The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents

than everyone else. Can you imagine? Anyway… so you really are a magical cat, then?” she finished, pouring the milk into a saucer. It oozed rather than gushed, but Maurice was a street cat and would drink milk so rotten that it would try to crawl away.

“Oh, yes, that's right, magical,” he said, with a yellow-white ring around his mouth. For two fish-heads he'd be anything for anybody.

“Probably belonged to a witch, I expect, with a name like Griselda or one of those names,” said the girl, putting the fish-heads on another saucer.

“Yeah, right, Griselda, right,” said Maurice, not raising his head.

“Who lived in a gingerbread cottage in the forest, probably.”

“Yeah, right,” said Maurice. And then, because he wouldn't be Maurice if he couldn't be a bit inventive, he added: “Only it was a crispbread cottage, 'cos she was slimming. Very healthy witch, Griselda.”

The girl looked puzzled for a moment. “That's not how it should go,” she said.

“Sorry, I tell a lie, it was gingerbread really,” said Maurice quickly. Someone giving you food was always correct.

“And she had big warts, I'm sure.”

“Miss,” said Maurice, trying to look sincere, “some of those warts had so much personality they used to have friends of their own. Er… what's your name, miss?”

“Promise not to laugh?”

“All right.” After all, there might be more fish-heads.

“It's… Malicia.”

“Oh.”

“Are you laughing?” she said, in a threatening voice.

“No,” said Maurice, mystified. “Why should I?”

“You don't think it's a funny name?”

Maurice thought about the names he knew—Hamnpork, Dangerous Beans, Darktan, Sardines… “Sounds like an ordinary kind of name to me,” he said.

Malicia gave him another suspicious look, but turned her attention to the kid, who was sitting with the usual happy, faraway smile he wore when he didn't have anything else to do. “And have you got a name?” she said. “You're not the third and youngest son of a king, are you? If your name starts ‘Prince’ that's a definite clue.”

The kid said, “I think it's Keith.”

“You never said you had a name!” said Maurice.

“No-one ever asked before,” said the kid.

“Keith is not a promising name-start,” said Malicia. “It doesn't hint of mystery. It just hints of Keith. Are you sure it's your real name?”

“It's just the one they gave me.”

“Ah, that's more like it. A slight hint of mystery,” said Malicia, suddenly looking interested. “Just enough to up suspense. You were stolen away at birth, I expect. You probably are the rightful king of some country, but they found someone who looked like you and did a swap. In that case, you'll have a magic sword, only it won't look magic, you see, until it's time for you to manifest your destiny. You were probably found on a doorstep.”

“I was, yes,” said Keith.

“See? I'm always right!”

Maurice was always on the lookout for what people wanted. And what Malicia wanted, he felt, was a gag. But he'd never heard the stupid-looking kid talk about himself before.

“What were you doing on a doorstep?” he said.

“I don't know. Gurgling, I expect,” said Keith.

“You never said,” said Maurice, accusingly.

“Is it important?” said Keith.

“There was a magic sword or a crown in the basket with you, probably. And you've got a mysterious tattoo or a strange-shaped birthmark, too,” said Malicia.

“I don't think so. No-one ever mentioned them,” said Keith. “There was just me and a blanket. And a note.”

“A note? But that's important!”

“It said ‘19 pints and a Strawberry Yoghurt’,” said Keith.

“Ah. Not helpful, then,” said Malicia. “Why nineteen pints of milk?”

“It was the Guild of Musicians,” said Keith. “Quite a large place. I don't know about the strawberry yoghurt.”

“Abandoned orphan is good,” said Malicia. “After all, a prince can only grow up to be a king but a mysterious orphan could be anybody. Were you beaten and starved and locked in a cellar?”

“I don't think so,” said Keith, giving her a funny look. “Everyone at the Guild was very kind. They were mostly nice people. They taught me a lot.”

“We've got Guilds here,” said Malicia. “They teach boys to be carpenters and stonemasons and things like that.”

“The Guild taught me music,” said Keith. “I'm a musician. I'm good at it, too. I've been earning my own living since I was six.”

“Aha! Mysterious orphan, strange talent, distressed upbringing… it's all shaping up,” said Malicia. “The strawberry yoghurt is probably not important. Would your life have been different if it had been banana-flavoured? Who can say? What kinds of music do you play?”

“Kinds? There aren't any kinds. There's just music,” said Keith. “There's always music, if you listen.”

Malicia looked at Maurice. “Is he always like this?” she demanded.

“This is the most I've ever heard him say,” said the cat.

“I expect you're very keen to know all about me,” said Malicia. “I expect you're just too polite to ask.”

“Gosh, yes,” said Maurice.

“Well, you probably won't be surprised to know that I've got two dreadful step-sisters,” said Malicia. “And I have to do all the chores!”

“Gosh, really,” said Maurice, wondering if there were any more fish-heads and, if there were any more fish-heads, whether they were worth all this.

“Well, most of the chores,” said Malicia, as if revealing an unfortunate fact. “Some of them, definitely. I have to clean up my own room, you know! And it's extremely untidy!”

“Gosh, really.”

“And it's very nearly the smallest bedroom. There're practically no cupboards and I'm running out of bookshelf space!”

“Gosh, really.”

“And people are incredibly cruel to me. You will note that we're here in a kitchen. And I'm the mayor's daughter. Should the daughter of a mayor be expected to wash up at least once a week? I think not!”

“Gosh, really.”

“And will you just look at these torn and bedraggled clothes I have to wear?”

Maurice looked. He wasn't good on clothes. Fur was enough for him. As far as he could tell, Malicia's dress was pretty much like any other dress. It seemed to be all there. There weren't any holes, except where the arms and head poked through.

“Here, just here,” said Malicia, pointing to a place on the hem which, to Maurice, looked no different from the rest of the dress. “I had to sew that back myself, you know?”

“Gosh, re—” Maurice stopped. From here he could see the bare shelves. More importantly, he could see Sardines abseiling down from a crack in the ancient ceiling. He had a knapsack on his back.

“And on top of this I'm the one who has to queue for the bread and sausages every day—” Malicia continued, but Maurice was listening even less than he had been before.