King Rat Part 10

'So f.u.c.king tell me what's going on,' spat Saul, suddenly jutting his chin into King Rat's face. There was a long silence. 'You go on and on, talking in riddles like you think you stepped out of a f.u.c.king fable, and I don't have time to wait for you to tell me what the moral of it is! Something's after me? Fine. What? Tell me, explain to me what the f.u.c.k is going on, or shut up.'

The silence returned, stretched out.

'He's right, rattymon. He have to know wha'appen. You can't keep him in the dark. He can't protect himself.'

The voice of the man who had carried him from the Westway dropped from above, and Saul glanced up to see him crouched like a monkey on the corner of the car-crusher. As he watched, the redhead appeared, arriving suddenly next to the black man, with his legs dangling into the container, as if he had jumped up from below and landed perfectly on his b.u.m.

'And who are they?' said Saul, jerking his head at the watchers. 'I thought the Ratcatcher had caught me. I'm walking along and suddenly that geezer's got me trussed up, tripped up. I thought he was going to crush me in this thing.'

153.

King Rat did not look up at the men sitting on the rim above, even as one of them spoke.

'Not just Ratcatcher, you know, bwoy. The one want you, him the Ratcatcher and the Birdcatcher and the Spidercatcher and the Batcatcher and the Human catcher and all tings catcher'

King Rat slowly nodded.

'So tell me,' said Saul. 'Listen to your mate. I need to f.u.c.king know. And get me out of these!'

King Rat reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a flick-knife. It emerged from its case with a snikt, and he shoved it under Saul's bonds and pulled. The ropes fell away. King Rat turned his head and paced to the far end of the container. Saul opened his mouth to speak, but King Rat's voice emerged from the darkness, pre-empting him.

'I want nary word f.u.c.king one to emerge from your gob, boy. I'll give you the whole spiel then, my old son, if that'll quell your hankering.'

Saul could dimly see that he had turned to face him. The three men now faced him in a row: the two above - one squatting, one swinging his legs like a child and the one below glowering in the corner.

Saul pushed the ropes away from him and backed into the opposite corner, pulled up his knees like protection for his brutalized body, listened.

'Meet my mates,' said King Rat. Saul looked up. The man who had caught him was still motionless on his haunches.

154.

The name Anansi, pickney.'

The old China Anansi,' interjected King Rat. 'The gent who most likely saved your skin from the ruffian out there on the hunt for you.'

Saul knew the name Anansi. He remembered sitting in a hushed circle, surrounded by other tiny bodies all sucking lukewarm milk out of tiny bottles, listening to his Trinidadian teacher tell the cla.s.s about Anansi the spider. He could not remember any more.

The redhead was standing now, balancing without effort on the thin metal edge. He gave an exaggerated bow, sweeping one arm out behind him. He wore suit trousers in burgundy, tightly pressed and perfect, a stiff white shirt and dark braces, a floral tie. His clothes were immaculate and stylish. Again he spoke in that peculiar accent, a composite of all the European intonations Saul could think of. 'Loplop presents Loplop,' he said.

'Loplop, aka Hornebom, Bird Superior,' said King Rat. 'We go back a long way, not all of it friendly. When I saw you'd slung your hook, I called on this pair of coves. You put us to a lot of strife, sonny. And you want the story of the Ratcatcher.'

'Spidercatcher,' said Anansi softly.

'Birdcatcher,' spat Loplop.

King Rat's voice held Saul still. King Rat settled back.

'We've all had our admirers, you know, your uncles 'Nans and Loplop and I. Loplop chased a painter for a 155.

while, and I was always partial to a s.n.a.t.c.h or two of verse. If you know some poesy you might know this story already, acos I told it once before to another, and he wrote it down for the G.o.dfers -- a child's story he called it. I didn't mind. He can call it what he wants. He knew it was for honest.

'I haven't always lived in the Smoke, you know. I've lived all over. I was here when London was born, but it was measly pickings for a long time, so I took my flock and jumped ship long time gone. Your ma was entertaining herself elsewhere while I bing a waste to Europa for a shufti with the faithful, going h.e.l.l for leather over land in packs with me at the head, my coat sleek. One twitch of my tail and the ma.s.sed ranks of Rattus went west, east, wherever I gave the word. We run through the dews-a-vill, through the fields of France, the high-pads of Beige, through the flatlands near Arnhem, and on through to Germany - not that those were the names they used.

