The Spindlers by Lauren Oliver Read Free Book Online Page A

cocked her head to one side, and listened. “What did I tell you? Just on time! You can hear the music now.”
    It was true: Suddenly Liza could hear music. Faintly, delicately, like the sound of bells and wind through the grass and distant flutes, all woven together. It seemed to be coming from somewhere on their right, and before Liza could protest, the rat had plunged into the mossy forest and started toward it.

Chapter 7

T HE P ALACE G ATE
    A s they pushed farther into the dense forest, Liza had more and more trouble keeping up. The vines seemed to snake around her feet, and the branches to snatch greedily at her vest. She tried to use the broom to clear a path, but even so she found herself stumbling, and whiplashed by thorny bushes.
    The rat chanted, “Slowpoke, slowpoke,” over her shoulder, for the fifteenth time in two minutes.
    Finally Liza couldn’t stand it anymore, especially since she was moving as fast as she could. “Excuse me,” she said as she dodged a low-hanging branch, which was encased in a thick green shag of mildew. “I have a name, you know, and it isn’t slowpoke .” Her courage faltered somewhat as the rat turned around and stared at her beadily. “You can call me Liza.”
    The rat stopped walking. “Oh, pardon me, Miss Liza. I didn’t mean to offend,” the rodent cooed, giving a quick curtsy. “And I suppose it has never occurred to you to ask me for my name, even though here I am, scuttling around to lead you to where you are going?”
    â€œI—I—I—” Liza stuttered.
    â€œI suppose you didn’t even think I might have a name?” the rat huffed.
    â€œWell, I—I mean—” The truth was that it had not occurred to her that the rat would have a name.
    â€œHmph. I thought so.” The rat regathered her tail around one dainty wrist before flouncing off.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Liza said. The rat only sniffed. She was scampering more quickly than ever; Liza had to jog to keep up. “I’d like to know your name. Really, truly,” Liza said. “Cross my heart and hope to die and stick a needle in my eye.” She made a little X over her heart, and felt a small pulse of pain as she thought of Patrick.
    She remembered how he had once said to her, after a bad nightmare, You won’t let the spindlers get me, will you, Liza? And she had said, Cross my heart …
    The rat abruptly stopped walking. Liza stopped too, panting a bit.
    â€œMirabella,” the rat said, in her throaty, squeaky way. “My name is Mirabella.”
    â€œThat’s a beautiful name,” Liza said grandly, even though she thought it was a very odd name for an overgrown rat in a straggly skirt, wearing a grubby wig on her head.
    The rat leaned in a little closer. Her breath smelled of wetness and dirt, and Liza tried not to wince. “I came up with it myself. I had to; the other rats don’t believe in names. Everything is so uncivilized down here.”
    Liza curtsied deeply, staking the handle of the broom in the ground to balance herself. “Very pleased to meet you, Mirabella,” she said. “Liza Flavia Elston, at your service.”
    The rat looked almost ecstatic. She pinched two strips of newspaper carefully between two long, yellowed claws and mimicked Liza’s gesture. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Liza.”
    â€œThere.” Liza straightened up, laughing. “That’s all right, then. You don’t have to call me ‘miss,’ though. No one ever does Above.”
    â€œAbove …” A look of deep longing came over Mirabella’s face. She leaned forward, until her whiskers were nearly poking into Liza’s cheeks. “Tell me,” she said. “What is it like to live Above?”
    Liza was taken aback. “What do you mean?”
    â€œThe sun,” Mirabella said, clenching and unclenching her paws. “What is it like