Emmy and the Rats in the Belfry (3 page)

“N
O COOKBOOKS
?” said the Rat, pacing the kitchen counter in the professor's upstairs apartment. “No spices?”

“Salt and pepper,” said the professor, handing out sodas from the refrigerator.

“He's got ketchup and mustard, too,” said Joe, peering in over the professor's shoulder.

Raston snorted.

“And why would I need a cookbook?” Professor Capybara popped open a can for himself. “I just follow the directions on the box.”

The Rat mumbled a word that Emmy didn't quite catch.

“Ratty, not everybody likes to cook—” Emmy began, but stopped at the sound of an engine's sputtering cough. The door downstairs banged open, and Brian's voice called out, “I've brought someone you know! Remember Ana?”

Emmy glanced at Joe. Of course they remembered Ana. She had been the oldest of the girls they had rescued just two weeks before.

The professor started down the staircase at once. “Welcome!” he cried, and Joe followed at a trot.

“Come on, Ratty,” said Emmy. “Sissy's downstairs with Chippy. And don't you want to see Ana again?”

“Oh, sure,” said the Rat. “Anything to get out of this excuse for a kitchen. Not one single cookbook! And look!” He pointed accusingly at a shelf. “
Imitation
chocolate!”

A lady from the Children's Home had come with Ana, and she was talking. Emmy, walking carefully down the stairs with the Rat on her shoulder, had no trouble hearing her.

“Oh, my, such beautiful antiques, and decorated with such lovely—er, lovely—what
are
these creatures?”

Through the open door, Emmy could see a thin woman with bright red hair pointing to the carved back of a chair.

“Why, rodents, of course,” said Professor Capybara. “It's the Antique Rat, you see.”

“Oh!” The woman clapped a hand to her mouth and muffled a shriek. “I mean to say, how
special
!”

“Do sit down, my dear Miss—I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name?”

“Squipp,” she said, clutching her elbows. “Gwenda Squipp. But we can't stay long, Professor … Kippy-burpa, was it?”

“Capybara,” said the professor, bowing slightly.

“Ana just wanted to say thank you again and good-bye—Ana, dear, come and shake the professor's hand. She's ever so grateful that you rescued her from that terrible situation with the other little girls. Aren't you, Ana?”

Emmy, who had paused on the steps, caught Joe's eye and grinned. They had been the ones to rescue the girls, but of course it had been safer to let Professor Capybara take the credit.

A slender girl with watchful eyes moved into Emmy's field of vision. “Thank you again, Professor,” she said in a clear, soft voice.

“She's recovered wonderfully well, considering,” said Gwenda Squipp, “and she's had the best counseling the Children's Home has to offer, haven't you, Ana?”

Ana turned slightly away. She pushed her long brown hair back from her eyes and blinked as she caught sight of Emmy on the stairs.

“And the other little girls?” asked the Professor. “How are they, Miss Squipp?”

“Oh, call me Squippy—all my friends do!”

“
Squippy?
” said Raston into Emmy's left ear.

“As for the other little girls, they were all snapped up in a matter of days. Lots of loving relatives to take
them
in. We had a little more trouble finding people for Ana,” she added, squeezing Ana's shoulder, “but we found some distant cousins at last, and she'll be going to live with them very soon.”

Ana ducked out from under the woman's hand.

“Don't go upstairs, dear,” called Squippy. “Stay where I can see you. Just sit right there with your friends while I talk to the professor.”

“She won't let me out of her sight,” muttered Ana, plopping down on the steps between Emmy and Joe. “It's almost like being Miss Barmy's prisoner again.”

“No one is as bad as Miss Barmy,” said Joe with feeling.

Raston flicked his tail. “Cheswick Vole isn't much better.”

“Watch your tail, Ratty, you're tickling my neck,” Emmy said. “Listen, Ana, it's going to be okay. You're going to live with your relatives, aren't you?”

“They don't really want me,” said Ana, flushing.

Gwenda Squipp had taken the chair the professor had offered her, but she was still speaking in the slightly loud voice some grown-ups use when talking about children. “Yes, Ana and I will be traveling together tomorrow afternoon. A lovely, long trip on the train. And then she'll settle in with a brand-new family—won't that be special, Ana?”