'Next thing you know we're looking around, bellies on the growl. We've found a place where John Barleycorn's been most generous ... The crops are high and golden, ripe and ready and fit to burst. We took a Butcher's. "Yes," I says, "this'll do," and on we trog, slower now, on the skedge for a place to set us down.

'Through a forest, tight-clumped together under me the boss-man, afeared of nowt, on the hoof through lightmans and darkmans. By a river we found 156.

us a town, not too gentry a gaff, mind, but with silos that fair creaked at the seams, and knockabout houses with a hundred holes, nesting nooks, eaves and cellars, a hundred little corners for a knackered rat to rest a Crust.

'I gave the word. In we marched. The populace dropped their bags, gobsmacked and agog. Next thing they've lost their marbles, running around hither and thither, and letting loose with such a d.a.m.ned caterwauling ... I We were an impressive phalanx: we spewed in and didn't stop till the whole town was chock with me and my boys and girls. We herded the squealing civvies into the square, and they stood clutching their pathetic duds and children. We were bushed, been on the go a long time, but we pulled ourselves up proud in the sun and our teeth were magnificent.

'They tried to give us the heave-ho, flailing around with torches ablaze and paltry little shovels. So we bared our teeth, sank them in deep, and they ran screaming like yellow-bellied ponces, disappearing as quick as you like. We had the square to ourselves. I called the troops to order. "Right," I says, "quick march. This town is ours. This is Year One: this is the Year of the Rat. Spread out, make your mark, set the stage, find your places, eat your fill, anyone gives you any gyp, send them to me."

'An explosion of little lithe bodies, and the square's empty.

157.

'Rats in the rub-a-dubs, the houses, the kazis, the dews-a-vill, the orchards. We gave them what for. I did walkabouts, with nary a word said, but all and sundry knew who ran things. Any burgher raised a hand against one of my own, I took them down. People soon clocked the rules.

'And that was how the rats came to Hamelin.'

'Saul, Saul, you should've seen us. Good times, chal, the best. The town was ours. I grew fat and sleek. We fought the dogs and killed the cats. The loudest sound in that town was rats talking, chattering and making plans. The grain was mine, the gaffs were mine; the tucker they cooked, we took our cut first. It was all mine, my Kingdom, my finest hour. I was the Kingpin, I made the rules, I was Copper and jury and Barnaby and, when occasion demanded, I was Finisher of the Law.

Tt turned famous, our little town, and rats flocked to us, to join the little Shangri-La we put together, where we ruled the roost. I was the boss-man.

'Until that Ruffian, that b.a.s.t.a.r.d, that peripatetic f.u.c.king minstrel, that stupid tasteless s.h.i.t with his ridiculous duds, the prancing nancy, until he strolled into town.

'First I knew of it, one of my girls" tells me there's a queer cove with the mayor, furtive at the gates, dressed in a two-tone coat. "Hallo," says I, "they're 158.

about to have a go. They think they've a trick up the sleeve." I settled back to p.i.s.s on their parade, and it all went a little sorry.

'There was a note.

'Music, something in the air. Another note, and I p.r.i.c.k up my ears to hear what's going on. Little sleek brown heads appear from holes all over town.

'Then the third note sounds, and apocalypse begins.

'Suddenly I could hear something: a body sc.r.a.ping tripe from a bowl, a huge bowl. I could see it! I heard apples tumbling into a press, and my Plates start moving forward. I could hear someone leaving cupboards ajar, and I knew the jigger had been sprung on the Devil's own pantry ... the door was wide open, and I could fair sniff the scran inside, and I had to find it, and I had to eat it all.

'I started forward and I could hear a rumble, a shaking, a scamper of a hundred million little feet and I saw the air around me heaving with my little minions, all shouting for joy. They could hear the food too.

'I do a leap from the gables into the Frog. Splashdown in a stream of rats, all my little boys and girls, my lovers and my soldiers, big and fat and small and brown and black and quick and old and slow and frisky and all of them, all of us after that food.

'And as I troop ravenous onwards, I suddenly feel 159.

queer horror in my gut. I was using my nous, and I saw there wasn't no food where we were going.

' "Stop," I shrieks, and no one listens. They just b.u.mp my b.u.m from behind to get past. "Don't," I yell, and that starving stream just parts around me, rejoins.

