by Jon Evans
"Patch, look!" White hissed. "Behind it! Rats!"
Patch looked, and leapt to his feet. She was right. Rats were coming down the passage from the ravine, half a dozen of them. They looked strong and moved fast. He looked around quickly. There were a few tiny holes in one of the concrete walls that looked big enough for rats to squeeze through, but there was no way out for a squirrel, not without going through the rats. The human had tricked them, they were boxed in. He tensed for battle.
6. Rats
"Hello," the lead rat said cheerfully. "Who are you? How did you get here?"
Patch and White twitched with surprise.
"We've killed rats before!" White cried. "Lots of them! We'll kill you too!"
"Goodness me!" the lead rat gasped, and all of them scurried quickly away and clustered around the human's feet, leaving fear-smells in their wake.
The two squirrels looked at one another. This was not exactly the vicious attack they had expected. It had to be some kind of trick. Rats were famously cunning. These rats were stalling for time, waiting for reinforcements.
"Let's get out of here," he said to White in a low voice.
She nodded. They began to sidle back towards the ravine, staying close to the wall free of ratholes, keeping maximum distance from the human and the rats.
"No go," the human said. "No go! Happy together. Happy together!"
"Shut up," one of the rats hissed, "let them go away, they're murderers, savage, vicious! They smell of blood, rat blood, they'll kill us all!"
Patch sniffed himself, a little taken aback, and had to admit he did still smell faintly of rat blood, despite his repeated immersions in water since the Battle of the North.
"Stay out of our way and we won't kill you," White said.
The rats backed farther away, until they were lined up against the opposite wall, ready to escape through its ratholes. They smelled of fear. Patch was by now thoroughly perplexed. Rats simply did not behave like this.
"No happy together," the human said sadly, as it watched the squirrels move away.
"They're rats!" Patch expostulated under his breath, feeling somehow guilty at having eaten the human's food and then made it sad. "They'll kill us and eat us if they get the chance! They want to kill every squirrel in the world!"
"We do not!" the rat leader objected.
"You do so! Don't you try and trick me."
"We're not tricking you. We're not like other rats. We don't serve the King Beneath."
This notion was so bemusing that Patch stopped in his tracks. "Of course you do. You're rats."
"Does every squirrel follow the same king?"
"Well, no - but - then what king do you serve?"
"We serve no king at all. We serve ourselves," the rat leader said. "We try to help other rats. We don't kill anything. We don't have to, our human brings us food. You call us killers? How many rats have you murdered, squirrel? How many of us?"
"Er," Patch said, suddenly feeling very awkward. "It was, well, I don't know really, but all of them were trying to kill me, it was never my idea." He thought of the rats he had pursued rather than allowed to escape. "I mean, not really. I mean, almost all of them. I mean, I thought all of you served the King Beneath. All the ones I ever fought did."
"A likely story," the rat leader sniffed. "A thin rationalization for bloodthirsty cruelty. Why are you down here in the Kingdom Beneath at all, squirrel? To kill more rats? You came down here to kill, didn't you, to murder more helpless rats and call it vengeance!"
"I did not!" Patch protested. "I came down here to save my mother's life! Because Lord Snout poisoned her with the blackblood disease and took her away!"
A silence fell over the chamber.
"Oh dear," the rat leader said. "Oh, goodness me. Lord Snout. The blackblood disease. I am sorry."
"Who are you?" Patch demanded.
"Who am I?" the rat leader repeated, perplexed. "Oh. Oh, I see. No, I don't have a name. We don't all have names like you squirrels. Only our lords."
"Oh. Well. What do you know about the blackblood disease?"
The rat leader paused, then said softly, "They try to infect squirrels with it. Then they are fed to the King Beneath. The King loves blackblood squirrels."
"How do you know so much about the King Beneath, if you don't serve him?" White asked suspiciously.
"I used to serve him. All of us did before we escaped."
"Why did you escape?"
