The Road to Ratenburg

by Joy Cowley

  We took off as the creature broke out of the gate. Lucky for us, the humming bean had him on a lead. The dog was straining to get after Roger and me, but it was being dragged towards the box on the pole. “Get those stinking rats!” she yelled, and she opened the back wall of the box. The dog wasn’t looking at the box. It was jumping up and down on the end of its lead, watching me and Roger, and barking terrible language at us. When the humming bean saw the box was empty, she let the dog loose, but by then it was too late. We were climbing up the nearest willow tree, aiming for a high branch.

  I knew that Retsina and the ratlets were several trees away, but I couldn’t get to them. Roger, frightened and sore, crouched beside me in the fork of a branch, while below, the dog lay in the grass by the trunk, looking up and growling. “Stupid rats! You’ll come down sooner or later. I’ll sit here all today and all night and all next week if I have to. I’ve got a lot of patience.”

  Roger groaned softly.

  The dog went on. “You rats have the brains of blowflies. What made you move into the old lady’s letter box?”

  I looked at Roger. He pretended not to notice.

  “Right on mail collection time, too. How stupid is that?”

  I felt Roger move as though he was going to say something to the dog, and I stopped him. “Don’t answer him. If we refuse to speak to him, he might get bored and go away.”

  “It’s better to be chased by a dog than a cat,” Roger said. “Dogs don’t climb trees.”

  “So I’m meant to be grateful?” I was angry with him, not only because I had believed his idiotic birdhouse theory, but also because he’d got himself stuck and I, once again, was separated from my family. “Roger, I’m sick and tired of your tall stories.”

  He stuck his chin out. “What tall stories?”

  “Birdhouse! Huh!”

  “It was the same shape as a birdhouse.”

  “See? There you go again. One excuse after another! You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on the backside,” I hissed in his ear.

  “You’re the liar,” he said. “You’re always picking on me like I’m a waste of space.”

  “Because you are lazy and greedy!”

  “I’ve saved your life twice and this is how you thank me!”

  “Once,” I said. “You pulled me out of the milk pot and I pushed you out of a letter box. That makes us even.”

  “Twice,” he insisted.

  “The first time you stole my ratlets’ food and I chased you out of the building. That doesn’t count.”

  He wasn’t going to give in. “I didn’t steal their food. I took it so you would run after me, and I could get you out of the building.”

  “Rubbish! That’s something else you invented.” I was so angry now, I couldn’t stop. “This Pirate rat business. It’s sheer fantasy! The way you go around with your shiver me timbers and your yo ho ho! Everyone knows you’re making it up.”

  “And everyone knows you’re a pompous bully,” he squealed. “You think you’re the big rat king.”

  There was a stirring under the tree and the dog barked, “What’s going on up there?”

  I leaned back against the rough willow bark. This idiot rat had gone too far. I hissed, “I do my best to look after my family!”

  “You preach at them,” he said. “You give them orders.”

  “I do not!”

  “You do! And you’re mean. You treat me like a mouse.”

  I took a deep breath. It was useless talking to someone who thought only of himself. “If that’s how you feel, then you may leave us.”

  “I will,” he sniffed. “As soon as I get down from this tree. No respectable Pirate rat would tolerate this nonsense.” He glared at me. “Be glad that I don’t have a sword.”

  He sounded so ridiculous that I laughed. “Oh, stop acting, you pathetic fool! Your name isn’t Jolly Roger!”

  He stared at me, his mouth hanging open. He looked as though I had suddenly hit him on the snout.

  Before he could invent another lie, I put the evidence to him. “The Jolly Roger is the skull and crossbones flag flown by pirate ships—a thousand generations ago. We all know that. Your Pirate background exists only in your head!”

  I expected a bunch of blustering stories, but there was silence. After a while he said in a sulky voice, “You pretend you’re better than me. You’re not. I’m from the same clan as you. My parents were Ship rats. They gave me a terrible name so I changed it. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  This sounded like the beginning of another tall tale. “What’s your real name?” I demanded.

