Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat

by Lynne Jonell

  Miss Barmy—or the rat that had been Miss Barmy—stirred, sat up, and smoothed her paws over her stomach. She looked down at her brown and white patches and gave a little shriek. “Good heavens, I’m a piebald!”

  “That’s not so bad,” said Sissy. “At least you don’t have red eyes.”

  “Well? Kiss me!” Miss Barmy demanded. “I certainly can’t spend the rest of my life as a rat.”

  “That’s for sure,” said Raston. “You’d be a disgrace to the species.”

  Sissy grimaced, kissed Miss Barmy’s whiskered cheek, and stepped back to watch the transformation.

  The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the waiting silence.

  “Does it … usually take this long?” Miss Barmy asked, looking at her paws.

  The professor stroked his beard thoughtfully.

  “Kiss me again,” commanded the brown and white rat.

  Professor Capybara’s eyes never left the piebald rat as Cecilia kissed her again—and again. And then Miss Barmy began to wail—high, frightened squeaks that ran along Emmy’s nerves like the screech of scraping tin.

  “Shut her up, I can’t think,” said the professor irritably.

  Raston, Buck, and Chippy surrounded the rat that had been Miss Barmy and gagged her firmly.

  “Does the power wear off when it’s overused?” Professor Capybara muttered. “There’s something here I don’t understand. Why doesn’t Cecilia’s kiss have any effect?”

  “I know why.” The thought was inside Emmy’s head—but it was not her own thought. She looked down at the Endear Mouse, who was pressed against her side.

  “Wait,” said Emmy. “The Endear Mouse knows.”

  The professor looked up, startled.

  “Why, Endear?” Emmy asked. “Tell me.”

  The Endear Mouse laid its paw in her hand and looked around the circle.

  “She can’t turn around,” Emmy said, repeating the words that came to her.

  “What?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “How does the mouse know?”

  Voices mingled in confusion. The professor raised a hand for quiet.

  “The Endear Mouse can read thoughts when it touches someone,” Emmy explained. “It held on to Miss Barmy the whole way here. That’s how I knew where to look for the Gerbil Extract.”

  Miss Barmy’s thin rat lips curled.

  “But ‘can’t turn around’? What does that mean, I wonder?” the professor murmured.

  No one spoke. Emmy quietly held the mouse’s paw.

  “Okay,” she said at last, looking at the faces above her. “I think I’ve got it. The Endear Mouse doesn’t really understand how it all works—”

  “None of us completely understand,” interrupted Professor Capybara.

  “—but it’s kind of like there’s only one direction Miss Barmy goes. She can get smaller and rattier, all right, but when she’s got to become more human, and grow …”

  Everyone turned to look at the piebald rat. Miss Barmy was grooming herself, looking unconcerned.

  The professor nodded slowly. “I see. It’s like a twoway street, with something blocking one lane. The traffic can only go south, never north.”

  Sissy cocked her head. “So what does that mean? Some pathway inside her is all clogged up and won’t let my kisses work?”

  “Maybe it’s all those wormballs,” said Joe. “That would clog up anything.”

  “Joe may be right,” said the professor, glancing at the charascope. “An undissolved mass of resentment and hate might well have the effect of blocking any kind of growth.”

  “So Miss Barmy stays a rat?” Joe asked. “For good?”

  “There is always the hope that she will change back,” said the professor. “But it is likely to be a long and painful process.”

  “What? Dissolving the hate?” said Emmy.

  “And learning to love,” said the professor.

  A howl broke from Cheswick, and he pounded the bars of his cage. “Let me out!” he cried. “I can give her love! I can turn her around!”

  Miss Barmy rolled her ratty eyes above her gag.

  “You can try,” said the professor, releasing the latch. “But I suspect it will take more than your efforts alone.”

  “Dearest Jane,” said Cheswick, sliding to his knees, “I’ve loved you ever since fifth grade, when you let me cheat for you.”

  Joe snorted.

  Cheswick, busy untying Miss Barmy’s gag, went on. “And in high school, you were my beauty queen. I helped count the votes, remember? I made sure you won.” He pulled off the gag with a flourish.

  “What?” Miss Barmy’s furry face was outraged. “Did someone get more votes than me?”

  “Well, yes—your cousin Priscilla. But you deserved to win, you were the prettiest.”

  Miss Barmy preened.

  Brian shrugged. “Good looks aren’t everything.”

  “They’re practically nothing,” said the professor briskly.

  Cheswick ignored them. “And you should have gotten old William’s money and the house on the lake. I wanted to help you, so you would know how much I truly cared!”

  Cheswick kissed Miss Barmy’s hairy paw and continued all the way up to her shoulder. “Oh, my precious tulip, I looooove you,” he sang. “Your hair, like the softest silk—”

  “Her hair isn’t like silk anymore,” Joe reminded him.

  “Your furry pelt, so brown and white and tan …”

  “This is going to take a while,” muttered Chippy.

  “Try kissing her again!” said Cheswick, his pale face alight with hope. “She’s got to be full of love now!”

  “I sure hope this is the last time,” said Sissy, and she kissed the brown and white cheek.

  They all looked at Miss Barmy. If anything, she seemed to look even rattier.

  “I’m afraid, Cheswick,” said the professor, taking out his pipe, “that your love is not what’s required. Jane Barmy herself must learn to love.”

  “Then let me be a rat, too!” cried Cheswick, clasping his hands. “Do this for me, Maxwell. If my love must be a rodent, then shall I be anything but a rat?”

  The professor looked at him. “What about the shop?”

