King Rat Part 23

It was a poster.

It was designed by someone with Adobe Ill.u.s.trator, a sixth-form aesthetic and too much time. Garish and jumbled, a confusion of fonts and point sizes, information crowding itself out and details fighting for s.p.a.ce.

A line drawing took up most of the sheet: a grotesquely muscled man in sungla.s.ses standing impa.s.sive behind a twin-deck turntable. He stood with his arms folded, as the chaotic writing exploded around him.

junglist terror!!! it exclaimed.

One night of Extreme Drum an' Ba.s.s Badness!

10 pounds entry, it exclaimed, and gave the address of a a club in the Elephant and Castle, in the badlands of South London; and a date, a Sat.u.r.day night in early December.

Featuring da Cream of da Crop, Three Fingers, Manta, Ray Wired, Rudegirl K, Natty Funkah. ..

Rudegirl K. That was Natasha.

Saul let out a little cry. He bent slightly, his breath 1 pushed from him.

'He's telling us,' he hissed to King Rat. 'He's inviting us.'

Something was scrawled on the bottom of thel 332.

poster, an addendum in a strange ornate hand. Also featuring a special guest! it proclaimed. Fabe M!

Jesus he was pathetic! Saul thought. He sank slowly back against the wall as he grasped the paper. Fabe M! Look, he's trying to play games, thought Saul, but this isn't his environment, he doesn't know what to do, he can't play with these words. ..

It made him feel obscurely comforted. Even in the misery of knowing that his friends were in the hands of this creature, this monster, this avaricious spirit, he felt a triumph in the inept.i.tude with which his foe stumbled on jargon. He was trying for nonchalance, scribbling an addition in Drum and Ba.s.s style, but the language was unfamiliar and he had stumbled. Fabe M! It sounded stupid and contrived. He wanted Saul to know that he had Fabian, that Fabian would be at the club, but he was not on his home ground, and his clumsy affectation showed that.

Saul found himself chuckling, almost ruefully.

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d can't play no more.' He crushed the paper and threw it at King Rat, who had been hovering nervously, resentfully. King Rat s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of the air. 'f.u.c.ker's telling us to come and get them,' said Saul, as King Rat opened out the sheet.

Saul pushed past King Rat, kicked his way through the bodies of the rat dead.

'He's operating like a f.u.c.king Bond villain,' he said. 'He wants me. Knows I'll come for him if he dangles my friends in front of me.'

333.

'So what's a rat to do?' said King Rat.

Saul turned and stared at him. He knew, quite sud denly, that his eyes were as hidden to King Rat as King' Rat's were to him.

'What am I going to do?' Saul said slowly. 'A trap is < only="" a="" trap="" if="" you="" don't="" know="" about="" it.="" if="" you="" know="" about="" it,="" it's="" a="" challenge.="" i'm="" going="" to="" go,="" of="" course.'!="" i'm="" going="" to="" junglist="" terror.="" to="" rescue="" my="" friends.'="" ^="" he="" could="" feel="" that="" sentiment="" within="" him="" which="" had="" disturbed="" him="" before,="" a="" part="" of="" him="" saying="" f.u.c.k="" it,="" don't="" go,="" it's="" not="" your="" problem="" any="">

That was King Rat's blood. Saul would not listen to it. / am what I do, he thought, furiously.

There was a long silence between the two of them.

'You know what?' said Saul finally. 'I think you; should come too. I think you will.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

Squadrons of rats spread out across London. Saul harangued them in foetid alleys, behind great plastic bins. He raged to them about the Piper, told them that their day had come.

The ma.s.sed ranks of the rats stood quivering, inspired. Their noses twitched; they could smell victory. Saul's words broke over them like tides, swept them up. He communicated with them by his tone; they knew they were being commanded, and after centuries of furtive skulking they became brave, puffed up with millennial fervour.

Saul ordered them to prepare. He ordered them to search out the Piper, to bring Saul information, to find his friends. He described them, the black man and the short woman being kept hostage by the Piper. The rats did not care about the people being held. They represented nothing except a task set by Saul.

