by Angela Robb
‘Okay,’ says Nev, although he looks a bit unconvinced. He starts rooting around in the rubbish and is soon nibbling on something.
Of course, since leaving Gary’s house I have been snacking, but my cheek pouches are still fairly stuffed with hamster food. The time has come to ditch these leftovers from my past life and stock up with the proper nosh of a wild rodent. So I’m picking my muesli and choc drops out of my cheeks and piling them on one side.
Nev stares at my little heap. ‘What’s all that?’ he asks.
‘Remnants of my dark days,’ I reply, ‘taken from the bowl in my cage for my epic journey. But I won’t be needing them any more.’
‘Are you kidding?’ Nev holds out what looks like a mouldy cracker. ‘We’re eating rubbish out of bins. What you’ve got there is food.’
He does seem rather hungry.
‘Of course,’ I say quickly. ‘What I mean is, I won’t be needing to stow them in my cheek pouches any longer, now that I’ve found a friend to share them with. Please, help yourself.’
‘Thank you.’ Nev picks up a choc drop and takes a bite. ‘Mmmm,’ he says. ‘Did you say that you’re lost?’
‘I did. I’m looking for some rats.’
‘Rats?’
‘A gang of rats. The Big Cheese’s gang, to be precise. Do you know them?’
Nev hesitates. In fact, if it were possible, I’d swear that beneath his grey fur he’s turned a little pale.
‘You could say that. I’m one of the Big Cheese’s mice.’
‘You mean you’re a gang member?’
‘Sort of. Well, really the rats just tolerate our existence.’ He thinks. ‘No. It’s not even that. We help them find food, raid restaurant kitchens. I mean, they do that too, of course – they have big appetites. But we can bring them extra, we can fit through small gaps, get into cupboards and other places that they just can’t. And we stay loyal to the gang. In exchange … well, in exchange they tolerate our existence.’
‘But you are a gangster?’
‘Not really, no.’
I think about all this for a moment. ‘So you’re finding food for them right now?’
‘No. I took them food two days ago and it upset their stomachs, so now I’m laying low for a bit. To be honest, I can’t understand how it made them ill. It was such a nice piece of beef Wellington, from one of their favourite restaurants.’
Beef Wellington. I saw that once on a cookery show that Gary’s mum was watching.
‘You mean the rats eat human food? As in cooked things?’
Nev stares at me in surprise. ‘Of course,’ he says. ‘The Big Cheese is very choosy when it comes to fine dining. None of them would eat stuff like this.’ He looks sadly at the mouldy cracker lying on the ground. ‘Or even this,’ he adds, nodding towards the last morsel of choc drop in his hand. ‘No offence.’
‘None taken. So,’ I ask him, ‘how much longer do you think you need to stay away?’
‘Oh, I’m going back today. The rats don’t remember anything for long.’
‘Well even if they did …’ I puff out my chest again. ‘This time you’ll have me for backup.’
‘Look,’ says Nev, ‘you really don’t want to meet these rats. Trust me.’
‘Ah, but I do want to meet them.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m going to join the gang.’
Nev laughs. But perhaps my expression shows just how serious I am, because his smile quickly fades.
‘You’re serious.’
‘Of course I’m serious.’
‘If you ask to join, they’ll chop you into little pieces, just for fun.’
‘Ah, but if you only knew what challenges I’ve overcome just to get here, you wouldn’t underestimate me.’
Nev looks doubtful – but I can tell that he wants to be convinced.
‘Well you can’t stick around here, that’s for sure.’ He thinks for a moment. ‘Okay. I’ll take you back to the docklands with me. On the way, you can tell me all about these adventures of yours. Then I’ll think about it. Whether to take you to the gang, I mean.’
And so at last, I’m on my way. As we head out of the alley and back on to the street, a pink sunrise is spreading through the sky. It’s going to be a good day.
8
Restaurants, Rats and a Rumpus
We are riding in the back of a van, surrounded by bottles of milk. I’ve just finished telling Nev all about everything – from how I defeated both cat and dog in single combat to my daredevil surfing in the sewer. I’m surprised to hear that he has met Dwayne several times, though he won’t say much about how it is they know each other.
‘So,’ I ask at last, ‘will you take me to see the rats?’
