The Rat and the Serpent

by Stephen Palmer

  Then I noticed a gleam of light ahead, which, as we approached, I recognised as the soft beams of a lantern. We entered a chamber. Before us stood the silhouette of a figure, his back towards us: tall, forbidding.

  Astarta had not expected company. She squawked, “Who are you?”

  The man turned, and I gasped the answer. “Zveratu!”

  Astarta shook herself free of my grip. “Who’s this?” she demanded.

  I replied, “Mother, this is Zveratu, the man who helped me make my vow.” I turned to Zveratu, to add, “What are you doing down here?”

  “And yourself?” came the reply.

  I walked forward so that I stood only a few paces away from him. “I asked you first.”

  “So?”

  I glanced at my mother, who was disconcerted by the appearance of this stranger. She began muttering to herself. I told Zveratu, “Somehow I’ve got to pass the final part of the citidenizen test, and I need help. My mother said she might know a way.”

  “There may be a way,” Zveratu said. “I hope you find it.”

  He began to walk away, but I grabbed his arm. “Wait,” I said. “You’re leaving us here?”

  “You have plans for me?”

  I let go and took a step back. “No.”

  “Then if you have no further questions, I will escort your mother to the surface.”

  He walked off, taking Astarta’s hand, until the echoes of their footsteps faded to silence.

  I was left alone.

  But I knew why I was here. Something deep within me, manifested by my second dream, had led me to reconsider subterranea. And here lay an oracle.

  I took the lantern from its shelf and used its light to examine the chamber. There was only one object of note. It stood in a small alcove at chest height, a winged staff of steel painted black, around which two dark serpents were entwined. I did not recognise it. Yet something about it, perhaps an aura that I, a shaman, was able to sense, told me that it was an object of the supernatural that might help me if I was able to summon and use its power. An oracle, then. I would have to formulate a question.

  As I stood thinking, the real world around me began to fade, as my mind was sent into that shamanic space and time that both surrounded me and supported me. I sensed thousands of tiny bodies in the channels and crevices around me: my animals. I felt again something of that personal power hinted at in my dream.

  I raised my head to speak. “How can I change my appearance enough to pass the citidenizen test?”

  The answer was not spoken, rather it entered my mind like the whisper of a being invisible: a bargain with your totem is the only way to find permanent change.

  I knew it. The answer had been within me all along! A bargain with my rat totem. I had been a shaman since making the transition from boy to man; I felt the presence of rats around me like a magnet might feel a lode of pure nickel in rocks nearby. Rats were my power. Rats were the answer.

  I laughed, and the echoes of my joy bounced around the chamber.

  From the air in the centre of the chamber white motes fell, to create a pool on the ground from which whiskers emerged, then a nose, a face, then in a single leap the rat of white light with its black eyes, black teeth and black claws. This time the incarnation spoke. It had a voice harsh, but not deep, with a hissing undertone. “You have summoned me here?”

  I felt confident now, and I replied, “Yes I have, for I want you to make a bargain with me.”

  “Very well.”

  “Through no fault of my own I am a cripple,” I declared. “If I am to progress into the citidenizenry I must at least be able to walk without a crutch. Help me! I want to become a citidenizen more than anything. Make a bargain with me, anything, and I will agree.”

  “Anything?”

  The utterance of this word brought a certain worry to my mind. There was a hint of peril here. “Anything,” I agreed, in a soft voice.

  “Anything...”

  I waited. I suspected that any bargain, once made, would be irreversible. But the rat of light was circling the room as if chasing the sparkling image of its own tail: sleek and white and strong. I felt reassured. I decided that there could be no trickery here. The ring of light created by the motion of the incarnation implied wholeness, goodness, justice.

  The rat of light spoke again. “I can give you a whole leg. Is that what you want?”

  “Yes!” I felt a thrill surge through my body as the possibility of success came close. “Yes, I do want that, more than anything. You must help me, please.”