'You are rats,' Saul told them, sticking out his lower lip and jerking his head back like Mussolini. They gazed at him, a shifting ma.s.s of followers, peering out 335.

from all the nooks and crannies of the building site i which they had congregated. 'You're the sneakers, the.l creepers, the rat-burglars. Don't come to me afraid of being seen, don't come to me with fears of the Piper's! revenge. Why will he see you? You're rats... if he? sees you you're a failure to your species. Stay hiddenj creep in the s.p.a.ces in between, and find him, and tell me where he is.'

The rats were inspired. They longed to follow him. * He dismissed them with a wave and they scattered hr short-lived bravado.

Saul knew that beyond the range of his voice, the; rats' fear would quickly return. He knew that they i would hesitate. He knew they would slow down as they scaled walls, look around anxiously for him to: shout them on, and that they would fail. He knew: they would slink back to the sewers and hide until he found them and urged them out again.

But maybe one would be brave or lucky. Maybe; one of his rats would scale the walls that divided thej Piper's sanctuary from the outside, and pick a way! through the barbed wire, scamper along the pipes and! the cables, cross the wasteland, and find him.

Somewhere, squeezed into the air-conditioningl housing on the top of a financial building in the heartj of the City, or in a bitumen-sealed hole under a sub-J urban railway bridge, or in a room with nawindows in an empty hospital beyond Neasden, or in the high* tech vaults of a bank to the west of Hammersmith, or 336.

in the attic above a bingo hall in Tooting, the Piper was holding Natasha and Fabian, waiting out the week before Junglist Terror.

Saul suspected that the Piper would avoid the gaze of rats and spiders and birds. He was not afraid of his adversaries, but there was no point advertising his presence. He had issued his challenge, had told them the night that they would die. The Piper had issued them with invitations to their own executions.

It might be that he was only concerned with Saul, with the half-and-half, the rat-man he could not control, but he must suspect that Anansi would be there, too, and King Rat, and Loplop. They were not brave or proud. They were not ashamed to turn down challenges. But they knew that Saul was the only thing that the Piper could not control, that Saul was the only chance they had, and they knew they must be there to help him. If he did not survive, they could not.

The rats spread throughout London.

Saul was alone amidst the rubble and the scaffolding.

He stood in the centre of a wide ruined landscape, a blitzed corner of London that hid behind h.o.a.rdings, in easy earshot of Edgware Road. A forty-foot by forty-foot square, carpeted in crushed brick and old stone and surrounded by the backs of buildings. On one edge of the square a rough wooden fence hid the street that flanked the site, and above the fence 337.

towered the old brick walls of ancient shops and houses. Saul looked up at them. On that side the windows were surrounded by large wooden frames, rotting but ornate, designed to be seen.

On all other sides the walls that enclosed him were vulnerable. They const.i.tuted the buildings' underbellies, soft underneath the aesthetic carapace. Out of > sight of their facades, he was ringed by great flat expanses of brick, windows that spilt at random down featureless walls. Seen from behind, caught unawares, the functionality of the city was exposed.

This point of view was dangerous for the observer, as well as for the city. It was only when it was seen from these angles that he could believe London had been built brick by brick, not born out of its own'; mind. But the city did not like to be found out. Evens as he saw it clearly for the product it was, Saul felt irfj square up against him. The city and he faced each 1 other. He saw London from an angle against which it had no front, at a time when its guard was down.

He had felt this before, when he had left King Rat,! when he had known that he had slipped the city's! bonds; and he had known then that he had made off it an enemy. The windows which loomed over reminded him of that.

In the corner of the square lurked obscure building machines, piles of materials and pickaxes, bags of cement covered with blue plastic sheeting. The looked defensive and overwhelmed. Just in front 338.

them stood the remnants of the building that had been pulled down. All that remained was a section of its front, a veneer one brick deep, with gaping, gla.s.sless holes where windows had been. It seemed miraculous that it could stand. Saul walked over the broken ground towards it.

