Chapter Thirty Three
When the rats returned from the alley and entered the gathering room, they found things in an uproar. Most of the rats from the attic had returned already, and a dozen different versions of the battle were circulating through the crowd. Parents whose children hadn’t yet returned were frantic, asking for news, and they swooped down upon Torus and the others as soon as they entered.
“What in the world?” Nevi’s mother asked, holding her tightly. “How could you?”
Nevi mumbled some reply from deep inside her mother’s embrace.
All around them, the other Raiders were finding their families, laughing, crying, reassuring, adding still more versions of the story to the general hubbub. Torus wanted to find his family as well, but he saw Chello making his way up to the podium and rushed forward to join his friend.
When he caught up with him in the crowd, he asked, “So what are you going to say?”
“I was just going to introduce you and let you do the talking,” Chello replied with a grin.
On the podium, Nologo, Dinnick, and Mr. Nile were engaged in a heated discussion. The Chief was awake, but was blinking sleepily, and seemed to be putting little effort into following the conversation. As they saw the young rats approach, however, they fell silent and gazed at them. Nogolo was clearly angry, but Dinnick seemed calm and watchful, and Mr. Nile was plainly amused.
“Yes, what is it?” Nogolo demanded shortly when they had reached the podium.
Chello began, “Before we’re banished we wanted – ”
“What?” Nogolo interrupted. “I can’t hear anything you say. Be quiet everyone,” he called out irritably. “For cheese’s sake be quiet for just a moment!” He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
“Now, what is it?” he said again once the noise had died down somewhat.
“Before we’re banished,” Chello started again, “we would like to let you know that not only is the dumpster free, but the pigeons have left the attic and won’t be returning.”
There were some approving shouts from the audience, but Nogolo waved them down.
“How can you know that,” he said. “We had an agreement with them, as you may recall. How can you know they won’t hold us to it, and maybe worse, for this insult you have brought on them?”
Chello jumped up on the podium and turned to face the crowd.
“The pigbird King knows very well what will happen to him if he dares to return!” he shouted, waving the white feather above his head.
This time the crowd erupted in cheers and it was a full minute before Nogolo could wave them down.
“These young rats,” he stammered, “these young rats –”
“It was a bad agreement to begin with,” said Torus, interrupting him. “It was never really for the good of the Clan, and I think everyone here knows it.”
There were murmurs of agreement from the assembled rats, and Nogolo looked out at them nervously.
“Whatever we may have meant the agreement to be at the beginning,” Torus continued, “it became something else. Surely you can see that, can’t you?” he said, turning to Nogolo. “Surely you didn’t mean for this to lead to so much hunger and unhappiness for the Clan?”
He paused for a long moment, and Nogolo stammered awkwardly.
“Well, I, no, I, of course…”
Torus turned back to the crowd and, with Chello’s frequent assistance, briefly told them what they had done, and why. He told all about building the flyers and planning the raid on the dumpster.
“We didn’t originally mean to take back the attic this time, but that’s how it worked out, I guess,” he concluded.
“Yeah,” added Chello, “and it’s a great place up there! It’s warm, and there’s tons of room and all kinds of stuff. Probably a hundred families could live up there.”
“Interesting,” said Mr. Nile. “Interesting that it was blocked off, as you said, and that so few rats know about it.”
“Curious,” said Nogolo, weakly.
“Curious,” mumbled the Chief.
“In any case,” Mr. Nile continued, “I’d say you young rats have done the Clan a great service. Wouldn’t you agree, Nogolo?”
“Yes, of course,” said Nogolo, suddenly seizing the idea. “A very great service indeed!” He turned to Torus and Chello. “You two, especially, have shown great courage and…ingenuity. It’s clear the Clan will…benefit greatly from your…courage, and…”
“And about their banishment…” Mr. Nile prompted him.
“Oh, yes, certainly,” Nogolo continued. “No one shall be banished, of course!”
“Who is banished?” asked the Chief, foggily.
“No one, Chief,” said Mr. Nile, kindly, “as Nogolo has so wisely said.”
“Well,” said Nogolo, struggling to retain the focus of the assembly. “This has been a most…trying day. I suggest – ”
“I suggest we eat!” came a shout from the crowd. The suggestion was followed by a roar of approval.
