Malcolm at Midnight, page 4
Billy pulled Malcolm deep into the pile. "Here. Burrow."
Malcolm stuck his head in a fur-lined boot. Phew! An odor even worse than that time Jovahn took off his sneakers in class enveloped Malcolm. His eyes watered. He popped his head back up, gasping for air. Aggy was there now. She shoved him back down with a clawed foot. "Burrow!"
Malcolm burrowed.
He heard Aggy wiggle behind a cabinet in the back of the closet.
Pad, pad, pad. Footsteps.
Malcolm's nose twitched. Lemon cleaning solution and pencil shavings. He knew that smell. Ms. Brumble? It hadn't occurred to Malcolm that Ms. Brumble belonged anywhere else but with her feet up on your desk in Room 11, Mr. Binney. A flashlight beam stabbed the darkness of the small room. Malcolm held his breath.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, the hall light went out. The footsteps retreated. A few minutes later, there was the now familiar buzz and click of the school's locks. Still, Malcolm waited until Jesse stuck his head in the boot and called, "You okay, Malcolm?"
Malcolm crawled out. Jesse and Billy and Aggy already stood on the floor next to the pile. "What is this place?" he asked. Crumb, he could still smell boot stench. He licked the back of his paw and made a face. Was it stuck to his fur now?
Aggy's tongue flicked. "It's one of our Niches. A safe spot in the building to hide. To store our equipment. The lankies and nutters call this one the Lost and Found."
Billy piped up. "It's practically our vacation home. Our playground! No one ever comes in here. And it's all fleecy soft." She took a running leap into the pile.
"Cheez. How impulsive," Jesse scolded. Then he grinned and somersaulted in, too.
Aggy cleared her throat and Billy peeked out from a fleece hat. Jesse popped his head out of the pile. "We're coming, we're coming."
Aggy pointed to something scratched into the wall near the bottom of the door frame. "You should know this, Malcolm. These are Marks. To lankies or nutters, they mean nothing. But to critters, well, they can literally save your life."
Malcolm peered at the one on the Lost and Found door jamb. It looked like this:
Aggy continued, "This is our Mark for safety. If you ever see a grid." She drew her claws across the floor.
"It means the Niche has been found and is unsafe. Be very careful."
Jesse and Billy had finally come out of the pile of clothes. They watched Aggy's foot. "And if you see this." She drew a circle with two arrows.
"Get out—fast," Jesse said.
"Most critters who make that mark—well, it's the last thing they do alive. A sacrifice for the rest of the critters of the Academy," Billy added quietly. There was a moment of silence.
Malcolm cleared his throat. "The lanky who peeked in here, she was ... Ms. Brumble?"
Aggy nodded and Jesse groaned. "The Grumble of the Brumble!"
Aggy said, "Ms. Brumble is the night custodian. She takes care of the building, until about eleven o'clock. Be very careful around her. Very careful. She's not exactly an enemy—because she has the school's best interest at heart, too—but, in many ways, we're at odds with her. It's why we're at Tangerine Alert Levels right now. Jesse here stole her cell phone a few weeks ago—"
"For Academy communications!" Jesse cried. "And she lost it first."
His sister gave him a playful punch. "She dropped it in the hall. And you stole it before she could even turn around to pick it up. Now she's been extra nosy ever since."
"We need it!" Jesse sulked, swatting Billy back. "We need it to move the Academy into the twenty-first century." He sounded an awful lot like Grumble of the Brumble himself.
Aggy sighed. "It is useful. Still, she's been looking for it after hours—that's probably why she was poking around here."
Aggy considered and seemed about to say something, but before she could, Jesse leaped in front of her. "Not to change the subject, but, Malcolm—is that swillerific smell coming from you?"
Billy held her nose. "I didn't want to say anything before—you know, I have much better manners than my brother, but— woo-whee! You stink, Malcolm!"
Malcolm felt himself go pink around the whiskers. "It was the boot. The boot I burrowed in!"
Billy hooted. Jesse snorted with laughter. Malcolm looked to Aggy. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Don't look at me, Malcolm. I live with kindergartners every day. They're nothing compared to these two." Aggy cleared her throat. "Okay now. I think Malcolm's had enough for one night. Jesse, Billy, why don't you sound the All Clear for anyone else who was out in the building. I'll walk Malcolm back up to his room. Then I need to get under my heat lamp."
