Felix and the Red Rats

by James Norcliffe

  ‘I will record your names individually,’ he announced, ‘and then I trust one of you’ — his eyes moved to Bella — ‘will explain exactly how you came to be here in Axillaris.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Felix.

  ‘Axillaris?’ asked Bella.

  ‘The Principality of Axillaris,’ said the fair-haired man. ‘You mean you don’t know where you are?’

  ‘Axa-what?’ said Moonface. ‘Never heard of it.’

  The fair-haired man looked surprised. ‘Then how,’ he asked, ‘in Fortuna’s name did you get here?’

  ‘I can tell you that, at least,’ said Bella.

  Recollecting himself, the man said, ‘No. We’d best do the names first.’ He picked up his pen.

  One by one, they gave their names. Myrtle was so inaudible that Bella had to help by spelling it out, and Moonface referred to himself by his given name, Bruce. Once these formalities were over, Bella gave a reasonably coherent account of how they had found themselves where they were.

  Once she had finished, the man said nothing for some time. Instead, he sucked speculatively at the end of his pen.

  Finally, he confessed, ‘It doesn’t make much sense to me.’

  ‘You can say that again!’ said Moonface. ‘The whole thing’s crazy and I want out. Can’t you do anything to get us back again?’

  The young man regarded him mildly. ‘I’m not sure that’s at all possible,’ he said. ‘And even if it were, it would not be my decision.’

  ‘Whose, then?’ demanded Moonface.

  ‘Why, the regent’s, of course,’ said the man. ‘But I wouldn’t be in any hurry to see him. He’s just as likely to chop off your heads as to send you home.’

  They stared at him in horror. Please be joking, Felix thought, but then with a sinking feeling realised that the man was not joking. His face remained serious and this time there was no little grin, apologetic or not. At the words chop off your heads, Moonface had whitened and Myrtle had let out a wild wail. Before she hastened to comfort her, Bella gave Felix an anxious glance.

  ‘He is a most unpleasant man,’ added the fair-haired man. ‘It would not do to provoke him. And he is invariably provoked when people make demands of him.’

  At these words, Moonface shrank into himself. With Bella’s arms about her, Myrtle was managing to stifle her tears.

  Felix wanted to change the subject quickly. ‘So that’s how we got here,’ he said. ‘But what I’d like to know is why we’re here. Have you any idea?’

  The man looked at him, shaking his head. ‘You say you know nothing of Axillaris?’

  ‘Cross my heart,’ said Felix, shaking his. ‘Like Moony, I’ve never heard of it. None of us have.’

  ‘Well,’ said the fair-haired man. ‘I suppose I should attempt to explain …’

  Felix was aware that he now spoke in a slightly lowered tone, as if wary of being overheard.

  ‘To begin with, my name is Medulla, and I’m one of the regent’s secretaries, here at the palace. I was alerted to your presence by the receptionist and, as she will have logged the message, sooner or later I must report it to the regent. ‘That is,’ he added, ‘if he doesn’t already know.’

  He glanced at Moonface, who quailed a little.

  ‘You have found yourselves in Axillaris, a very troubled and sad realm, as I’m sure you might have already observed. I’ve mentioned the regent. The regent is Count Cava and he is regent not because the rightful ruler is too young, or too incapable, but because the rightful ruler has not as yet been able to find the keys to her principality.’

  ‘The rightful ruler?’ asked Bella.

  ‘Is Princess Pia, the regent’s niece,’ said Medulla. He sounded almost surprised they were not aware of her.

  ‘What’s happened to her?’ asked Felix.

  Medulla looked sombre. ‘She is held in seclusion. Count Cava cannot harm her, of course. The Council of Nobles would not allow it. But I suspect she is safe only by Fortuna’s grace.’

  ‘Fortuna?’ asked Felix.

  ‘Fortuna?’ Again the surprised note. ‘Fortuna, the one who decides what must be. The one who decides whether the tree stands or the tree falls, whether the river breaks its banks or the floodwaters recede—’

  ‘Whether it’s heads or tails?’ suggested Moonface.

