Free The Bag of Bones by Vivian French

they’ll be dead as doornails. Deader than . . .” His voice faded away as he saw the tears begin to roll down Loobly’s cheeks. “Erm — that is — maybe some of them won’t be as dead as all that.”
    Quick to seize the opportunity, Marlon nodded. “Loads of rats here, kid. Palace is heaving with ’em. Like rats, do you?”
    Loobly smiled a watery smile. “Ratties is my friends. Was always kind to Loobly. Nicer than peoples.” She pulled the pickled rat out from her pocket. “See? Poor Ratty. Was almost dead like doornut. But getting better.”
    Marlon very much doubted she was right but was too tenderhearted to say so. Instead he concentrated on his task of getting Loobly safely hidden away from Buckleup Brandersby and Truda Hangnail. “Just think,” he said encouragingly, “you’ll be able to rescue loads of his merry little mates if you work in the kitchens.” Loobly’s face brightened, and Marlon added hastily, “Make sure nobody sees you at it, kiddo.”
    Loobly’s eyes widened. “Can tippytoe. Nobody sees Loobly on tippytoe.”
    As she tiptoed toward the palace by way of demonstration, the back door was flung open and a red-faced cook came storming out, waving a wooden spoon. In front of her scurried an undersize boy in an oversize apron who cannoned into Loobly with such force that he knocked her over. A string of sausages sailed up in the air and was caught by the cook with a triumphant grunt. Grabbing the small boy by his ear, she was about to haul him back into the kitchen when her eye fell on Loobly. “Oi! What do you think you’re doing out here? There’s a heap of pans waiting to be washed. Get back in that kitchen this minute!”

    And before Loobly had any opportunity to protest, she was whisked inside with the now sniveling boy, and the door slammed shut behind her.
    Marlon inspected a claw in a casual manner. “See how it’s done, kid? One orphan, safe and sound.”
    Alf gazed at him in admiration. “How did you know the door was going to open at that exact moment, Uncle Marlon?”
    “Intuition, kiddo,” Marlon lied. “And now we’d better fly.”
    Alf, delighted to be included in the plan, puffed up his very small chest. “Sure thing, Unc. Let’s hit those crones!”
    His uncle cuffed him, but not unkindly. “You said it, kid. Let’s fly.”
    And they flew.

Evangeline Droop wasn’t enthusiastic about rats when she was her usual height; in her present circumstances, being only a little taller than the rat in front of her, she was terrified. She screamed — then slapped her hand in front of her mouth, horrified at what she’d done. Fortunately, Queen Bluebell was in the middle of a spasm of nonstop sneezing, and the scream went unheard.
    “Now, now,” the rat said reproachfully, “that’s no way to treat a guy.” He grinned at Evangeline. “Busy this afternoon, are you?”
    “Er . . .” Evangeline was quite unable to think of a suitable reply. A voice answered for her.
    “What you got on offer?”
    The rat blinked. There was something strange about this voice, something that made him feel edgy and uncomfortable. It was also a voice that expected an answer.
    “Erm . . . us rats are having a big meeting,” he said without enthusiasm. “Thought the young lady here might like to come with me.” He nudged Evangeline in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “Just the two of us.”
    Evangeline swallowed hard. She knew that voice; it was Truda Hangnail’s. It must have been Truda who had been whispering with Mrs. Cringe a moment or two earlier. Evangeline’s heart began to beat much too fast, and without being aware of what she was doing, she edged a little nearer to the rat.
    “What kind of meeting?” Truda insisted. “What’s up?”
    The rat had had enough. “What’s it to you, lady? I’m talking to the pretty one. Taken a fancy to her, I have, and seems like she feels the same about me. So keep your nose out of our business,
if
you don’t