The Twyning (21 page)

Something had happened to my eyes. They were encrusted, swollen, closed up. I was thirsty beyond longing, but the taster’s instinct within me, which stopped me drinking from the puddles and gutters as I made my way through the world above, was stronger than my need.

I have no idea how long I traveled. Down lanes, over ditches, in the damp shadows of back alleys, along strange walls and through parks and gardens, passing within a few lengths of the enemy, past the barking of dogs, the echo of horses’ hooves on cobbles, I followed the only sound that had meaning for me.

Malaika.

There were times that day when I stopped to rest, but the pain grew stronger when my body was no longer moving. I knew that if I slept for even a moment, it would be the end of me.

I shall never know how I reached the end of that journey, sick, exhausted, but just alive. For those few hours, I felt invisible, and perhaps I was.

There was a lane. The wet mud on it soothed my burning paws.

I was close now.

Malaika was near.

. . . that night. My stomach aches from the sausages, bread, and pie we have bought from Mrs. Bailey’s shop on our way home from the town hall. At first, the shopkeeper was suspicious about the money we laid upon her counter, and she asked where the likes of us had come upon two shillings.

“Politics,” Caz said with a laugh.

“Politics? What do you two scruffs know about that?”

Remembering it now, Caz laughs. “But it was politics,” she says, staring at the flickering candle. Her eyes are bright, and her cheeks are shining, still greasy from the food she has just eaten. “And rats.”

“Poor beasts.” I think of the bodies we tipped from the sack into the canal on our way home. They had served their purpose.

“How can you declare war on an animal?” Caz asks suddenly. “I mean, it’s just stupid.”

“It’s as I told you. Rats are the enemy, according to the doctor.”

“Well, he’s an idiot.” Caz has an argumentative look in her eye. “How can we fight this great enemy? With soldiers? With an army and guns?”

“Gas, more like.”

“I don’t think so.” She shakes her head. “Gas is too dangerous. That politician’s not going to get elected if people start getting ill from poison.”

My thoughts go to the Cock Inn. “Dogs, maybe.”

“How will they find the rats? They’ll just run away.”

“Not always. Sometimes they fight.”

Caz reaches into her dress and takes out Malaika. She sets the rat down gently between us. The little gray-and-white beast sniffs the air, her whiskers trembling. Caz strokes her with a single finger between her ears.

It is good to see Caz and Malaika together.

“There’s one rat who’ll be safe,” I say.

Caz reaches into a paper bag where a last slice of chicken pie remains. She breaks off a corner and lays it on the ground in front of the rat.

“They won’t get you,” she murmurs.

Malaika nibbles, but not in the way of a hungry animal. It is almost as if she is being polite to us.

I think of the doctor, the politician, and their great campaign. They are not going to give up easily.

“They’ll want us to help in the war,” I tell Caz.

She frowns, knowing what I am saying is true.

“We’ve got no choice,” I say. “We need to eat.”

“What will they want you to do?” Caz keeps her eye on Malaika. There is sadness in her voice.

“All the dirty stuff. The things they don’t want to do themselves. That’s how it is. The doctor wants me to be there tomorrow. Mr. Petheridge is coming to discuss the campaign.”

“They really do think it’s a war, don’t they? They think they’re generals.” She pushes the morsel of pie closer to her pet rat. “Eat up, Malaika.”

The rat moves away. Her dark eyes are fixed on the tangled heap of rubbish behind where Caz is sitting.

“He’s afraid of rats, the doctor,” I say. “I saw it when he was giving his lecture and a beast appeared in the hall. That’s why he likes me to be around.”

Caz is no longer listening. She is watching her pet rat, which stands motionless, staring into the darkness.

. . . I reached a mountain made of dead trees and the broken waste of human homes. Although I could hardly see now, I sensed a light ahead. It was not the moon, but something that seemed to come from within the mountain itself.

I entered the mountain.

I sniffed the air. The enemy was near. Or, at least, the young of the enemy. And something else, a scent that filled me with longing.

I tumbled forward a length, maybe two lengths, following the sound within me, answering the question. I rested, breathing heavily, gathering strength. Then I moved again. Closer, ever closer to Malaika.