'I felt that hunger waxing, and I scamper over and sink me Hampsteads fast into the wood of a door, hard as you like, holding myself back with my good strong gob. My pegs are dancing, they want that music, that food, but my mouth's holding strong. I feel my mind go slack and I gnaw some more, locking my jaw ... but disaster strikes.

'I take a bite from the door. My mouth snaps free and, before you can say knife, I'm in the stream of my subjects, my brainbox weaving in and out of hunger and joy for the tucker I can all but taste - and the despair, I'm King Rat, I know what's happening to me and my kind, and no one will listen. Something dire's in the offing.

'On we march, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, and from the corner of my eye I can see the people leaning out the windows, and the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are clapping, cheering, giving it all that. We're trotting in time, all four legs stately and sharpish to that... abominable piping, tails swaying like metronomes.

'I can see where we're headed, a little journey to the suburbs I've taken more times nor I can think, on a beeline for the grain silos beyond the walls. And there 160.

behind the silos, bloated after the showers, hollering like the sea, roaring and pelting down through the dews-a-vill, wide and rocky, filthy with swirling muck and mud and rain, is the river.

'There by the bridge I catch sight of the swine playing his flute in his fatuous duds. His Loaf bobs up and down, and I clock a revolting grin all over his North while he plays. The first ranks of rats are at the bridge now, and I can see them troop calmly to the edge, nary a hint of disquiet, eyes still narrowed on that lovely mountain of scran they're headed for. I can see them getting ready and I'm screaming at them to stop, but I'm p.i.s.sing in the wind, it's a done deal.

'They step off the stone walls of the bridge into the water.'

'The most almighty cacophony of squeals starts up from below the bridge, but none of the sisters and brothers can hear it. They're still listening to the dance of the sugarplums and bacon rind.

'The next in line jump on their comrades, and more and more - the Fisherman's is seething. I can't bear it, I can hear the screams, every one a blade in my gut, my boys and girls giving up the ghost in the water, fighting to keep their Crusts over the waves, good swimmers all but not built for this. I can hear wails and keens as bodies are swept downriver, and still my G.o.dd.a.m.n f.u.c.king legs keep moving. I pull back 161.

through the ranks, trying to turn round, going a little slower than the others, feeling them pa.s.s me, and the squire on the bridge looks at me, that infernal flute still clamped to his gob, and he sees who I am. I can see him see I'm King Rat.

'And he smiles a little more, and bows to me as I march on past onto the bridge and into the river.'

Loplop hissed and Anansi breathed something to himself. The three were locked into themselves, all staring ahead, all remembering.

'The Fisherman's was icy, and the touch of it cleared the bonce of nonsense. Every splash was quick-echoed by a screech, a wail as my poor little minions fight to keep their I Supposes in the air, thinking What the f.u.c.k am I doing here? and busy dying.

'More and more bodies jumping in to join them, more and more fur becoming waterlogged, feeling the tug of the river, slipping below the caps, raking their claws every which way in panic, tearing each other's bellies and eyes, and dragging brothers and sisters into the freezing cold under the air.

'I kicked my pegs to get away. There was a frantic ma.s.s of us kicking up froth, an isle of rat bodies, fighting and killing to climb atop, the foundations dying and disappearing below.

'Water plugged my lugs. All I can hear is the in-out 162.

of my breath, panicked and disjointed, gulping and retching and breathing in bile. The waves are smashing me around, tossing me against rocks, and on all sides rats are dying in thousands and thousands. I can just make out the noise of the flute. It's stripped of magic here in the Fisherman's, just a whining noise. I can hear the splashes of more rats leaping in the water to die; it's endless and merciless. Screams and choking are everywhere; stiff little bodies bob past me like buoys in h.e.l.l's harbour. This is the end of the world, I think, and the stinking water fills my lungs, and I sink.

'Everywhere are corpses.

'They move with the swell, and through my half closed eyes I can just clock them, all around me, suspended under the water, above me as I sink and below me too, blobs of brown approaching. And there in the murk, as the last bubbles of air spew out of me, I can see the charnel house under the river, the killing fields, those sharp black rocks an abattoir for ratkind, pile upon pile of cadavers, little skinless babies and old grey males, fat matron rats and pugnacious youth, the fit, the ill, an endless ma.s.s of death shifting with the torrent above.

