Moonflight, page 3
Peck. Peck. Peck.
It flapped its wings to balance on the narrow ledge. Tilbury could see all the way down its large open mouth. There was plenty of room in there for a small rat like him. But Tilbury didn’t step away. He was watching the bird’s wings. It wasn’t just the feathers he was interested in, but the shape of the wing. The whole wing held the same shape as the flight feather. It curved upwards and then down. He walked along the window trying to get a different angle of the gull. He understood, then, that he needed to make a wing of silk with the same curve as the gull’s wing. He stood on tiptoes trying to get a better view, and all the time the gull called and kept up its frenzied flapping attack at the window.
‘TILBURY!’
Tilbury found himself knocked off his feet and dragged back into the attic room by his tail. Aunt Swinney had hold of him and pulled him into the shadows. ‘For the love of Bartholomew,’ she screeched, ‘are you trying to get us all killed?’
‘The answer’s in the wing,’ announced Tilbury. ‘The secret of flight.’
Uncle Tubs peered at him and shook his head. ‘Strange little ratling, aren’t you! There’s always one in every litter.’
‘I need to go back and see the bird,’ said Tilbury.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ snapped Aunt Swinney, tightening her grip. ‘Just wait till your ma and pa hear about this. You’re staying here with me.’ And she marched Tilbury inside the doll’s house. ‘Now, don’t be idle. I need these floors mopped, and when you’re done you can polish the crystals on the chandelier. I don’t want to see a speck of dust.’
Tilbury’s heart sank. Ma would be really cross. She might even forbid him from sitting in his favourite place by the window. For the first time in his life, Tilbury felt trapped. And worse still, he was now stuck in Aunt Swinney’s house and had to mop the floors until sundown.
CHAPTER SEVEN
King of All Kings
It was fortunate for Tilbury that his family returned from their foraging trip in high spirits. When Aunt Swinney frogmarched him home, he received a quick telling-off from Ma and Pa, but their attention was swiftly drawn back to their bulging foraging sacks.
Aunt Swinney’s whiskers quivered. ‘No discipline,’ she squeaked. ‘It’s no wonder Tilbury’s turned out like he has.’
Ma narrowed her eyes at Aunt Swinney. ‘There is nothing wrong with Tilbury.’
Aunt Swinney sniffed. ‘If that bird had got through the window, we’d have all been in trouble. But it seems the Twitch-Whiskers family think they’re better than everyone else.’
Ma showed her teeth. ‘Well, that’s rich coming from you, dear Swinney. It’s only silver plates and bowls for your family.’
But Pa stepped between Ma and Aunt Swinney. He held out a piece of chocolate wrapped in foil. ‘For you, dear Swinney,’ he said with his most winning smile. ‘A cherry liqueur chocolate to say thank you for looking out for our Tilbury today.’
Aunt Swinney took the chocolate and headed back to her doll’s house home, tutting loudly as she went.
Ma turned to Tilbury. ‘Oh, Tilbury, what were you thinking? That gull could have eaten you whole.’
Tilbury wanted to describe the shape of the wings and the feathers and how they could hold the secret to flight, but he knew his mother wasn’t looking for that answer. ‘I’m sorry, Ma,’ he said.
Pa put his paw around him. ‘Come and look, Tilbury. Look what we’ve found. We shall have a foraging feast tonight.’
His brothers and sisters had found enough food to last a whole week. They had foraging sacks filled with cereals, biscuits and bread.
Elberry, the eldest of the first litter, had a bag full of chocolate raisins. ‘I don’t see why we have to give half our foraging to the Elders,’ he grumbled.
‘Because they keep us safe with their wisdom,’ said Ma. ‘And they are too old to forage for themselves.’
Elberry stuffed a raisin in his mouth. ‘They do nothing but eat, sleep and drink wine all day.’
‘Elberry!’ scolded Ma. ‘The Elders protect the prophecy and the ancient words of Bartholomew. When the time comes, when the Gilded Cage is opened, we’ll need their guidance. So we must keep the Elders safe and well fed, so they can lead us in uncertain times.’
‘The Elders are weak,’ said Elberry, narrowing his eyes. ‘I’m not the only one to think this. Some say the Elders don’t want to find the warrior rat at all, because without the prophecy to protect, they would lose their fine foods and soft beds in the Tower of London.’
