like that I’m the King, I’m the one, the cutpurse, the thief, the deserter chief!’
‘So what’s going on?’ yelled Saul.
‘Something . .. went.. . wrong . .. Once upon a time. Rats’ve long memories, see?’ King Rat thumped his head. ‘They don’t forget stuff. They keep it all in the noggin. That’s all. And you’re involved, sunshine.
This is all tied up with the one that wants you dead, the cove that bumped off your fucking dad.’
Fucking dad, said the echoes for a long time afterwards.
‘What... who ... is it?’ said Saul.
King Rat looked balefully at him with those shadow-encrusted eyes.
Page 49
‘The Ratcatcher.’
PART THREE
LESSONS IN RHYTHM AND HISTORY
CHAPTER NINE
Almost as soon as Fabian had left, Pete had appeared. His alacrity was suspicious. In another mood it would have pissed Natasha off, but she felt like forgetting about Saul, just for a short time.
She and Fabian had sat up late in her small kitchen. Fabian always commented on Natasha’s rather self-consciously minimalist approach to decor, complaining that it made him feel uneasy, but that night they had other things on their mind. The faint strains of Drum and Bass filtered through from the stereo next door.
The next morning Natasha rose at eight, regretting the cigarettes she had shared with Fabian. He rolled out of the sleeping-bag she had lent him, when he heard her stir. They had no more words to say about Saul. They were numb and tired. Fabian left quickly.
Natasha wandered out of the kitchen dripping night-clothes, pulling a shapeless sweater over her shoulders. She turned on the stereo, slipped the needle onto the vinyl on the turntable. It was the best of last year’s compilations, now some months old, rendering it an ancient classic in the fast-mutating world of Drum and Bass.
She ran her hands through her hair, pulling brutally at the tangles.
Pete rang the bell. She guessed it was him.
She was tired but she let him in. As he drank her coffee, she leaned against the counter and peered at him. She considered him ugly, his pale skin and thin limbs. He was hardly a style guru, either. The world of Jungle could be elitist. She smiled slightly at the thought of the rudeboys and hard-steppers in the club AWOL being presented with this under-sunned apparition, complete with flute.
‘How much do you know about Drum and Bass?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not much, really ...”
‘I can tell. When you played yesterday it was impressive, but I’ve got to tell you it’s a weird idea playing flutes or shit like that to Jungle. If it’s going to work, we’re going to have to figure it out carefully.’
Page 50
He nodded, his face comical with concentration. Natasha almost wished for a repeat of his extraordinary performance of the previous day, his sudden knowing smile. The alternative was so cringing, so desperate to please, that it all but nauseated her. If this day didn’t go well, she decided, she wasn’t having any more of it.
She sighed. ‘I’m not cutting anything with you without you knowing something about the music. Just because General fucking Levy gets a single in the top ten, and some art-school wankers start writing about Jungle, and the next thing you know anything with a backbeat’s “Jungle”. Even Everything But The fucking Girl!’ She folded her arms. ‘Everything But The Girl aren’t Jungle, alright?’
He nodded. It was clear he had never heard of Everything But The Girl.
She closed her eyes and bit back a grin.
‘Right. There’s a lot going on in Jungle: there’s intelligent Jungle, there’s Hardstep, Techstepping, Jazz Jungle ... I like ‘em all, but I can’t cut Hardstep tracks. All the darkness edges. You want Hardstep, go to Ed Rush or Skyscraper or something, OK? I cut tunes more like Bukem, DJ Rap, stuff like that.’
Natasha was enjoying herself enormously, lecturing him, watching his eyes dart frantically around. He had no idea what she was
‘So what’s going on?’ yelled Saul.
‘Something . .. went.. . wrong . .. Once upon a time. Rats’ve long memories, see?’ King Rat thumped his head. ‘They don’t forget stuff. They keep it all in the noggin. That’s all. And you’re involved, sunshine.
This is all tied up with the one that wants you dead, the cove that bumped off your fucking dad.’
Fucking dad, said the echoes for a long time afterwards.
‘What... who ... is it?’ said Saul.
King Rat looked balefully at him with those shadow-encrusted eyes.
Page 49
‘The Ratcatcher.’
PART THREE
LESSONS IN RHYTHM AND HISTORY
CHAPTER NINE
Almost as soon as Fabian had left, Pete had appeared. His alacrity was suspicious. In another mood it would have pissed Natasha off, but she felt like forgetting about Saul, just for a short time.
She and Fabian had sat up late in her small kitchen. Fabian always commented on Natasha’s rather self-consciously minimalist approach to decor, complaining that it made him feel uneasy, but that night they had other things on their mind. The faint strains of Drum and Bass filtered through from the stereo next door.
The next morning Natasha rose at eight, regretting the cigarettes she had shared with Fabian. He rolled out of the sleeping-bag she had lent him, when he heard her stir. They had no more words to say about Saul. They were numb and tired. Fabian left quickly.
Natasha wandered out of the kitchen dripping night-clothes, pulling a shapeless sweater over her shoulders. She turned on the stereo, slipped the needle onto the vinyl on the turntable. It was the best of last year’s compilations, now some months old, rendering it an ancient classic in the fast-mutating world of Drum and Bass.
She ran her hands through her hair, pulling brutally at the tangles.
Pete rang the bell. She guessed it was him.
She was tired but she let him in. As he drank her coffee, she leaned against the counter and peered at him. She considered him ugly, his pale skin and thin limbs. He was hardly a style guru, either. The world of Jungle could be elitist. She smiled slightly at the thought of the rudeboys and hard-steppers in the club AWOL being presented with this under-sunned apparition, complete with flute.
‘How much do you know about Drum and Bass?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not much, really ...”
‘I can tell. When you played yesterday it was impressive, but I’ve got to tell you it’s a weird idea playing flutes or shit like that to Jungle. If it’s going to work, we’re going to have to figure it out carefully.’
Page 50
He nodded, his face comical with concentration. Natasha almost wished for a repeat of his extraordinary performance of the previous day, his sudden knowing smile. The alternative was so cringing, so desperate to please, that it all but nauseated her. If this day didn’t go well, she decided, she wasn’t having any more of it.
She sighed. ‘I’m not cutting anything with you without you knowing something about the music. Just because General fucking Levy gets a single in the top ten, and some art-school wankers start writing about Jungle, and the next thing you know anything with a backbeat’s “Jungle”. Even Everything But The fucking Girl!’ She folded her arms. ‘Everything But The Girl aren’t Jungle, alright?’
He nodded. It was clear he had never heard of Everything But The Girl.
She closed her eyes and bit back a grin.
‘Right. There’s a lot going on in Jungle: there’s intelligent Jungle, there’s Hardstep, Techstepping, Jazz Jungle ... I like ‘em all, but I can’t cut Hardstep tracks. All the darkness edges. You want Hardstep, go to Ed Rush or Skyscraper or something, OK? I cut tunes more like Bukem, DJ Rap, stuff like that.’
Natasha was enjoying herself enormously, lecturing him, watching his eyes dart frantically around. He had no idea what she was
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