There were lights on in a few of the rooms that overlooked him and, as he walked silently, Saul even caught sight of movement here and there. He was not afraid. He did not believe that anyone would see him; he had rat blood in his veins. And if they did, they might be surprised to see a man striding by lamplight in the forbidden s.p.a.ce of a nascent building, but who would they tell? And if someone were, unbelievably, to call the police, Saul could simply climb and be gone. He had rat blood in his veins. Tell the police to call Rentokil, he thought. They might have a better chance.

He stood under the free-standing facade. He stretched his arms up, prepared to scramble over the city himself, to join his emissaries in their search. He did not believe that he would find Fabian or Natasha or the Piper, but he could not fail to look for them. To acquiesce in the Piper's plans would be to abrogate his own power, to become collaborator. If he were to meet the Piper on the ground the Piper had specified, he would be dragged there, he would be unwilling. He would be angry.

He heard a noise above him. A figure swung into 339.

view in one of the empty window-frames. Saul was still. It was King Rat.

Saul was not surprised. King Rat followed him often, waited until the rats had left, then poured scorn on his efforts, ridiculed him in agonized contumely, incoherent with rage at the behaviour of the rats who had once obeyed him.

King Rat grasped his small perch with his right hand. He crouched, his left arm dangling down between his legs, his head lowered towards his knees.: Seeing him, Saul thought of a comic-book hero: Batman or Daredevil. Silhouetted in the ruined win- ', dow, King Rat looked like a scene-setting frame at the start of an epic graphic novel.

'What do you want?' Saul said finally.

In a sinewy sliding movement King Rat emerged, from the window and landed at Saul's feet. He bentj his knees on landing, then rose slowly just before him. His face twisted.

'So what silly b.u.g.g.e.rs are you playing now, cove?'

Tuck off,' said Saul and turned away.

King Rat grabbed him and swung him back to face him. Saul slapped the other's hands down, his eyesj wide and outraged. There was a horrible unea moment as Saul and King Rat stared at each other their shoulders wide, their fists ready to strike. Slowrj and deliberately, Saul reached up and pushed King ] on the chest, shoved him slightly back.

His anger boiled up in him and he shoved King Raf 340.

again, growled and tried to make him fall. He punched him suddenly, hard, and images of his father raced through his mind. He felt a desperate desire to kill King Rat. It shocked him how fast the hatred could overtake him.

King Rat was stumbling slightly on the uneven ground, and Saul reached down to s.n.a.t.c.h up a half brick. He bore down on King Rat, flailing brutally with his weapon.

He swung it at King Rat's head, connecting and sending his opponent sprawling, but King Rat hissed with rage as he fell. He rolled painfully across the shattered ground and swung his legs up at Saul, taking him down. The fight became a violent blur, a flurry of arms and legs, nails and fists. Saul did not aim, did not plan; he flailed in rage, feeling blows and scratches bruise him and rip his skin.

Blood exploded from a vicious strike below his eye and his head rocked. He slammed his brick down again but King Rat was not there, and the brick struck stone and burst into dust.

The two rolled and grappled. King Rat slid from Saul's grip and hovered like a gadfly, ripping him open with a hundred cruel scratches and dancing out of the range of retaliation.

Saul's frustration overwhelmed him. He suddenly broke off his frenzied attack with a shouted curse. He stalked away across the rubble.

Another vicious half-fight. He could not kill him.

341.

King Rat was too fast, too strong, and he would not* engage Saul properly, he would not risk killing Saul, i) King Rat wanted Saul alive, for all that he was growing! to hate him for his following among the rats, for his; refusal to obey him.

King Rat shouted scornfully after him. Saul could'j not even hear what he said.

He felt blood well from the deep scratches on his face and he wiped himself as he began to run, surefooted despite the terrain. He threw himself at one^ of the walls which overlooked him, scrambled up itsi tender surface, slipping by those unadorned windows,5 leaving a long smear of blood and dirt on his way up the bricks.

He stared briefly behind him. King Rat sat for;; lornly on the hulking piles of cement. Saul turned* away from him and set out over the top of Londoifcf He looked around him as he moved, and sometimes! he stopped and was still.

