SQUEAK? it said.

Then the vision faded and revealed a slightly smaller figure. There was nothing in the least rat-like about it, apart from its size. It was human, or at least humanoid. It was dressed in ratskin trousers but was bare above the waist, apart from two bandoliers that criss-crossed its chest. And it was smoking a tiny cigar.

It raised a very small crossbow and fired.

The soul of the rat - for anything so similar in so many ways to human beings certainly has a soul -watched gloomily as the figure took its recent habitation by the tail and towed it away. Then it looked up at the Death of Rats.

'Squeak?' it said.

The Grim Squeaker nodded.

SQUEAK.

A minute later Wee Mad Arthur emerged into the daylight, dragging the rat behind him. There were fifty-seven neatly lined up along the wall, but despite his name Wee Mad Arthur made a point of not killing the young and the pregnant females. It's always a good idea to make sure you've got a job tomorrow.

His sign was still tacked up over the hole. Wee Mad Arthur, as the only insect and vermin exterminator able to meet the enemy on its own terms, found that it paid to advertise.

div style='border:solid windowtext .5pt;padding:1.0pt 4.0pt 1.0pt 4.0pt'

'WEE MAD' ARTHUR

For those little things that get you down

Rats *FREE*

Mise: 1p per ten tails

Moles: 1/2p each

Warsps: 50p per nest. Hornets 20p extra

Cockroaches and similar by aranjement.

Small Fees - BIG JOBS

/div

Arthur took out the world's smallest notebook and a piece of pencil lead. See here, now... fifty-eight skins at two a penny, City bounty for the tails at a penny per ten, and the carcases to Gimlet at tuppence per three, the hard-driving dwarf bastard that he was...

There was a moment's shadow, and then someone stamped on him.

'Right,' said the owner of the boot. 'Still catching rats without a Guild card, are you? Easiest ten dollars we ever earned, Sid. Let's go and—'

The man was lifted several inches off the ground, whirled around, and hurled against the wall. His companion stared as a streak of dust raced across his boot, but reacted too late.

'He's gone up me trouser! He's gone up me –arrgh!'

There was a crack.

'Me knee! Me knee! He's broken me knee!'

The man who had been flung aside tried to get up, but something scurried across his chest and landed astride his nose.

'Hey, pal?' said Wee Mad Arthur. 'Can yer mother sew, pal? Yeah? Then get her to stitch this one!'

He grabbed an eyelid in each hand and thrust his head forward with pin-point precision. There was another crack as the skulls met.

The man with the broken knee tried to drag himself away but Wee Mad Arthur leapt from his stunned comrade and proceeded to kick him. The kicks of a man not much more than six inches high should not hurt, but Wee Mad Arthur seemed to have a lot more mass than his size would allow. Being nutted by Arthur was like being hit by a steel ball from a slingshot. A kick seemed to have all the power of one from a large man, but very painfully concentrated into a smaller area.

'Yez can tell them buggers at the Rat-Catchers' Guild that I works for whoze I want and charges what I like,' he said, between kicks. 'And them shites can stop tryin' to persecute the small businessman...'

The other guild enforcer made it to the end of the alley. Arthur gave Sid a final kick and left him in the gutter.

Wee Mad Arthur walked back to his task, shaking his head. He worked for nothing and sold his rats for half the official rate, a heinous crime. Yet Wee Mad Arthur was growing rich because the guild hadn't got its joint heads around the idea of fiscal relativity.

Arthur charged a lot more for his services. A lot more, that is, from the specialized and above all low point of view of Wee Mad Arthur. What Ankh-Morpork had yet to understand was that the smaller you are the more your money is worth.

A dollar for a human bought a loaf of bread that was eaten in a few bites. The same dollar for Wee Mad Arthur bought the same-sized loaf, but it was food for a week and could then be further hollowed out and used as a bedroom.

The size-differential problem was also responsible for his frequent drunkenness. Few publicans were prepared to sell beer by the thimbleful or had gnome-sized mugs. Wee Mad Arthur had to go drinking in a swimming costume.

But he liked his work. No one could clear out rats like Wee Mad Arthur. Old and cunning rats that knew all about traps, deadfalls and poison were helpless in the face of his attack, which was where, in fact, he often attacked. The last thing they felt was a hand gripping each of their ears, and the last thing they saw was his forehead, approaching at speed.

Muttering under his breath, Wee Mad Arthur got back to his calculations. But not for long.

He spun around, forehead cocked.

'It's only us, Wee Mad Arthur,' said Sergeant Colon, stepping back hurriedly.

'That's Mr Wee Mad Arthur to youse, copper,' said Wee Mad Arthur, but he relaxed a little.

'We're Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs,' said Colon.

'Yeah, you remember us, don't you?' said Nobby, in a wheedling voice. 'We was the ones who helped you when you was fighting them three dwarfs last week.'

'Yez pulled me off 'f them, if that's what you mean,' said Wee Mad Arthur. 'Just when I'd got 'em all down.'

'We want to talk to you about some rats,' said Colon.

'Can't take on any more customers,' said Wee Mad Arthur firmly.

'Some rats you sold to Gimlet's Hole Food Delicatessen a few days ago.'

'What's that to yez?'

'He reckons they was poisoned,' said Nobby, who had taken the precaution of moving behind Colon.

'I never uses poison!'

Colon realized he was backing away from a man six inches high. 'Yeah, well... see ... fing is ... you being in fights and that... you don't get on with dwarfs... some people might say... fing is ... it could look like you might have a grudge.' He took another step back and almost tripped over Nobby.

'Grudge? Why should I have a grudge, pal? It ain't me that gets the kicking!' said Wee Mad Arthur, advancing.

'Good point. Good point,' said Colon. 'Only it'd help, right, if you could tell us ... where you got those rats from...'

'Like the Patrician's palace, maybe,' said Nobby.

'The palace? No one catches rats at the palace. That's not allowed. No, I remember those rats. They wuz good fat ones, I wanted a penny each, but he held out for four for threepence, th' ole skinflint that he is.'

'Where did you get them, then?'

Wee Mad Arthur shrugged. 'Down the cattle market. I do the cattle market Tuesdays. Couldn't tell yez where they came from. Them tunnels guz everywhere, see?'

'Could they've eaten poison before you caught them?' said Colon.

Wee Mad Arthur bristled. 'No one puts down poison round there. I won't have it, see? I got all the contracts along the Shambles, and I won't deal with any gobshite who uses poison. I doesn't charge for extermination, see? Guild hates that. But I chooses me customers.' Wee Mad Arthur grinned wickedly. 'I only guz where's there's the finest eating for the rats and I clean up flogging 'em to the lawn ornaments. I find anyone using poison on my patch, they can pay guild rates for guild work, hah, and see how they like it.'

'I can see you're going to be a big man in industrial catering,' said Colon.

Wee Mad Arthur put his head on one side. 'D'youse know what happened to the last man that made a crack like that?' he said.

'Er... no... ?' said Colon.

'Neither does anyone else,' said Wee Mad Arthur, cos he was never found. Have yez finished? Only I got a wasps' nest to clean out before I go home.'

'So you were catching them under the Shambles?' Colon persisted.