‘What?’ repeated Bella.
‘You heard me.’
‘Did you just cough?’
‘I was talking. I can’t cough and talk at the same time!’
‘Something coughed.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘Listen!’
Felix listened. And then, to his great alarm, he did hear a noise, a coughing noise. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the room.
‘See!’ hissed Bella.
‘What is it?’ asked Felix.
‘Shh!’
There it was again: a scrabbling, throat-clearing kind of cough.
‘Must be a possum,’ whispered Felix. ‘They make coughing kinds of noises, don’t they?’
‘Who’s there?’ asked Bella. Although she tried to sound brave, her voice was a little wobbly.
‘Who’s there?’ a voice repeated.
It was a thin, reedy little voice, and seemed to come from somewhere not far in front of them.
Suddenly, Felix felt Bella back into him and he felt her hand grip his arm.
‘Felix?’ she whispered, an edge of hysteria in her voice.
He couldn’t reply. He swallowed. Whatever had made the coughing noise was not a possum.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ gasped Bella, pushing again at Felix as she backed away from the voice. Together they blundered backwards towards the door of the shed. Felix felt the wall against his back and stretched behind, feeling for the door handle. To his surprise it seemed not to be there. Even more strangely, the wall — which should have felt rough like concrete — felt smooth and cold to the touch as if it had been refashioned in marble or glass.
‘Bella!’
‘What?’
‘The door’s gone!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s no door anymore. It’s not here!’
‘Don’t be stupid!’
‘Who’s there?’ the reedy little voice repeated.
Arrival
‘David. Where are you?’
It was my mother’s voice.
‘I’m in here … in your bedroom!’
I heard her footsteps coming down the hall and then she was standing in the doorway.
‘Your father’s here with Uncle Felix. You might want to come and say hello …’
I shut the book and, carrying it with me, followed her back to the kitchen. Dad and Uncle Felix were already there, Uncle Felix looking around smiling as if he were really pleased to see the kitchen table and the fridge.
‘And this is David,’ said Mum. ‘He would have been much smaller last time you were here.’
I suppose most people, given that sort of an opening, would have said something like ‘My how he’s grown’ or ‘I see he’s taking after this/that side of the family …’ Instead, Uncle Felix stretched out his hand and said, ‘Utterly delighted to see you again, David.’
And somehow I knew he actually meant it. I liked that.
As he stepped back to take me in, Uncle Felix must have noticed that I was still clutching my copy of Into Axillaris, but apart from what may have been a slight twinkle in his eye he gave no other indication or reference to the fact. I liked that, too.
‘Coffee, Felix?’ asked my father. ‘I’ll get it going while Nancy shows you to your room.’
‘Thanks,’ said Uncle Felix, and, with another smile in my direction, followed my mother out of the kitchen.
‘Where’s Gray and Martha?’ asked my father. ‘They’d like to see our visitor.’
I doubted it. ‘Dunno. I’ve been reading,’ I said, flourishing the book. ‘They must have gone out somewhere.’
They had apparently gone down to the tennis courts. When they arrived back half an hour later, they were hot and sweaty and Gray was in a particularly foul mood, not because he’d lost — he’d actually beaten Martha — but because he’d not actually annihilated her.
They each said Hi to Uncle Felix, now on his second cup of coffee, but in a perfunctory way just this side of being rude, and left the living room as soon as they were able. I saw Mum and Dad exchange glances, and Dad’s lips were pursed in annoyance. Gray and Martha were able to turn unwelcome into a fine art.
‘They lead such busy lives,’ said Mum to Uncle Felix.
It wasn’t much of an apology, but she needed to say something. Uncle Felix didn’t seem to mind. ‘I never liked tennis very much,’ he said. ‘Cricket was my game. Tennis is a cruel game, I always thought, a little like chess. Winner takes all sort of thing.’
‘Chess doesn’t make you very fit, though,’ said Dad. He liked tennis.
‘Oh, yes it does,’ said Mum. ‘Mentally fit, anyway.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Dad.
