Emmy and the Rats in the Belfry (4 page)

E
MMY COULDN'T SLEEP.

For one thing, she had a cat in her room.

It hadn't been her idea, but everyone else had agreed it was the best thing to do. “Someone is getting in your room when the door is shut,” the professor had said. “I wonder if some stray river rats sneaked in to ride on your electric train and vandalized your room. They can be a little wild.”

“Could it be Miss Barmy, sir?” Joe had asked. “She hates Emmy. And Cheswick does whatever she tells him to do.”

“Surely they know that everyone is looking for them,” said Professor Capybara. “I would have thought they'd be far away by now. But I suppose it's possible.”

So Emmy had borrowed Muffy for the night. The river rats would hardly go into a room where they smelled a cat. And Emmy had no doubt that even Miss Barmy, as long as she stayed a rat, would think twice before tangling with Muffy.

Miss Barmy
would
stay a rat, Emmy thought with relief. Sissy's kisses didn't work on her; they had been tried. The professor had guessed that all Miss Barmy's nastiness clogged up something important inside her and blocked the effect of the kiss. That made perfect sense to Emmy.

She was feeling a little clogged up, herself. She didn't even want to think about the disappointed looks on her parents' faces or the hours of extra chores they had made her do. It wasn't fair, but what could she tell them? Joe thought Miss Barmy was behind it all, but Emmy could hardly expect her parents to believe that her old nanny was now a rat. They already thought she had lied about her room. She didn't want to make things worse.

Her parents had looked happier when she'd told them about Ana's party, though. They had even given permission for her to go back and decorate after her chores were done. And now all was ready for the party in the morning. Emmy and Joe had delivered invitations, hung streamers and blown up balloons, and ordered a cake from the bakery. Emmy had even remembered to ask the professor for two Sissy-patches ahead of time. Tomorrow, when she and Ana shrank to visit Rodent City, they would not have to find Sissy in order to grow to full size again. Which was a good thing, because they would have a party to go to and guests to greet, and they could
not
be late.

Emmy rolled over in bed and pulled the blankets up over her ears. How was she supposed to fall asleep with Muffy making all that noise? It sounded like the cat was banging pots and
pans
—

Emmy sat up abruptly. The clanking sounds were not coming from Muffy, who was curled up on the floor. They were emerging from higher up, on the wall. The intercom switch was still stuck in the on position, and Emmy could hear everything that was going on in the kitchen. Were her parents making a midnight snack, or what? There was a lot of banging around, and even some
squeaking
—

Emmy shot out of bed, grabbed her robe, and ran soft-footed down the stairs to the kitchen. “Ratty! What are you
doing
?”

The Rat, his fur whitened with flour, looked hot, sweaty, and blissful. He was perched on the rim of a blue mixing bowl, and he was gripping a wire whisk with both paws. “Oh, good! You can help me toast the almonds!”

Emmy stared at the open cookbook, gritty with sugar, and an egg that had fallen on the floor and smashed. A thicket of knives lay entangled on the counter—that must have been the clatter she'd heard—and the refrigerator door had swung open.

“I don't
believe
this!” Emmy's whisper was despairing.

“I know!” The Rat flung out his arms and the whisk slid down into the bowl. “Here you have this great kitchen, but nobody ever makes biscotti!”

There was a sound of footsteps in the hall, and Raston ducked behind the toaster as the kitchen door creaked open. Emmy stood perfectly still for one dreadful moment. Then she turned to face her parents.

“Oh,
Emmy
,” said Kathy Addison, sinking down on a chair in her nightgown.

“What on earth are you doing now?” Her father's hair was mussed from sleep, but his voice was wide awake and furious.

Emmy cast desperately in her mind for some sort of explanation that would satisfy her parents. “Um—making something for the party?”

Her father lowered his chin and fixed her with unblinking eyes. “You're making something for the party,” he repeated slowly.

“Ana's party,” said Emmy. She paused—what would she say if she really had been making something for the party? “Ana doesn't have a family, and she's worried about where she's going … I wanted to make her something really special. And I didn't want to bother you,” she added in a burst of inspiration.

Jim Addison's gaze traveled over the mess on the counter, the egg on the floor, the wide-open refrigerator. “And what, exactly, were you making?”

Emmy glanced nervously behind the toaster.

“Biscotti!” mouthed the Rat.

“Biscotti,” Emmy repeated, hoping her father wouldn't ask her what that was.

The grim set of her father's mouth softened at the corners. He exchanged a glance with his wife.

“Darling,” said Emmy's mother, “if you wanted something special for Ana's party, all you had to do was ask. Mrs. Brecksniff or Maggie would have been glad to make those Italian cookies for you.”

