by Lynne Jonell
Of course Chippy had taken her doll clothes, but he’d thought Emmy had given permission. This was different. This was actually planning a burglary … This was using little girls to do something really bad, something he didn’t dare to do himself.
The girls lowered the necklace over the side of the display case. The gems caught the light that filtered in through the blinds, flashing a brilliant, vivid blue. It was a living color, velvety and deep, and Emmy caught her breath. All at once she longed to be eighteen so she could wear them.
It was time to stop this burglary. Emmy swung her legs out of the pipe and jumped to the carpet.
The little girls dropped the necklace in their surprise.
Ana stepped forward, coughing. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“My name’s Emmy Addison, and I’ve come to rescue you. Climb in the pipe.”
The two smaller girls, apparently used to taking orders, obeyed at once. The next girl glanced back at Ana, who made a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh.
“That’s just great,” said Ana bitterly, draping the necklace over her shoulders. “What are you going to do? Fight Cheswick and Mr. B all by yourself?”
Emmy stared at her.
“Because if that’s your plan, you can count us out. Cheswick has very big claws, and Mr. B is basically a giant, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Emmy said. “I’ve come to rescue you, and I’ve got a plan, and friends helping. All you have to do is drop the necklace and come with me.”
“I’m not leaving without the necklace.” Ana glared, her eyes bright with fever.
“Oh, yes, you are,” said Emmy grimly, grabbing for the silver chain. She got hold of the clasp, heavy and smooth, and tugged hard.
Ana pulled back even harder, the necklace wrapped around her body. She had more size than Emmy, and more leverage, but she was shivering, and coughing, and altogether looked so ill that Emmy couldn’t find the heart to pull anymore.
“What is wrong with you?” Emmy demanded, slacking off. “I thought you wanted to be rescued. Do you like stealing for Miss Barmy?”
“I hate it!” Ana cried passionately. “But she’s got Merry, and if I don’t bring back the necklace—”
Smash! The window exploded in shattering glass. Something twanged through the metal blinds, thumped against the display case, and landed on the floor, spinning gently.
Shaken, Emmy glanced at the soccer ball. That hadn’t been part of the plan.
An alarm started to beep, loud and insistent. Outside, there came the faint sound of a distant siren. Ana, completely overcome, let the necklace slip and started to sob.
Emmy put an arm around Ana’s shoulder and urged her up into the pipe. “We’ll rescue Merry, too,” she whispered. “But one thing at a time.”
All at once there was light—dazzling after the dim jewelry store and the long dark pipe. The tiny girls spilled out of the transit pipe and huddled on the ground, frightened and confused. The siren was suddenly louder, and somewhere nearby, Cheswick’s voice echoed furiously, as if he were swearing inside a tin can.
Emmy tumbled out last of all. She squinted against the brightness, and watched the lunch pail jump as something—Cheswick, by the sound of it—bounced and banged at the inside walls. Mr. B’s feet, massive in leather work boots, turned around and around as if he, too, might be confused.
“Listen.” Emmy’s voice was low but commanding as she gathered in the troubled girls. “Follow me through the pipes on the ground, as fast as you can.” She looked sharply at Ana. “You—come last. Keep them moving.” She glanced at the lunch pail; Mr. B’s hands were fumbling at the buckles. “Let’s go!”
Dark. Cool metal beneath her hands and knees, hard copper rounding overhead, and the ragged sound of breathing. Then light again—brief, bright, a space between the pipes—and back into dark and endless crawling, with the soft, urgent pat-a-pad of four sets of hands and feet behind her.
Light once more: a flashing of red and blue, a glimpse of shiny police shoes, and then another long, dark passage inside curving walls, a metallic smell that Emmy could almost taste. Just as she was wondering if it would ever end, she saw a round of light ahead, unimpeded by another pipe, and a row of toes in a sandal.
“Quick!” breathed Meg at the pipe’s end.
Emmy scooted out onto a huge red bandanna, and pulled the rest of the girls out like candies from a roll. She grasped Ana’s hands last of all. The palms were hot with fever.
