Emmy and the Home For Troubled Girls (19 page)

“Er—”

“Besides, we can't leave our scent inside. What if the Rodent Police got suspicious?” Cheswick glanced at the store window with its shuttered blinds. “They
might not understand that we were only taking what was really Jane's all along.”

Emmy, behind a large pink petunia, narrowed her eyes.

Cheswick tucked his clipboard into the lunch pail, and climbed in. “Now for step four. Look busy.”

“How?” Mr. B sounded apprehensive. “I don't know anything about plumbing.”

Cheswick shrugged. “Fit pipes together, bang around a bit, that kind of thing. I'm going to take a nap. Close the lid, would you? The sun's in my eyes.”

His last words echoed hollowly inside the metal box as Emmy stared down at the rounded black lid, fury building inside her. She had never really cared about the sapphires before. But now her family was being
robbed.

Mr. B put the society clipping in his pocket. Emmy backed up, out of his field of vision, and tripped over the paper bag. There was a loud crinkling.

Mr. B grabbed the bag out of the planter and crumpled it in his meaty hands. “Must've been the wind,” he said to himself, tossing it aside.

Across the street, Meg leaped up and came running.

“Excuse me, mister, but I think I forgot my lunch!” She snatched up the crumpled bag, her face pale. “Was—” She swallowed, and tried again. “Wasn't there anything in it?”

Mr. B shook his head. “If there was, it's squashed now.”

Meg stared in horror at the bag in her hands—and then came to her senses. It was far too light to contain even a very small body. She looked about her wildly, and began to dig among the petunias. “Maybe my lunch fell—ulp!”

Emmy, hanging from a vine off the side of the planter, was tickling her ankle with the trailing end.

Meg's face sagged in relief. She shielded Emmy from view and picked her up gently. “Thanks anyway,” she said, and headed for the kiddie slide, where Thomas waited with his ever-present soccer ball.

Emmy had time to think on the way to the playground. And by the time Meg set her down in the long cool grass, she had a plan.

First, of course, she told Meg and Thomas that the girls whose names were on Miss Barmy's cane had been found.

“All of them?” Thomas's round face was polished with joy.

“Well, actually—”

“Are they okay?” Meg interrupted, just as excited as Thomas.

“One of them has a cough. But listen, we've got to hurry—they're in the jewelry store right now. Here's what I think we should do.”

M
R. B TRIED TO LOOK BUSY
. He picked up one pipe and tapped it against another. He fit two together, and took them apart again. He rolled a pipe over to see if any slugs were attached to the bottom, and picked them off. Then he scratched his head.

Footsteps sounded behind him. He turned with an air of relief.

“You look
very
busy,” said Meg.

“What are you doing?” asked Thomas. “Can I see?” He squatted next to Mr. B, blocking the man's view of the transit pipe that led to the jewelry-store wall.

Meg bent swiftly behind him, lifting something from her pocket onto the ground. Then in one smooth motion she patted Thomas's head. “He likes to see how things work,” she said to Mr. B with an apologetic smile.

Behind Meg's feet a small figure in pajamas dived into the mouth of the pipe. Meg spoke to mask the sound of tiny echoing footsteps. “Look, Thomas. See
how they fit together?” She grabbed two pipes with a clatter, hauled them in place with a clank, and bumped the pieces together a few more times for good measure. “Let's put them end to end and see how far they go!”

Mr. B looked unsure. “Well, I don't know,” he began, glancing back at the transit pipe, now abutting another copper tube at right angles.

Thomas, ignoring this, lined up more pipes with great enthusiasm, while Meg knelt by the planter, pretending to sniff the flowers. She reached stealthily behind her and latched the buckles on the lunch pail, taking great care not to jostle the sleeping rat inside. She eased her fingers away just as Mr. B turned.

“Now, children, that's enough.” Mr. B made a valiant attempt to sound firm.

Meg rose promptly. “Okay, Mister. Come on, Thomas—let's play soccer.”

 

Emmy lay just inside the open end of the pipe and gazed into the jewelry store. The blinds were shut, and the interior was dim, but cracks of sunshine leaked around the edges, running along the floor
and up the display cases in a series of bright, angled lines.

A small bow and arrow lay discarded on the floor. Emmy could see the fishing line still attached to the arrow, and then the knotted shoelaces attached to that …. Someone must have shot the arrow all the way over the display case, and then they had all pulled the ladder up from the other side. It was ingenious, she had to admit.

She could see the girls now, busily hauling a lumpy bag up the side of a glass display case. The girl named Ana seemed to be giving the orders, in between fits of coughing, but as the others pulled out metal and wood and worked to fit the pieces together, Emmy couldn't help noticing that they seemed terribly practiced and efficient, as if they had done the same thing many times before.

An odd grating noise came to Emmy's ears. Two girls went round and round in a circle, pushing a crossbar, while two stood on top of a little platform, adding weight.

