09-WHAT WHAT WHAT？

WHAT WHAT WHAT? The next thing I knew, the rat had brought me to a back parking lot. He pointed to a beat-up old bicycle with a funny-looking cart attached to it. "Here you are!" he announced. I stared at the strange contraption. "Wh-wh-what do you m-m-mean?" I stammered. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. It said: PASSENGER NOTE: GERATTIMO STILTON PERSONALISED TRANSFER. "You see, this is your personalized transfer," he explained. "You need to pedal in person. The RATHOLE HOTEL is only twenty miles away."

My head began to pound. Steam shot out my ears. I am usually a very reserved rodent, but this was just too much. It was time to put my paw down. "WHAT?" I shrieked so loud, I made myself jump. "Are you saying I've got to ride that bike for twenty miles? At night? Alone? In the pouring rain? Carrying my own luggage?" I was growing madder by the minute. "Well, there's no way that's going to happen, you mad mousey!" I cried. "Absolutely no possible way! No ifs, ands, or buts! No can do! Not on your life! Not for all the cheddar roll-ups in the world! I totally and completely refuse, or my name is not Geromino Stilton!"