The Rats, the Bats & the Ugly

  Next on the stand was Fat Fal. He bounded up and perched on the very edge of the witness box and winked at the crowded courtroom.

  Wisely, Capra kept his questioning to simple confirmation of the details of Bronstein's testimony.

  Foolishly, Captain Tesco decided his time had come to demolish a witness. A fat rat was surely no opposition. "I suspect that we can discount the evidence of this witness, as he is drunk."

  Fal looked down his long nose at the trial counsel. "Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind," he said, sniffing. "You reek. Canst still stand with that much bad sack in you?"

  "Henry IV," said Judge McCairn, with—amazingly—a straight face. "As the Bard would have said 'Hoist by your own petard,' Captain Tesco? Proceed."

  The flushed Tesco stuck to his guns. "I mean what I say, sir. I saw the rat in question drinking before it came up to the stand."

  "On a point of information, Your Honor," said Capra. "Rats are issued a grog ration by the army. There is, as a result, a high level of alcohol dependency among them, but this does not appear to affect the soft-cyber in any way. And, sir, as they are considered to be military animals, there is in fact no regulation that says that they cannot be drunk or drink on duty or at any time. But the truth is, a drunk could not survive Magh' attacks. Rat Falstaff here has survived a year of those. He may drink—as many of us, including myself, and my learned colleague, do. In his case, unlike ours, it does not have a direct effect on his memory. This is a scientifically provable fact."

  "I see," said the judge, making a note. "Have you any further questions, Captain? Or have you forgotten them . . . under the influence?"

  "Very funny, Your Honor," said Tesco perfunctorily. "Ha ha ha. Now we have established that the then Private Connolly encouraged you to drink the looted brandy—"

  "Nay," interrupted Fal. "Hath the wrong of it, as usual. He tried to stop us drinking, said it would make us go blind."

  "Do you expect anyone to accept such a story?" asked Tesco sarcastically. "How did he try to persuade you, rat? Tell us."

  Falstaff looked at the captain, focusing on his glasses. "Show me your hands, sirrah!" he barked in a parade ground-squeak.

  Startled out of thinking, Tesco held them out, before pulling them back hastily.

  "Ha!" exclaimed Fal with satisfaction. " 'Tis as I thought. Methinks I see hair sprouting there. That and blindness are caused by hoisting your own petard, and not drink, as any rat doth know, and as we explained to Chip. And why, methinks you could be living proof thereof."

  When the court had at last been stilled and order restored, the now livid trial attorney continued. "You're a joker, are you, rat?"

  "Aye," agreed Fal. "I am not only witty myself but the cause of wit that is in other rats."

  "Henry IV again," murmured the judge.

  Tesco threw the judge a murderous glance, and then turned his attention back to the rat. "But you're not going to evade the question. The then Private Connolly encouraged you . . ."

  "Aye, Chip's a valorous whoreson, though you'd not think it to look at him. He's mingy with vittles tho'. Rationed the food to make it last."

  Captain Tesco pounced: "So you admit he plied you with drink."

  Fal shook his head. "Thou art ever the carping costermonger. Nay. Thrice nay. He even snatched the bottle away from the Auncient Pistol, when we had cracked a bottle of the wine we found."

  "Ah. So he drank it himself, did he?"

  "Nay. He spilled on the ground." The rat hauled up his belt. "The waste was very great," he said mournfully. "He said if we drank before we'd found food, we'd belike to eat him and the bats. 'Tis true."

  "Cannibalism!" Tesco waved his arms theatrically. "What kind of witness is a self-admitted cannibal!?"

  The judge cleared his throat. "Actually, Captain Tesco, cannibalism is devouring your own species. I do not believe rats are part of the human species."

  Fat Fal spluttered indignantly. "Certainly not!"

  "On a point of information, Your Honor," said Lieutenant Capra, "there is considerable evidence, including the well-reported and unpleasant Mactra bunker incident, to indicate that the rat is simply speaking the truth. The rats have to eat roughly every four hours. They're voracious and have a phenomenally high metabolic rate. It is clear that Connolly acted in the best interest of the military animals in question. It is also clear that the then private attempted to behave in a provident manner, conserving food by rationing the rats."