  “I will help you. To that I agree.”

  I sank to my knees, throwing the crutch aside and leaning on my right hand. “I give you thanks,” I said.

  “I can aid you three times,” said the rat of light. “This is the first time. I can give you a new and whole leg. Is that what you want?”

  “Yes!”

  “You will have to cover it, as it will not look quite like your other one.”

  “That is all right,” I said. “I do wear breeches.”

  “This, then, is definitely the bargain to which you agree?”

  “Yes.”

  I lowered my head, knowing that the moment of transformation was here. There was a burst of light, the odour of smoke, then silence and darkness. I found myself lying on the floor. The rat of light had gone.

  My body felt different. I pulled myself into a sitting position. My right leg felt heavy, warm, and there was something on its skin that rubbed against the rags I wore.

  The room was dark, the lantern almost spent. I felt dazed. I reached for my crutch and tried to stand up, but something attached to my right leg got in the way—and then I realised it was my right leg.

  I was standing upright and balanced without the aid of my crutch.

  How could that be?

  In the gloom I pulled aside my rags to reveal my legs.

  One human, one rat.

  I fell back, to sit heavily because there was nothing behind me.

  It was a rat leg, and the strange sensation I felt was black fur rubbing against my rags. The rat ankle was higher, the rat knee different, the toes—the claws—at the end of my feet sharp... inhuman. Suddenly I felt afraid. If anything, I was more of a freak now than I had been before. I realised that this was the meaning of the bargain; I gained, but I gained as would a rodent blessed by its rat god. In kind.

  I shivered. I did not know what to do.

  Then I stood up. And I could stand: it was easy, though it felt odd. I walked. And I could walk.

  When I realised that walking was possible my mind sped along a different path. I could wear breeches of thick cloth that would disguise my leg. Perhaps, with a bit of practice, I could walk like a normal man; even run. I had never been able to run before. At last I had the measure of the bargain—I had gained, become mobile, but only according to the laws of my totemic guide. I was a rat being now, more attuned to subterranea than ever, yet still human, so human, and about to make the great leap into the citidenizenry.

  I uttered a cry of triumph. I hopped onto my rat leg and gave a great leap. Pain in my head: bright stars and a sharp smell in my nose, then I fell to the ground. I had leaped so high my head had struck the ceiling.

  This was a strong leg, then.

  That might be noticed. But if it meant I could pass the test, it was a risk worth taking.

  Finding the way out was easy. I let intuition and memory lead me through the maze of passages, until I was at the bottom of the steps, looking up. I climbed. My leg stayed good. It was impossible to stop grinning.

  Zveratu and Astarta were waiting for me, sitting in a doorway under a leaden dawn sky. A few lone citidenizens passed by, their parasols emitting pale light that reflected off their shiny black hair, and I studied them, sure now that soon I would be one of them. I walked across to my mother, kneeling beside her to say, “Thank you, it worked.” There were tears in my eyes. “It worked so well.”

  Zveratu said nothing as he eyed
me with a cold expression on his face.

  My mother, though, was smiling. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad you got what you wanted.”

  I felt passions rise within me. “But only me,” I muttered. “That can’t be right—so many other nogoths. I must use that oracle again.”

  “Never again, if you become a citidenizen,” she replied.

  I frowned.

  “Only nogoths know it,” she added.

  Zveratu nodded in agreement. “It is a thing both inside and outside the Mavrosopolis,” he declared. “That is all you need to know for now.”

  I glanced at him, baffled. “At least it spoke true to me,” I said.

  Zveratu shook his head. “It is a mirror only, reflecting whatever the questioner feels and thinks. Thus it offers confidence, nothing more. It does not speak. Rather, the questioner speaks.”

  “Then how can it be a force for good? A bad man might have his inhumanity reflected tenfold.”

  “Who called it a force for good?”

  I remained puzzled. “Is it a sorcerous object?”

