Moonflight, page 4
‘Ma said not to talk to cats, and you do,’ snapped Nimble-Quick.
‘We’re not allowed. Ma will turn us back,’ said Tilbury.
‘Ma won’t know,’ whispered Nimble-Quick. ‘I’m going to go to the secret place that I found to watch. You could come too.’
‘I’m not allowed outside,’ said Tilbury.
The tip of Nimble-Quick’s tail twitched. ‘Technically, we don’t go outside,’ she said. ‘We go along an old drain from the chandlery basement.’
I’m not going,’ said Tilbury, sitting down. ‘And you can’t make me.’
Nimble-Quick curled her tail around him. ‘You said you’d love to see the Gilded Cage. This could be your chance.’
Tilbury turned his back on her and covered his ears.
But Nimble-Quick crawled closer and whispered, ‘Ma and Pa won’t even know we are there. We’ll be back before them.’
Tilbury’s mind somersaulted to the idea of the Gilded Cage. Bartholomew’s invention was legendary; beautiful in design, ingenious in its making and impossible to open. And, of course, his curious mind desperately wanted to see such a creation. He turned to face her. ‘And we don’t need to go outside?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Nimble-Quick.
‘Not at all?’ whispered Tilbury.
Nimble-Quick pulled him closer with her tail. ‘Not at all.’ She smiled, because she knew that the promise of the Gilded Cage had persuaded her little brother to come.
CHAPTER NINE
The Master of the Ceremony
‘This way,’ whispered Nimble-Quick. ‘Hold onto my tail. Let’s run.’
Tilbury followed, clutching Nimble-Quick’s tail in his little paw. They scurried down to the basement and entered the old sewerage system. It was pitch-black along the twists and turns of the old brickwork drain. It is well known that rats are excellent navigators in the dark, remembering routes and passages, but Nimble-Quick possessed map-making powers superior to most rats. They flew along, Nimble-Quick ahead and Tilbury behind. Sometimes Tilbury could feel a rush of cold air and it brought the worry of dangers of the outside world.
‘Are there other rats here?’ asked Tilbury. He’d heard Ma and Pa talk about rats from other docks that would beat you up for a lump of cheese, and if you didn’t have cheese, they’d beat you up for a laugh instead.
‘We’ll be safe,’ said Nimble-Quick. ‘We’re going along the mouse trails soon. Big rats can’t follow where we’re going. Come on. Let’s go.’
Tilbury had never left the basement of the chandlery before. He could feel his little heart beating fast, but Nimble-Quick was off, and he ran to keep up. She led him almost to the very exit from the drain. He could see the bright moonlight ahead and heard the rush and gurgle of the river.
‘Through here,’ said Nimble-Quick.
Tilbury followed her, squeezing through an impossibly tight gap only a young rat could fit into and then along a maze of damp trails. Nimble-Quick led the way down a route that smelled saltier and felt wetter as it descended towards the river.
Tilbury sniffed the dank air. It smelled different from home. It smelled of mice too. He could hear them in the shadows, their high-pitched squeaks. He tried to be brave and remember that mice are terrified of rats.
‘Here we are,’ whispered Nimble-Quick. ‘We must be quiet.’
Tilbury squeezed beside Nimble-Quick into a crack in the wall, concealed by a veil of slimy seaweed.
‘I found this place a few days ago,’ whispered Nimble-Quick. ‘Look down, there’s the Great Hall.’
Tilbury peered through the strands of weed and realized that they were sitting in an elevated position looking down into a vast hall. Candles burned inside broken bottles that hung from the ceiling. A breeze came in through the entrance to the hall, turning them in circles, casting dark shadows that spun around the walls. Tilbury had heard Ma talk about the Great Hall. It was beneath the wharf of the old shipbuilders that had been sealed up and built upon by humans long, long ago. The only known way in for rats was beneath the wharf at the lowest of low tides.
‘No humans can get in here,’ said Nimble-Quick.
‘Where is everyone?’ whispered Tilbury.
‘I don’t think they’re here yet,’ said Nimble-Quick. ‘I told you, we took a shortcut.’
