The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents d(-1 Read online

  “No.”

  Sardines sighed. “I reckon you do, boss. Do we want a lot of scrapping amongst ourselves at a time like this?”

  “No!”

  “Right! Well, thanks to chattery little Nourishing, you're the rat that looked the Bone Rat right in the face and came back, aren't you…?”

  “Yes, but she…”

  “Seems to me, boss, that anyone who could stare down the Bone Rat… well, no-one is going to want to mess with him, am I right? A rat who wears the teeth-marks of the Bone Rat like a belt? Uh-uh, no. Rats'll follow a rat like that. Time like this, rats need someone to follow. That was a good thing you did back there, with ol' Hamnpork. Burying him and widdling on top and putting a sign on him… well, the old rats like that, and so do the young ones. Shows 'em you're thinking for everyone.” Sardines put his head on one side, and grinned a worried grin.

  “I can see I'm going to have to watch you, Sardines,” said Darktan. “You think like Maurice.”

  “Don't worry about me, boss. I'm small. I gotta dance. I wouldn't be any good at leadering.”

  Thinking for everyone, Darktan thought. The white rat… “Where is Dangerous Beans?” he said, looking around. “Isn't he here?”

  “Haven't seen him, boss.”

  “What? We need him! He's got the map in his head.”

  “Map, boss?” Sardines looked concerned. “I thought you drew maps in the mud.”

  “Not a map like a picture of tunnels and traps! A map of… of what we are and where we're going…”

  “Oh, you mean like that lovely island? Never really believed in it, boss,”

  “I don't know about any islands, I really don't,” said Darktan. “But when I was in that… place, I… saw the shape of an idea. There's been a war between humans and rats for ever! It's got to end. And here, now, in this place, with these rats… I can see that it can. This might be the only time and the only place where it can. I can see the shape of an idea in my head but I can't think of the words for it, do you understand? So we need the white rat, because he knows the map for thinking. We've got to think our way out of this. Running around and squeaking won't work any more!”

  “You're doing fine so far, boss,” said the dancer, patting him on the shoulder.

  “It's all going wrong,” said Darktan, trying to keep his voice down. “We need him! I need him!”

  “I'll get some squads together, boss, if you show me where to start looking,” said Sardines meekly.

  “In the drains, not far from the cages,” said Darktan. “Maurice was with him,” he added.

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing, guv?” said Sardines. “You know what Hamnpork always said: ‘You can always trust a cat—’”

  “‘—to be a cat’. Yes. I know. I wish I knew the answer to that, Sardines.”

  Sardines stepped closer. “Can I ask a question, guv?”

  “Of course.”

  “What was it Hamnpork whispered to you just before he died? Special leader wisdom, was it?”

  “Good advice,” said Darktan. “Good advice.”

  Maurice blinked. Very slowly, his tongue wound itself back in. He flattened his ears and, legs moving in silent slow motion, crept along beside the gutter.

  Right under the grating there was something pale. The red streak was coming from further upstream, and divided in two as it flowed around the thing, before becoming one swirling thread again.

  Maurice reached it. It was a rolled-up scrap of paper, sodden with water and stained with red. He extended a claw and fished it out. It flopped on the side of the gutter and, as Maurice gently peeled the paper apart, he saw the smudged pictures drawn in thick pencil. He knew what they were. He'd learned them, one day when he had nothing better to do. They were stupidly simple.

  “No Rat Shall…” he began. Then there was a damp mess, down to the bit that read: “We are not like other Rats”.

  “Oh, no,” he said. They wouldn't drop this, would they? Peaches carried it around as though it was a hugely precious thing—

  Will I find them first? said an alien voice in Maurice's head. Or perhaps I have…

  Maurice ran, skidding on the slimy stone as the tunnel turned a corner.

  What strange things they are, CAT. Rats that think they are not rats. Shall I be like you? Shall I act like a CAT? Shall I keep one of them alive? FOR A WHILE?

