The Twyning (4 page)

— No.

There were gasps from several of the rats around me. What was happening? Another revelation, louder and clearer than that of Grizzlard’s, was reaching them.

It was a female revelation.

Even I, a ratling unversed in the ways of the kingdom, knew that this was very strange indeed. At any one time, there are never more than two or three does within the inner court. Mothers and sisters enjoy a certain power within the kingdom as captains of some of the courts. Yet they are rarely, if ever, admitted to the Court of Governance. In matters of war and death, it is a basic rat belief that those who have brought life into the world will see less clearly than the bucks who are their husbands or brothers.

Ahead of me, the crowd pressed closer to the platform where Grizzlard stood, caught in a rare moment of indecision and bewilderment.

Behind him, there was a movement among the courtiers. Pushing forward, past the bulky figures of those who were in the front row, there emerged a figure who was so small that at first I thought a ratling had found its way into the court.

It made its way forward with a busy scuttle, as if impatient with the slow, dignified gait with which, traditionally, courtiers would move on a state occasion.

Slender, tense, female, the rat reached the Rock of State. Then, to a rustle of astonished disapproval, she stepped to the front lip of the platform, in front of Grizzlard, standing between the king-elect and his citizens.

Attempting to exert his authority, the senior courtier Quell advanced toward the newcomer, towering over her with a glowering revelation.

— Courtiers are required by convention to introduce themselves before addressing the gathering.

The newcomer did not offer, nor even humble before the might of Quell. Ignoring him, she gazed toward the back of the Great Hollow.

— I am Jeniel. But then, many of my friends know that.

She showed her teeth, and those near the front of the crowd pressed closer to catch her revelation. There was something unusual about this Jeniel that drew them in. Even the most distinguished members of the court were uneasy when communicating to the kingdom; it was as if kingship could only be expressed by a cold and clumsy awkwardness.

Jeniel was different. She addressed them like someone telling secrets. Although her revelation was as clear as that of Quell or Grizzlard, it was also confiding, gentle.

— I speak to the friends I know and to those I have yet to meet, to those who know me from the Court of Translation and those who may have heard of me.

She glanced briefly toward Quell and Grizzlard.

— I am suggesting that there is a new way forward. My old friend Grizzlard, with all his many words, is unable to understand it. He is sharper with his teeth than with his revelations.

A rustle of amusement spread through the hollow like the wind in the trees. One or two of the members of the Court of Governance, standing beyond the Rock of State, looked at one another in surprise. Citizens were actually laughing at the rat who would be king.

Jeniel waited. Then her revelation continued.

— It has always been a good thing in times of certainty to have experience and strength in a position of power. But now the world is different. There are new perils. It is the moment for change.

Quell had heard enough. He moved toward her, his bony old body dwarfing hers. For a moment he seemed to be about to attack her, but instead he revealed.

— It is for the court to deliberate these matters.

Jeniel inclined her head slightly to one side.

— The court? And what of the people? Many rats, ordinary rats who will fight and work and mother for the kingdom, believe that it is not right to be told from on high who is to be king, who is to live and to die in the kingdom. We are all rats together. We should listen and love one another. We can create a kingdom of the pulse, in which every citizen can share. Power is good, friend Quell, but there is something that is better. Respect for one another will make the kingdom strong. Has Grizzlard truly earned this respect?

Grizzlard, looking uneasy, remained silent.

— Perhaps he has. — Jeniel pondered for a moment. — He has fought many battles. But it is we who should decide.

I felt restless. For me, the strange quarrel that was taking place on the Rock of State seemed meaningless and trivial beside the enormity of what I had just seen.

King Tzuriel, the stick falling, the scream, the wire door to the cage slamming shut.

I nudged the warrior rat to my right.

— We must do something. The king has been captured.

Something then happened that even now I find truly astonishing. The two young warrior rats glanced at one another and then began to move forward through the crowd. One, then both of them repeated my revelation.

— King Tzuriel. He has been captured.

— The king is in danger.

Rats in front of them seemed to melt away, at first slowly but then accelerating, as if the importance of their message was spreading through the hollow. The three of us moved through the Courts of History, of Prophecy, of Spies, until a single obstacle remained between us and the Rock of State.

The Twyning.

— Yes?

One of the many bodies of the Twyning loomed out of the mass. As it shifted its position, I noticed that the fur between it and its neighbors had been rubbed away, leaving the skin shiny and dark. Its eyes were wide, like that of the most innocent ratling.

I revealed.

— King Tzuriel has been captured.

Several other heads on the Twyning turned toward me. Out of nervous politeness, I addressed them all.

— I . . . I saw it with my own eyes.

For a few seconds, the Twyning was still, as if absorbing this information into all thirty of its brains and bodies. Then it set up a shimmering motion, spreading across its backs like a breeze rippling over the water of a pond.

Seeing it, Grizzlard, Quell, and Jeniel looked down. No rat, not even a courtier on the brink of kingship, would ignore the Twyning.

The head that was closest to the Rock of State delivered a revelation that reached all of the Court of Governance and many rats in the congregation.

— There is news from the world above. It concerns our king.

. . . and I did not always live on the streets. I had a house, a mother, a father.

Once I was Peter Simeon.

Sometimes, even now, the memories catch me before I can stop them.

