watchin’, that’s all, weren’t doin’ no harm. Barker’s all right he is, ain’t got nowt to do with the new blood.’
At this, Piccadilly raised his eyebrows and decided he would learn more from this old rat. ‘You hungry?’ he asked.
Barker’s tiny eyes lit up and he nodded hurriedly whilst rubbing his stomach. ‘Yes,’ he wailed sorrowfully. ‘Barker not eated fer days an’ that were only a mangy bit of orange peel. He saw mousey boy’s sack of nosh – that’s why he was starin’ see.’
‘Come on then.’ Piccadilly began to walk down the tunnel once more. ‘I’ll see what I can spare.’
Barker smacked his gums together and followed warily. His bright little eyes flicked this way and that but always returned to the grey mouse in front of him, watching for any sudden movement or sign of danger.
When they were out of the tunnel Piccadilly climbed onto the platform and searched in his sack for something suitable. He felt it was all too good to be wasted on a rat but he hoped he might learn something from Barker. Eventually he fished out two whole biscuits and passed them over.
Barker snatched them greedily and devoured them in the most disgusting display of manners Piccadilly had ever seen. When the biscuits had disappeared the rat nosed around for any stray crumbs and sucked his claws loudly. When he had finished he squinted down at the sack hopefully.
‘That’s enough for now,’ said Piccadilly following his gaze. It was time to get down to business. ‘Tell me,’ he began, ‘why are you so hungry? There’s plenty of food for all you ratfolk to guzzle down here.’ He was puzzled by Barker’s scrawny appearance –animals rarely went hungry in the city.
Barker pulled a face. ‘Bah!’ he spat. ‘Not no more there ain’t.’
Piccadilly was startled by the ferocity of his outburst and he recalled something that the rat had said earlier. ‘Barker,’ he began carefully, ‘what did you mean before when you spoke of “new blood”?’
The rat clapped a claw over his wizened mouth as though frightened by what he had let slip and refused to say anything more. Piccadilly casually tapped the sack with his paw and the meaning was not lost on his companion.
The rat lowered his head and swivelled his beady eyes nervously. In a rasping whisper he said to Piccadilly, ‘Them is the new blood. They make Barker’s life a misery ’cos he won’t join in. Pinch his dinner they do – the scumbags! When he complains they give Barker ’ed lumps. They not nice ratfolk, dangerous they are. Barker fears them. They sharpen their claws an’ fangs! You stay away from them mousey boy.’
Piccadilly listened to the old rat’s words and considered them carefully. There had to be a reason for this unwelcome change in the attitude of the city rats. Where were they getting this new-found bravery from? He asked this of Barker and the old rat was in no doubt.
‘Old Stumpy it is,’ he whispered, shivering. ‘He not like us – he stirs up the rat lads and makes ’em bad. Tells ’em wicked stuff and mixes things up good an’ proper. He don’t like Barker. He laughs when he gives ’im ‘ed lumps – t’ain’t fair it’s not.’
Piccadilly repeated what the rat had said, ‘Old Stumpy . . .’ he murmured and something stirred in his memory -an unpleasant, ugly thought. His forehead creased as he leant forward urgently. ‘Tell me,’ he insisted, ‘tell me about Old Stumpy. Where did he come from?’
Barker quivered all over and his scraggy ears drooped with fear. ‘Can’t,’ he refused, shaking his head violently. ‘Barker tell nowt! Them’s big secrets, none must tell.’
Once more Piccadilly tapped the sack but the rat remained tight-lipped until another biscuit was brought out.
Eagerly he reached out and said hastily, ‘Him come some months back, he said ‘e come from . . .’
‘What’s this then?’
A strange voice called out from the darkness of the tracks. Barker leapt in
At this, Piccadilly raised his eyebrows and decided he would learn more from this old rat. ‘You hungry?’ he asked.
Barker’s tiny eyes lit up and he nodded hurriedly whilst rubbing his stomach. ‘Yes,’ he wailed sorrowfully. ‘Barker not eated fer days an’ that were only a mangy bit of orange peel. He saw mousey boy’s sack of nosh – that’s why he was starin’ see.’
‘Come on then.’ Piccadilly began to walk down the tunnel once more. ‘I’ll see what I can spare.’
Barker smacked his gums together and followed warily. His bright little eyes flicked this way and that but always returned to the grey mouse in front of him, watching for any sudden movement or sign of danger.
When they were out of the tunnel Piccadilly climbed onto the platform and searched in his sack for something suitable. He felt it was all too good to be wasted on a rat but he hoped he might learn something from Barker. Eventually he fished out two whole biscuits and passed them over.
Barker snatched them greedily and devoured them in the most disgusting display of manners Piccadilly had ever seen. When the biscuits had disappeared the rat nosed around for any stray crumbs and sucked his claws loudly. When he had finished he squinted down at the sack hopefully.
‘That’s enough for now,’ said Piccadilly following his gaze. It was time to get down to business. ‘Tell me,’ he began, ‘why are you so hungry? There’s plenty of food for all you ratfolk to guzzle down here.’ He was puzzled by Barker’s scrawny appearance –animals rarely went hungry in the city.
Barker pulled a face. ‘Bah!’ he spat. ‘Not no more there ain’t.’
Piccadilly was startled by the ferocity of his outburst and he recalled something that the rat had said earlier. ‘Barker,’ he began carefully, ‘what did you mean before when you spoke of “new blood”?’
The rat clapped a claw over his wizened mouth as though frightened by what he had let slip and refused to say anything more. Piccadilly casually tapped the sack with his paw and the meaning was not lost on his companion.
The rat lowered his head and swivelled his beady eyes nervously. In a rasping whisper he said to Piccadilly, ‘Them is the new blood. They make Barker’s life a misery ’cos he won’t join in. Pinch his dinner they do – the scumbags! When he complains they give Barker ’ed lumps. They not nice ratfolk, dangerous they are. Barker fears them. They sharpen their claws an’ fangs! You stay away from them mousey boy.’
Piccadilly listened to the old rat’s words and considered them carefully. There had to be a reason for this unwelcome change in the attitude of the city rats. Where were they getting this new-found bravery from? He asked this of Barker and the old rat was in no doubt.
‘Old Stumpy it is,’ he whispered, shivering. ‘He not like us – he stirs up the rat lads and makes ’em bad. Tells ’em wicked stuff and mixes things up good an’ proper. He don’t like Barker. He laughs when he gives ’im ‘ed lumps – t’ain’t fair it’s not.’
Piccadilly repeated what the rat had said, ‘Old Stumpy . . .’ he murmured and something stirred in his memory -an unpleasant, ugly thought. His forehead creased as he leant forward urgently. ‘Tell me,’ he insisted, ‘tell me about Old Stumpy. Where did he come from?’
Barker quivered all over and his scraggy ears drooped with fear. ‘Can’t,’ he refused, shaking his head violently. ‘Barker tell nowt! Them’s big secrets, none must tell.’
Once more Piccadilly tapped the sack but the rat remained tight-lipped until another biscuit was brought out.
Eagerly he reached out and said hastily, ‘Him come some months back, he said ‘e come from . . .’
‘What’s this then?’
A strange voice called out from the darkness of the tracks. Barker leapt in
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