"Yes, sir—I mean, ma'am—I mean, reptile," said Jesse, cracking Billy up all over again. He and his sister scampered off toward the office, leaving the hall strangely quiet and almost lonely.
"What's a heat lamp?" Malcolm asked, trotting alongside Aggy. Malcolm had noticed that as the night went on, Aggy was moving slower and slower. He thought it was for his sake, but now he could see that she was stiff, too.
Aggy smiled. "I'm cold-blooded. So the colder the air is, the colder and slower I am. It's okay," she added at the concerned look in Malcolm's eyes. "I have my heat lamp, and you—well, you're warm-blooded and make your own heat. Besides, you're a rodent. Mice are hardy. Rats, too, for that matter. But I'm cold-blooded. Cold-blooded and old. Now, here you go." They had arrived at Room 11.
Aggy's comment reminded Malcolm about something else. Could he ask her? "Aggy, I can't help wondering. Why does everyone hate rats?"
Aggy sighed. "Oh, Malcolm. Rats are complicated. There was a rat in the Academy once. A long time ago. It didn't work out, but don't worry about it. It's nothing to do with you. You've got an amazing Knack—and a natural instinct. You showed that tonight."
Malcolm hesitated. "But—it's not only the Academy."
Aggy lowered her head so her face was even with Malcolm's. He stared into her orange eyes. "Malcolm. You'll do fine. Do what you think is right. That's all anyone can ask for." She scooted him a little with her tail. "Now, get back to your cage." Malcolm started into the room, then Aggy called after him, "Oh, and Malcolm?"
Malcolm turned. Aggy's mouth curled upward. "You may want to—what do you mammals call it? Groom a little before the next meeting. You do have a certain odor about you." Then she whisked her tail around and lumbered off down to the kindergarten rooms.
***
As he licked himself down in his cage, Malcolm thought about what Aggy had said. In a lot of ways, it sounded like what you had said, Mr. Binney, about being the fifth-grader you wanted to be. But both you and Aggy made it sound so simple. And so far, life at McKenna had been anything but simple.
And it was about to get more complicated. After what Malcolm assumed was the real Limp Lettuce bell, and after Malcolm finally felt like he wasn't polluting the air around him with his boot stench, he dug up Amelia's note. And as he did, he finally remembered something. Something that should have woken him up from his long nap before. Something you've probably already figured out, Mr. Binney.
The Academy handbook. And the Academy bylaws. Malcolm was pretty sure that right before Honey Bunny had tackled him and made him swear he was a mouse and not a rat, Malcolm had been reading—reading something very important.
Something like, "Never communicate with humans."
Oh, gristle. Being the rat he wanted to be was not going to be easy.
Chapter 7
The Nosh and Fodder Tour
Now, I know, Mr. Binney, that you're probably thinking that Malcolm should have admitted to the Academy what he had done, aren't you? After all, being truthful was part of being the fifth-grader—rat—Malcolm wanted to be. And it was the right thing to do.
But.
Well, Malcolm did consider it. And granted, in light of what happened later, it would have all worked out much better if he had. But here's what else he was thinking: Malcolm was thinking maybe the Academy would never know—I mean, really, how could they find out? Amelia was the only one who knew. And it wasn't like Amelia was going to tromp into another classroom, start chatting to that pet, and then blab about Malcolm.
And Malcolm confessing his mistake—at the third Academy meeting he'd ever attended, no less—well, wouldn't that solidify Honey Bunny's suspicion that Malcolm was a rat? Well, Malcolm was a rat, but not that kind of a rat—a no-good, not-to-be-trusted dirty rat fink.
Malcolm nibbled his stubbly whiskers, thinking about all this.
Finally, he decided there was nothing he could do right away, anyway. He might as well open Amelia's note.
Malcolm unfolded it, but it was too dark in the room. Rats don't need a lot of light to get around. They mostly depend on their sense of feel and smell and hearing. But you do need light to read, even if you have a Knack.
Malcolm folded the note back up. For lack of a better place, he tucked it in his cheek. Then, for the second time that night, he crawled out of his cage. He could see the hall night-lights were on. Maybe he could read it out there.