I remember warmth, a bed with heavy blankets, the sounds of the house — Mary, the maid, singing as she worked; the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall; my mother and father talking.

We were happy. We were the Simeon family.

My father went to work every morning, in his suit, the worried look of a busy man already on his face.

And my mother? She was beautiful. She still is, probably. She talked to me; she played with me. Sometimes when my father was not there, I sat upon her lap, warm and safe.

Home, school, food, walls, servants. How could all that have been a dream?

It was soon after my ninth birthday when late one night, I was awoken by the sound of voices. My father and mother were having an argument.

All parents argue, but, lying there in the darkness, as he shouted and she cried, I knew that this was different.

The next day, I was told to take my breakfast in the servants’ quarters.

My father had left for work by the time I came upstairs from the kitchen.

My mother, as pale as death, her eyes red, avoided me. She cast not so much as a single look in my direction. Mary took me to school.

Soon I became used to looking for her large uniformed figure at the end of the school day.

A few times I asked her what I had done wrong. She would frown and say, “They’re grown-ups. Sometimes grown-ups are like that, Peter.”

From that moment onward, I ate all my meals with the servants. Now and then I would catch them glancing at one another as if they were in possession of some important, terrible secret.

Fights between my father and mother continued. Every night, after we had all gone to bed, the voices would start, rising and falling in the darkness. Often I heard them mention my name.

What had I done? What awful deed?

Soon I no longer asked myself the question. A feeling of cold dread entered my heart. Something bad, beyond my understanding, was happening.

I slept lightly, like a cat. The slightest sound awoke me. Even when my father and mother were not arguing, I was waiting for the next fight to begin.

I would sit on the landing in the dark, listening to the voices below. I wanted to understand.

One word, shouted by my father every time he argued with my mother, confused me.

Bastard.

What was a bastard?

I asked the children at school. None of them seemed to know. When I asked a teacher, she made me stand in the corner.

I asked Mary and she looked away, as if I had said something sinful.

“What is it, Mary?” I asked again. “Please tell me. What is a bastard?”

Mary’s face was as big and pale as the full moon. She was kind and sometimes would sing to me when my parents were not in the house.

Now, though, she frowned and pursed her lips.

“Bad blood, Master Peter,” she said. “It means bad blood. Better not to talk of it.”

There came a night when there was no argument. The silence was even more frightening than the angry words. The next night was the same.

One evening, during this time of quiet, something unusual happened. When my mother said good night to me, she cried. She held on to me, squeezing the breath out of me. Then, quite suddenly, she pushed me away from her.

“Good night, Peter,” she said. It was as if she had suddenly been reminded of the terrible thing I had done, of my bad blood.

At dead of night, I was awoken by a sound.

This time, it was not an argument. Someone stood at the door to the bedroom. It was Frank, the footman.

“Put some clothes in this,” he said, holding out a laundry bag.

“Clothes?” I sat up in bed.

“And get dressed. Quietly. We are going for a ride.”

I put on some clothes, and I looked in my chest of drawers for a shirt, some flannel britches. Was this some kind of test?

“Warm clothes. You’ll be needing a coat.” Frank spoke gruffly. “Get moving.”

I opened the wardrobe and took out my only tweed coat. When I turned, Frank was on his way down the stairs. I followed him, past the door to my parents’ room, down into the hall, out the front door.

Waiting there, in the dark, was a carriage with a coachman slumped at the front. Frank held my arm, as if afraid I would run away, then pushed me, in a way that was not polite, into the carriage.

The carriage jolted forward.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You’ll see.” Frank looked out the window.

Plucking up my courage, I asked the question that now worried me night and day.

“Is it because of my bad blood?”

It was as if I had not spoken.

After some time in the carriage, and only then, when it slowed, did Frank speak. “This will do,” he said, and tapped on the back of the driver’s seat. When the carriage came to a halt, he stepped down and looked around him.

“Out you get,” he said. “Take your bag.”

I stood beside him on the pavement. It was dark and we were in a part of town I had never seen before.

“You wait here, lad,” he said, almost kindly.

He stepped back into the carriage and immediately it moved off.

I watched it go, listened to the horse’s hooves until I was standing there in the quiet of the night.

Minutes. Hours. I looked down the street, waiting for the carriage to return, but it never did.

Light began to break. I was cold. I was hungry. I was alone.

I began walking. As day broke, the streets came to life, strangers hurried by. One or two glanced at me, then quickly looked away.

Bad blood. They could smell it in my veins.

So began my new life. Where does a boy find food and warmth on the street of a great town? Not among humans, that was for sure. I learned soon that to survive, I had to stay close to the dogs who lived wild. Something strange. They were as hungry as I was, but I discovered that while they would fight each other for scraps, they would become quiet when I spoke to them. The moment we looked into each other’s eyes, dog and human, we understood that we were stronger together. I could help them find food. They could protect me and keep me warm as I huddled close to their bony, scabby bodies at night.

People began to say that I had a gift, that I could tame wild curs and make them do what I wished, but the truth was simpler. Dogs and I were close because together we could survive.

There is work of a kind for those who can understand animals. Men who hunted the fields and rivers would use me for pegging out rabbits for their ferrets, or simple skinning work. Sometimes I would go ratting or netting hares. Once I was put down a fox’s earth to retrieve a terrier that had found a vixen and cubs. At the end of the day, I’d be given food or a couple of pennies for my labor.