Felix and the Red Rats Page 8

  Then Gray jerked me to a standing position after grabbing me by the shoulders.

  ‘Get up!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  I shook my head, confused. ‘When did what happen?’

  ‘This!’

  Gray had dragged me up and across the bed and shoved me down so that I was forced onto my stomach to peer into the rat cage on the other side.

  Simon and Garfunkel, too, were blinking in the bright light.

  That wasn’t what was angering Gray, though.

  He was angered by the fact that, once again, the rats were a bright tomato red.

  Of course, the rats changing colour yet again was topic number one at breakfast. Gray had made such a racket the night before, that within seconds the whole family were squeezed into my bedroom to see what the fuss was about. Even Uncle Felix.

  Now, as Dad buttered his toast, he said, ‘Beats me.’

  ‘We should have taken them to the vet in the first place,’ said Mum. ‘They must have something.’

  ‘They don’t look sick,’ I said.

  They didn’t either. Just like the first time, the rats weren’t fazed a bit by their unusual colour.

  ‘I don’t think they’re rats at all,’ said Dad cheerfully. ‘More like traffic lights if you ask me.’

  I looked at Uncle Felix. What had he said? He’d said the first colour change wasn’t a symptom, it was a signal. Dad had been making a joke, but perhaps he had a point. Uncle Felix didn’t seem so puzzled either. If anything, the second transformation seemed to have reassured him somewhat. Gray, on the other hand, looked more confused than anything. Angry, yes, but bewildered too.

  Just then, there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Who on earth can that be?’ asked Dad. He stood up and went to the back door.

  We never got visitors at breakfast time on a working day. I guessed it must have been one of Gray’s mates, although it was probably far too early for any of them.

  When he came back, Dad had an odd smile on his face and was scratching his head.

  ‘This is the most bizarre thing,’ he remarked. ‘It’s Bill from next door. Just come and see what he’s got.’

  There was a mild stampede as we all pushed back our chairs and hurried to the back porch. Mr Porterfield, our neighbour, was standing there.

  The most bizarre thing was what he was holding by the tail.

  It was a dead rat.

  A red dead rat.

  ‘I found it this morning at the back door,’ Mr Porterfield explained. ‘Rusty must have caught it. He often brings donations home. Rats, birds, you know.’

  Rusty was the Porterfield family’s big ginger tomcat.

  ‘But he’s never brought anything like this home before,’ continued Mr Porterfield. ‘It looks like a rat, doesn’t it? But it’s red. I wondered whether it might have been some sort of pet … One of you kids … ?’

  I glanced about the family. Astonishment all round.

  No, not quite.

  Gray was looking sick.

  And Uncle Felix was looking at Gray with a faint smile on his face.

  The regent

  ‘Search me,’ demanded Moonface. ‘I don’t have any keys. And even if I did I don’t think they could open any principality or whatever!’

  Medulla shook his head.

  ‘No, the keys I’m talking about are not real keys. To obtain her principality, the princess must pass a kind of test to which, as we speak, she has not the answer. It has been the tradition here for many generations, ever since Prince Thalamus, the princess’s great-grandfather, passed the test set for him by his father. You will have seen the statue of the prince in the square. He is holding the answer in his hand and looking triumphant.’

  Felix remembered seeing the statue holding up a roll of something or a scroll.

  ‘What is the problem then?’ asked Bella.

  ‘The problem is this,’ said Medulla sadly. ‘The princess’s late father set a formidable test for her and she has yet to work it out.’

  ‘What kind of test?’ asked Felix. ‘If it’s maths then there’s no way I could have the answer.’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Moonface.

  ‘It’s a kind of riddle,’ said Medulla. ‘It’s not mathematical. It’s more — I don’t know — utterly confusing, bewildering.’

  ‘Can you tell us?’ asked Bella.

  ‘Of course,’ said Medulla. ‘It’s not a secret. Most people in the land know of it, although no one has been able to work it out.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘The question is: What three creatures are bound by Pia?’

