CHAPTER 11

And there he found Mr Bunnsy, tangled in the brambles and his blue coat all torn.

- From Mr Bunnsy Has An Adventure

 

The rat king raged.

The watching rats clutched at their heads, Peaches shrieked and stumbled back, the last flaring match flying out of her hand.

But something of Maurice survived that roar, that storm of thought. Some tiny part hid behind some brain cell and cowered as the rest of Maurice was blown away. Thoughts peeled back and vanished in the gale. No more talking, no more wondering, no more seeing the world as something out there… layers of his mind streamed past as the blast stripped away everything that he'd thought of as me, leaving only the brain of a cat. A clever cat, but still… just a cat.

Nothing but a cat. All the way back to the forest and the cave, the fang and the claw…

Just a cat.

And you can always trust a cat to be a cat.

The cat blinked. It was bewildered and angry. Its ears went flat. Its eyes flashed green.

It couldn't think. It didn't think. It was instinct that moved it now, something that operated right down at the level of its roaring blood.

It was a cat and there was a twitching squeaky thing and what cats do to twitching squeaking things is this: they leap…

The rat king fought back. Teeth snapped at the cat; it was tangled in fighting rats, and it yowled as it rolled across the floor. More rats poured in, rats that could kill a dog… but now, just for a few seconds, this cat could have brought down a wolf.

It didn't notice the crackling flame as the dropped match set fire to some straw. It ignored the other rats breaking ranks and running. It paid no attention to the thickening smoke.

What it wanted to do was kill things.

Some dark river deep inside had been dammed up over the months. It had spent too much time helpless and fuming while little squeaky people ran around in front of it. It had longed to leap and bite and kill. It had longed to be a proper cat. And now the cat was out of the bag and so much ancestral fight and spite and viciousness was flowing through Maurice's veins that it sparked off his claws.

And as the cat rolled and struggled and bit, a weak little voice right at the back of his tiny brain, cowering out of the way, the last tiny bit of him that was still Maurice and not a blood-crazed maniac said, 'Now! Bite here!'

Teeth and claws closed on a lump made up of eight knotted tails, and tore it apart.

The tiny part of what had once been the me of Maurice heard a thought shoot past.

Noooo… ooo… oo… o…

And then it died away, and the room was full of rats, just rats, nothing more than rats, fighting to get out of the way of a furious, spitting, snarling, bloodthirsty cat, catching up on catness. It clawed and bit and ripped and pounced and turned to see a small white rat that had not moved throughout the whole fight. It brought its claws down-

Dangerous Beans screamed.

'Maurice!'

The door rattled, and rattled again as Keith's boot hit the lock for the second time. On the third blow the wood split and burst apart.

There was a wall of fire at the other end of the cellar. The flames were dark and evil, as much thick smoke as fire. The Clan were scrambling in through the grating and spreading out on either side, staring at the flames.

'Oh, no! Come on, there's buckets next door!' said Keith.

'But-' Malicia began.

'We've got to do it! Quickly! This is a big people job!'

The flames hissed and popped. Everywhere, on fire or in the floor beyond the flames, were dead rats. Sometimes there were only bits of dead rats.

'What happened here?' said Darktan.

'Looks like a war, guv,' said Sardines, sniffing the bodies.

'Can we get round it?'

'Too hot, boss. Sorry, but we-isn't that Peaches?'

She was sprawled close to the flames, mumbling to herself and covered in mud. Darktan crouched down. Peaches opened her eyes, blearily.

'Are you all right, Peaches? What's happened to Dangerous Beans?'

Sardines wordlessly tapped Darktan on the shoulder, and pointed.

Coming through the fire, a shadow…

It padded slowly between walls of flame. For a moment the waving air made it look huge, like some monster emerging from a cave, and then it became… just a cat. Smoke poured off its fur. What wasn't smoking was caked with mud. One eye was shut. The cat was leaving a trail of blood and, every few footsteps, it sagged a little.

It had a small bundle of white fur in its mouth.

It reached Darktan and continued past, without a glance. It was growling all the time, under its breath.

'Is that Maurice?' said Sardines.

'That's Dangerous Beans he's carrying!' shouted Darktan. 'Stop that cat!' But Maurice had stopped by himself, turned, lay down with his paws in front of him, and looked blearily at the rats.

Then he gently dropped the bundle on the floor. He it once or twice, to see if it would move. He blinked slowly when it didn't. He looked puzzled, in a land of slow-motion way. He opened his mouth to yawn, and smoke came out. Then he put his head down, and died.

The world seemed to Maurice to be full of the ghost light you got before dawn, when it was just bright enough to see things but not bright enough to see colours.

He sat up and washed himself. There were rats and humans running around, very, very slowly. They didn't concern him much. Whatever it was they thought they had to be doing, they were doing it. Other people were rushing about, in a silent, ghostly way, and Maurice was not. This seemed a pretty good arrangement. And his eye didn't hurt and his skin wasn't painful and his paws weren't torn, which was a big improvement on matters as they stood recently.

Now he came to think about it, he wasn't quite sure what had happened recently. Something wretchedly bad, obviously. There was something Maurice-shaped lying beside him, like a three-dimensional shadow. He stared at it, and then turned when in this soundless ghost-world he heard a noise.

