The Big Miaouw

by Adam Skye

  Table of Contents

  Part I: The Square

  Part II Prowling

  Part III: Convocation

  The Big Miaouw

  Copyright © Adam Skye

  The rights of Adam Skye to be identified as the author of this work have been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the permission of the publisher.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed are entirely the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely co-incidental.

  Cover by Sam Wainwright, illustrations by Polly Stopforth.

  Sai waddled into the room. The door closed behind him and he took in the apartment with his bright pink eyes. He liked it immediately: for a rat of his very particular tastes, it was perfect. Light filled his elegant quarters, flooding in through four sides of windows that framed the room. He sniffed the air and sighed with pleasure. Looking around he noticed the spray of freesias — his absolutely favourite flower — that had been placed in a vase on the small table by one window. Step-ladders had been provided for ease of access to the sofa and chairs, the reading desk, bed and dining table of the empty human room.

  Dwarfed by the room’s dimensions, Sai thought of Gulliver as he climbed a ladder and hauled himself onto the table. He lifted his head to sniff the flowers and to admire the pastel shades of their delicate petals. Breathing sweetness, he turned and looked out of the broad window behind him. The view gave onto a large plaza, teeming with human and animal activity. The plaza was a great square, a fountain in its centre, bordered on all sides by five-storey apartment blocks, with arches and columns skirting the whole.

  Through the glass on the other three sides, Sai had a vista of the mountains behind the city, and a panorama of the vast urban sprawl sloping down to the port and the sea that marked the beginning or end of the place, depending on which direction you were travelling in.

  Very pleased indeed with the luxuriousness of his quarters — an opulence which befitted the importance of the occasion — Sai came down the ladder and made his way across the room. Again clumsily, encumbered as he was with thick rolls of fat, Sai scaled another ladder to another low table by the sea-view window where victuals had been thoughtfully laid out: dishes of sliced fruit, nuts and chopped liver, and a small silver dish of water glinting in the sunlight. Exhausted by the journey, Sai sat down and nibbled a slice of apple. In the place he had just left, it was winter with no chance of an apple for most rats for months. Yet here, on the other side of the world, it was summer. Sai lapped from the water-dish.

  The travel arrangements from his last place of sanctuary had been most satisfactory and well-planned, and executed without the slightest hitch or delay: tunnel-sled first, trundling in darkness for miles to where a car was waiting to take Sai to the city. And the car’s human driver was wholly unaware of the sling beneath his chassis bearing Sai and his bodyguard. The bodyguard was silent; the journey noisy, unpleasant and unsettling, but necessary, Sai did not doubt.

  When the car reached the outskirts of the city the two rats abandoned it, disappeared down a drain, and took the Underground to the airport, once again carried beneath the train by a rat-rigged chassis-hammock. When they arrived at the correct stop, tunnel rats nibbled wires and shorted a signal light to delay the train long enough for the cumbersome white rat to untangle himself from his sling and clamber across the tracks to a door where another rat-sled was waiting.

  Sai was smuggled aboard a plane in a package stamped ‘Fragile: This Way Up ONLY’. At journey’s end, the host-city’s rat king had a team waiting to rush Sai from the airport. Sai arrived in the appointed place exactly on time. Domus’ travel arrangements had been meticulous and precise, as Sai had expected.

  Sai looked out of the window again, onto the plaza. His thoughts drifted. He had moved home so many times now he did not care to remember. One didn’t question the order ‘leave now’ when it came. One left, or one died. A single certainty came with being a MOONrat: men are hunting you, men will always be hunting you, and they must kill you if they find you.

  Of twelve MOONrats only eight still lived: perhaps the very number of the humans who knew about MOON and wanted to kill them. The collective mind of the MOONrats matched mankind in intelligence. It was not MOON’s doing, but men’s. They sought to vastly accelerate their intelligence. They created a formula. They tested it on rats. It worked. The rats escaped. They fled. They hid. Very rapidly, they came to understand what a human brain could do. Memorise. Speculate. Piece together. Learn. They remembered the time of the injections, bright lights and cages, and the name of the programme: MOON. Ordinary rats obeyed them without question. Ordinary rats believed them to be beings from another world; gave themselves as labour for their schemes. MOON rose, and humans knew nothing about it, except the handful: the men who created us then, the men who hunt us now.

