Rat Song

Chapter 6

"Where is it?" William crouched and cast his gaze around the room. No paws scuffled under the bed. No hairless tails peeked out from behind the toy chest. No droppings dotted the floor. Where had that awful sound come from?

"Where's what?" Emma's brow wrinkled with confusion, her smile gone.

"The rat." William tiptoed inside her room and rummaged through her toys. His movements awakened nothing but a cloud of dust. Still no sign of whatever had made that sound.

"Don't be silly. There aren't any rats, just Mr. Bear." Emma scurried over to her bed where the button-eyed stuffed animal sat perched atop her pillow with his fur just as raggedy as always. She waved one of his dark brown paws, deepening her voice. "Don't mind me."

William waved back, forcing his lips into a smile. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Bear. You haven't had any unwanted visitors, I hope?"

Emma turned the bear's head from side to side. "Nobody's been here but me and the pillows." What she said next was not in the deep, friendly tone she used for Mr. Bear but something far too sharp for someone so young. "See? I told you so."

"You about done, boy?" Father's voice rumbled from the kitchen. The ale had slurred his words, but it couldn't mask the impatience boiling beneath.

"Just a minute!" William hollered, his pulse quickening. Searching for whatever had made that sound could wait. Father couldn't. "Sorry for disturbing you, Mr. Bear. If you'll please excuse us, I'd better get Emma to the table. There will be plenty of time for you to play later."

William braced himself for Emma to stomp her feet and refuse to leave. Instead, all she did was nod and tuck Mr. Bear under the covers. "Okay."

She trailed behind him without so much as glancing back at her room. Whatever irritation had sharpened her words was gone, leaving only a quiet reticence. She slipped into her seat without saying a word to her parents.

"Thanks for joining us, sweetie," Mother said. She dared not breathe a sigh of relief, but William saw the way she eased against the back of her chair.

"It's about time." Father downed the last of his ale, slamming his tankard on the table. "What took you? Any longer and I would have had to fetch you myself."

"It's not her fault," William blurted out. "I thought I heard a squeak in her room." That wasn't the only reason for the delay, but the last thing he needed was for Father to interrogate Emma about why she'd been so reluctant to join them.

"I told you it was Mr. Bear." Emma stabbed a parsnip with her fork. Though her share of the meal had gone cold, not a single word of complaint passed her lips as she ate her supper.

"He's a toy, sweetie." Mother's eyes darted around the kitchen as if she expected a whole colony of rodents to emerge from the walls. "Should we tell the Farnsworths? Folks might need to start the harvest early if the rats are getting into the fields again."

"Best not to until we know for sure," Father said. "You know Henry fusses over the harvest as it is. If I tell him those damn pests are back, he'll have us all kneeling in the fields from dawn until dusk."

"I could try to find it," William said. "I looked around a bit while I was in Emma's room, but I didn't want to take too long in case her food got cold." Or in case Father grew tired of waiting for her and decided to drag her to the table himself.

Emma kicked him under the table. Though the chunk of bread in her mouth kept her from protesting verbally, her expression made her displeasure clear. Even when the town had been forced to slaughter rats by the hundreds to protect their fields as best they could, she'd always wept whenever one was slain.

"That's a wonderful idea," Mother said. "After you're done, maybe you could tidy up Emma's closet, too. With how long she's been gone, she's grown so much I need to see which of her clothes I can tailor to fit her and which ones I can sell at the market."

"And I expect us to be fully stocked with firewood when I come home from the forge," Father said. His gaze burned with the heat of coals brightened by a blaze. "If you're going to be frittering away the day at home, the least you can do is chop enough to last us through the Harvest Festival. I trust you can handle that much."

"Yes, Father." As long as he stayed out of the forge, that was fine by him. Callouses covered William's hands not only from the hours he spent playing the guitar but also from the countless logs he'd split with his father's ax. Though his arms were nowhere near as strong as his father's, they'd both developed lean muscles that could make quick work of such a menial chore.

Besides, Emma was having a hard enough time adjusting to being home as it was. The last thing either of them needed was another rat infestation.

Hamelin had barely survived the last one.