‘That’s how we rid ourselves of dung,’ growled the stranger. Neck-Snapper’s blood was on his fangs. Blood was also seeping from a long gash on his left flank.
There was a loud squeal from among the mates and youngsters, and then Bone-Cruncher rushed forward. She nuzzled into the stranger and licked at his wound.
‘Is that you?’ she asked. ‘Is that really you?’
Before he had time to respond, the stranger was distracted by the sudden spectacle of the drenched figure at the top of the cliff. Slayer had materialised there once more. His fur was plastered to his body, accentuating the sleekness and muscularity of his small frame. His wide grin confirmed that Jagged Fangs had been disposed of.
Fat One looked at Slayer and then at the carcass of the white bird, which still lay where the slave-King had dropped it earlier.
‘I could do with some of that,’ he groaned. ‘I’m starving!’
Although the whole group had participated in the feast, it was clear that Fat One had managed to eat the largest share. He looked much leaner and tougher than when they had last seen him, but he was still the same old Fat One as far as his appetite was concerned. It was only when there was nothing left but bones and feathers that he stopped to relate his tale.
‘I know it was foolish of me,’ he began, ‘but I just couldn’t come with the rest of you until I had at least tried to help Sharp Claws.’
‘It wasn’t foolish, Fat One,’ interrupted Bone-Cruncher, nuzzling into him. ‘It was a very brave thing to do.’
‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘by the time I went back down the escape tunnel, it was too late. The place was full of Rulers and Protectors. They had all escaped from the Common lair. Long Snout was there. I’m afraid that the old tyrant killed Sharp Claws ... just picked him up by the throat and bit his head off ...
‘When I saw that, I was terrified. I went as fast as I could up the tunnel, but I nearly didn’t make it. I got this from the Protectors who came after you lot.’
He stopped to show them the wound along his flank.
‘There was a Two-Legs at the other end of the tunnel. I managed to get out just in time, but its presence stopped the Protectors from coming any further. I found one of my hiding places among the rocks. That’s when I saw the Two-Legs kill Digger ... with a big rock. After that, everything went black. The next thing I knew it was light and there was a heck of a racket going on all around. After a while, I passed out, but only to be woken by the noise of the Two-Legs creature exploding above me. I thought the whole island was going to blow up. I really thought that I was going to die then ...’
Fat One paused. He wondered why none of them seemed to be surprised about the exploding creature.
‘Anyway, the explosions just went on for ever. Then they stopped, and everything went quiet. I could see that it was dark again. I waited for a long while before I came out of the hiding place and headed back down to the waters. That’s when I saw those two thugs we’ve just dealt with. They were following you ... and I was following them ... and ... well, you know the rest.’
Twisted Foot didn’t say much in response to Fat One’s account. There would be plenty of time ahead to tell him about their own adventures. For the moment, there were important things to take care of before they could call this place their new home, before they could really feel safe. They still had to find water for a start. And then they needed to make a proper lair. Perhaps among the trees back there. Deep under the soft earth ...
Long Snout was still angry; in fact, he was almost apoplectic now. He was standing on his hindlegs, glaring at the glowing giant. When the Two-Legs had come and removed their creature from the world above, he had thought that everything would return to normal. How wrong he had been! Here they were, practising their evil again. And it was because of that evil that the white birds had gone. One Eye’s report of these matters only moments ago had forced him up here once more. To cap it all, there was still no sign of Jagged Fangs and Neck-Snapper. Without them and the cripple, there could be no Assembly. Without the white birds, there could be no feast afterwards, no celebration of his new regime. He snorted and continued to glare at the giant.
– o –
– Chapter Forty-Two –
Just as he had done when he first set foot on Inchgarvie, Tam Proudfoot stood on the jetty, lit his pipe and slowly surveyed the island. He had to admit that he was totally puzzled by this business of rats living and even breeding on the place. When Charlie had come to see him last night and had shown him the dead rat, he had immediately dismissed it as yet another stray visitor from a passing ship, especially given the size of it. But then Charlie told him about seeing others of a similar size. From the tone of Charlie’s voice, he knew that the man’s claim was no exaggeration. So he had agreed to come out here on Charlie’s boat to look again. It was clear that a more thorough search than before was required if they were to get to the bottom of the mystery.