There was movement near the wall. A small figure was striding across the floor towards the tiny lump that was Dangerous Beans. It was rat-sized, but it was much more solid than the rest of the rats, and unlike any rat he'd seen before it wore a black robe.

A rat in clothes, he thought. But this one did not belong in a Mr Bunnsy book. Just poking out from the hood of the robe was the bony nose of a rat skull. And it was carrying a tiny scythe over its shoulder.

The other rats and the humans, who were drifting back and forth with buckets, paid it no attention. Some of them walked right through it. The rat and Maurice seemed to be in a separate world of their own.

It's the Bone Rat, thought Maurice. It's the Grim Squeaker. He's come for Dangerous Beans. After all I've been through? That is not happening! He sprang into the air and landed on the Bone Rat. The little scythe skidded across the floor.

'OK, mister, let's hear you talk-' Maurice began.

'Er…' said Maurice, as the horrible awareness of what he'd done caught up with him.

A hand grabbed him by the back of the neck and lifted him up, higher and higher, and then turned him around. Maurice stopped struggling immediately.

He was being held by another figure, much taller, human size, but with the same style of black robe, a much bigger scythe, and a definite lack of skin around the face. Strictly speaking, there was a considerable lack of face about the face, too. It was just bone.

DESIST FROM ATTACKING MY ASSOCIATE, MAURICE, said Death.

'Yessir, Mr Death, sir! Atoncesir!' said Maurice quickly. 'Noproblemsir!'

I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU LATELY, MAURICE.

'No sir,' said Maurice, relaxing slightly. 'Been very careful, sir. Looking both ways when I cross the street and everything, sir.'

AND HOW MANY DO YOU HAVE LEFT NOW?

'Six, sir. Six. Very definitely. Very definitely six lives, sir.'

Death looked surprised. BUT YOU WERE RUN OVER BY A CART ONLY LAST MONTH, WEREN'T YOU?

'That, sir? Barely grazed me, sir. Got away with hardly a scratch, sir.'

EXACTLY!

'Oh.'

THAT MAKES FIVE LIVES, MAURICE. UP UNTIL TODAY'S ADVENTURE. YOU STARTED WITH NINE.

'Fair enough, sir. Fair enough.' Maurice swallowed. Oh, well, might as well try. 'So let's say I'm left with three, right?'

THREE? I WAS ONLY GOING TO TAKE ONE. YOU CAN'T LOSE MORE THAN ONE LIFE AT A TIME, EVEN IF YOU'RE A CAT. THAT LEAVES YOU FOUR, MAURICE.

'And I say take two, sir,' said Maurice urgently. 'Two of mine, and call it quits?'

Death and Maurice looked down at the faint, shadowy outline of Dangerous Beans. Some other rats were standing around him now, picking him up.

YOU SURE? said Death. AFTER ALL, HE IS A RAT.

'Yessir. That's where it all gets complicated, sir.'

YOU CAN'T EXPLAIN?

'Yessir. Don't know why, sir. Everything's been a bit odd lately, sir.'

THAT IS VERY UN-CAT-LIKE OF YOU, MAURICE. I'M AMAZED.

'I'm pretty shocked too, sir. I just hope no-one finds out, sir.'

Death lowered Maurice to the floor, next to his body.

YOU LEAVE ME LITTLE CHOICE. THE SUM IS CORRECT, EVEN THOUGH IT IS AMAZING. WE CAME FOR TWO, AND TWO WE WILL TAKE… THE BALANCE IS PRESERVED.

'Can I ask a question, sir?' said Maurice, as Death turned to go.

YOU MAY NOT GET AN ANSWER.

'I suppose there isn't a Big Cat in the Sky, is there?'

I'M SURPRISED AT YOU, MAURICE. OF COURSE THERE ARE NO CAT GODS. THAT WOULD BE TOO MUCH LIKE… WORK.

Maurice nodded. One good thing about being a cat, apart from the extra lives, was that the theology was a lot simpler. 'I won't remember all this, will I, sir?' he said. 'It'd be just too embarrassing.'

OF COURSE NOT, MAURICE… 'Maurice?'

Colours returned to the world, and Keith was stroking him. Every bit of Maurice stung or ached. How could fur ache? And his paws screamed at him, and one eye felt like a lump of ice, and his lungs were full of fire.

'We thought you were dead!' said Keith. 'Malicia was going to bury you at the bottom of her garden! She says she's already got a black veil.'

'What, in her adventuring bag?'

'Certainly,' said Malicia. 'Supposing we'd ended up on a raft in a river full of flesh-eating-'

'Yeah, right, thanks,' growled Maurice. The air stank of burnt wood and dirty steam.

'Are you all right?' said Keith, still looking worried. 'You're a lucky black cat now!'

'Ha ha, yes, ha ha,' said Maurice gloomily. He pushed himself up, painfully. 'The little rat OK?' he said, trying to look around.

'He was out just like you, but when they tried to move him he coughed up a lot of muck. He's not well, but he's getting better.'

'All's well that ends-' Maurice began, and then winced. 'I can't turn my head very well,' he said.

