“Rats generally have six or seven babies, and they have quite short tails, and the parents keep the nests quite clean,” said Keith. “Have the people who tell these stories ever seen rats?”

“I don't know. Maybe the rats just get crowded together and their tails get twisted up? There's a preserved rat king in a big jar of alcohol in the town museum.”

“A dead one?”

“Or very, very drunk. What do you think?” said Malicia. “It's ten rats, like a sort of star, with a big knot of tail in the middle. Lots of others have been found, too. One had thirty-two rats! There's folklore about them.”

“But that rat-catcher said he made one,” said Keith firmly. “He said he did it to get into the Guild. Do you know what a masterpiece is?”

“Oh course. It's anything really good”

“I mean a real masterpiece,” said Keith. “I grew up in a big city, with guilds everywhere. That's how I know. A masterpiece is something that an apprentice makes at the end of his training to show the senior members of the Guild that he deserves to be a ‘master’. A full member. You understand? It might be a great symphony, or a beautiful piece of carving, or a batch of magnificent loaves—his ‘master piece’.”

“Very interesting. So?”

“So what sort of master piece would you have to make to become a master rat-catcher? To show that you could really control rats? Remember the sign over the door?”

Malicia frowned the frown of someone faced with an inconvenient fact. “Anyone could tie a bunch of rat tails together if they wanted to,” she said. “I'm sure I could.”

“While they're alive? You'd have to trap them first, and then you've got slippery bits of string that are moving all the time and the other end keeps on biting you? Eight of them? Twenty of them? Thirty-two? Thirty-two angry rats?”

Malicia looked around at the untidy shed. “It works,” she said. “Yes. It makes almost as good a story. Probably there were one or two real rat kings… all right, all right, maybe just one—and people heard about this and decided that since there was all this interest they'd try to make one. Yes. It's just like crop circles. No matter how many aliens own up to making them, there are always a few diehards who believe that humans go out with garden rollers in the middle of the night—”

“I just think that some people like to be cruel,” said Keith. “How would a rat king hunt? They'd all pull in different directions.”

“Ah, well, some of the stories about rat kings say that they can control other rats,” said Malicia. “With their minds, sort of. Get them to bring them food and go to different places and so on. You're right, rat kings can't move around easily. So they… learn how to see out of the eyes of other rats, and hear what they hear.”

“Just other rats?” said Keith.

“Well, one or two stories do say that they can do it to people,” said Malicia.

“How?” said Keith. “Has it ever happened, really?”

“It couldn't, could it?” said Malicia.

Yes.

“Yes what?” said Malicia.

“I didn't say anything. You just said ‘yes’,” said Keith.

Silly little minds. Sooner or later there is always a way in. The cat is much better at resisting! You will OBEY me. Let the rats GO.

“I think we should let the rats go,” said Malicia. “It's just too cruel, having them packed into those cages like that.”

“I was just thinking that,” said Keith.

And forget about me. I am just a story.

“Personally, I think rat kings really are just a story,” said Malicia, walking over to the trapdoor and raising it. “That rat-catcher was a stupid little man. He was just babbling.”

“I wonder if we should let the rats out,” Keith mused. “They looked pretty hungry.”

“They can't be worse than the rat-catchers, can they?” said Malicia. “Anyway, the piper will be here soon. He'd lead them all into the river, or something—”

“Into the river…” muttered Keith.

“That's what he does, yes. Everyone knows that.”

“But rats can—” Keith began.

Obey me! Don't THINK! Follow the story!

“Rats can what?”

“Rats can… rats can…” Keith stammered. “I can't remember. Something about rats and rivers. Probably not important.”

Thick, deep darkness. And, somewhere in it, a little voice.

“I dropped Mr. Bunnsy,” said Peaches.

“Good,” said Dangerous Beans. “It was just a lie. Lies drag us down.”

“You said it was important!”

“It was a lie!”

… endless, dripping darkness…

“And… I've lost the Rules, too.”

“So?” Dangerous Beans' voice was bitter. “No-one bothered with them.”

“That's not true! People tried to. Mostly. And they were sorry when they didn't!”

“They were just another story, too. A silly story about rats who thought they weren't rats,” said Dangerous Beans.

“Why're you talking like this? This isn't like you!”

“You saw them run. They ran and squeaked and forgot how to talk. Underneath, we're just… rats.”

… foul, stinking darkness…

“Yes, we are,” said Peaches. “But what are we on top? That's what you used to say. Come on—please? Let's go back. You're not well.”

“It was all so clear to me…” Dangerous Beans mumbled.

“Lie down. You're tired. I've got a few matches left. You know you always feel better when you see a light…”

Worried in her heart, and feeling lost and a long way from home, Peaches found a wall that was rough enough and dragged a match from her crude bag. The red head flared and cracked. She raised the match as high as she could.

There were eyes everywhere.

What's the worst part? she thought, her body rigid with fear. That I can see the eyes? Or that I'm going to know they're still there when the match goes out? “And I've only got two more matches…” she mumbled to herself.

The eyes withdrew into the shadows, noiselessly. How can rats be so still and so silent? she thought.

“There's something wrong,” said Dangerous Beans.

“Yes.”

“There's something here,” he said. “I smelled it on that keekee they found in the trap. It's a kind of terror. I can smell it on you.”

“Yes,” said Peaches.

“Can you see what we should do?” said Dangerous Beans.

“Yes.” The eyes in front were gone, but Peaches could still see them on either side.

“What can we do?” said Dangerous Beans.

Peaches swallowed. “We could wish we had more matches,” she said.

And, in the darkness behind their eyes, a voice said: And so, in your despair, you come, at last, to me…

Light has a smell.

In the dank, damp cellars the sharp sulphur stink of the match flew like a yellow bird, rising on drafts, plunging through cracks. It was a clean and bitter smell and it cut through the dull underground reek like a knife.

It filled the nostrils of Sardines, who turned his head. “Matches, boss!” he said.

“Head that way!” Darktan commanded.

“It's through the room of cages, boss,” Sardines warned.

“So?”

“Remember what happened last time, boss?”

Darktan looked around at his squad. It wasn't everything he could have wished for. Rats were still trailing back from their hiding-places, and some rats—good, sensible rats—had run into traps and poisons in the panic. But he'd picked the best he could. There were a few of the experienced older ones, like Inbrine and Sardines, but most of them were young. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, he thought. It was the older rats who'd panicked most. They hadn't been so used to thinking.

“O-K,” he said. “Now, we don't know what we're going to—” he began, and caught sight of Sardines. The rat was shaking his head slightly.

Oh, yes. Leaders weren't allowed not to know.

He stared at the young, worried faces, took a deep breath and started again. “There's something new down here,” he said, and suddenly he knew what to say. “Something that no-one's ever seen before. Something tough. Something strong.” The squad was almost cowering, except for Nourishing, who was staring at Darktan with shining eyes.