Squeaky's First Clue

King Rufus, a king whose heart beat in time with the clinking of coins, found himself in a rather pickle. His gold, his precious, shiny, oh-so-wonderful gold, had vanished! Poof! Like a sneeze in a hurricane. He'd stomped, he'd wailed, he'd even tried to interrogate a particularly dusty tapestry (it remained stubbornly silent, as tapestries are wont to do). Sir Reginald, his ever-loyal but slightly flustered advisor, had suggested a kingdom-wide search, which mostly involved the royal guard tripping over their own feet and the royal baker peering under flour sacks with a terrified expression.

Just as King Rufus was contemplating the existential dread of a gold-less reign, a tiny, insistent voice cut through his despair. "Chirp! Chirp! Over here, Majesty! Look!"

King Rufus, who had been about to declare a national day of mourning for his lost riches, blinked. Perched on the very edge of a ridiculously large, velvet cushion was Squeaky, the squirrel. Squeaky, who King Rufus usually considered no more important than a particularly persistent crumb on his crown, was pointing a tiny, twitching paw towards the grand staircase.