“Better yet, we'll order some biscotti from the bakery,” said her father. “We'll do it in the morning. But right now, clean up this mess!”

“And go straight back to bed when you're done,” said her mother, with a hug.

The door shut behind her parents. Emmy reached up to the intercom and jiggled the switch until it clicked off.

The Rat scampered out from behind the toaster. “We can't order biscotti from the bakery!” he said, his eyes wide and alarmed. “It's not the same! It won't be as fresh!”

“Oh, shut
up
, Ratty,” said Emmy. “And wipe up that egg. There's no way I'm doing all this alone.”

 

Emmy was groggy the next morning, and she opened her bedroom door before she remembered Muffy. The cat slipped past her legs, clearly annoyed at having been shut in all night.

Then downstairs, when Emmy opened the door to get the paper, she forgot about the cat again. “Drat you, Muffy!”

Muffy, down the steps and five leaps into the lawn, looked back with a smug expression.

“Oh, go on,” said Emmy crossly. “You know I can't catch you now. Go ahead and kill a bird or something, you mean thing. But you had better stay away from rodents, if you know what's good for you.”

At least Ratty was safely back in Rodent City, she thought as she watched Muffy stalk away. Raston had helped with kitchen cleanup and then he'd left, still complaining about the biscotti.

Emmy couldn't find it in her to care. Her parents would pick up an order of the Italian cookies at the bakery, and that would have to be good enough for Ratty.

Her spirits rose as she skipped up the hill on her way to the Antique Rat. Ahead of her were the school and the playground, and on top of the slide was Joe, waiting for her. His little brother, Thomas, was a short distance away, crouched over something on the ground.

“I have to babysit today,” Joe said cheerfully. “But you know Thomas—if grown-ups are around, he's pretty useful.”

Emmy grinned. Thomas was only six and a half, but he had large blue eyes, a round, chubby face, and an excellent ability to look innocent at difficult times. “What's he looking at? Worms?”

“Or caterpillars,” said Joe, letting go of the slide railing and flying down on his back. He landed with a thump in the sand and got up, dusting himself off. “So, any more problems with your room getting wrecked?”

Emmy adjusted the shoulder strap on her backpack. “Not since Muffy. But I didn't get much sleep. Hey, Thomas!” she called. “Come on, we're going to the Antique Rat!”

Thomas called back something indistinct.

Emmy looked at Joe. “What did he say?”

“He found something or other. Bring it with you!” Joe called over his shoulder.

They crossed Main Street and turned in to the alley that led to the back streets. Joe was talking about the science badge he was working on for Scouts and how he was going to ask the professor to help him, but Emmy only half listened. She was thinking about her parents.

In a few hours, they would be proud of her again. They would see that she was responsible and trustworthy—at least if all went according to plan. And it
would
. Emmy had a checklist and a timetable; she had all the supplies she needed in her backpack. Right now, Brian was picking up Ana and Squippy, and Ratty would be waiting for them upstairs in the professor's apartment.

They were at the door of the Antique Rat. Joe looked over his shoulder at his brother, who was walking slowly, looking at something in his cupped hands. “Hurry
up
, Thomas!”

Emmy pushed open the door of the Antique Rat and smiled. The party decorations she had put up yesterday looked festive; the balloons and streamers swayed lightly in the draft from the open door. The punch bowl and mints were ready on a little table, and the professor was—

Emmy stopped smiling. Professor Capybara, on the far side of the room, thumped the laboratory counter with his hand, his face reddening.

“My formula!” he cried. “All my Sissy-patches! Gone!”

“Stay calm, Professor!” Emmy cried. “You know what happens—”

Professor Capybara tried to hold his eyelids open, but they closed irresistibly. He swayed, sank to his knees, and toppled over onto the floor with a crash.

“—when you get upset,” finished Emmy, as he began to snore.

“N
OT AGAIN!”
Joe stood at her shoulder. “I thought he'd found a cure for the Snoozer virus.”

“He was working on a cure.” Emmy bent over the professor and straightened the glasses on his nose. “Wake
up
, Professor!”

“It might be a minute, and it might be an hour,” said Joe. “You can't hurry him.”

Emmy sat back on her heels. “But if Squippy comes and he's out cold, she'll make a big fuss.”

“She'll probably call an ambulance,” Joe agreed.

Emmy felt in her pocket. At least she had the two Sissy-patches that the professor had given her the day before. They could still make their visit to Rodent City—that is, if Gwenda Squipp would let Ana out of her sight. But with the professor flat on his back, it was doubtful.

“Emmy?” The professor's voice rasped. “I must tell you—”

“Oh, good!” said Emmy. “You're awake already!”