  Maurice yowled under his breath. Other, smaller tunnels branched off on either side but the thin red streak led straight on and there, under another grating, the thing lay in the water, the red leaking gently from it.

  Maurice sagged. He'd been expecting—what? But this… this was… this was worse, in a way. Worse than anything.

  Soaked in water, leaking the red ink from Ratty Rupert the Rat's red waistcoat, was “Mr. Bunnsy Has an Adventure”.

  Maurice hooked it out on claw-tip, and the cheap paper pages fell out, one by one, and drifted away in the water. They'd dropped it. Had they been running? Or… had they thrown it away? What was it Dangerous Beans had said? “We're nothing but rats”? And he'd said it in such a sad, hollow voice…

  Where are they now, CAT? Can you find them? Which way now?

  It can see what I see, he thought. It can't read my mind, but it can see what I see and hear what I hear and it's good at working out what I must be thinking…

  Once again, he shut his eyes.

  In the dark, CAT? How will you fight my rats? The ones BEHIND YOU?

  Maurice spun around, eyes wide. There were rats there, dozens of them, some of them nearly half the size of Maurice. They watched him, all with the same blank expression.

  Well done, well done, CAT! You see the squeaky creatures and yet you don't leap! How did a cat learn not to be a cat?

  The rats, as one rat, moved forward. They rustled as they moved. Maurice took a step backwards.

  Imagine it, CAT, said the voice of Spider. Imagine a million clever rats. Rats that don't run. Rats that fight. Rats that share one mind, one vision. MINE.

  “Where are you?” said Maurice, aloud.

  You will see me soon. Keep going, pussy-cat. You have to keep going. One word from me, one mere flicker of a thought, and the rats you see will take you down. Oh, you might kill one or two, but there are always more rats. Always more rats.

  Maurice turned, and edged forward. The rats followed. He spun around. They stopped. He turned again, took a couple of steps, looked behind him. The rats followed as if they were on string.

  There was a familiar smell in the air here, of old, stale water. He was somewhere near the flooded cellar. But how close? The stuff stank worse than tinned cat food. It could be in any direction. He could probably outrun the rats over a short distance. Bloodthirsty rats right behind you can give you wings.

  Are you planning to run to help the white rat? said his conscience. Or are you thinking of making a dash for the daylight?

  Maurice had to admit that the daylight had never seemed a better idea. There was no point in lying to himself. After all, rats didn't live very long in any case, even if they had wobbly noses—

  They are close, CAT. Shall we play a game? Cats like PLAYING. Did you play with Additives? BEFORE YOU BIT HIS HEAD OFF?

  Maurice stopped dead. “You are going to die,” he said softly.

  They are getting closer to me, Maurice. So close now. Shall I tell you that the stupid-looking kid and the silly-sounding girl are going to die? Do you know that rats can eat a human alive?

  Malicia bolted the shed door.

  “Rat kings are deeply mysterious,” she said. “A rat king is a group of rats with their tails tied together”

  “How?”

  “Well, the stories say it just… happens.”

  “How does it happen?”

  “I read somewhere that their tails become stuck together when they're in the nest, because of all the muck, and they get twisted up as—”

  “Rats generally have six or seven babies, and they have quite short tails, and the parents kee
p the nests quite clean,” said Keith. “Have the people who tell these stories ever seen rats?”

  “I don't know. Maybe the rats just get crowded together and their tails get twisted up? There's a preserved rat king in a big jar of alcohol in the town museum.”

  “A dead one?”

  “Or very, very drunk. What do you think?” said Malicia. “It's ten rats, like a sort of star, with a big knot of tail in the middle. Lots of others have been found, too. One had thirty-two rats! There's folklore about them.”

  “But that rat-catcher said he made one,” said Keith firmly. “He said he did it to get into the Guild. Do you know what a masterpiece is?”

