Chapter Fifteen
The next morning was a rest day, so Torus had a day off from the tunnels. He had intended to get up early and go to the alley to look for supplies, but he found himself being shaken awake late in the morning.
“Hey you,” said his father. “You better get up. You already missed breakfast. Do you want to miss lunch, too?”
Torus slowly rolled off the bed, then stretched and yawned and rolled back onto the bed on his back, scratching his stomach and blinking lazily.
“What time is it?” he asked. “Why is it so quiet? Where are the pups?”
His father was cleaning up the den, randomly picking things up and putting them in different places.
“They’re at a Young Gathering. Learning to keep their tails clean, I hope.”
“Wow, really?” said Torus.
“Yes indeed. If you were around more you’d know that.”
“Are they that big already?”
“I know,” said his father. “It’s crazy how quick pups grow up.”
Torus rolled back off the bed and slouched over to the food nook. He pulled the curtain aside and noticed there wasn’t much to eat. He made a mental note to try to work in some extra foraging during the next week. He picked up a peanut and started idly picking the shell apart with his teeth.
“So, what is it, about mid-morning?”
“Hah! You wish! It’s almost noon”
Torus had a sudden small panic.
“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ve got to go pretty soon, then…”
“Whoa, not so fast! I need you to help me with some things here today, and I thought maybe we’d go out foraging a little later, you know, see if we can fill things up a little bit.”
Torus didn’t know what to say.
“But I need to go get some building supplies for a sledge for the neighbors, and then this afternoon – ” He stopped short and wondered if he should tell his father about sneaking into the un-traveled parts of the building to visit a cat.
“This afternoon…what?” said his father.
“Um…nothing, just going to … meet someone…” Torus mumbled.
“Oh really?” said his father with an amused smirk. “Someone…important?”
Torus was painfully confused.
“Not really important, I guess,” he stammered. “Just a…friend of Mr. Nile’s that he wants us to…visit…” He trailed off and hoped that was enough.
His father looked perplexed.
“Okay,” he said after a short pause. “Maybe this evening then, after that. Are you up for a little father-son forage after dinner? Before the teams head out?”
“Uh, sure. Sure.” Torus was relieved that he didn’t have to explain anything, but he didn’t know what to think about his father’s sudden desire to go foraging with him. He looked down at the peanut in his hands and started chewing on it again so he didn’t have to talk anymore.
“Great!” said his father, returning to his aimless straightening. “When you’re done with your breakfast we’ll have lunch and then take care of some things. I want to put up a curtain at the entrance. I think that’ll help it stay warmer in here. And I’m thinking about moving the bed to a different corner…”
He went on with a list of minor projects while Torus’s mind fluctuated between being anxious he wouldn’t be done in time to go with the others and wanting to go back to sleep.
He finished his peanut, then he and his father shared an apple and some wilted salad from the night before. After that they started working down the list of projects, with Torus either yawning or feeling a sudden icy twinge in his stomach that he had missed his chance and his friends had already left. And all the while his father talked to him about foraging and nest building and crazy things he had done when he was a pup and weird things Mr. Nile had told him and what the Chief was like before Torus was born. Torus did his best to pay attention, but after moving the bed twice his head was swimming. He was sure they had been working all night and now he had to go back to work in the tunnels without even having slept.
He had just realized this didn’t make sense when Moki and the twins burst into the room from the tunnel outside. They had evidently been sitting still for far too long because they came in at a dead run and didn’t slow down at all as they raced each other in a figure eight around Torus and his father.
“What’s happening?” yelled his father over the commotion.
“I don’t know, but it looks dangerous!” replied Torus.
“Well, let’s each grab one and see if we can stop it,” said his father. “Ready! Go!”
Torus lunged into the swirling mass of fur and came up with a little sister in his arms. His father had gotten hold of Moki by the tail, who swung around and crashed into Torus, while the other sister continued running and collided with him on the other side, which knocked him into his father. The end result was a big pile of rats in the middle of the floor with their father somewhere near the bottom.
“Hi Torus!” said Shona.
“Starving!” said Moki.
Nolki gave a heave and sent all the young rats flying in every direction as he stood up.
“Lunch is where lunch always is,” he said. “How was your gathering?”
“I dunno,” said Moki as he and the girls picked themselves up. “Boring and boringer.”
“What was it about?” asked Torus. He had decided it was too much trouble to get up and was laying where he had tumbled.
“I dunno,” said Moki again. “More boring.”
“It was about Clan History,” said Nosha. “We learned we’re the best rats ever and we’ve always been here.”