  "Objection, Your Honor," snapped Tesco. "The creatures were feasting on food and drink stolen from Mr. Couteau!"

  "It has already been established, Captain," said the judge, "that Mr. Couteau was no longer the owner of the food or the wine. Since he had lodged claims for his property, it was now owned by the army. The then private simply issued army rations to military animals. To be fair, he could scarcely have filled in a requisition form, and waited hopefully, without being accused of negligence for their welfare. It appears from the rat Falstaff's testimony that he attempted to do so prudently. I suggest you move on, or at least speak on the basis of accurate fact."

  Having had his train of thought repeatedly derailed, Tesco went on to attempt the picking apart of a specific incident. "You claim that the accused attempted to persuade Ms. Shaw not to accompany you. When he went, had you not gone and had she, if she had wanted to and were able, and if there were no restraints on her to go, would Ms. Shaw not have been brought forcibly, meaning along with the Korozhet that you state was carried, netted to the tractor?"

  "Objection!" boomed Capra. "That question should be taken out and shot, Your Honor. It's a traitor to the English language."

  "Indeed. Rephrase it please, Captain Tesco."

  The trial attorney did. At length. It was something he did well.

  Falstaff scratched the base of his tail. "He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument, doth he not?"

  "Answer the question, rat!" demanded Tesco.

  "Happily," said Falstaff. "If I could but make sense of it. It seems a thing full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Mayhap 'tis too many beans in your diet. Doc hath the same problem."

  By the time the attorney had got a "No" out of Fal—which was not the answer he'd wanted—he looked in dire need of a drink. That bought him to his next line of attack.

  "The truth of the matter is you are not an unbiased witness. You took a willing part in the then Private Connolly's illegal activities and were wounded in the ensuing fracas."

  Fal drew himself up. "What base calumny is this proceeding from the heat of the oppressed brain, you Bartholomew Boarpig?" he bellowed, indignation coming out with every syllable. "To thus impute my fracas was injured in open court! I'll have you know I was wounded in the cheek."

  He turned around and waved his broad furry tail-end at the crowd. "See!"

  * * *

  Doll's coming to the stand next did nothing for Tesco's equilibrium, either.

  "Would you say that you're sexually active, rat?"

  Doll looked injured. "You perfumed milliner! Did'st think I'd just lie there?"

  It only went downhill from there.

  When questioned about Chip and Virginia's relationship, the prosecutor decided to press her. "I'm afraid I think you're lying, rat," he sneered.

  Doll sneered right back at him. "Thou'rt a soldier? And afeared? Fie, my lord, fie. Hie him hence, and off with his head, Judge. A soldier that hath admitted his cowardice in open court before witnesses. For shame."

  "Answer the question, rat," insisted Tesco, refusing—this time—to be drawn.

  Doll looked at him with pure scorn. "I'll answer no questions from such an arrant coward. Get me an honorable inquisitor, sirrah. One who is not afeared."

  "It was a manner of speaking, rat," said the judge. "Answer the questions put to you. You are under oath."

  Doll looked thoughtful and then began counting on her stubby fingers. "Nay. I deny it. I have been under Falstaff, and on top of
him, and under Nym, and Doc, and even Pistol, and Lennox and Ross, aye and Seyton too in the enlisted rats pub . . ."

  "I mean you are sworn to tell the truth," interrupted the judge, before she could start counting on her toes.

  Doll nodded. "Indeed. But it is yon scraggly swasher, whose pois'nous lies out-venom all the worms of the Nile. Why do you not make him be mounted by this Oath? It might screw some sense into him."

  The judge looked distinctly tempted. So far both Tesco's case preparation, and the charges, obviously hadn't impressed him much. "While the idea has merit, rat, that is why we remind the panel that their decisions must be fair, impartial and open-minded. They are instructed that it is the facts and not their opinion of the trial or defense counsels that must weigh with them."

  Doll nodded. Pointed a stubby forefinger at the panel. "Didst hear him, all of you? The judge said you can ignore"—she jerked a disdainful dab of the tail at the trial counsel—"yon Bartholomew Boarpig's wild canting."

  "Objection!"

  "Sustained. Witness, confine yourself to answering questions, please. Rat, I did not say the panel should ignore the trial counsel."

