The Mouse Watch, Volume 1

  Copyright © 2020 by Disney Enterprises, Inc.

  Designed by Joann Hill and Sammy Yuen

  Cover illustration copyright © Ricardo Tercio

  Cover design by Sammy Yuen

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Hyperion, an imprint of Buena Vista Books, Inc. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address

  Disney • Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.

  ISBN 978-1-368-06171-1

  Visit www.DisneyBooks.com

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For Emie

  When I was first informed of the incredible adventures that you’re about to read, I could hardly believe my ears. I’d always heard rumors about the Mouse Watch, but I had no idea that the organization was still very much alive and in operation today until I spoke with Bernie Skampersky by accident. We ran into each other while she was on a rescue mission to save a cheese shop from burning down, and I can honestly say that it was one of the few tragedies that smelled as delicious as it was devastating for her entire village.

  (That tantalizing scent of toasted cheese lasted for weeks, driving everyone in her village, Thousand Acorns, crazy with hunger.)

  After Bernie obtained permission to speak with me from Gadget Hackwrench, her boss, the young agent and I sat down for a series of long talks in which I learned, over many helpings of cheddar, Swiss, Brie, and bleu, about the heroic mice who work in secret to protect man- and mouse-kind every day.

  It is my opinion that we should consider ourselves lucky to know, that while we sleep or go about our lives, blissfully unaware of the danger that might befall us, these tiny guardian angels are there to keep the world safe.

  So it is my enormouse honor and privilege to chronicle some of the Mouse Watch’s most famous cases and adventures that, until now, were kept TOP SECRET.

  For the Watch!

  —J. J. Gilbert

  Above the serene gaze of the most famous statue in New York, perched at one of the windows beneath her gigantic, seven-spiked crown, was an abomination.

  The thing might have been a rodent once, but years of feeding the twisting rage in his belly had taken a toll on his outward appearance. He was now much more monster than mouse and more robot than rat. Besides his matted, gray fur, he also had metal hands and feet that clicked, clanked, whirred, and steamed with motorized rusted gears and spinning leather belts.

  One of his eyes glinted with life but the other was dead glass. His entire appearance was the result of the cruel experiments once conducted upon him by humans.

  Now, as he stood at the window, the thing’s single-eyed gaze swept over the glittering lights of New York, taking in a stunning vista that stretched like a carpet of twinkling stars as far as the eye could see.

  But Dr. Thornpaw didn’t see beauty.

  Beauty wasn’t a part of his nature anymore. Pain and the temporary relief he felt when inflicting it on others was all he knew now.

  When the doctor looked at the sprawling city, he saw only potential. Potential to fulfill the most evil and diabolical scheme he’d ever come up with. A true work of genius that would finally show man and beast what he was capable of.

  It was something that the doctor felt would surely heal his pain.

  As the last light of the setting sun faded into crimson twilight, Liberty’s gleaming torch flared to life. For many, that eternally burning flame meant life and hope. But as the rays of golden light filled the crown room in which the rodent stood, the warm glow also illuminated a figure huddled in the corner and bound with ropes.

  The victim was Ernie Mortenson, a human who had been, until a few minutes ago, a security guard at the Statue of Liberty National Monument.

  He was supposed to retire next week.

  But now he was Dr. Thornpaw’s latest unwilling test subject.

  Instead of hope, the light of Liberty’s torch filled the aging security guard with dread as it illuminated his monstrous captor, giving him his first clear glimpse of the thing that had imprisoned him. Ernie whimpered as several of Thornpaw’s rat assistants leveled specially designed blowguns, each one poised to shoot a hollow dart that contained enough poison to fell thirty elephants. Ernie had always been told that rats were a problem in New York City, but he’d never expected to be attacked by ones that talked.

  “Now, now, you mustn’t struggle. Excess adrenaline might affect the results of my experiment and we wouldn’t want that, would we?” croaked the doctor.

  Ernie’s eyes grew even wider as he gazed at the aggressive rat.

  Thornpaw’s feet clanked and hissed little jets of steam as he approached. Ernie wrinkled his nose at the scent of preserving chemicals and machine oil that surrounded the doctor. Although the human was far more massive than the doctor, the terrified expression on Ernie’s face as he gazed down at the twisted rodent made Dr. Thornpaw feel like a titan.

  After savoring the moment, the doctor glanced at the rat soldiers and nodded.

  At the signal from their boss, the mob of rats encircled the whimpering man and, with surprising strength, hoisted him into the air. In seconds, they scuttled him down the spiral staircase to a waiting boat that was moored outside.

  Dr. Thornpaw followed after, clanking and shuffling, whirring and clicking. He ran a long, ropy tongue eagerly over his sharp, yellowed teeth. The doctor was excited to begin the last test in a nearly completed plan. It had taken seventy-three other human subjects…seventy-three failures to perfect the formula…seventy-three negative studies that had resulted in all kinds of “interesting” reactions. Unfortunately, humans were resilient, and they’d fought back against all of his previous efforts to dominate their wills.