'You're covered in rat bites, that's why.'

'What's my tail like?'

'Oh, fine. It's nearly all there.'

'Oh, well. All's well that ends well, then. Adventure over, time for tea and buns, just like the girl says.'

'No,' said Keith. 'There's still the piper.'

'Can't they just give him a dollar for his trouble and tell him to go away?'

'Not the Rat Piper,' said Keith. 'You don't say that sort of thing to the Rat Piper.'

'Nasty piece of work, is he?'

'I don't know. He sounds like it. But we've got a plan.'

Maurice growled. 'You've got a plan?' he said. 'You made it up?'

'Me and Darktan and Malicia.'

'Tell me your wonderful plan,' sighed Maurice.

'We're going to keep the keekees caged up and no rats will come out to follow the piper. That way he'll look pretty silly, eh?' said Malicia.

'That's it? That's your plan?'

'You don't think it'll work?' said Keith. 'Malicia says he'll be so embarrassed he'll leave.'

'You don't know anything about people, do you?' sighed Maurice.

'What? I'm a person!' said Malicia.

'So? Cats know about people. We have to. No-one else can open cupboards. Look, even the rat king had a better plan than that. A good plan isn't one where someone wins, it's where nobody thinks they've lost. Understand? This is what you have to do… no, it wouldn't work, we'd need a lot of cotton-wool…'

Malicia swung her bag around with a look of triumph. 'As a matter of fact,' she said, 'I'd worked out that if I was ever taken prisoner in a giant underwater mechanical squid and need to block up-'

'You're going to say you've got a lot of cotton-wool, aren't you,' said Maurice, flatly.

'Yes!'

'It was silly of me to worry, wasn't it?' said Maurice.

Darktan stuck his sword in the mud. The senior rats gathered round him, but seniority had changed. Among the older rats were younger ones, each one with a dark red mark on its head, and they were pushing to the front.

All of them were chattering. He could smell the relief that came when the Bone Rat had gone past and had not turned aside…

'Silence!' he yelled.

It struck like a gong. Every red eye turned to him. He felt tired, he couldn't breathe properly, and he was streaked with soot and blood. Some of the blood wasn't his.

'It's not over,' he said.

'But we just-'

'It's not over!' Darktan looked around the circle. 'We didn't get all of those big rats, the real fighters,' he panted. 'Inbrine, take twenty rats and go back and help guard the nests. Big Savings and the old females are back there and they'll tear any attacker in half but I want to be certain.'

For a moment Inbrine glared at Darktan. 'I don't see why you-' he began.

'Do it!'

Inbrine crouched hurriedly, waved at the rats behind him, and scurried away.

Darktan looked at the others. As his gaze passed across them, some of them leaned back, as if it was a flame. 'We'll form into squads,' he said. 'All of the Clan that we can spare from guarding will form into squads. At least one trap disposal rat in each squad! Take fire with you! And some of the young rats'll be runners, so you can keep in touch! Don't go near the cages, those poor creatures can wait! But you'll work through all these tunnels, all these cellars, all these holes and all these corners! And if you meet a strange rat and it cowers, then take it prisoner! But if it tries to fight-and the big ones will try to fight, because that's all they know-then you will kill it! Burn it or bite it! Kill it deadl Do you hear me?'

There was a murmur of agreement.

'I said do you hear me?'

This time there was a roar.

'Good! And we'll go on and on until these tunnels are safe, from end to end! Then we'll do it again! Until these tunnels are ours! Because…' Darktan grasped his sword, but leaned on it for a moment to catch his breath, and when he spoke next it was almost in a whisper, 'because we're in the heart of the Dark Wood now and we've found the Dark Wood in our hearts and… for tonight… we are something… terrible.' He took another breath, and his next words were heard only by the rats closest to him: 'And we have nowhere else to go.'

It was dawn. Sergeant Doppelpunkt, who was one half of the city's official Watch (and the largest half) awoke with a snort in the tiny office by the main gates.

He got dressed, a little unsteadily, and washed his face in the stone sink, peering at himself in the scrap of mirror hanging on the wall.

He stopped. There was a faint but desperate squeaking sound, and then the little grille over the plughole was pushed aside and a rat plunged out. It was big and grey and it ran up his arm before leaping onto the floor.

Water dripping from his face, Sergeant Doppelpunkt stared in bleary amazement as three smaller rats erupted from the pipe and chased after it. It turned to fight in the middle of the floor but the small rats hit it together, from three sides at once. It wasn't like a fight. It looked, thought the sergeant, more like an execution…

There was an old rat hole in the wall. Two of the rats grabbed the tail and dragged the body into the hole and out of sight. But the third rat stopped at the hole and turned, standing up on its hind legs.

The sergeant felt that it was staring at him. It didn't look like an animal watching a human to see if it was dangerous. It didn't look scared, it merely looked curious. It had some kind of red blob on its head.

The rat saluted him. It was definitely a salute, even though it only took a second. Then all the rats had gone.

The sergeant stared at the hole for some time, with water still dripping off his chin.

And heard the singing. It was drifting up from the sink's plughole and it echoed a lot, as if it was coming from a long way away, one voice singing out and a chorus of voices replying:

'We fight dogs and we chase cats…'

'… ain't no trap can stop the rats!'