The rats looked at one another uncertainly.
"There's something wrong with us," their leader said sadly. "We just don't like being ordered around. We don't even like bullying littler rats. I think we're sick, we have some kind of disease. He," he pointed, "thinks we were born this way. It doesn't matter. It's the way we are. So we ran away, all of us, separately. It's this human that brought us together. We're lucky to have him."
As if to punctuate the point, the human reached out and began gently stroking the lead rat's fur. Patch watched, amazed, as the rat arched its back with pleasure.
"I'm sorry about your mother, squirrel," the rat leader said. "I'm sorry I called you a killer."
"I'm sorry I thought you were like all the other rats," Patch said.
A silence fell.
"Happy together," the human said cheerfully.
"Do you know where they've taken her?" Patch asked the rats. "My mother?"
"Of course. To the chamber of the King Beneath."
"Where is that? Can you tell me?"
The rat leader looked at Patch and White for a long time.
Then he said, "I can show you the road."
7. Croton
The human watched curiously as the rat led the two squirrels back to the underworld ravine. They turned left and followed the ravine for a considerable distance. Every time a train thundered past Patch found himself shivering at their sheer speed and immensity; every time he feared the ravaging wind of the train's slipstream might lift him off his feet and fling him like a leaf against the ravine wall. He didn't think he would ever be able to get used to trains if he lived here.
The rat kept to the shadows, while the squirrels stayed in the light from above as much as possible. They passed hordes of beetles and cockroaches, a few grubs and spiders, the shredded bodies of animals caught on the rails by a passing train, many human footprints, and countless rat-tracks. The smell of Rat was everywhere, but none were audible or visible except the one they followed.
"I shouldn't have done this," the rat said nervously. "It's dangerous. If the other rats come back -" He left the sentence incomplete.
"What other rats?" Patch asked.
"Usually this place is crawling with us, but Snout called them all to him, to fight some war. Most followed his summons. But there are still plenty here, don't be fooled, these walls are full of them. Deserters like us, who do what they like, not what they're commanded. They won't come after us. They're killers, savage, vicious, but they won't attack another rat unless they have to, and you two are too big to fight alone. They won't come after us. I don't think so. Probably not. They don't like coming into the light. Squirrel doesn't even taste good. But hurry. Let's hurry. Let's run."
The rat broke into a scamper, and Patch and White had to do the same to follow. Then, just as Patch's legs were beginning to grow weary, it slowed, sniffed the air, and halted.
"Here," it said, and crossed over the train rails. They followed it up the other side of the ravine to a dark hole in the wall just big enough for Patch.
"That goes to the Croton Road," the rat said, low-voiced. "Once you're there, turn left, and just keep going. The King Beneath lives in the first big chamber on the way."
"Are there rats in between?" White asked.
"No. You'll see why when you get there." The rat looked around furtively. "I should go. I shouldn't have come. Somebody might have seen me with you. They might stop me on the way back and ask why. What do I do then? What am I supposed to say? I shouldn't have left the human. You shoul
dn't have made me sorry for you."
"It'll be fine," Patch assured the rat, hoping he was right. "Thank you. We owe you a favour. I am Patch son of Silver, and this is White daughter of Streak. Remember that. Maybe one day we can help you."
"Maybe," the rat said doubtfully. It sighed. "I envy you your names. I wish I had a name."
White suggested, "Why don't you give yourself a name?"
The rat stared at her.
"That's a good idea," Patch agreed. "You and all your friends. Just name yourselves."
"We can't do that!" the rat said, shocked. "You can't just give yourself a name! Names have to come from somewhere!"
"All right," Patch said, "I'll give you a name. I name you … " He thought for a moment, shrugged, and said, "Nervous. From now on you're Nervous the rat."
White choked down laughter. Fortunately the rat didn't notice.