  Zveratu’s face had never been more solemn. “Perhaps the best of all sorcerous objects,” he replied. I felt the old man might burst into tears.

  Astarta stood up. “I’d better go,” she said, taking my hand and making me support her. “Hurry up, you.”

  She dragged me away. I looked over my shoulder to glimpse Zveratu standing motionless, one hand at his chin, beneath a parasol that emitted no light. Then, just shadows.

  So I walked at my mother’s side with my new leg working well, though it gave me a lop-sided motion. I tried various gaits, settling on one that seemed least like a limp. I felt tall and strong. I was grinning again. With my mother safe in her cellar, I returned to the yard above it, where I made a bed and tried to sleep. Excitement kept me awake, but after a few hours I managed to doze.

  Then it was dusk once again. I walked down to the Forum of Tauri. Half the night would pass before my appointment arrived. I wandered around, bouncing on my new leg, feeling calm, determined, yet apprehensive of the looks and questions I might face; and I realised that I would need an explanation. I decided a bold lie would be best.

  I fingered the three-quarter ring in my pocket. Waiting.

  Time dragged. I began to imagine the obstacles that could be put in my way, and to pass the night I composed answers to any questions that might be asked. My determination increased.

  Then it was time, and I found myself walking towards the room.

  Three people awaited me: two men and a woman, all citidenizens in pale make-up, wearing cloaks of soft, black velvet. The two men who had warned me the night before were absent.

  I entered with a flourish. “Hello,” I said. “I was asked to present myself for the final part of the citidenizen test.”

  They stared at me. The woman looked down at the scroll before her, then raised her gaze to study my right leg. But I had prepared my clothes well, two layers of breeches and long, free-flowing rags that rippled around my body, thus disguising my new limb.

  “Well?” I said.

  The woman spoke. “We weren’t expecting...”

  Silence fell.

  “We weren’t expecting you,” she managed to say.

  “Weren’t you?” I replied.

  The men looked at each another. “Well... no,” one said.

  “Here I am, ready to be a citidenizen,” I said. I took the incomplete ring from my pocket, ran over to where they sat, then placed it on the table before them. “I think you’ll want this,” I added.

  The woman sat back, as if to distance herself from me. “I don’t think we have—”

  “The fourth quarter?” I supplied. “You will need one.”

  Silence again.

  One of the men gestured at me. “Could you just walk up and down a few times?”

  I followed this request, my heart thumping, trying to make my gait as natural as possible. I returned to face them, a smile on my face. “Is there anything else?” I asked.

  The trio glanced at one another. One of the men rummaged inside his cloak to produce a silver trinket. “Well, this might fit,” he said, picking up the three-quarter ring that I had set before him.

  I watched as the man pieced the ring together. He looked left then right at his colleagues, shrugged, glanced again at the ring, then handed it over to me. “But we understood you were a crippled nogoth,” he said, “a madman trying to beat the citidenizen test.”

  I took the ring with a shaking hand. I cleared my throat to reply, “What is a nogoth if only a street beggar? That is how I am used to getting food. What is better than a nogoth? A nogoth with an injury.” I gave a little shrug, concluding, “I don’t think it was a bad thing for me to fake.”

  The woman tittered. “I suppose not.”

  The man who had proffered the ring stood up, walked around the table, then hugged me. “I’d better offer you my congratulations,” he said. “My name is Garakoy. We must meet some time, for raki, perhaps. To be honest, we’ve all heard the stories about you, and I for one am amazed at some of the things you’ve done. The baffles, for instance.”

  I nodded. “Thank you,” I said. “Am I a citidenizen now?”

  Garakoy turned to look at his colleagues, then said, “Almost. Put on the ring. When it is on your finger, you are a citidenizen of Stamboul.”

  “Stamboul?”

  “One of the names of the Mavrosopolis.” He waved his hands at the walls. “It is all around you.” He smiled. “Welcome, Ügliy!”

