The Switchers Trilogy Part 28

'The sale of that piece of land. There's a developer in Ennis who is going to buy it off me to build a holiday village.'

Orla was always slow at eating, and this evening was no exception. Her plate was more than half full, but she put down her knife and fork in a very conclusive way. She looked across at Brian who, it seemed to Tess, had suddenly gone pale. He glanced back at his sister, and Tess thought she detected an expression of alarm in his eyes.

'You know. A place where tourists can come and buy a house, or rent one,' Uncle Maurice went on. 'Great spot for it. I'll be getting the deeds from the solicitor in the next couple of days. I'll need your signature, Deirdre.'

Aunt Deirdre nodded pa.s.sively. But Orla said, 'Do we have to sell it, Daddy? Can't we keep it?'

'That piece of land is no use to us at all,' her father replied. 'You know that as well as I do. And think what we could do with the money!'

'But what about Uncle Declan?' said Orla. 'Couldn't we ...?'

She got no further. If looks could kill she would have shrivelled in an instant beneath her father's furious stare.

'I'll not have that name mentioned at this table,' said Uncle Maurice, his voice conveying a growing danger. 'And as for the land, when one of you is running this farm let you run it as you want. In the meantime I'll make the decisions.'

His statement met with silence. Tess couldn't understand what was going on, but it was fairly clear that it was not a good time to ask. Her aunt was as white as the wall behind her. The rest of the family prayed that the fuse would go out before it lit the powder. And for once, it did.

After dinner, Tess went with Uncle Maurice and Brian to do the evening milking. Tess put out the nuts while Brian let the cows in. Bran and Sceolan made little rushes at their heels, but it was only for show. The cows knew exactly where to go and needed no encouragement. When the first lot were all in their stalls, Tess went round with the bucket of udder wash. Brian came along behind her, attaching the cups. Uncle Maurice stayed up near the machine's motor, checking that everything was going smoothly and doing a chemical test on the milk.

When the machine was set up and doing its work, Tess leant against the railings beside Brian.

'Why was Orla upset?' she asked. 'About your dad selling the land?'

Brian looked at her searchingly, as though he was trying to decide whether she was trustworthy. 'I suppose she thinks it's our land as well,' he said.

Tess nodded. 'Is it a big piece of land?'

Again Brian looked at her strangely, as though the information he was about to give was privileged in some way. He glanced around him, then shrugged.

'He has been wanting to sell it for years. Ever since he took over the farm from his father.' But if Brian planned to say more he didn't get round to it, because at that moment Uncle Maurice came marching towards them.

'Are you checking them?' he asked, knowing that they weren't.

Brian moved off and Tess followed, making sure that the cups were properly in place. The conversation had left her with more questions than answers, but her uncle seemed to be keeping a close eye on her and she couldn't get close enough to Brian to ask more. Some of the cows had finished their nuts, and turned to look at her as she worked around them. And although she had never found it very interesting to be a cow, she found their placid temperaments calming and she enjoyed their dry, philosophical humour. They had no language as such, but their expressions and movements told their stories. Best of all, Tess enjoyed the secret she learnt; that although Uncle Maurice considered himself to be their lord and master, they regarded him fondly as a rather bossy calf, who drank more milk than he ought to but was, like all young, ignorant things, tolerated.

When they had finished with the first lot of cows they moved quickly on to the second, and then the third. It wasn't long before the milking was over, and afterwards, while Brian and his father hosed down the floor of the shed, Tess went out into the yard.

The sun had dropped on to the horizon, where it sat like a vast, dazzling headlight. It lit the mountain in a way that Tess hadn't seen before, accentuating its faults and folds so that it looked pliable, more like flesh than rock. It made her feel strange, tingly, and the feeling intensified when she noticed a black bird approaching through the sky above the meadows. At first she took it for a crow, but as it grew closer she realised that it was far too big. It could only be a raven, and along with that realisation came another which sent shivers through her bones. She didn't know how, but she was quite certain that it was looking for her. As it flew over, it turned its head and looked down with one black eye, then wheeled above the farmyard, dropping lower, watching her all the time. The tingle turned to a bone-deep chill as the bird looked her straight in the eye, then swept up into the heights again, its huge wings making a whipping sound in the air. She watched it as it soared high and turned back towards the mountain, then she realised that she was not alone. Brian and Uncle Maurice had come out into the yard and were looking from her to the retreating bird with curious expressions. Then, as though in a conspiracy of silence, they turned and walked away from her, back towards the farm buildings. Tess wanted to call after them and ask them if they had seen what she had, but Orla emerged from the house.

