I Was a Rat!, Page 9

  “Is she genuine? Or is she like your mermaid?”

  “Aha, you’re no fool, I can see that. No,” said Mr. Tapscrew jovially, “she’s a bit of lighthearted amusement. Half-price today, ladies and gentlemen! Half-price admission to the Snake-Girl during the trial—”

  “Thank you, Mr. Tapscrew. You may stand down.”

  As Mr. Tapscrew left the witness stand, he handed out leaflets to the nearest people until he saw Bob and Joan glaring at him. Then he looked the other way and hurried out.

  The usher was handing the judge a note. The judge read it and said, “Very well. Call him in next.”

  The usher went out, and Bob muttered, “The longer they talk, the worse it gets! They oughter just bring the little feller in and put him on the stand, and then everyone’d see he ain’t a monster!”

  “I don’t think they will,” Joan whispered back. “The longer it goes on, the more silly they’d look if they did. They just can’t afford to now.”

  The usher came back to the court and announced: “Dr. Septimus Prosser, the Philosopher Royal!”

  “Ah, they’re all coming out of the woodwork now,” said Bob under his breath as the Philosopher Royal took the stand.

  “What are your duties, Dr. Prosser?” the lawyer began.

  “His Majesty the King is a very gifted amateur philosopher. I have the honor to serve as his personal philosophical adviser.”

  “Could you tell the court of your involvement with the monster?”

  “By all means. It came to my attention that there was a child who claimed he had been a rat. I was curious, so I traced the child and conducted some tests.”

  Here the Philosopher Royal took some papers out of a briefcase and put on a pair of glasses.

  “I found,” he went on, “a remarkable degree of dissociation and denial, paranoid in nature. The creature’s cognitive development was abnormally retarded…”

  Bob was grinding his teeth. The Philosopher Royal talked smoothly on, explaining, demonstrating, defining, and Roger seemed to become less and less real, until he was only a word among a lot of other words.

  Eventually the judge interrupted. “Dr. Prosser, let me see if I understand you clearly. You maintain that the creature is essentially a rat, and not essentially human?”

  “Quite so, my lord. The intrinsic nature of the creature is such that there is no moral continuum between it and ourselves.”

  “Again, let me try to clarify this. You maintain that we, as human beings, have no moral responsibility to this creature? It is not human, and therefore we should treat it as we might any kind of vermin?”

  “Yes, that is the case.”

  Bob could stand it no more. He stood, shook his fist at the Philosopher Royal, and roared: “You never treated him proper, you old fraud! You broke your word to us and you let him run away! Damn all this fancy talk! He ain’t a monster or a creature or a rat or any kind of vermin—he’s a little boy!”

  The judge was banging on the bench, the usher was hurrying toward Bob, and two policemen were rushing in to help.

  As they seized Bob’s arm, he shouted: “Bring him to the court! Let ’em all have a look! Listen to him speak! Then you’ll see! He’s a little boy! He’s human! He’s like us! Bring him out and have a look at him!”

  But they’d got him to the door by this time. Joan cried out to Bob that she was coming with him, but no one could hear in all the confusion. People were shouting, jeering, laughing, and standing on the benches to get a better look. It was the most exciting day in court for years.

  THE DAILY SCOURGE

  MONSTER CONDEMNED

  Official—the Monster of the Sewers is to die!

  Yesterday, after sensational scenes at the tribunal, the decision was handed down by the learned judge:

  KILL THE FOUL BEAST.

  The monster will be exterminated tomorrow.

  Celebrations

  There were wild scenes of joy outside the court when the verdict was announced. Parents who had been keeping their children away from school celebrated with fireworks and street parties.

  Seventy-eight people were injured, five of them seriously.

  Our philosophy correspondent writes:

  It was the testimony of Dr. Prosser, the Philosopher Royal, that made the difference. READ HIM TODAY.

  THE PHILOSOPHER ROYAL SPEAKS—ONLY IN THE SCOURGE!

