“There’s a big party of visitors just about to walk by and you look as though you’re settling in for a nap. Come on down.”
“Ooops. Sorry, Grandpa.” Tasha hopped off the pink lion to land next to him and Peter leaped after her.
“You can come and sit with me instead,” Ivan suggested. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you yet, youngster.”
Tasha’s eyes widened and Peter glanced at her worriedly. Old Ivan wanted to talk to him? Ivan was the oldest cat in the museum and a fearsome warrior. Boris had already boasted to him about his grandfather’s amazing rat-catching exploits. What would such a famous cat want to talk to a skinny little kitten for?
“Make sure you shout in his left ear,” Tasha hissed at him as they followed Ivan through a neat little doorway in the corner of the Egyptian Gallery behind the mummy case and trotted down the passage to the cellars. “He’s deaf.”
[Êàðòèíêà: img_37]
“I heard that, miss!” the old cat snapped back. “Not so deaf that you can get anything past me.”
Tasha looked quite shocked and the two kittens went the rest of the way to the cellar den in silence.
“So you’re befriending our new arrival, hmmm?” Ivan asked, once he’d padded himself a warm little nest in a pile of threadbare velvet curtains. He looked down at the two kittens sitting politely in front of him, his blue-green eye narrowing. “Making sure he knows his way around?”
“Yes, Grandpa.”
“Good, good… And you, whatsyername…”
“Peter,” Tasha put in helpfully and her grandfather glowered at her.
“I knew that! Whatsyername, like I said, how are you finding the museum, hmmm?”
“It’s very beautiful,” Peter said nervously.
“My grandkittens looking after you properly?”
“Er…” Peter gave Tasha an anxious look. What should he say? Grandpa Ivan looked as though he could smell a lie at fifty tail-lengths, but he couldn’t say that Boris was a bully and Bianca was just plain mean, could he?
“Hmmm. That ginger grandson of mine giving you a hard time, is he? Don’t you listen to him, whatsyername. He’ll be a loyal friend once you’ve won him over, I promise you that. And as for Little Miss Bianca, she’s not as feather-witted as she makes out.”
“Grandpa,” Tasha put in. “What’s happened to all the rats?”
“What?” Ivan peered down at her. “What are you talking about, tabby-one-whose-name’ll-come-to-me-in-a-minute?”
“We can’t find any. We’ve looked everywhere. Do you think they’ve left? Maybe there aren’t any rats in the museum any more?”
The two kittens stared at Grandpa Ivan and he stared back, wide-eyed. Then he started to make a strange wheezing coughing noise. Tasha and Peter exchanged worried looks, and then they realized. The old cat was laughing.
“I don’t think it’s funny,” Peter whispered. “If the rats have left, the museum won’t need cats any more. I think it’s quite serious, actually.”
“No more rats, a-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Oh, curl my whiskers. You two’ll be the death of me.” Grandpa Ivan wiped the end of his tail over his one watery eye and sighed shakily. “Dear ones, there are rats all over this museum. Everywhere! You may not have seen them, but that’s only because they’re sneaky – and you aren’t.”
[Êàðòèíêà: img_38]
“Yes, we are,” Tasha said crossly. “I’m ever so sneaky. I’ve got stripy camouflage. And Peter’s a black cat – that’s the best kind of coat for hiding. We’re very sneaky indeed, Grandpa, thank you very much!”
[Êàðòèíêà: img_39]
“Not sneaky. Honestly,” Tasha growled as they stomped away. Or rather, she stomped and Peter padded after her, not quite sure why she was so upset.
“Perhaps you’ll be sneakier when you’re bigger,” he said, trying to be comforting as they popped up out of the hole behind the mummy case in the Egyptian Gallery. He snuffled a sneeze at the strange musty smell.
“I’m sneaky now!” Tasha mewed, glaring at him furiously. Then her whiskers drooped as she realized just how much noise she was making. “Maybe I’m not.” She sighed. “Maybe Boris is right. Perhaps I do spend too much time making up stories. Maybe I’m not a proper hunter at all.”
Peter looked at her, a bedraggled little cat with her ears hanging sideways and her tail sadly fluffed and he felt himself stand up straighter.“Yes, you are! We both are! We’re going to find a rat, Tasha. We are both brave and fierce. And who wants to be sneaky like a rat anyway? Come on!”
[Êàðòèíêà: img_40]
“OK.” Tasha nodded excitedly, her ears perking up again. “It’s nearly closing time. The rats come out when the visitors leave.” She gave a little shudder and the hairs lifted up all along her spine. “Ma will notice when we’re not back for supper, but I don’t care. Which way are we going?”
Peter glanced around desperately. He hadn’t actually got as far as working that out. Then he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. Herring had said that his nose was exceptional. And the other cats were certain that there were rats all over the museum. So surely he should be able to smell them?
Tasha huddled closer to him as he sniffed the air. Somehow the gallery seemed to be getting darker and stranger with every passing moment. She did want to hunt out a rat. She did. It was just… she hoped it was going to be a small one.
Over on the other side of the gallery, a set of trembling whiskers emerged from a crack in the floorboards, followed by beady black eyes and twitching ears. Another rat appeared behind the first, and then another and another.
“Little cats,” the first rat whispered.
“Very little.”
“But tasty…”
“Fur gets in your teeth,” the last rat growled.
[Êàðòèíêà: img_41]
Peter’s eyes opened wide. “I’m sure I can smell a rat!” he whispered to Tasha, taking a few steps out into the gallery. “Or maybe even lots of rats,” he added, sounding a bit worried now.
“Ohhh-ooooh…” Tasha squeaked. “I mean, oh good!”
Just then, the main lights clicked off– it was closing time. The two kittens blinked, but their night vision was good enough to see properly even in the dim emergency lighting. The darkness did make everything feel more serious, though. They were proper hunters now. The greenish lights shone here and there on the gold-painted mummy cases, but most of the gallery was in deep in shadow.
“Come on,” Peter said. He was hoping that Tasha couldn’t see how trembly he was feeling. But she so wanted to catch a rat and he was going to find one for her. He was sure he could smell them – in fact, he thought the scent was getting stronger.
Over on the other side of the gallery, the line of rats crept forward, their tails hissing over the boards.
“What was that?” Tasha asked suddenly.
Four rats froze…
“I didn’t hear. Oh! Maybe I did…” Peter peered around. There was definitely a noise – but he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Somewhere outside the gallery? But the rats were closer than that, he thought. They smelled really quite scarily close… Should they follow the smell, orthe noise?
“I’m sure it sounds like little ratty claws,” Tasha said, hurrying towards the door.
Peter stood listening, his whiskers swivelling, ears pricked.“Yes…” he breathed. “You’re right. I can definitely hear something creeping about.”
[Êàðòèíêà: img_42]
The kittens hurried out of the gallery, following the rustly noises. Peter nodded respectfully to the bronze cat goddess in the case by the door and tried not to imagine that she was watching him go. Then again, she might be pleased with them. She probably didn’t like rats either.
They pattered away into the Roman Room and four rats peered after them, whiskers bristling with disappointment.