‘I gave the word. In we marched. The populace dropped their bags,gobsmacked and agog. Next thing they’ve lost their marbles, runningaround hither and thither, and letting loose with such a damnedcaterwauling… We were an impressive phalanx: we spewed in anddidn’t stop till the whole town was chock with me and my boys andgirls. We herded the squealing civvies into the square, and theystood clutching their pathetic duds and children. We were bushed,been on the go a long time, but we pulled ourselves up proud in thesun and our teeth were magnificent.’

‘They tried to give us the heave-ho, flailing around with torchesablaze and paltry little shovels. So we bared our teeth, sank them indeep, and they ran screaming like yellow-bellied ponces, disappearingas quick as you like. We had the square to ourselves. I called thetroops to order. "Right," I says, "quick march. This town is ours.This is Year One: this is the Year of the Rat. Spread out, make yourmark, set the stage, find your places, eat your fill, anyone givesyou any gyp, send them to me."’

‘An explosion of little lithe bodies, and the square’s empty.’

‘Rats in the rub-a-dubs, the houses, the kazis, the dews-a-vill,the orchards. We gave them what for. I did walkabouts, with nary aword said, but all and sundry knew who ran things. Any burgher raiseda hand against one of my own, I took them down. People soon clockedthe rules.’

‘And that was how the rats came to Hamelin.’

‘Saul, Saul, you should’ve seen us. Good times, chal, the best.The town was ours. I grew fat and sleek. We fought the dogs andkilled the cats. The loudest sound in that town was rats talking,chattering and making plans. The grain was mine, the gaffs were mine;the tucker they cooked, we took our cut first. It was all mine, myKingdom, my finest hour. I was the Kingpin, I made the rules, I wasCopper and jury and Barnaby and, when occasion demanded, I wasFinisher of the Law.’

‘It turned famous, our little town, and rats flocked to us, to jointhe little Shangri-La we put together, where we ruled the roost. Iwas the boss-man.’

‘Until that Ruffian, that bastard, that peripatetic fuckingminstrel, that stupid tasteless shit with his ridiculous duds, theprancing nancy, until he strolled into town.’

‘First I knew of it, one of my girls tells me there’s a queer covewith the mayor, furtive at the gates, dressed in a two-tone coat."Hallo," says I, "they’re about to have a go. They think they’ve atrick up the sleeve." I settled back to piss on their parade, and itall went a little sorry.’

‘There was a note.’

‘Music, something in the air. Another note, and I prick up my earsto hear what’s going on. Little sleek brown heads appear from holesall over town.’

‘Then the third note sounds, and apocalypse begins.’

‘Suddenly I could hear something: a body scraping tripe from abowl, a huge bowl. I could see it! I heard apples tumbling into apress, and my Plates start moving forward. I could hear someoneleaving cupboards ajar, and I knew the jigger had been sprung on theDevil’s own pantry… the door was wide open, and I could fair sniffthe scran inside, and I had to find it, and I had to eat it all.’

‘I started forward and I could hear a rumble, a shaking, a scamperof a hundred million little feet and I saw the air around me heavingwith my little minions, all shouting for joy. They could hear thefood too.’

‘I do a leap from the gables into the Frog. Splashdown in a streamof rats, all my little boys and girls, my lovers and my soldiers, bigand fat and small and brown and black and quick and old and slow andfrisky and all of them, all of us after that food.’

‘And as I troop ravenous onwards, I suddenly feel queer horror inmy gut. I was using my nous, and I saw there wasn’t no food where wewere going.’

‘ "Stop," I shrieks, and no one listens. They just bump my bumfrom behind to get past. "Don’t," I yell, and that starving streamjust parts around me, rejoins.’

‘I felt that hunger waxing, and I scamper over and sink meHampsteads fast into the wood of a door, hard as you like, holdingmyself back with my good strong gob. My pegs are dancing, they wantthat music, that food, but my mouth’s holding strong. I feel my mindgo slack and I gnaw some more, locking my jaw… but disasterstrikes.’

‘I take a bite from the door. My mouth snaps free and, before youcan say knife, I’m in the stream of my subjects, my brainbox weavingin and out of hunger and joy for the tucker I can all but taste — andthe despair, I’m King Rat, I know what’s happening to me and my kind,and no one will listen. Something dire’s in the offing.’

‘On we march, willy-nilly, and from the corner of my eye I can seethe people leaning out the windows, and the bastards are clapping,cheering, giving it all that. We’re trotting in time, all four legsstately and sharpish to that… abominable piping, tails swaying likemetronomes.’

‘I can see where we’re headed, a little journey to the suburbsI’ve taken more times nor I can think, on a beeline for the grainsilos beyond the walls. And there behind the silos, bloated after theshowers, hollering like the sea, roaring and pelting down through thedews-a-vill, wide and rocky, filthy with swirling muck and mud andrain, is the river.’

‘There by the bridge I catch sight of the swine playing his flutein his fatuous duds. His Loaf bobs up and down, and I clock arevolting grin all over his North while he plays. The first ranks ofrats are at the bridge now, and I can see them troop calmly to theedge, nary a hint of disquiet, eyes still narrowed on that lovelymountain of scran they’re headed for. I can see them getting readyand I’m screaming at them to stop, but I’m pissing in the wind, it’sa done deal.’

‘They step off the stone walls of the bridge into the water.’

‘The most almighty cacophony of squeals starts up from below thebridge, but none of the sisters and brothers can hear it. They’restill listening to the dance of the sugarplums and bacon rind.’

‘The next in line jump on their comrades, and more and more — theFisherman’s is seething. I can’t bear it, I can hear the screams,every one a blade in my gut, my boys and girls giving up the ghost inthe water, fighting to keep their Crusts over the waves, goodswimmers all but not built for this. I can hear wails and keens asbodies are swept downriver, and still my goddamn fucking legs keepmoving. I pull back through the ranks, trying to turn round, going alittle slower than the others, feeling them pass me, and the squireon the bridge looks at me, that infernal flute still clamped to hisgob, and he sees who I am. I can see him see I’m King Rat.’

‘And he smiles a little more, and bows to me as I march on pastonto the bridge and into the river.’

Loplop hissed and Anansi breathed something to himself. The threewere locked into themselves, all staring ahead, all remembering.

‘The Fisherman’s was icy, and the touch of it cleared the bonce ofnonsense. Every splash was quick-echoed by a screech, a wail as mypoor little minions fight to keep their I Supposes in the air,thinking What the fuck am I doing here? and busy dying.’

‘More and more bodies jumping in to join them, more and more furbecoming waterlogged, feeling the tug of the river, slipping belowthe caps, raking their claws every which way in panic, tearing eachother’s bellies and eyes, and dragging brothers and sisters into thefreezing cold under the air.’

‘I kicked my pegs to get away. There was a frantic mass of uskicking up froth, an isle of rat bodies, fighting and killing toclimb atop, the foundations dying and disappearing below.’

‘Water plugged my lugs. All I can hear is the in-out of my breath,panicked and disjointed, gulping and retching and breathing in bile.The waves are smashing me around, tossing me against rocks, and onall sides rats are dying in thousands and thousands. I can just makeout the noise of the flute. It’s stripped of magic here in theFisherman’s, just a whining noise. I can hear the splashes of morerats leaping in the water to die; it’s endless and merciless. Screamsand choking are everywhere; stiff little bodies bob past me likebuoys in hell’s harbour. This is the end of the world, I think, andthe stinking water fills my lungs, and I sink.’