— The battle will be here.
I looked across to the field, enclosed by a wire fence.
— The enemy plans to trap us in that enclosed place. We shall be driven from the world below by poison. Other escapes will be blocked. There will be a line of humans along the road to prevent us from escaping into the river.
Some of the court were looking at the battleground, but Barcas, the spy, sniffed dismissively.
— We had much of this information already, of course, but we did not trust its source. May I ask, Efren, how you, on your own without help from spies, know so much about what the enemy plans?
I gave him the hard eye.
— Information received, Barcas.
The spy seemed keen to question me more, but there was no time for that. I turned to Joram, the strategist.
— We need to prepare, to have a plan of battle.
Joram crossed the road, nosed the wire, and stood on his hind legs, sniffing. I suspected that he was playing for time.
— We must surprise them.
He revealed from where he stood, gazing across the field.
— The enemy sees us in a certain way. When they are strong and have their dogs, we flee. It is what humans expect in their arrogance and pride.
— So we attack?
Growan, the warrior, was usually the first to argue for the boldest, bloodiest approach, but even he seemed concerned about Joram’s suggestion.
— That is certain death, Joram.
The strategist hesitated. He was no fighter himself.
I revealed, trying not to betray my own uncertainty.
— Growan is right. But so is Joram when he says that surprise is our greatest weapon. We know what the enemy is going to do.
I looked around, anticipating a challenge, but none came.
Driva pushed to the front of the group.
— We need to bring the kingdom into the world above, and as soon as we can.
Gvork nipped her with an aggression surprising in a historian.
— It is dangerous in the world above when the sun is in the sky. We shall be divided. No battle in history has ever been won —
— You are wrong, Gvork.
I interrupted his speech. Historians like nothing better than to bring bad news from the past, and now was no time for weakness.
— It is dangerous in the world above, but not as dangerous as being poisoned in the kingdom, and then driven into the jaws of dogs.
Gvork looked away moodily.
— Driva, organize the does and ratlings to escape from the world below, if possible before it is light. The rest of you will lead your courts up here to prepare for battle.
To my surprise, Swylar stepped forward.
— Of course, Efren is right. The kingdom must be made safe from poison. But if the humans find no rats in the world below, what will happen? They will go away and attack us again, when we are not prepared.
We waited to hear what the dark rat proposed.
— Some rats must stay below. Strong citizens — warriors probably. When the poison arrives, they will flee upward, as expected by the enemy, out of the hollow and into the field.
— Death.
It was Joram who revealed what each of us was thinking.
— Yes, death. — The single eye of Swylar glittered. — Those who enter the field will have little chance, although we have to prepare an escape route so that a few may get away. But these warriors will attract the attention of the enemy so that citizens in the world above can attack.
What he revealed, of course, was true. We all understood that. The question was, who would lead the rats on this mission of death? Understanding the direction of our thoughts, Swylar revealed more quietly.
— I would be proud to take the task.
The scent of suspicion was in the air. It was always possible that Swylar was following his own plan to win back the kingdom. If the rats left in the world below escaped before the poison was released, they would be the only citizens to avoid the battle.
Did I trust Swylar? To my surprise, I found I did.
— You are a noble warrior, Swylar. Find your troop of citizens today.
I glanced across the river. The light was glowing softly beyond the horizon.
— And now we must prepare. The enemy has strength, sticks, the sharp teeth and deadly speed of dogs.
The court looked at me. I thought of the Twyning. The kingdom is in each of us, all of us. I felt a new strength within me, a pride that we were about to fight for future generations of citizens.
— And what has the kingdom got? — I looked around and revealed softly. — It has knowledge. It has surprise. It has the means to inspire terror and confusion. It has the right of all breathing creatures to fight for their survival.
Beside me, Floke stirred and nudged me gently with his nose.
— And, of course, it has the greater intelligence.
We dispersed to set about preparing for battle.
. . . blocking the holes and runs that rats like to use. There are three men from the council with us, and they know their beasts. Now and then I attempt to leave an escape hole from the sewerage runs, but it is no use. One of the councilmen always notices and shouts roughly at me.
“Just do your job, lad.” Beside me, Bill wears the closed, unhappy expression I have come to know so well.
“Keep yourself out of trouble, and do your job.”
I am glad now that Caz has remained at the tip with Malaika. She had wanted to be there for the hunt, to help in any way that she could, but even she, the strongest-willed girl in the world, could see that she could do little when the killing started. She has helped Efren prepare. Now she and Malaika must stay at home, safe.
The light is beginning to fade by the time we reach the Locks Inn, a public house by one of the canals that lead into the river. There is little sign of beast activity around the lock, but Bill seems unusually interested in it.
“When do they open the gates?” he asks one of the councilmen.
“Not often,” the man replied. “In summer, when it’s dry and the sewers need to be sluiced out.”
