Ragweed

by Avi

  “There will be guards at both doors, front and back,” Silversides said. “There will also be lookouts posted at the upstairs windows.”

  “Any bolt holes?” Graybar asked.

  “You go up some back steps to the second floor, then into the next building.”

  “That’s dumb,” Graybar said with a smile.

  “In the basement,” Silversides went on, “is an old sewer connection. That’s what interests us. There will be only one guard there.”

  Graybar nodded. “You got all this from that white mouse, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “And you believe him?” Graybar asked.

  “Yes.”

  “He wouldn’t cross us, would he?”

  “Blinker? Not a chance. I’ve just about scared him to death. Besides, he thinks I’m going to spare his friends.”

  “Yeah, right,” Graybar said. He gazed at the rotting food. “Want anything to eat before we go?” he asked. “It’s going to be a long night.”

  “We’ll be eating when we get there,” Silversides reminded him.

  Graybar laughed. “Silversides, I like your style.”

  “Let’s just go,” the white cat said sourly.

  “Sure thing,” Graybar returned. “This way. Look out for slime.”

  The two cats headed into the sewer. Built of brick, the old sewer had a round, vaulted ceiling. In many places the brick and lime mortar had crumbled and fallen into the old sluiceway. This sluiceway was clogged with refuse—moldy leaves, antique garbage, and motor oil, all blended together into a gummy, bad-smelling ooze. Such light as there was came only where grates opened to the street above.

  On a level slightly higher than the sluiceway was a fairly uncluttered ledge. It was along this ledge that the two cats moved. Graybar limped along in the lead. Silversides, her white coat quickly streaked with muck, followed.

  The cats walked in silence. Now and again, when something unusual turned up on the ledge—the limb of a doll, a grinning Pez head, a sneaker tongue—the cats paused, sniffed it, then moved on.

  Silversides was excited but suppressed her feelings. She had the sense that she was approaching the culmination of a long journey. If Blinker had spoken true—and she had no doubt the terrified mouse had—she was about to trap most of the Amperville mice in one place. If she and Graybar did their task properly, methodically, and efficiently, they would be able to break the back of Amperville’s rodent problem.

  She reminded herself that she must make it her personal business to deal with this outsider, the one named Ragweed. She would seek him out first. Then she would deal with the green-headed one—Clutch. When all was done, she would return home and rid the world of Blinker.

  After the carnage was over, she would seek out a comfortable rest home for cats and live out her golden years amid tranquillity and calm. First among felines, she would accept accolades with dignified pride. Her life would be mellow and complete.

  “Hold it!”

  The cats had reached a place where sewer tunnels converged. It was a large, circular area with a ceiling higher and a basin deeper than normal. Other tunnels led off in different directions.

  In the middle of the ceiling was a star-shaped grate, through which light came. “Let’s see,” Graybar said, “we’re at Starr Square. It’s where the city sewers come together. That pipe comes from Eudora Street. That one comes from Providence Place. Over there is Washington Avenue. There’s East Lane. What we want is Vail Way. Hang on, we’re almost there.”

  The cats proceeded more slowly. Graybar set the pace. The sewer tunnel he took was smaller, narrower, older, and even dimmer than the one they had been in before. More bricks were dislodged. Now and again they had to squeeze forward.

  “Lots of good stuff around here,” Graybar murmured, “if you want to take the time to look.”

  Silversides shuddered. As they went along she became caught up in her thoughts again. How, she asked herself, had she ever come to such a pass, picking her way through such a horrid place with such a low-life cat, with the intent of wreaking havoc on disgusting mice? Could she have done something better with her life?

  For a moment the white cat felt sorrowful. Was this all she had achieved, to be so full of anger and hate that she could think of nothing else but destroying mice? What would she do, she suddenly asked herself, when there were no mice left to hate?

  “I think we’ve reached the right street,” Graybar announced.

  Silversides looked up and around. Here, along the curved walls, rusty pipes jutted into the main sewer at various intervals.

