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'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 keep 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-'
