by Lynne Jonell
The Endear Mouse hid its head. Emmy laughed softly.
“You’re awfully brave,” she whispered in its ear. “If I were your size, I’d be afraid of a toilet, too.”
“So what do we do now?” Emmy lay on the floor of the playroom, her chin propped up on her forearms, and stared into the dollhouse. The Endear Mouse, tired out, was asleep in the attic. The Rat, rumpled but awake, looked thoughtful.
“First thing, we need to get you out of here before they put you away. If you were my size, it’d be easy,” said the Rat, climbing out of the dollhouse. “But as big as you are—”
He stopped. Emmy turned.
There was a tiny sound of metal on metal. There was a click from the doorknob. And then there were footsteps inside Emmy’s room.
“Quick, Ratty,” whispered Emmy, hunkering down to the floor. “Shrink me.”
The Rat looked at her, alarmed. “But it’s the third bite—we don’t know what will happen!”
“But I’m full size again. Just do it!” Emmy said, nearly sick with dread—and the Rat did.
It felt the same as before. Emmy shut up just like a telescope, going down like a very fast elevator. It was with intense relief that she saw she was no smaller than the Rat—and still herself, and fully visible.
“Quick! Over here!” Raston beckoned with his paw, and Emmy scuttled underneath a chest. She kicked up a dust ball in her path and sneezed.
Footsteps shook the floor. Emmy felt the vibration throughout her body. Step, step, clunk. Step, step, clunk. Miss Barmy’s cane made a bone-jarring thud.
“Emmaline.” The voice was pitched low. Emmy shrank back farther beneath the chest, hugging her shoulders.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” sang Miss Barmy in a playful tone. “Time for nice little girls to go somewhere special.”
Emmy backed up farther, shuddering. She couldn’t get far enough away from this evil woman. Back, back, into the dark—
“Ouch!” yelped the Rat as she stepped on his tail.
“Who said that?” cried Miss Barmy. The metal-tipped shoes came closer, closer—and stopped. There was a listening silence.
Emmy’s dread was suddenly crowded out by an idea. A big idea that came to her all at once, complete and inspired.
“Ratty,” she whispered in his ear, “say something else. Say it loud.”
The Rat’s eyes reflected yellow in the dark. “Are you insane?”
“Just do it!” hissed Emmy, and the Rat obeyed.
“GET LOST, BARMY BABY!” he screamed.
The words rang, echoing from wall to wall. Miss Barmy’s feet came closer. Her knees touched the floor—her hands—and last of all, the nanny laid her cheek on the rug and peered under the toy chest, her eyes searching the shadows.
“Emmaline.” Miss Barmy’s voice was calm, soothing. “You don’t really want me to get lost. You want me to find you. And I’m close—yes, I’m very close to finding you—”
She reached a hand beneath the toy chest. The huge fingers, bloody, gauze wrapped, came nearer, wiggling, probing—
“Now!” whispered Emmy in the Rat’s ear. “Bite her, Ratty!”
“No way!” Raston’s whisper was agitated. “The first bite won’t shrink her, and I’ll never get a second bite in before she goes after me with a broom, or her shoe, or something—”
Emmy groaned. “Do it NOW!” She slapped him on the rump.
The Rat, startled, leaped forward with his mouth open, collided with Miss Barmy’s index finger—and bit down, hard.
Miss Barmy let out a sound like a train whistle, loud, high, and piercing.
And then she shrank.
“Grab her!” yelled Emmy. “Hold her down!”
“But that was just the first bite!” protested the Rat, scrambling after Miss Barmy. He caught her easily and held her against the floor, struggling and kicking.
Emmy came running with a shoelace. “You hold that end,” she said briefly. “Here—wind it around her legs—”
“I’ll get you for this!” screeched Miss Barmy. “You’ll never get away with it—you vicious little worm—”
“Pull her arms back tight,” directed Emmy. “That’s right—now over her mouth.”
The Rat’s paws moved nimbly through a series of intricate knots. “I’m glad all those Scout meetings in Herbifore’s room were good for something,” he muttered. “Let’s see—square knot, half hitch, bowline …”
Miss Barmy’s shouts were muffled as the shoelace effectively gagged her. The Rat tied a last firm knot and sat down, scratching his head.