  “One of these pipes should lead into that bookstore,” Graybar said. “We just have to find the right one.”

  “Listen!” Silversides cried.

  They lifted their heads. Faintly but distinctly came the sound of music with a heavy beat. With it came a thin chorus of squeaking.

  “What’s that?” Graybar asked.

  “Mice,” Silversides hissed. Just to be close rekindled her anger and rage. “It’s their new club.”

  “It’s going to be their old club soon,” Graybar scoffed.

  “Which pipe leads into the store?” Silversides wondered out loud. She listened intently. “The music is coming from this pipe,” she said and hauled herself up into it, proceeding to wiggle forward. It proved to be the narrowest pipe she’d been in that evening. Still, it was clear of any obstruction and she was able to move forward with relative ease. As she proceeded the music grew louder.

  The end of the pipe loomed before her. The music was quite loud. There was singing, too, plus a great deal of muffled tapping, which puzzled her at first. Then she grasped what it was. “Dancing!” she muttered under her breath. “How perfectly disgusting.”

  She inched forward. The smell of mouse was so offensive she was nauseated. But the strength of the odor was evidence of great numbers of mice.

  Approaching the end of the pipe, Silversides slithered forward and took a quick peek out. The pipe led into a small, cluttered basement. Off to one side Silversides caught sight of some steps: easy entry to the floor above, where the mice were assembled. The question was, was someone guarding the stairs?

  She took another peek. That time she caught sight of a mouse on the steps. He was sitting there, eyes closed, a dreamy look on his face, nodding his head to the beat of the music.

  Withdrawing, Silversides backed out of the pipe.

  “Any luck?” Graybar asked.

  “We’ve got them,” Silversides replied with barely contained glee. “There’s just one mouse on guard, and he’s asleep.”

  CHAPTER 25

  The Show at Café Independent

  THE CAFÉ INDEPENDENT opening-night party was at full force. The Be-Flat Tires had completed their first set. Now, atop the platform, they were into their second. The whole room rocked with their sound. If anything, the band played better than during their first. Opening-night jitters were gone. They were playing together smoothly, listening to the grooves and beats, talking to one another, as it were, with their music. Sometimes Lugnut soloed, sometimes it was Dipstick, then it was Clutch. The music pulsed, the music soared, the music sang, the music danced.

  The mice were enjoying themselves immensely. The floor was a rippling sea of bouncing, jumping, turning, wiggling, jiggling mice. Some had paws in the air. Others kept their eyes closed and moved as though in a trance. Tails waved low. Tails waved high. Some mice danced alone. Others danced in twos, threes, and even fours, paws touching, slapping, waving.

  Not everyone was dancing. Some were on the side talking, telling jokes, listening, watching. Crumbs were eaten, nectar and water drunk. A few even slept.

  Windshield was still at work on his mural, muttering under his breath, sending splotches of paint hither and thither, to his own immense satisfaction as well as the interest and amusement of those who took the time to watch. Foglight had found a quiet corner, where she worked on yet another poem.

  As for Ragweed, afte
r his singing debut—which was very well received—he stood on the fringes of the crowd, watching. From time to time he made his way to the security guards.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Way cool,” he heard from now one, now another of the guards. “Like, no problems.”

  He examined the bolt hole upstairs and felt good about that.

  He also checked the basement. Eyes closed, toes tapping, Bumper was sitting on the top step, dreamily listening to the music.

  “Hey, dude, keep your eyes open,” Ragweed warned with some severity.

  “I will,” returned the mouse. For a few moments after Ragweed had admonished him, Bumper did scrutinize the basement. All too quickly, however, he shifted his attention back to the music. Now and again he gave in to the temptation to close his eyes.

  Ragweed, meanwhile, returned to the club upstairs, and for a while remained alone, off by a wall, watching the band perform. In particular he kept his eyes on Clutch. She was playing hard, head bobbing up and down, her face intense as her paws moved like summer lightning over the strings of her guitar, her lean, tall form vibrant with intensity.