‘Yes,’ said Uncle Felix, ‘fit. But, fit for what?’
Dad looked at him. ‘Physically fit, of course. Fit for life, for the struggle.’
‘That’s what I mean, I suppose,’ said Uncle Felix mildly. ‘The struggle. To inflict defeat better.’
I could sense Dad enjoying this. ‘That’s one side of the coin,’ he said. ‘The other is, to be better able to avoid defeat.’
‘True,’ said Uncle Felix. ‘But all of this presupposes a fight, don’t you see? A battle. One side versus the other.’
‘The battle of life,’ said Dad grandly. ‘That’s what it’s all about.
‘Mmm,’ said Uncle Felix. ‘What do you think, David? Is it all about the battle, then?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But it seems to be in Axillaris, doesn’t it? The battle between the regent and the princess …’
Dad laughed. ‘I think that’s check, Felix, isn’t it?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Uncle Felix smiling. ‘Perhaps …’
‘Well, I think it’s time for me to do battle with some potatoes,’ said Mum. ‘Anyone want to help?’
Nobody had a chance to offer, because at that point the door was flung open and Gray stood there angrily. He glared at me briefly before demanding, ‘What the hell have you done to my rats?’
‘What?’
Dad said, ‘Gray, what do—’
Mum said, ‘Gray, I really—’
Gray ignored them. ‘I’m waiting!’ he said.
There was such menace in his voice, I stood up.
‘I haven’t touched your rats,’ I protested. ‘Last time I saw them you were carrying them into my bedroom!’
‘What’s happened, Gray?’ asked Dad.
‘I don’t know what he’s done,’ said Gray, ‘or how he’s done it — but look!’ He turned abruptly and left the doorway.
‘Have you touched his rats, David?’ Mum asked.
I shook my head vehemently. ‘I haven’t been near the bloody things,’ I said. ‘I haven’t even been in my room. I was in your room reading all the time—’
Before I had time to say anything else, Gray had returned with the birdcage housing Simon and Garfunkel. He held it up as if it were a large lantern. As usual, the two rats were huddled together in the bottom of the cage. However, the last time I’d seen them they were a grubby white colour. Now, somehow, they’d been utterly transformed. They were red, a bright red, the bright red colour of ripe tomatoes.
‘See!’ shouted Gray.
‘Goodness,’ gasped Mum.
‘What the hell did you do? Dye them? Or was it something you’ve fed them, you little runt!’
I stared at the rats. I stared at Gray’s angry, demanding face. Then I looked helplessly at Mum, Dad and Great Uncle Felix.
‘It wasn’t me!’ I insisted. ‘How could I do anything like that? I haven’t been near the things—’
‘Calm down, Gray,’ ordered my father. ‘You’ve no reason to accuse David. There’s probably some very simple explanation. But you needn’t go off half-cock and point the finger before—’
Attracted by the commotion Martha now came up the corridor and peered over Gray’s shoulder at the birdcage. She gasped when she saw Simon and Garfunkel. ‘Wow,’ she said. �
��Cool. How did you do that? Red rats. They look so cool!’
Gray turned on her angrily. ‘Was it you, then?’ he demanded.
‘Their fur matches their eyes now,’ said Martha.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Gray. You know I don’t even like touching the horrible things, let alone—’
Mum was peering into the cage. ‘They do seem to be perfectly normal apart from the colour,’ she said. ‘When did you last check them?’
‘Before I left for tennis.’
‘They were okay then?’
Gray nodded.
‘Not even getting a little pink?’
‘They were perfectly normal!’ Gray snapped.
‘Easy, Gray,’ said Dad. ‘Your mother’s only trying to help.’
‘It’s so strange,’ said Mum. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘Have they eaten anything?’ asked Dad. ‘Cochineal, perhaps?’
‘What’s cochineal?’ I asked.
‘Red food-colouring,’ said Dad. ‘Perhaps somebody’s given them a saveloy or a cheerio?’
‘We don’t have any,’ said Mum.
