The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents d(-1

by Terry Pratchett

  “That's all there is to it?” said Keith.

  “You were expecting something more?”

  “Well, yes. They say you turn people into badgers and lead children into magic caves and—”

  The piper leaned forward conspiratorially. “It always pays to advertise, kid. Sometimes these little towns can be pretty slow when it comes to parting with the cash. 'Cos the thing about turning people into badgers and all the rest of that stuff is this: it never happens round here. Most of the people round here never go more than ten miles away in their lives. They'll believe just about anything could happen fifty miles away. Once the story gets around, it does your work for you. Half the things people say I've done even I didn't make up.”

  “Tell me,” said Keith, “have you ever met someone called Maurice?”

  “Maurice? Maurice? I don't think so.”

  “Amazing,” said Keith. He took the pipe, and gave the piper a long, slow stare. “And now, piper,” he said, “I think you're going to lead the rats out of town. It's going to be the most impressive job you've ever done.”

  “Hey? What? You won, kid.”

  “You'll lead out the rats because that's how it should go,” said Keith, polishing the pipe on his sleeve. “Why do you charge such a lot?”

  “Because I give 'em a show,” said the piper. “The fancy clothes, the bullying… charging a lot is part of the whole thing. You've got to give 'em magic, kid. Let 'em think you're just a fancy rat-catcher and you'll be lucky to get a cheese lunch and a warm handshake.”

  “We'll do it together, and the rats will follow us, really follow us into the river. Don't bother about the trick note, this will be even better. It'll be… it'll be a great… story,” said Keith. “And you'll get your money. Three hundred dollars, wasn't it? But you'll settle for half, because I'm helping you.”

  “What are you playing at, kid? I told you, you won.”

  “Everyone wins. Trust me. They called you in. They should pay the piper. Besides…” Keith smiled. “I don't want people to think pipers shouldn't get paid, do I?”

  “And I thought you were just a stupid-looking kid,” said the piper. “What kind of a deal have you got with the rats?”

  “You wouldn't believe it, piper. You wouldn't believe it.”

  Inbrine scurried through the tunnels, scrabbled through the mud and straw that had been used to block the last one, and jumped into the cage room. The Clan rats unblocked their ears when they saw him.

  “He's doing it?” said Darktan.

  “Yessir! Right now!”

  Darktan looked up at the cages. The keekees were more subdued, now that the rat king was dead and they'd been fed. But by the smell of it they were desperate to leave this place. And rats in a panic will follow other rats…

  “OK,” he said. “Runners, get ready! Open the cages! Make sure they're following you! Go! Go! Go!”

  And that was almost the end of the story.

  How the crowd yelled when rats erupted from every hole and drain. How they cheered when both pipers danced out of the town, with the rats racing along behind them. How they whistled when the rats plunged off the bridge into the river.

  They didn't notice that some rats stayed on the bridge, urging the others with shouts of “Remember, strong regular strokes!” and “There's a nice beach just downstream!” and “Hit the water feet first, it won't hurt so much!”

  Even if they had noticed, they probably wouldn't have said anything. Details like that don't fit in.

  And the piper danced off over the hills and never, ever came back.

  There was general applause. It had been a good show, everyone agreed, even if it had been expensive. It was definitely something to tell their children.

  The stupid-looking kid, the one who had duelled with the piper, strolled back into the square. He got a round of applause too. It was turning out to be a good day all round. People wondered if they'd have to have extra children to make room for all the stories.

  But they realized they'd have enough to save for the grandchildren when the other rats arrived.

  They were suddenly there, pouring up out of drains and gutters and cracks. They didn't squeak, and they weren't running. They sat there, watching everyone.

  “Here, piper!” shouted the mayor. “You missed some!”

  “No. We're not the rats who follow pipers,” said a voice. “We're the rats you have to deal with.”

  The mayor looked down. A rat was standing by his boots, looking up at him. It appeared to be holding a sword.

  “Father,” said Malicia behind him, “it would be a good idea to listen to this rat.”

  “But it's a rat!”

  “He knows, Father. And he knows how to get your money back and a lot of the food and where to find some of the people who've been stealing food from us all.”

