Eensy head bobbing up and down in what you assume is meant to be a nod of assent, the mouse snatches the morsel of cheese from your fingers. "Deal," he squeaks. "Now, follow me!" He clambers up your leg and perches on your shoulder, almost uncomfortably close to your ear. He could chew it off, if he wanted to.
Mincing out into the hallway, you wait for the mouse to point you in the right direction. "Go down the hall and turn left, then open the second door on the right!" he declares. You're still not entirely sure that you can trust the Count, so you hesitate for a moment. How does a mere mouse know so much, anyway?
Decide to do the opposite of whatever the Count says
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