“I don’t get it,” he mumbled. “How come she shrank with the first bite?”
“She answered you back, remember?” Emmy leaned forward. “That’s when I knew—if she could understand rat speech, you must have bitten her once already!”
“Never,” said the Rat, making a face. “She tasted awful. I would have remembered.”
“Maybe you were too little to remember.” Emmy began to pace, thinking aloud. “Maybe it happened long ago, when Cheswick Vole first brought the rodents to Grayson Lake. Maybe—”
Miss Barmy lay perfectly still. Her eyes glittered.
“Is that true, Miss Barmy?” Emmy stood over her. “Is that when Raston bit you? Were you helping Cheswick steal the rats?”
“O wahih eye wah!” said Miss Barmy.
Emmy loosened the gag.
“So what if I was?” repeated Miss Barmy belligerently. “I was only trying to get what was due to me. I only wanted what should have been mine!”
“What was that?” asked the Rat, curiously.
“This house! The Addison fortune!” She glared at Emmy. “Old William may have been your great-great-uncle, but he was my first cousin twice removed. My mother was an Addison … she was old William’s housekeeper—”
“I never heard that,” the Rat said.
“I grew up in this house, but unlike William’s daughter, I had to work. For years I had to be a nanny to other rich little girls. I hate rich little girls!” she cried, her face growing purple with fury. “But I never forgot I was an Addison. I never forgot that this should have been my house, my money …”
Jane Barmy tossed back the hair that hung wild about her face. “I came back after Cheswick told me about the rats. When old William’s daughter drowned, I took care of him …”
Emmy shuddered.
Miss Barmy continued, a mad light in her eyes. “I tried Essence of Hamster and Lemming Drops and Prairie Dog Pus on him. I thought I had done enough, but then he left everything to your parents! To you!”
Emmy felt sick. Her eyes fell on Miss Barmy’s cane, which had clattered to the floor when she shrank. The carved faces looked more pleading than usual, and Emmy swallowed, avoiding their gaze. Was one of them old William? There was a blank spot that had been meant for Emmy’s face someday, she knew ….
A sleepy Endear Mouse poked its head out of the dollhouse attic at a sudden noise of chattering from the windowsill, followed by several thumps and the sound of scurrying feet. Chippy, Buck, Mrs. Bunjee, Sissy, and Joe skidded into the playroom—and stopped dead at the sight of a tiny Miss Barmy, tied up with a shoelace.
“Well, well,” said Joe. “This is an interesting development.”
“SO YOU’RE STILL IN DANGER, then, Emmy,” Buck said soberly.
Emmy nodded, looking around the circle at the serious faces of her friends. “My parents are going to sign papers with the lawyer this afternoon, and then they’re leaving town. So even if Miss Barmy’s not around—”
“Emmy could be locked up by suppertime,” said the Rat grimly.
“Not if she stays little,” said Chippy.
No one said anything for a moment. Emmy soothed the Endear Mouse, who had run to her.
“She could live with us in Rodent City,” said Buck. “Couldn’t she, Mother?”
Mrs. Bunjee shook her head. “A visit is one thing, but she can’t stay little forever, and neither can Joe. His pare
nts must be sick with worry,” she added severely, looking at him over her whiskers. “Pawball is all well and good, but it shouldn’t come between children and their parents.”
Joe looked abashed.
“There’s one more thing,” said Emmy, feeling her stomach tighten as she looked at Miss Barmy. “Where is the Extract of Gerbil?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Miss Barmy’s face was lumpy with spite. “It might be hidden away where you’ll never find it. Or it might already be in the food your parents are going to eat tonight … or their toothpaste, or their water glass, or their breath mints.”
Rage and fear surged in Emmy like a river rising. As she struggled for control, she knew exactly what her blood would look like under the charascope now.
Mrs. Bunjee, her whiskers bristling, put her paws on her hips. “That’s about enough out of you, Miss Bummy, or whatever your name is. Our Professor Capybara will get a proper answer from you, or I’m very much mistaken. Buck, you’re the biggest—you carry her.”
Buck nodded, adjusting the straps on his harness. “All right, Mother. Chippy, Joe—tie the lady on.”
“What?” Miss Barmy bared her teeth. “This is ridiculous. I am not going anywhere on a chipmunk. Release me! I demand—”
“Gag her,” Buck ordered.