  And now a Convocation had been called.

  Eventually, made sleepy by food and the lulling perfume of the flowers as much as by the long journey, Sai came down the ladder and headed for the bedroom. There was a full bookcase en route. Sai browsed for a while, noting with a warm thrill of pleasure that he knew was really a kind of vanity, that there was nothing on the shelves that he hadn’t read.

  There was a gentle rattle of claws at the door behind him. Sai turned back into the room and squeaked in his unusually high voice, “Come.”

  A brown rat stepped into the room.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Sai.”

  The rat standing before him was large, but not in the way Sai and the other MOONrats were large. This rat was heavy-set and strong-looking, with taut muscles visible beneath dark fur. He held his claws in front of him, slightly curled, an aggressive stance. The claws looked sharp and strong.

  “Good afternoon,” replied Sai.

  “My lord. My name is Max. I am security advisor to King Marcus, in whose city you are a guest. I put myself and my services at your disposal.”

  Max seemed to find the words difficult, as if he had had to rehearse them and was still uncomfortable with his lines. Sai thanked him, but the rat seemed as unconcerned with niceties as he was unused to speaking. He excused himself, with a final message.

  “I have been asked to inform you that the Preliminary Convocation will take place tonight, after dark. You will, of course, be taken to the appointed place in a suitable mode of transport when the time comes. It is not far.”

  Sai had questions.

  “Where are the others being accommodated?”

  Max hesitated.

  “My lord, for reasons of security, I am not permitted to tell you where, except to say that they are being quartered in other apartments around the plaza.”

  Max excused himself without waiting to see if Sai had further questions. As Max slipped out of the door, Sai caught a glimpse of the two rats standing to attention in Max’s presence. The two guards stiffened as Max passed then relaxed visibly when he was gone, looking relieved.

  Sai thought no more of it, and turned to the bedroom thinking of the huge soft bed that waited for him. Really, the apartment was delightful, catering to all of Sai’s appetites. What a gracious host King Marcus was. And freesias, Sai was thinking as he climbed the ladder to the bed, what a lovely and considerate touch. He climbed onto a pillow, curled up, thinking that a long nap was all he needed to be ready for the auspicious meeting he was to attend. It would be good to see so many old friends. And really, however did Domus manage to get
us all together? Enough empty apartments to host MOON? Well, many humans would leave the city at the height of summer for the coast and the countryside — a Roman practice, was it not?

  “For reasons of security…” the rat had said. Hmmm... security being the MOONrat obsession... but “not permitted”?

  Sai was not used to hearing “not permitted”. Sai was used to hearing “Yes, sir”.

  He fell asleep, and when he awoke, it was dark.

  I heard it on The Big Miaouw — the hear-it-and-pass-it-on set-up that ran across the city like a wire stretched tight from the port to the mountains. The Miaouw was a shout that went out whenever a cat got wind of somethin’ somebody oughtta know. If it was small-time the yowl didn’t travel so far; cats didn’t miss a lick or look up. But if it was a shout about a restaurant throwin’ out grungey fish-heads an’ chicken bones or a little old lady puttin’ out saucers of milk, it travelled pretty far, even deeper into the city if it was the shout on a heap of boats landin’ catches down at the docks.

  Everybody listened out for The Miaouw, even if it was only the street cats who depended on it because they didn’t have nobody bringin’ ’em food whenever they did the figure-of-eight-around-the-ankles I love you fake-ass shuffle.

