bones, the smacking of lips - oh, that disgusting lip-smacking sound which conveyed supreme contempt!'
Niger stopped, and a surreptitious glance showed me that tears had gathered in her eyes which, though blind, were as lovely as fjords surrounded by the mist. The horror seemed to have etched itself permanently into her memory, and like most witnesses of violent events she kept going back over the hell she'd suffered. I wanted to say something comforting, but I felt next moment that would be a clumsy, useless thing to do. I couldn't comfort someone whose suffering I hadn't shared.
Unexpectedly, Saffron caught up with us. He was wet through, and in his mouth he carried the fattest, ugliest rat I had ever seen. To be honest, I hadn't got to know very many of these unattractive contemporaries of ours to date, certainly none who had swollen to twice their normal size by lurking in subterranean vaults. For the rat Saffron was carrying in his teeth like a retriever was more the size of a stout rabbit. The hunter himself bore his trophy as casually as if he'd just stopped off at the supermarket meat counter. It had several deep bites disfiguring the neck area.
'Hab you tol hib bou Cazy Uo?' he mumbled, since the prey in his mouth made it impossible for him to articulate clearly. The rat's dead, open eyes stared sideways and accusingly at me, as if reproaching me for hanging about in such disreputable company.
'I was just coming to that part,' said Niger, suppressing a sob and shaking her head violently to get rid of the tears.
'Hugo grew up during this bad time. He was a Tiffany, a long-haired Burmese: silky, sable-brown fur, very long and hopelessly tangled; eyes which might have been cast in high-carat gold, bushy tail, muscular build, round head. He was in a pitiful state when he was washed down into the sewers. That soon changed, and we very quickly realised that not only was he the most handsome young male we'd ever reared, he was also, extraordinarily, the only one of us to retain his vision. But it soon turned out that he suffered from severe behavioural disorders. With Hugo, even childish games quickly became so rough that his surprised companions were left with nasty injuries. When he grew older he would pick on anyone, even his foster mother, and in fact he hurt her quite badly. And he spent less and less time with us; he became a recluse, turning up only to pick violent quarrels. One day he broke our taboo: he actually killed one of us in a fight. We expelled him from our community as punishment for the crime, and thereafter we knew him only as Crazy Hugo. Like the evil phantom, he assumed the aura of a ghost who seldom appeared, but whose watchful eyes were secretly observing us all the time. After a while, however, we began to forget Crazy Hugo, being too busy with our own troubles. In fact the one we had cast out actually became a legendary figure of whom we told the most amazing tales with paws before our mouths.
'One day - by this time our numbers were much reduced by the monster's terrorist attacks - we were out hunting and came to a part of the sewage system where we'd never been before. As we went further and further on we suddenly came up against a wall, and realised too late that it was a blind alley. But by then we were in the trap, for at that moment we heard the dreadful dragging noise the phantom made. It had obviously been following us the whole way there. Now it took up its position behind us, cutting off the only way of escape. We were at its mercy. It just stood there, patiently waiting to turn our flesh and bones to bloody mush with its murderous jaws. And the descriptions the young ones and children who could still see gave us at last revealed the secret of its identity.'
'Some crazy human being, right?' I guessed astutely.
Saffron dropped the stinking rat from his mouth and with a mighty blow of his paw kicked it to the right, into an alcove where a stone had fallen out of the wall.
'Wrong. It
Niger stopped, and a surreptitious glance showed me that tears had gathered in her eyes which, though blind, were as lovely as fjords surrounded by the mist. The horror seemed to have etched itself permanently into her memory, and like most witnesses of violent events she kept going back over the hell she'd suffered. I wanted to say something comforting, but I felt next moment that would be a clumsy, useless thing to do. I couldn't comfort someone whose suffering I hadn't shared.
Unexpectedly, Saffron caught up with us. He was wet through, and in his mouth he carried the fattest, ugliest rat I had ever seen. To be honest, I hadn't got to know very many of these unattractive contemporaries of ours to date, certainly none who had swollen to twice their normal size by lurking in subterranean vaults. For the rat Saffron was carrying in his teeth like a retriever was more the size of a stout rabbit. The hunter himself bore his trophy as casually as if he'd just stopped off at the supermarket meat counter. It had several deep bites disfiguring the neck area.
'Hab you tol hib bou Cazy Uo?' he mumbled, since the prey in his mouth made it impossible for him to articulate clearly. The rat's dead, open eyes stared sideways and accusingly at me, as if reproaching me for hanging about in such disreputable company.
'I was just coming to that part,' said Niger, suppressing a sob and shaking her head violently to get rid of the tears.
'Hugo grew up during this bad time. He was a Tiffany, a long-haired Burmese: silky, sable-brown fur, very long and hopelessly tangled; eyes which might have been cast in high-carat gold, bushy tail, muscular build, round head. He was in a pitiful state when he was washed down into the sewers. That soon changed, and we very quickly realised that not only was he the most handsome young male we'd ever reared, he was also, extraordinarily, the only one of us to retain his vision. But it soon turned out that he suffered from severe behavioural disorders. With Hugo, even childish games quickly became so rough that his surprised companions were left with nasty injuries. When he grew older he would pick on anyone, even his foster mother, and in fact he hurt her quite badly. And he spent less and less time with us; he became a recluse, turning up only to pick violent quarrels. One day he broke our taboo: he actually killed one of us in a fight. We expelled him from our community as punishment for the crime, and thereafter we knew him only as Crazy Hugo. Like the evil phantom, he assumed the aura of a ghost who seldom appeared, but whose watchful eyes were secretly observing us all the time. After a while, however, we began to forget Crazy Hugo, being too busy with our own troubles. In fact the one we had cast out actually became a legendary figure of whom we told the most amazing tales with paws before our mouths.
'One day - by this time our numbers were much reduced by the monster's terrorist attacks - we were out hunting and came to a part of the sewage system where we'd never been before. As we went further and further on we suddenly came up against a wall, and realised too late that it was a blind alley. But by then we were in the trap, for at that moment we heard the dreadful dragging noise the phantom made. It had obviously been following us the whole way there. Now it took up its position behind us, cutting off the only way of escape. We were at its mercy. It just stood there, patiently waiting to turn our flesh and bones to bloody mush with its murderous jaws. And the descriptions the young ones and children who could still see gave us at last revealed the secret of its identity.'
'Some crazy human being, right?' I guessed astutely.
Saffron dropped the stinking rat from his mouth and with a mighty blow of his paw kicked it to the right, into an alcove where a stone had fallen out of the wall.
'Wrong. It
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