The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents (21 page)

“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 in these mountains 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….

“Okay,” 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 over 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 big 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 dueled 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, suddenly 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.”

“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 life preserver 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 this time at a dirty, half-scorched cat, who grinned at him.

“Did that
cat
just
speak
?” asked 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 hear what the rat says.”

“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?”

“Sorted 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 toward 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?” asked 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?” asked 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.”

W
ell done, Ratty Rupert!” cried the animals of Furry Bottom.

—From
Mr. Bunnsy Has an Adventure

The crowd clustered into the council hall in the Rathaus. Most of it had to stay outside, craning over other people's heads to see what was going on.

The town council was crammed around one end of the long table. A dozen or so of the senior rats were crouched at the other end.

And in the middle was Maurice. He was suddenly there, leaping up from the floor.

Hopwick the clockmaker glared at the other members of the council.

“We're
talking
to rats!” he snapped, trying to make himself heard above the hubbub. “We'll be a laughingstock if this gets out! ‘The Town That Talked to Its Rats.' Can't you just see it?”

“Rats aren't there to be spoken to,” said Raufman the bootmaker, prodding the mayor with a finger. “A mayor who knew his business would send for the rat catchers!”

“According to my daughter, they are locked in a cellar,” said the mayor. He stared at the finger.

“Locked in by your talking rats?” asked Raufman.

“Locked in by my daughter,” said the mayor calmly. “Take your finger away, Mr. Raufman. She's taken the Watch down there. She's making very serious allegations, Mr. Raufman. She says there's a lot of food stored under their shed. She says they've been stealing it and selling it to the river traders. The head rat catcher is your brother-in-law, isn't he, Mr. Raufman? I remember you were very keen to see him appointed, weren't you?”

There was a commotion outside. Sergeant Doppelpunkt pushed his way through, grinning broadly, and laid a big sausage on the table.

“One sausage is hardly
theft
,” said Raufman.

There was rather more commotion in the crowd, which parted to reveal what was, strictly speaking, a very slowly moving Corporal Knopf. This fact became clear, though, only when he'd been stripped of three bags of grain, eight strings
of sausages, a barrel of pickled beets, and fifteen cabbages.

Sergeant Doppelpunkt saluted smartly, to the sound of muffled swearing and falling cabbages.

“Requesting permission to take six men to help us bring up the rest of the stuff, sir!” he said, beaming happily.

“Where are the rat catchers?” asked the mayor.

“In deep…trouble, sir,” said the sergeant. “I arsked them if they wanted to come out, but they said they'd like to stay in there a bit longer, thanks all the same, although they'd like a drink of water and some fresh trousers.”

“Was that
all
they said?”

Sergeant Doppelpunkt pulled out his notebook. “No, sir, they said quite a lot. They were crying, acktually. They said they'd confess to everything in exchange for the fresh trousers. Also, sir, there was this.”

A newly deputized Watchman came in carrying a heavy box, which he thumped down onto the polished table.

“Acting on information received from a rat, sir, we took a look under one of the floorboards in their shed. There must be more'n four hundred dollars in it. Ill-gotten gains, sir.”

“You got information from a
rat
?”

The sergeant pulled Sardines out of his pocket. The rat was eating a biscuit, but he raised his hat politely.

“Isn't that a bit…unhygienic?” asked the mayor.

“No, guv, he's washed his hands,” said Sardines.

“I was talking to the sergeant!”

“He's a nice little chap, sir. Very clean,” said Sergeant Doppelpunkt. “Reminds me of a hamster I used to have when I was a lad, sir.”

“Well, thank you, sergeant, well done, please go and—”

“His name was Horace,” added the sergeant helpfully.

“Thank you, sergeant, and now—”

“Does me good to see little cheeks bulging with grub again, sir.”

“
Thank
you, sergeant!”

When the sergeant had left, the mayor turned and stared at Mr. Raufman. The bootmaker had the grace to look embarrassed.

“I hardly know the man,” he said hurriedly. “He's just somebody my sister married, that's all! I hardly ever see him!”