Nev shrugs. How could he say no?
The van comes to a stop. The driver’s door opens, and bangs shut. Footsteps. I hold my breath as daylight floods the inside of the van. Nev springs lightly through the open doors and scurries away along the pavement.
My turn.
I jump. Land with a bit of a forward roll. Pick myself up and hurry after the mouse. He’s waiting for me on the corner of the street.
‘Well here we are,’ says Nev. ‘Welcome to the docklands.’
I look around. The docklands are a big surprise, and a bit of a disappointment. Far from being the drab slimy hole I had imagined, the gang’s territory is stuffed with fancy restaurants. Many of these have brightly coloured awnings over their windows and doors, or outdoor tables under large umbrellas. They line the streets on either side of a river crossed by a bridge. The river, mind you, is dark, dirty and sluggish, so at least that’s something.
As we make our way towards the bridge, I am happy to see that our destination lies somewhere in the shadowy damp beneath it. We run freely across the banking at the water’s edge; although it is a bright and sunny morning, this early on a Sunday there is scarcely anyone around. Even so, Nev seems tense.
He stops beside a hole in the concrete, just under the bridge. The end of a pipe sticks out of it. A thin line of water trickles from the pipe and dribbles down the banking. Nev hesitates.
‘Now remember,’ he says, ‘whatever you do, don’t tell them that you’re here to become some sort of gangster. Say that you want to be like us mice – help them out in exchange for a roof over your head.’
‘Can I tell them that I want to be the greatest hamster that ever lived, and inspire other rodents to take up the quest for greatness?’
‘No.’ This is a historic moment; I wish Nev would stop looking so worried about it. ‘Are you sure you want to go in there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Only if you’re sure.’
‘Absolutely I’m sure.’
‘Well … okay then.’
He enters the pipe. I follow.
There is a curious stale smell and a sound of loud, arguing voices. As we move further along, I can see a faint light up ahead. It is coming from an opening on the right.
Just short of the opening, Nev raises a hand, signalling me to stop. He peers inside. ‘Wait here,’ he whispers.
He disappears through the opening. I press my ear to the wall of the pipe. I can hear Nev clear his throat.
‘Everyone!’ he shouts. ‘Listen up a minute!’
From the noise levels in there, I’d say nobody is listening up.
‘I’VE BROUGHT A NEWBIE!’
Silence. I can hear my own heart pounding.
‘He’s … not a rat. Or a mouse. But he wants to be a mouse. I mean—’
There are rumblings of angry voices. I fear that Nev may be losing his cool.
‘He doesn’t want to be a rat! I mean a gangster!’
It’s only right that I should help him out. So I bowl through the opening, ready to work the crowd.
‘Greeting
s!’ I shout. ‘I am Rocco, and I am here to find you food, just as though I were a mouse, in exchange for your roof over my head and your tolerance of my existence!’
I pause for dramatic emphasis. We have entered a vast candlelit chamber, full of enormous rats in various shades of black, brown and grey. Up the back, a group of mice are staring open-mouthed. I assume these are Nev’s family, so I give them a friendly wave. One of them waves back.
‘What’s this then?’ Finally, someone is returning my greeting. ‘Suburban FLUFF wants us to tolerate his existence. Sounds awfully like he expects us not to send him to the bottom of the deep blue dock, does it not?’
The speaker is a large and scrawny rat with a long, bent nose, crooked teeth and cross eyes. Each of those eyes is bloodshot. Quite simply, he’s the strangest fellow I’ve ever seen.
‘Actually, I’m a Syrian hamster,’ I tell him. The rats begin to laugh.
‘It wouldn’t make sense to drown him, Minestroni!’ cries Nev. Minestroni must be the scrawny rat. I have to admit, I missed the bit when he said anything about drowning me. ‘He is from the suburbs,’ Nev continues, ‘but that’s just it! This hamster thwarted man, defeated dog and overcame cat just to get here!’
All at once, the rats begin murmuring among themselves. I give Nev a thumbs up, because what he just said showed some serious style.
