by Lynne Jonell
A second rodent shape scrabbled over the edge of the counter, panting. “Sissy!” cried Raston hoarsely, staring at her lips in shock.
“There goes the quiet,” muttered Manlio. “I thought the Ratty brother was to wait outside with the harness?”
“But how could I, when my sister was in here? Anyway, you need someone fit, someone flabulous—Sissy, I’m going to rescue you!”
Sissy embraced her brother, weeping for joy.
“Cry later,” said Emmy, glancing at Cheswick across the room. “Go now.”
“But look what they’ve done to her!” Raston reared back, his tail stiff with fury, and caught sight of the patches on the metal plate that Cheswick had forgotten in his haste. He took two hops toward it, cocked his hind foot, and kicked.
“Don’t bother, Rasty!” Sissy put a paw on his arm as the first patch went flying. “These are ruined—they’ve got whiskers and blood and tears in them, so they’ll never work for Miss Barmy.”
“I’d like to kick her,” said Raston.
On the windowsill, the piebald rat’s snores stopped abruptly. She flicked an ear, rolled over, and was still.
“Hush, Ratty!” Emmy was tense beneath her fur. “Take Sissy and get out of here!”
Raston hopped off the metal plate—and landed on the X-Acto knife handle. It rolled under his hind foot with a metallic sound, his feet flipped up, and he landed on his backside, yelping. Cheswick Vole jumped up from the desk, startled, and came at them with urgent strides.
Manlio gave a piercing whistle. From all over the room, small black shadows uttered shrill battle cries and darted straight for Cheswick’s head in a wildly fluttering cloud of leathery wings and sharp fangs.
“Get away!” he bawled, flapping his hands like frantic windmills. “Jane!”
The piebald rat on the windowsill awakened with a snort.
“Go on!” cried Emmy, shoving Cecilia and Raston.
“Move, sweet fuzzy!” screamed Manlio, fanning his wings at Sissy, who seemed to be paralyzed with fear. “Go!”
“Cheswick! Stop that rat!” Miss Barmy leaped off the windowsill, teeth bared in a snarl.
The darkened laboratory was filled with swooping dark shapes and the flit flit of bat wings. Cheswick groped blindly, grabbed the first thing his hands touched—the video projector—and swung it by the cord with a muffled grunt. The bats, with their built-in sonar, easily eluded this, but as Emmy watched, the cord detached and the projector went sailing. It crashed into the window in a shattering sound of breaking glass, hit the boards behind it, and fell to the counter with a heavy thunk, just missing Miss Barmy.
The sound jolted Sissy and Ratty out of their paralysis. The two rats skidded down the counter, across the floor, and under the tar-paper flap.
“Noooooo!” cried the piebald rat, high and despairing.
“Jane—I’ll get her back, I will.” Cheswick fumbled with the front door deadbolt.
“Go, go, go, GO!” shouted Manlio, and the bats streamed past him and out beneath the loose tar paper.
Miss Barmy started toward Emmy, her claws outstretched. “I recognize you, Emmaline Addison! It’s all your fault!”
“Stay back!” shouted Rocco, picking up the X-Acto knife and holding it like a bayonet. Out of the corner of her eye, Emmy saw the last column of bats filing out the hole.
Manlio fluttered back up to the counter. “Emmy, now!”
But Emmy was fascinated by the drama unfolding before her. Miss Barmy, her whiskered face distorted with rage, was backing away on the counter in defeat. And over at the front door Cheswick, full size as he was, desperately rattled the knob but couldn’t seem to get it to turn.
“You want me to trim her claws, boss?” Rocco grinned, showing Miss Barmy his fangs. “Maybe clip her ears a little?”
Manlio shook his head. “We must to catch the train,” he called over his wing. “Hurry, we meet you outside!”
The piebald rat suddenly jumped off the counter and scampered behind the sheet that had served as a screen.
Emmy grinned at the rodent shadow moving behind the screen. Good riddance! She turned to follow Rocco but paused at the metal plate with its sheet of patches.
“Wait a second.” She grabbed one of the small bags nearby.
“Hurry, there is no time!” Rocco fluttered back to the counter. “Anyway, those are the bad patches, no?”