“Sounds about right,” said his father. “At least the best rats ever part. That hasn’t changed since I was a pup.”
“Is it true, though?” asked Shona. “Have we always been here?”
“Well, I guess we’ve been here for as long as anybody knows about. But on the other hand, we didn’t just spring out of the ground when the humans built the building. I mean ultimately everyone comes from somewhere else, right?”
“So where did we come from, if we’re not from here?” asked Torus.
“Well, they used to tell stories about a legendary king of the rats way back in the past that lead all the rats here, not just to this building, but to all the buildings on the block. Supposedly all the clans were united under this king and they came when the buildings were new and there were no other rats there. I don’t remember much more than that. They don’t tell those stories much anymore…”
Torus rolled over and sat up, and was about to ask another question when a voice came down the entrance tunnel.
“Torus? Are you there?”
“He’s down here, Nevi,” called his father. “Come on in.”
Nevi came in uncertainly and found Torus in the dim light.
“Hi, Torus. Are you…ready?” she asked with a quick glance at Nolki.
“Can I go, dad?” Torus asked. “We’re almost done, right? And the pups can help you with the rest.”
“You bet they can,” said his father pleasantly. “You kids go have a nice time.”
“Okay, thanks,” said Torus, and he and Nevi headed out the door.
“Don’t forget after dinner, though,” called his father after them.
“I won’t,” Torus called back without turning his head. “I’ll be back.”
Once they were out in the tunnel Nevi asked, “What’s after dinner?”
“I dunno, my dad wants to go foraging together. Maybe he’s going to show me the secret family forage spots or something…”
“Maybe so…” said Nevi skeptically.
Torus didn’t know how to interpret this so he changed the subject.
“So where’s Chello?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t find him anywhere else, so I thought maybe he’d be at your place.”
“Huh,” said Torus. “He ha
sn’t been over here. I though you two were hanging out all the time.”
“Sometimes, yeah,” said Nevi. “But not today. Maybe he’s already there?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it.” The turned into the tunnel that led to the broom closet where their path started. “More likely he’s avoiding us because he doesn’t want to go back. He didn’t really like it the first time.”
“No, he didn’t” said a voice from up ahead of them. They entered the closet and found Chello sitting in the shadows, methodically rubbing the end of his knitting needle to a sharp point with a small, rough stone.
“It’s about time you two showed up. I was starting to think I would have to go up there on my own.”
Nevi was flustered and surprised by finding him there.
“Why would you go if you didn’t like it?” she asked.
“I don’t trust cats,” he replied flatly, examining the point on his weapon. “I don’t trust pigeons, or the Chief. I barely trust Nile or my family.” He put down his needle and looked up at them.
“But I trust you guys. If you say we should go talk to the cat again to learn about pigeons, I’m willing to try it. If you get delayed and can’t make it, the least I can do is go and tell the cat we’ll try some other time. But here you are,” he said, rising and grasping his weapon with both hands. “And here’s my pigeon poker, which also works on pussy cats and pickle thieves. So let’s go!”
With that, he turned and led the way down the path they had taken the day before. Nevi and Torus exchanged a puzzled glance and then scampered after him, rushing to keep up as he charged ahead.
They arrived panting at the vent in the cat’s kitchen. Chello pounded on it with the blunt end of his knitting needle.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Big Round Cat! Your rats are here!”
Torus panicked a little.
“Shut up, you maniac!” he whispered tensely. “Do you want that human to hear you?”
“It won’t hear me,” said Chello bluntly. “It’s gone. I saw it leave this morning from the front lookout.”
“What were you doing at the front lookout?” asked Nevi.
“I was looking out,” he replied flatly, and he banged on the vent again. “I recognized it’s big, stupid feet. Hey!” he shouted again, banging. “Hey Cat!”
“He has a name,” said Nevi.
“Yes,” came a smooth voice from inside the kitchen. “He has a lovely name and he likes it very much when his friends use it.” The cat sauntered fluffily into view and came slowly toward the vent.
“Great,” said Chello. “When I see your friends I’ll let them know.”
Nevi gasped and Torus laughed in spite of himself. Even the cat seemed amused, although taken aback.
“So listen, Mr. Gumble, if that is your real name,” said Chello, “do we have to talk through your cage here? Or is there somewhere we can relax?”
“You talk too much,” said the cat. “Yes, it’s my ‘real’ name, or part of it. And I’m quite relaxed, thank you very much. If you’re uncomfortable, I guess that’s your own problem with which to deal.” And with that he sat down and started licking his paws and rubbing them over his whiskers.
There was an awkward pause, and then Nevi broke the silence.