'And I alone stared this holocaust in the face.'

Drowned rats seemed to hover before Saul as he listened. His ears pounded as if his lungs fought for air.

163.

King Rat's voice came back, and the dead tone which had crept into his descriptions had gone.

'And I opened my eyes and said, "No."

'I kicked suddenly, and left that cataclysm behind. I didn't have no air, don't forget, so my lungs were screaming murder, whipping me one stroke for every heartbeat, and I climbed out of the quiet into the light, and I could hear the cries through the river above me, and I moved out and away, and finally pushed my face into the air.

'I sucked it in like an addict. I was eager.

'I turned my Crust and it was still going on, the deaths still continuing, but the spume was a sight lower by now and there was no more ratkind falling out of the sky. I saw the man with his flute walk away.

'He didn't see me watch him.

'And I decided, as I watched, that he had to die.

'I dragged myself out of the river, and laid myself down under a stone. The cries of the dying continued for a while, and then they went out, and the river swept all the evidence away behind it. And I lay and breathed and swore revenge for my Rat Nation.

'The poet called me a Caesar, who lived to swim across. But that wasn't my Rubicon. That was my Styx. I should've gone. I should be a drowned rat. Maybe I am. I've thought of that. Maybe I never made it, and maybe it's just hate that seeped into my bones that keeps me up and sc.r.a.pping.

'I got some small satisfaction, the first part only, 164.

KING RAT.

from the b.a.s.t.a.r.d sons and daughters of Hamelin. The stupid, stupid f.u.c.kers tried to put one over on the Piper and I had the pleasure of watching the gurning c.u.n.ts, who'd clapped as we took our leave, screaming in the alleys, stuck like glue while their Kinder pranced away to the tune of the flute. And I had the small joy of smiling when the queer cove made the mountain split open for those little G.o.dfers, and they skipped on in. Because those little Dustbins went to bell, and they hadn't even died, and they hadn't even done any wrong, and their b.a.s.t.a.r.d parents knew that.

'That was some pleasure, like I say.

'But it was that d.a.m.nable minstrel himself I wanted. He was the real culprit. He's the one who has a certain reckoning due.'

Saul shivered at the viciousness of King Rat's tone, but he stopped himself from remonstrating about the innocence of the children.

'He sucked all the birds out of the sky and taunted me, till I grew mad in my impotence.' Loplop was speaking in the same dreaming tone as King Rat. 'I fled to Bedlam, forgetting myself, thinking myself nothing but a madman who thought himself King of Birds. For a long time I rotted in the cage, till I remembered and burst away again.'

'Him clear all the scorpion and my lickle pickneys from the palace in Baghdad. Him call me in with him piccolo, and my mind was gone, and him rough me, 165.

mash me up, hurt me bad. And all the lickle spiders them saw.' Anansi spoke softly.

The three were emasculated, casually stripped of power by the Piper. Saul remembered the contempt, the spitting of the rats in the sewer.

'That's why the rats don't obey you,' he murmured, looking at King Rat.

'When Anansi and Loplop were caught, some lived to see them suffer, saw Loplop lose his mind, saw Anansi tortured. They bore witness to the martyrdom of the monarchs. It was plain for every Jack with eyes to see.

'My rats, my troops, they saw nothing. Every one was taken. And drowning leaves no marks, no scars or stripes to ill.u.s.trate engagement. Word spread to the towns and dews-a-vill around that King Rat had run, left his people to the swollen river. And they dethroned me. Stupid s.h.i.ts! They've not got the nous to live without me. It's anarchy, no control. We should run the Smoke, and instead it's chaos. And I've been without my crown more nor half a thousand years.'

When he heard this, Saul thought of the entreating, pleading rats who circled him below the pavements. He said nothing.

'Anansi and Loplop, they still rule, bloodied maybe, bowed and cowed, but they've got their kingdom. I want mine.'

'And if,' said Saul slowly, 'you can defeat the Piper, you think the rats will come back to you.'

166.

King Rat was silent.

'He roams around the world,' said Loplop flatly. 'He has not been here for a hundred years, since he cast me into the birdcage. I knew he had returned when I called all my birds to me a night not long ago, and they did not come. There is only one thing can make them deaf to my command: the d.a.m.nable pipe.'