I Was a Rat!, Page 8

  There was a silence at that. They all saw the problem.

  “Perhaps we could dress him up to look more like a monster,” suggested the Minister of Education. “It wouldn’t look so bad then.”

  They talked for hours. It was clear that they had to do something or the newspapers would turn all their fury against them. But whatever they did mustn’t seem unjust, because you could never tell what the voters would put up with, and there was an election coming up in a year or so.

  Only the Prime Minister kept quiet. And when they asked him what he thought, he had an answer ready:

  “I think we ought to set up a tribunal under a High Court judge, and call expert witnesses and so on, and let that decide,” he said firmly.

  “Excellent idea!”

  “A brilliant solution!”

  “Magnificent stroke of imagination!”

  They all agreed. So they appointed a judge, set a date, and announced that the fate of the monster was going to be decided by law.

  Tripe

  On the day before the tribunal was going to begin, Bob and Joan were sitting at home, exhausted. They’d just come back from hours and hours of knocking on doors at the other end of town, just asking if anyone had seen Roger, because they couldn’t think what else to do; and when they got back, there was a load of washing to do and seven pairs of shoes to be resoled and heeled; and now it was nearly midnight, and they were drinking a cup of cocoa before going to bed.

  Bob listlessly picked up the paper. He hadn’t read it for days, and although he’d seen the headlines about monsters, he couldn’t be bothered to read them: all he was interested in was Roger. But in order to take his mind off their trouble, he’d bought a copy on the way home, and he began to read the main story wearily. Then he sat up.

  “Here,” he said, “listen to this.”

  He rustled the paper and began to read:

  THE DAILY SCOURGE

  FURY OVER MONSTER “EXPERTS”

  There was widespread fury today that some so-called scientists will testify on behalf of the rat-monster at the tribunal tomorrow.

  The “defense” intends to make the absurd claim that the subhuman creature from the darkness is actually a human being and should be spared extermination.

  Helpless victims

  Members of the public were quick to condemn this move.

  “How can we sleep safely when this hideous evil beast is still alive?” said Mrs. Kitty Nettles, 38.

  Mrs. Nettles is a mother of six.

  Six adorable, helpless children. Children who might be victims of the ravaging fiend.

  Evil beyond belief

  Parents’ groups were forming protest committees last night.

  “This monster is evil beyond belief,” said Mr. Derek Pratt, 46. “Something must be done to protect our kiddies from the monster demon from hell. The Government is keeping him safe on purpose. It is a conspiracy to protect the criminal elements and put ordinary, innocent people into danger.

  “If the Government does not act to destroy this foul beast, then we shall keep our children home from school indefinitely.”

  Riot over hunched figure

  A 500-strong crowd attacked a police station with bricks and stones after rumors spread that the monster was inside.

  “I saw this horrible hunched figure being taken in the back,” said Mrs. Glenda Brain, 57. “It was entirely covered in a blanket, but I knew it was the monster. I just had a feeling.”

  THE SCOURGE SAYS:

  If the Government does not act soon, there will be bloodshed. And it will be their fault.

  KILL THE MONSTER NOW. BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!

  “What you reading that tripe for?” said Joan. “That ain’t worth using to wipe your feet on, that rubbish.”

  “No, listen,” said Bob. “We been so busy we missed all this. It seems they found this rat-creature in the sewers, and they’re going to put it on trial and decide whether or not to kill it.”

  Joan realized what he meant.

  “You don’t think—” she began.

  “No, it couldn’t be,” he said reluctantly. “But just suppose—”

  “What’s it look like?”

  “Let’s see,” said Bob, turning the page. “Evil—hideous—dangerous—vile—bloodthirsty—they don’t say what it looks like…”

  “He couldn’t change, could he? The little one? He couldn’t go back to being a proper rat?”

  Bob was silent. “We don’t know as he ever was,” he said finally. “He might have only thought it.”

  “Bob, suppose it is Roger?” she said. “And they’re going to kill him!”

  “Well, we’ll have to go and stop ’em,” he said.

  No Room

  The court building was crowded, and Bob and Joan had to struggle through packed corridors before they found the courtroom; and then they couldn’t get in.

  “Quite impossible,” said the usher outside the door. “We been full up since seven o’clock this morning.”

  “Please!” said Joan. “We got to find out what this monster is!”

  “So’s ten thousand other people. Why should I let you in?”

  “All right,” said Bob, “here, take this. Here’s a pound for you.”

  “Get away!” the usher laughed. “A pound? You’re joking! Fifty pounds, and I might look the other way while you slip in at the back. There’s some as gave me a hundred for a seat near the front. A pound? I’m insulted. Clear off.”

  Bob would have had to go home on foot if the usher had taken the bribe, because it was all he had for the bus fare. Now he felt humiliated.

  Joan said, “There’s no need to be rude, young man. What are all these people doing here if they can’t get in?”

  “Witnesses,” said the usher, and turned away to keep someone else out.

  Joan tugged at Bob’s arm and whispered, “Those scientists must be here, then—from the paper—the ones who are going to defend him…”

  Bob unfolded the page he’d torn from the paper.