'Got no plague and got no fleas…'

'… we drink poison, we steal cheese!'

'Mess with us and you will see…'

'… we'll put poison in your tea!'

'Here we fight and here we'll stay…'

'… WE WILL NEVER GO AWAY!'

The sound faded. Sergeant Doppelpunkt blinked, and looked at the bottle of beer he'd drunk last night. It got lonely, on night watch. And it wasn't as if anyone invaded Bad Blintz, after all. They didn't have anything to steal.

But it'd probably be a good idea not to mention this to anyone. It probably hadn't happened. It was probably just a bad bottle of beer…

The guardhouse door opened and Corporal Knopf stepped in.

'Morning, sergeant,' he began. 'It's that… what's up with you?'

'Nothing, corporal!' said Doppelpunkt quickly, wiping his face. 'I certainly haven't seen anything strange at all! Why're you standing around? Time to get those gates open, corporal!'

The watchmen stepped out and swung open the city gates and the sunlight streamed through.

It brought with it a long, long shadow.

Oh dear, thought Sergeant Doppelpunkt. This really is not going to be a nice day…

The man on horseback rode past them without a glance, and on into the town square. The guards hurried after him. People aren't supposed to ignore people with weapons.

'Halt, what is your business here?' demanded Corporal Knopf, but he had to run crabwise to keep up with the horse. The rider was dressed in white and black, like a magpie.

He didn't answer, but just smiled faintly to himself.

'All right, maybe you haven't any actual business, but it won't cost you anything just to say who you are, will it?' said Corporal Knopf, who was not interested in any trouble.

The rider looked down at him, and then stared ahead again.

Sergeant Doppelpunkt spotted a small covered wagon coming through the gates, drawn by a donkey which was accompanied by an old man. He was a sergeant, he told himself, which meant that he was paid more than the corporal, which meant that he thought more expensive thoughts. And this one was: they didn't have to check everyone that came through the gate, did they? Especially if they were busy. They had to pick people at random. And if you were going to pick people at random, it was a good idea to randomly pick a little old man who looked small enough and old enough to be frightened of a rather grubby uniform with rusty chainmail.

'Halt!'

'Heh, heh! Not gonna,' said the old man. 'Mind the donkey, he can give you a nasty bite when he's roused. Not that I care.'

'Are you trying to show contempt of the Law?' demanded Sergeant Doppelpunkt.

'Well, I'm not trying to conceal it, mister. You want to make something of it, you talk to my boss. That's him on the horse. The big horse.'

The black-and-white stranger had dismounted by the fountain in the centre of the square, and was opening his saddle-bags.

'I'll just go and talk to him, shall I?' said the sergeant.

By the time he'd reached the stranger, walking as slowly as he dared, the man had propped a small mirror against the fountain and was having a shave. Corporal Knopf was watching him. He'd been given the horse to hold.

'Why haven't you arrested him?' the sergeant whispered to the corporal.

'What, for illegal shaving? Tell you what, sarge, you do it.'

Sergeant Doppelpunkt cleared his throat. A few early risers among the population were already watching him. 'Er… now, listen, friend, I'm sure you didn't mean-' he began.

The man straightened up, and gave the guards a look which made both men take a step backwards. He reached out and undid the thong holding a thick roll of leather behind the saddle.

It unrolled. Corporal Knopf whistled. All down the length of leather, held in place by straps, were dozens of pipes. They glistened in the rising sun.

'Oh, you're the pipe-' the sergeant began, but the other man turned back to the mirror and said, as if talking to his reflection, 'Where can a man get a breakfast around here?'

'Oh, if it's breakfast you want then Mrs Shover at the Blue Cabbage will-'

'Sausages,' said the piper, still shaving. 'Burned on one side. Three. Here. Ten minutes. Where is the mayor?'

'If you go down that street and take the first left'

'Fetch him.'

'Here, you can't-' the sergeant began, but Corporal Knopf grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

'He's the piper!' he hissed. 'You don't mess with the piper! Don't you know about him? If he blows the right note on his pipes, your legs will fall off!'

'What, like the plague?'

'They say that in Porkscratchenz the council didn't pay him and he played his special pipe and led all the kids up into the mountains and they were never seen again!'

'Good, do you think he'll do that here? The place'd be a lot quieter.'

'Hah! Did you ever hear about that place in Klatch? They hired him to get rid of a plague of mime artists, and when they didn't pay up he made all the town's watchmen dance into the river and drown!'

'No! Did he? The devil!' said Sergeant Doppelpunkt.

'Three hundred dollars he charges, did you know that?'

'Three hundred dollars!'

'That's why people hate paying,' said Corporal Knopf.

'Hang on, hang on… how can you have a plague of mime artists?'

'Oh, it was terrible, so I heard. People didn't dare go out onto the streets at all.'

'You mean, all those white faces, all that creeping around…'

'Exactly. Terrible. Still, when I woke up there was a rat dancing on my dressing-table. Tapitty, tapitty, tap.'

'That's odd,' said Sergeant Doppelpunkt, giving his corporal a strange look.

'And it was humming There's no Business like Show Business. I call that more than just "odd"!'

