The Twyning (38 page)

. . . that has me wondering whether she will ever recover from what happened in the house of Champagne Charlie.

“You want us to find this rat —”

“Efren. He has a name.”

“— and warn him of what the doctor has planned.”

“He saved me. Now I’m going to save him.”

“But we have no idea where to find him?”

“How did you find me?”

“The beast led me there.”

“No. He led Malaika there.” She strokes her pet rat. “Efren heard me. He followed the sound in his head. I know it’s a mystery, Peter. No one in the world would believe that we can hear a rat’s thoughts. But we know it’s true, don’t we?”

I think about it for a moment. I have to admit that even though I still think Caz may be becoming a lunatic, I am beginning to see how her plan might just work.

“So if he could hear you then, you think we could reach him now. With our thoughts?”

“We have to try to warn them.”

“Like spies?”

“Yes, spies for rats.”

. . . and eyes darted toward the shadowy entrance where the river entered the Great Hollow.

It was the first time since the massacre that citizens of the kingdom had assembled here. Twice we had been caught here by the enemy. Twice there had been death, terror, and defeat. Now there was an atmosphere of quiet, but it was the quiet of fear.

When the courtiers filed out, one after another, onto the Rock of State, there was no acclamation beyond a rustle of interest. I moved to the tip of the rock with the Court of Governance behind me.

The sour smell of distrust became more difficult to ignore. Behind me, Gvork revealed quietly to me.

— I told you. They need a king. It’s not too late. They must have a king.

But no. I knew it was not that. Citizens had looked to the Court of Governance for guidance, for strength, and for honesty. For those things, they would follow and fight and die. Instead, they had seen that there had been fighting and rivalry in the Court of Governance. They had lost faith in their leaders.

They looked up and saw not a court but a group of rats much like themselves, only luckier and more driven by greed and ambition. As I waited for the attention of the kingdom, I sensed something like anger among those on the far bank of the river: the tasters, the translators, the spies, the strategists, the warriors. They had seen Swylar among us. No rat, not even Queen Jeniel, reminded them more powerfully of the ugliness of power.

— My name is Efren.

The revelation was as strong as that of any king or courtier, but it was not enough to break through. The restlessness grew as I continued.

— I have seen a king die at the hands of the enemy. I have seen a terrible battle in which many of our friends have died. I was born into the Court of Tasting.

There was a snickering from the back of the hollow.

— And I am proud of that. It is time for a rat who is not a warrior to lead the kingdom.

A revelation from the minds of hundreds of rats hung in the air. It said, — Jeniel. That was what Jeniel once told us.

— The past is past. You have a new court. Growan, a great warrior. Barcas, from the Court of Spies. Driva is here, and she will lead our does — and even older ratlings — into battle if there is a need for them.

The smell of hostility grew stronger. More death, more betrayal. That was what citizens were hearing.

— We have the strategist Joram to help us plan for the struggle ahead. And a historian, Gvork.

There was open chattering in the hollow now. The idea of a historian in the Court of Governance was not only new to citizens but slightly ridiculous.

I revealed with all the strength within me.

— For the battle ahead, we must have the wisdom of the past. That is also why I have asked Swylar to return to the court.

A low hissing could be heard from my audience.

— Ceremony! — It was Gvork again. — Give them a king! That will silence them!

I paused, looking around the Great Hollow.

— It is good that citizens are showing what they believe.

A few citizens were listening more carefully now, but not many.

— It is a moment of change. The times when citizens were told what to do by the mighty warriors of the Court of Governance are past. They are what led us to the terrible battle in the world above. We need, each of us, together, to decide how to defend ourselves against the enemy. The threat is greater than ever. Another battle will soon be upon us. We must fight in a new way.

I sensed that even the courtiers behind me were becoming restless, but there was no going back now.

— I shall lead you, but I shall not be king. It is not my wish, and I believe that it is not your wish either.

There was a sharp revelation from a doe who was among the translators.

— We must have a king. There is no kingdom without a king.

A few of the younger warriors revealed, too. Soon the place was riven with one great shared thought.

— King! We need a king!

A warrior near the front of the crowd stood tall on his hind legs. Looking around him, he squealed angrily, revealing as he did so.

— If you will not be king, Efren, give us one who will.

There was a movement behind me. At first I thought Gvork had stepped forward to have his say. But it was worse than that.

— You know me, I believe.

Standing beside me was Swylar.

— I have changed a little. — He turned his head, revealing the gashed, eyeless side of his face. — I have fought with a great warrior, brave and fierce. It was this citizen.

He faced me, and before the kingdom, he humbled, like a subject.

— Efren. You are a great leader. The kingdom needs you. It needs you more than it needs any king.

The gathering was still now. The eyes of every citizen were upon me as I stood over Swylar. Some great revelation was needed now, but there were no thoughts within me.

Silence filled the Great Hollow, moment after moment, and it was in that void that a new sound could now be heard. It was the chattering of teeth, together, pulsing in time.

There was a disturbance among the citizens who were nearby.