“Listen, please!” Professor Capybara struggled to sit up. “Nothing else was taken or destroyed, just the formula and the Sissy-patches. We must therefore conclude”—he wiped his forehead with his pocket handkerchief, and Emmy saw with concern that his face was growing pink again—“it was
not
the wild river rats, out for some vandalism—”

“Stay calm, Professor!”

“—but Miss Barmy! She's going to use the patches, Emmy!”

“It's okay,” Emmy said in her most soothing voice. “They won't do her any good. Sissy's kisses don't work on her, remember?”

The professor shook Emmy's arm. “You're in
danger
…” His head lolled to one side as his emotion rose, and his eyes shut like window shades. “Very … serious … danger …”

The handkerchief fluttered to the floor as the professor's body keeled over yet again.

Exasperated, Emmy stood up. Had the formula and patches really been stolen? Or had the professor just forgotten where he had put them?

Joe was opening the street door again, calling to Thomas. Emmy scanned the countertop. She didn't see the missing formula or patches, but the bottle of Scaly-Tailed Squirrel Dust was on the counter where she had set it down. Brian must have forgotten to put it back in the cabinet before he locked it. The bottle had tipped on its side, and some of the glittery silver dust had spilled. There didn't seem to be as much of it as she remembered …

Well, she could clean up the spill, at least. Emmy brushed the tiny silver scales off the counter into her hand and got as much of it as she could back into the narrow bottle. She was careful not to breathe it in this time—Brian had warned against that—but she was left with a silvery coating on her palms. She picked up the professor's handkerchief and wiped her hands thoroughly.

There was a scrape of feet at the doorway. “It's about time,” said Joe. “What did you find, Thomas?”

Emmy turned, prepared to admire a caterpillar, or a beetle, or a tiny toad. But when she came closer, she saw that the little boy's eyes were round and startled.

“Look.” Thomas held out his pudgy hands. Cradled in them was a motionless yellow bird, its beak slightly open, its feet pointing straight up.

“It's dead,” said Joe, poking at it.

Thomas's eyes filled with tears.

“Don't feel bad, Thomas,” said Emmy hastily. “Maybe it's not
exactly
dead. Maybe it's just stunned.”

Joe rolled his eyes.

“Or maybe it has the Snoozer virus,” said Emmy, suddenly inspired. “Like the professor!”

“Yeah, or maybe it's
dead
,” said Joe.

Thomas sniffled. One fat drop slid off his nose and landed damply on the soft, ruffled feathers. “I don't
want
it to be dead.” He sniffled again.

“Here,” said Emmy automatically, putting the professor's handkerchief to his nose. “Blow.”

Thomas honked loudly into the white square.

“Again.”

Thomas took a deep breath and blew his nose a second time. Then he brightened. He looked up at Joe. “Hey! It
is
just sleeping!”

“Look, Thomas, face it. That bird is—”

“Wake up!” cried Thomas, flinging the bird up in the air. “Fly!”

The bird arced up and then dropped like a stone. There was a soft
pluff
as it landed on the floor, its wings splayed out awkwardly.

“See?” said Thomas, picking it up and stroking the limp yellow head. “It's still alive. It just needs time to wake up.” He raised the bird to his ear. “I think it's breathing!”

Joe stared at his brother. “Are you mental?”

Emmy looked down at the handkerchief in her hand, still covered with silvery dust. “Maybe it
is
still sleeping,” she said slowly.

Joe snorted. “Oh, come on, Emmy, get a grip—”

Emmy caught his eye and shook her head slightly. “Thomas, why don't you take your bird upstairs and put it on the windowsill? Then it can fly out when it wakes up.”

Thomas walked happily up the stairs, hunched protectively over his treasure.

Joe turned on Emmy. “What was
that
all about?”

“Remember yesterday?” Emmy whispered. “When I
believed
I could talk Squippy into agreeing to this party and then I did?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with a dead bird?”

“Everything! Look!” Emmy dragged him to the lab counter, stepping over the professor's legs, and pointed to the narrow bottle.

“Scaly-Tailed Squirrel Dust,” Joe read slowly from the label. “Suspension of Disbelief. What does that mean?”

“If you breathe it in, you can believe things that you usually wouldn't! It worked on me, and it worked on Thomas!” She showed him the handkerchief, still glittering faintly.

Joe lifted his head as the throbbing sound of a truck engine grew louder, then suddenly rattled and died. “Well, let's hope it works on Squippy. Because she's here, and the professor's still snoring.”

As it turned out, Gwenda Squipp was easy. The moment she walked in with Ana, Emmy rushed up, holding out the bottle. “Smell this, Miss Squipp! It's Scaly-Tailed Squirrel Dust!”

