by Joy Cowley
For Aimee Demers, a teacher who brings a love of reading to children, and for her beautiful daughter Calli, who shares that love. JC
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
ONE An act of remarkable destruction
TWO A long and difficult journey is planned
THREE An uncomfortable night of surprises
FOUR Our attempt to cross Sunsweep Lake
FIVE Not all clover meadows are sweet
SIX We discover the Bottomless Bog
SEVEN A land of enemies and friends
EIGHT A day in the Forest of Perilous Pines
NINE What is bad is good, and what is good is bad
TEN Meaningful fiction and meaningless truth
ELEVEN The bridge to the land of dreams
TWELVE Finding Ratenburg
THIRTEEN The journey and not the arrival
FOURTEEN Endings are also beginnings
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
AN ACT OF REMARKABLE DESTRUCTION
Dear Friend,
Please allow me, Spinnaker Rat of the Ship rat clan, to give you a full account of an extraordinary journey undertaken by one rat family. I beg you, do not allow our story to bring you fear. This book has in it much danger and some moments of sheer terror, but all of it is history, meaning it is in the past and therefore of no threat to you. I suggest, however, that it not be read to furry youngsters at bedtime, or to the elderly who still have nightmares about cats and dogs and wicked traps.
First, let me tell you about the humming-bean abode where we once lived in a crowded basement. The name “humming bean” came from one of our young rats, who couldn’t make sense of “human being”, and thereafter my wife and I used humming bean to describe the two-legged creatures who lived in layers of nests in our apartment building—although why the nests were called apart-ments, when they were so close together, always puzzled me.
The air vents from floor to floor were highways for the rat families who occupied our basement. At night we would run past each other, whispering the latest food news. “Bacon rinds, third den, fourth floor.” “Big den top floor left out a bowl of peanuts, and their cat is at the vet.” Once, a humming bean left a large cake in a plastic bag outside one of the doors on the ground floor. Thin plastic! I tell you, not a crumb survived the night.
My darling wife Retsina is fond of Mediterranean food, since her family lived at the back of a Greek restaurant. In the apartment building, she would brush her whiskers against my ear and sigh, “Oh, Spinnaker! What I would give for some black olives or a taste of lamb souvlaki!” Then our four children, Alpha, Beta, Gamma and Delta, would start squeaking. “Papa! Go around the television rooms! See if there’s any popcorn!”
As you will assume, I was the proud hunter and gatherer, and most nights I ran back and forth with tasty morsels for my family. Although the humming beans were enemies in the same class as cats, dogs and hawks, they also provided food for us, and I was cautiously grateful—that is, until the great migration.
None of us knew why the humming beans left the building, taking their furniture with them. One by one the levels emptied and our sources of nutrition dried up. Our basement neighbour Roger said the people were all on summer vacation and would soon be back with sacks of food. I believed that no more than I believed his full name was Jolly Roger and that he was descended from a clan of Pirate rats. All that “Ahoy, me hearties!” and “Shiver me timbers!” didn’t fool me for a moment. He was an actor, was Roger—most likely a Theatre rat from some insignificant hole at the back of a stage.
One morning Roger announced, “They have returned!” For a moment, I thought he was right as doors slammed and heavy feet echoed on the stairs. These humming beans, however, were not the ones who had left. They wore orange coat-skins and carried barrels that definitely did not smell of food. We assumed the round things were new furnishings for the dens.
When the heavy feet marched down to the basement, we crept back to our nests. Retsina and I, with our four children, lived behind the water pipes in a nest made out of cloth borrowed from the laundry room. Most comfortable it was, too. Peering between the pipes, we saw the barrels set up around the basement and strung together with strands of wire. It was all very curious. Even Jolly Roger, who made up stories because he didn’t like saying “I don’t know”, was silent. No one knew what the barrels meant.
After the men left, Retsina sniffed a barrel. “Totally inedible!” she said. “My dear Spinnaker, there’s not a scrap of food in this building. Every rat in their right mind has left! I’m going to the Greek restaurant. I’ll take the children with me and we’ll drag back enough food to last two days.”