  Don’t believe in what you see!

  by Dr. Septimus Prosser

  Wise men and women throughout the ages have said this again and again: appearances are deceptive.

  It’s not what something looks like on the surface that counts.

  It’s what lies underneath.

  The Monster of the Sewers may look like a little child. He may have the appearance of a normal nine-year-old boy.

  But how often have we been deceived by looks!

  Our senses are limited things. We see very little compared to birds of prey. Next to bats, we’re almost deaf. And as for the sense of smell, Fido and Rover have got us well beaten in that department.

  SO WHO IS TO SAY THAT WE SHOULD TRUST THE APPEARANCE OF THIS CREATURE?

  His true nature is what matters. Hidden, secret, dark, deceptive. A cesspool of wild appetites. That’s the real truth of the matter.

  Then there are those who ask what the monster has “done wrong.”

  As if that matters!

  Wrongness is in his very nature. It’s what he is that matters, not what he does.

  Philosophy says:

  Don’t trust your senses. The truth is not what you see. It’s what you don’t!

  Scarlet Slippers, or the Practical Value of Craftsmanship

  To tell the truth, the Philosopher Royal’s article had been entirely rewritten by the subeditor so the readers could understand it, but it was more or less what Dr. Prosser had said.

  Everyone agreed that this was a very effective article, and readers said to each other that of course you should never go by appearances, they never had, you could never trust what someone looked like on the surface, they were bound to be different underneath.

  Joan didn’t read it, and neither did Bob. They were far too worried. After they’d been thrown out of the court, they had tried to find a reporter to tell their side of the story to, but no one would listen. The Daily Scourge had decided that the public was more interested in having the monster exterminated, so that was that.

  As the old couple sat that evening in despair about what they could do, Joan said suddenly: “Mary Jane!”

  “Who’s Mary Jane?” said Bob.

  “D’you remember,” she said, gripping his arm, “when we was talking about the Royal Wedding and the new Princess, Roger said she was really called Mary Jane!”

  “Oh, aye, so he did. I thought he was just making up a yarn.”

  “Well, so did I. But he was ever so firm about it, and it wasn’t like him to be stubborn, so I didn’t ask him any more. Anyway,” she said, “what about asking her to help?”

  “How?” he said.

  “I don’t know. But she seems a nice kind person, to go by her picture—”

  “Shouldn’t go by appearances,” Bob said bitterly.

  “Oh, that’s philosophy. Common sense always goes by appearances. I say she looks nice and she might be nice, and it’s the only thing we can do, isn’t it?”

  Bob scratched up his head. “Yeah,” he admitted, “that’s true enough.” Then he sat up. “I know how we can get to see her!”

  “How?”

  “You know them scarlet slippers I made, with the gold heels?”

  She said nothing, but just looked at him and nodded.

  “Well,” he went on, “we could take ’em to her as a present, and if she can’t wear ’em herself, she could use ’em for a royal child if one comes along. We’ll go right away!”

  Princess Mary Jane

  They knew the way to the Palace well enough by now, and they found the place much better looked after than when they’d la
st come. There were no high jinks in the servants’ hall, no soccer in the courtyard, no smoking in the sentry boxes. Now that the King and Queen were back from the Hotel Splendifico and the young Prince and Princess were back from their honeymoon, everything was spick-and-span and the servants were on their best behavior.

  The footman who came to answer their knock at the tradesmen’s entrance listened carefully and said: “I shall convey your gift to Her Royal Highness, and I’m sure her lady-in-waiting will send you a note of thanks.”

  “Could we see the Princess ourselves?” said Joan. “It’s really important, honest.”

  “Not without an appointment, madam. Write to the office of the Princess Aurelia at the Palace. Her private secretary will see to it.”

  “But we got to see her!” said Bob desperately. “It’s a matter of life and death!”

  “I’m very sorry—” the footman began, but a voice behind him said:

  “Who’s this?”

  It was a young lady’s voice. The footman jumped with surprise and bowed while he was still in midair, so he came down in a crouch.

