Rat-boy and Skritch: Chapter Three

Rat-boy and Skritch

Chapter Three: Through the Looking-Glass

Rat-boy and Skritch chomped hungrily on the chunks of unidentifiable meat in their hands and paws, respectively. Rats pushed their way through each other, trying to get their share. Another night had come and another hunt successful. Between mouthfuls Rat-boy said, “you know, I never thought about it before: you don't think this is people meat, do you, Skritch?” Skritch twitched and stopped chewing. He wasn't sure if he was meant to stop eating or not. “Maybe it's rat meat.” Skritch paused again, shorter this time, before he resumed his meal. Meat was meat, and food was not easy to come by. “Or maybe it's an animal from far away. Like a pig, or a cat or a giraffe or a griffon. I saw pictures of those in books. I wonder if Deadeyes has any books?” The pile of meat lessened quickly. Soon there would be no evidence of it but a dark red stain against the dark grey roof. “Well, the night's still fresh. Where to?"

Skritch wasn't listening. Rats don't normally have very significant lives and thus the need for memories is very little. Skritch was not a normal rat; he had memories, he knew he did. But they were locked away in a little vault inside his brain, information he was not privy to (including why he wasn't privy to it) and this was quite infuriating to the creature.

Infuriating, but not foolproof. A ragged piece of memory slipped out of the cracks of the vault, triggered by the conversation. Darkness, dank; An unpleasantly chemical smell. Pain, white-hot; Painful sounds of shrill shrieking (but from where? Who?). Blackness, and then, somewhere else: dim light. Faded pages, letters, words, sentences.

They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,

And bit the babies in the cradles,

And ate the cheeses out of the vats,

And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,

The words became pictures, bright and sharp, so unlike the haziness of memory. “Skritch? Are you okay?” The pictures cracked, faded. “What is it? Is it the stuff in your head again, Skritch? The memories?” Skritch fell to the floor with a thud, sitting and scratching his head. “Tell me! Was it something exciting this time? I wish you could show me the pictures, Skritch.” Rat-boy sat down next to Skritch. Skritch sighed; the sound more of a muted squeal. “If only you could show me, just a peek, maybe we could figure out what they are. Or at least it'd be more interesting for me.”

The brief pause in activity was broken by a chorus of shrieks, heralding the arrival of something unexpected. The rats hissed and bared their teeth. Unexpected, but not unknown. Rat-boy rose and tapped his Talking-stick twice. In his left hand he bore the ornate dagger that was moments before used for cutting meat.

A voice shouted from the neighbouring roof-top: “Well, aren't you going to invite me over?” A figure, shorter than even Rat-boy, jumped deftly to their roof and walked leisurely towards them. Shoulder length scruffy red hair atop a smiling, somewhat grimy, face. Dirt was, of course, a normal accessory to the denizens of Sideways, whether on battered face or tattered clothes. Alice was not a normal little girl; where one would normally expect a left hand, instead protruded a metallic caricature, overly large and overly long. Nonetheless, it seemed to affect her little, carrying it in as if it weighed no more than air.

Alice curtseyed. “Pleasure to see you again, Rat-boy.” The last word was stretched out, playfully mocking.

“You can't have any, Stronghand. Get your own! We earned this, me and my friends, and we're gonna eat it.”

Alice, Stronghand, frowned. “I've told you! You can call me Alice. Don't be such an idiot.” Stronghand's eyes wandered to the unfamiliar object in Rat-boy's left hand. Leaving no time for reaction, she snatched it towards her with a flash of her metal arm. Her smile returned as she dangled the dagger in front of her. “What's this?” She eyed it intently. “It's pretty.”

Rat-boy grit his teeth and clenched his fist. “Give it back, stupid! That's mine too, I earned it! You can't just -” Strongarm let out a wild, rapturous laugh. Rat-boy tensed. Stowing the dagger in a pocket, she turned and flashed her teeth. “Take it back, then.” Thrusting her metal arm back, Strongarm vaulted across and away from their feeding ground. Rat-boy took one glance at the meat, swore, and tapped his stick once. For the second time in a night, the hunt was on.