The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents

“Careful, sir,” said one of the younger rats who crowded the tunnel behind the Trap Disposal Squad.

Darktan grunted, and looked down at the teeth, an inch away from his nose. He pulled a short piece of wood out of one of his belts; a tiny sliver of mirror had been glued to one end of it.

“You lot move the candle this way a bit,” he commanded. “That's right. That's right. Let's see, now…” He pushed the mirror past the teeth and turned it gently. “Ah, just as I thought… it's a Prattle and Johnson Little Snapper, sure enough. One of the old Mk. Threes, but with the extra safety-catch. That's come a long way. OK. We know about these, don't we? Cheese for tea, lads!”

There was nervous laughter from the watchers, but a voice said, “Oh, they're easy…”

“Who said that?” said Darktan sharply.

There was silence. Darktan craned his head back. The young rats had carefully moved aside, leaving one looking very, very alone.

“Ah, Nourishing,” said Darktan, turning back to the trap's trigger mechanism. “Easy, is it? Glad to hear it. You can show us how it's done, then.”

“Er, when I said easy…” Nourishing began. “I mean, Inbrine showed me on the practice trap and he said —”

“No need to be modest,” said Darktan, a gleam in his eye. “It's all ready. I'll just watch, shall I? You can get into the harness and do it, can you?”

“—but, but, but, I couldn't see too well when he showed us, now I come to think about it, and, and, and —”

“I'll tell you what,” said Darktan, “I'll work on the trap, shall I?”

Nourishing looked very relieved.

“And you can tell me exactly what to do,” Darktan added.

“Er…” Nourishing began. Now she looked like a rat prepared to rejoin the widdling squad really quickly.

“Jolly good,” said Darktan. He carefully put his mirror away and pulled a length of metal out of his harness. He prodded the trap carefully. Nourishing shuddered at the sound of metal on metal. “Now, where was I… oh, yes, here's a bar and a little spring and a catch. What shall I do now, Miss Nourishing?”

“Er, er, er,” Nourishing stuttered.

“Things are creaking here, Miss Nourishing,” said Darktan, from the depths of the trap.

“Er, er, you wedge the thingy…”

“Which one is the thingy, Miss Nourishing? Take your time, whoops, this bit of metal is wobbling but don't let me hurry you in any way…”

“You wedge the, er, the thingy, er, the thingy… er…” Nourishing's eyes rolled wildly.

“Maybe it's this big SNAP argh argh argh…”

Nourishing fainted.

Darktan slipped out of the harness and dropped onto the trap. “All fixed,” he said. “I've clipped it firm, it won't off now. You boys can drag it out of the way.” He walked back to the squad and dropped a lump of hairy cheese onto Nourishing's quivering stomach. “It's very important in the trap business to be definite, you see. You're definite or you're dead. The second mouse gets the cheese.” Darktan sniffed. “Well, no human coming here would have any difficulty thinking there's rats around now…”

The other trainees laughed in the nervous, tittering way of people who've seen someone else attract the teacher's attention and are glad it isn't them.

Darktan unrolled a scrap of paper. He was a rat of action, and the idea that the world could be pinned down in little signs worried him a bit. But he could see how useful it was. When he drew pictures of a tunnel layout the paper remembered. It didn't get confused by new smells. Other rats, if they knew how to read, could see in their heads what the writer had seen.

He'd invented maps. It was a drawing of the world.

“Amazing stuff, this new technology,” he said. “So… there's poison marked here, two tunnels back. Did you see to it, Inbrine?”

“Buried and widdled on,” said Inbrine, his deputy. “It was the grey No. 2 poison, too.”

“Good rat,” said Darktan. “That's nasty eating.”

“There were dead keekees all round it.”

“I'll bet there were. No antidote for that stuff.”

“We found trays of No. 1 and No. 3 too,” said Inbrine. “Lots of them.”

“You can survive No. 1 poison if you're sensible,” said Darktan. “Remember that, all of you. And if you ever eat No. 3 poison, we've got some stuff that'll sort you out. I mean, you'll live in the end, but there'll be a day or two when you'd wish you were dead”

“There's lots of poison, Darktan,” said Inbrine, nervously. “More than I've ever seen before. Rat bones all over the place.”

“Important safety tip there, then,” said Darktan, setting off along a new tunnel. “Don't eat a dead rat unless you know what they died of. Otherwise you'll die of it, too.”

“Dangerous Beans says he thinks we shouldn't eat rats at all,” said Inbrine.

“Yeah, well, maybe,” said Darktan, “but out in the tunnels you have to be practical. Never let good food go to waste. And someone wake up Nourishing!”

“A lot of poison,” said Inbrine, as the squad moved on. “They must really hate rats here.”

Darktan didn't answer. He could see the rats were already getting nervous. There was a smell of fear in the rat runs. They'd never come across so much poison before. Darktan didn't usually worry about anything, and hated to feel the worry starting, deep in his bones

A small rat, out of breath, scurried up the tunnel and crouched in front of him.

“Kidney, sir, No. 3 Heavy Widdlers,” it burst out. “We've found a trap, sir! Not like the usual sort! Fresh walked right into it! Please come!”

There was a lot of straw in the loft over the stables, and the heat of the horses coming up from below made it quite snug.

Keith was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling and to himself. Maurice was watching his lunch, which was twitching its nose.

Right up until the time he pounced, Maurice looked like a sleek killing machine. It all went wrong just before he jumped. His rear rose, it waggled faster and faster from side to side, his tail slashed at the air like a snake, and then he dived forward, claws out—

“Squeak!”

“OK, here's the deal,” said Maurice to the shivering ball in his claws. “You just have to say something. Anything. ‘Let me go’, maybe, or even ‘Help!’ Squeak does not cut the mustard. It's just a noise. Just ask, and I'll let you go. No-one can say I'm not highly moral in that respect.”

“Squeak!” screamed the mouse.

“Fair enough,” said Maurice, and killed it instantly. He carried it back to the corner, where Keith was now sitting in the straw and finishing a pickled beef sandwich.

“It couldn't talk,” said Maurice, hurriedly.

“I didn't ask you,” said Keith.

“I mean, I gave it a chance,” said Maurice. “You heard me, right? It only had to say it didn't want to be eaten.”

“Good.”

“It's all right for you, I mean, it's not as though you have to speak to sandwiches,” said Maurice, as if he was still bothered about something.

“I wouldn't know what to say to them,” said Keith.

“And I'd like to point out that I didn't play with it, either,” said Maurice. “One swipe with the ol' paw and it was ‘goodbye, that's all she wrote’ except that obviously the mouse didn't write anything, not being intelligent in any way.”