Chapter 9: In Which Rat Wishes He Didn't Have a Conscience

Anyone who spends as much time as I did outdoors knows the time of day instantly by the light, by the feeling in the air, without even having to think over it. When I woke up it was past noon. I could see the sky framed by the walls of the courtyard I was lying in. I took inventory of myself, two arms, two legs, one head. That seemed in order. I was lying, curled up on a pile of hay, more comfortable bedding than what I usually slept on. I wasn't hungry, which takes a lot of pressure out of life. I was thirsty, but I was certain that that problem would be solved soon.

I felt tranquil. I stretched and rolled onto my back into a patch of late spring sunshine, languishing in the warmth like a lazy cat. I could hear somewhere in the distance an opinionated bird chirping, and I listened to its lecture with half-closed eyes.

The only thing that really bothered me was that my neck itched terribly. I scratched the thin silver chain that was biting into my skin but when it wouldn't come off I simply sighed and continued to relax.

I could hear voices coming from the house, the magician's voice and a girl's voice, but I yawned and didn't try to listen. The talking ended and was replaced by the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel, and shortly after a shadow fell across my face. I looked up at a girl a few years older than me with a thin face and a long forehead. She wore her brown hair in two thick braids.

"Good afternoon," I greeted her, sitting up slowly and carefully. I somehow knew that if I'd move too fast I'd regret it. She blinked at me. Her face was full of dots, freckles, especially on her flat nose. She stared down, at my neck, which reminded me that it was itching, I scratched at the chain.

"Don't," she whispered, "you'll hurt yourself." I stopped scratching and smiled at her. Her eyes darted toward the house before she crouched down next to me. She reached out and moved the chain up, examining my skin. I inhaled her smell, like a kitchen, barley, flour and potatoes. She frowned at what she found underneath the chain and then handed me a big mug of water. "That thing's given you a rash, don't scratch it, it'll only make it worse."

I gulped the water and nodded. Not scratching was hard, harder now that I was explicitly told not to do it, I couldn't think of anything else except how much my neck itched. When I finished drinking I gave her back the mug, then she slipped something round and cool into my hand, it sent a strange sensation up my arm. "Put it in your mouth and suck on it," she whispered and then got up and ran back to the house without looking back.

In my palm was an iron bead, pretty and round and black. I admired it for a moment before popping it into my mouth.

*

What annoyed me most was that I couldn't try to run right away, I had to wait. I didn't know how that girl was connected with those men, or how she knew that the iron bead would cancel the mind-numbing spell of the chain. I didn't know what they'd do to her if they found out that she helped me. So I needed to wait instead of running. I cursed the chain on my neck for making me so stupid, I cursed the magician and his cunning way of keeping me at bay, I cursed my  conscience that prevented me from maybe sacrificing some nameless girl for the sake of my freedom.

I fingered the chain, passing the tip of my finger over the tender skin underneath it. Even though the chain was icy cold, it had burnt my skin. This was no ordinary silver. I tried to break the links apart with my fingers, but the chain would not give way. I felt around for the clasp, but it was gone, or maybe there had never been one. I wondered if I needed a magician to take it off. That would pose a problem if I ever got away. I didn't have access to an abundance of magicians and if I wanted to get away I would have to somehow leave the city.

The best way to really get away was take a train. The train passed through a tunnel that went underneath the mountains. It cost six coppers to ride the train all the way to Fornmouth, and in my short life I had never owned six whole coppers at the same time. My other choice was walking. Going to the outskirts of the city wasn't enough; there was nothing but farms all the way to the mountains, the farmers near Auran had it hard since most of the agriculture had been moved to the countryside. They had protective spells installed over their precious crops and were known to shoot anyone or anything that dared trespass. And then the mountains would be hard living for a city rat like me, what with the Creatures that were rumoured to live there. To be a street person, I needed streets; I knew nothing about how to survive in the wild world outside Auran city's boundaries. Maybe I should have risked it when it was Fizz and me; maybe she would have still been alive if I had. How different everything could have been if I had been less afraid of the unknown.

For the first time since last night I had a moment to think about her. My throat tightened when I realised that I was alive but lonelier than I had ever been in my life. I considered then for a moment to spit out the iron and drown in blissful oblivion. The emptiness I felt in my heart was bigger, darker and heavier than the emptiness the chain created.