  Medulla gave him a short smile. ‘That, too, I believe.’ He was silent for a second or two and then added, ‘In fact, I imagine it has been Fortuna’s doing that you four are here now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Bella.

  ‘I would guess that Fortuna has some purpose in mind.’

  ‘I can’t guess what it might be,’ said Bella. ‘I’m only getting more and more confused.’

  Felix was reminded of something else. ‘That guy — what did you call him? The twerp,’ he asked.

  ‘Spleen?’

  ‘Yes, that one. He reckoned we were rebels. That’s why he brought us here all trussed up as if he was a bounty hunter to collect his reward for handing us in.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But does that mean that there are rebels. That there is a rebellion somewhere?’

  ‘No, there are no rebels, and no rebellion. How could there be? Count Cava is far too ruthless for that. He has put it abroad that there is a rebellion, put a bounty on socalled rebels’ heads, and every now and again chops off the head of a twerp or two to terrify the people.’

  Myrtle began to tremble again, and Bella held her tightly once more.

  ‘So,’ said Moonface, ‘it’s all right, then. This Count Carver, whoever he is, will know we’re not rebels ’cause there aren’t any!’

  Medulla looked at him soberly. ‘I’m afraid it isn’t “all right”,’ he said. ‘He’ll know you’re not rebels, but he may suspect you’re something far, far worse.’

  They stared at him anxiously.

  ‘He may suspect,’ explained Medulla, ‘that somehow you could have brought with you the keys to the principality.’

  Oh, rats!

  The next day was Monday and Uncle Felix didn’t want to play hooky from the festival again and went off into town with Dad, who was going to work. Mum, a little later, left for work as well, and Gray, who was up unaccountably early, went with her, saying he had some things to do in town.

  ‘Probably has an important appointment at Time-Out with a video game,’ said Martha.

  I grinned. I wasn’t unhappy to see the back of Gray. He was in a permanent state of peevishness about Simon and Garfunkel, and the only way he had of easing it was to bop things. Me, mainly, and for me this was a lose-lose situation. If I protested, it was as if I’d given him a reason to aim a second bop at me, and if I ran away it gave him a reason to chase me and bop me again for running away.

  A real sweet brother.

  The cool easterly of the day before had died away and the sun was shining brightly. Much as I was engrossed with Into Axillaris, it was too nice a day to spend inside, but I readily agreed when my mate George rang up suggesting I come around and watch a DVD. So, go figure: I spent much of the day inside after all watching a movie.

  George and I kicked around for a bit after the movie, so it was mid-afternoon before I got home.

  ‘Is Gray back?’ I asked Martha who was fixing herself a milk drink in the kitchen.

  ‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘I’ve just got in myself. Why don’t you go and look for him?’

  ‘Are you crazy?’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be a wuss, he won’t bite you!’

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ I said. ‘He probably will. If it comes to that, the way he is right now, he’d probably bite a Doberman pinscher.’

  Her chocolate milk looked okay, so I made one myself. I wondered again whether Gray was home, and finally decided that my need to get back to Into Axillaris was great enough to risk a kick or a rabbit-punch. The book was in my bedroom.

  ‘I’m going to risk it,’ I said.

  ‘Attaboy!’

  ‘If I’m not back in te
n minutes, ring an ambulance.’

  ‘Why waste time on the middlemen,’ said Martha. ‘I’ll just ring a hearse.’

  ‘Thanks, kid,’ I said. ‘Just the confidence-booster I needed.’

  I wandered down the hall to my bedroom and opened the door. With a surge of apprehension the first thing I saw was Gray, lying on my bed thumbing through a magazine.

  ‘You’re back?’ he said.

  I fought back a suicidal impulse to say, No, I’m still in town. Instead I said, ‘Just got in.’

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ Gray asked, looking over the magazine. It was a car magazine I hadn’t seen before. He must have bought it in town.

  ‘Went to George’s to watch a movie.’

  ‘What was it?’ Gray asked. ‘Any good?’

  What was going on? He was being normal. He was being as close to pleasant as Gray ever got. Rephrase that first observation: He was being abnormal.