Ana's long brown hair swung forward, hiding half her face. But the half that Emmy could see looked miserable.

Emmy stood up and the Rat gripped a lock of her hair for balance. “Come on, Ana—Joe and I will show you the Sissy-patches. Maybe we can help Brian, too.”

“What a
lovely
idea,” said Squippy as they passed. “It's so important to be
helpful
, don't you think, Prof—eeeeeeeek! A
rat
!”

“Eeeeeeek, a Squippy!” said Raston. “Seriously, what does everybody have against rats?”

“And now it's
squeaking
at me! Ana, we must leave at once. This is not a safe environment for you!”

“Calm yourself, my dear lady,” said Professor Capybara. “It's a trained rat, perfectly safe.”

“Really?” Gwenda Squipp gave the Rat a doubtful look.

Raston promptly did a flip on Emmy's shoulder, ending on one knee with paws outstretched.

“Oh! Oh, my!”

“I can sing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,' too,” said the Rat, burnishing his claws on his chest fur.

Gwenda Squipp clapped her hands. “Look, it thinks it can talk! It's so cute! Oh, Professor Burpybara, you simply must tell me about your training methods!”

“Cute?” the Rat said in a strangled tone. “Now, listen, lady—”

“So nice to meet you, Miss Squipp!” Emmy said loudly, waving as she backed away.

Raston's voice rose. “I may be exceptionally good-looking, and of course I
do
have remarkably perky ears—”

“Shut up, Ratty!” said Joe under his breath. “Come on, Ana. You can help cut up the Sissy-patches.”

“But I'm a manly rodent!” cried the Rat. “Handsome! Not
cute
!”

 

Emmy sat on a high stool at the far end of the store and kicked her feet against the rungs. She tried to read the professor's formula for Sissy-patches, but the jumble of numbers and symbols made no sense to her, and she put it back on the counter.

Everyone else was busy. Brian was clinking among blue and green and golden bottles in a tall cabinet and making notes on a chart. Joe and Ana were cutting the Sissy-patches into neat squares. Chippy, gripping a pencil stub between his paws, was drawing a diagram of a sling that would hold Sissy. And Sissy, when she wasn't being measured for the sling, was getting a reading lesson from her brother.

“See? ‘S' is for ‘Spiny,' and ‘Squirrel,' and … and ‘Schenectady'!” Raston sorted through old cage tags for more words beginning with
s
.

“Schenectady,” Joe repeated. “I just heard that name somewhere.”

“It's where Ratty and Sissy were born, remember?” Emmy leaned forward. “That's what the tag said—Shrinking Rat of Schenectady. The professor's old lab was there, and Cheswick Vole was the lab assistant. It was Cheswick who went out and found Ratty and Sissy in their nest.”

Ana looked up. “I'm going through that town,” she said. “Tomorrow, on the train. It's one of the stops on the way to those people I have to live with.”

“Haven't you even met them?” asked Joe.

Ana shook her head, looking miserable. “I wish I could just stay here.”

Chippy put his pencil down. “Would you like to come to Rodent City for a visit? Mother invited you, you know. She wants to make you acorn cookies.”

Ana glanced over her shoulder at Gwenda Squipp, who was still busily talking with the professor. “I wish I could. But we're leaving tomorrow. And Squippy keeps an eye on me wherever we go.”

Emmy swung her legs, thinking hard.
Was
there a chance that Ana could stay in Grayson Lake? Probably not, if there were relatives who would take her. And Emmy knew better than to ask her parents if Ana could live with them—not with the trouble Emmy had been in lately.

But it was exactly that trouble that Emmy could not figure out. How
had
her room gotten so messed up? She certainly didn't think she had been sleepwalking, but as Joe had pointed out on the way to the Antique Rat, she wouldn't remember it if she had.

Emmy slipped off her stool and stood by Brian. The tall cabinet was full of bottles and vials, each holding a colored liquid or powder and each with its own special rodent power. Would there be something in there that would cure sleepwalking? Who knew, maybe she could even find something that would help Ana.