The smell of humans was becoming strong now, the sound of them louder in my ears. I sensed movement.

Then I felt a revelation within me.

— Who is it? Who is there?

With the little strength that was left within me, I revealed.

— Efren. I am Efren.

Malaika was near. I knew it, but there was no reply, only the faint smell of fear.

Once more I tried.

— It is Efren. I have come for you.

That is the last I remember.

. . . as Malaika moves away from us, her body alert. She is more like a wild animal than a pet.

Caz follows her eyes. “Malaika can hear something,” she says.

“Maybe a hedgehog snoring. Or another rat foraging for food.”

“It’s moving closer.” Caz is whispering now. “Malaika’s calling out.”

I listen. I have good ears, but I can hear no sound coming from Caz’s fancy rat.

“I hear something.” Caz breathes the words. “Something about offering.”

“I can’t hear anything. Caz, this is —”

“She’s calling another rat. Look at her, Peter!”

It is true that the fancy rat is behaving strangely now. Her gray-and-white body is rigid. She is motionless except for the twitching of her nostrils.

“Offering. Offering. Can’t you hear that word?”

It has been a long day. We have eaten too much. Maybe Caz is in a dream while still waking.

“It’s time for us to go to bed,” I say gently.

There is a stirring, the smallest movement of dry, dead leaves, from the rubbish near where she is sitting.

“Caz, it’s a hedgehog.” To tell the truth, I am wondering whether she has suddenly become a lunatic. “Or maybe a mouse.”

Without a word, she points at Malaika. The rat is taking slow sleepwalking steps away from us.

I reach for her. To my astonishment, her head twitches backward and she gives my finger a savage nip.

“Ah!” I look at my finger. Blood is seeping from the two holes, the size of pinpricks, made by her teeth.

“What did she do that for?”

Caz ignores me. She is still watching Malaika.

There is another sound of movement from the tip, and at that moment, Malaika darts forward and disappears from view.

We wait. The scrabbling sounds are more distant now. There is the unmistakable sound of a rat’s squeak.

Caz turns to me slowly.

“Not offering at all,” she says.

“Who wasn’t offering?”

“I can hear it in my brain,” she whispers. “What they’re saying to each other.”

“Caz, you’re scaring me.”

Her eyes are wide with wonder. She has a strange little smile on her face.

“Not offering, but Efren. What does Efren mean?”

— help . . .

— I need help. Malaika, I need help.

— The kingdom . . . death . . . the enemy.

I felt the touch of Malaika, her revelation.

— Efren, Efren.

Then, beyond her, something that made me believe that I had died.

Another revelation, different from any I had heard before.

— We’ll help you, Efren. You are among friends now. Sleep, rest.

Who was revealing to me? In my fever, I believed it was a human.

. . . as if it is not a pet rat she is looking for in the rubbish that surrounds us, but a ghost.

“Tell me you won’t laugh,” she murmurs, her eyes still fixed on the part of the tip where Malaika disappeared.

“Caz? What’s going on?”

Now she turns to me. “Do you remember when we gave Malaika her name?”

“Of course I do.”

“The name didn’t come from me.”

“What are you talking about? You just said  ‘She’s Malaika.’ ”

“I heard it. Inside my head. She told me.”

“She? Who’s she?”

Caz closes her eyes. “Malaika told me. I heard a voice in my head. I told myself it was the voice of my own imagining, but I knew in my heart that I was being told. She was telling me her name.”

“You’re saying a rat spoke to you?”

“Yes. In my head.”

“Caz, this is —”

“And then, just a moment ago, I heard another voice.”

“That offering thing?”

“Efren. It’s a name.”

She moves toward the part of the tip where Malaika must be hiding. What else can I do? I follow.

“We’ve got to find her,” she says. “She wants our help.”

There are times when it is best to say nothing.

She pulls at a branch, then carefully removes some broken bricks. On her hands and knees, she makes her way into the tangled rubbish.

Moments later, she has found her rat.

“Oh, Malaika.” Her voice is soft. “What is this?”

She shuffles backward toward me, slowly. When she turns, she holds something in her hand. At first, I think it is Malaika. Then I realize that the shape is bigger. The only trace of color on it is a flash of white on its forehead.