  Bella thought about the riddle, screwing up her nose with concentration. ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ she said finally. ‘Something must be missing. It sort of means, what are the three creatures Pia is tying up? How can you work that out?’

  ‘Without being there to see what the creatures are,’ added Felix. ‘I mean, you might as well ask: Why are the three creatures being bound by Pia? or Where are the three creatures being bound by Pia?’

  ‘Or when, or how,’ said Bella. ‘There’s not enough information.’

  ‘It’s stupid,’ declared Moonface. He turned to Myrtle. ‘Why don’t you try and answer it, Myrtle? You’re supposed to be a smart cookie, smart enough to land us in this mess anyway.’

  Myrtle shook her head. ‘It’s silly,’ she said. ‘Bella’s right. There must be something missing.’

  Medulla smiled sadly. ‘Nothing’s missing. That’s just it, just as the late prince left it.’

  ‘Is there an answer?’ asked Felix. ‘It’s not a dirty trick is it?’

  ‘Of course there’s an answer,’ said Medulla. ‘It’s no trick. It’s a nightmare, to be honest, as it keeps the regent in power.’

  ‘Well, does anybody know the answer?’ asked Bella.

  ‘Of course,’ said Medulla. ‘The regent knows the answer. It was entrusted to him by his brother, the princess’s father. The answer was written down by the regent, as tradition demands, and sealed in a crystal vase along with the crown. The crystal vase can only be unsealed in a special session of the Council of Nobles once the princess believes she has solved the riddle.’

  ‘Can’t you just screw open the vase and get the answer, then?’ suggested Moonface. ‘Simple, really.’

  ‘Not simple really at all,’ said Medulla drily. ‘The vase can only be unsealed by smashing it with an iron hammer. And if the vase is smashed, and the answer is right, the princess gets her crown.’

  ‘And if the answer’s wrong?’ asked Bella.

  ‘In that case,’ said Medulla sadly, ‘the princess forfeits all claim to the throne and it and the crown will be given to the regent and all power will be retained by him.’

  Bella looked confused. ‘I can’t see what we have to do with all of this. You seemed to be suggesting before that our coming here was engineered in some way because we might have the key to this riddle.’

  ‘I think it’s possible,’ Medulla said. ‘It could explain why you’re here. I can’t think of any other reason.’

  ‘But you’ve just heard us say that the riddle is utterly impossible, utterly bamboozling. None of us has any idea. You saw that.’

  ‘I did see that,’ admitted Medulla, ‘but you must allow for the possibility that you might just hold the key to the puzzle without knowing you hold the key to the puzzle, if you know what I mean.’

  Bella stared at him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Felix tried to help. ‘I think he means that we could know the answer without knowing we know the answer.’

  ‘Felix, I do know that. I’m not a complete moron, you know. My point is, if we don’t know we know the answer, how are we going to find the answer?’ And then she added sarcastically: ‘If you know what I mean.’

  ‘This is getting stupider and stupider,’ said Moonface. He turned to Medulla morosely. ‘Is there any food around here, by a
ny chance?’ he asked. ‘It’s been a long time and I’m getting—’

  Whatever Moonface was ‘getting’ was at that point interrupted by a brisk knocking at the door. Medulla raised a finger to silence Moonface, left the desk and opened the door.

  Two tall figures stood there in black uniforms and short red tunics. Felix noted with a flash of alarm that each was carrying a long black truncheon.

  The first uniformed figure bowed to Medulla in a perfunctory way and then said, ‘The regent wishes to see the four visitors you have in your custody.’

  As Medulla bowed a silent acquiescence, the second figure added in a curt you-have-no-room-to-manoeuvre voice, ‘Immediately!’

  Medulla wasted no time. He beckoned them up and hurriedly ushered them through the door.

  ‘Follow those men,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll follow you. Don’t waste any time.’

  There was little chance of wasting time, as the guards, if that was what they were, were walking at a very brisk pace.

  Felix glanced over his shoulder at Medulla.