“Yes, sir.” The Rat snapped into a perfect Cub Scout salute, and tightened the shoelace around her mouth again.
“Mmpff! Rmmff!” came from Miss Barmy.
Emmy stroked the Endear Mouse between the ears, calming herself by an act of will. She had to think. If Miss Barmy refused to tell where the Extract of Gerbil was, then perhaps—yes—perhaps there was another way.
“Chippy,” said Buck, “you carry Emmy. Mother, can you manage Joe?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Bunjee answered, already pulling another harness from a little pack and tossing it to Chippy. “I’m not feeble yet.”
Emmy patted the Endear Mouse on the back, urging it forward. “Can you take a little more weight, Buck?”
Buck shrugged. “Sure. Endear doesn’t weigh much more than a dandelion anyway.”
Miss Barmy, trussed like a turkey, strained against the shoelace, her eyes furious above the gag. The Endear Mouse perched behind her, gripping her waist tightly.
But the mouse’s eyes grew troubled. It let go of Miss Barmy’s waist and inched backward.
Emmy shook her head. “Hang on to her, Endear. It won’t be for long.” She got on Chippy’s back and strapped herself in.
Buck stood on his hind legs. “Buckle up, kids—here we go!”
Chippy bounded up—chair, desk, windowsill—and Emmy’s head jerked back with the sudden motion as they vaulted through the air. Shaken, she gripped the harness more tightly.
“All right back there?” Chippy spoke over his shoulder.
Emmy looked over the ledge. It was a long way down.
“We’re all right.” Joe, a little breathless, leaned over Mrs. Bunjee’s back. “Just think of it as a roller coaster, Emmy.”
“Whooaaa!” The cry was torn out of her mouth as Chippy sprang off the window ledge into thin air. Emmy’s throat clenched as she looked down at the lawn far below and the oak leaves on branches that looked impossible to reach.
Chippy scrabbled with his claws and barely gripped the tip of a branch. It bent under the sudden weight, and Emmy swung upside down.
Blue sky—hot sun—leaves with thick veins waved overhead, and a green caterpillar as thick as her arm paused in its munching to stare at them. Then they were right-side up again, and safe on the sturdy part of the branch. Emmy started breathing again.
“Whew!” Chippy wiped his forehead with his paw. “I forgot to calculate for the extra weight!”
“Careful,” warned Buck, from the next branch over. “That was a near thing.”
“Too true,” said Chippy. “All right, you rats?”
“All—right—” wheezed Raston, gripping a branch for dear life. Sissy nodded rapidly several times, her eyes tightly shut.
“All right, then—onward!” said Chippy, and leaped again.
Oh, help, Emmy thought as she felt Chippy’s hind legs bunch. And then they launched into the air—rising, falling, landing with a bump—another spring, another heart-stopping landing, another jump.
Miss Barmy flew past, clinging desperately to Buck’s harness, her chin dropped in a soundless shriek. Emmy laughed, suddenly exhilarated. Up, down, leap and land—now that she was used to it, riding on Chippy’s back was like a thrilling roller coaster that went on and on. She loved the rushing wind through her hair, and the soaring feeling at the top of each leap, and the green smell of the leaves as they brushed by her face. It might be fun to be a chipmunk.
A last, rolling leap. A dizzying scamper headfirst down a tree. A rush across a lane to the front door of the Antique Rat—a scratching at the door—and they were in.
“Well, well, who have we here?” The professor, kneeling on the floor, untied Miss Barmy from Buck’s back. The Endear Mouse jumped away with a look of relief and ran to Emmy’s arms.
“Bad—bad lady—bad—” came the thought, like a whimper in Emmy’s mind.
Emmy held the little mouse close and thought a certain thought with all her strength.
The Endear Mouse twisted in her embrace and looked up, its eyes bright and alert. It sent another thought back—and Emmy laughed aloud.
“Is that all of it?” she asked.
The Endear Mouse nodded happily.
“Good,” said Emmy. She moved to the still trussed Miss Barmy, slid a hand into the nanny’s left-side pocket, and pulled out a little vial. Brian’s lettering was still visible on the tiny label.
“Mmmmmff!”
