steeply out of sight. He looked up, King Rat was hugging the lid, waiting for Saul.
Saul swung his legs over the lip of the chute, and breathed its stale air. He pushed himself forward with his bum and slid under the tight curve, greased with living slime.
A breakneck careering ride and Saul was deposited breathless into a pool of freezing water. He spluttered and gobbed, emptying his mouth of the taste of dirt and squeezing his eyes clear. When he opened them, he stopped quite still, water dripping from his open mouth.
The walls stretched out away from each other so suddenly and violently it was as though they were afraid of one another. Saul sat in the cold pool at one end of the chamber. It swept out, a three-dimensional ellipse, like a raindrop on its side, ninety feet long, with him dumbstruck at the thin end.
Reinforced brick ribs striped the walls of the chamber and arched overhead: cathedral architecture, thirty feet high, like the fossilized belly of a whale long entombed under the city.
Saul stumbled from the pool, took a few short steps forward. To either side the room dipped a little, creating a thin moat drawing its water from the pool into which the chute had deposited Saul. Every few feet, just above the moat, were the circular ends of pipes disappearing, Saul supposed, into the main sewer above.
Before him there was a raised walkway, which climbed an incline until at the opposite end of the chamber it was eight feet from the floor, and there was the throne.
It faced Saul. It was rough, a utilitarian design sculpted with bricks, like everything under the ground.
The throne-room was quite empty.
Behind Saul something hit the water. The report leisurely explored the room. King Rat came to stand behind Saul.
‘Ta very much, Mr Bazalgette.’
Saul turned his head, shook it to show that he did not understand. King Rat scampered up the walkway and curled into the chair. He sat facing Saul, one leg thrown over a brickwork arm. His voice came as clear as ever to Saul’s ears, although he did not raise it.
‘He was the man with the plan, built the whole maze in the time of the last queen. People owe him their flush crappers, and me... I can thank him for my underworld.’
‘But all this ...’ breathed Saul. This room ... why did he build this room?’
Page 48
‘Mr Bazalgette was a canny gent.’ King Rat snickered unpleasantly. ‘I had a few whids, burnt his lugholes, told him a few tales, sights I’d seen. We had a conflab about him and his habits, not all of which were unknown to me.’ King Rat winked exaggeratedly. ‘He was of the opinion that these tales should remain undisclosed. We came to an arrangement. You’ll not find this here burrow, my cubby-hole, on any plans.’
Saul approached King Rat’s throne. He squatted on all fours in front of the seat.
‘What are we doing here? What do we do now?’ Saul was suddenly weary of following like a disciple, unable to intervene or shape events. ‘I want to know what you want.’
King Rat stared at him without speaking.
Saul continued. ‘Is this about those rats?’ he said. There was no answer.
‘Is this about the rats? What was that about? You’re the king, right? You’re King Rat. So command them. I didn’t see them showing any tribute or respect. They looked pretty pissed off to me. What’s this about? Call on the rats, make them come to you.’
There was no sound in the hall. King Rat continued to stare.
Eventually he spoke. ‘Not... yet.’
Saul waited.
‘I won’t... yet. They’re still... narked... with me. They’ll not do what I tell them just yet.’
‘How long have they been ... narked?’
‘Seven hundred years.’
King Rat looked a pathetic figure. He skulked with his characteristic combination of defensiveness and arrogance. He looked lonely.
‘You’re .. . not the king at all, are you?’
‘_I_ am the king!’ King Rat was on his feet, spitting at the figure below him. ‘Don’t dare talk to me
Saul swung his legs over the lip of the chute, and breathed its stale air. He pushed himself forward with his bum and slid under the tight curve, greased with living slime.
A breakneck careering ride and Saul was deposited breathless into a pool of freezing water. He spluttered and gobbed, emptying his mouth of the taste of dirt and squeezing his eyes clear. When he opened them, he stopped quite still, water dripping from his open mouth.
The walls stretched out away from each other so suddenly and violently it was as though they were afraid of one another. Saul sat in the cold pool at one end of the chamber. It swept out, a three-dimensional ellipse, like a raindrop on its side, ninety feet long, with him dumbstruck at the thin end.
Reinforced brick ribs striped the walls of the chamber and arched overhead: cathedral architecture, thirty feet high, like the fossilized belly of a whale long entombed under the city.
Saul stumbled from the pool, took a few short steps forward. To either side the room dipped a little, creating a thin moat drawing its water from the pool into which the chute had deposited Saul. Every few feet, just above the moat, were the circular ends of pipes disappearing, Saul supposed, into the main sewer above.
Before him there was a raised walkway, which climbed an incline until at the opposite end of the chamber it was eight feet from the floor, and there was the throne.
It faced Saul. It was rough, a utilitarian design sculpted with bricks, like everything under the ground.
The throne-room was quite empty.
Behind Saul something hit the water. The report leisurely explored the room. King Rat came to stand behind Saul.
‘Ta very much, Mr Bazalgette.’
Saul turned his head, shook it to show that he did not understand. King Rat scampered up the walkway and curled into the chair. He sat facing Saul, one leg thrown over a brickwork arm. His voice came as clear as ever to Saul’s ears, although he did not raise it.
‘He was the man with the plan, built the whole maze in the time of the last queen. People owe him their flush crappers, and me... I can thank him for my underworld.’
‘But all this ...’ breathed Saul. This room ... why did he build this room?’
Page 48
‘Mr Bazalgette was a canny gent.’ King Rat snickered unpleasantly. ‘I had a few whids, burnt his lugholes, told him a few tales, sights I’d seen. We had a conflab about him and his habits, not all of which were unknown to me.’ King Rat winked exaggeratedly. ‘He was of the opinion that these tales should remain undisclosed. We came to an arrangement. You’ll not find this here burrow, my cubby-hole, on any plans.’
Saul approached King Rat’s throne. He squatted on all fours in front of the seat.
‘What are we doing here? What do we do now?’ Saul was suddenly weary of following like a disciple, unable to intervene or shape events. ‘I want to know what you want.’
King Rat stared at him without speaking.
Saul continued. ‘Is this about those rats?’ he said. There was no answer.
‘Is this about the rats? What was that about? You’re the king, right? You’re King Rat. So command them. I didn’t see them showing any tribute or respect. They looked pretty pissed off to me. What’s this about? Call on the rats, make them come to you.’
There was no sound in the hall. King Rat continued to stare.
Eventually he spoke. ‘Not... yet.’
Saul waited.
‘I won’t... yet. They’re still... narked... with me. They’ll not do what I tell them just yet.’
‘How long have they been ... narked?’
‘Seven hundred years.’
King Rat looked a pathetic figure. He skulked with his characteristic combination of defensiveness and arrogance. He looked lonely.
‘You’re .. . not the king at all, are you?’
‘_I_ am the king!’ King Rat was on his feet, spitting at the figure below him. ‘Don’t dare talk to me
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