The Twyning (9 page)

They did, Floke staying close to me, Fang limping after us.

We crossed the human highway.

We searched and soon found the tells of rats from the kingdom, leading to the touch-path that would take us back.

One name echoed in my mind as I led Floke and Fang downward into the welcome damp and darkness of the earth.

Malaika.

. . . about all that has happened to me while I have been on this earth.

I see children playing on the street, or walking with their mothers or nannies. I pass a school playground.

The memories return, and just for a few moments, I wonder.

So it is, the day after the doctor’s speech to the institute.

I am walking to the rat-catcher, Bill Grubstaff. I need money for food, and today is a pit day.

I like my work with Bill, especially on days like this. It is not just the noise and warmth at the tavern on pit days, and the money. It is watching Bill, his shyness falling away from him as dogs and rats are about to do battle in the bar of the Cock Inn.

When I arrive for work, Bill is there in his moleskin waistcoat, a bucket of scraps in his hand. Unlike other rat-catchers, he likes to feed the beasts on the day of their death.

He nods in the direction of the fence nearby.

“Visitors last night, Dogboy,” he says.

I walk over to the fence. There is a spot of blood on the wire where it has been gnawed.

“Rats,” I say. “One was hurt.”

“He’ll be more than hurt if I catch him.” Bill gives a little laugh. “They even tried to get into the well, bloomin’ varmints.”

He walks to the trapdoor over a disused well where he likes to keep the beasts, and puts a finger over the wood where tooth marks can be seen. “They were curious, I suppose.”

He lifts the wood and throws in some scraps from his bucket.

The rats squeal as they fight for food.

“Must be a fair few in there,” he says. “It’s going to be a good day for us, Dogboy.”

He looks at the beasts, and a little smile is on his big, weather-beaten face. He could be a farmer looking at his prize pigs.

He passes me a sack. “In you go, then, boy.”

I take the ladder that is leaning against the fence and slowly lower it into the well.

Carefully, I descend. On the last step, I feel the warmth of scurrying feet and tiny claws around my ankles.

I reach down and my fingers close around a tail. In a quick movement, I pick it up and drop it into the sack.

One after the other, I take them, counting them aloud as I go. Bill is not good at figures.

I have been counting for several minutes when I lift a beast who is smaller and lighter than the rest.

To my surprise, I see it is a pet rat, of the type that has become all the rage among the gentry.

“A fancy,” I say to Bill.

Bill glances at it. “That’ll be from Barnaby Smiles,” he says. “He gives me the beasts he can’t sell in the market.”

“Bit small for the pit,” I say, feeling a touch sorry for the little thing.

He laughs. “You’re going soft, Dogboy,” he says. “A rat’s a rat. She’ll do.”

I lower the fancy rat into the sack.

. . . to the world below when all I wanted was to rest my poor bloodied feet. Behind me, though, I smelled the pain of Fang, who was now limping badly.

His brother Floke, beside him, revealed every stride or so.

— Onward. Onward. We shall soon be there.

It was Floke who first sensed we were not alone.

Then we smelled it. The kingdom. We were among citizens.

We were on a flat, damp stone. Ahead of us, under some rotting wood, was a gouge. There, watching us, was a group of five rats, citizens of the kingdom.

I stood beside Floke and revealed to them.

— We came from the world above. I am Efren.

I noticed that the strength of my revelation stirred the rats into life. They advanced toward us.

— Are you from the Court of Governance? — one of them asked.

I hesitated, and in that moment Fang replied.

— He is. And we are warriors.

The rats, who I now saw were quite old, turned to one another and seemed to be having a nervous debate about what to do.

Floke moved toward them.

— Who are you, citizens?

One of them faced us, crouching. His revelation, when it came, was so feeble that it was little more than an irritation in the head.

— I am Hurh.

Another of the rats stood beside him. Their revelations came tumbling out one after another.

— My friend is named after Hurh, the king of many generations back.

— Although, there is some doubt whether Hurh was actually king in this kingdom.

— But he was certainly a king somewhere.

— Not that the Court of Governance has seen fit to recognize him.

— These days all citizens think about is today and tomorrow.

— What about yesterday? That’s what we say.

— But no one listens.

— Ever.

— Ever at all.

Floke had heard enough. He seemed to breathe in deeply, becoming twice his normal size. The rats shrank back. The one called Hurh revealed nervously.

— We’re historians, you see. We’re part of the Court of Historians.

I had never really known what the Court of Historians did. By the look of them, Fang and Floke had never heard of it. Hurh was gaining in confidence.

— We believe historians are important because —

— No!

I interrupted the old historian as sharply as I could manage. I was tired; my feet were bleeding. One of my comrades was badly wounded. History could wait.

— Hurh, we need you to take us to the Great Hollow.

Hurh was taking a closer interest in me.

— Are you a fragile? — He was looking at the white streak on my head. — There has not been a citizen with fragile blood on the Court of Governance since —

— Now!

As I revealed, Floke bared his teeth.

Another historian, lighter in color, emerged from the back of the group.

— Are you with the changers or the keepers? — he asked.

