by KH Gordon
Chapter Nine
It was the longest, most boring gathering Torus had ever been to. Dinnick’s Young Gatherings had been informal and entertaining, and he always had kept them active by playing Cats and Rats, or Spring the Trap. Instead of lecturing, he mostly told stories, and yet the young rats came away having learned more than they realized about life in the Clan and how to survive.
But Nogolo’s approach was to stand nearly motionless and recite information in his wheedling voice. After tying to get them all excited about coming of age, he stood on the platform and told them all about what that meant. Torus and the others already knew most of what he was talking about, but that didn’t stop him from going into excruciating detail about every aspect of it. They would all be given some responsibility in the Clan (he called it a ‘purpose’), such as Patrol, or Scout, or Runner, or some function in the Chief’s circle. Everyone would forage, if they were able. Most of them would leave their families’ dens and make dens of their own (this made many of them uncomfortably nervous, and they glanced around to see who was watching them, if anyone). Torus had to fight to keep himself from drifting off to sleep.
He startled awake when Chello punched him in the shoulder.
“Why is he going on and on and on like this?” Chello whispered. “He could have told us everything we need to know in the time it takes to scratch your nose, but we’ve been here for half the day!”
“I don’t know, maybe he’s trying to make us forget about the pigeons.”
Chello snorted in reply and went back to picking specks of dirt off his tail.
Torus looked around at the crowd and saw that they were all in a similar state. When the meeting had started, they were alert and upright, and for the first little while, most of them really tried to pay attention. But now, in the middle of the afternoon, they sat slumped against one another, or even laid out on their sides with their eyes glazed over like they’d been poisoned. Some of them were plainly sound asleep, and others were huddled in little groups whispering conversations that had nothing to do with the gathering.
And still Nogolo kept talking steadily about responsibilities and privileges and the minute details of Foraging Etiquette. Torus wondered how he could keep going when it was clear no one was paying any attention to him. Then he noticed the big rat who had spoken up at the beginning. He was still at the back of the crowd, and still was sitting straight up with his eyes locked on the speaker, apparently taking in every word. His expression was unreadable, but he looked more grimly determined than seemed natural, considering the subject.
He nudged Chello.
“Hey, who is that?” he asked, gesturing at the tall rat.
Chello glanced up briefly and then returned his attention to the end of his tail.
“I dunno…his name is Jube or something like that. He’s from up on the second floor.”
“His name is Juke,” said Nevi. “His parents are friends with my mom.”
“Why is he so interested in this?” asked Torus.
“Maybe he just has to work really hard at paying attention so he understands what’s going on,” said Chello.
“No, I don’t think so,” said Nevi. “I don’t know him very well, but he’s always really intense. I think he wants to get onto the Patrol.”
“Huh,” said Chello without looking up. “He’s big enough, I guess. Don’t know if he’s any good in a fight, though.”
“Why do you care?” asked Nevi. “Are you going for Patrol, too?”
Chello shrugged.
“Dunno yet. Haven’t decided.” He paid extra close attention to an invisible speck on the very tip of his tail and didn’t say anything else.
Advisor Nogolo was at the end of his speech and the crowd started moving restlessly. He raised his voice above the growing murmur.
“So when you have decided what it is you want to do, be sure to talk to the lead rat for that group. And don’t waste time making up your mind or all the positions might be filled and you’ll have to wait for an opening. All right, well. Thank you for your attention. You may go.”
With that, the rats got up and started stretching and yawning and preparing to leave. Then a voice could be heard shouting above the chattering voices.
“Wait! Wait! What about the other thing? What about the pigeons?”
It was Juke, still standing perfectly still and staring at the advisor. The crowd grew suddenly quiet. Nogolo momentarily lost his warm and friendly manner and he stared sharply at Juke for a few seconds.
“Very well,” he said. “I would prefer more patience on your parts, but it won’t do to have you all leave here with half-formed or wholly incorrect ideas about the future.” He took a deep breath and seemed to relax a little. “Please settle back down, all of you, and I’ll do my best to explain things as far as I can. I can’t pretend to know all that happens at the highest level of the Clan Leadership, but I think I can tell you what you will need to know to assist with the changes that are coming.”
“Liar,” muttered Nevi under her breath. “He knows exactly what goes on at the highest level. He is the highest level, since the Chief is getting so soft in the head.”
“Shh!” Torus hissed.
“It is certainly not news to any of you that food is scarce,” Nogolo continued. Most of you are old enough to know that food supplies fluctuate over time, but you must also have noticed, or have heard from your parents, that things are unusually lean at this time. It’s not clear what the reason is behind this shortage, but it’s clear we can’t simply sit by and wait for things to improve. Things certainly will improve in time, but we can’t say for how long we would have to wait, and the shortage is such now that we feel we must take more direct action to ensure the continued health and safety of the clan.”