Were they truly troubled girls, after all? Emmy hadn't expected a gang of
thieves.
How could they do such a thing? And so young, too …

Emmy felt suddenly ashamed. Those very words had been whispered about her, just hours ago. She had judged the girls without hearing their side of the story—the same thing she had hated when it was done to her. And—it occurred to her now—if they were happy to be stealing for Miss Barmy, why had they sent a note begging to be rescued?

No. She would give them a chance. She would rescue the girls, troubled or not. But in the meantime, they had already cut a hole in the glass countertop with the circular metal piece. A hole saw, that's what Chippy had called it—

There was a sudden coldness in Emmy's chest, as if her heart had been plunged into ice water. The night of the party, she and Joe had overheard Chippy talking with Miss Barmy about this very thing. Had Chippy known how his invention would be used?

The tiny girls lowered a bent paper clip into the display case, and pulled up something that glittered blue and silver and ice. Emmy watched them narrowly.

Of course Chippy had taken her doll clothes, but he'd thought Emmy had given permission. This was different. This was actually planning a burglary …
This was using little girls to do something really bad, something he didn't dare to do himself.

The girls lowered the necklace over the side of the display case. The gems caught the light that filtered in through the blinds, flashing a brilliant, vivid blue. It was a living color, velvety and deep, and Emmy caught her breath. All at once she longed to be eighteen so she could wear them.

It was time to stop this burglary. Emmy swung her legs out of the pipe and jumped to the carpet.

The little girls dropped the necklace in their surprise.

Ana stepped forward, coughing. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“My name's Emmy Addison, and I've come to rescue you. Climb in the pipe.”

The two smaller girls, apparently used to taking orders, obeyed at once. The next girl glanced back at Ana, who made a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh.

“That's just great,” said Ana bitterly, draping the necklace over her shoulders. “What are
you
going to do? Fight Cheswick and Mr. B all by yourself?”

Emmy stared at her.

“Because if that's your plan, you can count us out. Cheswick has very big claws, and Mr. B is basically a giant, in case you hadn't noticed.”

“Don't be stupid,” Emmy said. “I've come to rescue you, and I've got a plan, and friends helping. All you have to do is drop the necklace and come with me.”

“I'm
not
leaving without the necklace.” Ana glared, her eyes bright with fever.

“Oh, yes, you are,” said Emmy grimly, grabbing for the silver chain. She got hold of the clasp, heavy and smooth, and tugged hard.

Ana pulled back even harder, the necklace wrapped around her body. She had more size than Emmy, and more leverage, but she was shivering, and coughing, and altogether looked so ill that Emmy couldn't find the heart to pull anymore.

“What is
wrong
with you?” Emmy demanded, slacking off. “I thought you wanted to be rescued. Do you
like
stealing for Miss Barmy?”

“I
hate
it!” Ana cried passionately. “But she's got Merry, and if I don't bring back the necklace—”

Smash!
The window exploded in shattering glass. Something twanged through the metal blinds,
thumped against the display case, and landed on the floor, spinning gently.

Shaken, Emmy glanced at the soccer ball.
That
hadn't been part of the plan.

An alarm started to beep, loud and insistent. Outside, there came the faint sound of a distant siren. Ana, completely overcome, let the necklace slip and started to sob.

Emmy put an arm around Ana's shoulder and urged her up into the pipe. “We'll rescue Merry, too,” she whispered. “But one thing at a time.”

All at once there was light—dazzling after the dim jewelry store and the long dark pipe. The tiny girls spilled out of the transit pipe and huddled on the ground, frightened and confused. The siren was suddenly louder, and somewhere nearby, Cheswick's voice echoed furiously, as if he were swearing inside a tin can.

Emmy tumbled out last of all. She squinted against the brightness, and watched the lunch pail jump as something—Cheswick, by the sound of it—bounced and banged at the inside walls. Mr. B's feet, massive in leather work boots, turned around and around as if he, too, might be confused.

“Listen.” Emmy's voice was low but commanding as she gathered in the troubled girls. “Follow me through the pipes on the ground, as fast as you can.” She looked sharply at Ana. “You—come last. Keep them moving.” She glanced at the lunch pail; Mr. B's hands were fumbling at the buckles. “Let's go!”

Dark. Cool metal beneath her hands and knees, hard copper rounding overhead, and the ragged sound of breathing. Then light again—brief, bright, a space between the pipes—and back into dark and endless crawling, with the soft, urgent pat-a-pad of four sets of hands and feet behind her.

Light once more: a flashing of red and blue, a glimpse of shiny police shoes, and then another long, dark passage inside curving walls, a metallic smell that Emmy could almost taste. Just as she was wondering if it would ever end, she saw a round of light ahead, unimpeded by another pipe, and a row of toes in a sandal.

“Quick!” breathed Meg at the pipe's end.

Emmy scooted out onto a huge red bandanna, and pulled the rest of the girls out like candies from a roll. She grasped Ana's hands last of all. The palms were hot with fever.