  Doll considered this. "No. You said, as I did, that they canst ignore him, not that they must. Now, what is your question?"

  But Captain Tesco, that past master of circumlocutionary speech, that had battered many a witness into involuntary confusion in his favor, had met his match. He'd lost his thread. By the time the day's testimony was over, he was plainly exhausted. And he'd yet to break Connolly's story.

  Court was finally adjourned. The next day Chip knew it would be his turn. He wished that he had an implanted memory to rely on. Or even Shakespearean English.

  Chapter 39

  Milk-floats, Palladian mansions and golf courses:

  Places which are the stuff of dreams with the

  right company and superglue.

  " 'Tis a tough crib to crack," said Nym, peering at Fluff's hand-drawn detail of Shaw House's defenses.

  "But can we do it?" asked the galago, anxiously. "Virginia, she is very worried about Chip. And me, I fear for her safety."

  "Oh, with a few bat-mines 'tis possible. But it is getting there . . ."

  Pooh-Bah smiled rattily. "In my role as Minister of War, I can advise. For a small fee."

  Wordlessly, Fluff handed over some of Virginia's money.

  Pooh-Bah grinned and tucked it into one of the eight pouches on his belt. One for each persona, apparently. "Humans have good systems to piggyback on. Deliveries to Shaw House take place every day. I am of the opinion you should use one of the early morning ones."

  "Ah. The delivery of the milk! She is there at about six-thirty in the morning. I had considered it and the truck of the garbage as a way to get out. But gate guards they inspect. They have the detectors of the bodyheat. And one of the guards goes along with the driver to the kitchen. It is why I came out with the box with the guard."

  "The heat detectors are intended to detect humans," said Ariel. " 'Tis possible you might set it off, I suppose."

  "Ahem. You might care to insult the great scientist with a small bribe," said Pooh-Bah.

  When the rat had stashed some more of Virginia's money in another of his belt pouches he said: "Not inside the insulated chill-chamber of the milk-float."

  "They'll look there, surely?" asked Eamon.

  The supercilious rat raised his eyebrows. "For people, aye. But for bats and rats? Nay." Pooh-Bah pointed to the map. "We have checked with the local Ratafia. The float stops here, to off-load two pints of milk and an orange juice. 'Tis a mere matter of taking a lift with the number twenty-nine omnibus that goes to deliver the Vat-servants." He pointed elsewhere. "A quarter of a mile, alack," he said with an expression of sorrow at the mention of such a vast distance.

  Even Fat Fal blinked at him. " 'Tis not far. What are the minefields between these places like?"

  "Ah. One forgets. I hath become accustomed to the city life," said Pooh-Bah. "No mines. Dogs. Aye, and cats, even. But they are usually easily deterred with a shock-stick, obtainable for a small fee from the Minister of Procurement."

  He held out a ratty paw. On accepting the money, he added: "What my colleagues the Ministers of Procurement and War and the Chief Factotum have perhaps omitted to mention, and it falls to my duty to do so as a man of God, is that most dogs will run away if you shout at them in human. 'Tis effective, if not quiet. Shock-sticks are best for cats on the hunt though."

  "Right—so we go by this omnibus thing to here, and thence from there on foot, and thence from there into the milk-float, within which we secrete ourselves."

  "Methinks there's no possibility of there being a beer-float instead?" asked Pistol gloomily. "If word of this leaks out . . . Our reputations, Iago, our reputations!" He sighed leakily. "Ah, well. If it must be done, best 'twere done swiftly. Press on, MacEamon."

  "Then, once the milk-float is within the fence, we emerge, kill the guards, blow the place to glory and—"

  "Forget the killing," said Ariel. " 'Tis not Maggots you fight here. Humans become relentless, even if you kill some misbegotten knave. The rats have thrived here in the city in secrecy. You bats must adapt yourselves."

  Eamon looked at her in disgust and assumed his folded-wing posture of what he thought was dignity, and everyone else thought was constipation. "Not kill these vile oppressors! What will you be after having us do? Pat them? Kiss them on the cheek?"

  "Well, we hath learned not to kill them too obviously," conceded Ariel. "You could get Falstaff to sit upon them, for example. Or . . ." She pulled a tube out of a pouch. "Use this. Carefully."