Emmy ignored the nanny. “Here’s your Extract of Gerbil,” she said, holding it out to the professor. “It shrunk some, I guess—but it’s all there.”
Professor Capybara nodded with deep satisfaction and tucked it safely away. “I am so very relieved, my dear,” he said, setting Emmy and Joe on the desktop.
The rodents swarmed up the desk legs. Brian, who had been in the back room, shouldered through the velvet curtain holding a cage. And the professor picked Miss Barmy up by the shoelace ends and began to cut her bonds with nail scissors.
“Now really, Miss Barmy,” he said, setting her on the desk blotter, “you mustn’t play around with rodent powers like this. Just see how you’ve shrunk yourself!”
“It’s not my fault,” she said icily. “I know these rodents have unusual powers—but I never dreamed that Emmaline would use them against me.”
The nanny fished a tiny mirror out of her pocket and made an attempt to smooth her hair, tangled from the wild ride through the treetops. “You may not be aware of it, Professor, but Emmaline has severe mental problems, well documented by the school psychologist. They have an opening for her at the Home for Troubled Girls. You’ve heard of it, I’m sure?”
The professor looked at her with distaste. Brian set Cheswick’s cage on the desk with a clank.
“Jane!” Cheswick Vole’s voice squeaked as he caught sight of Miss Barmy, and he rattled the bars of his cage. “Oh, Jane, my precious, we’re the same size now. Think how happy we could be together.”
“Stop blathering,” snapped Miss Barmy, “and tell me how to get bigger!”
“She’s the one,” said Cheswick, pointing at Sissy as Brian set his cage on top of the desk. “She gives you a kiss, and then you grow.”
“I should have known it would be something disgusting.” Miss Barmy looked at Sissy coldly. “Very well, then, hurry up, can’t you? And don’t slobber when you do it.”
Sissy looked at her doubtfully. “But I don’t want to kiss you.”
Miss Barmy reared back. “Professor,” she hissed angrily, “make her do it!”
Professor Capybara leaned back in his chair. “I’m very much afraid,” he said to the ceiling, “that I do not have the right to make her do anything.”
Miss Bar
my laughed coldly. “I’ve made people do what I want all my life, and it never bothered me.” She advanced on Sissy, her hands grasping. “Kiss me, you wretched rodent! Kiss me, or you’ll regret it—”
She grabbed Sissy around the throat. The professor sat up in his chair with a bang, but the Rat was quicker. He leaped forward, snarling.
Miss Barmy twisted beneath him. “Let go,” she screamed, clawing at his face—“Aaiiiiigh!”
Mrs. Bunjee gasped.
“Already shrunken, and bitten again,” said the professor, the joy of research lighting his eyes. “I’ve always wanted to watch what happens. Haven’t you, Raston?”
MISS BARMY LOOKED GHASTLY. Her face twitched—shifted—twitched again—
“She’s turning into a rat!” cried Cheswick. “Oh, my darling Barmy, stop!”
It was true. The transformation happened as they watched. Small pink ears grew triangular and large. Eyes grew beady and black. Miss Barmy’s carefully coiffed hair flattened, grew furry, and extended down her body in patches of brown and white and tan. Her elegant face narrowed, lengthened, and grew whiskers on either side of a pink, twitching nose. Last of all came the tail. Miss Barmy turned, trying to see what was happening to her, caught sight of it, and fainted dead away.
There was a stunned silence.
“She’s kind of cute like that,” said Raston at last. “Those little feet in the air and all.”
“I like her this way best,” said Joe cheerfully. “Completely silent.”
There was a sound of sobbing from the cage. “Oh, my Barmsie,” sniveled Cheswick. “Oh, Janie, darling, my sweetheart …”
The professor rubbed his hands together. “Fascinating. Simply fascinating. The way her hands changed to paws! And that little twitching nose!” He reached for a pad of paper and began to make notes.
“But Maxwell,” quavered Cheswick, “surely you aren’t going to leave her that way?”
“I suppose we can’t,” said the professor absently, still writing. “Cecilia, would you kiss her now, please?”
Emmy looked from Sissy to the professor. “So Sissy’s kiss will turn her back from a rat to a human?”
“Yes, yes, it should. Cecilia and Raston each counteract the effects of the other.” Professor Capybara set down his pen and looked up.