“I quite understand,” said the mayor. “And I've no intention of asking the sergeant to go and search your larder.” He gave another little smile,
and a sniff, and added, “Yet. Now, where were we?”

“I was about to tell you a story,” said Maurice.

The town council stared at him.

“And your name is—?” asked the mayor, who was feeling in quite a good mood now.

“Maurice,” said Maurice. “I'm a freelance negotiator, you could say. I can see it's difficult for you to talk to rats, but humans like talking to cats, right?”

“Like in Dick Livingstone?” asked Hopwick the clockmaker.

“Yeah, right, him, yeah, and—” Maurice began.

“And Puss in Boots?” asked Corporal Knopf.

“Yeah, right, just like in books,” said Maurice, scowling. “
Anyway…
cats can talk to rats, okay? And I'm going to tell you a story. But first I'm going to tell you that my clients, the rats, will all leave this town if you want them to, and they won't come back. Ever.”

The humans stared at him. So did the rats.

“Will we?” asked Darktan.

“Will they?” asked the mayor.

“Yes,” said Maurice. “And now I'm going to tell you a story about the lucky town. I don't know its name yet. Let's suppose my clients leave here and move downriver, shall we? There are lots of towns on this river, I'll be bound. And
somewhere there's a town that'll say, Why, we
can
do a deal with the rats. And that will be a very lucky town, because then there'll be
rules
, see?”

“Not exactly, no,” said the mayor.

“Well, in this lucky town, right, a lady making, as it might be, a tray of cakes, well, all she'll need to do is shout down the nearest rat hole and say, ‘Good morning, rats, there's one cake for you; I'd be much obliged if'n you didn't touch the rest of them,' and the rats will say, ‘Right you are, missus, no problem at all.' And then—”

“Are you saying we should
bribe
the rats?” asked the mayor.

“Cheaper than pipers. Cheaper than rat catchers,” said Maurice. “Anyway, it'll be wages. Wages for what, I hear you cry?”

“Did I cry that?” said the mayor.

“You were going to,” said Maurice. “And I was going to tell you that it'd be wages for…for vermin control.”

“What? But rats
are
ver—”

“Don't say it!” said Darktan.

“Vermin like cockroaches,” said Maurice, smoothly. “I can see you've got a lot of them here.”

“Can
they
talk?” asked the mayor. Now he had the slightly hunted expression of anyone who'd
been talked at by Maurice for any length of time. It said, “I'm going where I don't want to go, but I don't know how to get off.”

“No,” said Maurice. “Nor can the mice, and nor can norma—nor can other rats. Well, vermin'll be a thing of the past in that lucky town, because its new rats will be like a police force. Why, the Clan'll
guard
your larders—sorry, I mean the larders in that town. No rat catchers required. Think of the savings. But that'll only be the start. The woodcarvers will be getting richer, too, in the lucky town.”

“How?” asked Hauptmann the woodcarver, sharply.

“Because rats will be working for them,” said Maurice. “They have to gnaw all the time to wear their teeth down, so they might as well be making cuckoo clocks. And the clockmakers will be doing well too.”

“Why?” asked Hopwick the clockmaker.

“Tiny little paws, very good with little springs and things,” said Maurice. “And then—”

“Would they just do cuckoo clocks, or could they do other stuff?” asked Hauptmann.

“—and then there's the whole tourism aspect,” said Maurice. “For example, the Rat Clock. You know that clock they've got in Bonk? In the
town square? Little figures come out every quarter of an hour and bang the bells? Cling bong bang, bing clong
bong
? Very popular—you can get postcards and everything. Big attraction. People come a long way just to stand there waiting for it.”

“So what you're saying,” said the clockmaker, “is that if we—that is, if the lucky town had a special big clock, and rats, people might come to see it?”

“And stand around waiting for up to a quarter of an hour,” said someone.

“A perfect time to buy tooth-crafted models of the clock,” said the clockmaker. “At very reasonable prices.”

People began to think about this.

“Mugs with rats on them,” said a potter.

“Hand-gnawed souvenir wooden plates,” said Hauptmann.

“Cuddly toy rats!”

“Rats-on-a-stick!”