“I don’t care.” Emmy stuffed the patches rapidly into the bag. “I don’t want Miss Barmy to get her paws on any of these, bad or not—”
She stopped with her paw in the sack, frozen, as behind the screen a shadow grew suddenly large.
Emmy’s mouth went dry. Miss Barmy must have had more patches lying around … lots more.
Emmy took a step back, stumbling, and hid the bag behind her. “Rocco,” she cried, sick with dread as Miss Barmy, human and tall, headed straight toward them.
Rocco grabbed the Bunsen burner and held it like a flamethrower, sweeping it from side to side to make an arc of protection for Emmy and himself. Miss Barmy stopped and smiled nastily.
The front door burst open with a splinter of wood, a screech of hinges, and a manly grunt from Cheswick. He dashed out into the windy night, but after a few moments, he came back in, slowly.
“Well?” said Miss Barmy, never taking her eyes off Emmy and Rocco.
“No luck,” Cheswick said. “The bats had the kissing rat in some sort of sling, and they flew up as soon as they saw me.”
“Never mind,” said Miss Barmy. “I heard the bat say they were going to the train station. We’ll follow them. And, Chessie?”
“Yes, my little turtledove?”
“Is there any way to shut off that annoying Bunsen burner?”
“Why, of course!” Cheswick Vole reached under the counter and turned a knob on the propane tank.
“Excellent,” said Miss Barmy, and her smile widened as the flame sputtered and died.
Rocco dropped the useless Bunsen burner and flitted up as Miss Barmy’s left hand reached out to grab him. Then, quick as a snake, her right hand snatched at Emmy and caught her by the tail.
Emmy squeaked—she couldn’t help it—and clutched the bag of patches to her chest as Miss Barmy lifted her by the tail and dangled her in the air. Rocco fluttered fiercely about Miss Barmy’s head, but he was just one bat, and the woman simply ignored him.
Emmy twisted in a frantic effort to free herself, as Miss Barmy’s fingers pinched tighter.
“Go, Rocco!” Emmy cried. “Keep Sissy safe, and make sure they bring Gussie to Ratmom for the tears!”
Rocco swooped off toward the open door. Emmy squealed helplessly as she was swung around and dropped.
There was a metallic scrape; there was a click.
She was locked in a cage. And Miss Barmy had the key.
26
EMMY STARED at Ana’s face, which looked out plaintively from the poster on the train station wall. MISSING, it said above the picture, and below was a lot of small print Emmy couldn’t read from her cage.
She wished she had Manlio’s skill at lock picking. But even if she did, it would be hard to pick the lock while Cheswick was holding her cage to his chest—and harder still to get out of the train station with its heavy doors and bright lights.
“What do you mean, there are no trains to Grayson Lake this time of night?” Miss Barmy demanded. “I know there are night trains. I’ve heard them. They have a very distinctive whistle.”
“They sound like this,” said Cheswick helpfully. “Whoooo … whoo whoo whooooo …”
The stationmaster looked at him over his half glasses.
“Well?” Miss Barmy tapped her fingernails against the ticketing booth.
“You must have heard a freight train,” said the stationmaster, shuffling through a stack of papers. “They only stop here to pick up crew; they don’t carry passengers. Is there anything else I can help you with?” He looked up, and his bored expression changed. “Are you allergic? Your
nose seems to be … twitching.”
“Another patch, Cheswick!” Miss Barmy cried.
Emmy slid into the wire wall of her cage as Cheswick set it on the ticket booth ledge. He dug in the carryall bag slung over his shoulder, pulled the backing off a patch, and pressed it against Miss Barmy’s neck. Her nose, which had turned pink, moist, and twitchy, subsided into a more human aspect, and the light coating of fur that had begun to sprout behind her ears disappeared.
The stationmaster blinked.
“I have a medical condition.” Miss Barmy pulled a hand mirror from the carryall and glanced at it with satisfaction. “It comes and goes.”
“I see,” said the stationmaster faintly. He stared at Miss Barmy and adjusted his glasses.
“When does the train to Grayson Lake pick up crew tonight?” Miss Barmy’s voice was smooth as syrup as she tucked the mirror in the bag once more.