“Very well,” said Nogolo, giving up. “It is forage time, in any case.”
“And as I understand it,” Mr. Nile interjected, “the dumpster is now free to us and overflowing with food.”
“By all means, then,” said Dinnick loudly, “let us go and reap the bounty that lies before us!”
There was another roar of approval, and rats began filing out of the room.
“And then, perhaps,” said Mr. Nile, so quietly only the rats on the podium could hear, “we shall discuss the management of the Clan Stockpile.” He eyed Nogolo’s plump belly appraisingly.
“Indeed…” said Nogolo, cautiously. “New times may call for new…policies.”
“Indeed,” mumbled the Chief, yawning. “Stockpile.”
“And another thing,” Mr. Nile continued as the leaders followed the crowd away, “if the heat could somehow find its way back into my den...”
As the rest of the rats were leaving, Chello’s and Torus’ families had come up to the podium. The two young rats jumped down into a miniature version of the reunion after the battle. After the hugs and the explanations, and after Chello had been scolded tenderly by his mother, he turned to his father.
“Here,” he said, awkwardly, holding out the white feather. “I got this for you. Maybe you can scratch your back with it or something.”
His father squinted at the feather with his one good eye, turning it over in his paws.
“Thanks, son,” he said, finally. “My back don’t itch so much anymore.” He reached up and stuck the feather at a jaunty angle in Chello’s hat. “There,” he said. “That’s just what it needed. Come on home now, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” said Chello. He took off his hat and ran his fingers along the feather, smoothing it out. Then he swooped the hat back onto his head and struck a pose.
“I’m starved,” he said importantly. “Is there anything to eat at home?”
His father laughed and his mother gave him another hug. “Of course,” she said, “We’ll find something,” and the family turned to leave.
“See you tomorrow,” said Chello to Torus over his shoulder. “Not too early!”
“Okay,” Torus replied. He looked around at his own family surrounding him, his father and sisters, and Moki, who seemed as full of energy as when the day had started. Torus, however, suddenly felt exhausted.
“Okay,” he said, “so what happened was – ”
His father stopped him.
“No, don’t worry about it,” he said. “I know you stood up to the pigeons. And you stood up to Nogolo in front of the whole clan! It takes guts to do that, more guts than I have. And, you got him to agree with you and change his position on something. I’ve never seen that happen before.”
“You would have done the same thing,” said Torus.
“Not me,” said his father. “Not in front of the whole clan, anyway. That took a lot of courage.??
?
“I don’t know,” said Torus. “It didn’t feel like courage at the time. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Well, sometimes it takes a bunch a crazy young rats to shake everyone out of their holes and do the right thing.”
“Hungry!” said Moki suddenly. “Eat food now!”
“There wasn’t anything at home when I left,” said Torus. “Should we go out to the dumpster with everyone else?”
“No, you go on home with the girls,” his father replied. “Moki and I can bring home enough for all of us, right?”
“You bet!” said Moki, excitedly.
“We’ll all get something to eat,” his father continued, “and then you can tell me about how you built this wingy thing.”
Torus hadn’t realized he was still wearing his flyer. He shrugged it off and dragged it behind him as he made his way home with Shona and Nosha chattering on either side. They had heard several different version of the battle in the attic, and although he tried to set them straight on a few points, by the time they got home he was no longer sure exactly what had happened. Back at the den, he leaned his knife and flyer in a corner and lay down to wait.
But long before Moki and his father returned he was fast asleep.
He slept late, and woke up famished. The rest of the family was gone, but they had left him plenty of food, nicely arranged on a scrap of paper by the bed. He gobbled up the first half eagerly, then slowed down and worked his way through the rest at a more relaxed pace. He was nearly done when a voice called his name from outside.
“Down here!” he called around a mouthful of peanut butter. Chello came sauntering in, followed by Nevi. Chello was wearing his hat, with the white feather sticking up jauntily.
“Hey, look!” he said, pointing at Torus. “It’s a flying rat!”
“Whatever…” said Torus, stretching and yawning hugely.
“I can hardly believe we did that,” said Nevi.
