“No.”

Sardines sighed. “I reckon you do, boss. Do we want a lot of scrapping amongst ourselves at a time like this?”

“No!”

“Right! Well, thanks to chattery little Nourishing, you're the rat that looked the Bone Rat right in the face and came back, aren't you…?”

“Yes, but she…”

“Seems to me, boss, that anyone who could stare down the Bone Rat… well, no-one is going to want to mess with him, am I right? A rat who wears the teeth-marks of the Bone Rat like a belt? Uh-uh, no. Rats'll follow a rat like that. Time like this, rats need someone to follow. That was a good thing you did back there, with ol' Hamnpork. Burying him and widdling on top and putting a sign on him… well, the old rats like that, and so do the young ones. Shows 'em you're thinking for everyone.” Sardines put his head on one side, and grinned a worried grin.

“I can see I'm going to have to watch you, Sardines,” said Darktan. “You think like Maurice.”

“Don't worry about me, boss. I'm small. I gotta dance. I wouldn't be any good at leadering.”

Thinking for everyone, Darktan thought. The white rat… “Where is Dangerous Beans?” he said, looking around. “Isn't he here?”

“Haven't seen him, boss.”

“What? We need him! He's got the map in his head.”

“Map, boss?” Sardines looked concerned. “I thought you drew maps in the mud.”

“Not a map like a picture of tunnels and traps! A map of… of what we are and where we're going…”

“Oh, you mean like that lovely island? Never really believed in it, boss,”

“I don't know about any islands, I really don't,” said Darktan. “But when I was in that… place, I… saw the shape of an idea. There's been a war between humans and rats for ever! It's got to end. And here, now, in this place, with these rats… I can see that it can. This might be the only time and the only place where it can. I can see the shape of an idea in my head but I can't think of the words for it, do you understand? So we need the white rat, because he knows the map for thinking. We've got to think our way out of this. Running around and squeaking won't work any more!”

“You're doing fine so far, boss,” said the dancer, patting him on the shoulder.

“It's all going wrong,” said Darktan, trying to keep his voice down. “We need him! I need him!”

“I'll get some squads together, boss, if you show me where to start looking,” said Sardines meekly.

“In the drains, not far from the cages,” said Darktan. “Maurice was with him,” he added.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing, guv?” said Sardines. “You know what Hamnpork always said: ‘You can always trust a cat—’”

“‘—to be a cat’. Yes. I know. I wish I knew the answer to that, Sardines.”

Sardines stepped closer. “Can I ask a question, guv?”

“Of course.”

“What was it Hamnpork whispered to you just before he died? Special leader wisdom, was it?”

“Good advice,” said Darktan. “Good advice.”

Maurice blinked. Very slowly, his tongue wound itself back in. He flattened his ears and, legs moving in silent slow motion, crept along beside the gutter.

Right under the grating there was something pale. The red streak was coming from further upstream, and divided in two as it flowed around the thing, before becoming one swirling thread again.

Maurice reached it. It was a rolled-up scrap of paper, sodden with water and stained with red. He extended a claw and fished it out. It flopped on the side of the gutter and, as Maurice gently peeled the paper apart, he saw the smudged pictures drawn in thick pencil. He knew what they were. He'd learned them, one day when he had nothing better to do. They were stupidly simple.

“No Rat Shall…” he began. Then there was a damp mess, down to the bit that read: “We are not like other Rats”.

“Oh, no,” he said. They wouldn't drop this, would they? Peaches carried it around as though it was a hugely precious thing—

Will I find them first? said an alien voice in Maurice's head. Or perhaps I have…

Maurice ran, skidding on the slimy stone as the tunnel turned a corner.

What strange things they are, CAT. Rats that think they are not rats. Shall I be like you? Shall I act like a CAT? Shall I keep one of them alive? FOR A WHILE?

Maurice yowled under his breath. Other, smaller tunnels branched off on either side but the thin red streak led straight on and there, under another grating, the thing lay in the water, the red leaking gently from it.

Maurice sagged. He'd been expecting—what? But this… this was… this was worse, in a way. Worse than anything.

Soaked in water, leaking the red ink from Ratty Rupert the Rat's red waistcoat, was “Mr. Bunnsy Has an Adventure”.

Maurice hooked it out on claw-tip, and the cheap paper pages fell out, one by one, and drifted away in the water. They'd dropped it. Had they been running? Or… had they thrown it away? What was it Dangerous Beans had said? “We're nothing but rats”? And he'd said it in such a sad, hollow voice…

Where are they now, CAT? Can you find them? Which way now?

It can see what I see, he thought. It can't read my mind, but it can see what I see and hear what I hear and it's good at working out what I must be thinking…

Once again, he shut his eyes.

In the dark, CAT? How will you fight my rats? The ones BEHIND YOU?

Maurice spun around, eyes wide. There were rats there, dozens of them, some of them nearly half the size of Maurice. They watched him, all with the same blank expression.

Well done, well done, CAT! You see the squeaky creatures and yet you don't leap! How did a cat learn not to be a cat?

The rats, as one rat, moved forward. They rustled as they moved. Maurice took a step backwards.

Imagine it, CAT, said the voice of Spider. Imagine a million clever rats. Rats that don't run. Rats that fight. Rats that share one mind, one vision. MINE.

“Where are you?” said Maurice, aloud.

You will see me soon. Keep going, pussy-cat. You have to keep going. One word from me, one mere flicker of a thought, and the rats you see will take you down. Oh, you might kill one or two, but there are always more rats. Always more rats.

Maurice turned, and edged forward. The rats followed. He spun around. They stopped. He turned again, took a couple of steps, looked behind him. The rats followed as if they were on string.

There was a familiar smell in the air here, of old, stale water. He was somewhere near the flooded cellar. But how close? The stuff stank worse than tinned cat food. It could be in any direction. He could probably outrun the rats over a short distance. Bloodthirsty rats right behind you can give you wings.

Are you planning to run to help the white rat? said his conscience. Or are you thinking of making a dash for the daylight?

Maurice had to admit that the daylight had never seemed a better idea. There was no point in lying to himself. After all, rats didn't live very long in any case, even if they had wobbly noses—

They are close, CAT. Shall we play a game? Cats like PLAYING. Did you play with Additives? BEFORE YOU BIT HIS HEAD OFF?

Maurice stopped dead. “You are going to die,” he said softly.

They are getting closer to me, Maurice. So close now. Shall I tell you that the stupid-looking kid and the silly-sounding girl are going to die? Do you know that rats can eat a human alive?

Malicia bolted the shed door.

“Rat kings are deeply mysterious,” she said. “A rat king is a group of rats with their tails tied together”

“How?”

“Well, the stories say it just… happens.”

“How does it happen?”

“I read somewhere that their tails become stuck together when they're in the nest, because of all the muck, and they get twisted up as—”