“So they won’t be doing it now?”
“In winter?” The man laughs. “Only if you want to flood part of the town. There’s too much water in there to be safe when it’s this wet. A wave will go down the river, breaking its banks.”
Without a word, Bill nods and returns to work.
My arms are aching by the time we first hear the dogs. As we reach the bend in the river, we can see the men lining the bank, standing on the bridge. Beyond the barking, there is a hum of excited conversation.
“Ah, yes, they’re all here,” Bill mutters to himself. “And they’ll have brought some friends along, too. It is a good day for hunters.”
“I wouldn’t want to be a rat today,” says the oldest of the councilmen, and laughs.
“You got a choice, ratty boy,” another of the men, standing over a bolt-hole, calls down. “Poisoned in the sewers down there or torn apart by dogs up here.”
I see the face of Efren, staring at us as he learned the truth of what was to happen today. “Why?” he asked.
I still have no idea as to the answer to that question.
As we approach the bridge, I see that the doctor is already there, moving among the hunters like the important man he believes himself to be.
There is no sign of Mr. Petheridge. He is not a man who likes to be around when work is to be done, I have discovered. He prefers to appear, fresh-faced and full of words, take the credit, and then leave. I judge that his carriage will be here in about an hour’s time.
The doctor, surrounded by hunters, sees the five of us on the road. He beckons Bill and me over to join them.
“Ah, Mr. Grubstaff and Mr. Smith.” His tone has the fake joviality that he likes to assume when among working men. “Everything will be fine now. The ratting experts have arrived.”
The hunters look at us without particular
interest. One tugs at a skinny Manchester he has on a leash and mutters a command. I sense that he and the other men are as impatient as their dogs. They are here to hunt rats. With every moment, the light is failing.
The doctor glances at his timepiece. “We have four parties of men, with gas masks, down the sewerage runs,” he says. “They will be releasing enough gas to drive the rats to the junction where the main pipe meets the river. In approximately five minutes, the beasts will issue from the drain.” He points to the runs near the bank. “They will be driven away from the river into the enclosed field. There the dogs will do their work.”
He waves a hand above his head. “All take your positions, please.”
Some of the men with dogs line the bank. Others move beyond the wire of the field so that the hunting ground is surrounded. The dogs will merely have to be lifted into the arena to do their work.
“Are we all right, Bill?” The doctor lowers his voice as, with the hunt approaching, the men stop their chatter and silence their dogs.
“You never know with beasts,” Bill murmurs. “It’s rare they do what you expect.”
The doctor frowns irritably. “I’m trusting you two to make sure they find no escape.” He gives me a light, jokey punch on the arm. “You are my lieutenants in this great battle, Mr. Smith!”
I look around me. There must be a hundred men with dogs. Ponies and traps line the road. There are lights on the bridge and on the far side of the river.
What chance will the rats have against this mighty army of humans and their killing dogs?
“Good luck, Efren,” I murmur.
The doctor, standing nearby, mishears me.
“Yes, good luck to them all, Dogboy,” he says.
Below us, there is a sound. Some of the dogs whine with excitement. The noise from the earth grows louder. It is the squealing of beasts.
And suddenly, there they are.
The hunt has begun.
. . . as they went into battle.
The dogs were being held back by the enemy until our brave fighters entered the field.
Then with a baying and barking and howling that made my whole body tremble, the dogs were released.
I saw Swylar in the front troop, leading the dogs away from the river.
A second group cut away toward the fence where, earlier that day, the Courts of Tasting and Translation had worked on the wire so that there would be an escape from the field.
Beside me, Floke revealed.
— They are onto Swylar.
The dogs, stupid animals, had all followed the first troop. As they reached them, the warriors turned and, for a moment, faced them in a ring of defiance.
In that moment of hesitation, Swylar made his move. He darted away from the group. The dogs, fooled by the movement, went after him, allowing more warriors to escape.
Swylar could only escape for a few lengths, but just as the dogs caught up with him, he turned and in the same movement hurled himself at the throat of the one nearest to him. It yelped with surprise and fear, and for a moment, it seemed as if the dogs had turned upon themselves in one snarling, biting frenzy.
When they parted, all that was left of the dark rat were stains of blood around the fangs and snouts of those that had killed him. It was a hero’s death.
The second group of warriors was nearing the wire. Too late, the humans called their dogs, running and pointing.
The first warrior to reach the wire scrambled through the hole that had been gnawed the previous night. The enemy, seeing now that there was an escape from the field, moved to stop them as they came through, but a human against a rat is an uneven contest.
The enemy stamped and thrashed the ground with sticks. The warriors, in their strength and bravery, ran through their ranks.
Over half of the troop was through before, within the field, the dogs reached them. There was a terrible massacre, but at the end, humans were still shouting with rage, urging the dogs that were now trapped inside the wire and unable to reach the citizens who had escaped.
