Saul sat cross-legged at the base of the throne. His own package contained much the same as King Rat’s, with the emphasis skewed towards the sugary components of the meal. Saul’s sweet tooth had survived his passage to rat-hood. The extra richness which rot lent to fruit was a pleasure he was still indulging in as often as possible.
He dug into the bag and pulled out a peach whose surface was one seamless bruise. He ate, gazing all the time at the morose King Rat.
‘I’m fucking sick of this,’ he finally snapped. ‘What is up with you?’
King Rat turned to stare at him.
‘Shut your trap. You don’t know buggery about it.’
‘You stink of self-pity, you know that?’ Saul gave a sudden laugh. ‘You don’t see me acting up like this, and if anyone’s got reason to be… moody… it’s me. First off, you rip me out of my life and turn it into some kind of fucking… bad dream… So fuck it, alright, I’ll do that, and I did a decent enough job didn’t I? And now, just when I’ve got to grips with the rules of my life as Saul, Prince Rat, you get all morose and change the channel. What the fuck is going on? You… galvanize me, get me ready, for fuck knows what, and then you just slump. What am I supposed to do?’
King Rat was staring at him contemptuously, ill at ease.
‘You’ve no clue what you’re spouting, you little gobshit…’
‘Don’t tell me that! Jesus! What the fuck do you want me to do? Is my role here to fucking get you spurred again? Am I supposed to shake you up? Get you going again? Well fuck off! If you want to sit there on your rat arse and mope, then fine. And spider-features and Loplop can join you, you’re as bad as each other. But I’m fucking off!’
‘Got any suggestions, you mouthy little cunt?’ hissed King Rat.
`Yeah, I have. You fuckers have got to be less chicken. That’s what this is about. You’re all scared, and you’re scared because you all want a plan which makes sure your own arse isn’t on the line. Well, it’s not going to happen! You all reckon the Piper is such a bad fucker that you’ve got to take him, that this is the Final Battle — so long as none of you does the actual fighting. And while we’re on that subject, I get the distinct fucking impression that it was me who was supposed to do the fighting for you, but you’re all still chickenshit because you can’t quite work out how to deploy me without any danger of recoil or whatever.
Well count me the fuck out!' Saul had worked his way into a righteous anger.
‘The Piper wants you dead too!’ hissed King Rat.
‘Yeah, so you say. Well, unlike you, maybe I’m going to do something about it!’ There was a long silence. Saul waited a moment, then spoke again.
‘The rats want me to take over.’
There was a long silence as King Rat slowly swung his head to look at him.
‘What?’
‘The rats. In the sewers. Sometimes in the streets, or wherever. Whenever you’re not around. They come to me, hover, kow-tow, and they squeak, and I’m beginning to make sense of what they’re on about. They want me to take over. They want me to be the boss.’
King Rat was rising, standing on the throne.
‘You little ingrate. You little Tea-Leaf… you little shit, you bastard, I’ll tan your hide, it’s mine, mine, you understand, mine…’
‘So take a stand, you fucking has-been!’ Saul was standing, glaring at him, his face just below King Rat’s, their spittle forming a crossfire. ‘They don’t want you back. And they’re not going to have you back until you… redeem yourself. That seems to be the morality of this fucking terrain.’
Saul turned and stormed to the exit. ‘I’m going out. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I don’t expect you to care, because you don’t think you can use me at the moment. While I’m gone I recommend you think carefully about doing something. Use Loplop, use Anansi, get hold of them and track the motherfucker down. When you’re willing to get off your arse, maybe we can talk.’ He turned to face King Rat. ‘Oh, and don’t worry about your Magic Kingdom. I don’t want to be Rat King, not now, not ever, so I wouldn’t stress it. I’m going to find my mates or something. I’m bored of you.’
Saul turned and swung out of the room, was briefly coated in filthy water, and passed into the sewers.
While Saul stalked through the subterranean realms above him, King Rat stood quivering with rage, his hands tugging fitfully at his overcoat. Eventually his motions ceased and he seated himself.
He brooded.
He jumped up again, purposeful for the first time in days.
‘OK, sonny, point taken. So let’s talk about bait,’ he murmured to himself.
He rushed out of the room, suddenly moving as he had when Saul first saw him, sinuous and mysterious, fast and chaotic.
He passed quickly, silently through the layers of the earth, while Saul still struggled to find his bearings. King Rat emerged into a dark street. On the other side, figures passed in and out of the puddle of lacklustre lamplight, keeping their eyes fixed in front of them.
He stood quite still, his hidden eyes twitching imperceptibly. He looked around him. His eyes crawled up the wall before him. He stalked forward, one foot rising in a slow arch, curving back down to earth in an exaggerated parabola, his upper body bobbing slightly. He looked up, spread his arms wide, gripped the brick wall like a lover. Silently, he scaled the side of the building, his boots finding impossible purchase, his hands gripping invisible imperfections. He drew his hands back, contracting the muscles of his arms, fixing his attention on the dark below the eaves.
His arms uncoiled, shot out. Something fluttered desperately and a family of dirty pigeons burst from the shadow, disturbed from their sleep. They disappeared into the air behind him. He withdrew his hand and brought with it one of the birds, caught and held tight, its wings trying to stretch open, unable to escape him.
King Rat lowered his face towards his captive. It stopped struggling as he brought his face closer. He held it very tight to him, stared deep into its eye.
‘You don’t have Jack to fear from me, little cove,’ he hissed. The bird was still, waiting. ‘I want you to do me a favour. Go find your boss-man, spread the word. King Rat wants Loplop. Have him track me down.’
King Rat released his scout. It lurched into the air, wheeled and swept off over London. King Rat watched it go. When he couldn’t see it any more, he turned his back and disappeared into the dark city.
Chapter Sixteen
It was the first time since his solo stroll along the Westway that Saul had been alone for so long. His are was dwindling, threatening to snuff out, and he fed it carefully, maintained it. It gave him a righteous rush.
He wanted out of the claustrophobic sewers, wanted a taste of cold air. Judging by the ebb of water around his legs, the rain outside had let up. He wanted to emerge before it had fully dissipated.
Saul trusted to instinct in his rambles through the brick underworld. The rules of the sewers were different, the distinctions and boundaries between areas blurred. Above ground he knew where he was, and decided where he was going. Under the pavement he felt only a vague tugging to move from one part of the tunnel network to another, a buzzing of the troglodytic radar apparently lodged in his skull, and he would follow his nose. He did not know if he had visited any particular patch of sewer before; it was irrelevant. He knew it all. It was only the environs of the throne-room which were particular, and all roads in the underworld seemed to lead there eventually.
He ducked under low bricks, pushed his way through tight tunnels.