Ma stood in front of him and wagged her paw in his face. ‘Be careful what you hear and what you say, Elberry. You never know who is listening. Words can be the most dangerous weapons.’
‘But it’s true,’ said Elberry. ‘And danger is coming ever closer. There is talk of an uprising of the rats in the Underground. The Underground Rats have always wanted the Cursed Night. They will fight us to get it.’
‘As long as the Cursed Night is secure within the Gilded Cage, we are safe,’ said Ma.
Elberry’s whiskers bristled. ‘There is other talk too,’ he snarled. He paused, making sure his brothers and sisters were listening. ‘It is said there have been sightings of the Golden Rats.’
‘That’s enough,’ snapped Ma. ‘Don’t go scaring your brothers and sisters with fairy tales.’
‘The Golden Rats will creep into our homes and kill us in our sleep,’ hissed Elberry. ‘They will drive their jewel-encrusted daggers deep into our hearts.’
‘Elberry!’ shrieked Ma, covering Tilbury’s ears. ‘Enough!’
‘Come, come,’ said Pa. ‘Golden Rats belong to the old stories. The last of their kind were killed in the Battle of Bakerloo over a hundred years ago. Indeed, some say they are myth and legend and never existed at all. The Cursed Night is safe inside the Gilded Cage. Let’s not argue, it gives me indigestion. And indigestion is the worst thing when there is much feasting to be done.’ Pa was especially happy with the foraging trip, as not only had he returned with a large piece of Bitto Storico, but he had managed to secure a lump of Pule, a rare Serbian cheese made from the milk of the Balkan donkey. ‘Oh, Ma,’ he smiled. ‘I may be able to trade in the markets for that emerald you so desire.’
Ma smiled. ‘I have had a good foraging trip too.’ She reached into her sack and pulled out materials of all colours. She had threads and new needles and another small bag of buttons. Ma’s button tin held myriad curiosities and Tilbury and Nimble-Quick had spent many a rainy afternoon playing with the buttons.
But all Tilbury could think about now was the Gilded Cage and the talk of Golden Rats.
When they were stuffed full of chocolate raisins and cheese, he curled up next to Nimble-Quick and shivered, spying over his shoulder. ‘Do you think there really are Golden Rats alive now?’
Nimble-Quick shook her head. ‘If there were any around, we’d have seen them by now.’
Tilbury sighed. ‘Tell me about the Gilded Cage,’ he said. ‘I would so like to imagine what it looks like.’
‘No words can describe it,’ said Nimble-Quick.
‘Please try,’ said Tilbury.
Nimble-Quick shook her head firmly. ‘If you want to know what it looks like, you’ll have to come with me and see it for yourself.’
Nimble-Quick could be infuriating, Tilbury thought. The more he asked about the Gilded Cage, the more she would stay silent on the matter. But the thought of venturing further than the chandlery filled Tilbury with deep fear.
Back in the basement, they worked on the design of Nimble-Quick’s bird-suit. Tilbury made parts of the wing more curved, inspired by the shape of the gull’s wing, while Nimble-Quick sewed pleats and tucks to help channel the air beneath the wing to give lift.
With each adjustment, Nimble-Quick could soar further, and she could control her turns and lands too.
‘We should go outside and test it in the wind,’ said Nimble-Quick.
Tilbury shook his head. ‘You know Ma says I’m not allowed outside.’
‘We won’t go far,’ said Nimble-Quick.
Tilbury sighed. ‘Ma says I’m not to.’
Nimble-Quick frowned. ‘Do you really want to spend your whole life in here?’
Tilbury felt little tears prick in his eyes. He didn’t know what he wanted. Nimble-Quick was so brave and unafraid of anything.
‘I’m safe here,’ he whispered.
‘What about me?’ said Nimble-Quick.
‘Well, you’re safe here too,’ said Tilbury.
Nimble-Quick stood up and swished her tail in anger. ‘One day, when I reach a year of age, I’ll leave Tilbury Docks, but if you won’t come, I’ll have to leave without you.’
Tilbury grabbed her paws. ‘Then stay,’ he pleaded. ‘Stay with me. We’ll be safe here. Together, forever.’
Tears fell from Nimble-Quick’s eyes. ‘I want to live, Tilbury. I want to see the world. I want adventures of my own.’