I felt uneasy. I should tell you, dear friends, that I have a slight nervous disorder inherited from my father, Mizzen Rat. When danger is around the corner, my whiskers twitch. They were twitching now. “Dear wife, don’t go. I am the provider. Be patient. I’ll go to the bin at the back of the supermarket.”
“No, Spinnaker!” Retsina was stubborn in her charming way. She snuggled close and licked the thin fur behind my ear. “Wouldn’t you like some baklava? Pastry with ground nuts, honey and rose water?”
My whiskers were still trembling but I let her go with the children. After all, she knew the road to the Greek restaurant so well that she could get there with her eyes shut, and there were no cats or dogs on the way. But the nervous unease was still with me, so I went up to the ground floor where the orange-skinned humming beans had exited the building, and that’s where I found a treasure on the floor. In a crumpled paper bag was a fresh brown crust with a delicious smear of peanut butter. I picked it up between my teeth, tasting but not biting, and took it back to the basement. If my darling wife and children found nothing outside the restaurant, they would not go hungry.
As luck would have it, Jolly Roger crossed my path. “What have you got there, old shipmate?” he asked.
To answer, I needed to drop the crust of bread. “I found it near the front door.”
He sniffed it. “You’ll not be wanting all that, will you?”
I was so shocked by his impudence that I was slow to answer. As fast as a blink, he had the crust between his thieving paws. “I’ll pay you back when my ship comes in!” he cried, then he flicked the bread into the air, caught it between his teeth and ran off.
Now there is something you should know about me. I take pride in being patient, considerate and polite, but when my family is threatened, those virtues disappear. My fur was bristling with fury! Retsina and our four young ones had left the building to look for food. I, on the other hand, had found a crust of fresh bread for them. Now Roger had pirated it. I screeched at him and tried to bite his tail, but he was much too speedy. He ran through the basement to the outside drain, and with the bread still between his teeth, he scampered down the road.
I chased after him, squeaking, and it was my anger that saved my life. No sooner had we reached the corner of the street than the sky filled with thunder and the ground wobbled beneath our feet, as though the pavement, too, was shaking with rage. The thunder grew louder. I thought the world was breaking apart. I turned and saw our apartment building fall down on itself and a great cloud of dust billow up the street. Roger dropped the bread crust and ran. I didn’t pick it up, but ran also, as the dust cloud rolled in our direction. I followed Roger into an alleyway and we hid behind some crates containing empty bottles. The cloud reached into the entrance of the alleyway, feeling for us, but it didn’t come far. We crouched behind the crates, shaking, waiting for the dust to settle.
After all that noise, the quiet that filled our ears made us think that the world had ceased to exist. We crept out of the alleyway and
, to tell the truth, I completely forgot about the bread. The tall apartment building of many dens had gone, and where it had once blocked the sun there was now blue sky. All that was left was a hill of rubble, stones and bricks, through which could be seen a bit of a door, a twisted window.
“Shiver me timbers!” said Roger. “Saved by a crust of bread!”
Far from being angry, I was now very grateful. If he hadn’t stolen my family’s meal, and I hadn’t chased him, we’d both have been crushed under all those stones. I realised that maybe some rats had not been so fortunate. I shivered when I thought of those who had not got away. Now I knew why my whiskers had twitched!
“Demolition,” said Roger. “Those barrels were bombs. You know, like cannon! Like torpedoes! Boom, boom! Smithereens!”
I assured him that I did know about explosives.
“No, you didn’t! You thought those barrels were furniture!”
I refused to argue with him. Now the most important thing was to find my family and tell them I was safe.
Retsina and the little ones had gone towards the Greek restaurant, but when they heard the thunder, they’d turned back. They feared I had been in the building and had run through the cloud of dust so that their fur was powdered grey. My dear wife was trembling. She sprang at me, licking my face with such tenderness that I was both pleased and embarrassed. “You’re safe!” she sobbed.
