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“Different Biscuit,” Polo said knowingly.

Butterbean patted Walt’s paw. “This building has a LOT of Biscuits.”

“So we’re all set, right?” Polo said. Hopefully, the apartments would be stinky enough that Butterbean’s descriptions would help.

“Should we go now?” Marco said, bobbing up and down inside the vent. The metal on the bottom was making small booming noises, and it made him feel better. He really wanted to put the whole door episode behind him. His ribs were still a little sore.

“Yes, go. Before the girl comes back to walk Bean,” Walt said. “We’ll try to cover for you if you’re not back in time. But hurry.”

“Consider it done,” Polo said, crawling into the vent after Marco. “This should be a snap. Up, up, and away!”

“WHOOHOOO,” Marco shrieked, his voice echoing as he went.

“Marco! Not the time!” Polo’s voice could be heard disappearing down the vent.

“Do you think this’ll work?” Oscar said, tilting his head toward Walt as the rats’ voices faded away.

“Why not?” Walt shrugged. “They’re rats. Rats love vents. What could go wrong?”

Marco and Polo were lost. They’d started out taking only the up vents, like Butterbean had suggested. But some of the sideways vents looked pretty interesting, so they decided to take one quick detour. And then another one. And now they were staring through a grate at Bob the maintenance guy.

“I think he’s making dinner,” Marco whispered, peering out of the grate.

“Did you know he lived here?” Polo whispered. “I thought he lived someplace else. He lives at his work!”

“It smells spicy. Is that spaghetti sauce?” Marco pressed his eye against the grate opening for a better view.

Bob was wearing an apron and whistling to himself while he stirred a pot on the stove. It did smell spicy. Polo craned her neck down to get a closer look.

“I don’t know. Could be? Maybe it’s soup. It’s hard to see.” She examined it for a second and then straightened up, smacking Marco on the shoulder. “What are we doing? That’s not important! We’ve got to focus.”

“But it’s Bob! In his apartment!” Marco said.

“Exactly!” Polo crossed her arms. “Butterbean didn’t say anything about Bob, so we’re obviously not on the right floor. We might not even be on the right side of the building! We shouldn’t have taken that last turn!”

“But it smelled like corn chips!” Marco wailed. “I just wanted a taste!”

“Well, yes, me too,” Polo admitted. Corn chips were hard to pass up. “But we need to forget Bob, find an up vent, and get back to work.”

“Shhh!” Marco said, putting his hand over Polo’s mouth. They’d kind of forgotten about the whole “being quiet” aspect of surveillance.

“BOB,” he mouthed.

Bob had stopped humming.

The rats peered back down through the grate. Bob hadn’t just stopped humming. He’d stopped stirring. And he was staring up at them. He was looking right into their eyes.

“Oh, that can’t be good,” Polo said.

“Whaa—” Bob yelped, dropping his wooden spoon and spattering sauce everywhere. “RATS!”

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“I was right. It is spaghetti sauce,” Marco smirked.

“Who cares! RUN!” Polo said, grabbing Marco by the shoulder and dashing back down the vent just as Bob’s hand smacked across the grate.

“AAAAAHHHHH,” Marco shrieked, running after Polo.

“Up! Up! Look for an up vent!” Polo yelled, craning her neck to look at the ceiling. She could hear Bob tugging at the grate. She didn’t think he’d be able to reach them, but she didn’t want to take that chance.

“There!” Marco pointed. A small up vent was in the corner just a few feet away. “There it is!”

Marco and Polo leaped into the vent just as the grate in Bob’s apartment was wrenched off. They crawled up, slipping on the slick metal as they went, not even looking back until they were sure they were safely on the next floor. Then they collapsed in relief.

“Do you think he recognized us?” Polo asked, panting.

“I sure hope not. We do have very distinctive faces, though.” Marco ran his hand over his muzzle. “We’ll find out soon enough, I guess.”

“We’ve got to stop stalling and get to the top. I can’t even tell what floor we’re on.” Polo sat up and looked around.

“Maybe we could ask him?” Marco said, looking over her shoulder.

“Him who?” Polo turned around and gasped.

A strange rat was crouching in the corner of their vent.

“Who’s that?” she squealed. “And what is he doing in our vent?”

“YOUR vent?” the rat squeaked uncertainly. Then he raised himself to his full height. “Excuse me, ma’am, but this is MY vent.”

Polo blinked.“Of course. Your vent. We’re just passing through. Don’t mind us.” She knew she’d started to babble. This must be one of those outdoor rats she’d heard about. Not a pet. A WILD rat. She didn’t know what to expect from a wild rat. Wild rats were crazy. They’d do anything.

“Yeah, we’ll just be going. Sorry about that,” Marco said, scrambling to his feet and pulling Polo up with him.

“Not so fast,” the Wild Rat said, taking a step toward them.

“We don’t want any trouble—” Polo started, but the Wild Rat cut her off.