Book 4

The Rats in the Walls

October 1898

Deptford sewers, Greater London

Tanya and the Sea Rat walked cautiously through the sewer pipe. It would be ridiculous to suggest that one length of sewer was any darker or less hygienic than any other and yet, something about these tunnels, compared to those around Rat London, said to Tanya "These are the slums. Nobody cares about this place."

The plan was that Tanya and the Sea Rat, as rodents, would be able to gain access to the rat society. Hawthorn was accompanying them, and when the moment was right would alert the other two, who were following some way behind, to create a diversion that would let them steal the gold.

A young rat wearing a cloth cap noticed them. "'Ere, wot's a mousemaid doin' down 'ere?" he asked, "You lot like it up in the fresh air, don'cha?"

"We're looking for the Alchemist's Cat," said the Sea Rat directly, before Tanya could take offence.

"A cat? Ain't no cats down 'ere. We'd be goin' off our nuts if there was a cat down 'ere, wou'n't we?"

"We were told there was some kind of cult?" suggested Tanya.

"You mean 'Is Lordship?" asked the rat, puzzled, "Wot you talkin' about cats for then?"

"Um, our mistake," said Tanya, who had previous experience of rodents following cats that pretended not to be. "You follow the ... religion?"

"Nah, all this worshipful stuff ain't my thing at all. I'm gettin' out of 'ere. I want a career in the theatre!"

"You're an actor?" asked Tanya, surprised.

"Well, I'd like to be. Or maybe a singer on that phonogramph thing. Can you get to central London from 'ere? I 'eard that's where you go to become a star."

"We came by boat across the Thames," said the Sea Rat, "But you might find it simpler to get on a train. I think you'd probably get to King's Cross."

"King's Cross," the young rat said thoughtfully, "Now that sounds like the sort of place showbusiness royalty would come from. One day everyone's gonna wake up to the name Orland Rat, yeah!"

"I'm sure they will," said Tanya politely, "But you were telling us about 'His Lordship'?"

"Oh, yeah. Two tunnels along and third on the left after that. But if I was you, I wou'n't go near the place!" He wandered off, presumably to Deptford railway station, leaving the visitors to follow his directions.

"What do you reckon his chances of being famous are?" the Sea Rat chuckled.

"Not great, with a claws-on-a-chalkboard voice like that," replied Tanya, "Unless he takes up dance so no-one has to listen to it!"

"Quite," Hawthorn's disembodied voice put in. "I wonder if the Camembert Academy has any vacancies?"

The joking banter quickly ceased as they found themselves in a spacious drainage area containing a large number of slovenly-looking rats who eyed them suspiciously. "And 'oo might you be?" asked one.

"We seek an ... an audience with His Lordship," said the Sea Rat.

"Oh, yeah?" said the rat suspiciously, "And wot's the mousemaid doin' 'ere then? She want an audience too?" The rats all laughed.

The Sea Rat thought quickly and then grabbed Tanya by the arm. "She's an offering to His Lordship," he said. Tanya did her best to look frightened and helpless.

The rats were puzzled. Tanya suspected it was blindingly obvious to any thinking creature that she hadn't been a prisoner until the rats had questioned her presence, but it seemed the rats of Deptford were not thinking creatures. Probably discouraged by the cat, she thought.

"Awright, then," said the spokesrat eventually, "I'll lead ya to 'im."

He took them through a narrow drain to a brick wall with a hole in it. Turning his back to them, he addressed the hole with the words "Oh, Yer Lordship. Forgive yer mangy follower for disturbin' ya, but..."

While he was distracted Tanya nodded to a corner where something golden glowed within a clay container shaped like a hare. The Sea Rat nodded back, and there was a faint splashing from behind them, which Tanya presumed was Hawthorn heading back to alert the others.

If it wasn't, it was too late to do anything about it. The Sea Rat quickly knocked the supplicant out with a blow to the back of the head and Tanya grabbed the container. From the direction they had come from, Tanya heard cries of "No room! No room!", "Rikki-tikki-tikki-tchk!" and, most of all, "'Elp! There's a loony rabbit and some sort o' weasel down 'ere!"

"It sounds like the distraction is going according to plan," she commented. "More or less."

"Aye. The question, Miss Mousekewitz, is how do we stop the barmy one after the rats are all taken care of?"

Tanya shrugged, "I think the question is, which of them is the crazy one? And right now, I'd say both."