“But—” said Brian.

“No, Brian.” Gwenda Squipp patted the teenager's arm. “I'm not too busy to pay attention to what this very imaginative little girl is trying to show me. Scaly-Tailed Squirrel Dust? How
special
!” She bent her head and took a deep, appreciative sniff. “My, my! It smells so—so—”

“Scaly?” said Emmy.

Gwenda Squipp beamed. “Yes, exactly!”

“I have something else to show you, too.” Emmy took the woman's hand and led her to Professor Capybara, still sleeping.

“Oh, dear! Is he ill?” Gwenda Squipp glanced nervously at Ana. “Perhaps we should go. Is it contagious?”

“Not at all,” Emmy said firmly. “It's just that, years ago, a Bushy-Tailed Snoozer Rat sneezed in his face and he came down with the Snoozer virus.”

“Really?” Squippy bent over the professor. “How absolutely fascinating! Would you believe I've never heard of it?”

“The scientific name is Ratolepsy,” said Brian, pulling out a chair for her. “It's a rodent-induced sleep disorder.”

“And whenever he gets too excited, he just falls asleep,” Joe added.

“It's funny,” said Gwenda Squipp. “I've never heard of it, and it sounds completely impossible—even so, I believe you! Will it help if I fan him?” She began to wave her hands vigorously over his face.

“Good idea! And while you fan him, Ana and I will go upstairs to work on the—you know!” Emmy whispered hoarsely in Ana's ear, loud enough for Gwenda Squipp to hear. “
The surprise for Squippy!
”

Ana's eyes widened thoughtfully as Squippy tried to look as if she hadn't heard.

“And one more thing.” Emmy beamed at Squippy. “Ana will be with me, and she'll be perfectly safe. You won't need to check on her at
all
.”

“Why, I believe you're right!” Squippy settled contentedly to fanning. “Just call if you need me, dear!”

“That,” whispered Joe as they went up the stairs, “is one handy bottle of dust!”

Emmy grinned. “So, Ana—do you want to go to Rodent City?”

Ana looked at Emmy and Joe in dawning realization. It was gloomy in the stairwell, but her face brightened. “
Really?
” she whispered.

“Shh!” said Joe, holding up a warning hand.

“That bird is
not
sleeping.” The Rat's voice was exasperated.

They peeked around the corner. Past the kitchen table, Thomas was sitting on a chair by the window, his chin on his hands. Raston Rat was pacing the windowsill.

“Yes, it is,” said Thomas placidly.

“It's not! It's dead! It's a dead bird!” Raston grabbed the bird by one stiff foot and lifted. Its head, upside down, rolled limply.

“It's got the Snoozer virus,” said Thomas. He smiled a wide, peaceful smile. “It will wake up soon, and fly away.”

“It's not going to fly away!” The Rat shook it by the leg, his ears pink with outrage. “The only way this bird would fly is if you shot it out of a cannon!”

“Now you've made it dizzy,” said Thomas.

“It's not dizzy!” the Rat shrieked. “This bird is a goner! It's kicked the bucket! It's cashed in its chips! This”—he dropped it on the windowsill with a thump—“is an ex-bird!”

Joe, collapsed against the wall in silent laughter, was no help at all. Emmy handed her backpack to Ana and stepped over to the windowsill. “Come on, Ratty, leave the poor bird alone. We need you to shrink us.”

Thomas happily patted the bird's feathers back into place. Brian came up the stairs two steps at a time and set the blue pet carrier down in the middle of the kitchen floor.

“Go ahead, Ana—you shrink first.” Emmy rummaged in her backpack and drew out glitter, a large piece of cardboard, construction paper, scissors, and markers. Then she pulled out a can of spray paint and a box of dry macaroni.

There was a muffled cry from Ana as she shrank.

Emmy glanced over her shoulder. “You don't have to bite so hard, Ratty!”

“I'm okay!” called the miniature Ana cheerfully from the door of the pet carrier. “Listen, Ratty, just one more …”

Joe, still laughing, came to stand beside Emmy as she spread the contents of her backpack on the kitchen table. “What do you want us to do with that?”

“Make some kind of big card for Squippy. You know—have it say something nice and be from Ana. You can decorate it. Let Thomas help you.” Emmy lowered her voice. “And when his back is turned, get rid of that bird. He'll think it flew away.”

Joe grinned. “Okay. You've got the Sissy-patches for when you get back?”

“Yup.” Emmy unzipped the side pocket of her backpack and pulled out the plastic bag containing the two patches. “I don't know where Sissy is, but we don't need her, as long as you keep these safe—oh, no!”

“What?” said Ana, flicking her tail.