“Brian,” she began, when her eye was caught by a slender bottle half full of a silvery dust.

She lifted it from its shelf and held it close to her face, peering inside. It was almost as fine as powder, and it glittered as if made up of very small, very shiny scales.

“Scaly-Tailed Squirrel Dust,” she read from the label. “Suspension of Disbelief.” She passed it under her nose and sniffed. “It smells lemony. Like furniture polish.”

Brian looked up from his chart. “Better not breathe it in, Emmy.”

“But what does it do?”

“I don't know. You'll have to ask the professor.” Brian bent over the chart again. “Maybe it means you stop believing—no, wait. You stop
dis
believing—”

Emmy wasn't paying attention. All at once she was filled with a powerful sense that she
could
do something for Ana. In fact, her idea would not only make Ana happy, it would also impress Emmy's parents! She set the bottle on the counter and ran across the room.

“Professor,” she said, “I have a
great
idea! I'd like to have a good-bye party for Ana tomorrow morning. Right here, in the Antique Rat.”

The professor beamed. “That
is
a good idea!”

“Why, I don't think—” began Gwenda Squipp.

Emmy held up a hand to interrupt. It was the strangest thing, but she
knew
she could convince Squippy to agree. “I'll plan it all. And I'll buy the food and decorations, too.” She could afford it; her parents gave her a generous allowance. She would invite her parents to the party; they would see that she
was
responsible, and be proud of her.

Gwenda Squipp blinked. “You seem very sure of yourself, young lady.”

Emmy grinned at her, strangely confident. “But you're going to say yes, aren't you?”

“Well … perhaps I should.”

“Then it's all settled,” said the professor. “We'll hold it right before you and Ana leave on the train. All right, Emmy?”

Emmy nodded. “But Ana has to come early. That's part of the fun,” she added quickly. “Two hours early, at least.”

“Well,” said Gwenda Squipp doubtfully, “I suppose I could arrange my schedule to come with her.”

“Oh, you don't need to do that,” said Emmy. “Please don't bother.”

“But I have to, dear.” Miss Squipp shook her head. “Children's Home rules. Ana must always be accompanied, at least until she is delivered to her guardians.”

Emmy thought fast. “But do you have to be in the same room as Ana? I mean, couldn't she be upstairs while you were down here?”

Gwenda Squipp frowned.

“There's a good reason,” said Emmy recklessly, filled with the happy knowledge that she
would
think of a reason. And then all at once, she did.

Emmy whispered in Squippy's ear.

Gwenda Squipp clasped her hands, sending her bracelets jangling. “How charming! I won't ask one more question, not one!”

 

“Wow,” said Joe, as the door closed behind Ana and Squippy, and Brian's truck roared into life. “I've never seen you take charge like that before, Emmy.”

“I don't know what came over me,” Emmy admitted. “But it was like I already believed she was going to say yes! I just sort of told her so.”

“What did you whisper to Squippy?” asked Joe.

“I said Ana wanted to make her a very
special
surprise, and I was going to help, and we didn't want her to see it until it was ready.”

“Ana wants to give Squippy a surprise?” said Joe. “What?”

“I made that part up,” said Emmy. “I mean, we'll come up with some kind of surprise, but that's not why we need the two hours.” She grinned. “I'm going to take Ana to visit Rodent City.”

Brrriinnnngg! Brrriinnnngg!

The professor stepped to the phone. “Why, yes, Mr. Addison, Emmy is here—just one moment.”

Emmy took the receiver. “Dad?”

Her father spoke forcefully. Emmy held the phone away from her ear, and Joe's eyes widened as he listened.

“Come back right now to clean your room, young lady. You'll have a few more chores, too!”

The droning hum of a dial tone filled the air. Emmy stared at the receiver in her hand.

“So you
weren't
sleepwalking,” said Joe slowly.

Emmy put the phone back in its cradle as if it had been made of glass. “Somebody,” she said, “is out to get me.”

I
T WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT
. All was quiet outside the Antique Rat as two rodents emerged from a hole in the crumbling foundation, sniffed deeply, and scuttled across the street.