  He was disconcerted at how apprehensive the man was.

  If Medulla’s worried, I guess we should be too, he thought.

  Medulla caught his glance and gave a nervous little smile of encouragement.

  The trouble was, it wasn’t encouraging. It wasn’t encouraging at all.

  Finally, after another succession of endless corridors, this time punctuated by flights of stairs, the party stopped before a large double door studded with iron squares.

  The lead guard motioned them to stay where they were, and entered alone. The other guard turned to face them as if challenging them to say something. Instinctively the four remained silent, all locked within their own racing thoughts.

  Felix was imagining what this regent was like. Some sort of ogre, he guessed; some sort of head-chopper-offer like the Red Queen in Alice in Wonderland. He shrank at the thought. He recalled the villains he’d read about: the Captain Hooks, the Darth Vaders, all of those nasties Batman had to deal to. He saw a huge hunched figure, a face blotched and probably scarred, with oiled hair and a thin moustache; he heard a rasping voice full of sneering insinuation and given, without any provocation, to outbursts of terrifying rage. He gazed at the forbidding doors and imagined what lay beyond: a council room, probably, or a throne room, with the regent sprawled indolently on a high-backed throne, one leg swung over a padded arm of the throne, and nervous courtiers hurrying here and there to cater to his every whim. These visions were so frightening that Felix had to fight to stop trembling.

  It was probably not very long, but it seemed an eternity before the guard returned. All the while, his fellow guard had kept them under relentless surveillance, a surveillance so penetrating that Felix did not feel brave enough to glance around at his companions.

  And then the guard was at the door again, beckoning them to follow him.

  The door pushed open not to a great hall or throne room as Felix had presumed, but to yet another corridor, although wider, carpeted and with brocaded wallpaper on the walls. They followed this for a short distance to yet another double door, but this time one not so forbidding. There were no iron squares; instead there were spiralling inlays of different polished woods. If he hadn’t been so frightened, Felix might have noticed its beauty.

  The guard knocked softly, respectfully, and was rewarded by a voice calling, ‘Come in, come in!’

  To Felix’s surprise, they were ushered into a room more like a comfortable sitting room. There were no councillors and there was no throne. Instead there was a friendly-looking gentleman, rising from a leather chair, with a warm, welcoming smile on his face.

  Felix gave Medulla a brief, bewildered look, but Medulla’s face remained utterly expressionless.

  The regent, if this was the regent, was not a tall, hooked man exuding terror at all. Instead he was rather small, a little portly and slightly balding. He wore wire-rimmed glasses with round lenses and looked rather more like a music teacher or a country bank manager than a tyrant. He asked them to find themselves somewhere to sit on the various comfortable-looking leather armchairs and sofas spread about a large central coffee table, and once they were settled, he resumed his own chair, made a cathedral of his fingers, and looked around at them, smiling.

  What’s going on? thought Felix. This regent is supposed to be a vulture but he looks more like a sparrow!

  ‘Well,’ began the regent, in a soft if slightly fluty voice, ‘let me welcome you to Axillaris.’

  They nodded, acknowledging the welcome, and glancing at each other. Felix could feel the relief emanating from the party. Moonface was actually grinning.

  ‘We rarely have visitors arriving unexpectedly through our Way Stations,’ continued the regent, ‘so that when we do, they are bound to excite some comment, even confusion. I understand your welcome has been a little less than kind, and I really do apologise for that.’

  This was unexpected. Felix glanced at Bella. She wasn’t smiling, but she did have a curious, wary look on her face. He considered she was right to suspend judgement thus far, and he resolved to maintain caution himself. What was the old rhyme? He remembered it at once: Won’t you walk into my parlour, said the spider to the fly … Well, this unexpected room was far more like a parlour than the throne room he was expecting. Perhaps this warm reception was a spider/fly situation.

  And then, as if to confirm his suspicions, the regent interrupted himself.