I could have wept then, bitterly, for Fizz, for Moe, for myself. I could have wept out of shame of losing to my enemies, out of anger at the unevenness in the world. What had the point been of all that fighting if we had all gone down so easily? Why was death so dull, quick and absolute?

But knowing that I was surrounded by enemies inspired my tears to stay back.

The sound of footsteps disturbed my contemplation, I welcomed the distraction gratefully. The magician came with the other man, the one named Tark. My killer and the girl weren't with them. I grinned up at them with the stupidest grin I could put on my face. This seemed to work, because the magician didn't notice anything was amiss. "Ready to go?" he asked.

I nodded eagerly and got to my feet. Tark glowered at me, but the magician seemed pleased with his handiwork. Nevertheless, Tark said in a low voice, "We should tie him."

"He doesn't want to run away," the magician replied, turning to me, "Do you?"

I shook my head and tried to look innocently confused, as if my surroundings didn't interest me at all. I was just wondering if I knew now how to change myself back into a rat, and then whether the chain would simply fall off. But since I couldn't figure out how I did it the first time, no matter how many times I thought "be a rat," nothing happened.

I was led round the house to the front, where I made sure I saw the name of the street and the number posted on the outer wall of the house before I was helped into one of those small street carts that most of the city people used. It was pulled by a mangy and decrepit horse. I sat on the wooden bench across from my two captors and pretended to enjoy the scenery as I hummed a popular tavern song.

The magician chuckled and joined in; obviously satisfied by the how effectively his chain was taming my mind. It took all my self-control to maintain my simpleton demeanour and not glare daggers at him. I hated him; I knew that if it wasn't for him, Fizz and I would never have been caught. We would have been able to hide and they never would have found us.

A third man whom I did not recognise drove the cart. Maybe my old pal Gorn had been replaced by this fellow; maybe he was only the driver. The city streets passed us by, with the clutter of the horses' hooves. Our driver was experienced enough to take us through the quieter streets, avoiding the midday traffic as well as he could. We left Chicken Dale and passed through New Hendge, another of the poor neighbourhoods of the city, one of the places well-frequented by street-people and disreputable ladies. Through to High Larpton, from there to Inde and finally to East Port. The entire way, about three-quarters of an hour, I couldn't find an opportunity to escape or figure out a plan.

The sea breeze tried to ruffle my hair, but my mat of black locks stood stubbornly against it. Nevertheless, the salty smell filled my nose, accompanied by the smell of fish and smoke, sweat, timber, metal and coal. This was East Port; the commercial docks were here, next to the customs warehouses. Up in West Port, where only pleasure boats, passenger ships and the Royal Navy docked, everything was cleaner and neater, with elegant cafés and restaurants along the piers, and street musicians playing their harps, sweetening the air with their soft notes. Merchants and noblemen in fine shoes and smoothly brushed hair sat on benches overlooking the bay in satisfied tranquility.

Nothing like the bustling madness of activity that was East Port, the docks could barely handle the amount of boat traffic that came in and out every day. I knew the place well, it was one of my favourite haunts because in the mind-numbing chaos it was easy for a lone street kid to find a thing or two to eat and an old unlocked warehouse to sleep in.

It was hard to believe that even though it was all one port, east and west, they were two such different worlds. That was how things worked in Auran City. The east belonged to the poor, the west to the rich, with an invisible line that separated both sides.

We stopped in front of a run-down alehouse. I was lifted off the cart by Tark, who didn't trust the magician's assurance that I wouldn't run. And he was right, because if it weren't for Tark, I would have chosen that moment to escape. They would have had a fine time trying to find me in East Port in the middle of the day, alone, and without Fizz to look after.

Tark bodily ushered me into the alehouse. Only a little light filtered in through the small windows of the taproom, but my eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom. The only patrons were two fat men drinking quietly at the bar. They seemed to be serious drinkers, and they took no interest in us.

Tark led me across the room and through the back door, into a narrow corridor, at the end of which was a steep, crooked stone stairwell.

A locked rusty metal door was at the bottom of the stairs. The magician, who had been quietly following us, knocked three times on the door, paused, and then knocked once more.

A small hatch on the door opened onto a pair of dark eyes. The eyes looked at the magician up and down. The hatch closed.

The magician cleared his throat and waited with his hands clasped behind his back. After a long moment a lock turned and with the creaking of hinges the door swung open. Without a word being uttered, we were let in. The door slammed shut loudly and ominously behind us, the lock squealing back into place.