One of the rodents was dragging a plastic bag. It glinted briefly in the light from a silver moon, but when the moon slipped behind a cloud, the rats moved across the central patch of grass unseen, the bag bumping behind.

They glanced at a police car that was parked outside a tall, narrow house, and slipped inside the building through a gnawed rathole. They paused at a small poster that had been affixed to the tunnel wall with a thumbtack.

“It doesn't look a bit like us,” said the piebald rat, shredding the carefully drawn poster with her claws.

They ran across a wooden floor, scampered up a long flight of stairs, and wiggled around the edge of the heavy door to her parents' spare bedroom.

“Jane, dear,” said the black rat, panting, “maybe you shouldn't try this just yet. The police are waiting to catch Miss Barmy—I mean, catch the full-size human that was a nanny to those little girls, and if you grow, you'll be in danger!”

“We'll figure all that out later, Cheswick,” said the piebald rat, ripping open the plastic bag with her claws. “I'm not going to wait one more minute to use these patches.”

Jane Barmy (the short, furry version) stood on her hind feet, faced the full-length mirror, and took a deep breath. The stolen Sissy-patches were laid out on a terry-cloth towel before her.

“Are you going to use them all at once?” Cheswick asked. “How many are there?”

“I don't know,” said Miss Barmy through her teeth. “Not as many as there should be. Didn't you see the professor give two patches to that disgusting Emmaline?”

“Two isn't enough to worry about,” said Cheswick. He studied the patches. “Roll fast,” he advised. “Pull the towel right around you, and that will keep the patches next to your skin.”

The piebald rat nodded, her whiskers quivering. Then, in one fluid motion, she leaped onto the Sissy-patches and rolled herself up in them like a burrito.

“Jane! Oh, Jane, dearest, you're making such terrible noises! Are you in pain, my little sugar-bunny? Speak to me, Jane!”

But Jane Barmy could not speak. Her mouth was twisted in agony, and a high-pitched squeal filled the room. And then she did begin to change—and grow—but not evenly, not first to human and then to full size, but in splotches of human and rat mixed, skin and piebald fur and whiskers and soft dark hair, pink cheeks and lovely eyes and sharp rodent teeth.

Cheswick shuddered as he watched, and he wrung his paws until the fur began to fray, but there was no stopping the transformation that was convulsing his darling. And then, all at once, it was done.

She stood before him, tall and beautiful and entirely human, the woman he adored, fetchingly wrapped in the terry-cloth towel that had grown with her. He had become a rat for love of her, and suddenly he was conscious of the fact that he was
still
a rat. Cheswick bit his claws in sudden despair. Would she think he was too small for her? Too furry, perhaps? Would he have to hide his tail?

Jane Barmy gazed into the mirror as if she could never get enough of her own reflection. She smiled, a slow, lovely smile, her teeth like perfect white chisels—no, like sharp, pointy chisels—no, like ratty chisels in a pointed, whiskered face—no! “No! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The howl that echoed between the walls of the spare room was at first full-voiced, the sound of a grown woman screaming in horror. But it dwindled, it shrank, until it was only a high-pitched squeak, and in front of the mirror was a small, splotchy rodent, brown and tan and white, sobbing bitter tears.

“Oh, my precious fuzzbundle, oh,
Barmsie
!” cried Cheswick, rushing to take her in his furry embrace. And Miss Barmy sank weakly against him, crying on his shoulder, in a way that, so far, had only happened to him in dreams.

“Is everything all right?” Jane Barmy's father, a mild, chubby old man in rumpled pajamas, peered sleepily into the room. “I heard someone scream …” He gazed at the piebald rat. Though she had recently turned small and hairy, she was still his daughter, and he noticed with concern the wet tracks of tears along her fuzzy cheeks.

“I'm fine, Father. It was just an experiment. Go to bed.”

“But the police might have heard! What will I tell them?”

“Tell them anything. Tell them Mother had a nightmare. Go on, Father! We're busy!”

The white-haired man shuffled obediently out of the room, his down-at-heel slippers scuffing along the hall.