Tam stroked his short grey beard and took a long pull at his pipe, the billowing smoke from it momentarily enveloping his face.
‘Okay, show me,’ he said to Charlie.
‘Come on, Nipper,’ he added, motioning to the little Jack Russell prancing at his feet.
The two men and the dog set off round the island. When they entered the gloom of the monastery ruins, Charlie was nervous. It felt to him as if a thousand eyes were watching them from underneath those stones. Keeping to the edge of the ruins, he pointed roughly to the spot where he remembered hitting that first rat. Nipper understood immediately. Following the direction of Charlie’s outstretched arm, the dog rushed towards the spot. In moments, it had sniffed out Fat One’s hiding place and the trail of his blood spots. Excitedly, it followed the trail out of the monastery and down to the point of the island. Although the trail vanished at the water’s edge, the dog picked up other scents there, some of which led it back across the rocks.
Tam and Charlie were clambering down from the monastery, still trying to catch up with Nipper. Hearing their approach, the dog stopped sniffing the ground, looked up and locked eyes with the large brown rat, which stood on its hindlegs, hissing and spitting, barely a yard away.
His anger had gotten worse as time went on. He hadn’t slept because of it. He was impatient for his reign to begin, but it couldn’t begin until the cripple had paid. So he had paced the lair, waiting for those two halfwits to return. But nothing. Nothing. He had watched as Fire Eyes continued to sleep soundly, unperturbed, safe. He had almost killed that soft, fat piece of dung there and then, but he had forced himself to stop, to come out here. Even though it was light again, there was still a chance that they could appear with the cripple. The thought of the cripple made him boil and seethe inside. Ever since his traitorous plot had been discovered, everything had gone wrong. It was his fault! All of it! That’s why he had to pay!
Long Snout stood erect, glowering at the giant again. He felt like he was going to explode. He began to hiss and spit and snarl. That’s when he saw the strangely coloured, yapping Four-Legs. He wanted to vent his rage on this noisy intruder.
Being roughly the same size and weight, and with equal degrees of unbridled aggression, Nipper and Long Snout were well-matched. Neither of them flinched when they rushed headlong at each other. In a split-second, they were transformed from two adversaries into a single growling, whirling ball of fury. But when the two Protectors outside of the sacred tunnel raced to the aid of their Chamberlain, the fight was suddenly weighted in Long Snout’s favour. And when others streamed from the tunnel to join them, the fight was resoundingly lost by Nipper.
By the time Tam and Charlie saw the dog, it was surrounded by eight or more snapping black-furred assailants, and its fierce growls had turned into pleading yelps. The men shouted and stamped, but it was only when they began to throw rocks that the Protectors ceased their attack and retreated to the underworld along with an injured Long Snout.
Tam was in tears when he reached Nipper. The dog was lying on its side
, whimpering softly. Every part of its body was torn and bleeding. Then it seemed to give out a final sigh before going completely still, its eyes wide open. Tam didn’t say a word. He looked down at the place among the rocks into which the rats had disappeared; it was as if he was stamping that place on his memory. Then he knelt down, lifted up Nipper’s body with both hands and carried it back to Charlie’s boat. Charlie hurried after him, immensely relieved to be getting away from there.
– o –
– Chapter Forty-Three –
Twisted Foot knew the dream so well. There was a clearing among the trees. It was far away, deep in the woodlands. The sun was shining. They were basking in its warmth. Grey Eyes was there; and young Soft-Mover, his jet-black coat glistening as he moved through the tall grass. Fat One was dozing under a tree. His other companions were in the clearing with their mates and young ones. There was an aura about the place, a deep glow of happiness. It seemed that if he reached out from the dream he could touch the glow, let the warmth course through him.
Then he waited for the shadows to fall, as they always did. He waited for those familiar, cold, dark images to come and oust the brightness. He waited for those blurred, frightening scenes of Long Snout towering over the clearing, the blood of newly born young congealed on his enormous fangs; of Neck-Snapper hissing and spitting death, green pus festering in his ragged eyehole; of Grey Eyes surrounded by snarling Protectors, her small body lacerated and bleeding. But nothing came. The sun continued to shine. That warm glow persisted.