‘But it’s so scary out there,’ said Tilbury. ‘Anything could happen.’
Nimble-Quick pulled her paws away from Tilbury’s. ‘I couldn’t live like this. Life without adventure is no life at all.’
‘But what if you die?’ asked Tilbury.
Nimble-Quick stuffed her bird-suit into her sewing bag. She marched across the basement floor to the chimney breast. She turned to face Tilbury. ‘But if I stay here, I will never live.’
And with that, she scuttled up and away towards the attic rooms.
Tilbury sat down and watched his tears make big fat splotches in the dust. Marmalade came to sit beside him, curling his fluffy tail around him.
‘Greetings, great king,’ said Marmalade in the language of Olde Sphinx.
Tilbury smiled through his tears. Marmalade was trying to cheer him up, teaching him the ancient language of the kings of his kind, the language of lions and tigers.
‘Can you remember what to say to a king?’ asked Marmalade. ‘It could make the difference between being at the dinner table, not on the dinner table.’
‘Greetings, great king,’ said Tilbury bowing low. ‘I offer you my life as your humble servant. For you are the king of all kings. The king of all kingdoms.’
‘Very good,’ said Marmalade. ‘Did I ever tell you the legend of the great tiger-king who ruled the Sundarbans? It was said his roar could even turn the tides.’
Tilbury leaned into Marmalade’s soft fur. There would have been a time when Marmalade’s stories would have comforted him. But now he felt no comfort at all. These were just stories, legends of old. They held no place in the real world and weren’t useful at all.
‘Don’t you ever want to leave the chandlery?’ asked Tilbury.
‘Why would I?’ said Marmalade. ‘I have everything I need here.’
‘But haven’t you ever wanted to see the world?’
Marmalade stretched out. ‘Why bother, when I can sleep in the sun.’
Tilbury sighed. Soon the eldest of his brothers and sisters would be leaving the family home, then all the others would follow.
One day, it would only be Tilbury left.
And the thought of that made him feel so utterly alone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Darkening
The day that the children of Mr and Mrs Twitch-Whiskers’ first-born litter were to leave home crept closer and closer.
Ma had been busy all month sewing their travelling bags and new clothes for their adventures ahead. She had made fine new clothes for herself and Pa too. The Darkening Ceremony was an occasion like no other, a time to dress up, a time to present young ratlings into the world. It was a time to show off one’s jewel hoardings as a sign of wealth, health and happiness, and standing in society.
While their brothers and sisters in the first-born litter prepared themselves, Tilbury sat with Nimble-Quick, and watched a full moon rise above the city, casting ghost-light across the river.
‘It’s just not fair,’ sighed Nimble-Quick. She glanced back at their mother who was combing the fur of Elberry, the first-born son of her first litter. ‘I don’t see why we can’t go to the Darkening too.’
‘I wouldn’t want to,’ said Tilbury with a shiver.
‘We’ll have to one day,’ said Nimble-Quick. ‘When it’s our turn, when we’re one year old too.’
‘That’s if I live to be a year old,’ said Tilbury. ‘Ma says I won’t make old bones. Besides, she wants me here. She says I won’t survive in the outside world.’ He watched Ma fastening silver buttons to Elberry’s coat.
Ma kept wiping tears from her eyes. ‘Oh, my little babies. You all grow up too quickly.’
‘Careful, Ma,’ said Pa. He put his paw on her shoulder and dabbed her face with the end of his silk scarf. ‘You don’t want Elberry’s coat all wet. Everyone knows our children will be the best dressed for the Darkening Ceremony. They will all say, “Oh, there goes Mrs Twitch-Whiskers with her elegantly dressed children. So fine, that needlework. So delicate. Such style. Such grace.”’
‘Oh, but must they leave tonight?’ wailed Mrs Twitch-Whiskers, sinking down to her knees and sobbing.
Ola, the second-born of the first litter, put his paws around his mother. ‘We’ll come back and visit you, Ma. But the world is big and wide and waiting for us.’
Kayla, the third-born of the first litter, sat down beside her mother. ‘We are a year old now, Ma. It is time we leave and seek our own fortunes.’
‘But I will lose you all,’ sobbed Ma. She threw herself to the floor. ‘You will all leave me one day.’
