The Twyning (45 page)

Peter Simeon is back.

Now and then, when we’re away from the adults and talking about the past, Caz will call me Dogboy, and somehow, the way she says the word, it causes a little leap of happiness within my heart, a reminder, just between us two, of the past we share.

It’s our name now. I am Caz’s secret Dogboy.

I never returned to the doctor. One of the setters who comes to the tavern has told me that the town’s rat men asked him if there would be another hunt. He had shrugged as if, in his mind, rats were no different from any other pest.

There is a rumor that fleas are his new area of research.

The politician has taken fright. That’s what they say in the bar. The blaze at the tip, Caz’s fire dance, set stories going around that the war on rats was more about winning votes than saving lives. The council lost interest. Mr. Petheridge found other campaigns to support.

Sometimes grown-ups prefer to behave as if unpleasant things never really happened.

It can be a good thing. Caz and I have learned that when we are with Molly in our new home, the past is not mentioned. For her, we have become the children she never had.

We eat. We talk. We go to school. When a stranger talks to Molly of “your son” or “your little girl,” she no longer corrects them.

Even when Bill Grubstaff sits in the bar, there is no talk of the strange events that brought us all together, although now and then, when no one’s looking, Bill will wink at me and say, “All right there, Dogboy?”

That night changed his life, too. Molly has told him that she never wants to see dogs killing rats for sport ever again, and these days, for his own quiet reasons, Bill chooses to do what Molly says. He has taken to breeding pet rats for sale to the gentry.

One evening, not long after Caz and I settle into our new home, Malaika begins to act strangely.

We are in Caz’s room, talking after supper, when the rat begins to tremble. After a few moments, she slips off Caz’s bed, where she has been, and scurries across the floor. She looks up at the small window that leads to a flat roof over the kitchen.

“He’s here,” Caz whispers.

I look around the room, bewildered.

“Efren,” she says. “I can hear him.”

She walks to the window and opens it. The night is crisp and clear, but despite the cold, Malaika is scuttling backward and forward, her eyes on the open window.

Caz leans out.

— Efren? Is it you?

She smiles then, reaches down to pick up Malaika, and sets her down on the window ledge. Without hesitating, the rat disappears into the darkness.

Caz turns to me, her eyes sparkling. She holds up a finger in anticipation.

From outside come the unmistakable squeals of rats meeting joyfully.

Caz laughs. She’s different now that we live at the tavern — more open and at ease. She is still shy, and rarely goes in the bar, but she no longer has the pale sleepwalker look that I remember from those last days when we lived in the tip.

Because Molly prefers not to talk of the past, and I know that the memories are too hurtful to Caz, I never mention her stay with Champagne Charlie to anyone.

Stories, though, need to be told.

The day after Efren’s first visit, Caz asks if she can have one of the notebooks that Molly uses to keep a record of what has been bought from the market for the tavern.

That night, she sits at the table in her room. She opens the book, looks at me, and, almost like a teacher, says, “Let us start at the beginning.”

According to Caz, what has happened to us is too important to drift away into forgetfulness. So every night, before we sleep, I tell her more of my story. Together we travel back to the past and into the war on rats.

As we work, Malaika will go onto the roof to see Efren.

Then one night, something changes. Caz moves her table to the window. She opens it and stares into the darkness for a while.

“What are you doing, Caz?” I ask.

“I think we need to tell the whole story,” she says. “Your story and Efren’s.”

I am about to speak again when she holds a finger to her lips. She is listening.

Perhaps you might think we are a strange little group of breathing creatures here at the Cock Inn, if you were to see us tonight. Downstairs there is Molly and the drinkers in the bar. Bill will be there at his usual table, watching Molly as she works.

Upstairs, I am with Caz beside an open window. On the ledge, Malaika waits, already growing larger with the sons and daughters of Efren that she is now carrying.

We are all listening for sounds from the chilly outside world where we used to live.

There is a rustle of leaves, a brief chattering of teeth, and Malaika has gone. Frowning with concentration, Caz picks up her pencil and opens her notebook to a new page. She waits for the revelations of Efren, then begins to write.

There was a smell of hope in the Great Hollow that night . . .