  “The shop was only a way for me to get close to Jane,” Cheswick said desperately. “If I have Jane Barmy herself, why would I need the shop? You can have it. Here—I’ll even put it in writing.”

  The professor lit his pipe, puffing till he had it going steadily. “And what about Brian?”

  “Who?” Cheswick looked momentarily confused. “Oh, him.”

  “Yes, him,” said Professor Capybara sternly. “Your nephew.”

  “He’s not really my nephew,” said Cheswick Vole. “I just told them that at the orphanage. Cheap labor, you know. You can get rid of him, if you like.”

  Brian looked stricken to the bone.

  The professor flung an arm over Brian’s shoulders. “This is a fine young man,” he said, “with a big, generous heart. I would be proud to call him my nephew; I only wish he were! He will have a job and a place here for as long as he wants.”

  Brian’s kind, homely face brightened. He looked at the professor with gratitude.

  “Come on,” said Cheswick, speaking directly to Raston. “Do it. Just a little bite, though—you don’t have to take my arm off.”

  Raston looked at the professor.

  Professor Capybara took the pipe out of his mouth. “All right,” he said quietly. “If you’re sure.”

  Cheswick held out his arm and shut his eyes. The Rat nipped it lightly.

  As a man, Emmy thought as she watched the transformation, Cheswick Vole had looked rather ratty. But as a rat, he was undeniably handsome. His eyes were dark and bold, his muzzle well whiskered, and his coat was a glossy black.

  Buck untied the gag from around Miss Barmy’s furry head. She sat up on her haunches, trotted over to Cheswick, and sniffed.

  “Not bad,” she said grudgingly. �
�But listen up, Cheswick. I’m not living in Rodent City with a bunch of chipmunks.”

  “You haven’t been invited,” said Mrs. Bunjee stiffly.

  “Chessie.” Miss Barmy leaned her head next to his and showed her buckteeth. “I know some people across the way. They’d be glad to take us in.”

  “All right,” said Cheswick, looking dazed but elated. “Anything you want, my little rosebud, my precious, my Janie Wanie—”

  “Can it,” said Miss Barmy succinctly and swarmed down the desk leg. Cheswick followed, seemingly enjoying his newfound agility.

  “Watch out for cats,” said the professor genially, holding the door open.

  “Ah, go kiss a duck,” said Miss Barmy as she skittered off.

  They all looked out the window as the two rodents scampered over the green. A white curtain fluttered at an upstairs window across the way, followed by a terra-cotta blur and a sudden crash.

  “I HATE rodents!” The screech carried clearly through the still summer air.

  “Mrs. Bee,” Joe said.

  “Mother! NO!” came a thin cry from the ground.

  Emmy looked at Joe, realization dawning. It wasn’t Mrs. Bee, like the insect—it was Mrs. B., for Barmy! And Mr. B. was Jane Barmy’s father, who must have taught her to whittle!

  “No wonder she’s the way she is,” said Joe, “with a mother like that.”

  Emmy nodded in instant agreement. But the professor shook his head.

  “Jane Barmy had two parents,” he said, puffing away as he stared out the window. “She had a loving example before her, as well as a vicious one. She made her choice.”

  The professor pointed with the stem of his pipe. “Looks like Cheswick and Miss Barmy made it across, and perhaps even into a tunnel. They’ll be fine. But now—”

  “Now we set the rodents in the back room free?” asked Brian.

  The professor put a hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Not yet, son. No, we have another task first. Joe, Emmy, it’s time for you to grow.”

  “Yes, Monica, it’s quite a story.” Studley Jackell flashed his teeth for the camera. “Joe Benson has been found, but questions about his disappearance still remain. Where is Cheswick Vole, the prime suspect in the case? And what is his connection to Miss Jane Barmy, nanny for the Addison family, who is now under investigation by the police?”

  A photo of Miss Barmy flashed on the TV screen at the police station. Emmy and Joe, side by side in a waiting room, watched with rapt attention as they munched on pizza that Officer Carl had brought.

  “What indeed, Studley. I understand that a classmate of Joe Benson’s, young Emmy Addison, was also at risk?”

  “That’s right, Monica. On a tip from Professor Maxwell Capybara, police arrived at the Addison home to find lawyers drawing up papers that would give their nanny, Miss Jane Barmy, complete control—”

  Emmy shuddered. It had been a narrow escape. But Professor Capybara had things well in hand. Once they were back to full size, he had called the police. And he seemed to know just what to say.

  “But what should we tell them?” Emmy had asked as he hung up the phone. “They’ll have all kinds of questions!”

  The professor had chuckled as he took out his pipe. “Why, if I were you, I’d tell them the truth,” he said. “That’s always best, don’t you think?”

  The police had come at once. The professor had gone to talk to Emmy’s and Joe’s parents himself. And now the toughest decision Emmy had to make was whether she wanted pepperoni or sausage.

  “And so police are continuing to search for partners in crime Jane Barmy and Cheswick Vole,” intoned the voice of Studley Jackell, as photos of Cheswick and Jane appeared again.

  “They look furrier now,” muttered Joe through a mouthful of crust.

  “A truly amazing story, Studley. But even more amazing is the personal service you get at Ron Ronson’s Used Cars …”

  Officer Carl, the policeman who had picked them up, came into the room and rubbed his mustache. “Okay, you kids. I want you to repeat what you told me to Sergeant Harrison here. You know, about the rats.”

  Joe put down his pizza, and swallowed. “There were these rats, see, and they shrank Emmy and me—,” he began.

  “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.

  THE 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.