The Spindlers Read Online Free PDF Page A

them,” she said.
    â€œYou haven’t,” Liza said. She reached out and wrenched them from the rat’s paw. “Those are my father’s reading glasses.”
    â€œI tell you, they’re mine!” the rat said shrilly.
    But Liza had just caught a glimpse of another familiar item inside the rat’s lunch box, and she grabbed it and squatted down to rifle through it.
    â€œThese are Patrick’s socks!” she cried out, extracting the socks that had been the source of all her trouble: the blue ones, embroidered with turtles. “And my missing math homework! And Patrick’s baseball!” She wrapped her father’s glasses in the socks and tucked the bundle carefully into the right pocket of the vest she was wearing over her long-sleeved shirt. The baseball went in the left pocket of her pajama pants; she heard a small rip in the fabric as she wedged it down and against her leg. The homework she left in the lunch box. She doubted very much that Mr. Toddle would accept as an excuse that a rat had stolen it. She didn’t recognize the other things—several more socks, a rusted key, a saltshaker, and a purple hair scrunchie—but she bet that they, too, had been taken from the world above. “You stole them.”
    The rat bent down and jerked the lunch box away from Liza. She snapped and latched it closed, and then straightened up again. Liza stood as well, so the rat would not tower over her.
    â€œI did no such thing!” the rat replied in a tone of deep indignation. “I bought them fair and square from the troglods.”
    â€œThe what ?” Liza said.
    â€œThe troglods.” The rat paused and peered at Liza. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the troglod market.”
    Liza shook her head.
    â€œMy dear child!” the rat exclaimed. “Where have you been? It’s just around the corner. It’s late, but with any luck we might still snatch a sight or two. Come along. Follow me.”
    The rat was already bustling off.
    â€œNo!” Liza burst out, more loudly than she intended. The rat stopped and looked at her quizzically. “I—I don’t have time.” She closed her eyes and imagined Patrick’s face, smudgy with chocolate—his grass-stained knees and the gap between his bottom teeth.
    The rat scurried closer again. She seemed to notice Liza’s sudden change of mood. “Is something wrong?”
    â€œYes,” Liza confessed. “Something is very wrong. You see, I’m looking for my brother. That is … I’m looking for my brother’s soul. I mean to say …” She sucked in a deep breath. She found it difficult to speak the words, particularly since she was speaking them to an overgrown rat in a wig and paper hat, but she didn’t see what other choice she had. “I mean to say that I am looking for the spindlers’ nests.”
    The rat let out a tremendous yelp, jumped forward, and clapped a furry paw over Liza’s mouth. “Shhh,” she hissed. “You must be very careful. Very careful about saying their name Below.”
    Liza jerked away, spitting out the taste of dirty fur, which reminded her, unpleasantly, of her aunt Virginia’s mixed-meat pie.
    â€œSo you know of the spindlers?” she said.
    The rat worried her tail anxiously between two paws. Her large black eyes darted nervously back and forth. “Of course I know of them. Everybody knows of them.” She scrutinized Liza for a moment and then, seeming to come to a decision, leaned closer, so she and Liza were practically whiskers to nose. “It is very difficult,” the rat resumed, in an anxious voice, still watching Liza intently. “Very hard to know nowadays—sides and spies. Spies and spindlers—everywhere, everywhere.”
    Liza felt a chill. “Please,” she said. “Do you know where the spindlers make their nests?”
    The rat gave