“So what you're saying,” said the clockmaker, “is that if we that is, if the lucky town had a special big clock, and rats, people might come to see it?”

“And stand around waiting for up to a quarter of an hour,” said someone.

“A perfect time to buy hand-crafted models of the clock,” said the clockmaker.

People began to think about this.

“Mugs with rats on,” said a potter.

“Hand-gnawed souvenir wooden cups and plates,” said Hauptmann.

“Cuddly toy rats!”

“Rats-on-a-stick!”

Darktan took a deep breath. Maurice said, quickly, “Good idea. Made of toffee, naturally.” He glanced towards Keith. “And I expect the town would want to employ its very own rat piper, even. You know. For ceremonial purposes. ‘Have your picture drawn with the Official Rat Piper and his Rats’, sort of thing.”

“Any chance of a small theatre?” said a little voice.

Darktan spun around. “Sardines!” he said.

“Well, guv, I thought if everyone was getting in on the act—” Sardines protested.

“Maurice, we ought to talk about this,” said Dangerous Beans, tugging at the cat's leg.

“Excuse me a moment,” said Maurice, giving the mayor a quick grin, “I need to consult with my clients. Of course,” he added, “I'm talking about the lucky town. Which won't be this one because, of course, when my clients move out some new rats will move in. There are always more rats. And they won't talk, and they won't have rules, and they'll widdle in the cream and you'll have to find some new rat-catchers, ones you can trust, and you won't have as much money because everyone will be going to the other town. Just a thought.”

He marched down the table and turned to the rats.

“I was doing so well!” he said. “You could be on ten per cent, you know? Your faces on mugs, everything!”

“And is this what we fought for all night?” spat Darktan. “To be pets?”

“Maurice, this isn't right,” said Dangerous Beans. “Surely it is better to appeal to the common bond between intelligent species than—”

“I don't know about intelligent species. We're dealing with humans here,” said Maurice. “Do you know about wars? Very popular with humans. They fight other humans. Not hugely big on common bonding.”

“Yes, but we are not—”

“Now listen,” said Maurice. “Ten minutes ago these people thought you were pests. Now they think you're… useful. Who knows what I can have them thinking in half an hour?”

“You want us to work for them?” said Darktan. “We've won our place here!”

“You'll be working for yourself,” said Maurice. “Look, these people aren't philosophers. They're just… everyday. They don't understand about the tunnels. This is a market town. You've got to approach them the right way. Anyway, you will keep other rats away, and you won't go around widdling in the jam, so you might as well get thanked for it.” He tried again. “There's going to be a lot of shouting, right, yeah. And then sooner or later you have to talk.” He saw the bewilderment still glazing their eyes, and turned to Sardines in desperation. “Help me,” he said.

“He's right, boss. You've got to give 'em a show,” said Sardines, dancing a few steps nervously.

“They'll laugh at us!” said Darktan.

“Better laugh than scream, boss. It's a start. You gotta dance, boss. You can think and you can fight, but the world's always movin', and if you wanna stay ahead you gotta dance.” He raised his hat and twirled his cane. On the other side of the room, a couple of humans saw him and chuckled. “See?” he said.

“I'd hoped there was an island somewhere,” said Dangerous Beans. “A place where rats could really be rats.”

“And we've seen where that leads,” said Darktan. “And, you know, I don't think there're any wonderful islands in the distance for people like us. Not for us.” He sighed. “If there's a wonderful island anywhere, it's here. But I'm not intending to dance.”

“Figure of speech, boss, figure of speech,” said Sardines, hopping from one foot to the other.

There was a thump from the other end of the table. The mayor had hit it with his fist. “We've got to be practical!” he was saying. “How much worse off can we be? They can talk. I'm not going to go all through this again, understand? We've got food, we've got a lot of the money back, we survived the piper… these are lucky rats…”

The figures of Keith and Malicia loomed over the rats.

“It sounds as if my father's coming round to the idea,” said Malicia. “What about you?”

“Discussions are continuing,” said Maurice.

“I… er… I'm sorr… er… look, Maurice told me where to look and I found this in the tunnel,” said Malicia. The pages were stuck together, and they were all stained, and they had been sewn together by a very impatient person, but it was still recognizable as “Mr. Bunnsy Has an Adventure”. “I had to lift up a lot of drain gratings to find all the pages,” she said.

The rats looked at it. Then they looked at Dangerous Beans.

“It's Mr. Bunn–” Peaches began.

“I know. I can smell it,” said Dangerous Beans.

The rats all looked again at the remains of the book.

“It's a lie,” said Peaches.

“Maybe it's just a pretty story,” said Sardines.

“Yes,” said Dangerous Beans. “Yes.” He turned his misty pink eyes to Darktan, who had to stop himself from crouching, and added: “Perhaps it's a map.”

If it was a story, and not real life, then humans and rats would have shaken hands and gone on into a bright new future.

But since it was real life, there had to be a contract. A war that had been going on since people first lived in houses could not end with just a happy smile. And there had to be a committee. There was so much detail to be discussed. The town council were on it, and most of the senior rats, and Maurice marched up and down the table, joining in.

Darktan sat at one end. He really wanted to sleep. His wound ached, his teeth ached, and he hadn't eaten for ages. For hours the argument flowed back and forwards over his drooping head. He didn't pay attention to who was doing the talking. Most of the time, it seemed to be everyone.

“Next item: compulsory bells on all cats. Agreed?”

“Can we just get back to clause thirty, Mr, er, Maurice? You were saying killing a rat would be murder?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“But it's just—”

“Talk to the paw, mister, 'cos the whiskers don't want to know!”

“The cat is right,” said the mayor. “You're out of order, Mr Raufman! We've been through this.”

“Then what about if a rat steals from me?”

“Ahem. Then that'll be theft, and the rat will have to go before the justices.”

“Oh, young—?” said Raufman.

“Peaches. I'm a rat, sir.”

“And… er… and the Watch officers will be able to get down the rat tunnels, will they?”

“Yes! Because there will be rat officers in the Watch. There'll have to be,” said Maurice. “No problem!”

“Really? And what does Sergeant Doppelpunkt think about that? Sergeant Doppelpunkt?”

“Er… dunno, sir. Could be all right, I suppose. I know I couldn't get down a rat hole. We'll have to make the badges smaller, of course.”

“But surely you wouldn't suggest a rat officer could be allowed to arrest a human?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” said the sergeant.

“What?”

“Well, if your rat's a proper sworn-in watchman… I mean, a watchrat… then you can't go around saying you're not allowed to arrest anyone bigger than you, can you? Could be useful, a rat watchman. I understand they have this trick where they run up your trouser leg—”

“Gentlemen, we should move on. I suggest this one goes to the sub-committee.”

“Which one, sir? We've already got seventeen!”

There was a snort from one of the councillors. This was Mr Schlummer, who was 95 and had been peacefully asleep all morning. The snort meant that he was waking up.