Red cloth billowed overhead, gathered in a peak, and five small bodies jumbled together. Emmy got a knee in her chest and an elbow in her mouth, and then there was a sudden swift rising as Meg stood up. Emmy felt it in her stomach, violently, and one of the little girls started to cry.
“Hush, hush,” Emmy soothed, “it’s all right, it’s my friend Meg, she’s taking us away, it will be over soon.” They swayed together like babies in a cradle.
“Stop! Yes, you!”
The swaying halted with a sickening turn as the deep official voice spoke. Emmy waited, trembling herself but whispering “Hush, hush,” over and over, like a prayer.
“Let’s see what you’ve got in your kerchief,” the stern voice demanded. “Can’t hide anything from the Law, you know. Got to make sure no one’s taking anything away from the scene of the crime.”
Frozen, unbelieving, Emmy watched as the corners of their swaying hammock opened to reveal blue sky, leaves a mile off, and suddenly a massive nose, a brown mustache, a blue hat with a badge.
“They’re just my dolls,” said Meg in a high, breathless voice.
The giant face relaxed into a smile. “They sure do make them realistic nowadays. Do they say ‘mama’ if you squeeze them?” He put out a loglike finger.
“No.” Meg hurriedly closed the kerchief.
“Hey, Carl! Stop interrogating little girls and get over here—we’ve got a breakin to investigate!”
“Nobody broke the window on purpose, officer.” It was the anxious voice of Mr. B. “This boy was playing, and he kicked a soccer ball through the window. That’s all.”
“What? This little feller? I don’t believe you. How old are you, sonny?”
“Six,” said Thomas’s pure, innocent voice. “But I’m almost seven, sir.”
Emmy peered out between folds of cloth. Thomas, looking particularly sweet and pudgy, was giving his Cub Scout salute.
“A six-year-old,” said the policeman, with emphasis. “Sir, you have got to be kidding. I don’t know a six-year-old who could even get a soccer ball across the street, much less with enough force to break a window.”
“But you should have seen his kick! It was like a cannon!”
The officer snorted. “Let’s just stick to the facts, buddy.”
“Hey, Andy! Look at the counter! It was a breakin, after all!” Officer Carl’s voice floated out from inside the jewelry store.
“Whaaat?” The policeman named Andy moved closer to the shattered window, keeping a firm grip on Mr. B’s arm. They both peered within.
Behind their backs, a black rat’s face poked out of the transit pipe and looked both ways. Then, with a rattle and a scamper, Cheswick Vole streaked across the broken sidewalk and disappeared into the crack beneath the art-gallery steps, trailing silver and diamond and a flash of sapphire blue.
Emmy stood on the laboratory counter at the Antique Rat and gazed at Sissy where she lay, still unconscious. “If only I’d wished for her to get better,” she said heavily. “The flies and the sandwich didn’t really matter.”
Brian filled an eyedropper with milk from a cup. “There, now, little girls. Didn’t they give you any breakfast? Open wide …”
Lisa, Lee, and Berit stood with their mouths open, like baby birds, gulping milk from the eyedropper. Then Brian fed them bacon crumbles and one Cheerio each, and helped them into a drawer padded with dish towels. Exhausted from their labors, they fell asleep almost instantly.
A few feet
away, Professor Capybara took Ana’s temperature, his face grave, and tucked her into a notepaper box lined with cotton balls.
“I, too, wish Cecilia would recover,” he said quietly. “This little girl is ill. It would be easier to treat her if she were larger.”
Emmy looked at him bleakly. Professor Capybara would never say it, but if Ana died because Sissy couldn’t make her grow, Emmy knew whose fault that would be. The frozen feeling, which she had almost forgotten in all her activity, was still there. It settled in the center of her chest, a solid hard weight, colder than sleet.
She gazed dully at the charascope. She didn’t need to look at a sample of her blood to know that the whiplike thing with thorns was getting larger.
Meg leaned her elbows on the counter. “Maybe Sissy’s still unconscious, but I think she’s looking better. She’s not so pale under her fur.”
“I believe you’re right,” said the professor, peering at her closely.
“Merry …” Ana lifted her head from the cotton pillow.
Emmy made an effort. “Don’t worry,” she said, speaking with simulated cheer. “We’ll find her somehow. Is she in the attic of the shoe shop?”
