“What happened there?” one of them muttered crossly.
“Our dinner went galumphing off, that’s what happened.”
“Four kittens now, did you see?” sniggered the largest rat. “Ginger, white, tabby, and now a black one as well. Too many little cats…”
All the rats nodded and muttered and hissed as they crept back into their tunnels.
Peter and Tasha were so determined to hunt down whatever it was making those rustly noises that they ran right over the feet of a statue sitting on the steps of the Roman temple– and then the statue woke up and muttered something about, “Dratted kittens everywhere!”
“Was that the Old Man?” Peter whispered as he and Tasha raced past.
“Yes, I told you he was grumpy. Usually he whistles so we know to avoid him. Never mind, he was half asleep. He has to keep walking round all the galleries to check for burglars, but he stops for a rest every now and then. I expect that means supper’s going to be late. Ma might not even notice we’ve gone!” She paused, her ears swivelling. “Listen, can you hear it? That rustling again?”
Peter strained his ears. Yes… There was definitely something making scratchy little noises up ahead. But the strong ratty smell had died away. He was very confused, but Tasha seemed to know where she was going.
“It’s coming from the Dinosaur Gallery, I think.” Tasha nodded. “That makes sense. The Old Man likes to sit in the Dinosaur Gallery to eat his midnight snack – he leaves his sandwiches in a bag under the guard’s chair – Boris is always sniffing around them, but Ma says he has to leavethem alone. The rats are probably after the sandwiches too.”
They crouched low to the ground and crept into the Fossil Room, every whisker shuddering with excited terror. Then Peter stopped, just before the door to the Dinosaur Gallery.
“What do we do if we catch one?” he whispered.
Tasha stared back at him, looking confused.“Um. I don’t know. Maybe – call for Grandpa Ivan? Or Ma?”
“OK. Let’s go then.” Peter said bravely and shoulder to shoulder they tiptoed into the Dinosaur Gallery.
[Êàðòèíêà: img_43]
It was ghostly in the faint lighting, with the huge skeletons looming up out of the darkness. The largest one, the great apatosaurus, seemed to be curling its huge neck down to peer at the tiny kittens.
“I can definitely hear something now,” Tasha breathed, and Peter nearly squeaked with fright. He’d been so busy side-eyeing the skeletons, he’d almost forgotten about her.
He gulped in a deep breath and tried not to show how scared he was. Yes, Tasha was right. There was a soft, quiet scrabbling up ahead.
“Over by the tyrannosaurus,” Tasha said, her tail flicking wildly from side to side. “Can you hear?”
“Yes. Is it a rat?”
“It has to be. I’m sure it’s bigger than a mouse.” Tasha crept along beside the apatosaurus’s plinth and Peter padded after her, ready to spring on the rat. Tasha was definitely better at listening for strange noises than he was, but he was sure he could biff a rat round the whiskers – he was going to give it his best try, anyway.
[Êàðòèíêà: img_44]
“I can hear it now!” he whispered. There was a soft chomping sound and a squeaky rustle. Something was eating the Old Man’s sandwiches!
“Hey!” Tasha mewed. “Leave those sandwiches alone, you nasty thieving rascal! They don’t belong to you!”
Peter closed his eyes, let out a wild yowl and leaped forward, pummelling the rat with his paws. It was surprisingly big. Definitely bigger than he was. Luckily, it seemed to be so surprised by the attack that it wasn’t fighting back. Yet.
Tasha was bounding about, trying to grab the rat’s tail and uttering fierce little growls. “See! We’re sneaky! We are! We got you, you sneaky rat! Don’t you dare eat another mouthful!”
“Oi!” the rat yelled at last. “Get off! Hey, Tasha, get off my tail! What are you doing? I’m not a rat!”
Peter pulled back his paw, and peered at the rat in the dim light. It was furry… and stripy … and ginger…
Their rat was Boris!
[Êàðòèíêà: img_45]
[Êàðòèíêà: img_46]
“What do you two think you’re doing, jumping on me like that?” Boris yelped. His ears were pressed flat against his head and his tail was three times its usual size.
He was just as scared as they were, Peter realized suddenly.
“This is all your fault, isn’t it?” Boris glared at Peter. Now he’d worked out that he wasn’t being set upon by a bunch of starving rats, he was starting to get angry.
“We weren’t the ones stealing!” Tasha snapped back. “How could you eat those sandwiches, Boris? That’s the Old Man’s midnight snack! He’ll be furious!” She peered into the little canvas bag where the guard kept his sandwiches. Boris had pulled it out from under the chair and the silver-foil wrappings were all undone. The sandwiches smelled wonderfully of ham.
Boris did look a little ashamed for a moment, but then he shook his whiskers and shrugged.“He’ll just think it was a rat – like you did.” He smirked at Tasha, showing his pointed teeth, and she hissed crossly.
“You’re so – so – so stupid! The Old Man will see his sandwiches have been nibbled and he’ll think that us museum cats aren’t doing our job properly! That’s Ma and Grandpa and the uncles and aunts … and they work so hard.” Tasha’s fur was standing on end, she was so cross, and Boris looked down at his paws. He obviously hadn’t thought any further than wanting a delicious ham sandwich.
“I was trying to show Peter how to catch a rat and you’ve just spoiled everything!” Tasha went on, and Boris straightened up.
“Him! I might have known. Why are you bothering? He doesn’t belong here. We don’t need him.”
Peter stepped backwards, nearly bumping into the tyrannosaurus’s plinth. He had to put some distance between himself and Boris – the ginger kitten was only saying what Peter had said to himself, but his words felt like sharp scratching claws. They really hurt.
“Don’t you dare run away,” Tasha snapped, whirling round. “Get back here! I’m trying to prove you’re a proper museum cat and you just give up and disappear!”
Peter stared at her helplessly. If one kitten thought he belonged and one was absolutely certain he didn’t, which one should he listen to?
[Êàðòèíêà: img_47]
“Look at him!” Boris jeered. “He’s such a wimp. Can’t he stand up for himself, Tasha? Does the poor little kitten need you to do all his fighting for him?”
“He knocked you over!” Tasha pointed out.
Boris decided to ignore that.“You’re both useless.”
“Hey!” Peter felt his whiskers bristle. He still didn’t feel like a proper museum cat, but he knew Tasha definitely was one. And she’d been kind enough to try and help him. He wasn’t going to let Boris call her names. “You don’t get to say things like that – you’re just a common thief. It’s not enough taking more than your share at meal times, you have to steal food as well?”
“I’m growing!” Boris protested. “I have to eat more than the others.”
Peter could hear Tasha squeaking with laughter and it made him feel taller somehow.“Maybe that’s why you don’t want another kitten around, because you’re worried there won’t be enough food! You’re just greedy!”
“No, I’m not!” Boris yelled. He launched himself at Peter in a wild, flying jump.
And missed.
Peter and Tasha turned slowly to watch as Boris soared through the air. About halfway through the jump, Boris seemed to realize what he’d done and he tried to pull back. For a second he swam in mid-air, all four paws pedalling wildly. But it was no good. A heavy, solid, really quite large ginger kitten crashed right into the tyrannosaurus’s bony tail.
Boris hung there, scrabbling at the smooth bones with his claws, and then he dropped down on to the plinth, shaking his orangey ears and peering dazedly at the other two kittens.