The stationmaster stared at her, seemingly fascinated. “I don’t know that I should tell you. There are rules about giving out information to the general public, and regulations …” He extracted a paper from the pile before him and held it up. “See?”
Jane Barmy leaned forward, ignoring the list of rules. “But I just love trains, and I so admire anyone who knows about them …”
“Hey! I know about trains—eep!” Cheswick’s voice cut off abruptly as Miss Barmy kicked him beneath the counter.
“Could you possibly tell me?” Miss Barmy ran a finger along the edge of the ticket booth and lowered her eyes, smiling. “I can see you’re the kind of man who decides things for himself. You look so terribly strong. Do you work out?”
“Er …” The stationmaster flushed pink and loosened his necktie.
“Perhaps we can watch the train together!” Miss Barmy fluttered her eyelashes. “Nighttime arrivals are so exciting, don’t you think? And then after it goes away, you can explain the policies, and show me all your regulations.”
Emmy gripped the metal bars of her cage, hanging on by her claws. Cheswick Vole was not a smooth jogger. With every lurching stride, the cage banged against his leg, giving Emmy a jolt that she felt in her stomach. She tried very hard not to throw up.
The small drawstring bag was loose in the cage. It sailed past her head and she ducked, glaring at it. If only she hadn’t wasted time collecting that last batch of bad Sissy-patches! They weren’t worth getting caught by Miss Barmy, that was for sure.
And now what? She could hardly think. Almost every idea she’d tried so far had gone wrong, starting with not telling her parents about Ana and Aunt Gussie. She should have just let her mother and father take care of everything.
But no. If she had done that, then right this minute Ana would be living with people who didn’t want her and Aunt Gussie would be dying in a nursing home.
The cool night air blew through the bars and ruffled Emmy’s fur. Was it any better, she wondered miserably, for Ana to be without a home at all? Or for Gussie to be four inches tall and dying in Joe’s pocket? Or for herself to be locked in a cage, with no way out?
Cheswick slowed to a walk, and then stopped, breathing hard. He set the cage down and conferred with Miss Barmy in a low voice.
Emmy rocked on her hind legs as Cheswick picked up the cage once more. They were in a dark section of town, between streetlights. There was a sound of sliding gravel, and the metal floor tilted—they were going uphill—and then branches scraped her cage as they pushed through a belt of undergrowth.
She knew she should have tried to explain to her parents about the rodents. She could have shown them, the way she did with Aunt Melly, and they would have had to believe her. They would have understood about her messy room then, too.
But Aunt Melly had been willing to keep the rodents’ powers a secret because she, herself, had a secret she needed kept in return. Emmy’s parents had no such reason to keep quiet. And what would happen to Sissy and Ratty and Ratmom if the world found out there were rats who could shrink people and make them grow—not to mention a rat whose tears could make someone young again?
Emmy knew exactly what would happen. Raston’s teeth would be worn to nubs, Sissy’s lips would never heal, and Ratmom would be forced to cry for the rest of her life.
The cage leveled. Miss Barmy whispered something to Cheswick that Emmy didn’t quite catch. Hands fiddled with the lock on Emmy’s cage.
All at once Cheswick reached in and grabbed her around the middle. Swiftly he forced her mouth open while Miss Barmy wedged a shoelace behind her gnawing teeth and between her jaws, tying it tightly behind her head, and then around her front paws. Before Emmy had time to realize what was happening she was back in the cage. The lock clicked shut.
Miss Barmy looked in through the top of the cage, sneering. “Just to make sure you can’t warn your friends … if they are your friends. They abandoned you, didn’t they?”
Emmy, tied, gagged, and caged, with the taste of shoelace in her mouth, felt a rising fury and despair that almost choked her. The floor of the cage tilted beneath her like a ship at sea as Cheswick moved forward and Miss Barmy whispered at his side. Emmy swayed back and forth with each stride, hardly caring that she couldn’t understand what they were saying. Even if she did hear their plans, what could she do to help herself or her friends? Just exactly nothing.
It seemed a long time before Cheswick set the cage silently on the ground and squatted beside Miss Barmy. Emmy rubbed her muzzle with her tied paws and looked out from behind the crisscrossed bars. Just ahead, untrimmed trees swept their branches low to the ground. Beyond the open lacework of leaves were twin rails, gleaming coldly in the moonlight.
