The Unadoptables by Hana Tooke

Author:Hana Tooke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin UK
Published: 2020-07-20T23:00:00+00:00

TWENTY

MILOU SHUFFLED BACKWARD AND peered over the edge of the half-closed cupboard-bed door. Her friends were all frozen to the spot, and Milou didn’t need to see their faces to know they were as horrified as she was. Why was the Kinderbureau here? Had they made a mistake with the paperwork?

“Is Meneer Poppenmaker in?” the woman said, trying to peer over Sem’s shoulder into the kitchen. “It’s awfully cold out here.” She made an exaggerated brrrr noise to emphasize her point.

“I, um . . . you,” Sem stuttered. “He . . . you . . . well . . .”

“Good evening, Mevrouw,” Lotta said, bumping Sem aside with her hip. “I am Lotta Poppenmaker. How may I help you?”

“Ah, yes,” Speelman said, peering down at a sheet of paper in her hand. “Lotta. The clever one with more fingers than is usual. It is a pleasure to put faces to names. I do not usually get to see the faces. Yours is particularly pleasing. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I need to speak to your adoptive father urgently.”

“Father is asleep. How about you come back another—”

“Is that him there? Meneer Poppen—”

“Shh. You’ll wake him.”

“I’m afraid I must insist on speaking with him.”

Rose Speelman pushed past Lotta and Sem. Milou reached out and pulled the corner of the curtain they’d hung above the cupboard bed, hiding Puppet Papa fully behind it.

There was a sharp whistle, followed by a screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech! Mozart flew from his nest, spiraled down to block Speelman’s path, and grabbed a piece of meat from Fenna’s outstretched fingers before swooping back into the shadows.

“What is that?” shrieked Rose Speelman, clutching the record book tightly to her chest.

“That is Mozart,” Lotta said. “It is his hunting time. He’s hungry.”

Speelman’s eyes widened behind her glasses. She sidestepped cautiously toward the kitchen table and sank into a chair. “How peculiar,” she said, eyeing Mozart’s wardrobe-top nest warily. “Does he bite?”

Fenna smiled sweetly and nodded, holding up a bloodied fingertip.

HooOOooOOooOO!

“I really must speak with your father,” Speelman said, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on Mozart’s hiding place. She waved a hand in Milou’s direction. “Please wake him.”

Milou groaned silently. The woman wanted to speak to Bram. There was clearly only one way to get rid of her. Quietly and carefully, Milou took Puppet Papa’s cross strings and lifted his head slightly.

“Lotta, liefje,” Milou croaked as deeply and huskily as she could. “What is all the commotion about?”

She fake-coughed, heaving, wracking coughs that burned her throat. Peeking over the door, Milou saw Speelman hastily cover her nose and mouth with a handkerchief. The Kinderbureau agent shuffled her chair farther away from Puppet Papa.

“Meneer Poppenmaker,” Speelman said, her voice slightly muffled by the handkerchief. “I’m awfully sorry to disturb you, but I am here on official orphan business.” She tapped the record book again. “I was sent to audit the Little Tulip’s adoption records and found an anomaly.”

“But the paperwork was perfect,” Egg cried. He was sitting himself in the chair beside the cupboard bed.

Milou grimaced; Egg did too.

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