Miss Barmy wiped her eyes and spoke crisply. “Get a pencil and paper, Cheswick, and stop patting me already. We need a plan of action.”

Cheswick, who had been mentally diagramming the layout of a nice little burrow in the riverbank—they would need a nursery for the litters to come—came out of his reverie with a start. “A-a plan, Jane?” Surely she understood now that she had to stay a rat. Perhaps she wanted to plan the wedding?

“We have a goal, Cheswick, and therefore we must have a strategy. First, the goal.”

Cheswick gripped his pencil and wrote “Marry Jane Barmy.” He leaned his whiskered cheek on his paw and gazed at the words, sucking dreamily on the end of his pencil.

“And the goal is,” the piebald rat went on, “to turn me back into a full-size human—permanently.”

Cheswick gave her a pleading look. “But, Jane! Surely you aren't going to keep trying to grow?”

“Naturally I'm going to keep trying. Write it, Cheswick.”

The black rat gripped the pencil stub and wrote “Grow the beautiful Jane” and set aside his dream of a cozy burrow with a long, heartfelt sigh. “I guess we'll need more Sissy-patches.”

“Yes, Cheswick, but not just the patches alone. We need that kissy rat herself.”

Cheswick shook his head. “She'll never do it.”

Miss Barmy gave him a wilting glare. “Do you think I'm planning to ask her permission? We're going to kidnap her, of course. Or—would that be ratnap?”

“Either way,” said Cheswick faintly.

“Well, that's the first thing we have to do, then. And next, we have to find a place that isn't watched by the police, where we can keep the kissy rat locked up and keep making the patches until we get it right. Father can mail us the supplies that we need. Ideally, we want a place set up like a lab, where we can—oh! Cheswick!”

“Wha?” Cheswick snapped to attention.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“I
want
to be thinking what you're thinking, Jane, dearest,” said Cheswick cautiously. “What
are
you thinking?”

“Is that old lab of the professor's still in Schenectady?”

“Why, yes, of course. I had it boarded up, but I still paid the taxes on it every year. I thought maybe someday I would go back and make a name for myself in rodentology, just like the profess—” Cheswick cut himself off and left his mouth hanging open. “Jane! You
want
to go to Schenectady with me?”

“You may be slow, Cheswick, but you always get it eventually. Yes, I'm going to Schenectady with you, and we'll hole up in that old laboratory with the kissy rat until I'm my old self again or we all die, whichever comes first.”

Cheswick felt all soft and saggy with love. Alone with Jane … in Schenectady! What could possibly be more romantic?

A thought intruded. They wouldn't be
quite
alone. “How are we going to get Sissy Rat there? How are we going to get there ourselves?”

“We'll take the train, of course.”

“But even if we tie her up, Sissy will be kicking and squeaking the whole way. And she'll be heavy, too. How are we going to do it without anyone noticing, Jane?”

“You leave that to me, Cheswick. I'm beginning to get an idea … a fabulous, brilliant idea …” She sat in thought, pink nose twitching. “How is your penmanship, Cheswick?”

Cheswick beamed. “Did you notice those rodent tags on the counter? I wrote all those out by hand, years ago.”

“
Very
good.” The piebald rat stroked her whiskers. “And how are your claws, these days? Long enough to poke holes in ceiling tile?”

Cheswick guiltily hid his bitten claws behind his back. “If they're not, I can just use a nail, dearest. Or an awl. I'm sure your father will have one in his shoe shop.”

“That's true.” Miss Barmy got up and began to pace. “By the way, do you know any bats? Postal bats?”

“Well …” Cheswick thought for a moment. “I know Stefano. And Guido. Stefano owes me a favor,” he added.

“Excellent! You know, this really is a
fabulous
idea—possibly my best yet.” Miss Barmy clapped her paws together. “We'd better get started. We've got all night to steal what we need and get into position. Oh, and Cheswick?”

“Yes, my little cuddle dumpling?”

“
We're
not going to bring Sissy to Schenectady. That nasty little Emmaline Addison is going to do it for us. Now, listen. Here's what I want you to do.”