Malcolm slid under the space beneath the door.
And as soon as he stepped out into the hall, he was bowled over by Jesse James and Billy the Kid.
"Hey!" Billy the Kid said, skidding to a stop. "Malcolm! We were just coming for you. Now that Aggy's asleep, we're here to give you the unofficial tour. The Nosh and Fodder tour!"
Malcolm coughed. He had almost swallowed the note! He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Jesse butted in. "Uh-huh! Only we rodents understand the true art of nibbling, right? Right? Are we right? So we thought we'd come by to ask: Malcolm, have you ever heard of a corn dog?"
Billy pretended to swoon. "Oh, sweet driblets. Corn dogs."
Malcolm's stomach lurched and rumbled. It had been such a long time since he'd eaten. Was it only earlier that day he had turned down Amelia's graham cracker? What had he been thinking?
"Come on, Malcolm." Billy took off running. "Wait'll you try tater tots! Come on!"
Malcolm felt the note in his cheek. He considered spitting it out and hiding it in the hall. But what if someone found it? He didn't even know what it said. And Jesse and Billy were right. Nibbling was a passion of Malcolm's. So he stashed the note in his other cheek and scampered after them.
They went down the stairs and through a long hallway. The three rodents turned the corner and stopped abruptly at the entrance of a huge room. Rows of long tables spidered out on one side. On the other, gleaming silver counters and cabinets. A smell of deep grease, canned peaches, and ketchup nearly knocked Malcolm over.
"Behold," Jesse said, spreading his paws wide on the slightly sticky floor. "The Nosh and Fodder."
"The cafeteria," Billy said breathlessly.
"Spread out and explore," Jesse called. He launched into a flattened french fry. "Just don't eat so much we have to carry you home."
Oh crumblity-crumbs! Literally, the crumbs! Back by the garbage cans, morsels, shreds, specks, leftovers, scraps, driblets, and nubbins of every variety. Peas. Bits of taco shells. Muffin fragments. Grilled cheese crusts. And the smells. Malcolm didn't have names for them all but they swirled and danced in his nose—and he wanted to eat them all. He slurped up a little drool and realized his mouth was hanging wide open.
At this rate, Amelia's note would be too soggy to read. Malcolm had to find a place to hide it. Then he'd enjoy a little Nosh. And a little Fodder. He skirted around the first counter and headed toward the back corner. There, in the shadows of the kitchen, he banged up against a metal sliding door in the wall.
Ouch. Malcolm promised himself again he'd stop chewing his whiskers. Who knew whiskers were so important outside of a cage?
The sliding door was open a crack. Malcolm scooted through it and found a wire folding gate behind the door and a tiny room behind that. Boxes of cleaning supplies were stacked on the right side. Perfect. He nestled the note behind a plastic crate. Shredded taco cheese crumbs, watch out!
"Hey, Malcolm, where are you? Don't go..." Malcolm heard Billy's muffled voice, but he couldn't make out what she was saying.
"In here," he called. "I think it's some kind of storage room. The ra—guys—at the Pet Emporium were always talking about storage rooms—"
Just then Malcolm felt a hum through his paws. A motor under the little room kicked into gear. The floor clanged and creaked and, with a jolt, started rising!
"Hey! Help!" Malcolm cried. He ran to the door, but only in time to glimpse Jesse and Billy disappearing beneath him. He was going up!
"Malcolm!" one of them called. Then they slipped out of sight.
Up, up he went. After a minute or so, he passed by another sliding door. Then another. Would it ever stop?
But just as Malcolm thought he'd never get back to Room 11, the floor shuddered to a halt. In the darkness, Malcolm could see another folding metal gate, and then an identical heavy sliding door—that led to where? A dim light shone through a crack in it.
Gristle. Now what had he gotten himself into?
Malcolm instinctively froze, waiting to hear and feel and smell what was next. But it was quiet and all he could smell was the box of plastic sporks next to him. He'd have to venture out. What if someone missed him? An escaped pet—even a mouse—would be disastrous.
Malcolm took a deep breath and squeezed out. He immediately sneezed. A thick layer of dust coated everything. Malcolm looked behind him and saw a trail of his own footprints.
