King Rat slowed down, his frantic flailings subsided. He backed away from Saul, his shoulders slumped, broken.

‘See? He can’t touch me…’ Saul hissed. He jabbed a finger at King Rat’s chest. ‘You dragged me into this world, murderer, rapist, Dad, you killed my father, unleashed the Piper on me… I can’t kill you, but you can sing for your fucking Kingdom. It’s mine, and you need me in case he ever comes back. You can’t kill me, just in case.’ Saul laughed unpleasantly. ‘I know how you work, you fucking animal. Self fiber alles. Kill me and you might be killing yourself. So what do you want to do? Eh?’

Saul stepped back and spread his arms wide. He closed his eyes.

‘Kill me. Take your best shot.’

He waited, listening to King Rat breathe.

Eventually he opened his eyes and saw King Rat skulking, moving back and forth, towards him and away again, clenching and unclenching his fists.

‘You little bastard,’ he hissed despairingly.

Saul laughed again, bitter and tired. He turned his back on King Rat and walked to the edge of the roof. As he began his descent, King Rat whispered to him again.

‘Watch your back, you shit,’ he hissed. ‘Watch your back.’

Saul climbed down a curving line of old bricks and disappeared into the labyrinth behind a skip, wound his way along a tiny alley and emerged into South London.

He scoured the streets until he found a darkened arcade of kebab vendors and newsagents and shoe shops, and there at the end a mercifully unvandalized phone box. He dialled 999 and sent the police and ambulances to the warehouse. God knew, he thought, what they would make of the scene awaiting them.

When he had made that call, Saul held the receiver to his chin for a long time, trying to decide whether to act on his instinct. He wanted to make one more call.

He called directory enquiries and got the number for the Willesden police station. He called the operator and told her that his pound coin had stuck in the phone box and he had to make an urgent call. The operator acquiesced with a bored voice designed to let Saul know that she knew he was lying.

The phone was answered by a crotchety sergeant on the graveyard shift.

Saul didn’t suppose that DI Crowley was available. At this time? Was Saul mad? Anything urgent the sergeant could help with?

Saul asked to be put through to Crowley’s answering machine. He stiffened with déjà vu at the sound of Crowley’s measured tones. He had not heard them since his rebirth, the night after his father’s murder.

He cleared his throat.

‘Crowley, this is Saul Garamond. By now you’ll know about the fucking carnage in the Elephant and Castle. This is just to let you know that I was there, and to tell you not to bother asking anyone there what happened, because none of them know. I don’t know how you’ll end up writing it up… Fuck it, say it was a performance art piece that went horribly wrong. I don’t know. Anyway, I was calling to tell you that I did not kill my father. I didn’t kill your policemen. I didn’t kill the bus guard, I didn’t kill Deborah, and I didn’t kill my friend Kay.’

‘I wanted to tell you that the main culprit is gone.’

‘I don’t think we’ll see him again.’

‘There’s one more culprit for part of this, Crowley, and I can’t get rid of him, not yet. But I’ll be keeping my eye on him. I promise you that.’

‘I want to come back, Crowley, but I know I can’t. Leave Fabian and Natasha alone. They don’t know anything, and they haven’t seen me. I did everyone a favour tonight, Crowley. You’ll never know the half of it.’

‘If we’re both lucky that’s the last we’ll hear of each other.’

‘Good luck, Crowley.’

He hung up.

Tell me about your father, Crowley had suggested, all those weeks ago. Ah, Crowley, thought Saul, that’s just what I can’t do.

You wouldn’t understand.

He walked into the dark streets, heading for home.

EPILOGUE

Deep under London, in a rough chamber off a tube line abandoned for fifty years, accessible from the sewers and the pipes of a hundred buildings, Saul told the rats the story of the Great Battle.

They were spellbound. They ringed him in concentric circles, rats from all over London, here a survivor of that night, licking her scars ostentatiously, another boasting of his exploits, others chattering in agreement. It was dry and not too cold. There were piles of food for everyone. Saul lay in the centre and told his story, showing off his healing wounds.

Saul told the assembled company about King Rat’s Betrayal, when he had abased himself in the dirt and offered the life of every rat in London if only the Piper would spare him. Saul told the story of how he himself had heard the cries of the dying and had broken the Piper’s spell, shoved him into a void with his infernal pipe embedded in him, and he told them how he had stamped on King Rat in contempt as he did so.

The rats listened and bobbed their little heads.

Saul warned the rats to be vigilant, to keep a watch for the Piper, and to avoid the lies and seductions of the Great Betrayer, King Rat.

‘He’s still in the sewers,’ warned Saul. ‘He’s on the roofs, he’s all around us, and he’ll try to win you over, he’ll tell you lies and beg you to follow him.’

The rats listened intently. They would not fail.

When Saul had finished the story, he sat up on his haunches and looked into the ring of faces. Row upon row of anxious eyes, gazing at him, demanding that he command them. They oppressed him.

There was so much that Saul wanted to do. He had a letter to Fabian in his pocket. Fabian would be leaving hospital soon and he would find it waiting for him, some tentative overtures, hints at explanation g and a promise to contact him when things had calmed down.

Saul wanted to find a permanent base. There was an empty tower in Haringey he wanted to investigate.

There was shopping that needed doing. He had his eye on a very flash Apple Mac portable computer. Leaving the human world behind certainly made things easier as far as money was concerned.

But he could not operate like that as long as the rats hung on his every word, followed him everywhere, desperate to do his bidding. His revenge on King Rat had trapped him with endless ranks of adoring followers from whom he was eager to escape. And there was always the chance that the rats might start listening to King Rat. He was out there, skulking, plotting, destroying. Saul had to ensure that his revenge would last.

He had to change the rules.

‘You should all be proud of yourselves,’ he said. ‘The nation scored a great triumph.’

The gathering basked.

‘It’s a new dawn for the rats,’ he said. ‘It’s time the rats realized their strength.’

Excitement swept the assembly. What announcement was this ?

‘And it’s for that reason that I abdicate.’

Panic! The rats ran from side to side, beseeched him. Lead us, they said to him with eyes and screeches and claws, take us.

‘Listen to me! Why don’t I quibble with King Rat’s right to that name? Listen to me! I abdicate because the rats deserve better than a King. The dogs have their Queen, the cats their King, the spiders will throw up another sovereign, all the nations fawn before leaders, but let me tell you all… I couldn’t have defeated the Piper without you. You don’t need champions. It’s time for a revolution.’

Saul thought of his father, his fervent arguments, his books, his commitment. This one’s for you, Dad, he thought wryly.

‘It’s time for a revolution. You were led by a monarch for years, and he brought you to disaster. Then years of anarchy, fear, searching for a new ruler, the fear isolating you all so you didn’t have faith in your nation.’ A frisson passed momentarily up and down Saul’s back. He was suddenly alarmed. Jesus, he thought, I wonder what I’m unleashing. But it was too late to stop and he plunged on. He felt like an agent of history.