  Bob and Joan could hardly believe their eyes. It was the new Princess herself, dressed in casual clothes, just standing there as ordinary as they were. The footman didn’t know whether to fawn and grovel or to tell her off for being in the wrong part of the Palace.

  “Oh, Your Royal Highness,” said Joan quickly, “we came to bring you a present—”

  “How kind! Do come in,” she said.

  The footman sagged with shock, but he had to go along with what the Princess wanted, and he held the door open for Bob and Joan.

  They felt very shy. They followed the Princess along the corridor and up the stairs into a friendly-looking little sitting room, not at all grand and pompous like the rest of the Palace.

  “Er—here you are, Your Royal Highness,” said Bob, handing her the shoebox. “If they don’t fit, I expect they’ll do one day for a littl’un. Beg your pardon—I mean a young princess. I made ’em myself,” he added.

  “Oh, they’re beautiful,” she said, kicking off the sandals she was wearing. “And they fit me perfectly! Thank you so much. You’re too kind.”

  They did fit, too, small as they were. Bob could hardly believe his luck.

  “I’m glad you like ’em, ma’am,” he said. “But the thing is, we got a terrible problem—I don’t like to impose, but we couldn’t think of anyone else to ask—”

  “Tell me about it,” she said. “Let’s sit down.”

  She wasn’t at all like you expected a princess to be, they agreed afterward; she was just like a real person, in fact, but a thousand times prettier, and so kind and concerned. She listened to their story from the moment Bob heard the knock on the door to the moment they thought of bringing her the slippers.

  The Princess listened wide-eyed and didn’t speak till they’d finished. She’d gone pale.

  “They’re going to kill him?” she said.

  “It’s cruel and wicked,” said Bob, “but we can’t stop ’em. We done everything we could think of.”

  “So we came to you,” said Joan, “as a last resort, and I’m sorry to put this trouble on your doorstep, but the thing is, he said something about Mary Jane, and—”

  The Princess sat up sharply.

  “But that’s my name!” she said. “Only no one’s supposed to know it. They said it wasn’t a suitable name for a princess, and I had to change it. But tell me again: when did he say he changed into a boy?”

  “He weren’t sure,” said Bob, “but reckoning backward, I’d say it were just about the time your engagement was announced, ma’am.”

  The Princess put her hand to her mouth.

  “I know who he is!” she whispered. “Please—don’t ask any more—I’ll help him,” she said. “I’ll do my best, I promise—but you mustn’t ask me any more about it! Please! It’s a deadly secret…”

  “We wouldn’t dream of betraying any secrets,” said Bob. “And if you help to save that little boy, I’ll keep you in slippers for the rest of your life, ma’am.”

  “Do you think you can, Your Royal Highness?” said Joan.

  “I don’t know what they’ll let me do,” said the Princess, “but I’ll try my absolute hardest, I promise.”

  The Princess and the Prison

  Next day, the director of the Quarantine Department received an urgent message as soon as he arrived for work.

  “Do not proceed with the E-program for Subject No. 5463. Repeat, do not proceed. Expect Very Important Visitor. Make sure subject is clean and presentable.”

  The director was very relieved. E stood for extermination, and he hadn’t been looking forward to it. He gave orders for Subject No. 5463 to be washed and placed in a comfortable cage, and then he got ready for his Very Important Visitor, having no idea of who it could be, of course.

  When his secretary announced in a trembly voice, “Her Royal Highness, the Princess Aurelia,” he nearly fainted.

  Like everyone else, he was fascinated by the graceful and charming Princess. He’d read all the accounts of her whirlwind engagement, he’d been among the crowd cheering on the wedding day, he’d half fallen in love with her himself, as had so many others. To find her here, in his own office, almost made him dizzy.

  She looked even prettier than he remembered. There was a detective to guard her and a lady-in-waiting to accompany her, and through all the bewildered roaring in his ears the director heard her say something about the rat-boy.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “the…did you say…”

  “Yes,” she said, “I’d like to visit him, if I may.”