  Her fierceness fascinated Ragweed. At the same time he wasn’t sure he knew her very well at all. What he did know, however, is that he would like to know her better. Was that possible? he wondered, wishing he knew how she felt about him and about Blinker.

  Maybe, he mused, Amperville was not such a bad place after all. Maybe he should stay. Yeah, he liked the Amperville scene.

  It took a moment for him to realize that Clutch was now looking right at him. She winked. He grinned back. Then she beckoned him toward her. Ragweed made his way through the teeming crowd to the band.

  “What’s up?” he called to her.

  “Like, how about doing another number?” she shouted down to him.

  “Sure,” he replied, and hoisted himself up onto the book. He stepped forward, listening to the music, letting it seep into his head. He looked at Clutch. She looked back. He had no doubt then how fond of her he was. Recalling the song of the train whistle on his ride to Amperville, he began to sing, using the long, low, mournful whistle sound.

  “Been traveling loooooong,

  Been traveling faaaaaaar,

  Beginning to wonder just where I are.

  Have gone to the mooooooon,

  Have gone to the staaaaaar,

  Wondering where I’m at on the calen-dar.

  ’Cause the world can be mean

  Or the world can be nice

  It all depends on where you’ve beeeeeeen.

  All I know from all I’ve seeeeeeeen

  Is I’ll put my hopes on the rockinnnnnng,

  rooooooooolling mice!”

  It was at that moment that Blinker burst through the front entry of the Café Independent. Disheveled, dirty, and exhausted, it was all he could do to stagger forward, open his mouth, and cry out, “Clutch! Silversides is coming! Save yourself.” Then he collapsed upon the floor.

  The music stopped. The dancing ceased. Those nearest the prostrate Blinker backed away.

  Clutch was the first to take action. She rushed over to the white mouse, knelt down, and gathered him up in her paws. “What, Blinker? What did you say?”

  Blinker opened his eyes. “I’ve betrayed you. It’s Silversides and Graybar. They’re . . . coming to attack . . . through the sewer system. Make sure . . . you get away. I didn’t know what to do. Please forgive me. I love you, Clutch.” With those words, the white mouse fainted away. Slowly Clutch lowered Blinker to the ground; then she stood up on her hind legs and looked around.

  “The cats are coming to attack us through the sewer system,” she said with a terrible calmness. “All you dudes be easy,” she called out. “No panic. Like, we’ve got plenty of time to escape. Head up the stairs to the bolt hole. Youngsters first.”

  Then she bent down over Blinker again and nuzzled him.

  The mice in the room fell utterly silent.

  Ragweed stared at Clutch and Blinker. He did not know what to do. He felt like crying. He felt like screaming. But as he watched the milling mice begin to move upstairs, he felt a surge of desperate energy. What did he care now if he lived or died?

  He jumped onto the platform. “No, wait!” he cried out to the mice. “You mustn’t go! Like, are you going to run away all your lives? Check it out, dudes, are you going to give in to F.E.A.R. again? Are you always going to think life means being on the defensive? Know what I’m saying, dudes? There are a lot of us! We outnumber them. We can stop them! Like, this is our time! Those who are ready and willing to fight, stay behind and follow me!”

  With that Ragweed leaped down and rushed for the back hallway. He did not look back to see if anyone was following. In truth, he did not care.

  CHAPTER 26

  In the Basement

  IN THE SEWER PIPE, just beyond the bookstore, Silversides and Graybar conferred in whispers.

  “I’m sure we have them surprised,” Silversides said. “That’s the most important thing. They’ve posted only one guard. And he’s asleep. I say we go fast, leap in, and deal with him. It shouldn’t be hard. Once we’re in the basement, we can get up those steps easily. You head for their bolt hole on the top floor and block that. I’ll block the front entrance. That way we’ll trap them all.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Graybar said.

  “Remember,” Silversides said. “Felines first. Now, follow me.” With that she headed farther into the sewer pipe. Within moments she poked her head out of the pipe and into the basement. To her surprise, she saw no one. The post had been abandoned.