  But the doctor had a very good feeling about number seventy-four.

  Seventy-four would be the one.

  Don’t look down!

  It wasn’t just the terrifying drop that bothered Bernie, it was also the fact that the plan she’d come up with to impress her idol, Gadget Hackwrench, wasn’t being recorded by someone she trusted to do it right.

  She glanced at her young helper and rolled her eyes.

  Being the youngest child in a poor family meant that Bernie knew how to make the most out of a little. The young mouse had been born very sick, and although her health improved as she got older, she was still quite small for her age. It was a fact about herself that she hated, but had also learned to live with. And her helper was only a little smaller than she was, even though he was much younger.

  Bernie was twelve.

  Paul “Poopie” Longtail was only two years old, and Bernie knew that the little tyke wasn’t supposed to be out at night with his babysitter having adventures. She watched as he tried valiantly to hold up a hu
man-size smartphone with his baby-mouse arms, but he was clearly losing the battle.

  It was also way past his bedtime.

  “Hold it still, Poopie!” shouted Bernie. “Just get this one shot!”

  “I…I’m twying,” stuttered Poopie. “Thith themes weally dangerouth, Mith Bernadette. Maybe you thould get thome help!”

  “No!” said Bernie. “I’ve got this. And please, Poopie, it’s Bernie, not Bernadette.”

  “Thorry,” said the baby mouse.

  Bernie’s long whiskers twitched in annoyance. She hated her full name. The only time she heard it was when her mother was upset and she was about to get in big trouble.

  Bernie’s tail was stiff and stuck straight out like a knitting needle, the usual sign that she was angry and about to lose her temper. Most of the time, when this happened, her family ran for cover.

  But she wasn’t angry.

  She was scared.

  The large paper clip she’d brought was attached to a fishing line that extended from the top of a rain gutter to a trash-can lid far below. She knew if she was going to try to get the attention of the most secret and elite mouse organization on the planet, she had to do something amazing…something that would set her apart from other recruits.

  A warm wind ruffled her fur and rattled a set of wind chimes in the backyard below. Bernie breathed in the scent of dry earth and chaparral. It was a typical California night in September, but for her this night needed to be anything but that. It needed to be special.

  Bernie thought of everything she’d tried so far to get the Mouse Watch’s attention. She’d written letters. She’d created her own channel on MouseTube, the private, secure internet server created by, and for, mice. She’d posted several videos to the Underweb, a little known MouseTube channel that most fans believed the Mouse Watch organization secretly monitored. Bernie had tried doing crazy stunts, attempted to prove her intellect through solving puzzles, and had even resorted to begging in order for them to give her a chance.

  So far, nothing had worked.

  I’ve gotta make this one count, she thought.

  She sighed, remembering all the bumps and bruises that she’d gotten along the way. Good thing “giving up” wasn’t in her nature or she would have quit a long time ago. Coming into the world both sickly and small hadn’t stopped her. Hadn’t she’d surprised everyone, including her parents, with her courageous spirit?

  But why hasn’t it worked yet? Bernie wondered. What’s it gonna take to get Gadget to notice me? She glanced down at the ground far below and suppressed a shudder. Would this finally be the thing that did it?

  She thought of her older brother, Brody. He would have told her not to give up, and to never take no for an answer.

  She missed him so much.

  The wind picked up, slightly cooler now, cutting through the camo pants and black special ops sweater that Bernie always wore, a castoff from an old Commander Cody action doll. Her hair, dyed blue and worn high and stiff in the front, always looked windblown whether there was a breeze or not. It also added to her height, and the way she saw it, she could use any help she could get. Usually, the electric-blue color made her feel tough and daring. But the truth was, right now she didn’t feel that way.

  Bernie shivered, not from the cold, but from her nerves.

  Then, steeling herself, she took a deep breath, adjusted her grip on the paper clip, and called down, “Are you recording?”

  “Yesth!” Poopie lisped. “Ith been on for three minutes! Hurry, Misth Bernie! My armth hurt!”

  It was time.

  Bernie tried to calm her racing heart. Then, while forcing herself not to think about how crazy she was being, she launched herself forward from the dizzying height and shouted,

  “FOR THE WATCH!”

  The speed was faster than anything she’d ever imagined. Every muscle in her arms ached as she held on for dear life. The wind howled in her ears and her whiskers were plastered to both sides of her cheeks as she rocketed toward the trash can below.

  As she sped down the line, wobbling back and forth, she could see Poopie growing closer, the little tyke struggling to keep the phone from falling over as he recorded the stunt.

  The glow of the screen came close.

  For a nanosecond, she caught a glimpse of her own terrified but triumphant expression reflected back to her.

  Then the fear faded away.

  She was right on track.

  Her plan was going to work!

  All she had left to do was extend her feet and execute a perfect tumble, landing like an Olympic gymnast right in front of the smartphone.