  “It’s the name of a ship’s flag. I only changed it to another flag. Jolly Roger was more interesting.”

  I repeated my question. “What—is—your—real—name?”

  “Ensign,” he said.

  I realised he had damp fur. The silly rat was crying! I said, “What’s wrong with that? A lot of Ship rats are called Ensign.”

  He sniffed. “I’m the only one I know.”

  I looked at him carefully. “Roger, who is your father?”

  “Was,” said Roger. “He’s dead. Killed in a humming-bean raid. Mum and us ratlets escaped.”

  “And your mother’s name?”

  “Pools.”

  “Pools?”

  “That’s right.” He sniffed again. “Mum moved us into a nest behind the wall of a food factory. It was very embarrassing.”

  “A food factory!” I believed that this, at last, was the truth. “There’s nothing wrong with living in a food factory! Why did you make up those stories about pirates?”

  He was quiet for a moment, then he said, “It was a dog-food factory.”

  I laughed and laughed. It doesn’t seem amusing now but then it was very funny, especially with that big cattle dog lying under our tree. Of course, Roger didn’t know what I found hilarious, so I said through gasps, “This—this tree is a dog-food factory!”

  “And we are the dog food!” said Roger with a little giggle. Then we were both laughing as though everything in the world was a big joke.

  There was a loud growl from below and a fresh wave of dog smell came to us.

  “You’ll stop laughing when I bite your heads off.”

  That made us laugh all the more, and by the time we were exhausted, the dog was also tired. We heard soft, grunting snores as regular as a heartbeat. It was asleep. We discussed the possibility of leaving our tree and joining Retsina and the ratlets in their willow, perhaps all escaping down the road, before it woke up. But we decided not to risk movement. If the creature was a light sleeper we would truly be dog meat.

  The sky darkened. I crept to a higher branch, hoping to see the tree that housed my family. What I did see was the next best thing: our star low in the sky, shining hope for the future.

  “Venus,” said a voice. Roger had followed me. He, too, had his nose pointed to the sky. “You know it’s the planet Venus. Why do you insist on calling it a star?”

  “Because that’s what it means to us. Words must have meaning. Roger, I think I understand why you changed your name. It wasn’t because Ensign was terrible. It’s actually a very nice name. But it had no meaning for you. If you like, I shall continue to call you Jolly Roger.”

  “Thank you.” There was a pause. “That still hasn’t answered my question. I know what Venus means to you and your family, but why call it a star?”

  “Do you know your letters?”

  “Most of them.”

  “Then what is star backwards?”

  “Oh. Rats. I see.” His eyes glowed in the dark. “Like my mum.”

  I stared at him. “Your mother Pools?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “After Dad died, she changed her name too. Backwards like your star.”

  My heart beat so fast, I thought it would explode and shatter my ribs. “Roger, I’m going to ask you something. This is very, very important, so tell me the truth. Do you remember your father’s name?”

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nbsp; “Of course I do! That was another terrible name. It was Mizzen!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE BRIDGE TO THE LAND OF DREAMS

  Dear friend, can you imagine the shock? Jolly Roger, our ex-neighbour and current fellow traveller, was my brother! I felt as though the breath had gone out of me. I nearly fell off the branch.

  We forgot the dog at the base of the tree, even forgot about Ratenburg, as we compared memories. As I said earlier, my father Mizzen, my brother Hawser and I escaped when the humming-bean pest control company killed wharf rats. We hoped my mother Sloop and the rest of the family had got away, but when we found no trace of them, we thought they must have died. Hawser and I were very young at the time, but of course I remembered my brother Ensign. He was a quiet little rat, unexceptional in looks and personality. In my memory, his only distinguishing quality was a love of food. He was always hungry. I did not recognise my timid brother Ensign in this large, flamboyant Jolly Roger.

  Roger was squeaking with excitement at our discovery. “I thought I was the only one left!” His paws were on me as he licked my nose.

  I was very moved, although I found his affection excessive. “I had the same thought,” I replied. “When our father and Hawser disappeared, I was sure I was a solitary orphan.”

