Read The Spindlers for Free Online Page B

mussing and fussing.” The rat sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to apologize. We can’t very well go on like this. Not with those useless eyes of yours—just like a pair of stones, aren’t they?”
    â€œMy eyes aren’t useless,” Liza protested.
    â€œHow many claws am I holding up?” the rat said. Of course Liza had no idea, so she gripped the broom and remained silent. The rat tittered. “See? I told you. All human eyes are useless. You see only what you expect to see, and nothing more; and what is the use of sight like that?”
    Liza thought about saying that up until thirty seconds ago, she had been staring directly at a giant rat in a newspaper skirt, which was assuredly a sight she had not wished to see. But she needed the rat’s help, infuriating though the animal was. And Liza was used to squashing down her feelings. So she said nothing at all.
    â€œBut it is too dark in here—far too dark, yes,” the rat continued gaily. Then she turned and called out, into the long tunnel of darkness, “Can we get some light, please?” Her strange voice echoed and rolled into the blackness. “We’ll be as quiet as church mice and as grateful as gidgets!” Then the rat whispered to Liza, “Although, of course, church mice aren’t really quiet at all. They’re the most awful gossips.”
    For a moment they stood there.
    â€œIs something supposed to happen?” Liza asked after a short pause.
    The rat sighed again. “Infuriating creatures—truly. Overly sensitive, if you ask me, and with no sense of the changing times. The formality they require …” Then the rat trumpeted out, “Illuminate, elucidate, bring forth the light; for friends, or strangers, and those seeking sight.” She added, in a murmur, “I always feel so silly saying that.”
    Suddenly the lanterns began to glow again, and Liza exhaled. Unconsciously, she had been holding her breath.
    â€œBetter?” the rat asked, watching Liza with her black eyes narrowed.
    â€œMuch better.” Liza was immensely relieved.
    The rat spoke to her once again in a whisper: “For all their airs and demands, they really are extremely useful. Yes; yes; very useful.”
    â€œWho’re they?” Liza asked. She was by this time convinced that the rat was—despite seeming friendly enough—quite deranged.
    The rat blinked at her. “The keepers of the light, of course. The lumpen.” And she pointed to one of the small, glowing lanterns suspended directly above their heads.
    For the first time, Liza noticed that curled at the very bottom of the glass dome was a tiny, pale, crescent-shaped thing, faintly glowing.
    â€œOh!” she cried out, delighted, because she saw that this tiny figure was the source of the soft, pale white light. “A glowworm!”
    The lights above them flickered dangerously.
    â€œShhh!” the rat hissed. “The light-bearers go only by their official name—the lumer-lumpen. They’re extremely sensitive about titles,” she added in an undertone.
    â€œI didn’t know that glo—um, lumpen were sensitive about anything.” Liza strained onto her tiptoes to get a better look. The glowworm certainly didn’t look sensitive, or easy to offend. In fact, it didn’t look as if it would feel much of anything at all: It was a small, pale lump, totally inert.
    The rat scoffed. “That is a common misunderstanding about the lumpen. They are supposed to be very unfeeling—some would even say cold. But believe me—they are extremely sensitive. All geniuses are, of course.”
    â€œGeniuses?” Liza repeated doubtfully, still staring at the whitish lump.
    â€œProdigies! Geniuses! Artists! The lumer-lumpen are some of the most sensitive, the most brilliant, the wisest creatures on the earth or inside of it. There is more wisdom in the head of a lumpen than you