“I saved him,” Roger announced. “Otherwise he’d be as flat as ship’s biscuit.” He sidled up to her, presenting his cheek to be licked.
Retsina looked at me and I had to nod. “It’s true.” So she gave him a quick lick near his ear, and then came back to me, her paws kneading me as though she could not believe I was truly alive. Not only that, but our four beautiful children were leaping at me, squeaking, “Papa! Papa!” the dust falling off their coats.
Perhaps I should tell you more about our ratlets. They are all the same age, of course. Retsina is not sure which was born first because they all came rather quickly, and she had her eyes closed. I came home to find four pink babies as bald as peanuts and blind, happily drinking from their mother. She had already named them. Her own name was that of a traditional Greek wine, but she wanted something classical for her children, and what could be more elegant than the first four letters of the Greek alphabet?
The biggest ratlet, a daughter, is Alpha and she takes after my side of the family. She loves adventure and longs to be a Ship rat like my father and those before him. Beta, also female, is small and chubby and has her mother’s fondness for fine food. She is a kindly little thing, tender-hearted, and will give sad squeaks if someone is hurt. Then come our sons. Gamma can’t sit still. He is sporty and restless, very fast, good at climbing, the one in the family who can scuttle up a wall to reach a slice of salami on a high shelf. Of all four, Delta is the most practical. He has a good sense of direction and is skilled at problem solving. It is Delta who has inherited my concern for family.
When we are together we feel that we can survive anything. That day we stared at the wrecked building and were glad, so very glad, that we were all safe. We had each other. Our home was gone, but we would find somewhere else.
I looked up and saw Jolly Roger bouncing about, seeking attention. “I saved him!” he cried. “If it wasn’t for me he’d be squished and squashed.”
Our charming little Beta ran to him. “Thank you, Uncle Roger, for saving our papa.”
He patted her on her head. “Think nothing of it, small one.” He looked at Retsina and me. “Well, me hearties, where do we go now?”
Retsina rolled her eyes, but we both knew we would not easily be rid of Jolly Roger, especially now that he considered himself my rescuer. I said, “Tonight we can go back to the end of the alley. The space behind those crates is too narrow for stray cats. We’ll be safe there.”
None of us had eaten that day but we were all too disturbed to worry about food. The corner of the alley smelled of moss, sour milk and ancient cat pee, but no cat would be able to shift the heavy crates to reach us. We made ourselves as comfortable as we could, although the night was cold and damp. Looking up at the sky was like gazing from a hole in the ground, for around us were towering apartments. Above the only building with a low roof, I saw a familiar light.
I nudged Retsina. “Look! Our star!”
Jolly Roger, at the end of the line behind Gamma, raised his head. “Where?”
“See?” Retsina pointed with her delicate nose. “Up there. The brightest one.”
“That’s not a star,” snorted Roger. “That’s the planet Venus.”
“It’s our family star,” my wife said firmly.
“A planet isn’t a star!” argued Roger. “All Pirate rats know the planet of Venus. How else do you think we navigate?”
I wanted to remind him that Pirate rats were stowaways on pirate ships and they didn’t navigate, but I was too tired to take part in one of his silly discussions. It was Alpha, always curious, who asked, “Planet or star? Which is it?”
“Planet!” said Roger.
Retsina ignored him. She said to Alpha, “We call it a star because it belongs to us.”
“How do we know, Mama?” Alpha snuggled closer. “Who said it was ours?”
Retsina put a paw over her. “You know your letters, Alpha. Tell me, how do you spell star backwards?”
“Oh,” whispered Alpha. “Now I remember.”
I fully expected Jolly Roger to begin another argument, but he’d gone to sleep, and a short time later he was snoring through his front teeth. Soon all the ratlets were closing their eyes, and only my wife and I were gazing at the sky where our star hung, promising a bright future. I put my nose near Retsina’s ear. “Tomorrow we find a new home. Where does my darling want to make our nest? In the city? The country? Perhaps by the sea?”