'No, I meant it's odd you've got a dressing-table. I mean, you're not even married.'

'Stop messing about, sarge.'

'Has it got a mirror?'

'Come on, sarge. You get the sausages, sarge, I'll get the mayor.'

'No, Knopf. You get the sausages and I'll get the mayor, 'cos the mayor's free and Mrs Shover will want paying.'

The mayor was already up when the sergeant arrived, and wandering around the house with a worried expression.

He looked more worried when the sergeant arrived. 'What's she done this time?' he said.

'Sir?' said the watchman. 'Sir' said like that meant 'what are you talking about?'

'Malicia hasn't been home all night,' said the mayor.

'You think something might have happened to her, sir?'

'No, I think she might have happened to someone, man! Remember last month? When she tracked down the Mysterious Headless Horseman?'

'Well, you must admit he was a horseman, sir.'

'That is true. But he was also a short man with a very high collar. And he was the chief tax-gatherer from Mintz. I'm still getting official letters about it! Tax-gatherers do not as a rule like young ladies dropping on them out of trees! And then in September there was that business about the, the-'

'The Mystery of Smuggler's Windmill, sir,' said the sergeant, rolling his eyes.

'Which turned out to be Mr Vogel the town clerk and Mrs Schuman the shoemaker's wife, who happened to be there merely because of their shared interest in studying the habits of barn owls…'

'… and Mr Vogel had his trousers off because he'd torn them on a nail…' said the sergeant, not looking at the mayor.

'… which Mrs Schuman was very kindly repairing for him,' said the mayor.

'By moonlight,' said the sergeant.

'She happens to have very good eyesight!' snapped the mayor. 'And she didn't deserve to be bound and gagged along with Mr Vogel, who caught quite a chill as a result! I had complaints from him and from her, and from Mrs Vogel and from Mr Schuman and from Mr Vogel after Mr Schuman went around to his house and hit him with a last and from Mrs Schuman after Mrs Vogel called her a-'

'A last what, sir?'

'What?'

'Hit him with a last what?'

'A last, man! It's a kind of wooden foot shoemakers use when they're making shoes! Heaven knows what Malicia's doing this time!'

'I expect you'll find out when we hear the bang, sir.'

'And what was it you wanted me for, sergeant?'

'The rat piper's here, sir.'

The mayor went pale. 'Already?' he said.

'Yessir. He's having a shave in the fountain.'

'Where's my official chain? My official robe? My official hat? Quick, man, help me!'

'He looks like quite a slow shaver, sir,' said the sergeant, following the mayor out of the room at a run.

'Over in Klotz the mayor kept the piper waiting too long and he played his pipe and turned him into a badger!' said the mayor, flinging open a cupboard. 'Ah, here they are… help me on with them, will you?'

When they arrived in the town square, out of breath, the piper was sitting on a bench, surrounded at a safe distance by a very large crowd. He was examining half a sausage on the end of a fork. Corporal Knopf was standing next to him like a schoolboy who has just turned in a nasty piece of work and is waiting to be told exactly how bad it is.

'And this is called a-?' the piper was saying.

'A sausage, sir,' Corporal Knopf muttered.

'This is what you think is a sausage here, is it?' There was a gasp from the crowd. Bad Blintz was very proud of its traditional vole-and-pork sausages.

'Yessir,' said Corporal Knopf.

'Amazing,' said the piper. He looked up at the mayor. 'And you are-?'

'I am the mayor of this town, and-'

The piper held up a hand, and then nodded towards the old man who was sitting on his cart, grinning broadly. 'My agent will deal with you,' he said. He threw away the sausage, put his feet up on the other end of the bench, pulled his hat down over his eyes and lay back.

The mayor went red in the face. Sergeant Doppelpunkt leaned towards him.

'Remember the badger, sir!' he whispered.

'Ah… yes…' The mayor, with what little dignity he had left, walked over to the cart. 'I believe the fee for ridding the town of rats will be three hundred dollars?' he said.

'Then I expect you'll believe anything,' said the old man. He glanced at a notebook on his knee. 'Let's see… call-out fee… plus special charge because it's St Prodnitz's Day… plus pipe tax… looks like a medium-sized town, so that's extra… wear and tear on cart… travelling costs at a dollar a mile… miscellaneous expenses, taxes, charges…' He looked up. 'Tell you what, let's say one thousand dollars, OK?'

'One thousand dollars! We haven't got one thousand dollars! That's outrag-'

'Badger, sir!' hissed Sergeant Doppelpunkt.

'You can't pay?' said the old man.

'We don't have that kind of money! We've had to spend a lot of money bringing in food!'

'You don't have any money?' said the old man.

'Nothing like that amount, no!'

The old man scratched his chin. 'Hmm,' he said, 'I can see where that's going to be a bit difficult, because… let's see…' He scribbled in his notebook for a moment and then looked up. 'You already owe us four hundred and sixty-seven dollars and nineteen pence for call-out, travel and miscellaneous sundries.'

'What? He hasn't blown a note!'