  “Oh course. It's anything really good”

  “I mean a real masterpiece,” said Keith. “I grew up in a big city, with guilds everywhere. That's how I know. A masterpiece is something that an apprentice makes at the end of his training to show the senior members of the Guild that he deserves to be a ‘master’. A full member. You understand? It might be a great symphony, or a beautiful piece of carving, or a batch of magnificent loaves—his ‘master piece’.”

  “Very interesting. So?”

  “So what sort of master piece would you have to make to become a master rat-catcher? To show that you could really control rats? Remember the sign over the door?”

  Malicia frowned the frown of someone faced with an inconvenient fact. “Anyone could tie a bunch of rat tails together if they wanted to,” she said. “I'm sure I could.”

  “While they're alive? You'd have to trap them first, and then you've got slippery bits of string that are moving all the time and the other end keeps on biting you? Eight of them? Twenty of them? Thirty-two? Thirty-two angry rats?”

  Malicia looked around at the untidy shed. “It works,” she said. “Yes. It makes almost as good a story. Probably there were one or two real rat kings… all right, all right, maybe just one—and people heard about this and decided that since there was all this interest they'd try to make one. Yes. It's just like crop circles. No matter how many aliens own up to making them, there are always a few diehards who believe that humans go out with garden rollers in the middle of the night—”

  “I just think that some people like to be cruel,” said Keith. “How would a rat king hunt? They'd all pull in different directions.”

  “Ah, well, some of the stories about rat kings say that they can control other rats,” said Malicia. “With their minds, sort of. Get them to bring them food and go to different places and so on. You're right, rat kings can't move around easily. So they… learn how to see out of the eyes of other rats, and hear what they hear.”

  “Just other rats?” said Keith.

  “Well, one or two stories do say that they can do it to people,” said Malicia.

  “How?” said Keith. “Has it ever happened, really?”

  “It couldn't, could it?” said Malicia.

  Yes.

  “Yes what?” said Malicia.

  “I didn't say anything. You just said ‘yes’,” said Keith.

  Silly little minds. Sooner or later there is always a way in. The cat is much better at resisting! You will OBEY me. Let the rats GO.

  “I think we should let the rats go,” said Malicia. “It's just too cruel, having them packed into those cages like that.”

  “I was just thinking that,” said Keith.

  And forget about me. I am just a story.

  “Personally, I think rat kings really are just a story,” said Malicia, walking over to the trapdoor and raising it. “That rat-catcher was a stupid little man. He was just babbling.”

  “I wonder if we should let the rats out,” Keith mused. “They looked pretty hungry.”

  “They can't be worse than the rat-catchers, can they?” said Malicia. “Anyway, the piper will be here soon. He'd lead them all into the river, or something—”

  “Into the river…” muttered Keith.

  “That's what he does, yes. Everyone knows that.”

  “But rats can—” Keith began.

  Obey me! Don't THINK! Follow the story!

  “Rats can what?”

  “Rats can… rats can…” Keith stammered. “I can't remember. Something about rats and rivers. Probably not important.”

  Thick, deep darkness. And, somewhere in it, a little voice.

  “I dropped Mr. Bunnsy,” said Peaches.

  “Good,” said Dangerous Beans. “It was just a lie. Lies drag us down.”

  “You said it was important!”

  “It was a lie!”

  … endless, dripping darkness…

  “And… I've lost the Rules, too.”

  “So?” Dangerous Beans' voice was bitter. “No-one bothered with them.”

  “That's not true! People tried to. Mostly. And they were sorry when they didn't!”

  “They were just another story, too. A silly story about rats who thought they weren't rats,” said Dangerous Beans.

  “Why're you talking like this? This isn't like you!”

  “You saw them run. They ran and squeaked and forgot how to talk. Underneath, we're just… rats.”

  … foul, stinking darkness…

  “Yes, we are,” said Peaches. “But what are we on top? That's what you used to say. Come on—please? Let's go back. You're not well.”

  “It was all so clear to me…” Dangerous Beans mumbled.

