Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat (20 page)

“And we went for rides on the chipmunks,” added Emmy, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

“They play a great game of pawball,” Joe said with enthusiasm. “Only we had to duck into gopher holes when the cats came—”

“They have a whole city underground, with electricity and everything—”

“And we fought Muffy with a cocklebur catapult!”

Officer Carl cleared his throat. “Do you see what I mean, sir? They're just talking crazy.”

Sergeant Harrison shook his head. “The suspect must have drugged them,” he said gloomily, running a finger around the inside of his collar. “Hallucinogens, most likely. Probably out of their system by now, but the memories linger.”

“Yes, sir.” Officer Carl pulled down his jacket and
looked sternly at the children. “You'll see your parents soon. In the meantime, try to stop thinking about those rats and all. It's not healthy.”

 

“Emmy, Joe,” said the professor, walking in through the open door. “Your parents are here to take you home.”

“Cool!” cried Joe, running out of the room. “See you guys later!”

Emmy stood still. “Professor … my parents …”

“They're back to normal, Emmy.” Professor Capybara's eyes twinkled behind his half-glasses. “Well, more or less.”

“What do you mean? Did the chinchilla imprint really wear off this soon?”

“Mmm, not exactly. I helped the process along with a little accelerant in their coffee.” He looked sheepish. “I didn't remember how it worked until I found it in my notes this afternoon. It was right there all the time—Essence of Hamster.”

Emmy frowned. “What does it do?”

“It just speeds things up a bit. It won't work with anything permanent, you understand—not the Snoozer virus, alas—but with temporary conditions
it has quite a good effect. Miss Barmy may have even used it on you, when she was impatient for results.” He grinned, raising his bushy eyebrows. “It just has one unfortunate side effect, but that should wear off in, oh, about a week.”

“Side effect?” said Emmy. “What side effect?”

“It's harmless,” said the professor, “but just the teensiest bit startling.”

“Emmy!” cried her parents, as they swept through the door and gathered her into their arms. “You're safe!”

Emmy leaned back from their embrace and started to laugh.

Their faces were bright orange.

T
HE SKY WAS A VIVID,
clear blue, with small white clouds drifting slowly across Emmy's field of vision. The lake made little lapping sounds at the edge of the sand, and Emmy, flat on her back, was filled with a quiet gladness that almost seemed too big to express.

Just yesterday, Miss Barmy had almost succeeded in her plans. But she hadn't.

Instead, this morning, the Addisons had gone to church together. They had had a picnic lunch on the shore. And now Emmy's mother was lounging in the hammock, reading, and Emmy's father was busy getting the boat ready to sail.

So what if their faces were still orange? It would wear off. Emmy's face had gone back to normal the time Miss Barmy had used the same stuff on her.

Emmy wandered into the house and stopped in front of the picture of the old man in his pinstriped suit. William Addison still looked sad, but now she
knew why. His wife and daughter had died, and he had been stuck with Miss Barmy.

“You poor thing,” Emmy said to his portrait, wishing she could have given him something to make him feel loved—a hug, or maybe just a plate of cookies ….

And then all at once she remembered.

She
had
seen him before—in her parents' bookstore, in raggedy clothes, sitting and talking about books with her father, smiling as her mother brought out a plate of cookies, warm from the oven.

He had never told them his name was William Addison, or that he was rich, and a distant relative. He had come in disguise, to see what kind of people they were. And he had found out.

A feeling of pity welled up in Emmy. Poor, clueless Miss Barmy—she hadn't needed to use Lemming Drops and Prairie Dog Pus and who knew what else to get old William to leave her everything. All he had been looking for was friendship and a little kindness.

 

There was a rustling sense of expectation in the audience.

The old-fashioned casement windows of the Antique Rat had been washed until every pane
sparkled. The cages had been moved from the back room to the front and were stacked among the carved and painted antiques.

On a gilded table near the door were refreshments—little iced cakes, smooth round mints, baskets of nuts—and Brian, with a new haircut, was mixing the punch. The Rat, with a crumpled paper gripped in his paw, paced anxiously back and forth on the desktop.

“We haven't practiced enough … and the tenors still miss their cue ….”

“Don't worry, Rasty,” said Cecilia, patting his paw. “You're going to be
wonderful.
” She smiled at the nervous-looking rodents grouped by the desk lamp, every one of which was wearing a big red bow. “You're all going to be wonderful; I just know it.”

Emmy, seated on a blue velvet sofa and surrounded by her friends, clapped enthusiastically as Professor Capybara stood up.

“Dear friends and rodents,” said Professor Capybara, smiling as he looked around, “we are gathered here today to right an old wrong, and release those who should never have been kept captive. Brian, the first combination, please.”

Brian consulted a list in his hand and dialed a series of numbers on a cage whose sign read “Australian Water Rat.” A jaunty-looking rat wearing a blue neckerchief stepped out and took a bow to enthusiastic applause.

“The Beaver.”

Brian dialed a second combination, and the beaver ambled through the door of its cage, flashing bright orange teeth in a happy grin.

“The Chinchilla. The Chinese Pygmy Dormouse.”

Emmy leaned back as the list of names went on. She was looking forward to the next few weeks, when she could finally make some friends at school. And summer was coming, too. Maybe she and Joe could learn to sail.