‘Enough, enough, enough!’ Minestroni claps his hands for silence. ‘This character’ – he is pointing a long, hooked claw in my direction – ‘has a nerve that is about to get him what he wants or get him exceptionally dead. But we all know whose decision that will be.’ Now it’s his turn to pause for effect, but the rats only grumble impatiently. Minestroni jabs his finger at me. ‘Stay there,’ he says importantly, ‘while I speak with the Big Cheese.’
He disappears through a wide crack in the wall. The other rats turn and eye Nev and me with toothy grins. Of course, everyone told me this would happen – this business of the rats wanting to kill me – but somehow I figured that when the moment arrived I would spontaneously work out what to do in order to survive.
It occurs to me that this is that moment. And that my mind is curiously blank.
‘Listen,’ says Nev, ‘if this all goes badly, run.’
‘Are we about to see the Big Cheese?’ I ask.
Nev looks at me in astonishment. ‘Nobody ever sees the Big Cheese. Except Minestroni, of course. He’s the Big Cheese’s right-hand rat. No one else is allowed in his presence.’
‘Why not?’
‘For security reasons.’
This is fascinating: the Big Cheese must be even more amazingly important than I thought.
‘OI, OI, OI!’
Once again everyone in the chamber goes quiet. The harsh, booming voice seems to be coming from a hole halfway up the wall. As I look more closely I can see that the hole is in fact the end of a metal pipe, like a big mouth, round and black and perfectly shaped for shouting.
I look at Nev, who knows exactly what I’m thinking.
‘Yes,’ he says, ‘that’s him.’
‘’OO DO WE ’AVE ’ERE THEN, EH? WOSS ALL THIS ABOUT AN ’AMSTER THAT WANTS TO BE TOLERANT?’
There is a faint whispering at the other end of the pipe.
‘TOLERATED!’
The voice echoes around the walls. A few flecks of stone and dirt flutter from above. I take a deep breath.
‘I am Rocco, sir! Rocco the Fantastic! I wish to join with your mice! I offer my legendary foraging skills, and my built-in high-capacity haute cuisine receptacles!’
I stuff my hands inside my cheeks and push them out to reveal their impressive food-carrying capacity. Then I remember that the Big Cheese can’t actually see me, so I turn this way and that to show the other rats and get them to back me up. Surprisingly, they do no such thing (raised eyebrows and scowling aren’t much help), but now there’s a lot of whispering going on in that pipe.
‘AND WHY,’ asks the voice at last, ‘WOULD WE BE NEEDIN’ YOU TO GO ALL THE WAY OUT THERE LOOKIN’ FOR GRUB, WHEN I’LL BET YOU’RE AS PLUMP AND JUICY A MORSEL AS ANY THAT EVER CAME OUT OF CHEF CLAUDE’S KITCHEN!’
I have no idea who Chef Claude is, but this time the death threat is loud and clear. From the corner of my eye I can see Nev mouthing something. I think it’s got to do with the plan he suggested a minute ago. But I’ve an idea of my own.
‘Now listen here!’ I shout boldly. ‘You mistake me for a snack, but I’ll stick in your throat and play your molars like a xylophone, if I have to! I’ll find a thousand ways to cook Chef Claude before breakfast! I AM THE HAMSTER GANGSTER!’
The rats stare in disbelief. Nev is shaking, with a look on his face that suggests he is being throttled by a pair of invisible hands.
‘Give me a week,’ I tell them, ‘and every animal in this town will know my name. My fierce reputation will be your fierce reputation!’
I’m really quite pleased with how that came out.
‘ARE YOU SERIOUS?!!’ The Big Cheese’s yell screams in the pipe. A few in the crowd cover their ears. ‘DO YOU REALLY THINK THIS GANG NEEDS ’ELP FROM SOME POCKET-MONEY PET TO BE FAMOUS?!!’
‘No, I don’t. But you do not want me to take my awesome brilliance elsewhere. I hear there are plenty other gangs around here who would be grateful for it.’
An angry murmur spreads through the crowd. Several dozen pairs of eyes gleam dangerously in the candlelight.
‘IS THAT SO. WELL YOU LISTEN ’ERE, AND LISTEN GOOD. YOU WANNA BRING US FOOD? YOU CAN JOLLY WELL GET US FOOD. STARTIN’ WITH THE NICE LITTLE BIT OF CHEESE IN THE MOUSETRAP IN CHEF CLAUDE’S KITCHEN.’
