Moonflight, page 6
‘It will look suspicious if we don’t go,’ said Pa. ‘Other rats will talk.’ He tied up his cheese packs with string and looped them over his neck.
All the other uncles and aunts and cousins in the attic rooms were getting ready with their wares too.
Ma buttoned her coat. ‘I really think someone should stay back with Tilbury.’
‘We usually leave him on his own,’ said Pa.
‘I’ll be fine, Ma,’ said Tilbury.
‘But what about last night?’ whispered Ma. ‘Perhaps we should take you with us this time.’
‘He’s safest here,’ said Pa. ‘Nobody knows about last night.’
‘Are you so sure?’ asked Ma. ‘I’m sure Aunt Swinney was giving him a funny look this morning.’
‘No one knows,’ assured Pa. ‘We all promised to keep it secret.’
‘I’ll stay with Tilbury,’ whispered Nimble-Quick.
Ma wagged her paw at her. ‘Definitely not. Who knows where you might take him.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, it’s been such a worrying time. We haven’t seen Elberry since last night. He spoke out so rudely against the Elders. Maybe they will punish him.’
‘He’s here,’ said Nimble-Quick, pointing to the door to the attic room, where Elberry had just appeared.
Ma rushed over to him, smoothing down his fur. ‘Oh, Elberry, what happened? Have they punished you?’
Elberry brushed her off. ‘I’ve been forgiven.’
‘Forgiven?’ said Pa.
Elberry nodded. ‘Yersinia has shown mercy. He said I was cursed by the diamond. He said he will show me the ways of the Elders, to help me understand all they do for us.’
Ma wrapped her paws around Elberry. ‘Thank goodness. At least one thing has worked out well. Maybe you could stay with Tilbury today.’
Elberry scowled and pushed her away. ‘I can’t. Yersinia has ordered me to meet with the Tower Guards to learn my respect for the Elders.’
‘I’ll be fine on my own, Ma,’ said Tilbury. ‘I’ve always been fine before.’ Secretly he loved the peace and quiet when the others went to market. The events of last night were so entangled in his thoughts that he wanted time to make sense of them.
Ma sighed. ‘Well now, make sure you stay away from the windows and promise me not to go down to the basement.’
‘I promise,’ said Tilbury.
‘Come on, everyone,’ hurried Pa. ‘We can’t miss our boat.’ He picked up Ma’s bags with his cheese boxes.
‘Don’t put your stinkiest cheeses next to my fine woollens,’ Ma scolded, ‘or the Canary Wharf rats will complain.’
Pa chuckled. ‘They have no taste for good food. Their idea of fine dining is a half-eaten hot dog.’
Ma fussed, getting Pa’s collar straight, then she called upon her children to come and take a bag each to carry.
Nimble-Quick stopped beside Tilbury. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
Tilbury was silent for a moment. ‘Did you hear what they said last night? Is it true?’
‘Is what true?’ said Nimble-Quick.
Tilbury clasped his paws together. ‘Am I a seventh seventh-born?’
Nimble-Quick curled her tail around him. ‘It doesn’t matter what you are to me.’
‘Nimble-Quick!’ called Ma. ‘Hurry, we’ll miss the boat.’
Nimble-Quick gave Tilbury a hug. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said.
She scurried after her family, and little Tilbury, once more, found himself alone.
Tilbury watched them all leave.
He heard the patter of feet as his family and all the other aunts and uncles and cousins scurried out of the attic rooms. He crept to the window and hid beneath his box, and he looked down to the docks and the river.
Was he really a seventh seventh-born? Could it be true? The very possibility of it felt like a crushing weight upon his chest. Ma was right, he thought. He was safest here. He vowed never to leave the chandlery again.
It was a bright, clear morning, with mist rising up from the river, and the sun a low ball of light in the sky. There were a few humans about, heaving boxes and containers on the ships that set sail for far shores. Tilbury could see his family running in the shadows, unseen by the humans. He often wondered how humans never seemed to see rats, even though they knew they were there. But as long as a rat stayed unseen and learned to stay away from traps and poisons, then the world of humans offered rich pickings in food, materials for fine clothes, precious metals and gems to trade. The city offered a whole network of rivers, rail tracks and sewers to travel through.