“Please, Mr. Gumble. Don’t mind Chello here. He forgets his manners when…well, when he’s awake.”
Chello scowled at her while Torus tried to remain neutral.
“But we’d really like to talk to you, and the vent here is so drafty…”
She trailed off and looked at the cat imploringly, who gazed back at her skeptically.
“Your big-eyed pleading skills need some work,” he finally said. “It really doesn’t suit you.”
“It was worth a try,” she muttered.
“I suppose,” said the cat, and he gave his whiskers one final swipe. “And I suppose, if you must come in…” He reached out with his claws and grasped one side of the vent. He pulled hard, and the vent slid partly out of its slot, open on one side like a door.
“Come in, come in,” he said cheerily. “Don’t touch anything, don’t make a mess, and scamper out as quickly as you can the instant I say so.”
The three young rats slipped out of the chilly duct into the relative warmth of the human’s home.
“Hey,” said Torus suddenly. “If that’s a heater vent, how come there’s no heat?”
“That heater hasn’t worked for years. Mumsy says it’s stopped for the whole floor. We have hot things that plug in the wall for heat now.”
He led the way across the kitchen floor away from the vent. It was the first time Torus had been inside a human’s home during daylight while the human still lived there and the wide space made him nervous. He looked at Chello and saw him glance back repeatedly at the open vent, gripping his weapon tightly. Only Nevi seemed calm, following the cat quietly and gazing around interestedly at the space around them.
“Interesting,” she said. “It’s so clean! No wonder this place isn’t on the forage route. There’s nothing to eat at all.”
“True, true,” said the cat. “And in addition, there’s me, fearsome as I am, to keep the rats and mice away.”
At the far side of the kitchen was a low, round basket, with a fluffy cushion and a small pillow. Mr. Gumble climbed into it and lay down on his side, curling his tail around in front.
“Step in,” he invited them. “Plenty of room, cozy and warm. Perfect for an afternoon chat.”
Nevi climbed in without hesitation, and Torus started to follow her, but then Chello spoke.
“I think my mom said something once about climbing into bed with a cat. Like, to not do it.”
“Oh, come on’ said Nevi, exasperated. “It’s fine. Mr. Nile wouldn’t have sent us here if it wasn’t okay.”
Chello grumbled something unintelligible and clambered into the basket between Torus and Nevi, still holding his needle.
“So!” said the cat, evidently delighted at having company. “Remind me what we’re talking about.”
“The pigeons,” said Nevi. “Mr. Nile said you know about them?”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. You’re worried about the things that are going on between the pigeons and you rats here in the building… Yes, yes, yes…”
“So what is going on?” said Chello. “All you said yesterday was that something was Curious. What’s curious?”
The cat paused, and seemed to be trying to figure out where to start.
“To begin with,” he finally said, “you need to know that pigeons are not bad in and of themselves. Like any creature, there are nice ones, and ones not so nice. They don’t think particularly highly of rats, but for the most part they bear them no ill will. And like any creature they go about their day doing what they do and trying to stay out of the way of bigger creatures. They’re not really so different from you rats –”
“That’s a lie!” snorted Chello. “We’re totally different from nose to tail!”
“Well, we’ll leave that alone for now,” continued the cat. “The important thing to realize is that it’s not necessarily the case that all pigeons are your enemies. Most of them would rather have nothing at all to do with rats.”
“It’s the same with rats, really,” said Nevi. “We’d rather just leave the birds alone. So what’s going on?”
“For some reason, I’m sure I don’t know why, and will probably never know, there are certain pigeons that actively dislike rats, and see them as an obstacle to their success.”
“What do you mean?” asked Torus.
“Well, you get your food from largely the same source, you live in more or less the same places. Some pigeons see that as a threat. It’s not usually a problem. I’m sure there are some rats with similar feelings.” The cat leveled his gaze at Chello, who shrugged innocently.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
>
“Anyway, for the most part things go on without much friction,” Mr. Gumble continued. “But there’s a certain pigeon--”
“The King?” said Torus, and the cat nodded.
“A certain pigeon that decided at some point that the balance was unacceptable, that the rats themselves were unacceptable. He has been working for some time I think to push the rats out of what he feels is the pigeons’ rightful place.”
“Wow,” said Nevi.
“He hasn’t been King for very long, less than a year, I think. The old king disappeared and Culucu somehow became king shortly after. He claims to be more than half dove, you know, and that carries some weight in their society.”
“What, they just made him King because he’s got some white splotches on him?” said Chello incredulously.
“That, and his reputation,” said the cat. He paused, searching for the right phrase.