I was about to bring the gathering to order when I heard a single note, pure and strong.

Then another note.

And another.

We knew that sound. Every buck and doe in the kingdom understood what it was and what it meant.

It was a plaining.

The chattering of teeth from the back of the Great Hollow grew louder. Citizens were acclaiming what they were seeing. The heady scent of hope and joy spread through the multitude, entering every heart.

I looked over the backs of the multitude. It was as if a dense mass of citizens was moving slowly forward, edging its way through the throng.

It reached the center of the Great Hollow. As those around it fell back, I saw it at last.

The Twyning.

It was being carried slowly forward by a team of young warriors, as if that great wheel of bodies had itself grown legs.

I understood in that instant why the kingdom had felt incomplete and uneasy. Its old twyning, the repository of its wisdom, its soul, had died. Only a new twyning could take us forward, bringing with it all that was good in the kingdom of rats.

Courage, resolution, kindness.

The Twyning reached the far bank of the river and, to a deafening acclamation, was laid gently down.

There was a writhing tangle of rats, bound together by their tails. They looked young and strong as they gazed at the citizens who surrounded them.

One of the warriors slipped into the river and began swimming toward the Rock of State. There was something familiar about him.

He reached the bank below me, shook the water from his coat, and then ascended to the Rock of State, where he stood before me. My heart beat loudly, filled with relief and gratitude. He revealed briefly.

— Hail Efren, leader of the kingdom.

He crouched before me as the acclamation in the Great Hollow seemed to shake the earth around us.

Above the noise, I revealed.

— Welcome home, my old friend Floke.

. . . when the townspeople gather to plan the great hunt, organized for the following day in the field next to the river. There are only a few women and no children. Dogs of all sizes are there. Someone has brought along a cage full of ferrets.

As I approach, walking with Bill a few paces behind the doctor and the politician, I notice that the men are dressed differently today. They are in the greens and browns of hunting clothes. They talk quietly among themselves, laughing only now and then.

The death of Champagne Charlie — murdered, it is believed, by rats — has changed everything. Hunting beasts is no longer just a sport. It is survival. These men have honestly come to believe that we have to get them before they get us.

As the MP and the doctor reach the bridge, the men gather around, their faces as solemn as I have seen them. When Mr. Petheridge speaks, he hardly has to raise his voice in order to be heard.

“Our task tomorrow will be to eradicate our enemy. The rat has shown how cunning and cowardly it can be. It is for us, the men of this borough, to show that we cannot be terrorized. When we are hurt, we fight back with all the weapons at our command! ”

There is a murmur of defiant agreement.

“It’s for the kiddies — they’ll be coming for the kiddies next,” someone says, and there is applause.

The doctor moves forward to speak.

“In the opinion of our Mr. Grubstaff here”— he waves an arm toward Bill, who stares stolidly at the ground — “the rat does not make the same mistake twice. He learns.”

“Vicious devils,” someone mutters near the front of the crowd. “They’re Satan’s creatures — that’s the truth of it.”

As the hubbub of voices grows louder, the doctor raises a hand.

“Our aim tomorrow will be to trap the remaining beasts in an enclosure around this field. They will be unwilling to use the drain that brought them to death last time, but we shall block it just to make sure.”

He points downstream with his cane.

“There is another issue from the sewage network some hundred yards in that direction. Bill and the boy, Mr. Smith”— he nods toward me — “will block all exits from the sewerage lines except for that one. The rats will be driven by gas toward that one exit. Once they emerge, the dogs will do their work. But we must be organized.”

For the next few minutes, the men discuss where each of them will be standing. There is no rivalry now between the setters. The dogs, seeming to pick up the somber mood, are less playful and excited than usual.

“It’s as if it really was a bloomin’ war.” Watching them as they earnestly make their plans, Bill shakes his head. “They’re only a few beasts.”

“Will they kill them all?” I ask.

Bill chuckles, as if I’ve made a really good joke. “They’ll think they can, but somewhere a couple of beasts will survive. In no time, there will be more of them than ever. Rats is rats. That’s what happens when they’re under attack. Nature tells them to have more young.”

“Gentlemen.” Mr. Petheridge has stepped forward. “We shall meet tomorrow at dusk. Gather at this point at four p.m. Please leave your womenfolk and your little ones at home. This will be no occasion for them. Bring only the bravest, strongest dogs. Rats have a nose for the weak. They destroy them. And bring gloves, clubs, sticks. We shall need them!”

With that, he walks over to us.

“You shall have three council workers at your disposal, Mr. Grubstaff. We want all escapes from the sewerage lines blocked today.” He lowers his voice. “It will be a good payday for you both.”

He turns out to be right, but it is a hard day of digging and lugging and blocking, too.

I return home well after nightfall. Caz has found some vegetables at the market, and on our little fire, there is a stew of parsnips and carrots that smells better than anything should in a rubbish tip. We eat together, the three of us, Caz, Malaika, and I.

“So?” Caz asks eventually. “Did you find out the plans for tomorrow?”

“I did,” I say. “I know the plans.”