‘I haven’t given them anything to eat,’ said Gray, with another meaningful look in my direction.
‘They look quite well. It’s just the amazing colour,’ said Mum. ‘Perhaps they should be checked by the vet?’
‘A vet?’ asked Dad. ‘Do you know how much that’d cost? As you said, they seem okay apart from the—’
‘The cost doesn’t matter,’ said Mum. ‘It’s more important to know what’s causing them to turn red.’
Gray was about to say something, but Mum interrupted him. ‘I think we can be perfectly certain that whatever or whoever caused it, it wasn’t David. No, John,’ she added, turning to Dad, ‘I think we ought to know the cause, because it could be something contagious, and—’
Dad stared at her. ‘Good lord,’ he said. ‘You think we might all start turning red?’
‘I’d rather be safe than sorry,’ said Mum.
Throughout all of this Great Uncle Felix had remained silent. I looked at him now and was a little surprised to see how alarmed he looked at the plight of Simon and Garfunkel. He was gazing at the two red rats with a kind of awestruck fascination.
Given this, I was even more surprised by his words when he replied to my mother.
‘Don’t worry yourself, Nancy,’ he said. ‘There’ll be no need for any vet. Whatever the cause of this strange phenomenon, I can assure you it’s not contagious.’
Mum looked somewhat relieved. ‘Really? You know about rats?’
Great Uncle Felix tugged uncomfortably at his moustache. ‘I wouldn’t say I’m a rat expert,’ he admitted. ‘However, I’m quite sure that the condition poses no threat to—’
‘I don’t care whether it’s contagious or not,’ said Gray, still angry, and in a tone suggesting he thought Uncle Felix a silly old fool. ‘White rats are supposed to be white, you know, but something or someone has turned mine red!’
‘Oh, Gray. Climb off your mountain,’ said Martha. ‘Can’t you see how distinctive they look? I think it’s a great improvement. Quite a fashion statement, really. Everybody’ll be wanting a red rat before you know it.’
‘Why don’t you shut up,’ snarled Gray, and with a last baleful look at the company, he turned and stomped off. For all his concern about the red rats, I noted that he’d left them behind. Perhaps he’d given up on them already. Martha gave a cheerful shrug and grinned at us before following him.
‘It’s all very strange …’ said Dad.
Mum still looked troubled. She didn’t like mysteries. ‘It is,’ she agreed. ‘Really strange, and that’s why I think we should take them to the vet.’ She looked at Uncle Felix. ‘I’m not as confident as you, Felix. Something’s made the rats turn red, so it must be a symptom of some sort.’
‘Don’t worry, Nancy,’ said Dad. ‘Let’s check it out on Google first. Much cheaper.’
Uncle Felix agreed. ‘Yes, Dr Google is undoubtedly the first port of call, although I doubt there’ll be much help there, just as I doubt that the redness is a symptom of anything.’
‘You do?’ asked Mum, surprised. ‘What else could it possibly be?’
‘I rather think,’ said Uncle Felix, ‘that it’s a signal, rather than a symptom.’
Mum stared at him, waiting, but Uncle Felix did not elaborate. Instead he took a slow, thoughtful sip of coffee.
Later, dinner over, I returned to the living room to find Mum and Dad alone and watching TV.
‘Where’s Uncle Felix?’ I asked.
‘He went into the garden, I think,’ said Mum. ‘He did say he’d like a stroll and some fresh air.’
‘What do you think he meant?’ I asked.
‘Meant?’
‘When he said the red rats were a signal, not a symptom?’
Mum smiled. ‘Goodness knows,’ she said. ‘I gave up trying to understand Uncle Felix years ago. It’s too late to start trying again now.’
‘He’s a bit of a red rat, himself, old Felix, if you ask me,’ said Dad.
I grinned. I had a sudden picture of a big red rat with a floppy moustache and a floppy bow tie.