  Sometimes The Big Miaouw was real important: dead fish bellied-up in the river — don’t eat ’em, don’t drink here; cat flu in the neighbourhood — stay away; cats disappearin’ in the night due to men with nets roustin’ cats with no collars like they were no better than dogs — stay out of sight; killer dog — stay up on the walls. Sometimes it was good news: rats’ nest — paaar-ty! Come along, bring a friend. Sometimes it was routine bad news like a road death, or other times real spooky, like a human losin’ it like plenty do in the city an’ puttin’ out poisoned fish. Sometimes it was a shout about a cat-gang turf rumble, and sometimes it put out straight good news, like so-and-so’s kittens were born an’ doin’ fine an’ were goin’ to good homes, not down to the river in a pillowcase with a couple of rocks for company.

  When The Miaouw was big-time it went across the city like ripples go across the pond when you make a grab for the stupid fish. That was how the cats passed it all along, an’ the bigger the yowl, the more cats heard.

  That was how I heard about the canary: a Miaouw that came out not even medium-size from one of the alleys that lead in an’ outta the square — scuzzy under-paw trash-rich windin’ narrow streets, five floors up on either side, not much light, lottsa bad smells, turf-marker piss-stinks hustlin’ to be the one taken seriously. All the shout said was, Dead bird in the plaza! Most cats mussta figured it wasn’t worth a look cos by the time they got there the tweetie’d be gone.

  I had my face in a trashcan when I heard it. I thought, plaza, and started runnin’. I didn’t look up at the faces at the top of the shoes I was dodgin’, just kept close to the wall like you got to, and made my way through to the plaza without gettin’ kicked or cornered and without nobody I didn’t know tryin’ to stroke me. The plaza was as much my territory as any other cat’s, and I was runnin’ cos I didn’t like the shout: a dead bird. Yeah, but who? Pigeons I didn’t care about, sparrows I didn’t care about, an’ if one of the parrots that’d bust outta the cage an’ set up in the trees in the plaza had done the big squawk, I didn’t care either. I didn’t talk to the birds much, didn’t eat ’em, didn’t even chase ’em. But I knew what it was that took me to the plaza lookin’ for a dead bird.

  I came into the plaza from one of the back alleys, scoped the place for dogs in general and one in particular, saw a couple poodles an’ little yappy yorkies, but they’re nothin’, no threat. There were bigger dogs, but probably that time of night they’d eaten, and besides, they were on leashes, bein’ walked like good dumb dogs. Plus the plaza had lots of trees I could make for if I had to quick-scoot out of harm’s way.

  The square was full of people strollin’ or sittin’ drinkin’ at the tables laid out underneath the arches that skirted the plaza — usual stuff for a warm summer night. There were cats and dogs queuein’ up behind dirty people for the bin-bag bonanza. There was lots of noise — singin’, shoutin’, laughter, music, barkin’, sirens, cars — comin’ in from all over the city like a cloud and rainin’ on the plaza. I made a circuit, lookin’ for the cat who put out the shout, but I didn’t see nobody.

  I padded round real nonchalant, checkin’ out the pigeons peckin’ around in the square and roostin’ on the ledges above, makin’ sure none of them didn’t drop on me what they like droppin’ on everything else: black and white crap in my fur that I’d have to lick off. That would’ve given me good reason to get real mad at the pigeon who did it. I figured they knew that. I strolled nice an’ slow round the square, lookin’ for the dead bird, scopin’ the gutter, under tables, behind shoes and between chair legs, thinkin’ that I should check the fountain and the bins in case the bird got drowned and maybe scooped up an’ bin-bagged already.

  Then somethin’ in a far corner of the square, a little flash of colour, caught my eye, and my heart started racing. I started runnin’ because the colour was right; right enough to stir it all up again... And as I got nearer I had to tell myself that it couldn’t be her, she was long gone. Then I got there, and it wasn’t her, but she was a dead ringer, an’ that was enough.

  Female canary — young, yellow. Bite marks on the back of her neck.

  My fur stood up, my ears went back against my head. A noise came out of me, an angry one, stronger than the part of me that tries to never let anythin’ show. It wasn’t my canary lyin’ there dead, but it might have been. And I knew what had done this to her, even if that only narrowed the suspects down to a couple of million. I split before someone saw a dead bird and a cat, put two and two together and got it all wrong, and before the cops could collar me for it.