"Aye, the hare's more detached from reality, but both of 'em have the bloodwrath. Saw it in that mongoose's eyes the first time I saw him."

"Bloodwrath?"

"It's a fighting frenzy. Generally held by mustelids, but I've seen lagomorphs with it before. Once an animal's got the bloodwrath going, they won't stop until they've run out of enemies or they get killed."

Tanya would have discussed this further, but at that moment glowing yellow eyes appeared in the hole, and a soft yowling sound could be heard. With Tanya still clutching the container, the two rodents ran back through the drain before the Alchemist's Cat noticed them.

As they returned, Tanya poked her head cautiously through the mouth of the pipe. There were several rats lying in a state of unconsciousness. Most of the others had fled, and to Tanya's horror, Rikki-tikki seemed on the point of following them. (None, however, had fled through the pipe that lead to the gap in the brickwork, there apparently being something they feared more than their opponents.) The one remaining conscious rat was being held by Marchmont in one forepaw and being punched repeatedly with the other.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!" the hare yelled.

"Eh? Wot's a Jabberwock? An' I ... I ain't yer son..." the unfortunate rat gasped, before slowly sinking to the grimy floor.

Marchmont looked around wildly for more victims, while Rikki-tikki had nearly climbed up to one of the grates the rats had escaped through.

"People!" Tanya yelled, "The plan! We have what we came for, now we leave!"

The scarlet dimmed from Rikki-tikki's eyes. "Yes, of course. Sorry about that. Lost my head for a minute there. Marchmont?"

"It was ... the best ... butter ..." Marchmont said, slowly returning to his senses. He looked around. "There aren't as many rats here as I expected. If we don't wake them, we can probably get the stuff without a fight at all."

With great difficulty, Tanya forbore to comment.

Rattish Museum, London

The League returned to their default headquarters. "Excellent work," said D'Angermouse. "Queen Mousetoria herself thanks you. Or doubtless she would, if she knew about any of this. You have done a great deed for Rodent Britain!"

"I'm glad we've done a great deed," said Tanya, "but do I have to remind you I'm not British? Nor's Rikki."

"Loyal servant of the Raj, though," said Rikki-tikki-tavi mildly.

"Well, I'm certainly pleased to have done my bit for my country," said Hawthorn.

"I'm a Sea Rat," said the Sea Rat, "I was born of Norwegian rats in Constantinople and don't hold fast to any nation, but I reckon I'm as attached to England as anywhere."

Marchmont sniffed, "And I, as I've mentioned, am a descendent of the Long Patrol, and as English as they come," he said, punctuating the statement with a noble pose.

"And what's that meant to be?" asked the Sea Rat, "An Anglo-Saxon attitude?"

"Guys, don't start again," said Tanya, getting between them, "Sorry about this, Mr D'Angermouse."

"Eh?" said D'Angermouse distractedly, "Oh, yes, splendid work all of you. Your final payment is on its way. Good day." And with that, he bustled out.

Tanya frowned. "Did that look a bit suspicious to anyone else?" she asked.

"He never struck me as exactly pukka, but he did seem to be in a damned hurry there," agreed Rikki-tikki, "Has it occurred to anyone that we don't actually know what he's going to do with the auroral gold?

"Yeah," said Tanya, slowly, "Hawthorn, could you...?"

There was no answer.

"Seems like he already has," said the Sea Rat, simply.

Baker Street, London

On the corner of Baker Street was a pillar box of the classic design, a hexagonal column with a decorative spike at the top. However, the carriers of Her Majesty's mails who serviced the area all assumed the box was the responsibility of one of their fellows.

And this was because the pillar box was not, in fact, a receptacle for letters provided by the General Post Office at all, but the domicile of Mr D'Angermouse. Within the box was a well laid-out flat, dominated by a full-sized telephone handset set into one wall. Arriving in the flat, D'Angermouse quickly made his way to the receiver.

"I'm here, Colonel," he said into the mouthpiece, then stepped to the earpiece to await a response.

"Do we have the gold?" came the reply. D'Angermouse hopped back to the mouthpiece.

"Yes, Colonel. It's on its way to your hangar at the Hotel Russell. Everything is ready."

"Excellent work, D'Angermouse. If this city is to be dominated by a cat, it will not be that lunatic in Deptford.

"It will be Colonel Macavity!"