It is time for the story to be told.

acclamation

A loud noise made by a great gathering of rats. It is a combination of keening and a chattering of teeth.

carry

Also known as
fathering
, carrying refers to the act of mating. For rats, sex is an everyday necessity, a basic duty conducted by all citizens except
hearers
or members of
the Twyning.
A male rat can carry with up to twenty does in a period of six hours. A doe becomes fertile again soon after giving birth and can produce twelve litters of twenty rats in a year. As Dr. Ross-Gibbon says, a single pair of rats has the potential to produce fifteen thousand descendants in twelve months.

clod-cave

A small hole in the ground made by rats to be a hiding place in times of danger. See also
gouge
and
rest.

corrector

A member of the Court of Correction, trained in torture and death.

express

When expressing contempt for another citizen, a rat will express — that is, defecate — in front of it.

father

See
carry.

flyte

It has been noted that, when cornered or pursued, rats have a startling ability to jump so high that it almost seems as if they have taken wing. In the kingdom, this is known as flyting, and it is practiced in its most impressive form by members of the Court of Warriors. The gift of flyting is partly physical, a combination of muscular strength and loose skin, but is also mental. A skilled warrior will be able to think himself into an extraordinary ability to flyte from danger.

fragile

A rat that has been bred and domesticated by humans and has returned to the kingdom. Normally a fragile has white, brown, and gray markings.

glow

Before there is any great movement of the earth — a volcano, earthquake, or tsunami — certain animals are sensitive to what rats call the “glow.” Changes in the earth’s crust release certain scents in the air, in the water, and in the taste of plants, which alert some creatures that a cataclysm is on its way. The glow usually takes place two or three days in advance of the event itself. In 2011, scientists discovered that toads show this awareness. It is less well-known that rats can also feel the glow.

gouge

A resting place below the ground that has been hollowed out and is used by rats as a home. See also
rest.

hearer

A few rats, like Efren, are born with the ability to hear what is happening in other places, in other times, and even in other minds. They have no control over what they hear and, once adult, will lose the gift of hearing if they
carry
like other rats.

humble

A rat that is humbling is adopting a low crouch of submission. In the kingdom, it is a basic form of politeness and is not regarded as shameful. See also
offer.

length

The rat’s measure of distance, a length is simply the length of a large adult rat, for example a warrior — from head to toe, around twenty centimeters.

offer

Offering is a more extreme form of
humbling
and involves a rat rolling on its back, often with its eyes closed, in an act of total submission. Fights that do not end in death will invariably be brought to a close by one of the rats offering to the other.

plaining

A chorus set up by a twyning at times of importance for the kingdom. It is a single note, but sustained by the many voices of the rats who are part of
the Twyning.
Plaining only occurs at moments of great solemnity in the kingdom.

pulse

Unlike almost any other animals, rats are unselfish. Scientists have proved that their most powerful instinct, even when offered a reward, is to help another rat in trouble. This sense of comradeship is known in the kingdom as the pulse. Rats who need help are described as pulsing.

rest

A small hollow, slightly larger than a
clod-cave
but smaller than a
gouge
, in which rats can shelter and hide.

reveal

Rats communicate through thought. The stronger a citizen’s talent for revealing, as it is known, the greater his or her power. The revelations of members of the Court of Governance will be able to reach all members of the kingdom when gathered in one place.

shape-reading

Rats know where they are by shape-reading. Any difference in the skyline or a
touch-path
is sensed.

still

At times of danger, a rat will become stone-like. Even its whiskers are immobile. Scent is reduced to a minimum. Stilling is an art learned by rats in infancy.

tell

Male rats have the ability to leave a thin trail of urine in their path, a practice known as telling. Most often, a tell is left when rats wish to show other citizens the way through danger, particularly when they are outside a
touch-path
, but it is also used to show rats from other kingdoms that they have strayed into another territory. Warrior rats most often tell. Members of the Court of Spies are trained not to tell from an early age.

touch-path

All animals prefer to follow paths for reasons of safety, but rats are more sophisticated. They can sense the trails that have been established by the touch of their whiskers and the hair of their fur. Not depending on sight allows citizens to use touch-paths as escape routes quickly and instinctively in moments of danger.

trem

A sound felt through the ground when something is approaching. The trem of a mouse, stoat, or another rat can be felt from a distance of around ten
lengths.
A human’s trem will reach a rat from up to fifty lengths.

twyning

Known by human scientists as a “rat king,” a twyning is a group of as many as twenty or thirty rats whose tails have become entwined in the nest and have grown together. The Twyning has profound religious significance in the kingdom.

whiffle

Rats are able to sense the mood of other citizens — aggressive, wary, affectionate — by the smell of their breath. This action is known as whiffling.

woodnote

Rats are alerted to danger by the sounds of all other animals except humans, the alarm calls of birds being particularly important. In the kingdom, these warnings go under the general name of woodnotes.

Several books were particularly helpful when I was researching this book: Hans Zinsser’s
Rats, Lice and History
(1935), Robert Hendrickson’s
More Cunning Than Man
(1983), Charles Golding’s
Rats: The New Plague
(1990), S. Anthony Barnett’s
The Story of Rats
(2001), Robert Sullivan’s
Rats
(2004), Stephen Smith’s
Underground London
(2004), and Liza Picard’s
Victorian London
(2005).