“He has a reputation for being ruthless in a fight, and willing to do anything for the flock. I don’t know how true it is, but I know of at least one incident that he refers to when talking about his power.”
The rats waited expectantly and the cat took a deep breath and continued.
“Several months – moons – ago, a young rat with a new family was patrolling out by the dumpster in the park, just about dusk. He was alone, since no one thought there was much danger, and he came upon a small group of pigeons picking over the remains of a sandwich.
“Now, the story has two different versions. In Culucu’s version, the rat threatened the birds and attacked them without provocation. He had them nearly beaten when another pigeon – Culucu himself – came on the scene and rescued the birds by driving the rat back into the tunnel. The King uses this story to show what a threat rats are and to show how he can protect the flock.” He paused and the rats sat in silence.
“Now, the rat tells it differently. He says he was merely passing by, that he gave them a wide berth as he went around them, and that the pigeons jumped on him from behind. He tried to escape back into the tunnel where he knew they couldn’t follow him, but he was unable. Three of them held him down while the biggest pecked and clawed at him until he lost consciousness. Some of his comrades found him like that shortly afterward, without a pigeon in sight, and carried him home.”
“Pathetic…” Chello muttered. He scowled, and avoided their eyes, jabbing his needle again and again into the side of the basket. “Can’t fight off a stupid pigbird. Pathetic.”
The others sat in silence for a moment, and then Nevi spoke to the cat.
“How do you know all this?”
“I have friends everywhere. Just like some young rats come to visit me in the kitchen, some pigeons come to see me at the window in the bedroom. One in particular is quite chatty, and we speak fairly often. She doesn’t care for the way the King runs the flock, but, pigeon society being what it is, she can’t talk to any of the other birds about it. So we sit by the cracked pane in the bottom corner of the window and talk. I don’t know what I’ll do if Mumsy ever fixes it. Or fastens down the heater vent, for that matter.”
“How can you talk to pigeons?” muttered Chello sullenly. “How can you even understand them?”
“Cats can understand everybody,” he replied haughtily. “Cats invented talking, you know, and all the other creatures learned it from us, so naturally I can understand anybody that speaks to me.”
“What, even like dogs and stuff?” asked Torus.
“If a dog ever had anything worth saying, then yes, I could understand it perfectly.”
“And humans,” said Nevi, “those sounds they make. Is that talking too? Can you understand it?”
“Perfectly,” replied the cat nonchalantly.
“So you must have told Mr. Nile about how they call pigeons ‘flying rats,’” said Torus.
“Yes, that’s what Mumsy says when they gather outside the windows,” said the cat.
“That’s insulting!” said Chello.
“No, it’s delightful,” said the cat. “She walks in and sees them there and screams ‘AACK! Flying rats!’ Then she rushes over at the window flapping her hands and screaming ‘Shoo! Shoo! Get away you filthy creatures!’ Then she flops down on the bed and collects herself. Delightful! I invite them here as often as I can.”
“So, what would she do if she saw us here?” asked Nevi.
“She’d probably fall down in a faint and then call the exterminator,” said the cat casually.
“That’s ridiculous,” said Chello, still agitated. “I don’t believe cats ‘invented’ talking, anyway.”
“Suit yourself,” said the cat, turning to lick down a disheveled spot on his tail.
“How did you learn about that rat that got hurt?” asked Nevi.
“Nile told me,” he replied, without looking up. “He came up here about a year ago looking for some medicine and bandages for a rat that had been badly injured. I was able to help him, courtesy of Mumsy’s bathroom cabinet, but in exchange I made him tell me the story. I need to know everything that happens in my building, so I have people tell me. So he told me. That’s all.”
“Your building?” said Nevi. “It’s not your building. I mean, it doesn’t belong to you…”
“It most certainly does belong to me! Everything belongs to the cats. The whole world belongs to the cats.”
“But that’s silly!” she said. “There’s no – ”
There was a sudden sound of keys in a lock.
“Oh my goodness!” said the cat, sitting up abruptly. “Mumsy’s home early! Scamper away, my little friends, quickly, quickly, quickly!”
They bolted for the open vent, but Chello had to double back for his knitting needle and was just disappearing into the duct when the huge feet came clomping across the floor. Moving away from the light, they saw the feet approaching and heard the human’s voice making the strange, warbling howls that Mr. Gumble said was their speech. One of the feet came right up to the open space and pushed the vent back into place. The last thing they heard as they disappeared down the duct was the cat’s reply.
“I don’t know Mumsy, it just pops open like that sometimes…”
* * *