The other rats are giggling. I’ve no idea what a ‘mousetrap’ is, but clearly I’m to assume that this will not be an easy task.
‘And if I succeed?’
‘IF YOU SUCCEED!’ The Big Cheese roars with laughter, and all but the mice do the same. ‘IF YOU SUCCEED THEN YOU CAN BRING US ALL THE GRUB YOU LIKE. YOU CAN CHEW UP EVERY OTHER GANG IN TOWN AND BRING ’EM ’ERE STASHED IN THAT FAT LITTLE FACE OF YOURS, IF THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE MADE OF.’
‘You mean I’ll be in the gang?’
‘I MEAN YOU’LL BE IN THE GANG.’
For a moment there I was ready to shout, ‘Thank you very much!’ but I suppose that’s not the kind of thing a hard-as-nails gangster should say.
‘You’ve got a deal!’
Much better.
Anyway, no one is listening. Already the rats are shouting or joking or arguing among themselves, while the mice are shuffling from the room, shaking their heads. All except two, that is. Nev is still standing next to me with a worried look on his face, and just behind him, a small mouse stares at me in fascination. She has a piece of pink shoelace tied around her head like a bandana.
‘So,’ I ask them, ‘can someone please show me the way to Chef Claude’s kitchen?’
Nev raises his hand, then faints.
9
The Mousetrap
Back out on the street, I have to say I don’t think much of Chef Claude’s restaurant. It has sickly bright awnings, and Claude’s written in fancy scribbles on the windows.
‘It’s a bit small,’ I remark.
‘It’s a traditional French bistro,’ replies Nev. ‘People come here from all across the city and beyond.’
I can tell that there are moments when he thinks me ignorant. The mouse in pink headgear, meanwhile, has turned out to be Nev’s little sister, Tina. She is a couple of feet away, kicking the air and slicing it with her hands, apparently practising some kind of martial art.
‘I do not doubt that the food is très bien,’ I continue, ‘but I cannot believe that a place with so many frills could be filled with danger.’
Nev glares at me. ‘Look, Rocco, around these parts to be a rodent is to be a pest. Everybody wants you dead, and you obviously have no idea
how good these people are at getting what they want.’
‘But I’m a hamster.’
‘Oh, that’s right. I’m so sorry. I forgot that you’re an invincible world-beating hamster.’
Actually, that’s not what I was talking about. I simply meant that the humans might not see me as disease-ridden vermin. But Nev hasn’t finished.
‘In fact, since grabbing the cheese is going to be so easy for you, why don’t you just cook Chef Claude a thousand ways while you’re at it. There’s still plenty of time before breakfast.’
I take one last look at the candy-striped canvas over the door and windows. ‘Maybe I will.’
Nev storms off towards the rear of the restaurant. I hurry after him, closely followed by Tina. We stop by the back door, which is wedged wide open. I can hear the sound of chopping, and somebody shouting in an angry form of French. Nev sniffs the air.
‘They’re preparing for a busy brunch service,’ he says. He hops on to the low step and peers cautiously around the door. I move to follow, but in the same instant Nev turns and rushes back out. ‘I saw it!’ he hisses. ‘We have to get out of here!’
‘You saw what?’
‘The mousetrap! It’s one of the nastiest I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of mousetraps.’
I’m still trying to imagine what this thing must look like. Nev’s opinion of it has only made me more eager to find out.
‘Let me see.’
‘Rocco …’
Before he can say any more, I make a dash for the door. I stop on the threshold and survey the scene. ‘Is it the little piece of wood on the floor, with a lump of cheddar on top?’
For a moment Nev says nothing. Once again, I fear, he is annoyed by the disappointment in my voice.
‘Let me tell you why we’re here,’ he says. ‘We’re here because back in that sewer you did such an outstanding job of almost getting us both killed that I had a strong desire to throw you into the jaws of that mousetrap myself. But I got over that. Then I thought maybe if I showed you what it is we’re dealing with, you’d see sense and abandon the whole idea. Clearly, I was wrong. So you’re just going to have to believe me when I say that if you go in there that little piece of wood is going to snap your face off.’
