The Road to Ratenburg

by Joy Cowley

  “What makes you come to that conclusion, Gamma?”

  “Because that’s the whole point of Ratenburg. It’s the perfect city and it’s only for perfect rats. That doesn’t sound good, I know. No one is perfect. But it’s something to be aimed at. Don’t you see, Papa? Only the strongest, bravest and fittest rats get to Ratenburg. That’s why the way is full of danger. It’s meant to test us.”

  I smiled. “What about Uncle Roger? He crossed the lake of eels in a picnic basket.”

  I felt Gamma shrug his shoulders. “Maybe Uncle Roger won’t make it. But our family will. I’m sure we’ll get there.”

  “You go on thinking that, Gamma, and we’ll all arrive triumphantly at Ratenburg. As for Jolly Roger, maybe the city needs a rat who always finds an easy way to do things. Have you thought of that?”

  Gamma made no reply, although I was sure there was an answer in his head.

  By now there was some grey light seeping through the entrance to our hollow, and it wasn’t long before we heard the so-called song of the blue-tailed hawks. Unlike the songs of any other birds, it was a succession of harsh cries designed to freeze the heart of any ground creature. We didn’t know how close the birds were, and didn’t talk in case we were heard. Their cries echoed back and forth, accompanied by the whirring of wings and the occasional thump that I guessed was a heavy landing. I checked the entrance to our hollow. The space between tree root and stone was high enough for a rat crawling on its belly, but would not admit anything larger. So it was with the other two caves. We were all safe as long as no one went outside.

  The scent of pine resin was strong, covering other smells, so our noses did not detect the approach of the hawk. We didn’t know it had discovered us until the light went out in our burrow, as a curved beak plugged the opening. I was reminded of the dog that had tried to scratch the rabbit burrow in Sweet Clover Meadows. The hawk would not get any further. It couldn’t even see us. But it knew we were there.

  Gamma pressed himself against the back wall when he saw a beak much larger than his entire body.

  I said to the beak, “Go away!”

  There was a ruffling of feathers, a futile movement, as the hawk struggled to get further into the hole.

  “You’re wasting your time,” I said.

  A wheezing sound came from the beak, then a surprisingly deep voice said, “I don’t talk to my food.”

  “We are not your food,” I replied.

  “You are rats,” said the beak. “All rats are food. Having a conversation with dinner is a great waste of time.”

  “You’re a stupid bird,” I said. “And we’ll never be your dinner. So please remove your beak from our entrance.”

  “Or we will push your beak out,” said Gamma, who was now behind me.

  “Oh-oh! A little one!” The beak opened wider and I saw a short, pointed tongue. “You are small and weak. Your puny body has no strength. You could not push a fly if it landed on your nose.”

  I felt Gamma quiver and grabbed him just in time. “Do you know what would happen if you went near that beak?” I whispered.

  He shrank back, aware that he had nearly walked into a trap.

  “Come on, little one!” coaxed the hawk. “If you can move my beak, I will go away and leave you in peace.”

  “You mean pieces,” said Gamma from the back of the burrow.

  The bird grunted and then gave a sigh. “I told you there is no point in talking to food.”

  I wondered if hawks had discovered the other two burrows and had pushed in their beaks in a similar way. It occurred to me that most rats going through the forest found shelter under tree roots, and the hawks knew this. They had probably developed techniques for prising us out of our holes. I wondered what the bird would do next. It didn’t do anything. It didn’t need to do anything. It was blocking the entrance and, therefore, our air supply. The air grew stale, putrid with the bird’s breath.

  “It’s getting stuffy in here,” said Gamma.

  “So it is!” said the beak. “Do you need to come out for air?”

  I whispered in Gamma’s ear, “Say yes.”

  He turned to me in the dark.

  I grabbed his ear again. “Say yes, but don’t move.”

  Gamma called to the beak, “Yes, I’d like to come out for fresh air.”

  “Oh good!” the hawk replied. “I’ll move to one side, and you can get past me.”

  The beak came out of the hole. Light and fresh pine-scented air came in. We saw curved claws on a scaly foot and knew the hawk was ready to pounce. The foot twitched. “Are you coming?”

  “No,” said Gamma.