— Changers? Keepers? What is this? We have been in the world above.

The historian sat back on his haunches as he revealed with painful slowness.

— I am Divnit, and I shall now tell what happened.

Floke darted forward and nipped his shoulder. The historian screamed as if he were in his death throes. I moved between them before there was more trouble. I revealed as calmly as I was able.

— We are tired. One of us is injured. We need two of you to take us to the Great Hollow. You can tell us about what has happened in the kingdom as we go.

Encouraged to talk, Divnit recovered quickly. With Hurh, he led us out of the gouge, revealing as he went. The kingdom, he told us, had been changed by the news that King Tzuriel had been captured by the enemy. In every court, sorrow had turned to anger. King Tzuriel’s words of peace had been forgotten. If humankind was prepared to do such terrible things to an old king, citizens were asking, what else would it do? Where would the violence end?

The certainty about who would succeed Tzuriel had disappeared. Grizzlard was a figure from the past. He was too old, too peace-loving to rule the kingdom at a time of peril.

Some citizens believed the doe Jeniel should become queen. They were the changers. Behind Grizzlard were the keepers.

By the time we had been led by Hurh and Divnit down winding touch-paths that led to the Court of Governance, I knew what I had to do. It was time for the kingdom to hear what had happened to King Tzuriel.

When we reached the entrance to the area behind the Rock of State where the Court of Governance stayed, two warriors blocked our path.

As bravely as he could manage, Hurh revealed.

— I am Hurh from the Court of Historians.

— And I am Divnit.

The revelation from Divnit was like a small sneeze in the brain.

One of the warriors snickered, and went back to nibbling at a root. Historians, I was discovering, were not widely respected.

I pushed forward.

— I am Efren. Let me through.

The warriors ignored me. I felt Floke tense beside me, ready for a fight. I tried again.

— I have seen the king in the world above.

There was movement in the hollow behind the warriors. The ancient form of Quell appeared.

— Efren? Is it you?

The warriors moved back. I led Floke and Fang, followed by the two historians, onto the Rock of State.

— Tzuriel is dead. Stabbed to death by the enemy. I saw it.

He seemed almost displeased that the three of us had returned from our mission. Eventually, he appeared to have reached a decision.

— You will be fed and given water. When your strength has returned, you will tell the court what you have seen in the world above.

Hurh pushed forward, his eyes glistening with the excitement of the moment.

— It would be useful for future historians if one of our court could attend this . . . occasion. His revelation tapered off as, ignoring him, Quell turned away. As we followed, the two historians were approached by the warrior gatekeepers.

— Thank you, historians, — I revealed as they were led off the Rock of State.

Quell moved slowly. He seemed to have aged by another lifetime since we had been away.

As we reached the Court of Governance, I noticed for the first time a smell of fear and anger in the dark air.

— The ratling is back.

Quell’s revelation caused all eyes to turn in our direction. They were not welcoming.

A guard led me into a small chamber to the side of the main court, where a cache of food — some grain, cooked potatoes, and apples taken from a human cellar — had been left. There was a disturbance behind me.

As I turned, I saw Floke and Fang being nipped and bustled away from me by four guards.

— Where are you taking them? They must eat with me.

Desperation added strength to my revelation.

A dark figure filled the entrance to the chamber. It was Swylar, the sleek young deputy to Jeniel.

— They are injured. Do not worry, young Efren. They shall be taken good care of.

He moved closer to me and nudged me with his nose. Normally the gesture would have been to judge my mood by the scent of my breath — whiffling, as it is called — but Swylar, I could tell, had no interest in how I was feeling. He simply wanted to make me afraid.

I turned to the food and began to eat.

— They didn’t want you back, you know. — Swylar’s revelation was easily conversational. — They assumed you would all die in the world above and that the kingdom could continue as it always has. I fear that you are now in rather serious danger.

I stopped eating.

— Danger? Why?

— Some members of the court, the keepers, as they are known, were hoping that if nothing was known of the end of Tzuriel, the succession would be as normal. Grizzlard, the foolish old warrior, would become king. Now that we know the enemy stabbed Tzuriel to death, it changes everything. For some, a subject who caused all this to happen is a traitor and must suffer a traitor’s fate.

— I saw what I saw. What can I do about that?

Swylar prodded me once more.

— You have to do nothing, little Efren. Fortunately, I have it in my power to help you. The guards listen to me these days. You will be safe if you listen to me and do what I say.

— And what is that?

— Tell the truth. — Swylar glanced toward the entrance of the chamber, from where there were sounds of courtiers approaching.

He scuttled away into the darkness at the back of the room.

Quell stood at the entrance to the chamber.

— Are you strong enough to address the courtiers?

When I emerged from the chamber, I was aware that the area outside the door was thronging with members of the court. Courtiers climbed over one another in their attempts to get closer. Some of them had scratches around their faces, suggesting that scuffles and skirmishes had even broken out within the Court of Governance. It was strange. Something surely was changing in the kingdom.

— Is this ratling to be trusted? — one of the courtiers revealed as if I were not standing before him. — We have had too many plots recently. This could be another one.