  ‘But,’ he said apologetically, ‘already I’ve been forgetting my responsibilities as host. I’m sure there’ll be much to talk about, so we must be comfortable, and I’m equally sure you children must be in need of a drink and perhaps a little sustenance?’

  Moonface’s grin broadened.

  The regent looked across to the guard who had remained by the door and said, ‘Bring me a jug of barley water and glasses.’ Then he himself rose and went to a side dresser and returned with a large silver-handled plate.

  ‘Fudge, anyone?’

  The plate was laden with fudges of various varieties and with small squares of white-and-pink coconut ice.

  ‘I’m not allowed to admit to any vices as ruler, of course,’ smiled the regent, ‘but I think that I can confess to you that, regrettably, I do have a very sweet tooth … although,’ he added conspiratorially, ‘you must promise not to tell.’

  Myrtle must have been feeling considerably braver. ‘We promise,’ she said, and reached for a slab of fudge.

  The regent gave her a fatherly smile. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good … And I insist that you help yourselves. I would be offended if you treated yourselves to only one piece. I’m not a believer in self-sacrifice.’

  Some minutes later, the guard returned with a large crockery ewer of barley water and a tray of tumblers. He arranged these on the coffee table and then poured a full measure of the cordial into each glass. As soon as this was done, he returned to his position beside the door.

  ‘Please, please,’ said the regent, ‘help yourselves.’

  They all did, Bella still a little unsurely. Felix noted that Medulla, who had not seated himself in the inner circle but in a chair well away from the coffee table, refrained from both the fudge and the drink. Felix wondered why. Is it drugged? Does Medulla not have permission?

  Shrugging misgivings aside, Felix took a sip of his barley water and it was delicious. He’d forgotten how thirsty he was and could not help himself from taking a deeper draught and then another. He sat then, quietly, nursing his glass.

  Once the regent was satisfied that the four had all been catered for, he sat down again, and, in turn, considered each of them thoughtfully. This scrutiny was not especially unpleasant, as he maintained his friendly smile throughout. Then he turned to Medulla and gestured.

  ‘Medulla, could I trouble you for your clipboard?’

  Immediately, Medulla stood, and brought him the notes he had taken. These the regent scanned carefully before he read each of their names aloud so that the
four could identify themselves.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘All seems to be in order.’ He repeated their names, nodding to each as if committing them to memory.

  ‘Now,’ he began, ‘I must tell you that I am Count Cava, and I have been charged to look after this realm until— But more of that later …’

  He glanced around at them. Bella took the hint and bowed her head respectfully, and the others followed her lead.

  ‘Good,’ resumed the regent. ‘Now, I don’t suppose I should pretend that we have not reached certain conclusions about this unexpected visit of yours … It does seem that you may have been brought here for a reason and it is our fondest hope that this reason may be a contribution to the saving of Axillaris from its unfortunate predicament.’

  Myrtle was looking a little confused by these elaborate words, and, seeing her confusion, the regent changed tack.

  ‘Perhaps I should put you in the picture about this unfortunate predicament? Medulla?’

  ‘My lord?’ replied Medulla.

  ‘To what extent have you explained?’

  ‘I have given a somewhat cursory explanation, my lord.’

  ‘Good, I’m sure you have.’ The regent turned back to the children. ‘Forgive me if I repeat things you already know, but it is crucial that you understand just how very important your visit may be — that is, if its purpose is as we suspect. My niece, the princess Pia, is of course the rightful ruler of Axillaris, as I presume Medulla would have mentioned. Because she has so far failed to solve the Succession Riddle, entrusted to me by her late father, she is, alas, unable to accede to the throne. Medulla may have told you this as well?’

  They nodded.

  ‘Good. This situation has compelled me, reluctantly and increasingly sadly, to rule Axillaris in her place for several years now.’

  ‘Sadly?’ asked Bella.

  ‘Of course, sadly,’ the regent said. ‘It makes me unbearably sad that there has been this interminable interruption to the rightful succession, but duty must, but duty must.’

  His expression was of such wistful regret that Felix was almost convinced.