With a jolt, he snapped out of it. His mind had been wandering. He hadn’t been dreaming at all. That clearing among the trees was real, and he was in it. Grey Eyes and Soft-Mover were there, too, and all the others. And the sun really was shining, as it had done during the last few days; it was as if the Cold Cycle had suddenly come to an end and the Warm Cycle had begun again. Their lair was at the edge of the clearing. It had been dug out a long time before by other creatures – probably by those Four-Legs with the short tails and large, pointed ears – and then abandoned. It was their lair now, their underworld. Here on the world above, a little spring trickled out from the rocks on the other side of the promontory, so they didn’t have far to travel to lap water. And, of course, the teeming cliff-face beyond the trees provided a constant supply of bird flesh.
Twisted Foot sighed. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt at peace. This was their new home, their new society – and it was perfect. And those dark images that he had just seen in his mind: they were just shadows from the past. As he had done on many occasions since coming to the place, he wandered away from the clearing, through the trees and out to the end of the promontory. From there, he slowly scanned the waters below, the giant straddling the waters and the little island tucked in at the side of the giant.
There was a lot of commotion on the island today. He could see a gang of Two-Legs spread out along the length of it. Their bodies – even their heads and faces – were covered in white. It looked like most of them were searching among the rocks. Others were erecting a creature on the high ground, just like the Two-Legs had done before, although this new creature seemed much less elaborate than the one which exploded. He could also see a number of Two-Legs vessels on the other side of the island. Standing on the jetty beside the vessels was a familiar figure. It was the long Two-Legs with the silver fur on its face, the one which had come with the strangely coloured Four-Legs, the one which had used its cunning to kill the slave-rats when they escaped from the underworld. He wondered if all those Two-Legs and all that activity over there spelled discovery of the society; the end of it, perhaps.
‘They’ll never trouble us again, comrade.’
Long Ears was suddenly at his side. He didn’t know if his companion had actually spoken those words or if he had crept into his thoughts again. It didn’t matter either way; he just hoped that Long Ears was right.
They crouched at the edge of the cliff for a long time. Even after the Two-Legs had gone from the island, they remained there, scanning and re-scanning the terrain. They were Watchers, after all; it was in their blood.
Old One Eye was perplexed. He shook his muzzle in frustration as he came out of the Protectors’ lair and began to pick his way through the rotting corpses which still littered the floor of the Common lair. He had told the Chamberlain about the many Two-Legs on the world above and about what they were doing up there, but all that Long Snout had done was to ask whether the cripple was back. There had been nothing else: no instructions; not even an angry outburst. One Eye shook his muzzle again. While the whole of the underworld trembled in fear, Long Snout was still obsessed about that wretched cripple! He would return to his own lair now, tell his warriors to stand down, to rest with their mates and young, to await the worst.
Back in the sanctum of the Inner Circle, with the other Rulers looking on anxiously, Long Snout remained in his nest and licked the wounds that the yapping Four-Legs had inflicted on him. They’ll be here soon, he told himself. With the cripple. Then we’ll begin the Assembly. Our new society will be born. And I’ll become their new King-rat. Long Snout, the King-rat, after all these Cycles. Soon. Very soon. He didn’t notice the fumes or the others dying around him. He felt drowsy. He yawned and settled down to sleep.
If you ever take the train across the Forth Bridge, look down as you pass the rocky, whale-shaped islet in the bridge’s shadow. You’ll see a crumbling monastery on one side and a Second World War gun emplacement on the other. You’ll also see a big notice board sticking up from the crest of the island. If you peer at the notice, you’ll probably see the bright red sign of the skull and crossbones, and you might just make out the letters underneath, which are also bright red and which declare: ‘BEWARE POISON’. The notice was erected by the authorities in October 1990, a few days after the centenary of the old bridge, when they fumigated the island to rid it of a reported colony of rats. It seemed that the rats were in danger of wiping out the island’s bird population – or at least that’s what the authorities were told by the local rat-catcher.
The island’s proper name is Inchgarvie. Nowadays, though, it’s known to people on both sides of the Forth as Rat Island: a place to be avoided, a place of ghosts and demons and eerie, whispering winds.
– o –
The Island of Whispers Page 14