"Nervous," the rat said thoughtfully. "Nervous. I like the sound of that. That's me all over. I'm Nervous. My name is Nervous. Pleased to meet you. I'm Nervous the rat." He looked at Patch with fervent eyes. "You mean it? I can keep it?"
"Of course," Patch said, a little bewildered by the question.
"Nervous. Oh, it's wonderful! Thank you, Patch. Thank you, White. I thank you. I, Nervous, thank you! I'm Nervous the rat!"
"You're welcome," White said feebly.
"But I should go now," Nervous said nervously, his joy in eponymy dampened by remembered fear. "There are other rats. They might see me. I should go."
He turned and ran.
"Goodbye, Nervous," Patch said thoughtfully. "I hope you like your name."
After a moment he shrugged, turned, and followed White into the little hole.
Patch didn't like this tiny tunnel at all. It was lightless and claustrophobically small, and it wound its erratic way up and down and side to side. In some places they had to force their way through freshly-fallen dirt and pebbles, and he was nervously aware that the whole thing could easily collapse. It was so small there was nowhere to turn around. It felt like being buried alive. At least there was air, but it smelled wet and stagnant. He closed his eyes and felt his way forward, guiltily glad that White was in the lead.
"Patch," White whispered. "I think I see something."
Patch stopped and opened his eyes. At first he saw no difference - but slowly, as his eyes adjusted, he began aware of a dim and distant glow. He couldn't see shapes, but he saw amorphous motion as White scurried ahead of him. The tunnel began to ramp downwards, towards the glow, and Patch was able to make out flickers of her white tail. Then White came to a sudden stop.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I think it's water. In a cave. Below us."
"Where's the light coming from?"
White paused. "It's hard to say. It's a long way down. I think, I think we have to jump into the water. And we won't be able to climb back up."
Patch winced. This was why Nervous had been so sure there would be no rats en route. This tunnel was one-way. He didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. It wasn't like they really had a choice.
"All right," White said. She took a deep breath, and stepped forward; she was gone; and there came a splash from below.
Patch advanced to the faint glowing hole in the tunnel floor. It was just big enough for a squirrel to dive through headfirst. The sides of the hole weren't dirt; they were brick, the hole was a missing brick in a human-made roof. That chilling scent from the tunnel of the Legless emanated from below, stronger than ever, and Patch. It was a little like the scent of the Legless themselves, but not the same; more alien, and more dreadful.
He could see ripples in water below. Something bobbed to the surface. The light was so dim he couldn't see what, but it was pale, it had to be White. Patch closed his eyes and jumped. The water was so cold that he surfaced gasping with shock.
"Are you okay?" White asked.
Patch looked towards her voice. She was only a squirrel-length away, but all he could see of her was a pale blob floating in darkness.
"I think so," he said.
"It's so cold! We have to get out!"
She was right. This icy water would suck the life from them if they stayed too long. Patch looked around, squinting into the shadow.
He couldn't see much, but he could see that the tunnel they were in was enormous, big enough that a half-dozen humans could have walked it side-to-side without stooping. The brick walls on either side curved and met in a smooth continuous arch high above the water. It was the walls themselves that glowed in patches; they were occupied by some kind of faintly luminous mold. This light was just enough to see that brick ledges ran along the walls on both sides, a squirrel-length above the water. Those ledges, rather than this deep river between them, must have been what Nervous had meant by the Croton Road.
"Maybe we can climb up the sides," Patch said.
They swam over to the sheer brick walls of the river - but they were too crumbly and slippery to climb; neither Patch nor White could get more than a few steps up without falling back into the water followed by a shower of brick dust. The attempts were exhausting, and the cold water was already beginning to tell.
"This isn't going to work," Patch said, growing increasingly worried. The water would kill them if they stayed in it too long.
"No," White said. "Let's swim. Maybe we'll find a better place."
They swam in what they hoped was the direction Nervous had given them. There was no current, as far as Patch could tell, but the water was fresh. The smooth rhythm of swimming loosened and warmed his muscles, and he began to breathe normally again.