  Silversides turned around. “That one guard is gone. Those stupid mice . . . Follow me.” With that, the white cat pushed forward, reached the end of the pipe, and jumped into the basement.

  The instant she landed, she crouched down and looked toward the steps again. No one was there. She went under the pipe and called up. “All clear. Get in fast!”

  Graybar landed softly.

  Side by side on the basement floor, the cats looked around and sniffed.

  Suddenly Graybar said, “What happened to the music?”

  “What music?” Silversides demanded.

  “The mouse music.”

  Both cats lifted their heads and listened. There was nothing but silence.

  Silversides felt a tremor of uneasiness. She pushed it aside. “Follow me,” she said and padded quietly toward the steps. Graybar, looking around nervously, came a little way behind.

  At the foot of the steps Silversides paused. “When we get to the top, plunge in, grab who you can, and put an end to their miserable lives. Just don’t forget the two I want: the golden mouse and the one with green hair. Understood?”

  “Sure, Silversides. I know all about that. Now let’s get going.”

  “Felines first,” Silversides muttered again and began climbing the steps.

  She paused to listen and sniff again. Though the smell of mouse was almost overpowering, still she heard nothing.

  She continued to move up until she reached the last riser. Once there she lifted her head and found herself staring directly into the bright brass nozzle of a water hose. Surrounding it, holding on to it, aiming it right at her, was a horde of mice. In the front of them stood Ragweed.

  The moment Silversides lifted her head, Ragweed shouted, “Blast her!”

  The hundred or so mice who were clinging to the valve wheel turned it. Instantly, water surged through the old canvas hose and shot out the nozzle. It was all the mice could do to hold on and keep it steady. But their aim was true. A blast of water as powerful as a cannon shot struck Silversides squarely in the face. It came with such surprise and force that it flung her head over heels back down the steps. As she tumbled she bowled into Graybar, knocking him down, too.

  When the cats reached the bottom, they shook their heads and soggy bodies and tried to regroup. “At them!” Silversides howled, to rally her comrade.

  Ragweed was ready at
the top step. “Drag the hose forward,” he ordered. The mice hauled the gushing hose with shouts of “Heave! Heave! Heave!”

  The stream of water was now aimed down at the already stunned cats. Once again, they were struck hard.

  Graybar attempted to climb the steps. He managed to gain two before the hose was aimed right at him. With a whoosh, he was washed to the very bottom again.

  Now Silversides, soggy with water, eyes awash, tried a new attack. She met the same watery barrage as did Graybar, with the same results.

  As the water continued to pour forth, the basement began to fill with water. The cats found themselves slipping, sliding, and floundering in the resulting mud. It was impossible to stand.

  “Forward!” Ragweed commanded. The mice began to drag the hose down the steps, the nozzle aimed first at Silversides, then at Graybar.

  Three times the cats attempted to climb the steps. Three times they were hosed back by the powerful flow of water.

  Graybar bolted. Up to his belly in cold water, he half scrambled, half swam to the open sewer pipe and crawled in. With wet fur plastered to his body, he was little more than skin and bones. He did not even look back to see if Silversides was coming with him.

  Silversides tried yet another attack. With the hose still gushing, the water level in the basement rose quickly. The cat had nothing solid to stand on. The water began to drain into the sewer pipe. As it did, it flushed away everything in the room. That included Silversides.

  The last the mice saw of Silversides was her bewildered face filled with rage and indignation as she flowed backward out of the basement and into the sewer pipe. She left nothing but her sequined collar, which soon followed her into the pipe.

  For some moments afterward, the mice kept the hose aimed at the sewer pipe, wanting to be certain the cats did not return.

  Finally it was a triumphant Ragweed who cried, “Hey, dudes, time to celebrate!”

  CHAPTER 27

  A Goodbye

  THREE DAYS LATER, Ragweed stood by the Amperville railway tracks, waiting for a train to arrive. With him were Clutch and Blinker. From off in the distance they heard the sound of the approaching train whistle.