'Want a game of Monopoly?' she said.

Tess stared at her, readjusting her mind to everyday existence. Her spirit was in turmoil, still disconcerted by the raven's visit but at the same time longing for the freedom to investigate. With an effort she managed a faint smile.

'Just one, then,' she said. 'If I can be the ship.'

CHAPTER THREE.

THAT NIGHT, IT SEEMED to take forever to get dark. Now that there was no rain, the silence outside was profound; a mystery waiting to be explored. In the other bed, Orla wheezed painfully but, since she hadn't moved for more than an hour, Tess a.s.sumed she was asleep.

Something, a late bird or an early bat, fluttered past the window. Tess sighed and turned on to her back, willing the night to come. She wished that there was someone she could talk to. Not just anyone, but someone who would sympathise with what she was going through. Martin would understand; the boy who had learnt how to become a vampire but had opted in the end to be human. Lizzie would be all right as well, even if she did talk in riddles. But the person that Tess missed most of all was Kevin; her first and best friend. She wished she could see him now. She could imagine him sitting beside her, listening thoughtfully, understanding her frustration, knowing how it felt to be facing those last few days, knowing how difficult it was to come to a decision.

She realised that she was worried about him. Martin would settle down, sooner or later. He didn't admit it, but he was working hard at school, and he rarely needed to visit the counsellor who had eventually helped him to come to terms with the trauma of his father's death. His mother adored him and, although he was unlikely to be conventional, Martin would undoubtedly find a way to fit in and look after himself. But Kevin wasn't so lucky. When he had returned from his adventures and could no longer Switch, he had tried to rejoin his estranged family. It hadn't worked. They no longer understood each other, and Kevin couldn't fit in. Instead, he joined the increasing number of young people living on the streets.

He said it was different for him; said that he had spent much of his life scavenging as a rat and this was a kind of continuation of it. But from where Tess was standing it didn't look so n.o.ble. The streets and derelict buildings of Dublin provided a mean and cold existence for a boy, and although Tess helped him out as much as she could, she was afraid that if he didn't find a way of supporting himself he would sooner or later be compelled to turn to crime. And if that happened, Tess had no idea what would become of him.

Her thoughts were disturbed by a scuttling sound behind the wainscot. She sat up carefully, silently. There was an untidy hole in the boards where the radiator pipe had been brought through relatively recently. As Tess watched, a brown nose and a set of twitching whiskers appeared, followed by a pair of bright, black eyes. Tess smiled, wondering how it was that her life had been populated by rats ever since she had first met Kevin. She was just about to address the newcomer in the visual language that she had learnt from the Dublin city rats when a door opened downstairs and Uncle Maurice's voice carried up the stairs, complaining about the film which had, apparently, just ended. The rat nose disappeared, but Tess's spirits lifted. Soon her aunt and uncle would be in bed, and she would be free.

When the human sounds finally came to an end, the rat sounds began. Tess heard the scuffles above her head as they left their nests in the roof-s.p.a.ce and she listened to the rattle of loose plaster in the walls as they travelled down through the house. Before long, apart from Orla's breathing, all was quiet again. Still Tess waited until, eventually, she was sure that the household was asleep. Then she slipped out of bed and went to the window.

A gibbous moon was out, riding high above the mountains, making them seem closer than they were. A few small clouds hovered, becalmed, back-lit by the moon. Tess was torn between her desire to investigate the mysterious and beautiful woods and her fear of the gliding figure she had, or thought she had, seen. It would be better, perhaps, to return in daylight. In the meantime, a visit with the farmhouse rats would go a long way towards alleviating her boredom.

She was just on the point of turning back into the room when Orla spoke, sending an electric tide through Tess's blood.

'Tess?'

Tess caught her breath. 'Yes?'

'Can't you sleep?'