On the top of a school, somewhere behind Pad-* dington, he saw harsh security lights catching on billowing cobweb suspended below the railings topped the building. The fragile thing was empty an< long="" deserted,="" but="" he="" lowered="" himself="" to="" the="" ground="" and="" stared="" around="" him.="" there="" were="" other,="" smalle="" webs="" below="" it,="" still="" inhabited,="" less="" visible="" without="">< acc.u.mulated="" dust="" of="">

342.

He lowered his lips to these webs and spoke in a voice he knew sounded removed and intimate, like King Rat's. The spiders were quite still.

'I need you to do what I say, now,' he whispered. 'I need you to find Anansi, find your boss. Tell him I'm waiting for him. Tell him I need to see him.'

The little creatures were still for a long time. They seemed to hesitate. Saul lowered himself again.

'Go on,' he said, 'spread the word.'

There was another moment's hesitation, then the spiders, six or seven of them, tiny and fierce, took off at the same moment. They left their webs together, on long threads, little abseiling special forces, disappearing down the side of the building.

Fabian drifted on waves.

He was stuck very deep in his own head. His body made itself felt occasionally, with a fart or a pain or an itch, but for the most part he could forget it was even there. He was conscious of almost nothing except perpetual motion, a tireless pitch and yaw. He was not sure if it was his body or only his mind which was lulled by the liquid movement.

There was a Drum and Ba.s.s backdrop to the hypnagogic rolling. The soundtrack never stopped, the same bleak, washed-out track that he had heard from Natasha's stairs.

Sometimes he saw her face. She would lean over 343.

him, nodding gently in time to the beat, her eyes unfocused. Sometimes it was Pete's face. He felt soup trickle down his throat and around his mouth, and he swallowed obligingly.

Most of the time he lay back and surrendered to the rocking motion in his skull. He could see almost anything when he just lay back and listened to the Jungle filtering from somewhere close by, twisting around him in a tiny dark room, oppressive, stinking of rot.

He spent a lot of time looking at his artwork in progress. He was not always sure it was there, but when he thought of it and relaxed into the beat, it invariably appeared, and then he would make plans, scribble charcoal additions in each corner. Changing 'jjk this canvas was so easy. He could never quite re- * member the moment when he drew, but the changes appeared, bright and perfect.

He became more and more ambitious in his changes, going over old ground, rewriting the text at the centre of his piece. In no time at all it was changed beyond recognition, as smooth and perfect as computer graphics, and he stared at the legend he could not quite remember choosing. Wind City, it said.

Fabian swallowed the food he found in his mouth and listened to the music.

344.

Natasha spent most of her time with her eyes closed. She didn't need to open them at all. Her fingers knew every inch of her keyboard, and she spent her time playing Wind City, tweaking it, changing it in slight and subtle ways, to fit the exigencies of her mood.

Occasionally she would open her eyes and see with surprise that she stood in unfamiliar environs, that she was in the centre of a dim, stinking s.p.a.ce, that Fabian danced horizontally, lying down nearby, food drying on his face, and that her keyboard was not in front of her after all. But when she tweaked Wind City, it changed anyway, it did what she wanted, so she closed her eyes and continued, her fingers flying over the keys.

Sometimes Pete would come and feed her, and she would play him what she had done, still with her eyes closed.

The rats had given up in fear and confusion. The great cadres that had set out earlier in the night had dried up, had sliink home to the sewers, but here and there the braver souls continued the search, as Saul had hoped they would.

In the streets of Camberwell they searched the catacombs of old churches. On the Isle of Dogs they ran past Blackwall Basin and scoured the decrepit business park. The rats worked their way along the great slit of the Jubilee Line extension, past vast hulking machines that tunnelled through the earth.

345.

Their numbers dwindled. As the night wound on, more and more gave in to hunger and fear and forgetfulness. They could not work out why they were running so hard. They could no longer remember what their quarries looked like. One by one they slipped back into the sewers. Some fell prey to dogs and cars.

Soon there were only a very few rats left searching.

'Lickle bird tell me you want talk to me, bwoy.'