The Twyning (37 page)

— Die, ratling. You are as foolish and innocent in death as you were in life.

My body was becoming weaker as the life ebbed from it.

I closed my eyes, and there before me, in that instant, was a vision from the past. Once, when I was a ratling in the Court of Tasting, I had seen an old warrior being attacked by a cat. I saw it through the mist of pain. He had gathered his hind legs upward in a slow bundling movement.

I gathered my legs.

Almost in a ball, like a hibernating mouse of the fields, he had brought his feet to rest against the throat of the cat.

I brought my feet to rest against the throat of Swylar.

He had slackened his body.

I slackened my body.

Then he had tensed and kicked, as if making the greatest leap of his life, hurtling the cat away from him.

Hurtling Swylar backward, I was aware of a roaring in my ears, a rage I had never known, as I found my feet and pounced with all my weight on him. He wriggled away from me, but my teeth in a quick double bite caught and then tore the flesh of his cheek.

Screaming, he backed away from me, but I held him. The strength was returning to me now, and even in the thick of the fight, I could smell Swylar’s fear.

For a moment, we were locked together. Then, quite soon, I felt his muscles slacken. Remembering how I had been tricked last time, I shook him by the head.

He went limp. With my weight on top of him, I changed my bite until my teeth were upon his throat. It would take the smallest twitch of my jaws to end the life of Swylar.

The sound in my ears had changed. I heard a chattering of teeth from the citizens watching me. No one, it seemed, liked Swylar. They were glad to see him facing death.

I slackened my grip. Carefully, with my eyes fixed on him, I moved away and waited.

My teeth had left a deep wound in the side of his face. When, slowly, he took to his feet, I saw that one eye was wounded beyond repair.

I began to relax. There was no fight left in Swylar.

— Torture, will it be? A slow death?

His revelation was weak.

— No.

— Giving the citizens a bit of a show, are we? Let them see that the mighty Efren can fight?

He shook his head, and his damaged eye was loose in its socket as he revealed.

— You can fight, all right. Strong and cunning. Quite a surprise, ratling.

I was not to be provoked. The strategists, historians, and warriors looked on, expecting, hoping for, the traditional end to a fight of this kind.

Power or death. That was the way it had always been in the kingdom.

And now I would change that. My revelation was not only for Swylar but also for the citizens who were watching us and who would tell other citizens.

— You were right, Swylar.

He gave a shudder of impatience, eager for it all to be over. I ignored his reaction.

— You were right about the kingdom. Now is no time for its leaders to be fighting. Enough blood has been shed.

Swylar looked at me warily.

— It’s not a trick, Swylar. You can go, but on one condition, which you must agree to before these citizens.

— And if I do not?

— If you do not, you can return to the court from where you came. You shall serve the kingdom in your own way.

Although Swylar crouched before me, the way he stood told me he no longer expected to die. His one good eye watched me as he began to lick at his wounds.

I revealed firmly.

— Swylar, I shall tell you where I think your duty lies. You should remain part of the Court of Governance. We need your brains and your cunning.

There was a smell of suspicion in the air. None of the rats watching us liked what they were hearing. It was a widely held belief in the kingdom that citizens, once they have grown, do not change the way they are. I was embracing danger.

Swylar continued his licking. He had recovered some of his old coolness. When he revealed, there was something different about him, something that gave me hope.

— Thank you, Efren. I agree to what you propose.

. . . Caz says nothing to me. Sometimes I wake at night and look across at her. Her eyes are open, staring at who knows what visions in her mind.

I shall not ask her what happened at the house. I sense that she will never talk about it.

It is Malaika who pulls her through. The pet rat offers company and love in a way no human can. There are no questions within the animal, beyond perhaps a gentle inquiry for food and water.

They communicate in that strange mind language of rats, revelations, which seems to have slipped away from me. Sometimes, lying in the tip, I am aware of a faint tickling in the brain, and I know that Caz and Malaika are in conversation. As to what they are saying to one another, I have no idea.

I talk to her, though. I bring her the news of the doctor, Mr. Petheridge, and the great war on rats.

“They are heroes now, Caz — or so folk believe,” I tell her the morning after Bill and I all but found ourselves in a fight at the Cock Inn. She listens to me carefully, silently, stroking Malaika, who is on her lap.

“Heroes to the people. They are recognized on the street. The doctor tells me that he is asked questions in the newspapers. There are rumors that Mr. Petheridge may become something high up in the government. All because of rats.”

Caz lifts the chin of her own rat and smiles into its dark eyes.

“There is to be a big meeting tomorrow. The doctor says they are planning a great hunt —‘the big push,’ he calls it. He thinks that in a matter of days, there will be no more rats in the borough. Extermination — that’s what he calls it. Extermination.”

Caz looks at Malaika, then at me.

I think I know what is in her mind.

“We’ll look after Malaika,” I say. “She’ll be safe with us.”