  “You said you needed to come out for air,” said the hawk, its voice still coaxing.

  “We’ve got air, thank you,” I said.

  There was an angry growl, and the beak plunged us into darkness again. “Typical rats!” it said.

  “You told us it was a waste of time talking to food,” said Gamma, with amusement in his voice.

  I didn’t want to get too close to the beak, but I realised the hawk’s nostrils were set on top, and inside the hole. This meant that the bird was breathing the same air as us, and like us, knew when the atmosphere was becoming suffocating. The theory proved correct. When Gamma and I were next feeling uncomfortable, the hawk withdrew its beak and pretended that it was leaving us. Air flowed in, but the musty feather smell was still outside the burrow and we knew the bird was waiting to pounce.

  The day dragged on. The hawk was stupid but persistent and towards dusk either hunger or weariness caused it to fly away. When its odour had gone, Gamma wanted us to visit the other two caves, but I insisted that we stay in our shelter until the forest was dark. Both Signal and Moonshine had assured us that night was safe. Even then, I was cautious leaving our cave. We discovered the others were still in their shelters, waiting for us. No, they said, there had been no visit from a hawk. I found it odd they weren’t discovered, but Delta had an explanation. “The birds probably check out every tree. They thought all the rat smell at our tree came from you and Gamma.”

  He could have been right, or perhaps the others had simply been lucky. They’d had a tense day, however, listening to the hawk’s cries, and they were as anxious as Gamma and I to get out of the pine forest. So although we were hungry and thirsty, we took no detours, but walked in a straight line, following the trail that Delta had set by the stars. We did not see our family star, for it was low on the horizon and blocked by massive trees. But I knew it was there. We travelled in silence, paws making an occasional rustling sound on the loose pine needles, ears and noses alert for danger.

  The smell of hawks was all around us, mixed with the scent of tree resin. I was nervous, wondering if all blue-tailed song hawks slept at night. Were there exceptions? What kind of night-sight did they have? And what of owls, who were definitely night predators? We had not seen or smelled other birds in the area, but it was possible an owl could fly in from outside. I was constantly aware that we had no sheltering undergrowth, should we be suddenly attacked. My only reassurance came from my whiskers, which were quite still.

  Well before dawn we came out of the forest and found ourselves under a huge arch of stars that included a pale, claw-shaped moon. The pine needles had gone and we were on stony ground with small plants.

  “There’s our star!” said Retsina, her whiskers touching my neck.

  “Venus,” grunted Roger.

  We took no notice of him. “It was always with us, my darling,” I murmured. “We couldn’t see it for the trees, but it was there, waiting and watching over us.”

  She tenderly licked behind my ear. “Oh Spinnaker, you are so wise. I know you’ll get us to Ratenburg.”

  I felt the warmth of her breath on my face. “My dear, I would take you to the end of the earth, if that’s where you wanted to go.”

  She snuggled against me. “Ratenburg will do,” she said.

  The stony ground changed to soft earth containing a variety of tall
er weeds and some evidence of humming-bean habitation. We passed through a fence made of rusted strands of wire and wooden posts covered with lichen. Further on was a humming-bean house, all its windows blind and unseeing, and its doors shut. We sniffed. The scent of humming beans was faint, as was the odour of cat, chickens, mice and bees. In the porch lay some leather boot-skins and a pillow-lined cane basket, both surrounded by dead leaves and dust. The place certainly looked empty and safe.

  Roger, in his search for fresh water, had discovered a dripping tap by a garden that contained, of all things, a row of sweetcorn. We could not believe our good fortune. It seemed a lifetime since our last meal of corn. I sighed with pleasure. We had come through the forest unscathed and here, waiting for us, was a feast of food and drink. Gamma scampered up a stalk and bit off a fat corncob. It fell with a delicious thud.

  Near the dripping tap was a large metal container, lying on its side. I recognised it from a memory of the time my father Mizzen, my brother Hawser and I lived in a house with a garden. It was a watering can. I looked at the sky, now dark grey. “Day is near,” I said. “Hawks may come this far. We know that is possible. I suggest we eat where we can’t be seen from the sky. Let’s roll the corncob into this watering can.”

