished running amok and probably stealing everything they can lay their paw on, they'll want to return to our own time." I gulp loudly. "That's where I come in."

A bewildered frown screws up his face. "You! Why you?"

"I'm the only one who knows when the time machine is supposed to return for us. They'll surely nab me to squeeze the day and time out of me."

The Inspector rises and starts pacing around the office, his brow wrinkled in thought. Finally, he stops and faces me, the eyes behind the cheesy spectacles narrow and glittering with determination.

"No, they won't. I won't let them!" Felix declares. "Come along, Prudence. You're going with me!"

Felix Au Gratin

Still exhausted from shock and running around like three sight-challenged cousins from a rather a tasteless nursery rhyme I know, I return to the smelly davenport and conk out.

A sudden noise, like a soda pop exploding, wakes me with a jerk.The door knob rattles violently. Someone, I sense, is trying to get in.

"Felix, is that you?" I squeak.

An exasperated snort. "No. It's the local cat come for my breakfast. Of course, it's me. Open up!"

I unlock and open the door. I scream and try to close it.

A gooey yellow foot pushes across the threshold, followed by a lot more gooey, stringy yellowness. Two angry eyes glare at me behind amber-steaked spectacles.

"Felix?" I ask, trying not to giggle... and failing.

Nodding, he bares his teeth at me.

"You look like a cheese pizza!" I just have to point out.

His eyes screw up in bewilderment, making cracks in his cheesy mask. "What? Oh, never mind!" Felix squishes past in a huff. He turns on me. "How did you know about that fire?"

I take a seat on the davenport. "I studied it in my history class," I calmly explain. "The Great Scrimshander Sprocket Fire of 1922 took out an entire block on the water front, to include a warehouse full of Gloucestshire cheese." I reach out and snag a glob from Felix's jacket. I taste it. "Yes. That's what you're wearing, all right!"

Felix blinks at me in astonishment. He stumbles to the chair behind his desk, collapsing into it. He covers his face with his paws... and immediately regrets it.

"Yuck!"

Holding his liberally au gratin-ed digits out like flippers, he croaks, "It's true then. You have  come from the future!"

"Your forensic skills serve you well, Inspector." I roll my eyes. "Finally!"

The Great Scrimshander Sprocket Fire

I knew Felix wouldn't believe me. Can't say I blame him. If someone told me that she was my great-great-great, etc., granddaughter, hurled back through time by some ghastly mistake, I wouldn't believe her either.

Though, by the uncertain way Felix scans me in my 21st century threads, I sense he's not entirely convinced I'm lying... or a lunatic.

"I'm sorry, Prudence," he says, shaking his head. "What you say.... It's just not possible!"


"Sir, may I have a word?" a voice interrupts.

I glance in its direction. Constable Chutney is standing just outside the open door. He's staring at me like I'm the Black Plague, Beelzebub, and Boo Boo Kitty all rolled into one. His manner says, "I'm not setting foot in that room. Not with you in it, you foul minion of hades!"

Inspector Dapperling shoots him a disgusted glance and steps out, closing the door behind him.

--Then promptly charges back in, all in a dither.

"Prudence, I've got to go!" he pants, tearing around the office. "There's a whacking great fire started at a warehouse in--"

"The Great Scrimshander Sprocket Fire of 1922!" I cut in, remembering one of the few history lessons I managed to stay awake for. "Gosh, and all that cheese," I add wistfully.

His face tells me he's decided that I am a lunatic after all. He grabs his bowler hat and coat, and sidles out of the office, watching me all the while.

Just when I think he's gone, he sticks his head back in.

"Don't go anywhere!" he snaps and disappears.

"Oh, don't worry," I tell the closed door... and lock it behind him.

Zacchaeus' Folly

Everything makes sense now... in a horrifying, surreal sort of way. That blasted contraption Professor Zacchaeus invented doesn't just instantly send you places like the transporter from Star Trek. It sends you places through time. It's a time machine, for cheddar's sake! And I'm its first test animal.

Boy, PETA's not going to like this!

I stagger to my feet, a paw to my throbbing head. "Inspector Dapperling, can we talk--" I shoot the befuddled uniform a meaningful glance. "--in private?"

"You can go, Constable Chutney," he says, raising a quizzical eyebrow at me.

Constable Chutney can hardly get to the door fast enough. The Inspector moves behind his desk. (I sense he too wants to put some distance between us.)

"So, what have you got to tell me, Miss... er..."

"Dapperling. Prudence Dapperling."

He grins. "You are relative of mine then."

I grimace and look away. "Sort of. You see, Inspector. It's like this--"

"Please, call me Felix."

"OK. Felix." I take a deep, calming breath. "You'd better sit down. This is going to be a little hard to swallow..."

Felix

"W-what time is it?" I quaver, feeling queasy all of a sudden.

For the first time, I study the face of the bespectacled mouse. He looks familiar, like I'd seen him before somewhere. Funny though. The memory is in black and white with crispy brown edges.

"And who are you?" I have to ask. It seems important.

He pulls a watch with a long chain from his waistcoat pocket and squints at it. "It's 10:00." He blinks at me amiably. "And I am Felix Dapperling."

I feel like someone's dropped a Slurpee down my shirt. The cold tingles shoot clear to my claw tips. In an instant, I trace the black, white, and crispy brown memory to a family album and a very old photograph of a famous ancestor. This ancestor made a name for himself as a detective with Rodent England's greatest police force, Nubbins Yard, when he thwarted the crime of the century.... in 1922.

"You're not Felix Q. Dapperling, Inspector Dapperling of Nubbins Yard, are you?" I gasp. "Please, Lord. No! No! No!" I pray in my head.

He smiles. "Why, yes, I am," he says brightly. "Do you know my family?"

I collapse like a filleted trout back onto the stinky davenport.

"Yes, you could say that," I mumble.