Tilbury peered out. The floor of the hall was covered in mud that oozed and creaked, and in the centre of the hall there was a tall pillar of rock that rose up from the ground. There were steps carved into the side of the rock, and the top was flat. At the summit, a large drape covered something that could have been a table or a box, Tilbury wasn’t sure. It was then that Tilbury saw a rat sitting next to it. The rat wore a long black cloak, and the hood of the cloak was pulled over its face. The rat was so still that Tilbury wasn’t sure if it was real, but then he saw the tip of its long tail twitch ever so slightly. Tilbury took a sharp intake of breath and ducked behind the seaweed. The cloaked figure turned to stare in his direction and Tilbury could feel the unseen eyes boring into him. Tilbury and Nimble-Quick froze, but the strands of seaweed swished to and fro.
‘Stay still,’ whispered Nimble-Quick, clutching Tilbury.
The hooded figure turned away, distracted by a noise at the far end of the hall.
‘Who is that?’ said Tilbury.
‘That’s the Keeper of the Cursed Night,’ whispered Nimble-Quick. ‘The Guardian of the Gilded Cage.’
‘Where’s the Gilded Cage?’ asked Tilbury. It was the reason he had come on this trip after all.
‘It’s under that drape,’ said Nimble-Quick.
The pitter-patter of many feet began to fill the hall. The atmosphere was hushed and reverent. Lantern-bearers came first, followed by adult rats and their children, their bags packed and ready to leave their homes.
‘There’s Ma and Pa,’ whispered Nimble-Quick excitedly.
Tilbury saw his mother and father lead their five eldest children across the hall to stand in the front row of a circle around the big rock. He could see other rats taking sideways glances at the fine clothes Ma had made for her family. They admired her jewel-embellished hat. She and Pa looked so noble and proud, but only Tilbury noticed just how tightly Ma was holding Pa’s paw. He glanced once or twice at the hooded Keeper on top of the rock, but the Keeper was still again, like stone itself.
The noise of fidgeting feet and twitching tails stilled as a formidable rat swept into the hall. It was unrecognizable behind a mask of black leather studded with tiny glass mirrors. It wore a long velvet coat that gleamed with hundreds of sparkling gemstones, and it carried a staff topped with the skull of a crow.
‘That must be the Master of the Ceremony,’ whispered Nimble-Quick.
The Master held his staff up high and a stub of candle glowed eerily from inside the crow’s skull. ‘Fellow rats!’ he boomed, ‘Let us bow our heads to our esteemed Elders.’
The rats in the hall bowed their heads as the Elders filed in. They were flanked by large rats in leather armour and sharp metal tail spikes.
‘That’s the Tower Guard,’ whispered Nimble-Quick. ‘No rat can get past them. They guard the Elders in the Tower of London with their lives.’
The Elders climbed up wooden stairs to a gallery that ran around the upper reaches of the hall, where a feast of food and drink had been laid out before them. The Elders were white-furred, with frizzled whiskers and bent with age.
Tilbury had never seen the Elders before and was deeply curious about them. They only left the Tower of London for the Darkening Ceremonies and were heavily protected by the Tower Guard. The Elders were almost like myths themselves, for it is well known that rats are not blessed with long lives. Even those who manage to bypass disease, traps, poisons or misfortune generally only live until the grand age of three years. And there is so much living to fit in to such a short and active life. But there are some rats who live beyond their allotted years, and some of those who live to become five or six, or even seven years of age. They are revered and protected, for they are the carriers of knowledge and deep memory. They are the Elders, the ones who protect the Cursed Night and guard the prophecy.
Tilbury scanned the bowed heads, but he saw one rat with his head up, looking defiantly at the Elders. It was his brother Elberry. One rat from the Tower Guard looked directly at him, and Ma hastily pulled Elberry’s whiskers to make him bow his head.
The Master of the Ceremony tapped his staff three times, and all the rats turned their heads towards him. He held his paws high with an air of theatrics. ‘On this moonlit night we honour our children that will make haste into the wide world. We bless them with safe passage and many, many children of their own. But we ask them not to forget that they are Dockland Rats, descendants of the Great Bartholomew. We hope they are blessed with his courage, ingenuity and wisdom.’ He lifted his staff even higher towards the rock. ‘But we must not forget we are all connected by a curse.’