  Alpha, Delta and Gamma rolled the corn and we followed. There was a small amount of moisture inside the can, but that didn’t concern us. The corn was in peak condition and we were hungry. With three on one side of the cob and four on the other, we quickly bit through the soft wrapping and into kernels that spurted sweet juice. We were so busy eating that we didn’t notice a movement at the open end of the watering can. Only when Alpha gave a terrified squeak did I look behind me.

  What I saw made me choke with fear. This was worse than the encounter with the hawk. Oh, oh, oh! Why had I led my family into this inescapable prison?

  In front of the watering can, a very large tabby cat was smiling at us.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WHAT IS BAD IS GOOD, AND WHAT IS GOOD IS BAD

  Dear friend, I have been in danger many times, and have managed to escape by skill or luck. This time I knew I would have to die for my family. The cat could cope with only one rat at a time, and that rat would be me. If I could manage to struggle before I was eaten, the cat would be sufficiently occupied that the others could run past us. I took a last fond look at my darling wife and children, even gave Roger a farewell glance. Then I walked towards the cat.

  It was a big animal with green eyes and sharp teeth in its smile. It could afford to look relaxed. It had us trapped. I came closer to those fat grey paws, and I looked up at striped legs, the paler fur on its chest, expecting it to be the last thing I would see. Still, it didn’t move. I looked up further. It had put its head on one side and was studying me, maybe wondering which part of me it would eat first. I was determined to die with dignity. I stood on my hind legs. “I am Spinnaker of the Ship rat clan.”

  The cat’s smile grew wider. “How do you do,” he said. “My name is Barker.”

  Barker? I dropped onto all four paws. Barker! I knew that name.

  “You have made excellent time,” said the cat. “Only moments ago, I had a dragonfly message from Moonshine.”

  I was so confused I could not make so much as a squeak. We had all thought that Moonshine’s friend was another mouse.

  The cat went on, “It’s my understanding that you’re on your way to Ratenburg. Moonshine sometimes refers travellers to me with the request that I act as guide and mentor in the town. Oh! You look rather embarrassed. I apologise if I’m intruding.”

  “You’re a cat!” I exclaimed.

  He gave a purring laugh. “Barker is an unusual name for a cat. I often have to explain it to visitors. Do you want to hear?”

  I nodded, aware that Retsina had crept to my side.

  “I live with two nice people,” said the cat. “The husband wanted a dog called Barker. The wife wanted a cat. They decided to toss a coin, and a most curious thing happened. The coin landed on its edge. So they settled for a large cat called Barker.

  “The woman told me I had one important duty. ‘Take care of the rats and mice,’ she said, and I did. I’ve been taking good care of them, from that day.”

  I’d had some bad experiences with cats, but this creature was different. He was quite relaxed and his claws were hidden. My heart stopped racing and I asked, “How long have you known Moonshine?”

  “Ages, dear fellow. We’re both getting quite grey in the whiskers. He likes to help travellers at his end, and I do my best here. There is, you know, a little stream of rats going to Ratenburg.”

  “We haven’t seen any other rats,” said Retsina.

  “Is this your dear lady?” asked the cat.

  “Yes, this is my wife Retsina.”

  “Charmed to meet you,” said the cat. “Well, these days it’s not so much a stream of rats as a trickle. The dangers on the way appear to have increased, which is why we endeavour to do our best.” He waved a paw. “Are these your children?”

  A head came up from behind the corncob. “Not me, shipmate,” said Jolly Roger, who had been out of sight. “I’m from the Pirate rat clan and a friend of the family.”

  Beta came forward, staying close to me and her mother. “We thought you’d come to eat us,” she said to Barker.

  The cat shuddered. “Oh, my goodness, no! What a horrible suggestion! No offence, my dear, but I’m a vegetarian. Speaking of which, did I interrupt your breakfast? I’m terribly sorry.”

  “We’d almost finished,” said Retsina. “We were about to go out to drink from the tap.”

  Barker flicked his striped tail. “The tap? One drop at a time? That is so tedious. Come with me and I’ll offer you my drinking bowl—full of fresh water.”