'Ah, but he's ready to,' said the old man. 'We've come all this way. You can't pay? Bit of what they call a imp arse, then. He's got to lead something out of the town, you see. Otherwise the news'll get around and no-one'll show him any respect, and if you haven't got respect, what have you got? If a piper doesn't have respect, he's-'

'-rubbish,' said a voice. 'I think he's rubbish.'

The piper raised the brim of his hat.

The crowd in front of Keith parted in a hurry.

'Yeah?' said the piper.

'I don't think he can pipe up even one rat,' said Keith. 'He's just a fraud and a bully. Huh, I bet I can pipe up more rats than him.'

Some of the people in the crowd began to creep away. No-one wanted to be around when the rat piper lost his temper.

The piper swung his boots down onto the ground and pushed his hat back on his head. 'You a rat piper, kid?' he said softly.

Keith stuck out his chin defiantly. 'Yes. And don't call me kid… old man.'

The piper grinned. 'Ah,' he said. 'I knew I was going to like this place. And you can make a rat dance, can you, kid?'

'More than you can, piper.'

'Sounds like a challenge to me,' said the piper.

'The piper doesn't accept challenges from-' the old man on the cart began, but the rat piper waved him into silence.

'Y'know, kid,' he said, 'this isn't the first time some kid has tried this. I'm walking down the street and someone yells, "Go for your piccolo, mister!" and I turn around, and it's always a kid like you with a stupid-looking face. Now, I don't want anyone to say I'm an unfair man, kid, so if you'd just care to apologize you might walk away from here with the same number of legs you started with '

'You're frightened.' Malicia stepped out of the crowd.

The piper grinned at her. 'Yeah?' he said.

'Yes, because everyone knows what happens at a time like this. Let me ask this stupid-looking kid, who I've never seen before: are you an orphan?'

'Yes,' said Keith.

'Do you know nothing about your background at all?'

'No.'

'Aha!' said Malicia. 'That proves it! We all know what happens when a mysterious orphan turns up and challenges someone big and powerful, don't we? It's like being the third and youngest son of a king. He can't help but win!'

She looked triumphantly at the crowd. But the crowd looked doubtful. They hadn't read as many stories as Malicia, and were rather attached to the experience of real life, which is that when someone small and righteous takes on someone big and nasty he is grilled bread product, very quickly.

However, someone at the back shouted, 'Give the stupid-looking kid a chance! At least he'll be cheaper!' and someone else shouted, 'Yes, that's right!' and someone else shouted, 'I agree with the other two!' and no-one seemed to notice that all the voices came from near ground level or were associated with the progress around the crowd of a scruffy-looking cat with half its fur missing. Instead, there was a general murmuring, no real words, nothing that would get anyone into trouble if the piper turned nasty, but a muttering indicating, in a general sense, without wishing to cause umbrage, and seeing everyone's point of view, and taking one thing with another, and all things being equal, that people would like to see the boy given a chance, if it's all right with you, no offence meant.

The piper shrugged. 'Fine,' he said. 'It'll be something to talk about. And when I win, what will I get?'

The mayor coughed. 'Is a daughter's hand in marriage usual in these circumstances?' he said. 'She has very good teeth, and would make a goo-a wife for anyone with plenty of free wall space-'

'Father!' said Malicia.

'Later on, later on, obviously,' said the mayor. 'He's unpleasant, but he is rich.'

'No, I'll just take my payment,' said the piper. 'One way or another.'

'And I said we can't afford it!' said the mayor.

'And I said one way or the other,' said the piper. 'And you, kid?'

'Your rat pipe,' said Keith.

'No. It's magic, kid.'

'Then why are you scared to bet it?'

The piper narrowed his eyes. 'OK, then,' he said.

'And the town must let me solve its rat problem,' said Keith.

'And how much will you charge?' said the mayor.

'Thirty gold pieces! Thirty gold pieces. Go on, say it!' shouted a voice at the back of the crowd.

'No, I won't cost you a thing,' said Keith.

'Idiot!' shouted the voice in the crowd. People looked around, puzzled.

'Nothing at all?' said the mayor.

'No, nothing.'

'Er… the hand-in-marriage thing is still on offer, if you-'

'Father!'

'No, that only happens in stories,' said Keith. 'And I shall also bring back a lot of the food that the rats stole.'

'They ate it!' said the mayor. 'What're you going to do, stick your fingers down their throats?'

'I said that I'll solve your rat problem,' said Keith. 'Agreed, Mr Mayor?'

'Well, if you're not charging-'

'But first, I shall need to borrow a pipe,' Keith went on.

'You haven't got one?' said the mayor.

'It got broken.'

Corporal Knopf nudged the mayor. 'I've got a trombone from when I was in the army,' he said. 'It won't take a mo to nip and get it.'

The rat piper burst out laughing.

'Doesn't that count?' said the mayor, as Corporal Knopf hurried off.

'What? A trombone for charming rats? No, no, let him try. Can't blame a kid for trying. Good with a trombone, are you?'

'I don't know,' said Keith.

'What do you mean, you don't know?'

'I mean, I've never played one. I'd be a lot happier with a flute, trumpet, piccolo or Lancre bagpipe, but I've seen people playing the trombone and it doesn't look too difficult. It's only an overgrown trumpet, really.'

'Hah!' said the piper.

