Simon Thorn and the Wolf's Den by Aimée Carter Page A

I—I’m Simon,” he said. “This is Winter.”
    â€œSimon,” murmured the rats surrounding them. “Winter.”
    â€œTrespassers,” said the leader, and the murmuring grew. “We do not allow trespassers.”
    â€œWe don’t exactly want to be here, either,” said Winter, and Simon elbowed her in the side. She glared at him.
    â€œI’m looking for my mother,” said Simon, sounding much braver than he felt, with his insides quivering. “A bunch of rats kidnapped her earlier, and I need to know where she is. Her name’s Isabel Thorn.”
    â€œIsabel Thorn, Isabel Thorn, Isabel Thorn,” murmured the rats in unison. “We know everything, for a price.”
    â€œI’ll give you anything you want.”
    â€œWhat could you possibly offer us that we do not have already?” said the Rat King.
    Simon glanced around, searching for anything they might be interested in. He had only clothes, books, and his mother’s postcards in his backpack, and all he had of any value was the pocket watch his mother had given him. He would rather cut off his right hand than let them have that.
    â€œMy knife,” he said suddenly, pulling out the dagger Darryl had given him. “I’ll give you my knife.”
    The leader scoffed. “What need have we of a human weapon?”
    His desperation grew. There had to be
something
. His gaze fell on the Rat King once more, and an idea formed in his mind. “I’ll untie you.”
    The hissing stopped. “What did you say?” said the leader.
    Simon tucked his knife back into his belt. “It can’t be easy to find food or run around. I bet you haven’t been down in the subway stations in forever.” He couldn’t imagine all of them managing the steps at once. “Tell me where my mother is, and I’ll untie you.”
    The rats glanced at each other. Simon heard a few whispered words, and at last the leader rose on his hind legs. “Untie us, and we will consider your offer.”
    â€œHow do we know you won’t just run away?” said Winter.
    The leader rubbed his paws together. “You trust us.”
    She snorted. “Please. I’d trust a pigeon before trusting a rat.”
    Immediately the Rat King shivered, and several of them eyed the blue sky. Simon had an idea.
    â€œI’ll untie you. But if you run away—if any of you run away before you tell us where my mother is, then I’ll tell all the pigeons in New York to hunt you down. They’re my friends,” he added. “And if you want to ever see your subway tunnels again, you’ll keep your word. Got it?”
    The rats whispered to one another, and several squeaked nervously. “Fine,” said the leader at last. “Untie us, and we will tell you.”
    Simon knelt on the ground beside them. “Hold still,” he said as he pushed aside their matted fur as best he could. The tangle of tails was much worse than he expected, forming a hard lump the size of a baseball. He made a face and began to search for a starting point. He’d never been very good at knots, but at last he found the pitiful end of a tail.
    â€œJust hold on and stop squirming,” he said, and he slowly began to undo the twisted mass. Minutes passed, and a bead of sweat trickled down his cheek. The stench coming from the Rat King was so bad that Simon had to breathe through his mouth, but even then he could taste the rot.
    â€œWhat’s taking so long?” said Winter, glancing at the late afternoon sky. “If the flock finds us, we’re sitting ducks out here.”
    â€œDo you want to do this instead?” said Simon. He had half a tail free and thought he’d spotted the end of another, but his fingers were already coated with grime and other stuff he didn’t want to think about.
    Winter knelt beside him and made a face. “That’s
disgusting
.”
    The