Some in the crowd murmured approval while some remained skeptical and others looked positively frightened.
“And you must also know that, beside the dumpsters for this building, a crucial source of food for us is the big dumpster in the park across the street. Nearly every night members of the clan make the dangerous journey through the tunnels under the street to gather food in the park. This resource is critical to our survival through this difficult time, and the actions we have taken will ensure we will continue to benefit from it.
“You will all remember the previous gathering when The Chief claimed Clan-Right to it. The dumpster is closer to our building than to any other building on the block, and we have been visiting it for generations. We are the only Clan with a direct tunnel right to the dumpster, so naturally we can claim Clan-Right to it. So far no other clan has disputed our claim, so they will surely recognize it.” He paused to let this sink in.
“But what if they don’t?” he continued. “What if they refuse to allow us our rightful access to it? And what of the Park Rats, who have no laws and no orderly way of resolving disputes?”
“And the pigeons? What about the pigeons?” Juke asked persistantly.
“I’ll come to that!” snapped Nogolo. “Hold your peace!” The fur on his shoulders raised up slightly, then smoothed down again.
“Clearly we cannot guard the can all day and all night. Clearly we will need to engage in some partnership to be successful in this. There is not enough food in the dumpster for all the rats on the block, nor all the pigeons, but there is enough for one Clan of rats, and one flock of pigeons. The Chief in his wisdom has agreed to a partnership with the King of the Pigeons of Park Street. His flock will guard the dumpster from other pigeons and the Park Rats by day, and we will guard it from other Clans by night. We will share the resource with them while we benefit from each other’s vigilance.” He paused to let the idea sink in. Across the floor rats looked pensive, or confused, or still slightly frightened. A few, including Chello and Juke, looked frankly skeptical.
“Why pigeons?” someone asked. “Why not team up with one of the other clans?”
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br /> “We considered, that. Actually, that was our first choice. But there would be no way to protect the dumpster during the day. The humans in the park wouldn’t tolerate rats guarding it and then there would be no one to keep the other pigeons away. For some reason humans are more tolerant of the birds than they are of us. So by necessity we approached the flock and made the agreement we now have.”
Another voice piped up.
“My family has relatives and friends in the next building over. What if we meet them at the dumpster?”
“There will doubtless be some period of transition while everyone becomes used to the new…arrangement,” Nogolo replied. “It may be uncomfortable for some, but I’m sure you’ll agree that for the greater good of the clan a little discomfort is worth the reward.”
Suddenly Chello stood up.
“I won’t do it,” he said. “Agreement or not, I won’t work with pigbirds and neither will my family.” He turned to leave and there was a sudden angry murmur of agreement from across the room.
“Wait! Please wait,” said Nogolo. “Please, I beg you, stay and hear this through.” Chello paused, and then returned to his place and settled back down, his eyes snapping angrily.
“Thank you,” said Nogolo. “I understand your feelings…Chello, isn’t it? I know your father, Chello, I know the struggle he bears. Many rats among us have similar pains and more. I have scars myself from many battles, not only with pigeons, but with rats from other clans, with cats and dogs…that has been our way of life as long as anyone knows. How long can that continue? Of course we must protect ourselves from threats, but how long can we continue the fight alone? If we don’t begin to form alliances with our adversaries, it is only a matter of time before they begin to unite against us. How long would we stand then? We might go from having partial access to the can to having no access at all. How would we live through the winter moons then, with less and less food in the building? I’m not asking you to be best friends with all the pigeons in the park, just to agree not to fight with the birds of one particular flock. And they agree not to fight with us. It may be an uneasy alliance – I have no doubt there will be conflicts or arguments from time to time – but in the end we will all be better off. We will have more access to the dumpster than we have now and we will have to fight less to get it. Can you agree to that? Can you agree to try?” He looked imploringly at Chello, and then around the room, finally looking at Juke at the back of the room and holding his eyes steady for several seconds.
Chello seemed to hold his breath, and then finally broke the silence.
“I can try it. I’m willing to try it. But put me on Patrol and let me be part of the squad that keeps the pigbirds in line. I don’t trust them.”
Nogolo looked down at him, visibly relieved.
“Good!” he said. “Excellent, thank you, Chello. Talk to Commander Dumash about Patrol. I have no doubt with you on the squad the alliance will be a success.” He smiled and spoke to the crowd at large.
“There will be time to answer all your questions in the days to come. It’s getting late and you all need to be in your homes before the forage starts. Go now and think things over. Talk with your parents about it, and about what job you would like to take on in the Clan. Talk to whatever Commanders or Leaders are in charge of the teams you are interested in. In the next few days you will need to decide so we can make the announcements at your Introduction.”
With that, he stepped down from the platform and the crowd started to disperse.
“Wow,” said Nevi as they left the room. “I didn’t expect all that.”