  I put the ring on my index finger. “Am I a citidenizen now?”

  “Yes.”

  I made a fist of my hand. I looked at the silver ring. “I am a citidenizen,” I whispered. “I did it.”

  “Well done,” Garakoy said.

  I was dazed, too dazed to hear anything...

  A citidenizen!

  I heard Garakoy speaking again. “You are free to leave, but there are many arrangements to be made. Return as dawn approaches and I’ll show you to your accomodation.”

  “Accomodation?” I said.

  Garakoy hugged me, shoulder to shoulder. “You won’t be sleeping on the streets any more,” he explained.

  I nodded. “I suppose not.”

  Garakoy took me to a door leading out of the Forum. “It’s best that you stay close,” he said. “You seem to be shocked. Don’t wander. I’ll make the arrangements.” He grinned. “And don’t forget our appointment with those glasses of raki!”

  I said nothing. Garakoy watched me for a few moments, then, when I did not move, he closed the door.

  I was outdoors and alone.

  Was I nogoth or citidenizen? There was a ring of warm silver on my finger, but I wore rags and I was alone on the street.

  I felt confused. For a while I wondered if I should return—after all, I had cheated to pass the test. Did I deserve this ascension? Did I deserve anything?

  Then my stomach rumbled and I realised that I was starving.

  I felt exhausted. There was no elation, no tears, not even a smile. I needed sleep. I walked into Yeniceriler Street. I just walked. Then, when I realised that I was wandering, I decided to revisit the harbour.

  I stood alone there for some time, gazing out across the ocean.

  Later, I heard shouts.

  I recognised the voices; I turned to confront the trio.

  Atavalens stood close, frowning at me. “Where’s your crutch, rat boy?”

  I said nothing.

  “I am talking!” Atavalens barked. “Your crutch, where is it?”

  I stood upright. “I am a citidenizen like you,” I said. “Please speak politely to me.”

  Atavalens strode forward, enraged. “I beg your pardon?” He stopped just a yard away from me, yet my altered stature meant we were able to look one another in the eye.

  “You heard,” I said. I felt some of my old anger returning.

  Atavalens choked. “What did you say?”

  I realise
d that I could go too far here. I kept silent.

  Atavalens snatched my right hand. “What’s this?”

  Nothing for it. “The ring that by right I wear, given to me by Garakoy at the Forum of Tauri to designate my arrival in the citidenizenry... of Stamboul.” I took a pace back. “If you don’t mind.”

  Atavalens found speech difficult, so hot was his fury. “You are no citidenizen, rat boy. I refuse to believe it.” He thumped his chest. “I forbid it. Who do you think you are?” He gestured at my leg. “And what’s this?”

  I realised that this man—a shaman sly and cunning, not a functionary like Garakoy and his two colleagues—could easily penetrate what little disguise my rags offered. I replied, “You know how hard it is to find food, Atavalens. So what if I faked my limp? It was only to survive. You can’t complain about that, because we’ve all got to survive.”

  Atavalens was breathing fast through clenched teeth. He stepped forward, took my rags and gripped them tight. Then there was a kick behind my knees and I was lying on the ground. It happened too fast to think of defence. Atavalens grabbed my hair and struck my head against the harbour rail, once, twice, then with a cry of frustration a third time. I saw stars. I fell to the ground. There was a single kick to my stomach.

  Atavalens’ breath was hot in my ear. “You will never be a citidenizen, rat boy. I will not allow it. I will not allow the noble state of the citidenizenry to be fouled by rats. Do you understand? And if you try anything, I will be there to stop you. And I will kill you if necessary.”

  I said nothing. I could not. I was half conscious.

  All I could feel was the cold air of dawn.

  12.8.583

  Today is the greatest, saddest day of my life so far.

  I am a citidenizen of Bazaar district.

  I am a citidenizen. No longer an inky nogoth.