Tilbury sighed. He only saw these places through the maps Nimble-Quick drew for him on the dusty floor. He could only experience them through Nimble-Quick’s re-tellings. Sometimes he could almost smell the roasting chestnuts at the markets. He could imagine the hustle and bustle of so many rats weaving their way through the stalls. Nimble-Quick described the mountains of cheese, the crystallized fruits, the soft fabrics and the rainbow colours of the beads. Tilbury could almost hear the suck and squeak of the incoming tide as it slid across the mud, hurrying the rats to sell their wares at the end of the market.
But if he couldn’t go to the market, at least he had the attic rooms all to himself. He enjoyed the peace and the silence. He loved to explore his aunts’ and uncles’ homes in the attic when they were away. Lily-Mae’s suitcase home was lined with shredded wool. It always smelled musty and Ma disapproved of Lily-Mae letting her children eat biscuits in the bedding. She’ll be infested with mice if she leaves food in her house, Ma would say.
Uncle Eddy and his family slept in the pockets of fur coats in the wardrobe. Tilbury poked his nose inside, but the pungent scent of mothballs made his chest feel tight and so he went on to explore Cousin Jak’s house. Cousin Jak lived alone in a large trunk full of books and rarely allowed visitors. Tilbury tiptoed inside. Everything was so neat and ordered, not like his own home. A page of a book was open, showing the most wonderful picture of a landscape Tilbury had never imagined before. There were high snow-capped mountains and lush green forests. Tilbury turned the pages of the book to see all sort of different animals. Birds of so many vibrant colours. He was so engrossed looking at the book that he was only half aware of a scuttling sound.
It sounded again.
Tilbury froze.
If Cousin Jak found him in his house looking at his books, he’d bite his tail for sure.
He quietly left the book as he’d found it and peeked out.
There was no one there. Tilbury listened and waited. But there were no more sounds. Maybe it was mice searching for crumbs while the rats were away.
Tilbury tiptoed to Uncle Tubs and Aunt Swinney’s house. They had the finest house in the attic rooms. The old Victorian doll’s house. Tubs and Swinney slept in a vast bed in the master bedroom and their children slept beneath embroidered blankets in the other bedrooms. They even had lightbulbs that were attached to batteries and so could have electric lighting anytime, though Uncle Tubs only switched them on for special occasions as he said batteries were hard to come by. Tilbury sat on the rocking horse in the hall and imagined himself galloping along the muddy shores of the Thames. He walked into the kitchen and settled himself at the table. He marvelled at the plastic loaves and apples and bananas that Aunt Swinney kept on display. Uncle Tubs often unkindly said that the plastic food was better than Aunt Swinney’s cooking. He ran his paw along the embroidered swirls on the tablecloth. Ma had made it with the matching curtains. He stood up and looked out of the window, imagining what it must be like to live in this house and see this view every day.
He looked out past the trunk full of books and the wardrobe to his own saggy sofa home. It might not be as posh as Aunt Swinney’s, but at least it was home, and the food was edible. He yawned and decided that the saggy sofa was the best place to be.
But then the fur on the back of his neck prickled.
There was a shadow moving near the sofa.
A big shadow.
Not a mouse shadow.
A rat-shaped shadow.
It seemed bigger than an average rat. Maybe it was Uncle Tubs, whose rather large belly could make him look big. But this was a different shape of big. Besides, this rat was moving silently and there was nothing silent about Uncle Tubs. The rat was rummaging in the cushions, pulling out feathers and throwing them in the air. It was searching for something.
Maybe it was after their hoarding, even though Pa had hidden their jewels on the rafters.
Tilbury felt his heart pitter-patter even faster. His little paws felt clammy.
He was on his own.
With a big rat he didn’t know.
Totally alone.
He hid behind the curtain and watched.
Eventually the rat came out from the sofa.
Tilbury watched it cross the attic to the wardrobe. It wore dungarees and carried a sack. Its dungarees were black, its fur was black, its sack was black, and it even left little black sooty paw prints across the wooden floor.