She was quiet for a moment, then she whispered, “Do you think we should go to Ratenburg?”
CHAPTER TWO
A LONG AND DIFFICULT JOURNEY IS PLANNED
Here, a small hesitation may be necessary, dear friend. Most rats know about Ratenburg but for other creatures the name could be unfamiliar. Let me tell you the history of the beautiful city of Ratenburg, built exclusively for rats. Its founder was a humming bean who suffered none of the ratophobia typical of his kind. He actually admired and respected all rats. He lived in ancient times, a piper who wore a two-coloured skin, and was asked by the Lord Mayor of Hamelin to rid the town of its rat population. Ever since, humming beans have told the story that the piper led the rats to a river where they all drowned, but believe me, that is ratist propaganda. This man was definitely on the side of rats, so our ancestors were taken to a valley between two mountains where a city of tunnels and nests had been built.
Ratenburg! Oh, what a glorious place! Descriptions of its splendour had come down through history. Walls of marble lined with silk! Granaries full of corn and peas, dairies stocked with cream, butter and large round cheeses! Storehouses of German sausages and French pastries! In Ratenburg it is not necessary to hide by day and hunt by night, because there are no enemies in the region: cats, traps, hawks, dogs are unknown and the only humming bean ever to set two feet in that valley was the friendly piper of ancient times.
So why, you ask, don’t all rats migrate to Ratenburg? Ah, how we wished it were that easy. Although most of us knew the approximate direction, no maps were available. Those who left the humming-bean cities to travel to Ratenburg never returned so we didn’t know if they were living in splendid safety. Possibly they had become lost and had settled elsewhere or, worse still, had fallen prey to predators. That was my great fear for my family. What evils lay hidden on the road? What creatures waited to make a meal of unsuspecting rats?
All this Retsina and I had discussed many times, and although I was surprised that she should mention it again, I was too tired to talk with any degree of seriousness.
As uncomfortable as we were, we slept all night with the exhaustion of a family that had ju
st escaped death.
Early morning. It was time to go. We needed to get off the streets before the humming beans began walking their ferocious dogs.
“The train station,” suggested Retsina. “That will be a good place for us.”
I agreed that the railway yards offered a variety of shelter. They were also quite close. But Roger was not enthusiastic. “Those Railway rats are a fierce lot,” he said. “They don’t like intruders. I heard they dipped a City rat in a pot of tar and then stuck train tickets all over him. I vote we go somewhere safe.”
Retsina sniffed. “I thought Pirate rats were unafraid.”
“I’m considering your young ones,” Roger said.
It seemed to me that this was an admirable time to be rid of Jolly Roger. “We’re going to the train station,” I told him. “I suggest you find somewhere else that suits you.”
He grunted and grumbled, “Not likely, shipmate. I’ll come with you. You might need my protection.”
To make a long story short, we set off in the half dark, Retsina leading the way for our ratlets, and I at the rear to guard them against any following cat. Cats strike first with their claws, but an agile rat can bite a soft paw pad, and believe me, a rat’s teeth are as sharp as any cat’s. I have made many a foul feline yelp and flee on three legs. But what of Jolly Roger? He had tucked himself between Alpha and me and was jittery with fear as we ran along the gutter of the main street. There were only a few humming beans on the pavement. The rest were in vehicles with headlights that stared straight ahead and did not swivel.
As for us, we saw no cats, no dogs. My only concern was Gamma, our athletic son, who could not resist doing double somersaults over the drains. He laughed at my warnings, but if he had fallen down the gratings, we would have attracted attention.
Without too much bother, we arrived at the train station. The parking area was already full of cars, and it was easy to find one that had turned cold. In my young and foolish days I hid under a car that had a warm and throbbing engine. You may imagine my embarrassment when it drove away, leaving me exposed. One humming bean jumped into the arms of another, screaming, “A rat! A rat!” I am accustomed to ratophobia but the shrillness paralysed me. It was only when another humming bean lifted his foot that I realised I was in danger. I ran before the life was stamped out of me.