  “But he's a rat!”

  “Yes, Father. But if you talk to him properly, he can help us.”

  The mayor stared at the assembled ranks of the Clan. “We should talk to rats?” he said.

  “It would be a very good idea, Father.”

  “But they're rats!” The mayor seemed to be trying to hold on to this thought as if it was a lifebelt on a stormy sea, and he'd drown if he let go of it.

  “'Scuse me, 'scuse me,” said a voice from beside him. He looked down at a dirty, half-scorched cat, which grinned at him.

  “Did that cat just speak?” said the mayor.

  Maurice looked around. “Which one?” he said.

  “You! Did you just talk?”

  “Would you feel better if I said no?” said Maurice.

  “But cats can't talk!”

  “Well, I can't promise that I could give a, you know, full-length after-dinner speech, and don't ask me to do a comic monologue,” said Maurice, “and I can't pronounce difficult words like ‘marmalade’ and ‘lumbago’. But I'm pretty happy with basic repartee and simple wholesome conversation. Speaking as a cat, I'd like to know what the rat has got to say.”

  “Mr Mayor?” said Keith, strolling up and twirling the new rat pipe in his fingers. “Don't you think it's time I sorted out your rat problem once and for all?”

  “Sort it out? But—”

  “All you have to do is talk to them. Get your town council together and talk to them. It's up to you, Mr Mayor. You can yell and shout and call out the dogs and people can run around and flail at the rats with brooms and, yes, they'll run away. But they won't run far. And they'll come back.” When he was standing next to the bewildered man he leaned towards him and whispered, “And they live under your floorboards, sir. They know how to use fire. They know all about poison. Oh, yes. So… listen to this rat.”

  “Is it threatening us?” said the Mayor, looking down at Darktan.

  “No, Mr Mayor,” said Darktan, “I'm offering you…” He glanced at Maurice, who nodded. “… a wonderful opportunity.”

  “You really can talk? You can think?” said the mayor.

  Darktan looked up at him. It had been a long night. He didn't want to remember any of it. And now it was going to be a longer, harder day. He took a deep breath. “Here's what I suggest,” he said. “You pretend that rats can think, and I'll promise to pretend that humans can think, too.”

  CHAPTER 12

  ‘Well done, Ratty Rupert!’ cried the animals of Furry Bottom.

  —From “Mr. Bunnsy Has an Adventure”

  The crowd clustered into the Rathaus's council hall. Most of it had to stay outside, craning over other people's heads to see what was going on.

  The town council was crammed around one end of their long table. A dozen or so of the senior rats were crouched at the other end.

  And, in the middle, was Maurice. He was suddenly there, leaping up from the floor.

  Hopwick the clockmaker glared at the other members of the council. “We're talking to rats!” he snapped, trying to make himself heard above the hubbub. “We'll be a laughing stock if this gets out! ‘The Town That Talked To Its Rats
’. Can't you just see it?”

  “Rats aren't there to be spoken to,” said Raufman the bootmaker, prodding the mayor with a finger. “A mayor who knew his business would send for the ratcatchers!”

  “According to my daughter, they are locked in a cellar,” said the mayor. He stared at the finger.

  “Locked in by your talking rats?” said Raufman.

  “Locked in by my daughter,” said the mayor, calmly. “Take your finger away, Mr Raufman. She's taken the watchmen down there. She's making very serious allegations, Mr Raufman. She says there's a lot of food stored under their shed. She says they've been stealing it and selling it to the river traders. The head rat-catcher is your brother-in-law, isn't he, Mr Raufman? I remember you were very keen to see him appointed, weren't you?”

  There was a commotion outside. Sergeant Doppelpunkt pushed his way through, grinning broadly, and laid a big sausage on the table.

  “One sausage is hardly theft,” said Raufman.

  There was rather more commotion in the crowd, which parted to reveal what was, strictly speaking, a very slowly moving Corporal Knopf. This fact only became clear, though, when he'd been stripped of three bags of grain, eight strings of sausages, a barrel of pickled beetroot and fifteen cabbages.