He ended the word curse with long hiss, like a snake.
There were audible intakes of breath in the hall.
‘Tonight,’ he boomed, ‘as the full moon turns and begins to wane, we must honour the Darkening. We must remember Bartholomew and the prophecy. And we must seek The One to free us from this evil legacy.’
Music rose up from the dark shadows of the hall and three musicians came to join the Master. One played a pipe, one drummed tiny steel pans and another plucked at wires pulled tightly between the prongs of a fork. Then, two more rats came to stand beside the lanterns in the stone circle. They made shapes with their paws that cast huge shadow-puppets on the wall of the rock.
A expectant atmosphere rose in the crowd, for all rats love a good story and, however often it was told, the tale of the Great Bartholomew was the most thrilling story of all.
CHAPTER TEN
The Legend of the Cursed Night
Tilbury knew the story by heart.
Of course, every family had a slightly different retelling, but the diamond, the Cursed Night, that Bartholomew had taken for his own nearly two hundred years ago, had held every generation of Dockland Rat in fear and wonder ever since.
‘Long, long ago,’ boomed the Master, ‘Bartholomew Belgravia, the seventh-born rat of the seventh-born litter of Bertram and Eliza Belgravia was born into this world at Tilbury Docks.’
The drummer drummed his steel pans and the two rats making shadow-puppets showed a rat mother holding her little rat baby.
‘Bartholomew’s intelligence was known far and wide,’ boomed the Master. ‘He had a thirst for knowledge and a curiosity unrivalled. His inventions were legendary at a time when man brought steamships and steam trains into the world. And upon a night like this, he set sail upon his first birthday. He was not satisfied with the barges up and down the Thames, but crossed the seven seas on a sailing ship bound for far-off lands.’
A shadow puppet ship bounced along the waves. Tilbury and Nimble-Quick found themselves drawn even closer to the actors, and both their little noses poked through the veil of seaweed to get a better view.
Even the Elders had paused in their eating and were leaning forward to listen too.
‘And it was in the mythical Sky-Mountains,’ said the Master, ‘that Bartholomew found himself a welcome in the City in the Clouds, ruled by the Golden Rats. There, the Golden Rat King recognized Bartholomew’s genius and offered him his own weight in rubies and gold in exchange for creating a flying machine. The king wanted the power of flight to command the skies, for he feared that his enemies would try to steal the black diamond from the City in the Clouds. For the legends have been told of this diamond that instils envy, greed and obsession in all those who seek it. But it is also said that its power makes the one who desires and possesses it invincible.’
Tilbury found his paws trembling at the thought that such a powerful diamond was right here in the hall. He wondered if he would feel its pull of dark magic.
The Master of the Ceremony raised his voice even louder. ‘Bartholomew spent many, many months creating a flying machine that he named the Silk Wing.’
‘But Bartholomew was betrayed,’ whispered Tilbury.
‘He was,’ said Nimble-Quick. ‘Shh! Listen.’
‘But,’ continued the Master, raising the crow-skull staff higher, ‘when Bartholomew completed the Silk Wing, the Golden Rat King threw him into the dungeons, for he feared that Bartholomew would raise an army against him and steal the diamond for himself. But Bartholomew escaped from the dungeons, destroyed the original plans to the Silk Wing and, indeed, he took the diamond in revenge for the king taking his freedom. Then he escaped on the Silk Wing into a moonlit night.’
The shadow puppet of Bartholomew glided over the mountains and then showed his journey back to Tilbury Docks across the seas.
‘But how did he escape from the dungeons?’ whispered Tilbury, who had often puzzled how Bartholomew had managed it.
‘Nobody knows,’ said Nimble-Quick. ‘Some say he had an accomplice. Others say he could pick any lock. Some even say he possessed magic.’
‘He was a genius,’ murmured Tilbury, wriggling further to watch the action, for he knew this part of the story where Bartholomew arrived back in London to find the Golden Rat warriors had followed him, led by the king’s brother, Prince Obsidian.