The station lights were not too far away. For just a moment Emmy was confused—surely they had walked farther than that?—until she realized what must have happened. Cheswick and Miss Barmy had gone a long way down the line and then had come back secretly, downwind from the station.
There was no train that she could see.
There were bats, though. She could see them huddled near the steel rails, and she could hear them somewhere in the shadows on the other side of the tracks, high-pitched and squeaking. Standing out was Rocco’s voice, even higher than usual.
“Let me take the boys and go back for her, boss! Bat honor does not permit us to leave even one behind!”
Emmy glanced quickly up at Miss Barmy. Had she heard?
But Miss Barmy, peering through low-hanging branches, was turned away, her whole body tense as she looked down the long tracks. And Cheswick, the carryall slung on his shoulder, was watching Miss Barmy for the first clear signs of approaching rodenthood.
Emmy let out her breath softly. Perhaps the bat voices only seemed loud to her sensitive rodent ears. She wished she could tell Rocco to be quiet. It was nice that he wanted to rescue her, but if he kept talking, Miss Barmy would find Sissy for sure.
“No.” Manlio’s voice was piercingly high, too. “We must to send away the sweet fuzzy one safe, no? And the old sickly one, she must to go also, with the harness—”
“But, boss! We can do that and pick up Emmy, too!”
Emmy looked up at Miss Barmy and Cheswick in alarm. They must have heard that …
But no.
“Later, Rocco,” said Manlio. “No time now—the train, she comes soon.”
Emmy pricked up her ears. It had been so gradual that she had hardly noticed, but now she realized she had been hearing it for a while—a low hum, a distant rumble, growing in volume as she listened. And then came the sound of another voice from the shadows—Joe’s voice.
“Hey, you guys!” Joe’s whisper carried clearly. “I can hear the train!”
Miss Barmy turned her head at once, clenching Cheswick’s arm. The two of them stared in the direction of Joe’s voice, their eyes searching the shadows.
Emmy’s whiskers stiffened. There was something here she didn’t understand. Why could Miss Barmy hear Joe’s voice—but no one else’s?
There was a high snickering from the bats near
the tracks. “We’ve been hearing the train, like, forever!” piped a young voice. “Doesn’t he ever listen to the rails?”
“Hush! For shame!” An older bat voice overrode the thin, peeping laughter. “Never make fun of those who are less fortunate! Not everyone can have bat ears!”
“Scusi,” piped the young bat. “Sorry. But at least I didn’t say it so the humans heard me.”
“Very noble,” said the old bat dryly. “Now, lower your pitch. It’s not polite to talk about people at a frequency they can’t hear.”
Emmy nearly choked on the shoelace. That was why Miss Barmy and Cheswick hadn’t heard the bats! Bats could speak at a higher pitch than humans could hear! And now that she was a rat, she could hear that frequency, too. Could she speak at that high pitch, too? Not with a stupid shoelace in her mouth, she couldn’t …
“Here is what we must to do.” Manlio’s voice from the shadows was low enough for humans to hear. “Dry your tears, my sweet fuzzy Cecilia. We will to rescue Emmy Rat—but first we see you off safe on the train, we send a message to Guido to expect a so large package, we take care for the old sick one, no? And then—”
“And then,” finished Rocco, “we will mount a bat attack! For honor! For famiglia!”
“Emmy’s like family to me,” came Raston’s voice. He sneezed twice.
“I don’t want to leave without her,” said Sissy.
The train’s rumble grew louder. But Miss Barmy paid no attention. She gripped Cheswick’s sleeve, her body rigid, as she listened to the conversation she could now hear.
“But you must, sweet fuzzy,” said Manlio. “Leave all to the bats. We will to outwit the Barmy person!”
Unnoticed in her cage, Emmy worked her paws together, trying desperately to hook one of her claws in the shoelace knot. If she could get her paws free, she could untie the gag. Then she could warn her friends that Miss Barmy was there and listening to every word.
“We promised we’d get the aunts to Rodent City and find Ratmom,” came Ana’s voice from the shadows, “but if Emmy’s a prisoner—”
Joe’s voice tumbled over hers, rough with worry. “Are you sure you and the bats can deal with Miss Barmy?”