  ‘That prequel to Star Wars, Attack of the Clones.’

  ‘Seen it,’ said Gray, returning to his magazine.

  ‘It wasn’t much good,’ I said.

  Since he was being conversational, I decided to take a risk. ‘How are Simon and Garfunkel?’

  ‘Take a look.’

  I crossed the room and looked over to the other side of the bed, where Gray was keeping the cage.

  There they were, scrabbling about as usual.

  And then I did the classic double-take.

  ‘Hey!’

  The rats were white once more, if anything whiter than they’d been in the first place.

  The only red, once again, was the red in their eyes.

  ‘How did that happen?’ I asked.

  ‘No idea,’ said Gray.

  ‘When? When did it happen?’

  ‘No idea either. I checked them when I got back from town and there they were.’

  I looked at him. He’d laid the magazine across his chest now and he was staring at the ceiling. Somehow, I got the impression he wasn’t completely overjoyed.

  ‘You don’t seem all that happy.’

  ‘I’m happy.’

  ‘I would be.’

  ‘At least I won’t catch any flak from bloody PP now.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘There’s that.’

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘Have you told Martha?’ I asked.

  ‘Nope,’ he said. ‘Didn’t even know she was back.’

  Then he closed his eyes.

  It was odd how different people are. I mean, something amazing had taken place. There he was, lying on his back with his eyes closed as if nothing had happened at all. It was especially weird given the non-stop over-the-top fuss-potting and blaming he’d been indulging in over the last couple of days. If it’d been me, I’d be racing round the house wanting to tell everybody, I’d be ringing people up. I might even be apologising to people for being such a pathetic pillock over the whole thing.

  Then again Gray was Gray. Perhaps the fact that he’d been halfway pleasant to me was his bizarre way of saying sorry.

  In the event, I was the one who broke the news to Mum and then later to Dad and Uncle Felix when they came home. Gray had already gone out, again saying he wouldn’t be in for dinner.

  ‘How very odd,’ said Mum when she saw the transformed rats. She was actually crouching on the floor peering into the cage. ‘There’s absolutely no trace of red at all, not even a smudge.’

  The rats ignored her.

  ‘Well, I hope this clears the air a little between Gray and Uncle Felix,’ she said, standing up. ‘Gray’s been quite bloody for the last two days. I can’t understand it.’

  ‘I can,’ said Martha. ‘Gray thought Uncle Felix had hexed his rats or something and turned them red.’

  ‘Oh, I realise that,’ said Mum. ‘I’m not a fool. But I must say I didn’t realise Gray was such a fool.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know why not,’ said Martha. ‘You’ve had fifteen years to notice that.’

  ‘Don’t be clever, Martha,’ said Mum. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘I don’t know that it will clear the air,’ I said.

  ‘Why not, David?’ asked Mum, turning to me.

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘Gray doesn’t seem to be that happy about it really. I mean, he was okay with me, which made a real nice change, but he wasn’t jumping up and down about it or anything. He just lay on the bed like a guy in a prison cell, you know?’

  ‘Odd,’ said Mum. ‘I thought he would have been over the moon.’

  ‘He was more sort of under the moon,’ I said, ‘or buried in a crater on the moon.’

  Mum looked a little troubled. ‘I hope it’s just a stage he’s going through,’ she said. ‘The way he carries on he makes life difficult for everybody, including himself.’

  ‘Especially himself,’ added Martha.

  After dinner, I went back to my bedroom to check out Simon and Garfunkel. They were still — what was the old song? — a whiter shade of pale, or rather they were a paler shade of white. I have to say that whether red or white, though, it made little difference to them. As long as they had food and water and newspaper to do their business on they seemed as happy as rats.

  I thought about the family’s reaction to the new transformation. It was funny how everybody’s was slightly different. Dad didn’t seem to care less, Mum thought it peculiar, Martha was a little disappointed, I guess, because she thought the rats being red was neat, Gray seemed flat, and I, perhaps because of what Uncle Felix had let slip, was worried.