  “Doesn’t say their names, though,” he said.

  “Perhaps we could find them,” she said hopefully.

  The people in the corridor were arguing loudly and showing one another papers and diagrams and models of bones and skulls. The door opened, and the usher called loudly: “Mr. Kevin Bilge! Calling Mr. Kevin Bilge!”

  One of the witnesses got up and followed him out. “They must have started the trial,” said Bob. He and Joan sat down unobtrusively near one of the loudest-arguing groups and listened to what they were saying.

  “—and it was surrounded by rats! Thousands of them!”

  “—carry plague—”

  “—assistant swore she’d heard him say thank you! I ask you!”

  Bob and Joan looked at each other.

  “—reflex vocalizations—”

  “—studies on the vocal tract of parrots—”

  “—particular fondness for pencils—”

  Bob and Joan held each other’s hand tightly.

  “—of course, the outcome’s all arranged already, they’re going to put it down—”

  “Daily Scourge—”

  “—I understand it sleeps curled up very small—”

  Bob couldn’t sit still. Joan got up with him, and they walked to the end of the corridor and back, unable to speak.

  Then the door opened. The usher looked out and called, “Mr. Gordon Harkness! Calling Mr. Gordon Harkness to the witness stand!”

  No one responded.

  “Mr. Gordon Harkness, please!”

  Suddenly an idea came to Bob. He squeezed Joan’s hand. “Oh, sorry,” he called out. “Mr. Harkness, yes, that’s me!”

  “What are you doing?” Joan whispered.

  “It’s the only way to get in!” he whispered back.

  “This way, please,” said the usher.

  Bob tugged at Joan’s reluctant hand. She was sure he’d be arrested for impersonation and they’d be in even more trouble
, but he was just as solid and fearless as he ever was, and he said to the usher:

  “This is my wife, Mrs. Harkness. She’s a witness too. I can’t give testimony without her. She’s got to come in with me.”

  “She’s not on my list,” said the usher.

  “That’s because she weren’t available. She was away seeing her niece. But she is now, so she ought to be with me.”

  “Oh, very well. I don’t suppose it matters.”

  And the usher showed them into the courtroom.

  The Tribunal

  There was a rustle of surprise all round the crowded court as Bob and Joan walked up to the witness stand together. Joan looked around nervously: there was a judge with a wig and a red gown, and rows of lawyers with wigs and black gowns, and what looked like hundreds of people crammed onto benches and standing at the back. To keep herself from trembling, Joan tried to count the seated ones and multiply the total by a hundred, and to count the standing ones and multiply by fifty, and to add them together, to see how much money the usher had made.

  As soon as Bob and Joan were on the stand, a lawyer stood up clutching his lapels and said, “You are Mr. Gordon Harkness, lecturer in comparative anatomy?”

  “No, I ain’t,” said Bob. “I’m Bob Jones, cobbler. And this is my wife, Joan, washerwoman.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I had to pretend,” Bob went on, “because you wouldn’t have let us in otherwise. We got information about this so-called monster that you ought to hear.”

  The crowd was buzzing with excitement and curiosity. Lawyers passed notes to one another, the reporters scribbled busily, and all the spectators were talking and pointing and standing up to look.

  “Silence!” said the judge. “I will have order in this courtroom. If we don’t have silence, I shall clear the court.”

  Everybody suddenly stopped talking.

  “Now, Mr. Jones,” said the judge, “if that is your name, you had better explain yourself. This is a serious matter.”

  “All right, your lordship,” said Bob. “You see, we reckon that this monster ain’t a monster at all. It’s a little boy called Roger. And all you need to do is just fetch him here and let everyone look at him, and if it is him, then we’ll take him home and that’ll be an end of it.”

  “Is this Roger a relation of yours?” said the judge. “A child or a grandchild?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Then what is your connection with him?”

  “He just knocked on the door one night, and we took him in,” Bob explained.

  “Did you try to find out where he came from?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, what did he tell you?”

  “He said he’d been a rat,” said Bob unhappily.

  The judge glared at him.

  “He did, Your Honor,” said Joan.

  He glared at her too. Some of the people began to whisper, and some began to laugh. The judge banged his gavel for silence.

  “And what did you do with this child?” he asked.

  “We took him to the police, to the hospital, to the City Hall, and none of ’em wanted him. We sent him to school, and all they did was thrash him. Then a gentleman called the Philosopher Royal came and took him away for some tests, and he frightened the boy and he ran away. Since then, we been looking all over for him.

  “And every time we nearly found him, something happened and he ran off somewhere else. He’s a friendly little feller, but he’s very easy to mislead. And when we heard of this monster nonsense, we thought we should come along, in case they exterminated him by mistake.”

  “I see,” said the judge. “Is the Philosopher Royal due to attend as a witness?”

  “Tomorrow, my lord,” said the court clerk.

  “Send for him now,” said the judge. “Mr. and Mrs. Jones, you did a wrong thing in deceiving the court. Nevertheless, I accept that you acted for what you thought were good reasons, and I direct that you shall be found room to sit and listen to the rest of the tribunal. But whether you are called again to the witness stand depends on my judgment.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Bob.