‘Tilbury won’t,’ said Ola. ‘You’ll always have Tilbury.’
‘Yes,’ sighed Ma, sniffing. ‘Maybe there is some comfort in that.’
Pa helped to fold new clothes for the leaving packs for their first-born litter. Ma had made each of them a travelling coat, a rucksack with a set of spare clothes and a silk map of the Thames and all the docklands that stretched from Walton-on-Thames to the sea. Pa put in a lump of cave-aged Cheddar and a piece of chocolate wrapped in shiny paper for emergencies.
‘Come on, Ma,’ said Pa gently, pulling her to her feet. ‘We don’t want to be late for the Darkening. It’s the honour of every Dockland Rat before he or she leaves the family home.’
‘You’re right,’ sniffed Ma. ‘We must do our children proud.’ She dressed herself in a gown of rose taffeta with a ribbon of pearl beads. She wore a hat festooned with semi-precious stones: tourmaline, lapis lazuli and topaz. She fastened Pa’s jacket, smoothed down the frills and patted his large tummy. ‘Honestly, Mr Twitch-Whiskers, I think you have been eating all the cheese at the cheese market, not selling it.’
‘I have to sample it first, my dear,’ chuckled Pa. ‘And after all, my own father always said that a fat rat will survive a lean winter.’
‘As long as he does not get so fat he gets stuck in a drainpipe, like Uncle Harold,’ said Ma. She sighed, tears welling up again at the thought of all the dangers of the big wide world.
Pa kissed Ma on the nose. ‘Do not fret, my dear, for you and I were young rats once and yearning for our futures. Why, if I had not been seeking my place in the world aboard the barge from Brentford, I would not have met you.’
Ma dried her tears and smiled. ‘You are always right, dear-heart.’ Then she called to all her other children. ‘Come, my dears. Come and say goodbye to your brothers and sisters of the first-born litter. Wish them well, good luck and much cheese upon their travels.’
Tilbury and Nimble-Quick joined the others in a line to give their oldest siblings a hug and a kiss goodbye.
‘Come back and see us,’ said Tilbury.
‘Of course,’ said Ola.
Nimble-Quick held Ola’s paw. ‘I wish we could come to the Darkening too. Are you going to look into the Cursed Night?’
Ola fell silent and glanced back at Ma and Pa. ‘I think I will shut my eyes. I don’t think I am brave enough.’
‘Is it true,’ asked Tilbury, wide-eyed, ‘that if you look into the Cursed Night you see the deepest, darkest reaches of your soul?’
‘It’s true,’ whispered Ola.
‘I’m not afraid,’ said Elberry. ‘I will do it. And I will unlock the Cursed Night from the Gilded Cage.’
Tilbury gasped. ‘But no one has unlocked it. Not in two hundred years.’
‘The time for change has come,’ hissed Elberry.
‘But what if our enemies get the Cursed Night?’ said Tilbury, grasping his tail in his paws.
‘They won’t,’ said Elberry, his eyes flashing dangerously, ‘because I will open the cage and return the diamond to the Far Shores. I am the warrior. I am the one to save us.’
There had been whisperings amongst the rats that Elberry might be the one to open the cage. He was brave and clever too. He was a rat that knew his own mind and had saved some young ratlings from a summer flood when he was only six months old.
‘Come, come,’ said Pa, ushering his first-born litter along. ‘The Ceremony of the Darkening will soon be starting. And we must not be late.’
Tilbury watched them go. He felt a pang of loss for the oldest brothers and sisters. He felt something else too. It washed over him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it felt like grief, or maybe a longing for something he could never have. He would never set out upon a moonlit night with a travelling coat and backpack. He would always be the one left behind. The one who always stayed and said goodbye. One day, even Nimble-Quick would leave him too.
‘I’d love to watch the Darkening,’ said Nimble-Quick. ‘Scab-Tail in the vegetable market said the Master of the Ceremony re-enacts the Great Bartholomew’s last moments with a replica of the jewel-encrusted dagger that killed him.’ She lowered her voice. ‘He says young rats are changed by looking into the Cursed Night.’
Tilbury shuddered. ‘I never want to go.’
Nimble-Quick got to her feet and sniffed the air. ‘Well, I’m going to watch.’
‘You can’t,’ said Tilbury. ‘Ma said not to.’