'No.'

'Nor me.'

Tess had a sudden vision of the two of them playing Monopoly until dawn. She prayed that Orla wouldn't think of it. But Orla had other things on her mind and Tess heard the familiar hiss and gasp as she took a dose from her inhaler. When she had let go of the medicated breath, Orla said, 'What are you looking at?'

Tess shrugged. 'I don't know. The moon. The mountains.'

Orla was silent for a moment and then, in a voice that betrayed a slight apprehension, she said, 'Do you believe in the Good People, Tess?'

'The Good People? Who are the Good People?'

'Fairies,' said Orla.

Another cold flush began in Tess's spine, but she caught herself and laughed it off. 'Fairies? You've got to be joking.'

But Orla didn't laugh. In the silence that followed her breathing became easier. Tess got back into bed and, seething inside, she waited. Her thoughts began to chase each other in irritated circles, but after a few minutes she was distracted by an unexpected sound.

At first she thought that someone had put on a video downstairs. The noise she was hearing was very like the musical bleeping of R2D2's electronic voice, and it was being answered by the polite, BBC tones of the other robot character, C3PO. But as she listened, Tess realised that the sounds were not coming from downstairs but from one of the other bedrooms.

She looked across the room. Orla was breathing freely and there could be no more doubt that she was asleep. Tess slipped out of bed again and crept out on to the landing. A dim light was always left on there, in case any of the children woke in the night. The sound of the Star Wars robots was still going on, and it was quite clearly coming from the bedroom which Brian and Colm shared, beside the bathroom. Furtively, Tess put her ear against the door and listened.

The boys must have been playing a tape. First there was a flurry of R2D2 bleeps and blips, then C3PO said, 'Oh, really, R2. We can't possibly do a thing like that!'

Another trill followed, like electronic birdsong, and C3PO replied again. 'Not tonight, R2. It would be far too dangerous!'

Tess was tempted to knock and join the boys, but she refrained. Better to stick to her own plan, now that she finally had the freedom to do it.

With the relief of a prisoner being released, she Switched. Even as she became a rat and began to adjust to her surroundings, processing sounds and smells, her human mind was wondering how she would survive when she couldn't Switch any longer. Like stepping back into prison, it would be. For a life sentence.

She put it out of her mind and concentrated on the present. Her rat body was supple and strong. She went silently back into Orla's room and slithered through the hole where the radiator pipe emerged. Then she was running and sliding down through the walls of the house. When she was human, Tess always thought that she could remember how it felt, but it wasn't until she became a rat again that she knew she was wrong. No memory could capture the immediacy of ratness or how it felt to be so small and yet so strong; so vulnerable and so brave. Why would anyone choose to be human, she wondered, if they could be a rat instead?

The first room that Tess came to was the sitting-room. She didn't go in. It didn't look like a promising place for foraging. There was only one rat in there as far as she could see. He was quite elderly and was having serious trouble with half a packet of fruit gums which were sticking his teeth together. He was sc.r.a.ping angrily at his jowls with his paws but was having no success. Tess noticed that he was missing one of his teeth; a top one, at the front. She wondered whether it was a casualty of an earlier fruit gum battle, but decided not to embarra.s.s him by asking. She turned and slipped away before he saw her.

In the hall-way she encountered one of the strangest rats she had ever met. She was scurrying rapidly down the stairs carrying a bread-crust that Colm must have dropped on his rambles, and as she pa.s.sed Tess she flashed an unusual greeting. Tess was pretty expert at the visual language that rats used to communicate with each other, but she had never been greeted like this before. The image was of a huge gathering of rats with Tess in the centre of it, being welcomed with joy on all sides. It was more than unusual. It was grand, larger than life, almost poetic. Tess watched as the other rat squeezed through a tiny hole at the bottom of the first stair, then she turned towards the kitchen. But part of her mind was still on the peculiar message, and she had blundered into the middle of trouble before she realised her mistake.

A mother rat had claimed the kitchen for her large, adolescent family and, for as long as they were in residence, it was a no-go area for other rats. Tess realised her mistake when the youngsters looked up from foraging around the bottom of the table legs and she found herself observed by nine practically identical faces. She turned to leave, but it was already too late.