‘The Golden Rats and the Dockland Rats fought many a battle,’ said the Master. ‘Every rat wanted the diamond for themselves. Its power turned rat against fellow rat and brought violence and greed. Bartholomew named the diamond the Cursed Night, for it was only then that he understood that his moonlight escape with the diamond had brought mortal danger to the Docklands.’
The Master raised his voice up high. ‘So Bartholomew made the Gilded Cage here, encased in this rock. And he placed the Cursed Night inside so that none could possess it. None could possess its power. He said one day there would come a warrior of wisdom and great ingenuity, who could open the cage and return the diamond to its rightful owners. Then, and only then, could the Dockland Rats be saved from its terrible, terrible curse.’
The Keeper on the rock stood up and pulled the drape away, showing the ornate cage. Tilbury couldn’t take his eyes off it. It was beautiful, made from curls and twists of wire, and cogs and wheels and strange circular bolts. And encased behind the wires sat an inner cage and, inside that, a large diamond, the size of a walnut. The formidable Cursed Night. It was so dark and black that it seemed to suck all the light out of the room, except for a faint sparkle that seemed to make it shine with a light of its own making.
The audience collectively leaned forward, and the Master raised his voice. ‘Prince Obsidian of the Golden Rats wanted the diamond for himself. He fought Bartholomew. “Open the Gilded Cage,” he roared. “The diamond belongs to me.” But Bartholomew refused. He roared back, “The Cursed Night belongs to …”’
The Master let suspense and silence hang in the air. The listening rats held their breath. Despite knowing what was going to happen next, they waited, each hoping something new would be revealed.
The Master wielded the replica of the weapon. ‘Before Bartholomew could finish speaking, the prince plunged his jewel-encrusted dagger into Bartholomew’s chest. And Bartholomew’s heart never beat again.’
Tilbury clutched Nimble-Quick’s paw. ‘Who does the diamond belong to?’
‘We don’t know,’ whispered Nimble-Quick. ‘Bartholomew didn’t get a chance to say.’
The Master of the Ceremony turned to the Gilded Cage. ‘Bartholomew was dead, but we know that he had entrusted his mother with a secret, a secret kept by every Keeper of the Cursed Night since. For this secret will be told to the one that unlocks the Gilded Cage, to the one who must fulfil the prophecy.’ He bowed low to the Keeper, with a flourish of his paw. ‘We must listen carefully to the Keeper, and hope that one day, we can be free.’
The Keeper paced slowly around the Gilded Cage, and when the Keeper spoke, Tilbury was surprised to hear it had the voice of a she-rat, soft but brittle with age.
She began to chant, and the words that spilled from her seemed to echo and chase each other like flame-thrown shadows around the walls. They were ancient words, passed from Keeper to Keeper, words that carried the fate of every Dockland Rat within their meaning.
‘This Cursed Night, holds both evil and a prophecy
Its darkness, is ever calling to our enemies
A rising tide, of danger and adversity
For there will come a time, when we decide our destiny
A time to choose between greed and our integrity
There will come forth a rat, of Bartholomew’s ingenuity
To unlock the Gilded Cage, and release us from this legacy
And return the Cursed Night far across the seven seas
To the rightful owners of this rare piece of jewellery
A journey fit only for a warrior of great bravery
A warrior to find a truth we cannot see
To this one, I will reveal the secrets of the prophecy
Only this one, and one alone, can truly set us free.’
In the deathly silence that followed, the Master slowly looked around all the young rats, pointing at them with the end of his staff. ‘And I ask each of you, who dares try to open the Gilded Cage? For this diamond will try to possess you and find the darkness in your soul.
‘I ask again – who will dare to look into the Cursed Night?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In a Diamond Darkly
An excited buzz rose within the crowd, for all the young rats knew this was the moment they would be called forward to try to unlock the cage and dare to look into the cut surface of the black diamond.
The Elders clapped their paws for the Tower Guards to refill their glasses and for more food to be served. The Tower Guards scanned the crowd, and Tilbury felt the gaze of one guard turn his way. It was one of the biggest rats Tilbury had ever seen. He was battle-scarred, with ripped ears and a silver patch over one eye. His tail spikes looked long and lethal. It was as if this rat could see him though the veil of seaweed.
