The Twyning (16 page)

— He was being reeducated.

— Ah, that Steadfye. The traitor. You don’t know him, do you?

I smelled danger.

— He once did me an act of kindness.

Swylar gazed at me for a moment before revealing.

— Little Efren, you have seen little of life, but please learn one thing. In times like these, even kindness can be a threat to the kingdom. There is nothing you can do about this Steadfye.

— I want to return to my court.

Swylar closed his eyes briefly but did not respond.

— I shall take Floke and Fang. Fang is no good as a warrior now, and Floke has seen too much to be trusted by you. Alpa, my captain at the Tasting Court, will find a use for both of them.

— The Tasting Court. What are you talking about, ratling?

— I need to be of use in the kingdom. At least as a taster I can do my duty. Here at court, I am useless.

Swylar’s eyes remained closed, and for a moment, he seemed to have drifted off to sleep once more. His revelation, when it came, was gentle, almost caressing in its tone.

— Oh, you have your uses, Efren, and it is not for citizens to decide where their duty lies. But, as it happens, I would like you to return to the Tasting Court . . .

My stomach lurched in excitement.

— . . . but only as a messenger, — Swylar continued. — There is to be a great event in the kingdom, and it is important that all citizens are present. You shall instruct Alpa to attend. You may even order her as courtier. Would you like to give an order to your own captain, ratling?

Around me, Swylar’s followers snickered in appreciation.

— And, after that, may I stay there?

— Please attend to what I say. There is a great event. You must be there. After that, the queen may agree to let you make your decision. Or she may not.

— And what is it, this meeting?

Swylar seemed bored with the conversation. He yawned, then curled his body around that of his neighbor, Slathe. It was in that moment that I recognized the unfamiliar scent that was hanging in the air. It was power.

— Leave us now. — Swylar’s revelation came from the mass of bodies. — We have matters of state to discuss.

. . . and it is usually a nasty one. With Bill Grubstaff, the pennies may be few and the work hard, but I know they have been earned doing simple work, catching beasts or lugging them to a pit night.

With the doctor, it is different. When I arrive at his house, I never know what he wants from me. His hatred of beasts is strange.

War on rats. It just seems mad to me.

It is late one morning, a few days after the massacre at the Cock Inn, when Caz and I walk together toward the center of town.

These days she wears ragged flannel shorts and an old coat we found on some waste ground. With a pair of old scissors, I have cut her hair short. It is safer being a boy than a girl.

Most days we wait near the taverns where the townspeople eat — scraps are always to be had there.

Then she makes her way to the part of the town where there are restaurants and halls and theaters. If people are waiting for their entertainment, she dances for them until her legs ache and her feet are sore. Sometimes there is as much as eight pence in her pocket by the time she returns to the tip, where her pet rat, Malaika, awaits her in the cage I found for her.

Today my afternoon is to be spent with the doctor. He has been in a strange humor since the night of his disaster at the institute.

We have looked for rats once or twice but have found none.

He is more silent than he used to be, but now and then says something to me that makes me worry about what is going on in his head.

The enemy is on the attack. War has been declared.

The interruption to his lecture was no accident, he believes. It was the enemy’s work.

I have said nothing, as usual, but I begin to wonder where this madness is leading.

“Ah, Mr. Smith. You’re here.”

The doctor opens the front door and turns back into the darkness of his house.

When I follow, he leads me not to his laboratory, as he usually does, but to a small office next door to it. The desk by the window can hardly be seen for the papers and scientific books that are upon it. There is a simple wooden chair in front of the desk. A small pair of trousers and a gray coat are hanging over the back of it.

“Change of clothes for you, Mr. Smith.” The doctor speaks briskly. “The gentlemen at the institute — those important men of science — seemed to think you were some kind of street urchin. Didn’t, er, exactly help my case, did it?”

Not expecting an answer, he holds the clothes out, then shakes them impatiently.

“Come on, boy. You may be a simpleton, but at least you’ll look the part of an office boy from now on.”

I turn my back, take off my rough and dirty clothing. I’m about to put on the jacket and trousers when the doctor looks up from the desk where he now sits.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, go and wash yourself in the bathroom,” he says. “And use the soap.”

Some minutes later, and I am back in the doctor’s office, my skin scrubbed, my hair brushed, and wearing clothes that feel oddly cool and smooth against my skin.

He looks me up and down. “A haircut and you will almost look respectable,” he says coldly.

He stands up, placing some papers in a Gladstone bag.

“We are to make an official visit this afternoon to a Mr. Valentine Petheridge MP. You know what
MP
means, Mr. Smith?”

I shake my head.

“Member of Parliament. He is what we call a politician. Not a very bright or successful politician, it is true, but a very ambitious one.”

He walks to the door. I follow.

“Other politicians fight great campaigns about factories or slaves or war or even women, but Mr. Petheridge has never found one that suits him. That’s our job, Mr. Smith.”

He turns as he opens the front door to lead us out, and looks down at me. “You don’t understand any of this, do you?”

I look at him with as blank an expression as I can manage. He closes the door behind us.

“Still, you have your uses.”

. . . but it was to that place that I was summoned soon after my return from the Tasting Court.

