The Spindlers Read Online Free Page B

nose with Liza. It was, second of all—Liza blinked, and rubbed her eyes, and couldn’t believe it—wearing makeup . A thick band of red lipstick circled her narrow lips—Liza assumed the rat was a female, given her appearance—and clots of mascara darkened the tufts of fur above her sparkling black eyes.
    Perched on her head was what Liza could only imagine must be a wig of the rat’s own creation: It was made of bits and pieces of different materials, wire and thread and yarn and even some pale yellow hair Liza thought she recognized from the head of her old doll, Amelia. The wig was perched at a slightly rakish angle on the rat’s head, like a hat; two braids framed the rat’s narrow face.
    The rat was also wearing clothes . She wore a shawl of lace wrapped around her shoulders and belted at her waist with a bit of knotted rope. And she wore a skirt that appeared to have been glued together with bits and pieces of newspaper. The rat was not, however, wearing any shoes, and Liza saw her strange black feet and long black claws. Rather than letting her tail drag on the ground, the rat carried it slung over one arm, almost like a purse.
    Liza did not especially like rats. (Does anybody like rats?) But she thought this must be the most awful-looking rat she had ever seen in her whole life.
    The rat had bent down to scoop up a small paper hat, like the kind Liza used to wear as a little kid at birthday parties, which had been flattened.
    â€œYou ruined it,” the rat said reproachfully as she tried, and failed, to return the hat to its proper shape. “Who taught you to go around falling on rats and squishing on hats? Terrible, terrible. Must always be mindful of your manners.”
    â€œI didn’t mean to,” Liza said. “I tripped.”
    The rat sniffed. “Likely story.” She placed the now-deformed hat on top of her hideous wig, making the animal look even more bizarre than before. Liza unconsciously took a step backward.
    â€œNow, now, no reason to be scuttling away from me,” the rat said. “I’m not going to eat you.”
    This was not very comforting to Liza, as she had not been considering the possibility of being eaten until the rat tried to reassure her. But then she did consider it, and felt extremely queasy.
    Still, she said, “I’m not afraid,” and tried to keep her voice steady.
    â€œYou’re not?” The rat looked pleased. “Oh, how wonderful. How very, very wonderful. I really do hate it—everyone always shrieking and running—and reaching for brooms—brooms!” She stopped and peered at Liza. “You’re not planning to poke me with your broom, are you?”
    Liza was unprepared for the question. “N-no,” she stuttered out.
    â€œOr bop me over the head?”
    â€œOf course not,” Liza said.
    â€œOr stick its handle in my eye? Or try to tickle my nose with its bristles?”
    â€œNo, no, no.” She began to feel offended. “I would never.”
    The rat appeared satisfied. “Then you may have it back, I suppose.” With a surprisingly graceful movement, she bent forward at the waist, snatched the broom from the ground, and handed it back to Liza with the arm—or paw, or whatever it was—around which her tail was looped.
    â€œNow let’s have a good look at you.” Once again, the rat doubled forward and snatched up a plastic lunch box, which she must have been carrying before Liza went tumbling into her. The rat fished around inside it for a moment before extracting a pair of glasses, which she then placed ceremoniously on her nose. The lenses made the rat’s eyes appear golf ball–size.
    Liza let out an excited shout. “Where did you get those?” she asked. She knew those wire-frame glasses, with the masking tape that kept the bridge intact.
    The rat immediately whipped them from her nose. “I’ve always had