“What did you expect?” asked Torus. “More Clan History?”
“Yeah, maybe,” she said sarcastically, “or maybe some actual information on foraging or patrolling or scouting or anything else we’re supposed to want to do. How are we supposed to know what choice to make if they don’t tell us anything about what those jobs actually do?”
“I don’t know…” Torus’s mind was full of all the things he had heard and he felt dizzy. “I just want to go home and eat something and think about it tomorrow.”
Just then the big rat named Juke came up to them.
“Hey, is your name Chello?” He was still direct, but now he seemed strangely awkward.
“Uh, yeah,” said Chello. “You heard him call me that, right?”
“Well, yeah. Yeah, I did.” He blinked uncertainly. “Are you really going for Patrol?”
“I dunno…” said Chello evasively. “I haven’t really decided.”
“I think you should. I am. You should, too, because of what you said. I don’t trust them either and we’ll need rats on the Patrol that know what’s really going on.” He paused, but Chello didn’t say anything and the silence stretched out uncomfortably. Juke looked down at his big front paws.
“Well, anyway, I think you should. We should talk about it.” He turned to go. “Hey Nevi. Bye”
Nevi smiled.
“Bye, Juke. See you later.”
Juke was already leaving and said “Okay,” without turning his head at all.
Chello watched him leave and then turned to Nevi.
“Your friend’s not exactly the deepest tunnel in the nest, is he...”
Nevi hit him in the shoulder.
“You stop it. He’s a good rat. And at least he knows what direction he’s going. Are you really thinking about Patrol? I thought you hated Dumash.”
“Cheese! Why is everyone so interested in what I want to do with my life? I think Torus’s idea of eating and thinking is a pretty good one. We don’t have to decide until the end of the moon, so forget about me for a minute and worry about yourself.” He stopped walking, sat up and announced to the empty tunnel: “I’m starving. Who wants to go to the alley and look for a snack?”
“We should really get home,” Nevi said. “The forage is about to start.”
“Pff! We’ll be foraging ourselves in a few days. Going to the alley will be good practice.”
“I don’t know,” said Torus, “I’m exhausted. I just want to get home and crash.”
“Baby!” said Chello. “I’ll bet there’s ten pickles just sitting in a pile right next to the hole in the wall, and you’d leave them there to go home and eat yesterday’s leftover garbage? Fine, then, there’s more for us. Come on, Nevi.”
As he turned to go Nevi laughed and said, “Sorry, Chello, I’m with Torus on this one. It’s really too late.”
“Suit yourself,” said Chello wandering slowly away. “Don’t come crying to me for pickles in the middle of the night, though.”
“Not likely,” said Torus. “Your problem is you’ve got no sense of reality.”
“And your problem,” said Nevi, “is you don’t know when you’re being followed. Hi, Mr. Nile.”
“Hello, young ones,” said Mr. Nile, shuffling up beside them. “I wasn’t really following you, so much as simply going in the same direction as you.”
Nevi smiled.
“How about ‘Going in the same direction very very quietly and staying in the shadows’?”
“That’s fair,” said Mr. Nile, smiling. “You’ve got sharp ears and a sharp mind. In fact, I was following you. I was hoping to speak with Chello once you had all gone home and he had sneaked back out during the forage.”
“What?” said Chello indignantly. “I would certainly never do such a thing.”
“Of course not,” said Mr. Nile, “and neither would Nevi or Torus, and yet here we are.”
“What are you saying?” said Torus. “I’ve never snuck out late.”
“Torus, forget it,” said Nevi. “He knows all about the other night. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“Yes, I know all about the secret meeting the other night, and about two young rats that listened in. But that’s off my point. As I said, I had been hoping to speak with Chello, but, after hearing the
three of you talking, I think it might be wise to speak with all of you together.”
“Okay,” said Chello. “What’s up?”
“Hm,” said Mr. Nile. “Not here. You and I are not the only ones with secret places, Nevi. I think if you are willing to be home a little late we might go to my den. It’s nearby, and no one spies on me there, at least not yet.”
“I don’t know,” said Torus, “I really should get back home.”
“Oh, it won’t be long,” said Mr. Nile. “I’ll walk you back and if your father says anything I’ll remind him what a young scoundrel he was when he was a pup. Come this way,” he said turning down a small side tunnel. The three young rats waited a moment and then Chello spoke.
“Well, you heard him,” he said with mock self-importance. “He mostly wants to talk to me, but if you two want to tag along, I guess that’s okay.”
“Sure, I guess,” said Nevi, and the two of them set off after the old rat.
Torus’s stomach was in knots. He felt like he should turn and run home as fast as he could, but at the same time he felt a little thrill of excitement. He tried to picture his father as a scoundrel, but all he could imagine was an angry face and an angrier voice, so he put it out of his mind and hurried after his friends into the tunnels.
* * *