“The Flying Squirrel,” the professor went on. “The Giant Rat of Sumatra.”

An exceptionally large and sullen-looking rat lumbered out of its cage and went immediately under the couch, out of the spotlight.

“The Jerboa.”

“The Kangaroo Rat.”

A small, very hoppy rodent came bounding out of its cage, leaped up onto Emmy's sofa, and sat
attentively with its feet straight out in front. After a while it looked shyly at the Endear Mouse.

The Endear Mouse hid its face with its paws.

“Oh, go on and play.” Emmy, amused, gave it a gentle nudge with her mind.

“The Prairie Dog,” announced Professor Capybara, flipping a page. “The Red Squirrel. The Spiny Pocket Mouse.”

They were almost through the alphabet. Emmy looked at the freed rodents, all sitting in the audience now. Every one of them wore a look of exhilaration. Every one of them seemed to be breathing a little deeper, a little more freely.

“The Striped Gopher. The Syrian Hamster.”

“Almost time for refreshments,” whispered Joe.

Emmy shook her head. “Not yet. Look at Raston.”

The Rat was as nervous as Emmy had ever seen him. Gnawing on a pencil, feverishly making small notes on a torn piece of paper, his mouth moved as if he was saying words over to himself, while his tail twitched spasmodically. Behind him, the little group of rodents looked frozen in place.

“Performance anxiety,” whispered Emmy, knowing the symptoms.

“The Tree Porcupine. And—the Woodland Jumping Mouse.”

There was sustained applause. The rodents embraced one another, wiping away tears. The Kangaroo Rat and the Endear Mouse, holding paws, hopped up and down on the sofa.

“But, Professor,” said the deep voice of the muskrat. “What do we do now? Where should we go?”

“An excellent question,” said Professor Capybara, beaming as if a particularly bright student had just spoken up in class, “and one you should all consider carefully. First, I will not abandon you. You may stay here at the Antique Rat for as long as you need to make up your mind.”

Mrs. Bunjee stood up on her chair. “Some of you smaller rodents may want to consider living in Rodent City.”

“We can always use burrowers,” added Chippy. “We're enlarging our tunnel system every year.”

Buck cleared his throat. “If you prefer country living, there's waterfront property along Grayson Lake and the creeks thereabouts. Just watch out for the wild rodents. They speak a primitive dialect, and they like to throw nuts.”

A golden hamster stood on its hind legs. “Can I go back home to Syria?”

“And wh-what about the ocean?” stuttered an excitable salt marsh mouse.

The professor spread out his hands. “If you want to go back to your native land, talk to me. In the meantime, though, if any of you would be willing to assist me in my research, I would very much appreciate it.”

There was a dead silence.

“What do you mean?” said the surly voice of the Giant Rat of Sumatra. “You plannin' to tie us down, an' lock us up, an' stick needles in us?”

The professor shook his head. “Not at all. I will never force you. But I would like to discover more about you rodents. Every one of you has a very special power; one that can be used to help, or to harm. To hold someone hostage, or to set them free …”

Raston moved to the center of the desk, clutching his sweat-stained piece of paper.

“We can discuss that later on, however. Now,” said Professor Capybara, “we conclude with a rodent version of ‘America the Beautiful,' written and conducted by our very own Raston Rat!”

There was a sudden hush. The Rat lifted a shaking paw.

Sissy smiled at him proudly.

Raston's shoulders straightened. He threw back his head. “Hmmm,” he began, giving the note. And then, in four-part harmony, the rodent chorus sang:

There was utter silence as the last note faded away.

The Rat looked around, uncertain. “I … I had a
third verse,” he said apologetically, “but the last line wouldn't scan ….”

The silence lingered a moment more. Mrs. Bunjee sniffled and blew her nose. And then the room exploded with whistles, paw stomping, and thunderous applause. The rodent choir began to cheer, too.

“Take a bow, Ratty,” said Emmy, prodding him.

Small eyes shining, the Rat grabbed for Sissy's paw. “I could never have done it without you,” he whispered, and they bowed together as the applause went on and on.

 

Emmy and Joe made their way to the refreshment table and stood by the open door, eating. The air was warm and fresh, and the little iced cakes were delicious. Outside, on the green, a white puppy ran, barking happily.

Joe nudged Emmy. “Look who showed up,” he murmured.

Perched on the windowsill, looking in, were two rats—one piebald, one glossy black.

“Have a mint, my precious tulip?” offered the black rat gallantly.

Miss Barmy crammed the mint into her mouth
and chewed, her furry cheeks distended. “That professor's a fool,” she said indistinctly. “Those rats were worth
millions.
”

“What do I care, my dainty cupcake?” said Cheswick Rat, nuzzling her. “I have you … that's all any rat could want.”

The piebald rat stiffened. “Get your nose off my ear this
instant,
” she said frostily.

“Oh, come now, my little chicken dumpling.”

“I'll chicken dumpling you, you old fool!” screeched Miss Barmy, unsheathing her claws.

With a yelp, Cheswick Rat leaped off the windowsill and took off across the grass. Miss Barmy, her claws outstretched, was close behind.

Emmy and Joe watched them scuttle across the green, their tails in the air.

“She wasn't much of a nanny,” said Joe thoughtfully. “Or even a decent human being. But you've got to admit, Emmy …”

“What?”

Joe grinned. “She makes an excellent rat.”