  But as it turned out, realizing that idea was much harder than it looked.

  Later, when she recalled her inglorious landing, she remembered hearing two voices screaming in perfect pitch. Some part of her brain was amazed that she, a tweenage mouse, could make a screech that was as high-pitched as a toddler’s.

  She remembered a terrifying moment of slipping, sliding, banging, and shouting. Then, the world spun as she and Poopie went flying off the trash can into a thorny rosebush. Miraculously, Poopie landed in the middle of a big rose, and the petals cushioned his fall.

  Bernie wasn’t so lucky.

  Before everything went black, Bernie remembered hearing her leg crack when she hit the ground and feeling the agonizing pain that shot all the way up her back.

  And when she woke up in the hospital, she found that her leg wasn’t the only thing that had cracked. Her parents’ smartphone, a rare, lucky find that they’d scrounged from inside an electronic recycling bin, had shattered on the sidewalk. The phone was the most expensive thing that her family possessed. It served as their wide-screen TV and internet connection to the larger world. It was also the only way Bernie could upload videos so that the Mouse Watch might find out that she existed.

  Losing that phone effectively removed her very best (and most dangerous) attempt at impressing her hero, Gadget Hackwrench.

  The Mouse Watch would never see the video.

  And the hurt Bernie felt at that realization made her broken bone and her bruises pale in comparison.

  Bernie remembered the day that her life had changed forever.

  It was a Saturday in July. Family day. The day that her parents made a point to connect with Bernie and her older brother. Brody loved it. They both did. Even though he was at that age where teenage mice usually didn’t think it was cool to be hanging out with their parents and little sister, Brody was different. He loved family time.

  And, even more importantly to Bernie, he loved spending time with her.

  She adored him.

  Bernie could still clearly picture the little gas station: FRANK’S BURGERS, GAS, AND SUNDRIES. The delicious smell of cooking hamburgers with bacon and sweet, homemade apple pie was hard to forget. It had been there since her parents were mouselings and even had its own ice-cream counter. The human owners had a soft spot for mice. And for as many Saturdays as Bernie could remember, they had set aside a tiny bit of vanilla ice cream and hot fudge on a plastic spoon in an overlooked corner of the shop for her family.

  For Bernie’s whole life, every Saturday had been the same. Sundae Saturdays.

  Until it wasn’t.

  The white van marked MEDITECH LABORATORIES had seemed ordinary enough. It was parked in front of pump number nine when Bernie had arrived. Even now, her mind could picture it clearly because the painful day had been etched so permanently in her memory. Somewhere, back there, that Saturday played like a broken record, repeating the same tragic song over and over again.

  It was Brody who had first noticed that something was off about the driver. Bernie had been so excited about the ice cream that she’d hardly been able to think about anything else. But Brody, who was a Mouse Scout, was always aware of the possibility of trouble. Always ready to help when others didn’t notice or react.

  Brody had noticed that the human’s hairy arm was hanging out of the driver’s-side window, listless
and unmoving. The driver didn’t budge when the pump stopped and the familiar electronic ding sounded to let the customer know that the tank was full. Minutes had passed.

  Brody, in spite of his parents’ warning not to get involved, had scampered to the van to see if anything was wrong. Like all mice, he knew the importance of keeping a low profile around humans. But Brody was a mouse built of high moral character. Even if the “rules” said to be careful, he was the first one to volunteer in a crisis.

  Bernie had followed her older brother because she wanted to be just like him. Her parents had followed because they were worried.

  Now, as she lay in her bed recovering from her bad fall, Bernie’s eyes were closed tight. The memories seemed stronger and more vivid since her accident on the zip line, as if hitting her head had jarred them loose.

  In her mind’s eye she could see Brody, wearing his trademark mouse-size ball cap and hoodie. They were a birthday gift from their mom, two rare items from the Tony Falcon series of collectible skateboard dolls.

  He’d been so proud of those clothes!

  Bernie had watched, filled with admiration at her big brother’s courage as he’d scampered to the van’s window. As she drew closer, following in his footsteps, she saw the trickle of blood dripping down the driver’s arm. Then, shortly after, she and her brother both saw the driver’s pale, motionless face and his wide, staring eyes.

  Bernie had been so mesmerized by the dead driver that she’d failed to notice the big warning signs displayed on a broken cage behind the driver’s seat, signs that read DANGEROUS ANIMAL! and HANDLE WITH CAUTION! But Brody must have seen them. Some sixth sense must have told him that whatever creature had been locked inside was not only dangerous, but would have leaped at the first chance it had to escape and that it wouldn’t have let anything, not a human driver and especially not a couple of young mice, stand in its way.

  Brody, always alert, had assessed what was happening before his little sister had time to react to the sinister figure. Brody saw the glistening crimson stains on the escaped rat’s mechanical claw and then dashed bravely in front of the open driver’s-side window to block his path.