  A method of mayhem he did not know! Eamon was fascinated. "Indade? Do you hit them with it? What is it?"

  "Cynoacrylate," said Ariel. "The humans call it Super-Glue. 'Tis a wonderful substance, even tho' a girl-rat must have a care with it." She went on to explain just how useful it could be to creatures the size of small cats, that could move silently in the darkness.

  "Señorita, this glue, she is good. But these guards, they have the guns," said Fluff. "They are not at all afraid to shoot."

  "Hmm. Well, indade, let's give them something to shoot at. You can get some ammunition?"

  Pooh-Bah held out a paw. Bronstein glared at it, and licked her fangs, pointedly.

  "The Attorney General hath informed the Procurator General that this will be provided on a pro-bono basis. Though why you couldn't settle for fireworks which are not such a weary way to the shops . . ."

  "Fireworks would do nicely, indade."

  "There's a Chinese shop on the ground floor of this building. 'Tis a place of great variety. Although," said Pooh-Bah with a grimace, clutching himself, "the stuff called Pyongtong is to be avoided."

  The last remark required explanation, which provoked a great many interested and thoughtful looks from the rats. When they went down to relieve Mr. Wen Pei of some of his fireworks, a number of small tins of this numbing substance were added to the loot. Rather to their surprise, Pooh-Bah insisted on them leaving some of Ginny's money on the counter. "Never leave droppings on your own doorstep. Wen thinks 'tis ancestral spirits a-visiting his shop."

  The bats might be satisfied with the planning so far, but the rats felt that it left one important detail unsettled: How they got out. That was how rats tended to think. It was as near to forethought as most of them would ever come, admitted Doc.

  Fluff had an answer. He pointed at the river shown on the map next to the Shaw estate. "This bridge. She is on pontoons. You can blow that up and they cannot follow us. Then we shall go out through the fence . . ."

  "What are 'pontoons'? Some form o' trousers?"

  "No, she is wooden planks on the big floats. It is what is called 'an hysterical relic' from the original settlement days before the real bridges. Virginia's papa he was proud of it. Virginia she liked to go and bounce on the thing. It rocks."

  "Begorra, why can we not take a boat to where this river comes out?" demanded O'N
iel. O'Niel had been cheerfully philosophical about the fact that they could not fly over the fence to Shaw House, or fly around until the movement-sensor-projectile launcher units had been disabled. Flying was not his thing anyway, if he could avoid it. But the information that he'd have to cover a quarter of a mile, carrying his share of the fireworks and bat-mines, had not gone down well.

  "Indade. You'll all understand that 'tis not that I find any indignity in the use of a milk-float, but the divvil fly away with all this hard flyin' when a bat can float all the way." He pointed to the map. "See, here is the military's courthouse on this river. The one from Ginny's house joins it. If we could take a boat, instead o' flying . . ."

  "There are detectors both above and below the water," said the galago.

  Bronstein looked at him with narrowed eyes. "To be sure. But there won't be on the way out, will there be, now? Not after we've dealt with the control room."

  * * *

  The milk-float trundled up to the gate, its headlights casting twin pools of glowing mist in front of it. When it stopped and the driver got out to drop off two pints of half-and-half and one whole-cell orange juice, the rats and bats moved in, along with several large containers of, apparently, tutti-frutti ice cream. The rats had bandoliers of stolen Super-Glue.

  "Ecod, 'tis cold in here," complained Pistol, as they trundled off toward Shaw House. "Canst we not make a fire?"

  "It calls for hot and rebellious liquors in my blood," said Falstaff, cheerfully. "Anyone bring any grog?"

  "Nay. But what about a pint of full-cream?" offered O'Niel, a milky moustache adorning his black face.

  Falstaff and Pistol shuddered and cowered back.

  The vehicle slowed. The rats slipped in behind the yogurt. The bats hung themselves behind the cooling coil. Someone opened the central chill box and gave a perfunctory glance inside. "No bombs today, Milky?" A hand came in and pulled out a pack of yogurt.

  "Don't steal that. I've got to account for it!"

  "Got to check it for explosives."

  "It's not right."

  "Tough. Off you go. Henry, go with him."

  "It's not my turn, Captain."