  We followed him around the corner of the house, where a pottery bowl sat on a platform of bricks, near a herb garden. I could smell sage and mint, but the smell of cat was stronger and I wasn’t entirely comfortable drinking from cat-tainted water. I remembered, however, my earlier prejudice about mice, and while I still believed that cats were usually enemies, I was prepared to see Barker as an exception. He really did take care of us.

  He told us that the town of Grissenden was intensely ratophobic. “The people blame rats for every misfortune. If a child gets a cold, it’s caused by rats. If milk turns sour? Rats again. I knew of a woman whose car had a puncture, and she said rats must have chewed her tyre.”

  “That’s absurd,” I said. “Why would a rat want to bite a car tyre?”

  Barker waved a paw. “It wouldn’t. But that’s the problem with phobias. When something goes wrong, people look for someone to blame. They don’t care if their accusations are unjust and illogical. They still do it. In Grissenden, the victims are rats and mice.”

  “Are you saying it’s not safe to go through the town?” I said, wondering if it would be possible to go around it.

  “Oh goodness, I know what you’re thinking. You really do have to go through the town. There’s the sea on one side of it, and a nasty big river on the other. I wouldn’t recommend either. What I’m saying, my friends, is that you must observe a few rules. Number one is walk at the edge of the main highway. Cats and dogs aren’t permitted on that road, and you can be sure motorists aren’t going to get out of their cars when they see some rats. They’ll simply go home and write a letter to the paper. Rule number two is never eat anything. The most delicious morsels are laid out in tempting places, and all are poisonous.”

  “Including vegetables?” Retsina asked in a quivering voice.

  “Not here, my lovely,” said Barker. “You can eat anything here. My employers grow excellent corn, as you have discovered. I’m talking about poison in the town of Grissenden.” He looked at the ratlets. “Tell me, little sprogs, what is rule number two?”

  “Never eat anything in Grissenden,” they chanted.

  Barker purred. “One hundred per cent correct. Now for rule number three. Never, never go near a trap
. Grissenden traps are fiendishly clever, and they are everywhere my dearie-os. Big traps, small traps, traps that look like rat shelters, traps that look like smiling mouths. Rule number four is beware of cheese.”

  “Cheese?” Jolly Roger’s jaw dropped. A slice of cheddar was his favourite meal.

  “Yes indeed! Cheesy-weesy! The people of Grissenden have made rat-catching a highly developed sport, and they now have a cheese known as REC. That stands for Rat Effective Cheese. It’s highly aromatic, and many rats find it irresistible. For the sake of your dear ratty lives, avoid cheese.”

  “All cheese?” asked Roger.

  “Absolutely all cheese.” Barker blinked at the Pirate rat. “But if you were obeying rule number two, you would not be thinking of cheese. Is that not so?”

  “Of course,” said Roger in a businesslike voice. “My question was merely for the benefit of these young rats, who might be misled.”

  I looked at him. He was an impossible liar.

  Retsina, who was claiming the memory map for Grissenden, went through the list. “One, walk at edge of main highway. Two, eat no food. Three, avoid traps. Four, ignore all cheese.” She paused. “Thank you, Barker. That is very helpful. How far is it to Grissenden?”

  “You’ll come to the highway by high sun, and you’ll be through the town before darkness. You need have no fear of hawks in Grissenden. Too many hawks were caught in rat traps. What a how-de-do! Feathers all over the place! Now they avoid the town like the plague. Occasionally, we see a blue-tailed song hawk here, but don’t worry, my darlings. I will go with you as far as the town. Once you’re on the highway, you’ll be safe as long as you obey the rules.”

  I found it incredible that a cat could be so helpful. “You are very kind,” I said.

  Barker waved a paw. “Think nothing of it, dearie-o. It’s my job to take care of rats and mice.”

  For most of the early morning, we walked through farmland, Barker beside us. As I’ve already mentioned, he was a big cat, almost the size of a dog. Only once did we see a hawk, and it was a mere speck in the sky. Barker took no chances. “They have eyes like telescopes,” he said, and he made us all stand beneath his body. I needed to explain to the ratlets what a telescope was, but at the same time, I was looking around me at a grey and white furry roof supported by four strong fur pillars. If the hawk did see us, it would not dare attack.