  “Lie down. You're tired. I've got a few matches left. You know you always feel better when you see a light…”

  Worried in her heart, and feeling lost and a long way from home, Peaches found a wall that was rough enough and dragged a match from her crude bag. The red head flared and cracked. She raised the match as high as she could.

  There were eyes everywhere.

  What's the worst part? she thought, her body rigid with fear. That I can see the eyes? Or that I'm going to know they're still there when the match goes out? “And I've only got two more matches…” she mumbled to herself.

  The eyes withdrew into the shadows, noiselessly. How can rats be so still and so silent? she thought.

  “There's something wrong,” said Dangerous Beans.

  “Yes.”

  “There's something here,” he said. “I smelled it on that keekee they found in the trap. It's a kind of terror. I can smell it on you.”

  “Yes,” said Peaches.

  “Can you see what we should do?” said Dangerous Beans.

  “Yes.” The eyes in front were gone, but Peaches could still see them on either side.

  “What can we do?” said Dangerous Beans.

  Peaches swallowed. “We could wish we had more matches,” she said.

  And, in the darkness behind their eyes, a voice said: And so, in your despair, you come, at last, to me…

  Light has a smell.

  In the dank, damp cellars the sharp sulphur stink of the match flew like a yellow bird, rising on drafts, plunging through cracks. It was a clean and bitter smell and it cut through the dull underground reek like a knife.

  It filled the nostrils of Sardines, who turned his head. “Matches, boss!” he said.

  “Head that way!” Darktan commanded.

  “It's through the room of cages, boss,” Sardines warned.

  “So?”

  “Remember what happened last time, boss?”

  Darktan looked around at his squad. It wasn't everything he could have wished for. Rats were still trailing back from their hiding-places, and some rats—good, sensible rats—had run into traps and poisons in the panic. But he'd picked the best he could. There were a few of the experienced older ones, like Inbrine and Sardines, but most of them were young. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, he thought. It was the older rats who'd panicked most. They hadn't been so used to thinking.

  “O-K,” he said. “Now, we don't know what we're going to—” he began, and caught sight of Sardines. The rat was shaking his head slightly.

  Oh, yes. Leaders weren't allowed not to know.

  He stared at th
e young, worried faces, took a deep breath and started again. “There's something new down here,” he said, and suddenly he knew what to say. “Something that no-one's ever seen before. Something tough. Something strong.” The squad was almost cowering, except for Nourishing, who was staring at Darktan with shining eyes.

  “Something fearful. Something new. Something sudden,” said Darktan, leaning forward. “And it's you. All of you. Rats with brains. Rats who can think. Rats who don't turn and run. Rats who aren't afraid of dark or fire or noises or traps or poisons. Nothing can stop rats like you, right?”

  Now the words bubbled up. “You heard about the Dark Wood in the Book? Well, we're in the Dark Wood now. There's something else down there. Something terrible. It hides behind your fear. It thinks it can stop you and it's wrong. We're going to find it and drag it out and we're gonna make it wish we'd never been born! And if we die… well,” and he saw them, as one rat, stare at the livid wound across his chest, “death ain't so bad. Shall I tell you about the Bone Rat? He waits for those who break and run, who hide, who falter. But if you stare into his eyes he'll give you a nod and pass right on.”

  Now he could smell their excitement. In the world behind their eyes they were the bravest rats that there ever were. Now he had to lock that thought there.

  Without thinking, he touched the wound. It was healing badly, still leaking blood, and there was going to be a huge scar there for ever. He brought his hand up, with his own blood, and the idea came to him right out of his bones.

  He walked along the row, touching each rat just above the eyes, leaving a red mark. “And afterwards,” he said quietly, “people will say, ‘They went there, and they did it, and they came back out of the Dark Wood, and this is how they know their own’.”

  He looked across their heads to Sardines, who raised his hat. That broke the spell. The rats started to breathe again. But something of the magic was still there, lodged in the gleam of an eye and the twitch of a tail.

  “Ready to die for the Clan, Sardines?” Darktan shouted.