  The usher led them to a bench at the front and made everyone else squeeze up, which led to a lot of grumbling.

  By this time, the real Mr. Harkness had arrived, and he was brought in next. He had examined the monster, he claimed, and discovered all kinds of ways in which it was nonhuman. He showed the court diagrams and charts and mathematical tables, and he proved by the use of chemical analysis and statistical spectroscopy that the monster was an unknown and dangerous life form.

  Bob began to fidget. Joan nudged him to keep still.

  The next witness was someone surprising: none other than Mr. Tapscrew. Bob sat up and clenched his fists.

  “You are the proprietor of a fairground exhibition?” said the lawyer.

  “I am, sir, and proud to be so,” said Mr. Tapscrew.

  “Please tell the court of your involvement with the monster.”

  “I have had long experience with the freak trade, my lord. I have exhibited numerous natural wonders, from the famous Sumatran Mermaid to the Boneless Wonder of Mexico.

  “Now, I don’t need to explain to you sophisticated ladies and gentlemen that much of the business of a fairground exhibition is in the nature of lighthearted make-believe. My mermaid, for instance—well, whether there’s mermaids in the sea I couldn’t say, but this one was a girl called Nancy Swillers, and her tail was run up out of satin and sequins by my good lady wife. Mind you, we did good business with her; the patrons got their money’s worth, Nancy got a wage, and everyone was satisfied.

  “But I’m always on the lookout for new and unusual exhibits to set before the public, my lord. And when I heard of a new kind of monster, half child, half rat, I set out to find it. And—”

  “One moment, Mr. Tapscrew,” said the judge. “Where did you hear of this phenomenon?”

  “In the saloon bar of a pub called the Black Horse, if I remember right,” said Mr. Tapscrew. “I was passing the time of day, and someone happened to mention that he’d heard tell of a creature very like a child, only different, really a rat in fact, being looked after or concealed by some neighbors of his. And this creature would gnaw its way through anything—it was wild, it was dangerous, it was probably carrying all kinds of diseases—he wasn’t happy about living next to it.”

  “Charlie,” muttered Bob.

  “Shhh!” said Joan.

  “Well, following on from this,” Mr. Tapscrew went on, “I made inquiries and began to investigate, and being a determined and experienced investigator, I soon found the creature in question.”

  “Did you take it back to its guardians? These neighbors you mentioned?” asked the lawyer.

  “No. The fact was, I didn’t know this man’s name, the chap in the pub, and I forgot where he’d told me he lived. So—”

  “I thought you said you were an experienced investigator,” said the judge.

  “You’re quite right, my lord,” said Mr. Tapscrew cheerfully, not a bit put out. “So I did. But it was very late at night when I found it, and the rat-creature itself seemed to form an attachment to me. Anyway, he wouldn’t leave me, and I took him home out of pure charity, and my good lady wife gave him a meal, and as we watched him eat, the idea came to me of exhibiting him as an educational display.

  “So we went to great expense to fit out a wagon full of the most comfortable surroundings, and made sure he had the most varied food, and opened it up to the serious-minded and discerning public.

  “And I have to say, my lord”—here Mr. Tapscrew took out an enormous handkerchief and blew his nose vigorously—“I have to say we became quite attached to the creature, very fond indeed. It would curl up at our feet of an evening and take food from our hands, and we even taught it a few words.”

  He dabbed his eyes.

  “But nature will out, my lord,” he said sadly. “You can take the beast into your
home, but you can’t make him human. One day the creature treacherously gnawed through the side of his wagon and escaped, and we haven’t seen him from that day to this.”

  Bob could hardly contain himself. Every muscle in his body was twitching to get up and punch Mr. Tapscrew on his lying nose, but he knew that if he did that, he’d be thrown out, and Joan was squeezing his hand so tight her nails were digging into his palm.

  “From your firsthand observation of the creature,” the lawyer was saying, “did you draw any conclusions as to its nature?”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Tapscrew. “For all his mimicking, he wasn’t human. There was a definite scaliness about him. He was covered in scabs and pustules. I dread to think of the health risks, but my dedication to science is so great that I didn’t worry about it. And his gnawing: that was the give-away. Just exactly like a giant rat. That and the pustules.”

  “And from your experience, Mr. Tapscrew, would you say that a creature of this sort could be successfully trained?”

  “No, sir, it could not. As a young one, what you might call a cub or a puppy kind of thing, it might display signs of human-style behavior and even affection. But let ’em grow up and feel their strength, and soon they start growing wild. They don’t want to be dominated, you see, they won’t be tamed. They ain’t like your dogs, or your cats, what are proper domesticated pets. This is a wild and ferocious creature. Just let it get big enough and nothing’ll stop it from tearing your throat out and chewing it up before your very eyes. With relish,” he added with relish.

  “And you have no idea what happened to the monster after it escaped?”

  “None, your worship.”

  “What are you exhibiting at the moment, Mr. Tapscrew?”

  “A very fine and unusual display, if I may say so, your lordship. Serpentina the Snake-Girl. Half snake, half human, this lithe and sinister creature displays her uncanny—”