Where was he? Not anywhere that Aggy had taken him on his tour. He was a floor or two above all that. Ancient shelves lined these walls. Boxes and books crammed the floor. And it was eerily silent.
Suddenly, a shriek pierced the quiet. Malcolm jumped. What was that? Not any lanky or nutter. It didn't sound nearby, but Malcolm's passion for nibbling evaporated. He had to get out of there and back down to Room 11. Fast.
Malcolm scurried along the edge of the room. On the far side was a door. He took a deep breath and squeezed under it.
As he came out the other side, at first Malcolm thought he was in some sort of jungle. Stacks of broken chalkboards, overturned chairs, science lab tables lying on their sides, and empty file cabinets were all jammed together, covering the floor. Supplies, too. Boxes of chalk. Crates of hand sanitizer. The only light was an emergency exit sign hanging from the ceiling. It cast a dull red glow over the broken landscape.
It was cluttered, but Malcolm actually breathed a sigh of relief. Clutter meant lots of hiding places. Also, he saw that if you took out all the mess, this was a floor like the ones below that he had toured. He must be on one of the no-longer-used upper floors. So the stairs must be in the same location they were on the first floor, right? Malcolm headed down the hall.
As he stepped out, his paws stirred up the clouds of dust. Wafts of stale air and dampness swirled around him. Malcolm found himself running from the safety of one shadow to the next.
Scurry, scurry, leap. Pause. Pant, pant, pant. Listen. Once he thought he heard a basketball dribbling. But he realized it was his heart hammering in his chest.
And then—then he heard voices.
Malcolm froze. But there was no mistake. An urgent voice asked, "Did you see him? Why didn't you try to stop him?"
Malcolm held his breath and crept forward. Under a teacher desk with a broken leg. "Up the elevator?" he heard.
As Malcolm crept closer, the voices sounded louder, but hollower, too—like they came from far away. As he squeezed under the edge of the desk at the end of the hallway, Malcolm came face to face with a boxlike contraption under the window. He could feel the heat coming from it and hear the hiss of water being boiled into steam. A radiator. Malcolm had learned about radiators earlier that week.25
The voices were wafting through the floor under the radiator.
"We need to get him out of there!" Was that Aggy?
"Oh, it's my fault," he heard her continue. "I should have warned him. Do you think he made it?"
Malcolm realized with a start that she was talking about him. He swelled a little at the concern he heard in her voice.
"Suspicious, if you ask me," said a deeper, gruffer voice. Honey Bunny. "What's he doing up there anyway? Already he can read, and we catch him going upstairs on purpose. It makes me wonder. Maybe it's not the first time he's been up there. Maybe he came from up there. We know Snip is working on something. Then he shows up. Maybe they're in cahoots."
There was that name again. Who was Snip?
"Oh, nonsense," Aggy said. "Have you seen the cage they have for him in Room Eleven? He's doted on. He's a pet. No, it's my fault."
Malcolm stumbled up to the radiator, pressed his face near the pipe, and called down, "Hey, I can hear you. I'm up here. I'm okay. I'm—I'm finding my way back down."
"Malcolm, are you all right?" He heard Jesse's voice float up.
Then a growl from Honey Bunny: "Malcolm, get down here. You don't know what you're doing—"
Just then, the hairs of the back of Malcolm's neck stood on end. Malcolm didn't know how he knew, but something was different. And it was then that he saw it. Carved into the paint of the radiator. The Mark.
Get out—fast.
At that exact time, a throat cleared behind Malcolm. Then it spoke—hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I think you might stay."
Malcolm's mouth went dry. He turned, but whoever or whatever was behind him was well hidden. Then he heard all four voices from the pipe—Billy, Jesse, Aggy, even Honey Bunny—scream: "Malcolm, run!"
Chapter 8
Snip
Malcolm didn't wait for a second opinion or even a second breath. He aimed himself at the red glow of the exit sign over the stairs and he sprinted. He leaped over a rolled-up map and spun out on a piece of chalk. Behind him, whatever it was, was bigger. Malcolm could hear that it took different routes than he did. But it stayed close.
Finally! The stairs. Malcolm tore down the first set, skidding wide on the turn of the landing. As he did, he threw a glance over his shoulder.