The watchman came running back, rubbing a battered trombone with his sleeve and therefore making it just a bit more grimy. Keith took it, wiped the mouthpiece, put it to his mouth, pressed the keys a few times and then blew one long note.

'Seems to work,' he said. 'I expect I can learn as I go along.' He gave the rat piper a brief smile. 'Do you want to go first?'

'You won't charm one rat with that mess, kid,' said the piper, 'but I'm glad I'm here to see you try.'

Keith gave him a smile again, took a breath, and played.

There was a tune there. The instrument squeaked and wheezed, because Corporal Knopf had occasionally used the thing as a hammer, but there was a tune, quite fast, almost jaunty. You could tap your feet to it.

Someone tapped his feet to it.

Sardines emerged from a crack in a nearby wall, going 'hwunftwothreefour' under his breath. The crowd him dance ferociously across the cobbles until he disappeared into a drain. Then they broke into applause.

The piper looked at Keith. 'Did that one have a hat on?' he said.

'I didn't notice,' said Keith. 'Your go.'

The piper pulled a short length of pipe from inside his jacket. He took another length from his pocket, and slotted it into place on the first piece. It went click, in a military kind of way.

Still watching Keith, and still grinning, the piper took a mouthpiece from his top pocket, and screwed it into the rest of the pipe with another, very final, click.

Then he put it to his mouth and played.

From her lookout on a roof Big Savings shouted down a drainpipe, 'Now!' Then she pushed two lumps of cotton-wool in her ears.

At the bottom of the pipe, Inbrine shouted into a drain, 'Now!' and then he too snatched up his earplugs.

… ow, ow, ow echoed through the pipes…

… 'Now!' shouted Darktan in the room of cages. He rammed some straw into the drainpipe. 'Everyone block their ears!'

They'd done their best with the rat cages. Malicia had brought blankets, and the rats had spent a feverish hour blocking up holes with mud. They'd done their best to feed the prisoners properly, too, and even though they were only keekees it was heartbreaking to see them cower so desperately.

Darktan turned to Nourishing. 'Got your ears blocked?' he said.

'Pardon?'

'Good!' Darktan picked up two lumps of cotton-wool. 'The silly-sounding girl better be right about this stuff,' he said. 'I don't think many of us have got any strength left to run.'

The piper blew again, and then stared at his pipe.

'Just one rat,' said Keith. 'Any rat you like.'

The piper glared at him, and blew again. 'I can't hear anything,' said the mayor.

'Humans can't,' muttered the piper.

'Perhaps it's broken,' said Keith helpfully.

The piper tried again. There was murmuring from the crowd. 'You've done something,' he hissed.

'Oh yes?' said Malicia, loudly. 'What could he have done? Told the rats to stay underground with their ears blocked up?'

The murmuring turned into muffled laughter.

The piper tried one more time. Keith felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

A rat emerged. It moved slowly across the cobbles, bouncing from side to side, until it reached the piper's feet, where it fell over and started making a whirring noise.

People's mouths fell open. It was a Mr Clicky.

The piper nudged it with his foot. The clockwork rat rolled over a few times and then its spring, as a result of months of being punished in traps, gave up. There was a poiyonngggg, and a brief shower of cogwheels.

The crowd burst out laughing.

'Hmm,' said the piper, and this time the look he gave Keith was shaded with grudging admiration. 'OK, kid,' he said. 'Shall you and I have a little talk? Piper to piper? Over by the fountain?'

'Provided people can see us,' said Keith.

'You don't trust me, kid?'

'Of course not.'

The piper grinned. 'Good. You've got the makings of a piper, I can see that.'

Over by the fountain, he sat down with his booted legs in front of him, and held out the pipe. It was bronze, with a raised pattern of brass rats on it, and it glinted in the sunlight.

'Here,' said the piper. 'Take it. It's a good one. I've got plenty of others. Go on, take it. I'd like to hear you play it.'

Keith looked at it uncertainly.

'It's all trickery, kid,' said the piper, as the pipe shone like a sunbeam. 'See the little slider there? Move it down and the pipe plays a special note humans can't hear. Rats can. Sends 'em nuts. They come rushing out of the ground and you drive 'em into the river, just like a sheepdog.'

'That's all there is to it?' said Keith.

'You were expecting something more?'

'Well, yes. They say you turn people into badgers and lead children into magic caves and-'

The piper leaned forward conspiratorially. 'It always pays to advertise, kid. Sometimes these little towns can be pretty slow when it comes to parting with the cash. 'Cos the thing about turning people into badgers and all the rest of that stuff is this: it never happens round here. Most of the people round here never go more than ten miles away in their lives. They'll believe just about anything could happen fifty miles away. Once the story gets around, it does your work for you. Half the things people say I've done even I didn't make up.'

'Tell me,' said Keith, 'have you ever met someone called Maurice?'

'Maurice? Maurice? I don't think so.'

'Amazing,' said Keith. He took the pipe, and gave the piper a long, slow stare. 'And now, piper,' he said, 'I think you're going to lead the rats out of town. It's going to be the most impressive job you've ever done.'

'Hey? What? You won, kid.'