  And Uncle Felix? That was interesting. Uncle Felix appeared to be puzzled. In fact, he was a little thrown, I think.

  After checking on the rats, I found him sitting on the garden bench reading. He gave me a wave when he saw me and laid his book down. I took that as an invitation to join him.

  ‘What do you reckon?’ I asked him.

  ‘Reckon? What about?’

  ‘The rats, of course.’

  I was pretty sure he was teasing. I’m sure the rats were uppermost in everybody’s minds except perhaps Dad’s.

  ‘I’m not sure I know what to think,’ Uncle Felix said after quite a long pause. ‘You know when I was a boy in school, high school that is, we studied Shakespeare, and there’s a part in Hamlet where he says to his friend Horatio — Horatio was a fellow student from his university — There are more things in Heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Or something a little like that. They had just seen a ghost, the ghost of Hamlet’s father, to be precise.’

  I thought I knew what he was getting at, but I asked what it meant, anyway.

  Uncle Felix paused again. ‘Hamlet was pointing out, I venture, that what we think we know is limited, that there are things going on that are often beyond our understanding.’

  ‘True, I guess …’

  I thought of the stars and the universe and the theory of relativity and the thousands of things I didn’t know about and would probably never know.

  As if sensing what I was thinking, Uncle Felix added, ‘And not just beyond our understanding, David, but beyond our wildest dreams.’

  ‘Like the red rats?’

  His answer was surprising.

  ‘No, not the red rats. I thought I had a handle on the red rats, so to speak. No, what I can’t quite understand is why they’ve become white rats again.’

  I was puzzled now. The really astonishing thing, to me, was the rats turning red. Once that happened, I couldn’t quite see how their turning back to white again could be even more surprising.

  Uncle Felix frowned. ‘It must be magic,’ he murmured.

  Magic. That was Dad’s word.

  ‘What sort of magic?’ I asked. ‘Real magic, or your kind of magic?’

  He smiled at me, eyes twinkling. ‘I do believe you’re becoming something of a sceptic, David. Didn’t you believe in my magic?’

  I grinned, remembering the coin trick. ‘It was pretty clever,’ I admitted. ‘But it was just a trick, wasn’t i
t?’

  He laughed. ‘You couldn’t expect me to admit that, my boy, could you? But, perhaps before I go, I might be persuaded to show you how it’s done.’

  ‘Great!’

  ‘But to answer your quite perceptive question,’ he added, ‘I rather suspect the magic in this case is my sort of magic.’

  I stared at him. What did he mean by that? However, Uncle Felix, was not prepared to explain.

  I went to bed a little earlier than usual, so I could read some more of Into Axillaris. I have to confess that I had no idea what Uncle Felix was on about when he hinted that there was a connection between the rats turning red and the book. Unless I’d missed anything, there hadn’t even been a suggestion of a rat in the book so far, and as for red, the only things I’d come across were Bella’s sweatshirt and Bella’s diary. They were both red, but so what? Neither of them had anything to do with rats.

  There was something important in the diary though, I knew. I always enjoyed that bit.

  Once again, I fell asleep before Gray arrived home. It was probably about half past ten or eleven when he came in. Most people, knowing there was somebody sharing their room and fast asleep, would take some care not to disturb them. But Gray wasn’t most people. It wasn’t his way to quietly undress in the dark and then tiptoe to his bed. Oh, no. He switched the light on, clumped right over me, stamping on my foot, and then he left the light on as he began to undress.

  ‘Oww!’

  I sat up in the dazzling brightness, clutching my toe.

  Gray ignored me.

  ‘You stood on my foot you great hunk of a lunk!’ I cried.

  ‘It’s your own stupid fault, pea-brain, for sleeping on the footpath,’ he remarked amiably, as he sat on my bed peeling off his socks.

  ‘Where else can the mattress go?’ I demanded, but Gray ignored me. Logic wasn’t his strong point.

  I didn’t want to risk further conversation, so I slid right down under the covers to try and hide from the light, and closed my eyes.

  However, any chance of sleep went out the window very quickly.

  First of all, there was a cry of anger from Gray.

  Then the covers were pulled off me.