Red cloth billowed overhead, gathered in a peak, and five small bodies jumbled together. Emmy got a knee in her chest and an elbow in her mouth, and then there was a sudden swift rising as Meg stood up. Emmy felt it in her stomach, violently, and one of the little girls started to cry.

“Hush, hush,” Emmy soothed, “it's all right, it's my friend Meg, she's taking us away, it will be over soon.” They swayed together like babies in a cradle.

“Stop! Yes, you!”

The swaying halted with a sickening turn as the deep official voice spoke. Emmy waited, trembling herself but whispering “Hush, hush,” over and over, like a prayer.

“Let's see what you've got in your kerchief,” the stern voice demanded. “Can't hide anything from the Law, you know. Got to make sure no one's taking anything away from the scene of the crime.”

Frozen, unbelieving, Emmy watched as the corners of their swaying hammock opened to reveal blue sky, leaves a mile off, and suddenly a massive nose, a brown mustache, a blue hat with a badge.

“They're just my dolls,” said Meg in a high, breathless voice.

The giant face relaxed into a smile. “They sure do make them realistic nowadays. Do they say ‘mama' if you squeeze them?” He put out a loglike finger.

“No.” Meg hurriedly closed the kerchief.

“Hey, Carl! Stop interrogating little girls and get over here—we've got a break-in to investigate!”

“Nobody broke the window on purpose, officer.” It was the anxious voice of Mr. B. “This boy was playing, and he kicked a soccer ball through the window. That's all.”

“What? This little feller? I don't believe you. How old are you, sonny?”

“Six,” said Thomas's pure, innocent voice. “But I'm
almost
seven, sir.”

Emmy peered out between folds of cloth. Thomas, looking particularly sweet and pudgy, was giving his Cub Scout salute.

“A
six
-year-old,” said the policeman, with emphasis. “Sir, you have
got
to be kidding. I don't know a six-year-old who could even get a soccer ball across the street, much less with enough force to break a window.”

“But you should have seen his kick! It was like a cannon!”

The officer snorted. “Let's just stick to the facts, buddy.”

“Hey, Andy! Look at the counter! It
was
a break-in, after all!” Officer Carl's voice floated out from inside the jewelry store.

“Whaaat?” The policeman named Andy moved closer to the shattered window, keeping a firm grip on Mr. B's arm. They both peered within.

Behind their backs, a black rat's face poked out of the transit pipe and looked both ways. Then, with a rattle and a scamper, Cheswick Vole streaked across the broken sidewalk and disappeared into the crack beneath the art-gallery steps, trailing silver and diamond and a flash of sapphire blue.

 

Emmy stood on the laboratory counter at the Antique Rat and gazed at Sissy where she lay, still unconscious. “If only I'd wished for her to get better,” she said heavily. “The flies and the sandwich didn't really matter.”

Brian filled an eyedropper with milk from a cup. “There, now, little girls. Didn't they give you any breakfast? Open wide …”

Lisa, Lee, and Berit stood with their mouths open,
like baby birds, gulping milk from the eyedropper. Then Brian fed them bacon crumbles and one Cheerio each, and helped them into a drawer padded with dish towels. Exhausted from their labors, they fell asleep almost instantly.

A few feet away, Professor Capybara took Ana's temperature, his face grave, and tucked her into a notepaper box lined with cotton balls.

“I, too, wish Cecilia would recover,” he said quietly. “This little girl is ill. It would be easier to treat her if she were larger.”

Emmy looked at him bleakly. Professor Capybara would never say it, but if Ana died because Sissy couldn't make her grow, Emmy knew whose fault that would be. The frozen feeling, which she had almost forgotten in all her activity, was still there. It settled in the center of her chest, a solid hard weight, colder than sleet.

She gazed dully at the charascope. She didn't need to look at a sample of her blood to know that the whiplike thing with thorns was getting larger.

Meg leaned her elbows on the counter. “Maybe Sissy's still unconscious, but I think she's looking better. She's not so pale under her fur.”

“I believe you're right,” said the professor, peering at her closely.

“Merry …” Ana lifted her head from the cotton pillow.

Emmy made an effort. “Don't worry,” she said, speaking with simulated cheer. “We'll find her somehow. Is she in the attic of the shoe shop?”

Ana coughed deeply. “Yes, but Mrs. B caught her.”

The professor looked suddenly alarmed. “Mrs. B? The old lady with the purse?”

“Calm down, Professor,” said Emmy anxiously. “You can't fall asleep—not while Sissy and Ana need you.”

“Maybe Ratty and Joe and Buck have already rescued her,” Meg put in. “Thomas said they were gnawing a hole in the window.”

Ana's eyes shot open. “Gnawing?”

“Well, they're rodents, that's what they do,” said Emmy.

“They're
your
friends? Not Miss Barmy's?” Ana rasped.