“Squeak!” screamed the mouse.

“Fair enough,” said Maurice, and killed it instantly. He carried it back to the corner, where Keith was now sitting in the straw and finishing a pickled beef sandwich.

“It couldn't talk,” said Maurice, hurriedly.

“I didn't ask you,” said Keith.

“I mean, I gave it a chance,” said Maurice. “You heard me, right? It only had to say it didn't want to be eaten.”

“Good.”

“It's all right for you, I mean, it's not as though you have to speak to sandwiches,” said Maurice, as if he was still bothered about something.

“I wouldn't know what to say to them,” said Keith.

“And I'd like to point out that I didn't play with it, either,” said Maurice. “One swipe with the ol' paw and it was ‘goodbye, that's all she wrote’ except that obviously the mouse didn't write anything, not being intelligent in any way.”

“I believe you,” said Keith.

“It never felt a thing,” Maurice went on.

There was a scream, from somewhere in a nearby street, and then the sound of crockery breaking. There had been quite a lot of that in the last half hour.

“Sounds like the lads are still at work,” said Maurice, carrying the dead mouse behind a pile of hay. “Nothing gets a good scream like Sardines dancing across the table.”

The stable doors opened. A man came in, harnessed two of the horses, and led them out. Shortly afterwards, there was the sound of a coach leaving the yard.

A few seconds later, there were three loud knocks from below. They were repeated. And then they were repeated again. Finally, Malicia's voice said: “Are you two up there or not?”

Keith crawled out of the hay and looked down. “Yes,” he said.

“Didn't you hear the secret knock?” said Malicia, staring up at him in annoyance.

“It didn't sound like a secret knock,” said Maurice, his mouth full.

“Is that Maurice's voice?” said Malicia suspiciously.

“Yes,” said Keith. “You'll have to excuse him, he's eating someone.”

Maurice swallowed quickly. “It's not someone!” he hissed. “It's not someone unless it can talk! Otherwise it's just food!”

“It is a secret knock!” Malicia snapped. “I know about these things! And you're supposed to give the secret knock in return!”

“But if it's just someone knocking on the door in, you know, general high spirits, and we knock back, what are they going to think is up here?” said Maurice. “An extremely heavy beetle?”

Malicia went uncharacteristically silent for a moment. Then she said: “Good point, good point. I know, I'll shout ‘It's me, Malicia!’ and then give the secret knock, and that way you'll know it's me and you can give the secret knock back. OK?”

“Why don't we just say ‘Hello, we're up here’?” said Keith innocently.

Malicia sighed. “Don't you have any sense of drama? Look, my father's gone off to the Rathaus to see the other council members. He said the crockery was the last straw!”

“The crockery?” said Maurice. “You told him about Sardines?”

“I had to say I'd been frightened by a huge rat and tried to climb up the dresser to escape,” said Malicia.

“You lied?”

“I just told a story,” said Malicia, calmly. “It was a good one, too. It was much more true than the truth would sound. A tap-dancing rat? Anyway, he wasn't really interested because there's been a lot of complaints today. Your tame rats are really upsetting people. I am gloating.”

“They're not our rats, they're their rats,” said Keith.

“And they always work fast,” said Maurice proudly. “They don't mess about when it comes to… messing about.”

“One town we were in last month, the council advertised for a rat piper the very next morning,” said Keith. “That was Sardines' big day.”

“My father shouted a lot and sent for Blunkett and Spears, too,” said Malicia. “They're the rat-catchers! And you know what that means, don't you?”

Maurice and Keith looked at one another. “Let's pretend we don't,” said Maurice.

“It means we can break into their shed and solve the mystery of the bootlace tails!” said Malicia. She gave Maurice a critical look. “Of course, it would be more… satisfying if we were four children and a dog, which is the right number for an adventure, but we'll make do with what we've got.”

“Hey, we just steal from governments!” said Maurice.

“Er, only governments who aren't people's fathers, obviously,” said Keith.

“So?” said Malicia, giving Keith an odd look.

“That's not the same as being criminals!” said Maurice.

“Ah, but when we've got the evidence, we can take it to the council and then it won't be criminal at all because we will be saving the day,” said Malicia, with weary patience. “Of course, it may be that the council and the Watch are in league with the rat-catchers, so we shouldn't trust anyone. Really, haven't you people ever read a book? It'll be dark soon, and I'll come over and pick you up and we can shimmy the nodger.”

“Can we?” said Keith.

“Yes. With a hairpin,” said Malicia. “I know it's possible, because I've read about it hundreds of times.”

“What kind of nodger is it?” said Maurice.

“A big one,” said Malicia. “That makes it easier, of course.” She turned round abruptly and ran out of the stables.

“Maurice?” said Keith.

“Yes?” said the cat.

“What is a nodger and how do you shimmy it?”

“I don't know. A lock, maybe?”

“But you said—”

“Yes, but I was just trying to keep her talking in case she turned violent,” said Maurice. “She's gone in the head, if you ask me. She's one of those people like… actors. You know. Acting all the time. Not living in the real world at all. Like it's all a big story. Dangerous Beans is a bit like that. Highly dangerous person, in my opinion.”

“He's a very kind and thoughtful rat!”

“Ah, yes, but the trouble is, see, that he thinks everyone else is like him. People like that are bad news, kid. And our lady friend, she thinks life works like a fairytale.”

“Well, that's harmless, isn't it?” said Keith.

“Yeah, but in fairy-tales, when someone dies… it's just a word.”

The No. 3 Heavy Widdlers squad were taking a rest, and they'd run out of ammunition in any case. No-one felt like going past the trap to the trickle of water that dripped down the wall. And no-one liked looking at what was in the trap.

“Poor old Fresh,” said a rat. “He was a good rat.”

“Should've paid attention to where he was going, though,” said another rat.

“Thought he knew it all,” said yet another rat. “A decent rat, though, if a bit smelly.”

“So let's get him out of the trap, shall we?” said the first rat. “Doesn't seem right, leaving him in there like that.”

“Yes. Especially since we're hungry.”

One of the rats said, “Dangerous Beans says we shouldn't eat rat at all.”

Another rat said, “No, it's only if you don't know what they died of, 'cos they might have died of poison.”

Another rat said, “And we know what he died of. He died of squashing. You can't catch squashing.”

They all looked at the late Fresh.

“What do you think happens to you, after you're dead?” said a rat, slowly.

“You get eaten. Or you go all dried up, or mouldy.”

“What, all of you?”

“Well, people usually leave the feet.”

The rat who'd asked the question said, “But what about the bit inside?”

And the rat who'd mentioned the feet said, “Oh, the squishy green wobbly bit? No, you ought to leave that, too. Tastes awful.”

“No, I meant the bit inside you that's you. Where does that go?”

“Sorry, you've lost me there.”

“Well… you know, like… dreams?”

The rats nodded. They knew about dreams. Dreams had come as a big shock when they started to happen.