It was in the ruins of some small human habitation that had been buried deep in the earth. The remains of three of its walls were still standing, giving it a prison-like look. When I arrived, most of the courtiers were already there, waiting in place around the edge of the gouge.

There was something different about this place. It had none of the bustling and business of everyday life at court. It seemed to me, as I entered, keeping as low and invisible as was possible, that there was a scent of cruelty in the air.

I stood near Loyter, the friend of Swylar.

— What is happening?

Loyter expressed casually, and then turned to me. — In the Justice Room, there tends to be justice.

— Will the queen be here?

Loyter looked at me for a moment, as if surprised that such a question could be asked.

— The queen likes to see justice being done. It is one of her special interests.

I moved away. I had learned that it was unwise for a courtier to ask too many questions. Queen Jeniel and Swylar discouraged curiosity.

I crouched at the back of the throng and waited. I had been away less than a day, but something had changed in the court.

My visit to the Tasting Court had not gone well. When I had first appeared at the warren of runs that I knew so well, I had been mobbed and bundled over by my old friends. But Alpa, who arrived some moments later, drawn by the noise the young rats were making, had seemed somehow colder than I remembered.

She was not pleased to see me. When she approached, her hackles rose. She whiffled, sniffing at my breath, almost as if I were a stranger to her court.

— What does the Court of Governance want of us, Efren?

I crouched, less a courtier now than a ratling.

— I wanted to see you all. I want to return.

Slowly, Alpa’s hackles settled on her back.

— You have left us, Efren. Your future is at court. You have other friends now.

I had been about to reveal again when Alpa interrupted.

— And I know that is not why you are here.

How had she known? What is it about a doe rat that makes each of them able to tell what we are about to reveal before we have even thought it? As I hesitated, she revealed once more.

— You are here about the court’s business, aren’t you?

I stood. Somehow, crouching now seemed wrong. Whether I liked it or not, I was now a courtier. With an odd sense of shame, I began to reveal. I passed on the message Swylar had given me about the great event, how it was the duty of all citizens to attend such occasions, particularly at a time of emergency and when war had been declared on any kind of disloyalty.

As I revealed, I was aware that even my old friends, who knew me so well, were looking at me differently.

Everything I said and did now set me apart from them. The way I addressed them. The strength of my revelation. Perhaps even the way I stood and walked. These things all reminded them that I was now a member of the ruling court. I may have felt equal to the tasters, but they no longer felt equal to me. There was nothing left for me to do. More coolly now, I bade them farewell, then approached Alpa. I nudged her with my nose, just as I used to.

— Will we meet after the gathering?

To my surprise, her eyes softened. She rubbed against me, reminding me of a time when I was younger and life was easier.

— We shall see what happens, Efren. — She looked at me sadly, almost as if she were saying good-bye. — We shall see what happens.

Back in the Justice Room, the rats in front of me stirred, their teeth chattering. I stood on my hind legs to see what was going on.

At the end of the chamber stood three rats: Swylar, Slathe, and another new courtier whom I had never seen before. Beyond them, on a ledge, looking down on the scene with an expression of stern dignity, was Queen Jeniel.

Each side of the chamber heaved with courtiers who pressed against one another, chattering with excitement. Now and then, a high, angry scream could be heard above the noise as a fight broke out.

Something else. I now realized that on my side of the Justice Room were gathered the followers of Jeniel and Swylar, young rats who had been introduced to the court under the new regime, the so-called loyalists. Facing us across the room were those who had been at court during the days of Tzuriel, those now known as traditionalists. They looked wide-eyed and afraid.

Swylar began his revelation to the gathering.

— Your Majesty. — He turned to the queen and lowered his head.— Members of the Court of Governance. We have entered a time of peril for the kingdom. The enemy has declared war upon us by cruelly assassinating our king. We face hidden danger from the world above. We also face betrayal from within.

There was angry chattering from the loyalists. Some of the traditionalists shrank back in fear, pressing themselves against the wall.

— It is subtle, this betrayal, — Swylar continued, — but it is a poison that will weaken us as we go to war.

The smell of anger was in the air now. The rats around me jostled and nipped one another impatiently. My eyes were drawn to Jeniel. She gazed over the heads of her subjects as if none of this had anything to do with her.

Swylar moved forward as his revelation became so piercing that it seemed to hammer within my brain.

— Courtiers, I am ashamed to have to tell you that the poison is in every part of the kingdom. Loyalty tribunals are being set up in each court. They shall show that peace can only come through strength. As the greatest court in the land, we must set an example to our citizens. When it comes to the betrayal of the uncommitted, we shall prove that no one is above our law.

He nodded to Slathe, who raised his snout self-importantly and announced, — Bring out the prisoner!

There was a movement to my left. Two figures were standing in front of a row of guards at the entrance to the chamber. The senior courtier Quell was one, and at first, I failed to recognize the other rat, who, if such a thing were possible, actually seemed older than Quell. His brown coat was dull, and his flesh hung loosely from his bones, which protruded from the skin. There was a fresh scar across the rat’s shoulder. Only when it raised its eyes from the ground and leveled them defiantly at Swylar did I realize who it was. Grizzlard.