Emmy and the Rats in the Belfry

by Lynne Jonell

“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.

  9

  IT WAS HOT. The midday sun beat down on the triangular green, wilting its patchy grass. One tree cast a spindly shade over a single park bench and a low planting of yews. Behind them, almost hidden, Emmy sat on the ground with her chin on her knees. The patch of shade was getting smaller, and she was sweating.

  She stared moodily at the empty pet carrier and wished again that Ana hadn’t gotten Ratty to bite her twice. Sure, Ana was having all kinds of fun visiting Rodent City as a rat, but meanwhile Emmy was stuck waiting around at the back entrance. Because of course she couldn’t shrink now. Ana would need both Sissy-patches—one to turn human and one to grow.

  Ratty had told Emmy she should shrink anyway. “Sissy just went to get the mail,” he had insisted in the professor’s apartment. “She’ll be back soon.”

  But Emmy didn’t want to take the chance. Enough had gone wrong already; she didn’t want to risk missing the party when her parents were coming. Then, too, if the professor was right and it had been Miss Barmy who had stolen the patches, who knew what she might be planning? No, Emmy had better stay full size—and alert.

  But she was getting sick of waiting. Emmy ducked under the spreading branches of the yew and put her mouth to the tunnel opening. “Aaaaannnaaaa!” she called, long and low.

  Silence. Emmy glanced at her watch. Should she go get Ratty? He could run down the long passageway to Rodent City and find Ana in Mrs. Bunjee’s loft.

  “Mraoow?” A furry head butted under the yew beside her and sniffed delicately at the hole in the ground.

  “Get lost, Muffy.” Emmy glared at the housekeeper’s cat, who backed just out of range and curled up under the far branches of the yew, watching Emmy with unblinking eyes.

  Well, there was no way she could leave to get Ratty now. Even if she chased Muffy off the green, the cat would come back. Emmy had a brief, unhappy vision of Ana dangling from Muffy’s mouth and groaned aloud. She would just have to wait.

  She was on her hands and knees, calling into the tunnel for the fifth time, when a voice spoke behind her.

  “Emmy! What on earth are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your party?”

  Emmy tipped back on her heels to see her father looking down at her and, past him, her mother getting out of the car holding a bakery box. Across the street, Brian was tying balloons to the door of the Antique Rat.

  “I’ll be there soon, Dad,” Emmy said, hoping it was true. “I’m just—I’m just waiting here for somebody.”

  Her father frowned. “When you’re supposed to be hosting a party?”

  Emmy gazed up at him, feeling desperate. “It’s about the party,” she said. “It’s a surprise.”

  Her father looked unconvinced, but Kathy Addison called and he turned away. Emmy watched with a flutter of anxiety as her parents walked across the street into the Antique Rat. Would the professor be awake yet? What would Squippy tell them?

  “Mrraaow!” There was a sudden soft thump under the yew, and a thin, high squeal from the tunnel’s mouth.

  “Bad Muffy!” Emmy hauled the cat away by the hind legs and hung on. “Hurry, Ana! Get in the pet carrier!”

  A small and fluffy rat scampered into the blue plastic carrier, reached a paw through the barred door, and yanked it shut, breathing hard. “Oh, my gosh, that cat is a monster! But I had such a fun visit—Mrs. Bunjee had three kinds of cookies, and fresh lemonade, and—”

  “And you’re late,” said Emmy as she strode across the green, the carrier bumping at her hip. The door of the Antique Rat slammed behind her, and she was halfway to the stairs before Squippy called out, “Did you get the supplies you needed? You know, for”—she lowered her voice with a roguish smile—“the surprise!”

  Her father turned around. “Emmy told me she was waiting for someone.”

  “No doubt she was doing both!” Professor Capybara spread his hands, smiling. “There are lots of secrets and surprises with a party!”

  Emmy gave him a grateful look, waved at the adults, and disappeared up the stairs.

  Thomas and Joe’s card for Squippy was beyond ugly. The minute Emmy let Ana out of the pet carrier, Joe led them to the kitchen table to admire it.

  “We had an hour and a half, and a lot of macaroni,” said Joe proudly. “Hideous, isn’t it?”

  “I dumped the glitter on,” said Ratty.

  Ratty and the boys had pasted colored-paper cutouts on the cardboard Emmy had brought. On top of this, they had arranged dry macaroni to make big, clumsy letters that spelled out THANX SQUIPPY!!! Next they had spray-painted the macaroni gold. Then, more construction paper around the edges to make a border. Then, macaroni on top of that, colored with markers. Lastly they had squiggled what looked to be a massive amount of glue over the whole thing and dumped the entire bottle of silver glitter on top.

  Emmy gazed at the monstrosity in awe. “I’ve never seen anything that comes even close.”

  Ana, who had scampered up to the tabletop on her own, grinned toothily. “Squippy will love it. She’ll probably save it for years.”

  Thomas leaned his elbows on the table and smiled up at Emmy happily. “My bird flew away,” he confided. “I told you it was only sleeping.”

  Raston coughed behind his paw, b
ut any further remarks were interrupted by Brian’s thumping feet on the stairs.

  “Better change back and grow, Ana,” the teenager said. “Your guests are here.”

  Raston pricked his ears, suddenly alert. “It’s time for the party already?”

  Emmy fished in her pocket for the two Sissy-patches and handed them over. “Careful. They’re pretty powerful.”

  “Maybe not,” said Brian, watching Ana peel off the backing with her paws. “Those are from the batch we made yesterday, remember? The professor tweaked the formula so they wouldn’t be so strong.”

  Ana slapped the patch on one short arm, and her squat, fuzzy shape slowly shifted, thinned, and transformed into a tiny figure wearing a red jumper. She looked at them in surprise. “I hardly felt a thing!” She put on the next patch, and grew in slow motion, like a balloon being inflated with gentle puffs of air.

  “You’re lucky you’re not using patches from the old batch, then,” said Emmy. “When I grew with one, it was like being kicked by a horse. Ow, Ratty! Pull your claws in when you run up my arm, will you?”

  “But Sissy’s not here!” Raston’s worried face peered at her from her shoulder.

  “Where did she go?” asked Brian.

  “One of the postal bats said that she had a special delivery waiting, so she went to get the mail.” The Rat scrubbed at his muzzle with nervous paws. “She should have been back by now.”

  “She probably just stopped at Rodent City,” said Joe. “Come on, we have to go downstairs.”

  “But she’d want to show me the letter! She can’t read, remember?”

  Thomas, perched on a high kitchen chair, swung his legs. “Maybe my bird is out looking for her and will come back and tell us where she is!”

  Raston put his head in his hands. “Listen, feather-brain, your bird is—”

  “At a bird party, probably!” said Emmy brightly. “But we have to go to our own party now, so just wait for her, Ratty, okay?”

  “She’d better hurry,” muttered the Rat, “or all the biscotti will be gone.”

  The space between the floors of the Antique Rat was dim. Row upon row of wooden joists supported the apartment above, while squares of ceiling tile rested on a metal grid suspended by wires. Here and there, thin shafts of light pierced upward like bright skewers through gaps in the fiberboard tile.