  “He’s—er—very dangerous, ma’am,” the director managed to say. “He doesn’t look it, but as you know, appearances are very deceptive. It’s easy to be misled into thinking he’s harmless, but—”

  “Yes, I understand,” she said. “But I’m very interested in this case, and I’d like to see for myself.”

  “Of course! By all means! Now, we’ll just call three or four keepers—they’ll be armed, don’t worry—and then I’ll take you along to his cage.”

  “Why do you keep him in a cage?” said the Princess.

  “Because he is a being of unknown origin, something sinister and dangerous,” the director explained patiently. She was so pretty, he thought, it didn’t matter if she wasn’t very clever.

  “I see,” she said. “Well, I’d like to see him anyway. And if he’s in a cage, I won’t need any other protection.”

  She was stubborn too. She wouldn’t agree to armed members of staff, and she insisted on her lady-in-waiting and her detective staying in the office. She wanted to see the monster alone, and that was that.

  Well, she was the Princess and they had to agree, although the idea of this fragrant delicate beauty face to face with the ravening Monster of the Sewers made the director shiver. It was too horrible to think about what might happen, so he tried not to think about anything and ordered some coffee and made conversation with the lady-in-waiting instead.

  Wish as Hard as You Like

  Roger was sitting on the floor of his cage counting his toes when the door of the room opened and someone came in. He didn’t look up; they were all the same, except that some of them were worse.

  But his nostrils caught a nice smell, like flowers.

  It reminded him of something. He twitched a bit harder—and then he looked up.

  “Mary Jane!” he cried.

  She was alone. He jumped up with delight, never minding that he hadn’t got any clothes on, and ran to reach out through the bars.

  She took his hands.

  “Hush, Ratty,” she said, “you mustn’t call me Mary Jane anymore. We both been changed, and you’re Roger now, isn’t that right? Well, I’m Princess Aurelia. So you mustn’t tell anyone about Mary Jane, and I won’t tell anyone you were a rat.”

  “I kept telling ’em,” he said, “only no one believed me! First they never believed I was a rat, then the
y never believed I’m a boy! I don’t understand ’em, truly I don’t.”

  “Bob and Joan came to see me last night,” the Princess said. “I never knew about any of it till then. Oh, they’re so worried about you, Roger. And I told them I’d help, and I’ll try, truly I will. It’s horrible what these people are doing to you, it’s wrong and wicked, and I’ll get it stopped, see if I don’t. Evil monster from the sewers! I never heard of such nonsense!”

  “Where’s the monster?” said Roger, half frightened.

  “There isn’t one,” she said. “Now, listen carefully, because we might not be able to talk again like this—in private, I mean. What do you remember about being a rat?”

  “Well, I was a little boy rat, and we lived near the cheese stall in the market, just behind your house. And you used to work in the kitchen. And you used to give me scraps and tickle me and call me Ratty. I remember that now, but I forgot it before. Then one day you caught me in a shoebox and brung me in the kitchen too, and before I knew anything else, I was a boy, standing up like this, only with clothes on.”

  “Do you remember what changed you?”

  “No. When I was a rat, I didn’t know anything, and when I was a boy, it was all over already. But you was all dressed up for dancing, and I had to go with you on the coach and open the door and pull the step down and go with you into the Palace. A beautiful lady told me all that, and I done it.”

  “And you were supposed to wait with the coach for me to come back.”

  “Was I? That must be what I forgot to do. Yes, I remember! I got lost in the Palace and got up to mischief. Me and the Palace page boys, we played soccer in them long corridors upstairs, and we slid down the banisters, and we crept in the kitchen and ate the jellies and sausage rolls. We done all kinds of things. And then I was supposed to go back to the coach, and put the step up after you and shut the door and all, only when I remembered and went there, you was gone and there wasn’t a coach or nothing. And they wouldn’t let me back in the Palace because all them other page boys had been whipped and sent to bed, and I didn’t belong, I had the wrong uniform, and they sent me away.