  “Is that why your family is so important to you?” Roger asked.

  I was silent, for his words went deep inside me. Finally, I said, “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  He too, was quiet for a while. “I’m your family,” he said.

  I touched his neck with my paw. “Yes, Roger. You’re my family. You are part of us.” I sincerely meant it, although I did wonder what the ratlets would say when I told them that Uncle Roger was truly their uncle.

  A beam of light moved down the path from the house. Behind it was the woman with the window eyes, a torch in one hand, a dog lead in the other. The hound by our tree woke up and barked, “Leave me here! I’ll get them when they come down.”

  But humming beans don’t understand creature language. “Come on, Hunter. They’re gone now. Time to go home.”

  The dog’s barking grew louder. “They haven’t gone, you stupid two-leg! I need to stay by the tree.”

  The lead was clipped onto its collar and it was pulled towards the gate.

  “Good dog,” she said. “Nice boy, Hunter.”

  “Stupid! Stupid!” it barked all the way up the path.

  “It is impossible to train some humming beans,” I said to Roger. “Which is just as well for us. Now we can join the rest of the family.”

  We ran down the tree, only to find that Retsina and the ratlets had had the same idea and come down from their willow to find us. Retsina’s first words were, “What was that all about?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “The noise!” she said, looking from me to Roger. “Shouting! Laughing! What was going on?”

  “You sounded angry, Papa,” said Alpha. “Then it was a joke.”

  “Tell her, Spinny!” Roger could not contain himself. “Tell them what we discovered.” Then he rushed in with, “Hey, you kids, I’m your uncle!”

  “So?” Alpha tilted her head.

  “Real uncle! Spinny is my brother!”

  “Spinnaker,” I said. Then I told Retsina and the young a shortened account of our family history. If Retsina and Alpha looked politely shocked, Gamma showed much interest. “Does this mean we’re related to Pirate rats?”

  Roger opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked at me.

  “Ship rats,” I told Gamma. “Historically, some Ship rats went over to pirate ships. Being a Pirate rat was a choice, but Ship rat was the name of the clan. We’re definitely Ship rats.”

  “Different from the Restaurant rats,” Retsina reminded us. She turned to Roger. “I’m glad you and Spinnaker made this discovery. You know, I always thought you two were alike.”

  “What?” I stared at her.

  “Small likenesses,” she said. “The shape of your paws and the way you’re so sure of yourselves.”

  I couldn’t believe I was hearing this from my devoted wife.

  “Sure of ourselves?” Roger seemed to find this amusing. He glanced back at the letter box on the pole. “Even when we’re wrong?”

  “Especially when you’re wrong,” said Retsina, smiling. “Listen!”

  We all turned our heads to take in all directions. All I could hear, apart from insects, was the distant barking of that frustrated dog.

  Retsina said, “That dog isn’t going to sleep. It may get loose. We shouldn’t stay here, talking.”

  She was right. We ate a few dew-soaked grass seeds and then resumed our journey along that narrow road, down the hill and then up another rise. We were supposed to be in line, but the ratlets were crowded around Jolly Roger, who told them about life in the rafters of a dog-food factory. They seemed to find that more interesting than his pirate stories, perhaps because it came from experience and not mere imagination. Retsina and I walked together.

  “We need to accept Roger as family,” I told her.

  “Of course,” she said. “I thought we were already doing that. Now I know the reason for it.”

  I sighed. “You’re a wonderful Restaurant rat.”

  “Greek restaurant,” she said.

  The road continued to go up, down, up, down, as did the countryside around us, and although we could not see the mountains in the dark, we knew that we were journeying through the foothills. The air was getting cooler, and from the scents that hung over the road, we guessed we were passing a mix of farmland and forest. We could smell sheep in one area, chickens in another, and on one hill the strong odour of gum trees. Once, we picked up the scent of a cat, but it was a faint smell, about two days old, and suggested no danger.