— Yes. It worked.
Floke looked at me, his eyes shining.
— We shall win this battle, Efren.
— We can and we will.
— When can I fight?
— Our moment will come. The humans are reaching the woods. Watch.
. . . after the prey, heading toward the small woods beside the river, past the path where Bill and I are standing. In the trees, someone gives a long cry.
“Waaaaay! Waaaaay!”
“That’s a hunting holler,” says Bill. “It means ‘Gone away.’ Some rats must be over there.”
Then we see them. Twenty or thirty rats — big, strong beasts — running down the path from the field.
They are so close together that they look like a single animal.
“How did they get out of the field?” Bill mutters.
“There was a hole in the wire,” I say. “And they knew where it was.”
I can see Bill puzzling over this when we are interrupted by a group of hunters with their dogs, running down the path toward the woods. Behind them, sweat pouring down his face, is the doctor. I doubt if he has had this much exercise in years.
“Come on, Mr. Grubstaff and Mr. Smith. We’ll have them in the woods. They’ll be trapped there.”
Shrugging, Bill follows him with me, but at a slower pace.
To tell the truth, it is hardly woods — more of a scrubby cluster of ash and oak — but the evening gloom is drawing in, and the path surrounded by trees is now quite dark.
So, when the screaming starts, it is difficult to know exactly what is happening.
“Look out! Look out!”
The doctor is shouting, undisguised fear in his voice. “They’re attacking from above! ”
On the path in front of him, hunters have fallen to their knees. Some are beating their head and shoulders. Others blunder, panic-stricken, into the woods. The air is thick with curses and shouts.
“I don’t believe it.” Beside me, Bill actually laughs at what he is seeing.
As we draw closer, I notice something fall from a tree, like snow melting from the branches. Then another, and another — onto the heads and shoulders of men.
It is raining rats.
“They’re in the trees!” someone shouts.
One of the hunters, lying on the ground, his face bleeding, curses and blows a whistle for his dog, but it is too far ahead in pursuit of the rats that led them into the woods.
Now sounds can be heard from the direction of the river. At first it is as if stones are being thrown in the water, but soon the splashes grow faster. The rats are making their escape.
Dogs, confused by what is happening and by the noise of human shouts, are dashing through the trees here and there.
“The water! The beasts are in the water!” one of the hunters cries, and there is general movement toward the river.
I hear the doctor’s voice, shrill and excited above the uproar.
“Get the dogs into the water. The rats can’t escape.”
“They’ll be finished now,” I murmur. “Eh, Bill?”
But Bill is no longer there. I am standing on the woodland path alone. I look around, then back up the river.
There, in the middle distance, is the figure of a man, running.
. . . and those we had chosen by the river were of the friendly kind. By nature, citizens are wary of climbing trees, a fear that historians claim dates back to the great war on the black rat, but when bark and branch wish us no harm, caution quickly disappears.
So it was now. Floke and I heard the screams of the enemy as they were caught in the ambush we had prepared. Falling from trees was easy work when the prey was human. Surprise worked better than teeth and strength. Fall, hang on, scream, attack. Citizens from the Courts of Translation and Spies, under the leadership of Growan and a few of his senior warriors, did their work to perfection.
For the first time during the battle, the smell of hu
man terror was in the air.
— I must fight, Efren.
Beside me, Floke trembled, his warrior blood coursing hot through his veins. I nudged him.
— Patience. The battle has just begun. We shall all fight.
I turned to look at my troops. Together we waited in the human dwelling from where I had seen the first battle. There were thousands of citizens, holding close to one another. We were an impressive sight. The time for running was over. We would draw the enemy to this place and show them that the kingdom will not be destroyed.
It would be a battle for peace.
The comfort of darkness had fallen and the room where we were waiting was filled with the various citizens. Large, small, rats, ratlings, does. Every type of citizen was there, waiting for this great moment of destiny. I revealed to them all.
— It is not long now, citizens. Soon we shall fight.
Yet even as I addressed them, I felt an unmistakable tremor within me.
I was hearing. From afar, a message was reaching me.
— The river will rise.
I turned toward the field. The lights of the enemy were on each side of the river. I heard the thrashing of water as the killer dogs dived from the bank.
I turned to Floke.
— What can that mean? The river will rise.
Before he could reply, I heard once more.
— The river will rise. Escape from the waters!
With all the strength at my command, I revealed to the brave citizens who had plunged into the river.
— Make for the land. Now!
— What’s happening, Efren?
Floke was looking at me in alarm.
For the first time that evening, I had to reveal the unhappy truth.
— I have no idea.
. . . and, in that moment, I understand what is about to happen.
The hunters are too caught up in urging on their dogs to hear the sound of approaching danger. It seems to come from the earth itself.
“You beauty, Bill,” I whisper.
The Twyning Page 27