“You’d better believe it,” said Chello. “I think Dumpish wants flyers for the whole Patrol now.”
“I guess I’ll have to find some more bumblers, then,” said Torus, scratching his belly contentedly.
The three chatted for a while, recounting various elements of their adventure, then found themselves leaving the den and wandering aimlessly through the tunnels. They passed a few rats going about their business and no one seemed to give them a second look, except a few that looked askance at Chello’s hat.
“It feels like things are back to normal,” said Nevi after a while. “I mean, not normal like over the winter, but the old normal. Before the pigeons came.”
“Yeah,” said Chello, poking his nose up in the air. “Hey! Let’s go out to the alley and see what’s up.”
“Why?” asked Nevi. “Do you want to find some more feathers?”
“Maybe so,” said Chello, mockingly.
He headed off at a trot and the others followed him through the tunnels that led to the hole in the alley wall. As they got closer, Torus could smell the fresh spring air. And when they were nearly there, he caught a whiff of something else, something he almost recognized. He was about to say something when Chello poked his nose out into the alley and said “Hey, look!”
“What is it?” said Nevi, moving up beside him to look out.
Torus moved up on Chello’s other side, and looking out, saw the familiar sight, and caught the familiar smell, of a ragged looking human, sitting on a plastic milk crate in the middle of the alley, eating a sandwich.
“It’s Sandwich Man!” squeaked Nevi, happily. “He’s back!”
The dog, who was lying peacefully on its side at the man’s feet, perked up one ear and raised its head to look at them. Then it lay its head back down and gave its tail one floppy wag against the ground.
“Rat,” it said, sleepily.
“Hi, dog,” Chello shouted happily.
“Shhh!” said Nevi. “Sandwich Man’ll hear you!”
“So what?” said Chello, dismissively. “Hey dog! Say ‘Hi’ to your human for us!”
“Be quiet,” said Nevi, giggling. “You’ll get us in trouble.”
The dog looked up at the man and said “Rat say ‘Hi.’”
The man, who had just pulled a pickle out of his sandwich, looked down at the dog with a puzzled look.
“Ooom?” it said.
“Rat say ‘Hi,’” said the dog again, looking over at them.
The man looked at the dog for a moment, and then followed the dog’s gaze over the hole in the wall where the three rats gazed out.
“Hi there, big human!” said Chello, raising his hat politely.
“Stop that!” said Torus as he clenched his teeth to keep from laughing.
The man squinted at Chello and tipped its head to one side, wrinkling its forehead. It had bushy gray hair on its face, and Torus suddenly thought the man and the dog looked oddly similar.
“Hey, can I have that pickle?” Chello called out.
The man looked confused.
“Ooom?” it said again.
“Rat want pickle,” said the dog, laughing. “Pickle bad. Rat like.”
The man looked back at the rats and held up the pickle.
“Awah?” it said. “Awah gomma bogga?”
“Yes! Yes!” said Chello, excitedly. “We want all your pickles!”
Uncertainly, as if it wasn’t sure it believed what was happening, the man tossed the pickle toward the rats and it landed on the ground in front of the hole. Chello hopped down and picked it up.
“Thank you!” he said. “If you have some more, for my friends here, that would be great!”
Torus and Nevi stepped down cautiously beside Chello and waited. The man shook his head, sighed, and began picking through his sandwich. He pulled out two more pickle slices and tossed them to the rats and then resumed eating. The dog laughed, quietly.
“Man happy,” he said. “Man like rat.”
Torus and the others climbed back into the comfort of the hole in the wall and stretched out, each with a slice of pickle in hand. Before he lay down, Chello placed his hat carefully on the ground and straightened the feather out. Then he lay back, took a big bite of his pickle, closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
“Torus,” he said, “this is without a doubt the best pickle I have ever had in my entire life.”
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About the Author
K. H. Gordon writes for children and adults. He lives with his family in Salt Lake City. Watch for The Armoire Pirate coming soon, and Whitefeather, the sequel to Red Raiders, coming next summer.
Visit him on-line at www.khgordonbooks.com
Learn more about the world of Red Raiders at The Red Raiders Facebook Page
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