  When the door shut behind him, the first thing Sai did was try to vomit the fruit he had consumed earlier. But rats, famously, cannot vomit. He leaned against a table-leg heaving unproductively. He snatched shallow breaths, closed his eyes against the dizziness that scrambled his mind, told himself to fight, to regain control of his thoughts. He opened his eyes, rose shakily and staggered weakly to the window.

  The arguments at the Convocation were a cacophony in his mind:

  “And we see what they will do to the planet if left unchecked...”

  “We have no right!”

  “When they would do it to us? They hunt us! They mean to murder... US!”

  “The consequences... unpredictable, but perhaps...”

  “They threaten all life on the planet, it is true...”

  “And Domus’ plan? What life will remain after that?”

  “We need them. We feed off them.”

  “WE need not be parasites!”

  “We must control their numbers...”

  And Domus’ final statement: “It is time to wipe out the humans. I have the weapon. Shall we deploy it?”

  It was no longer men that MOON had to fear. Or, it was no longer only men that MOON had to fear. It now had MOON to fear. And the rat kingdom.

  Sai’s mind boiled. In the course of a single night he had seen friends corrupted with the promise of power. And he himself had stood silently by, like a coward, when Marcus ordered the bird murdered. Poor canary. What could she have told anybody? Sai forced himself to assess the situation calmly. Four of MOON had opposed Domus’ proposition. Three had seconded it, and also a ninth rat, not of MOON but a ruling rat nonetheless, a host-king consequently entitled to vote who could not hide his glee at the prospect of mass slaughter: King Marcus.

  Now Sai knew two things:

  We cannot let him have the power Domus is offering. We must say ‘no’ to this.

  And if we do, they will kill us.

  My choices are mass murder or suicide.

  Outside, at the mountain’s summit, pink clouds flocked to the sun, colour on the frayed edges of the night. Light and dark began to merge. Chiaroscuro, thought Sai — the blending of darkne
ss and light. Which is stronger in MOON? Where once we embodied the best of man and the best of rat, some of us have now cast aside both to embrace the horror in the deepest chasms of the rat and the human heart.

  Another wave of sickness washed through him. Had he been poisoned? He fought the paralysing nausea, now recognising it for what it was: fear. Fear for his life, and fear for the lives of those others who opposed Domus.

  “Beware, Sai,” Libo had whispered as they dispersed after the long arguing. “Domus will not be thwarted. We must, all four of us, cast our vote. Do not take food, Sai. I fear poison.”

  Sai shivered. Libo was right: should one of them fail to cast a vote, the Proposition would carry. There was no doubt which way Marcus would vote. Libo saw clearly too what Sai had guessed: Domus was prepared to murder. The life of one of his companions was nothing compared to the prize he had set his eyes on. Sai looked around the apartment.

  This is where I will be for the next two days and nights, he thought.

  I cannot speak to those who share my view, or to those who oppose it.

  Security, I am told.

  The lovely apartment no longer seems so welcoming.

  Wise Domus is insane.

  My courteous host is a monster, his Head of Security an assassin.

  This guestroom is a cell, my protectors are my gaolers.

  A canary is dangerous.

  Black is white.

  MOON is half in darkness.

  In this place, where I must do my clearest thinking, nothing is what it seems.

  Domus’ plan left Sai dazed by its completeness and ferocity.

  Domus has thought of everything.

  He turned toward the window and saw his reflection looking back at him.

  Two of me, thought Sai. And we both look scared.

  Louie sniffed the air and it made him gag. If there was a worse smell in the city, well, he didn’t know of it, or want to, and he was not an over-particular type of rat, just very, very unlucky. A black rat’s day-to-day life was to be shit-out of luck every time, every time. Black cats didn’t know what bad luck was: they served it up, didn’t have to live off it like a black rat did.