Just as I look at them, a troubling thought occurs to me. If it were not for the other rat, the wild one who stayed with us awhile in the tip, everything now would be different. We would never have tracked down Champagne Charlie. Caz would be there now. It is because of that rat that she has been saved.

Caz looks at me, with that weird, calm, unblinking gaze, and whispers the first words she has spoken since she was rescued.

“We must save Efren.”

. . . in the gouge behind the Rock of State the next night. There were no elders to tell us the way of doing things. We hardly knew one another. We had no idea who was strong and who was weak, who was to be trusted and who might be traitor.

We were there because there were no other citizens to do what we were doing.

As I moved among my courtiers, I wondered at the strange course of events that had brought me to this place.

I can admit it now. I was lonely, and full of doubt.

I felt like someone pretending to be a leader in some strange game. At any moment, I thought, a citizen might recognize me for what I was, and reveal in surprise, — Efren? What are you doing on the Rock of State?

And yet courtiers still looked to me, and expected me to make decisions, issue orders. That night, I revealed to them.

— We have reached the moment when we must decide the way forward. Each of you will speak. We shall then summon the kingdom to order what is to be done.

I looked around at my new court. There was Growan the warrior, Driva the doe, Barcas the spy, Joram the strategist, the historian Gvork. Swylar stood near the back of the group, the wound giving his face a look of permanent, wide-eyed horror.

— Who wishes to reveal first?

Barcas raised his head. In the manner of spies, he revealed so quietly that we had to move more closely to him.

— There are reports that the enemy is preparing for a great new battle.

He looked around him, as if expecting to be contradicted. We waited for more.

— There are dogs everywhere. Attacks are more frequent. They want to destroy the kingdom.

— They always want to destroy the kingdom.

It was Gvork, the historian, who revealed. Barcas reacted with surprising certainty.

— This is different. There is a new mood in the world above.

— How do we know this? I asked.

Barcas seemed to close in on himself. His reply was the spy’s favorite revelation.

— Information received.

— Is there any understanding of why the bodies of citizens are being abused?

This was Driva.

— Tails are being removed. We believe it is a simple act of cruelty on the part of humans.

— What happens to dead citizens is not our concern, — I revealed firmly. — It is the living who matter now. — Joram, the sleek young rat from the Court of Strategy, pushed to the front.

— Barcas is right. The evidence is clear from the world above. What needs to be decided is what the kingdom should do. There is a choice of three ways forward. We move. We prepare to defend. Or we attack.

— Attack!

Growan reacted like all warriors. For them, fighting and killing was the answer to all the big questions.

— History . . .

Gvork began to reveal with the irritating reasonableness of his court.

— History teaches us that the kingdom is strongest when it moves. When humans move, we follow. In the fields, we move together. Movement is strength. It is part of our nature.

For a moment, the Court of Governance seemed convinced. Then, to the surprise of us all, Swylar revealed.

— As always, the historian speaks with logic.

There was a contemptuous snicker from Growan, but Swylar silenced him with an angry glance from his one eye.

— It is no joke. We learn from the past.

He turned to me, then continued.

— I have learned from the past.

I raised my nose in acknowledgment, and Swylar looked away quickly, as if suddenly remembering our battle. He continued, — But if we move, what then? The enemy will believe it has won the battle. It will want to win the war. Other kingdoms will be attacked. Maybe ours. What do we do then? Keep moving? Retreat forever?

— Never!

Growan’s revelation was so impassioned that he actually allowed a squeak of anger to escape him.

I waited for Swylar to continue, but he sat back on his haunches. All eyes were on me.

— We shall ask the kingdom.

I sensed a faint scent of disappointment. Driva revealed next.

— If I were a citizen in that Great Hollow, I would be waiting to be told, not asked. We are meant to be leaders, not followers.

— Attack!

Growan moved to the front of the court, daring any courtier to contradict him.

— Enough.

I revealed strongly.

— The way of the past, of ordering citizens what to do, has failed. I shall explain the decisions that face the kingdom. Many will die. They have a right to be heard.

I moved toward the entrance.

— Wait.

Once again, it was Gvork, the historian, who surprised me by revealing.

— Who are we? — He moved to the entrance, barring my way. — We are a group of citizens. We have but one true warrior among us. How can we be leaders if there has been no ceremony to make us so?

— It is too late for ceremonies, Gvork.

I revealed with quiet firmness and moved forward, but he barred my way once more.

— History shows us that to be strong a kingdom needs a king.

There was a chattering of agreement among the courtiers.

Swylar sidled his way to the front.

— The historian is right. A short ceremony is all that is needed. King Efren.

The others revealed, every one of them.

— King Efren!

— King Efren!

— King Efren!

— Hail to King Efren!

I faced them, suddenly more convinced than I had ever been before.

— No. I shall lead, but I shall not be king.

I turned, and for the briefest moment, Gvork stood in my way. Then he moved aside, allowing me to make my way toward the Rock of State.