Tilbury trembled. This wasn’t a Dockland Rat. This was an Underground Rat. It lived in the underground railways in the soot and the Everdark. Underground Rats were to be feared, Ma said. They took Dockland Rat children into the darkness and made them their slaves. There was talk about them wanting the Cursed Night for themselves and waging war on the Dockland Rats. Tilbury had never seen one before, but he guessed this was one.
The rat came out from the wardrobe and sniffed. It passed Cousin Jak’s house and headed straight for the doll’s house, straight for Tilbury.
Tilbury pressed himself against the wall. He heard the front door creak open. He could smell the rat, the soot and underground dirt. If the rat came into the kitchen it would all be over. But Tilbury heard the rat tread upstairs and the creak of the floorboards above. Soon it would come down the stairs and into the kitchen. Tilbury felt frozen to the spot, his mind spinning and his little heart racing inside his chest. Oh, he wished Nimble-Quick were here now. What would she do? And in his mind he could almost hear her voice. Come on Tilbury, hold onto my tail and run.
And run he did.
He knew this was his only chance.
He dashed out of the kitchen and ran.
He ran and ran as fast as his little paws could carry him.
But when he turned, he could see the huge rat bounding after him across the attic room floor, swiftly narrowing the distance between them, its black teeth bared and its long claws slicing the air.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Soot and Grime
Tilbury headed for the only place he could escape. He’d promised Ma not to go to the basement, but surely even Ma would let him go this time.
He skittered across the wooden floor, feeling the hot breath of the large rat just behind him. He reached the narrow crack in the wainscot and dived through, hearing the heavy thump of the rat against the wood. The rat was stuck in the gap, but it was wriggling and pushing its way through, its claws scraping on the wood. Tilbury ran to the chimney breast and scrambled down, his paws remembering all the little cracks and crevices. Behind him came the rat, jumping and falling in the darkness after him.
Tilbury shot through into the basement, blinded by the sunlight that sliced through the dusty air. He bounded away but felt something tight around his leg and he was pulled back.
The large rat had thrown a lasso of fine wire, which had caught him by the leg, and Tilbury found himself on his back being dragged toward the large rat.
Closer …
And closer …
And closer.
Little Tilbury clutched his own tail and squeaked. But it was such a small squeak that no one could have heard.
The rat drew a short dagger from a sheath at its chest and knelt down, pressing the sharp point against Tilbury’s neck.
‘Are you the young rat that opened the Gilded Cage?’ said the rat. Its voice was deep and gravelly, and somehow commanded authority.
‘I didn’t open it,’ squeaked Tilbury. His mind spun, wondering how this rat could possibly have known about last night.
The rat pressed its face closer to Tilbury’s. ‘But you know how to open it?’
Tilbury looked into the rat’s dark eyes and felt the point of the dagger press harder against his skin. ‘I … I … I think so,’ he stammered.
The rat stared hard at Tilbury; its eyes narrowed. ‘Then you must come with me.’
Neither the rat nor Tilbury heard the velvet paws on the dusty floor behind them. For although Marmalade Paws was more of a sun-catcher cat, he still had the deep instinct to hunt. He knew how to stalk, how to hold still and crouch down and then wiggle his bottom and jump.
And jump he did, his outstretched claws closing on the large rat. When the rat turned to slice the dagger at Marmalade, the cat clamped his jaws around the rat’s throat, and held it tight.
Tilbury scrambled backwards, pulling off the lasso of wire. He saw the dagger the rat had dropped and picked it up. It was heavier than he’d imagined. Now that he held it in his paw, he could see the handle was made from gold and was encrusted with diamonds and emeralds.
The large rat was twisting and wriggling in Marmalade’s mouth. Its paws were scratching at the cat’s skin, but its sharp teeth could only gnash the air. Its tail whipped wildly to and fro, but Marmalade would not let it go. Tilbury crept closer, drawn by a morbid curiosity. The rat grew weaker, as Marmalade’s grip closed on its airway.
It fell limp in his mouth, gasping for breath.
The rat’s eyes locked onto Tilbury’s as it hung dying in Marmalade’s jaws.
And somehow, Tilbury felt responsible for this rat’s life. He knew he could let it live or die. It would be his choice.
‘Don’t kill it,’ squeaked Tilbury in Sphinx.
