Emmy and the Rats in the Belfry Read Online Free Page A

they were not lined up neatly anymore. Three cookbooks lay on their sides, and Raston was bent over a fourth, open to a page titled “Delicious and Decadent—Desserts to Die For!” Crisscrossing the page were small, smudged pawprints the color of bacon grease.
    Emmy groaned aloud. “Get in the backpack , Ratty!”
    The Rat looked up, his paw resting on a line of type. “Can I take this cookbook with me?”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œJust this page, then?” he begged. “Look! ‘Whip until frothy’! ‘Whisk in vanilla sugar’!”
    â€œCrikey,” said Joe, coming up behind and looking over Emmy’s shoulder. “Is that rat drool on the page?”
    â€œ Get—in—with—Sissy! ” Emmy pushed the protesting rodent through the backpack opening.
    â€œLemon zest!” cried the Rat in ecstasy. “Almond paste! Italian chocolate , Emmy! Oh, I never knew, I never knew!”
    Emmy zipped the pack closed over his head, jammed the cookbooks back on the shelf, and turned just as her mother entered the kitchen.
    â€œMom? Is it okay if I go with Joe to the Antique Rat? The professor needs us to help him with something. One of his experiments, I guess.”
    Mrs. Addison nodded slowly. “If it’s to help the professor, you may go. But are you sure your room is clean, this time?”
    â€œI’m positive ,” said Emmy.

4
    â€œP ROFESSOR CAPYBARA ?” Emmy pushed open the door of the Antique Rat, and a bell jingled faintly as she stepped into the dim interior. She looked past the marble-topped tables and carved wooden cabinets to the far side of the store, where two figures hunched over a burning flame.
    â€œIs that Emmy?” The shorter—and fatter—of the two turned, revealing a beaming face above a white beard. “Are Cecila and Raston with you?”
    â€œRight here,” Emmy said, unzipping the top of her backpack.
    â€œI came, too, Professor,” said Joe, clumping after Emmy to the improvised laboratory, a counter full of beakers and microscopes and stacks of yellowing paper.
    The taller, lankier figure straightened, resolving itself into Brian, the professor’s teenage assistant. “There are two of them, Professor—do you still need me?”
    Professor Capybara flapped his hands at his assistant, waving him away. “You go on, Brian. Emmy and Joe will help me.”
    Brian ruffled Emmy’s hair, gave Joe a thump on the back, grabbed a bag off a chair, and strode out the back door.
    â€œWhere’s he going?” asked Emmy, as a sudden grinding roar told her Brian had started the ancient old truck he used for deliveries. She laid her backpack carefully on the counter, and Raston poked his nose out of the opening.
    â€œBrian’s gone to the Children’s Home,” said the professor absently, turning down the flame beneath a triangular glass flask, half full of a bubbling golden liquid. “He visits there every week, brings treats and such—all right, Cecilia, are you ready?”
    Cecilia followed her brother onto the counter and smoothed her rumpled whiskers. “Ready, sir.”
    Professor Capybara consulted a piece of paper with a scrawled formula. Then he inserted an eyedropper into a test tube and squeezed the rubber bulb.
    â€œWhat’s in the test tube?” Emmy crowded in close to see.
    â€œSome people,” said the professor, “might call it a catalyst. But this is something a little more special—a ratalyst .”
    â€œBut what does it do?” asked Joe.
    â€œIt helps to store Sissy’s kisses.” Professor Capybara squeezed the eyedropper over the flask. Three silver drops glistened and fell, swirling into the golden liquid and turning it a deep orange.
    â€œI don’t get it,” said Emmy.
    The professor, red-faced from bending over the hot Bunsen burner, wiped his forehead. “Well, Raston’s bites have some