There was only one way to discover what he meant, and that was to ask him myself. So I went out the back to see if I could find him. We have quite a big section on a hillside. Mum has a terraced garden, and below it there’s a small level lawn which ends in a scraggly hedge. Uncle Felix was sitting on the garden bench to one side of the lawn. His legs were stretched out before him and he had a short-brimmed hat tipped over the front of his head. The hat half-covered his face so that as I approached I couldn’t work out whether or not his eyes were closed. Not wanting to disturb him in case he was asleep, I made as little noise as possible, sitting down carefully so as not to rock the seat.
He must have been awake after all, for no sooner had I sat down than he turned to me, tilting his hat above his eyes with a long finger.
‘David? Come to join me?’
I nodded.
‘This is a pleasant garden. I like gardens.’
‘Me, too.’
We sat in companionable silence for a while as I tried to work out a way to ask him what he’d meant when he’d said the red rats were a signal not a symptom.
Finally, I managed to say, ‘You know Gray’s rats?’
Uncle Felix looked at me cautiously. ‘Not personally, no.’
I grinned. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘Go on …’
‘You seemed pretty sure that they don’t have anything contagious.’
‘I’m quite certain they don’t.’
I thought he was hedging. He’d said exactly what I’d said in different words.
I persisted: ‘You said the red colour wasn’t a symptom of anything.’
‘Did I?’
‘You said it was a signal.’
‘Did I?’
‘You know you did.’
Uncle Felix didn’t reply and I couldn’t work out why. I remembered Dad’s saying Uncle Felix was a bit of a red rat himself. He was a little strange, sure, but if you live in a fantasy world and write fantasy books you have to be, I suppose. Axillaris was certainly a weird place. Red rats would be almost normal there. But a signal, what could that be all about? Red was the colour often used as a signal. Stop. Danger. That sort of thing.
I don’t quite know why, but just then something prompted me to have a stab in the dark.
‘Uncle Felix,’ I said, ‘when you said it was a signal, was it something to do with Axillaris?’
Uncle Felix looked startled. He glanced at me with sudden interest.
Then he said soberly, ‘What a strange thing to ask.’
‘Is it, then?’
There was quite a long pause. ‘More than that, dear boy,’ he said quietly. ‘I suspect it has everything to do with Axillaris.’
I stared at him with astonishment.
&n
bsp; Uncle Felix, though, was now looking away over the garden. Then he turned again and noticed my expression. He gave me a sort of whoops look, then coughed, rose, and murmured, ‘I’d better be off, I suppose. Things to prepare, you know …’
And, just like that, he returned to the house, leaving me alone on the bench.
Later that evening, after I’d settled into my makeshift bed on the floor of my bedroom, I reached for Into Axillaris. Not far away, on my bedside table, the two red rats, Simon and Garfunkel, scrabbled here and there on the newspaper in the bottom of their cage. There was no sign of Gray. He’d gone out earlier with his mates. I imagined I’d be well asleep before he came back home. I hoped so anyway.
A symptom? Or a signal?
I wondered, as I searched for my place in the book, whether the reason why Gray’s rats were red might just be found somewhere in the story.
The Cable-car Station
‘Who’s there?’ the reedy little voice repeated.
Bella gripped Felix’s arm.
‘Say something,’ she whispered.
‘Why me?’
‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ muttered Bella.
For all that, she stayed silent herself. They both did. They strained to listen for any noise in a darkness which seemed to amplify sound as powerfully as it blotted out the light.
And then, without warning, there was light. There was the scrape of a match, a wick was lit, and a lantern held aloft. A yellow light swung back and forth surrounded by prancing shadows, and there before them stood a small figure, apparently male, and looking not unlike a very skinny garden gnome. He lifted the light even higher in order to illuminate Bella and Felix and seemed oddly disappointed by what he could see.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Humans.’
‘Oh …’ said Bella.
‘Oh, my …’ whispered Felix.
‘Why are you here?’ demanded the little figure. ‘We’re not fond of humans, you know. More trouble than they’re worth. Well?’
‘We were just running away,’ explained Bella.
‘From the Heberson gang,’ added Felix.
‘The Heberson gang?’
Felix and the Red Rats Page 2