Darktan took a deep breath. Maurice said, quickly, “Good idea. Made of
toffee
, naturally.” He glanced toward Keith. “And I expect the town would want to employ its very own rat piper, even. You know. For ceremonial purposes. ‘Have your picture drawn with the Official Rat
Piper and his Rats' sort of thing.”

“Any chance of a small theater?” said a little voice.

Darktan spun around.

“Sardines!” he said.

“Well, guv, I thought if everyone was getting in on the act—” Sardines protested.

“Maurice, we ought to talk about this,” said Dangerous Beans, tugging at the cat's leg.

“Excuse me a moment,” said Maurice, giving the mayor a quick grin. “I need to consult with my clients. Of course,” he added, “I'm talking about the
lucky
town. Which won't be this one because, of course, when my clients move out, some new rats will move in. There are always more rats. And
they
won't talk, and
they
won't have rules, and they'll widdle in the cream, and you'll have to find some new rat catchers, ones you can trust, and you won't have as much money because the tourists will be going to the other town. Just a thought.”

He marched down the table and turned to the rats.

“I was doing so well!” he said. “You could be on ten percent, you know? Your faces on mugs, everything!”

“And is this what we fought for all night?”
spat Darktan. “To be
pets
?”

“Maurice, this isn't right,” said Dangerous Beans. “Surely it is better to appeal to the common bond between intelligent species than—”

“I don't know about intelligent species. We're dealing with humans here,” said Maurice. “Do you know about wars? Very popular with humans. They fight other humans. Not hugely big on common bonding.”

“Yes, but we are not—”

“Now listen,” said Maurice. “Ten minutes ago these people thought you were pests. Now they think you're…useful. Who knows what I can make them think if you give me a half hour?”

“You want us to
work
for them?” said Darktan. “We've
won
our place here!”

“You'll be working for
yourselves
,” said Maurice. “Look, these people aren't philosophers. They're just…everyday. They don't understand about the tunnels. This is a market town. You've got to approach them the right way. Anyway, you
will
keep other rats away, and you won't go around widdling in the jam, so you might as well get thanked for it.” He tried again. “There's going to be a lot of shouting, right, yeah. And then sooner or later you have to talk.” He saw the
bewilderment still glazing their eyes and turned to Sardines in desperation.

“Help me,” he said.

“He's right, boss. You've got to give a 'em a show,” said Sardines, dancing a few steps nervously.

“They'll laugh at us!” said Darktan.

“Better laugh than scream, boss. It's a start. You gotta dance, boss. You can think and you can fight, but the world's always movin', and if you wanna stay ahead, you gotta dance.”

He raised his hat and twirled his cane. On the other side of the room a couple of humans saw him and chuckled.

“See?” he said.

“I'd hoped there was an island somewhere,” said Dangerous Beans. “A place where rats could really be rats.”

“And we've seen where that leads,” said Darktan. “And, you know, I don't think there's any wonderful islands in the distance for people like us. Not for us.” He sighed. “If there's a wonderful island anywhere, it's here. But I'm not intending to dance.”

“Figure of speech, boss, figure of speech,” said Sardines, hopping from one foot to the other.

There was a thump from the other end of the table. The mayor, who had been arguing with some of the councilors, had hit it with his fist.

“We've got to be
practical
!” he shouted. “How much worse off can we be? They can
talk
. I'm not going to go through all this again, understand? We've got food, we've got a lot of money back, we survived the piper…. These are
lucky
rats.”

The figures of Keith and Malicia loomed over Maurice and the rats.

“It sounds as if my father's coming round to the idea,” said Malicia. “What about you?”

“Discussions are continuing,” said Maurice.

“I…er…I'm sorr…er…look, Maurice told me where to look, and I found this in the tunnel,” said Malicia.

She put something down on the table. The pages were torn and stained, but it was still recognizable as
Mr. Bunnsy Has an Adventure
. It had been inexpertly stitched back together.

“I had to lift up a lot of drain gratings,” she said.

The rats looked at it. Then they looked at Dangerous Beans.

“It's
Mr. Bunn—
” Peaches began.