There is nothing on earth more savage than a mother rat protecting her young. If they are threatened she will attack anything: a dog, a human, even a tractor. If she cannot stop the enemy, she will die in the attempt. In the scale of things, Tess was a pretty minor threat.

The mother rat hit her from above, leaping down from the sink where she had been keeping a careful look-out. Her weight, greatly supplemented by gravity, knocked the wind out of Tess and she was flattened for a minute, scrabbling uselessly at the slick lino floor with her claws. Above her, the mother rat crouched with bared teeth.

'Nanananana!' Tess sent rat images as clearly as her shaken mind could manage. She had a Rat name, that had been given to her a long time ago beneath the Dublin city streets, but now her mind hit upon a more appropriate nickname.

'Town Rat not hurting young rats,' she said. 'Town Rat not taking their food. Town Rat stupid; very stupid.'

She had managed to regain her feet by now, but kept her head on the floor and her throat bared in a gesture of absolute submission. Rats, Tess knew, obeyed nature's rules, one of which is that, among members of the same species, submission ends aggression. The only creatures that Tess had ever known to break that rule were human beings, but for a moment or two she wasn't sure that it would work. The mother rat took a menacing step forward and loomed over Tess. She must have been eating soap up there on the draining board; she stank of it.

'Nananana,' Tess pleaded. 'Town Rat going. Going very fast. Not looking back!'

The mother rat sent no images in return but continued to stare hard at Tess. Then, with no warning at all, she turned and walked away. Tess stayed where she was until the young rats converged on their mother in a clamour of admiration and anxious hunger. Then, with no pretence at dignity, she fled.

In the hall-way, at a safe distance, Tess stopped and groomed. With her teeth she chewed and combed her sleek, chestnut coat back into order. Then, after listening carefully for a while, she washed her face with the back of her paws. Finally, her self-respect intact again, she set off to have a look outside.

At the edge of the yard she searched long and hard with her eyes and ears, but there was no sign of the white cat. The last of the clouds had drifted away, and the sky was clearer than any she had ever seen. Despite the strength of the moon she could see stars; some close, some infinitely distant, like bright dust scattered across the night. Nearer, the mountains stood silvery and silent. They seemed to glow as though the eerie light originated with them and not with the moon. As she looked on, Tess was surprised to find that her rat mind was as capable of wonder as her human one. Where they differed was in their response to it. The human part of her was filled with impatient curiosity; a desire to explore and to understand. Her rat nature, by contrast, was content to experience the wonder, absorb it, and return to the important things in life.

Which, to a rat, usually meant food.

Tess's nose and ears soon told her where it was to be found. From the feed-shed at the end of the milking parlour she could hear delightful sounds: hasty activity, gnawing and crunching and chewing, rodent jubilation. Hunger roared in her belly. To make herself look bigger and fiercer, she puffed up her coat, prepared to fight her corner if she had to. Then, twitching and bristling, she went to join the party.

CHAPTER FOUR.

BUT EVERYTHING HAS A price. Breakfast the next morning was governed by Uncle Maurice's anger and, although Tess had been too tired to join him for the morning milking, she guessed what was on his mind even before he opened his mouth to speak.

'I've had enough of those flamin' rats. I'm getting rid of them once and for all. I don't care what it costs, I'm getting the exterminators in.'

Tess didn't know how pest control professionals went about their business, but she did know that they succeeded. If Uncle Maurice carried out his intention, most of the rats she had encountered the previous night would soon the a painful death. She shuddered at the thought, and Uncle Maurice caught sight of her.

'There's no point in being sentimental about it,' he said. 'It's all very well, you town folk coming in and thinking the countryside is full of cuddly creatures. Real life isn't like that, you know.'

Tess looked down at the table. She would never be able to tell him the reason why she was so horrified by his plans. Or what 'real life' meant to her.

'How come the cat doesn't keep them under control?' she asked.

'We have no cat,' said Uncle Maurice.

'But I saw ...'

'I said we have no cat!'

Tess decided not to push it. After a moment, Aunt Deirdre breached the silence.

'I don't know about those exterminators,' she said. 'Are you sure the chemicals they use aren't dangerous? They might be bad for Orla's asthma.'