  Sergeant Doppelpunkt saluted smartly, to the sound of muffled swearing and falling cabbages. “Requesting permission to take six men to help us bring up the rest of the stuff, sir!” he said, beaming happily.

  “Where are the rat-catchers?” said the mayor.

  “In deep… trouble, sir,” said the sergeant. “I asked them if they wanted to come out, but they said they'd like to stay in there a bit longer, thanks all the same, although they'd like a drink of water and some fresh trousers.”

  “Was that all they said?”

  Sergeant Doppelpunkt pulled out his notebook. “No, sir, they said quite a lot. They were crying, actually. They said they'd confess to everything in exchange for the fresh trousers. Also, sir, there was this.”

  The sergeant stepped out and came back with a heavy box, which he thumped down onto the polished table. “Acting on information received from a rat, sir, we took a look under one of the floorboards. There must be more'n two hundred dollars in it. Ill-gotten gains, sir.”

  “You got information from a rat?”

  The sergeant pulled Sardines out of his pocket. The rat was eating a biscuit, but he raised his hat politely.

  “Isn't that a bit… unhygienic?” said the mayor.

  “No, guv, he's washed his hands,” said Sardines.

  “I was talking to the sergeant!”

  “No, sir. Nice little chap, sir. Very clean. Reminds me of a hamster I used to have when I was a lad, sir.”

  “Well, thank you, sergeant, well done, please go and—”

  “His name was Horace,” added the sergeant helpfully.

  “Thank you, sergeant, and now—”

  “Does me good to see little cheeks bulging with grub again, sir.”

  “Thank you, sergeant!”

  When the sergeant had left, the mayor turned and stared at Mr Raufman. The man had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “I hardly know the man,” he said. “He's just somebody my sister married, that's all! I hardly ever see him!”

  “I quite understand,” said the mayor. “And I've no intention of asking the sergeant to go and search your larder,” and he gave another little smile, and a sniff, and added, “yet. Now, where were we?”

  “I was about to tell you a story,” said Maurice.

  The town council stared at him.

  “And your name is—?” said the mayor, who was feeling in quite a good mood now.

  “Maurice,” said Maurice. “I'm a freelance negotiator, style of thing. I can see it's difficult for you to talk to rats, but humans like talking to cats, right?”

  “Like in Dick Livingstone?” said Hopwick.

  “Yeah, right, him yeah, and—” Maurice began.

  “And Puss in Boots?” said Corporal Knopf.

  “Yeah, right, books,” said Maurice, scowling. “Anyway… cats can talk to rats, OK? And I'm going to tell you a story. But first, I'm going to tell you that my clients, the rats, will all leave this town if you want them to, and they won't come back. Ever.”

  The humans stared at him. So did the rats.

  “Will we?” said Darktan.

  “Will they?” said the mayor.

  “Yes,” said Maurice. “And now, I'm going to tell you a story about the lucky town. I don't know its name yet. Let's suppose my clients leave here and move down river, shall we? There are lots of towns on this river, I'll be bound. And somewhere there's a town that'll say, why, we can do a deal with the rats. And that will be a very lucky town, because then there'll be rules, see?”

  “Not exactly, no,” said the mayor.

  “Well, in this lucky town, right, a lady making, as it might be, a tray of cakes, well, all she'll need to do is shout down the nearest rat hole and say, ‘Good morning, rats, there's one cake for you, I'll be much obliged if'n you didn't touch the rest of them’, and the rats will say ‘Right you are, missus, no problem at all’. And then—”

  “Are you saying we should bribe the rats?” said the mayor.

  “Cheaper than pipers. Cheaper than rat-catchers,” said Maurice. “Anyway, it'll be wages. Wages for what, I hear you cry?”

  “Did I cry that?” said the mayor.

  “You were going to,” said Maurice. “And I was going to tell you that it'd be wages for… for vermin control.”

  “What? But rats are ver—”

  “Don't say it!” said Darktan.

  “Vermin like cockroaches,” said Maurice, smoothly. “I can see you've got a lot of them here.”