Ana coughed deeply. “Yes, but Mrs. B caught her.”
The professor looked suddenly alarmed. “Mrs. B? The old lady with the purse?”
“Calm down, Professor,” said Emmy anxiously. “You can’t fall asleep—not while Sissy and Ana need you.”
“Maybe Ratty and Joe and Buck have already rescued her,” Meg put in. “Thomas said they were gnawing a hole in the window.”
Ana’s eyes shot open. “Gnawing?”
“Well, they’re rodents, that’s what they do,” said Emmy.
“They’re your friends? Not Miss Barmy’s?” Ana rasped.
Emmy thought of the last time she had seen the three rodents, and hesitated. Were they still her friends? “Well, they’re not Miss Barmy’s friends, that’s for sure.”
Ana shook her head, agitated. “The chipmunk—I saw him taking orders from Miss Barmy. I told Merry—not to trust them—” A violent series of coughs made further speech impossible.
The professor drew a handkerchief gently up to Ana’s chin. “Here, Brian, give me that eyedropper. I’m going to calculate a dose to bring down her fever. Grind this pill into fine dust, will you?”
“Put me in your pocket, Meg,” said Emmy. “Let’s go find out for sure.”
Carl the policeman was there before them. Standing on Mr. Peebles’s porch with a hand clamped on Thomas’s shoulder, the officer was telling the lawyer what had happened. Thomas, who seemed to have the situation well in hand, was looking up at the officer with his best blue-eyed gaze.
Meg asked politely if she could visit Joe in the attic. Mr. Peebles nodded, distracted, and in moments Meg was in the house and up the stairs.
But the attic was empty of rodents.
“Look across,” said Emmy urgently. “Did they get in?”
Meg peered through the half-open window to the house across the way. Emmy climbed from her pocket to stare at the pulley and basket, hung on a wire that stretched between the two houses.
“See that dark spot beside the frame?” Meg pointed. “That must be the hole. And they must have gone through it; otherwise, why aren’t they here?”
“So all we have to do is wait for them to come back,” said Emmy. She sat down on the windowsill, her legs dangling.
Time passed. After a while, the girls saw Mr. Peebles leave with the policeman and Thomas, presumably to visit the scene of the crime. The lawyer waved up at Meg, calling something or other, and she waved back.
They waited some more. Emmy swung her legs and wondered if they were having trouble finding Merry. No, of course not! Three rodents would certainly be able to sniff out one human, no matter how small.
But what if Merry had refused to go with them? What if Merry was afraid of rodents?
Emmy looked at the basket again. It looked sturdy … but it was a long way down.
“Don’t even think about it,” said Meg, following her gaze. “Joe and Ratty and Buck can take care of themselves. And I wouldn’t let you ride in that basket for a million dollars.”
Strangely enough, now that Meg had put it into words, Emmy wanted to argue. “If the basket was strong enough to carry rats, it’ll be safe enough for me.”
“But you don’t know what’s happening in the attic,” Meg pointed out. “It might be dangerous.”
“If it’s dangerous for me, then it’s dangerous for Merry, too. And she’s only five.”
“Emmy! Don’t!”
“I’ll just peek through the hole,” Emmy answered as she hung from the windowsill. “Just to see what’s going on. That’ll be safe enough.”
She dropped onto the short overhanging roof, ran across the asphalt shingles, and reached for the wire looped between two pulleys. “Haul it in, will you, Meg?”
Meg reached out of the window and tugged on the lower wire. The basket came smoothly up to the wall of the house. Emmy climbed in.
She was very high up. The light breeze, so refreshing near the ground, was stronger at this level, and the basket swayed. The wicker seemed sturdy enough, but there were disconcerting gaps in the weave. Emmy gripped the basket and kept her eyes straight ahead, determined not to look down.
“Watch out for the power line!” Meg’s voice was full of worry.
Emmy grinned a little. It was a telephone line, insulated of course, and it was a good two feet away. Meg sounded just like a grown-up.
“Keep your hands inside the basket!” Meg added as she pulled on the upper wire, and the basket began its slow, inching way over the yawning gap.
