King Rat had slumped into a foul mood.

Saul hauled himself into the sewers, careful not to spill the bagof food he carried. He picked his way through the tunnels. It wasraining in the streets above, a steady dribble of filthy,acid-saturated water which raced into the tunnels, swirled aroundSaul’s legs, tried to pull him down, a stream nearly two feet high,fast-moving and dilute, the usual warm compost smell mostlydissipated.

King Rat had done nothing about finding food, and Saul, impatientwith his self-pity, had left the throne room and gone scavenging.King Rat’s leash on him was loosening. The neurotic hold he had keptfor so long was almost gone. As his mood grew worse, hisdetermination to keep Saul in his sights weakened.

Saul knew what this meant. His worth for King Rat was not measuredby blood. He had not been rescued because he was a nephew, butbecause he was useful; because his peculiar birthright meant he was athreat to the power of the Piper. As the campaign against the Piperdissolved in petty fights and squabbles, cowardice and fear, Saul’sexistence meant less and less to King Rat. Without a plan of attack,how could he deploy his chosen weapon?

As Saul picked his way through the saturated tunnels he heard asound. In a crevice in the concrete stood a waterlogged rat, herbabies blind and squealing in the darkness behind her.

She stood uncertainly on the grey lip, overlooking the rush ofwater. She was only six inches or so above the rising stream, and thecomfortable hollow in which she lived was on the verge of becoming awater sealed tomb. She looked up across the tunnel. On the far sidefrom where she stood was another hole, an accidental passagewayslanting up away from the depths.

The rat raised herself on her hind legs when she smelt Saul, andshe let forth a peculiar cry.

She bobbed up and down in the darkness, avoiding looking him inthe face, yet clearly aware of his presence. Again the she-rat made asound, a lengthy screech, purged of the sneer which usually colouredrats’ voices.

He stopped just before her and hoisted his plastic bag over hisshoulder.

The rat was pleading with him.

She was begging him for help.

The tone of the squeal was beseeching, and Saul was reminded ofthe profusion of rats who had followed him a fortnight previously,rats which had seemed animated by hunger and desperation, and whichhad been eager to show him respect.

Not here, was the sentiment pouring out of the bedraggled rat asshe cringed below him. Not here, not here!

Saul reached out to her and she hopped onto his hand. A cacophonyof infantile rat squeaks poured out of the holes in the concrete, andSaul plunged his hand further into the depths of the rotting stone.Little bodies were pushed onto his hand, where they lay squirming. Heclosed his fingers gently into a protective cage and drew out hishand, on which the little family lay shivering as the water levelrose.

He crossed the tunnel and placed them on the ledge where themother could pull the babies out of danger. She backed away from himbobbing her head, the pitch of her sounds changed, her fear gone.

Boss, she said to him, Boss, before turning and pulling her familyout of sight into the darkness.

Saul leaned against the soaking wall.

He knew what was happening. He knew what the rats wanted. He didnot think King Rat would like it.

By the time he arrived at the entrance to the throne room, thewater was moving faster and the level kept on rising. He fumbledunder the surface for the brick plug hiding the chute, pulled it openwith a sudden explosive burp of air, and slipped through the cascadeof water into the dark room below, pulling the door closed behindhim.

He landed in the pool, splashed briefly onto his arse, beforestanding and walking onto the dry bricks. Behind him water dribbledinto the room and down the wall from the imperfectly fitting brickentrance, but the chamber was so large and the hidden sluices soefficient that the moat around the room’s central island of raisedbrickwork became only a little fatter. It would take days ofceaseless rain truly to threaten the air in the throne-room.

King Rat sat brooding on his grandiose brick seat.

Saul glared at him. He delved into the plastic bags.

‘Here,’ he said, and threw a paper package across the room. KingRat caught it in one hand, without looking up. ‘Bit of falafel,’ saidSaul, ‘bit of cake, bit of bread, bit of fruit. Fit for a king,’ headded provocatively, but King Rat ignored him.

Saul sat cross-legged at the base of the throne. His own packagecontained much the same as King Rat’s, with the emphasis skewedtowards the sugary components of the meal. Saul’s sweet tooth hadsurvived his passage to rat-hood. The extra richness which rot lentto fruit was a pleasure he was still indulging in as often aspossible.

He dug into the bag and pulled out a peach whose surface was oneseamless bruise. He ate, gazing all the time at the morose KingRat.

‘I’m fucking sick of this,’ he finally snapped. ‘What is up withyou?’

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 tobe… moody… it’s me. First off, you rip me out of my life andturn 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? Andnow, 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 fuckis 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? Ismy role here to fucking get you spurred again? Am I supposed to shakeyou up? Get you going again? Well fuck off! If you want to sit thereon your rat arse and mope, then fine. And spider-features and Loplopcan join you, you’re as bad as each other. But I’m fucking off!’

‘Got any suggestions, you mouthy little cunt?’ hissed KingRat.

`Yeah, I have. You fuckers have got to be less chicken. That’swhat this is about. You’re all scared, and you’re scared because youall 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 abad 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 onthat subject, I get the distinct fucking impression that it was mewho was supposed to do the fighting for you, but you’re all stillchickenshit because you can’t quite work out how to deploy me withoutany danger of recoil or whatever.

Well count me the fuck out!' Saul had worked his way into arighteous anger.

‘The Piper wants you dead too!’ hissed King Rat.

‘Yeah, so you say. Well, unlike you, maybe I’m going to dosomething 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 lookat 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 theysqueak, 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, youbastard, 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 forminga crossfire. ‘They don’t want you back. And they’re not going to haveyou back until you… redeem yourself. That seems to be the moralityof this fucking terrain.’