Marmalade turned to look at him. He couldn’t speak with a mouthful of rat.
‘Please,’ implored Tilbury.
Marmalade took a long look at Tilbury and then unceremoniously dumped the rat in a full bowl of water. He gagged and retched. ‘Ugh! I forgot how much I hate catching live prey.’
They watched the large rat splash about in the water bowl, spluttering and clawing his way out. Then it stood watching them and eyeing the gold dagger in Tilbury’s paws.
Tilbury clung on to Marmalade’s fur. A question burned in his mind and he had to know the answer. ‘How did you know?’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘How did you know I can open the cage?’
A sneer played on the rat’s mouth. ‘Erik at the alehouse has a loose tongue after a few drinks. He told everyone last night. You were the talk of town. I followed your aunt and uncle back here.’
Tilbury couldn’t speak. The secret was out and the Dockland Rats were in mortal danger.
The rat took a step towards Tilbury and Marmalade.
‘Go,’ squeaked Tilbury, pointing the dagger at the rat.
The rat took another step, shaking the water from its fur, and it was only then that Tilbury noticed something different about it. Its fur wasn’t brown, like the Dockland Rats. Beneath the soot and grime, it had a sheen that caught the sun and glinted in the light. This rat’s fur burned gold and bright.
Tilbury’s little paw shook, and he clung to Marmalade. ‘Go, or I will set my cat upon you.’ He turned to Marmalade. ‘Do something … please,’ he said in Sphinx.
Marmalade puffed up his fur up to look twice his size, then he opened his mouth wide and hissed, cat-spit flying in the air.
And the large Golden Rat turned tail and ran. It scuttled up on to the workbench and scrambled up a pole, through a wire grille and escaped out onto the street.
The next thing Tilbury knew, Nimble-Quick was flying across the floor to hold him. Ma and Pa eyed the big cat and called to him.
‘Get away from that cat,’ cried Pa.
‘Marmalade saved me from the giant rat,’ said Tilbury.
‘What rat?’ squeaked Ma.
‘A rat came when you were out,’ said Tilbury. ‘It searched through all our houses.’
‘We saw,’ said Pa. ‘We thought something terrible had happened to you.’
‘It almost did,’ squeaked Tilbury. ‘But Marmalade saved me.’
‘Marmalade?’ said Ma.
Tilbury smiled up at the big ginger tomcat. ‘He’s my friend.’
Nimble-Quick wrapped her tail around Tilbury. ‘I’m glad you’re safe.’
Ma and Pa cautiously walked past Marmalade, and Ma gave an awkward little curtsey and a ‘thank you’ before hurrying on.
‘What was this rat searching for?’ asked Pa.
Tilbury trembled. ‘It was searching for me.’
Ma gasped out loud. ‘But how did it know?’
‘It was Erik,’ whispered Tilbury. ‘Everyone knows.’
Ma gnashed her teeth. ‘Wait till I get my paws on him.’
‘What did it look like?’ said Pa. He reached down and ran his paw in the soot and grime. ‘Was it an Underground Rat?’
‘I thought it was,’ said Tilbury. ‘But under the soot, its fur shone bright gold.’
Pa’s head jerked up. ‘Don’t tell lies, Tilbury.’
Tilbury opened his eyes wide. ‘I’m not, Pa. Really I’m not.’
Ma laid a paw on Tilbury. ‘Tell the truth, Tilbury,’ she said.
Tilbury backed away from them. ‘I’m telling the truth. It left this,’ he said, lifting up the jewel-encrusted gold dagger.
Ma and Pa both stared at it.
‘It can’t be,’ said Ma. She clutched her paws to her mouth. ‘The Golden Rats were gone years ago. The Dockland Rats fought them and won. The last of them were killed in the Battle of Bakerloo.’
Pa frowned. He walked in tight circles, tapping his paw against his head. ‘Maybe the rumours that Elberry heard about the Golden Rats being seen are indeed true.’
‘Do you mean the ancient warrior rats?’ whispered Tilbury.
Nimble-Quick took Tilbury’s paw in hers. ‘The very same ones,’ she said. ‘The legends say they show no mercy. They’re known for their brutality too.’