  At this point, Retsina turned to me and said, “I’ve noticed something very peculiar.”

  “What, my dear?”

  She leaned against me. “Think of all the creatures we have met on this journey.”

  “No more than usual,” I said.

  “We’re going to Ratenburg,” she said. “Yet we haven’t seen another rat.”

  I thought about it. “Not everyone knows where Ratenburg is. They don’t have the map.”

  She said, “I’m sure lots of rats have travelled through here. Otherwise, why would there be so much ratophobia?”

  I didn’t like to tell her that most rat travellers would not have got past the dangers. They would have ended up in the stomachs of giant eels, or been killed by farm dogs, drowned in a bog, snatched by hawks, poisoned and trapped. I tried to put her mind at rest. “Darling, such a hazardous journey would make most rats very cautious. I imagine they’re on the road like us, but all in hiding.”

  “It’s still very peculiar,” she said.

  The dirt road became smaller, a narrow walking track, and we decided to rest until dawn. Delta discovered a fallen log, hollow at one end, slightly damp and smelling of rotten wood. Inside, it was empty save for a bit of fungus. The ratlets settled down with their mother. I stayed at the entrance to keep watch for predators, and when Roger joined me, I told him to go back with the others. “Get some sleep.”

  “Shiver me timbers, shipmate,” he said. “It’s my turn to be on watch. You go and get some shut-eye.”

  He had fallen back into his pirate prattle, as though it were real. I wanted to feel angry with him, but then I thought what did it matter? If my brother Ensign wanted to be Jolly Roger the Pirate rat, why not let him go on pretending. “We’ll both keep watch,” I said.

  When we came out of the log at first light, we saw a most stirring sight. In front of us was a mountain range that stretched right and left as far as we could see. In the semi-darkness the peaks looked black and forbiddingly high, and I reminded myself that we had no map for the journey up and over the top. Who lived on these slopes? Were there wild boars, hawks, hunters with guns? None of us knew what dangers were before us on this last part of the path to Ratenburg.
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  Around us were trees and shrubs, no sign of humming beans, which meant we could not benefit from their food stores. We were all very hungry. Roger scratched some decayed wood on the fallen log, and found several fat white grubs. The ratlets enjoyed these, but Retsina and I chose to chew on grass seeds.

  We were on our way again before sun-up, although progress was slow, the track covered with sharp stones and hollows filled with water. Gamma happily ran or swam through icy-cold puddles, while his mother worried about him getting rat flu. I assumed that we were already at a high altitude because the air had a hint of frost to it.

  We knew from the sound of rushing water that we were approaching the river and, eventually, we arrived at the swing bridge. I should correct that definition and say it once was a swing bridge, for now it was little more than two ropes and a few wooden boards hanging over a deep ravine. One board was ready to drop, and the others looked insecure. Obviously most of these planks had fallen into the river, and I wondered how many rats had fallen with them.

  Far below, the water was a seething mass of foam around dark rocks, and merely looking down made me feel dizzy. “We’ll have to walk on the rope,” I said. “Which rope is the strongest?”

  Retsina chose the left rope because it looked less frayed. “We’ll hold tails again,” she said. “Then those who slip will be held by the others.”

  Delta glanced down at the surging water. “We might all fall in together,” he said.

  “Be quiet, Delta,” said Alpha.

  “No arguments!” said Retsina. “You’ll need your mouths for holding on. I’ll go first. Alpha, you will firmly grip my tail. Beta, you’ll be next. Delta, Gamma, Roger and Spinnaker, you can be at the back.”

  “Why is Spinny last?” cried Roger.

  “Because his tail is shorter,” Retsina replied.

  That’s how we set out on the rope, teeth gripping the tail in front, paws holding onto the rope, which was wet with spray. We tried not to look down at the foaming water, but the roar of it filled our ears. It was a monster trying to devour us.

  If you have never crossed one of these bridges, my friend, please understand that they are not called swing bridges for nothing. A few steps into the gulf and the ropes shook uncontrollably. We felt helpless. Surely we would fall off into the water.