  “Can they talk?” said the mayor. Now he had the slightly hunted expression of anyone who'd been talked to by Maurice for any length of time. It said “I'm going where I don't want to go, but I don't know how to get off.”

  “No,” said Maurice. “Nor can the mice, and nor can norma—can other rats. Well, vermin'll be a thing of the past in that lucky town, because its new rats will be like a police force. Why, the Clan'll guard your larders—sorry, I mean the larders in that town. No rat-catchers required. Think of the savings. But that'll only be the start. The will be getting richer, too, in the lucky town.”

  “How?” said Hauptmann the woodcarver, sharply.

  “Because rats will be working for them,” said Maurice. “They have to gnaw all the time to wear their teeth down, so they might as well be making cuckoo clocks. And the clockmakers will be doing well, too,”

  “Why?” said Hopwick the clockmaker.

  “Tiny little paws, very good with little springs and things,” said Maurice. “And then—”

  “Would they just do cuckoo clocks, or could they do other stuff?” said Hauptmann.

  “—and then there's the whole tourism aspect,” said Maurice. “For example, the Rat Clock. You know that clock they've got in Bonk? In the town square? Little figures come out every quarter of an hour and bang the bells? Cling bong bang, bing clong bong? Very popular, you can get postcards and everything. Big attraction. People come a long way just to stand there waiting for it. Well, the lucky town will have rats striking the bells!”

  “So what you're saying,” said the clockmaker, “is that if we that is, if the lucky town had a special big clock, and rats, people might come to see it?”

  “And stand around waiting for up to a quarter of an hour,” said someone.

  “A perfect time to buy hand-crafted models of the clock,” said the clockmaker.

  People began to think about this.

  “Mugs with rats on,” said a potter.

  “Hand-gnawed souvenir wooden cups and plates,” said Hauptmann.

  “Cuddly toy rats!”

  “Rats-on-a-stick!”

  Darktan took a deep breath. Maurice said, quickly, “Good idea. Made of toffee, naturally.” He glanced towards Keith. “And I expect the
town would want to employ its very own rat piper, even. You know. For ceremonial purposes. ‘Have your picture drawn with the Official Rat Piper and his Rats’, sort of thing.”

  “Any chance of a small theatre?” said a little voice.

  Darktan spun around. “Sardines!” he said.

  “Well, guv, I thought if everyone was getting in on the act—” Sardines protested.

  “Maurice, we ought to talk about this,” said Dangerous Beans, tugging at the cat's leg.

  “Excuse me a moment,” said Maurice, giving the mayor a quick grin, “I need to consult with my clients. Of course,” he added, “I'm talking about the lucky town. Which won't be this one because, of course, when my clients move out some new rats will move in. There are always more rats. And they won't talk, and they won't have rules, and they'll widdle in the cream and you'll have to find some new rat-catchers, ones you can trust, and you won't have as much money because everyone will be going to the other town. Just a thought.”

  He marched down the table and turned to the rats.

  “I was doing so well!” he said. “You could be on ten per cent, you know? Your faces on mugs, everything!”

  “And is this what we fought for all night?” spat Darktan. “To be pets?”

  “Maurice, this isn't right,” said Dangerous Beans. “Surely it is better to appeal to the common bond between intelligent species than—”

  “I don't know about intelligent species. We're dealing with humans here,” said Maurice. “Do you know about wars? Very popular with humans. They fight other humans. Not hugely big on common bonding.”

  “Yes, but we are not—”

  “Now listen,” said Maurice. “Ten minutes ago these people thought you were pests. Now they think you're… useful. Who knows what I can have them thinking in half an hour?”

  “You want us to work for them?” said Darktan. “We've won our place here!”

  “You'll be working for yourself,” said Maurice. “Look, these people aren't philosophers. They're just… everyday. They don't understand about the tunnels. This is a market town. You've got to approach them the right way. Anyway, you will keep other rats away, and you won't go around widdling in the jam, so you might as well get thanked for it.” He tried again. “There's going to be a lot of shouting, right, yeah. And then sooner or later you have to talk.” He saw the bewilderment still glazing their eyes, and turned to Sardines in desperation. “Help me,” he said.