'Orla's asthma, Orla's asthma! I'm sick and tired of hearing about Orla's flamin' asthma. The rats have to go, right? If you can come up with a better suggestion, let me know.'

He stood up, pushing his chair back with such force that its feet grated on the flagged floor and made everybody's skin crawl. Then he was gone. Brian, who was his father's right-hand man, got up with an air of resignation and followed. One by one the other members of the family, even little Colm, let out a sigh of relief.

Orla was excused from washing-up because the detergent gave her eczema. She entertained Colm in the sitting-room while Tess and Aunt Deirdre cleared up. Tess waited for the effects of Uncle Maurice's outburst to clear and, when she felt her aunt had cheered up sufficiently, she plucked up courage.

'Who is Uncle Declan?'

Her aunt's mood collapsed again, as if she was a balloon that had been punctured. 'Why do you ask that?' she said, and Tess thought she detected a touch of anxiety in her voice.

'No reason,' she said. 'Orla mentioned him, that's all.'

'I have no idea why she mentioned him,' said Aunt Deirdre. 'He isn't relevant at all. I have no idea what she was talking about.'

Tess waited, a.s.suming that an explanation would follow, but it didn't. On the subject of Uncle Declan, Aunt Deirdre had said all that she intended to say. In silence she finished washing the dishes and in silence Tess dried them and put them away. Afterwards she slipped off again, quickly, before Orla could ask to come.

By the time she crossed the outermost boundaries of the farmland, Tess had already come up with a plan. Despite her fear she was desperately curious about the woods at the foot of the crag and she decided to use an alternative form to investigate. A bird of some sort would be ideal for getting a good look between the trees, and provided she didn't encounter that sinister raven, she should be safe enough.

A movement at the edge of her vision made her look up. A bright, red-brown hare was sitting on a rock a few yards away. Sensing Tess's eyes upon it, it froze, sitting upright on its haunches, still as the stones around it. Tess ached to Switch and join it, but she was still on the wide open hill-side. She could see no one, but there was no guarantee that no one could see her; from the height of the crag if not from the farmhouse. In the bright sunlight the fears of the previous day seemed absurd. Surely it would be safe enough to slip inside the edge of the trees, just long enough to Switch?

There was nowhere else. Her nerves on edge, Tess crossed the brittle rocks until she had reached the woods. Everything was quiet. She took a deep breath and, making herself as small and as nonchalant as possible, she manoeuvred her way past the sharp thorns and into the shadows beyond.

Straight away Tess knew that the woods were full of magic. The air was as fresh as spring water. There was a brightness about the leaf-filtered light that her eyes could barely contain, and a thousand vivid shades of green reflected it. Nothing was inert; the bark of the trees was like living skin, and the rocks were covered with velvety moss, like soft, green pelts. Between them the richly-scented earth was concealed by the leaves of wild strawberry and garlic.

Tess's fears evaporated and, overcome by the strange atmosphere, she moved forward. Here and there, in dry hollows produced by overhanging rocks or exposed roots, little heaps of empty hazelnut sh.e.l.ls had been left by mice or squirrels. The entrances to more permanent homes had been dug out of earthen banks, and musky scents drifted on the air above them like signs, warning or welcoming. There was no evidence anywhere of human visitors; no discarded wrappers or tissues or cans; no paths; no fences; no carved initials on the trees. This was the wildest place that Tess had ever encountered.

Her heart filled with excitement as she wondered what shape to take on first. As if in answer to her question, the hare that she had seen earlier came into view again as it slipped silently away into the heart of the wood. Tess took a last breath of the cool, moss-scented air and Switched.

It was a long time since she had been a hare, and she had forgotten the lean, lithe strength of it, as different from a rabbit as a wolf was from a poodle. Her long hind legs were hard and tight, coiled springs waiting to unleash their power. She listened carefully for a moment and then, unable to resist, sprang into the air. She kicked and twisted, and barely touched the ground before leaping again, mad as a March hare. Once started she couldn't stop. Her claws tore holes in the moss and released the trapped scent of the soil, but soon this was overwhelmed by the rank smell of the garlic, bruised beneath the hare's strong feet.