'You'll lead out the rats because that's how it should go,' said Keith, polishing the pipe on his sleeve. 'Why do you charge such a lot?'

'Because I give 'em a show,' said the piper. 'The fancy clothes, the bullying… charging a lot is part of the whole thing. You've got to give 'em magic, kid. Let 'em think you're just a fancy rat-catcher and you'll be lucky to get a cheese lunch and a warm handshake.'

'We'll do it together, and the rats will follow us, really follow us into the river. Don't bother about the trick note, this will be even better. It'll be… it'll be a great… story,' said Keith. 'And you'll get your money. Three hundred dollars, wasn't it? But you'll settle for half, because I'm helping you.'

'What are you playing at, kid? I told you, you won.'

'Everyone wins. Trust me. They called you in. They should pay the piper. Besides…' Keith smiled. 'I don't want people to think pipers shouldn't get paid, do I?'

'And I thought you were just a stupid-looking kid,' said the piper. 'What kind of a deal have you got with the rats?'

'You wouldn't believe it, piper. You wouldn't believe it.'

Inbrine scurried through the tunnels, scrabbled through the mud and straw that had been used to block the last one, and jumped into the cage room. The Clan rats unblocked their ears when they saw him.

'He's doing it?' said Darktan.

'Yessir! Right now!'

Darktan looked up at the cages. The keekees were more subdued, now that the rat king was dead and they'd been fed. But by the smell of it they were desperate to leave this place. And rats in a panic will follow other rats…

'OK,' he said. 'Runners, get ready! Open the cages! Make sure they're following you! Go! Go! Go!'

And that was almost the end of the story.

How the crowd yelled when rats erupted from every hole and drain. How they cheered when both pipers danced out of the town, with the rats racing along behind them. How they whistled when the rats plunged off the bridge into the river.

They didn't notice that some rats stayed on the bridge, urging the others with shouts of 'Remember, strong regular strokes!' and 'There's a nice beach just downstream!' and 'Hit the water feet first, it won't hurt so much!'

Even if they had noticed, they probably wouldn't have said anything. Details like that don't fit in.

And the piper danced off over the hills and never, ever came back.

There was general applause. It had been a good show, everyone agreed, even if it had been expensive. It was definitely something to tell their children.

The stupid-looking kid, the one who had duelled with the piper, strolled back into the square. He got a round of applause too. It was turning out to be a good day all round. People wondered if they'd have to have extra children to make room for all the stories.

But they realized they'd have enough to save for the grandchildren when the other rats arrived.

They were suddenly there, pouring up out of drains and gutters and cracks. They didn't squeak, and they weren't running. They sat there, watching everyone.

'Here, piper!' shouted the mayor. 'You missed some!'

'No. We're not the rats who follow pipers,' said a voice. 'We're the rats you have to deal with.'

The mayor looked down. A rat was standing by his boots, looking up at him. It appeared to be holding a sword.

'Father,' said Malicia behind him, 'it would be a good idea to listen to this rat.'

'But it's a rat!'

'He knows, Father. And he knows how to get your money back and a lot of the food and where to find some of the people who've been stealing food from us all.'

'But he's a rat!'

'Yes, Father. But if you talk to him properly, he can help us.'

The mayor stared at the assembled ranks of the Clan. 'We should talk to rats?' he said.

'It would be a very good idea, Father.'

'But they're rats!' The mayor seemed to be trying to hold on to this thought as if it was a lifebelt on a stormy sea, and he'd drown if he let go of it.

''Scuse me, 'scuse me,' said a voice from beside him. He looked down at a dirty, half-scorched cat, which grinned at him.

'Did that cat just speak?' said the mayor.

Maurice looked around. 'Which one?' he said.

'You! Did you just talk?'

'Would you feel better if I said no?' said Maurice.

'But cats can't talk!'

'Well, I can't promise that I could give a, you know, full-length after-dinner speech, and don't ask me to do a comic monologue,' said Maurice, 'and I can't pronounce difficult words like "marmalade" and "lumbago". But I'm pretty happy with basic repartee and simple wholesome conversation. Speaking as a cat, I'd like to know what the rat has got to say.'

'Mr Mayor?' said Keith, strolling up and twirling the new rat pipe in his fingers. 'Don't you think it's time I sorted out your rat problem once and for all?'

'Sort it out? But-'

'All you have to do is talk to them. Get your town council together and talk to them. It's up to you, Mr Mayor. You can yell and shout and call out the dogs and people can run around and flail at the rats with brooms and, yes, they'll run away. But they won't run far. And they'll come back.' When he was standing next to the bewildered man he leaned towards him and whispered, 'And they live under your floorboards, sir. They know how to use fire. They know all about poison. Oh, yes. So… listen to this rat.'

'Is it threatening us?' said the Mayor, looking down at Darktan.

'No, Mr Mayor,' said Darktan, 'I'm offering you…' He glanced at Maurice, who nodded. '… a wonderful opportunity.'

'You really can talk? You can think?' said the mayor.

Darktan looked up at him. It had been a long night. He didn't want to remember any of it. And now it was going to be a longer, harder day. He took a deep breath. 'Here's what I suggest,' he said. 'You pretend that rats can think, and I'll promise to pretend that humans can think, too.'