The Croton Road continued in an absolutely straight line for what seemed to be forever. In places, tree-roots had fought their way through its brick ceiling and dangled in thick clusters from the air, soaking up the wet air. In others the ceiling was shrouded by massive curtains of spiderwebs. From time to time Patch felt other creatures moving in the water beneath him; each time he nervously swam away. Once, something long and slender surfaced right in front of them, and Patch almost screamed with horror. It was one of the Legless, and it glistened as if covered with slime, and it had no eyes at all, no features but two nose-holes and a huge mouth full of teeth like needles. He froze with panic. The thing submerged and did not come back.
"We have to get out of this water!" Patch said, his voice fraught with near-panic.
"Easy," White panted. "We'll find a way."
But he didn't see how. The walls were crumbling, but everywhere still sheer. His legs were growing tired, a faint cramp was beginning to flicker in his right hindleg, and he knew that once they slowed down, the water would slowly leech all the life from them. They would soon shiver and grow numb and slowly die.
"Wait," White whispered. "There's something."
Patch squinted. She was right. Something was floating in the water. They approached and discovered it was a hulk of rotting wood, human-carved planks joined together into a strange and angular shape. It was crawling with wood-beetles.
"Maybe we can climb on top of it," White suggested.
Patch tried. It wasn't easy, his strength was worryingly low. He managed briefly - but the wooden hulk was too unstable, it overturned and sent him pitching back into the water.
"No good," he panted. "The air's even colder than the water. We have to get out soon, or we'll freeze to death before we get dry!"
"How?"
Patch had no answer.
"Wait," she said. "We'll push it!"
"What?"
"We'll push it to the side, and then we'll use it to climb up. Like it's a stepping stone."
Patch gasped. "That's brilliant!"
"Only if it works."
They put their noses against the side of the wooden hulk and propelled it to the side of the river. Patch scrambled up to its top again, and as it again began to overturn, he took a running jump from the wooden hulk just before it toppled, leaped through the air with all his strength, and landed on the dry brick of t
he Croton Road.
White followed his example, and on the third try succeeded.
"We m-m-made it," she said, teeth chattering from the cold.
"Come on," Patch said. "We have to keep moving."
They trotted shivering along the Croton Road, towards the icy, bitter alien scent that they had followed when they first entered the underworld. That scent was growing so powerful that it almost drowned out the omnipresent stink of Rat.
They were not yet dry when they came unexpectedly upon the chamber of the King Beneath.
8. The King Beneath
Just as Patch was beginning to wonder why they had seen no rats, even though their stink made it clear that the Croton Road was a rat highway, the walls began to curve and bend outwards, expanding into a vast circular space. On the other side of this disc-shaped pool, the walls narrowed back into a tunnel and the Croton Road continued. The ceiling above rose from an arch into a dome, and there was enough luminescent mold on the walls of the dome that Patch could see the stone bridge that spanned the chamber crosswise, level with the ledges on either side. On either side of the stone bridge, smaller dog-sized tunnels continued into darkness.
A vast and tangled forest of roots dangled from the dome like willow branches, like an upside-down tree. The deepest tendrils almost brushed against the stone bridge. In their shadow, the things lying in a ragged line across the very center of the bridge were difficult to see, and their smell was drowned in the invasive maelstrom of Rat and that other, terrible, nameless scent; but Patch and White knew them the moment they saw them. The things on the bridge were the limp and lifeless bodies of more than a dozen squirrels. And there was something moving among them.
Patch didn't hesitate. He ran along the Croton Road and onto the stone bridge.
The figure among the fallen squirrels was a lone and shadowed rat, who had stopped moving and now faced down into the water as if staring at its own reflection. It didn't seem to have heard Patch's approach. The fur of one of the squirrels seemed a little brighter than the others, and he caught his breath. Silver. He crouched, ready to charge.