Emmy looked down only once, and that glimpse was enough to make her head swirl. She closed her eyes until she felt the basket bump lightly against the far pulley. She had arrived at the Home for Troubled Girls.
The hole in the window frame had clearly been gnawed; the wood around the opening looked as if it had been attacked by a hundred tiny chisels. Emmy put her head cautiously through, her hands rubbing the rough tooth marks, and saw rows of tall, cluttered shelves stretching almost to the ceiling.
The attic was quiet. Was Merry hiding somewhere? Emmy looked back at Meg, waved briefly, and wriggled through the hole.
She paused on the windowsill, catching her breath. This was where Ana had stood looking out. This was the window from which she’d dropped the note. There was history in this place, a feeling of long, prisoned hours, and Emmy shifted uneasily.
The sill was as broad as a sidewalk. Emmy paced it slowly, scanning the room. Ana must have had a way to get up and down … Yes, there was a shoelace ladder, hooked under the shelf by the wall, just like the one they’d used in the jewelry store.
Well, this was easy enough. Emmy descended carefully, her hands gripping the wide, soft shoelaces, her feet finding the swaying rungs. Though how she would ever find Merry in this huge place, she didn’t know.
Emmy stopped with one foot in the air. At first she heard nothing but the tick of settling wood, the soft creaking that all houses made if you were still enough to listen. Then the sound came again, so quiet she almost didn’t hear it at all. It was a sob.
Emmy crept along the floor, listening, watching, her eyes searching all directions. She stopped frequently, her head cocked.
Shoes were everywhere, in boxes and out, along with mounds of assorted junk. Emmy skirted a pair of red high-tops and a black patent leather pump so shiny she could see her reflection. The dust was thick on the floor, and it was all Emmy could do to keep from sneezing. She looked up once, into the high, dim reaches of the ceiling, and grew dizzy.
Sticking out from behind the next shelf was the toe of an old-fashioned lizard-skin pump, two shiny green purse straps, and half of a big upside-down bowl with holes. A colander, that was it—her mother used one to drain spaghetti. Emmy walked stealthily—the sobbing was very close now—and stopped.
Huddled on the open floor,
just past the shiny purse on its side, was a tiny girl dressed in white. The sun slanted through the window and lit up her wispy brown hair, turning it to gold. As Emmy watched, the little girl sniffed, drew the back of her hand across her nose, and looked up.
“Oh!”
Emmy was at her side in an instant. “Hush,” she breathed. “Come with me.”
“Where’s Ana?” The little girl’s mouth trembled.
“I’m taking you to her. Come on.”
Tears welled up in Merry’s eyes. “I can’t. My feet won’t move.”
Emmy frowned, stood her up, and tugged. Merry almost fell over, but her feet remained stuck to the floor.
“What, did you glue them?”
Merry shook her head. “Not me,” she whispered. “Her.” She pointed upward.
With dread, Emmy followed Merry’s gaze. Above the lizard-skin shoes rose two shins like aged trees. Knees, big as boulders. A landscape of red and orange cloth, a withered hand hanging; and far away was a face, eyelids like tissue paper, mouth slack.
Mrs. B was asleep in her chair. Emmy’s heart beat twice, hard, with a boom like thunder.
“We’ll untie your shoes,” Emmy mouthed as she fumbled at the laces.
“I tried that already.” Merry sniffled again.
The laces were tightly knotted. Merry must have yanked and yanked at them. Emmy stifled an exclamation of impatience and looked around her for something she could use. If only she had Meg’s jackknife!
The shiny green purse was on its side, its clasp open. Just inside, Emmy could see a jumble of makeup, bottles of nail polish, a comb, a tube of Super Glue …
There. Emmy grabbed a nail file, metal and jagged, and sawed at the laces. Above them, Mrs. B mumbled in her sleep. Her clawed hand twitched, and Emmy worked faster.
At last she was through. Carefully, gently, she pulled Merry’s feet out and left the tiny shoes stuck where they were.
“Bye, bad rats!” said Merry gleefully, pressing her face to one of the colander’s many holes.
There was a sudden scuffle from within, as if something inside had woken up. Emmy stared at the colander, aghast.
