The Rat Prince Read Online Free PDF Page A

won’t,” Rose said.
    Then she moved her fingers to the back of my head and stroked my fur. I swayed from side to side with the rhythm until Swiss broke the spell.
    â€œShe’s bewitching you!” he cried. “Let’s be away! Now, Your Highness!”
    I allowed him to persuade me. I thought perhaps he was right.
    *   *   *
    â€œAll bow!” the majordomo boomed as I appeared in the doorway of my throne room to deliver my weekly royal speech. “Make way for his Royal Highness, Prince Char of the Northern Rat Realm; his royal mother, Lady Apricot; and his royal councillor, Swiss!”
    My subjects put their snouts to the floor while I led the procession into the princely stronghold. It had been built by my people centuries before in a walled-off corner of an attic storeroom the Lancastyrs had long since forgotten.
    Here was the throne of the prince.
    And it was mine.
    I adjusted my cape of royal purple, which was encrusted with sparkling amethyst on the back. Then I walked between rows of my bowing subjects, drawing satisfaction from surveying the piles of royal plunder leaning against the walls. We’d collected it from humans over the centuries: coins, jewels, rich clothing, gold goblets, silver buckles, and on and on, everything gleaming, colorful, textured. The treasure had been chosen to please our eyes, stimulate our senses, and delight our hearts.
    After touching as many of my people as I could with my tail, I left my lady mother and Swiss seated on two silk pillows, and came to a standstill before a window.
    Light streamed in through the diamond-cut pane of leaded glass, illuminating my polished silver throne. The humans who had crafted this throne of beauty, molding it with intricate vines, fruits, and faces, had thought they were making a lavish bowl for serving soup. Ha, ha! With a plump velvet cushion stuffed inside it, where the soup used to be, the bowl was the perfect size and shape for the prince of the rats.
    I sat upon it and gave my subjects a fond glance.
    â€œMy fellow rodents,” I intoned, “I have aught to teach and tell. Recall that millennia ago, we rats came in the holds of Phoenician ships to the shores of this island country, which the humans call Angland, led by the great Prince Feast. In each succeeding generation, by winning our traditional trials of wit and skill, only the strongest and wiliest of rats have become prince of the Northern Rat Realm, as have I.”
    â€œWise one! Noble one!” The pleasing epithets blew about the room at my feet.
    It’s good to be prince.
    I raised my voice again. “Every day, I concern myself with your safety, and with the important thing, the essential thing, the main goal of every true leader…” I let my voice trail off, to invite the traditional chant.
    â€œ Food . Find the Food! Food . Find the Food!” the crowd shouted in a most satisfactory chorus.
    â€œOur realm is under threat,” I declared. “As each one among you is aware, Wilhemina wants no rat left alive in Lancastyr Manor. I have already warned you of the dangers of choice food left lying inexplicably upon the floor. That is how we lost our dear companions Crust, Mince, Strawberry, and Trout last year. Lately, Cook has begun scattering poison among the crumbs she drops between table and wall, the better to deceive us. And thus were murdered the three small daughters of Gulp and Grill, and two of our mouse friends, Erasmus and Hermia. But we will not fall victims again to such trickery, I vow!”
    â€œHear, hear!” the majordomo said in a loud, mellifluous voice. “Prince Char has given his royal word!”
    Sadness brought on by the mention of our dearly departed settled over the room. I allowed a moment of respect and remembrance. Yet we could not dwell upon our losses without planning action to prevent more.
    I twirled my whiskers. “Take heart. Since Royal Councillor Swiss and I