China Miéville: King Rat

Shadows were draped over the face like cobwebs. He was tall but not very tall; his shoulders were bunched up tight as if against the wind, a defensive posture. The vague face was thin and lined; the long dark hair was lank and uncombed, falling over those tight shoulders in untidy clots. A shapeless coat of indiscriminate grey was draped over dark clothes. The man plunged his hands into his pockets. His face was turned slightly down. He was looking at Saul from beneath his brows.

A smell of rubbish and wet animals filled the room. The man stood motionless, watching Saul from across the floor.

‘You’re safe.’

Saul started. He had only dimly seen the man’s mouth move, but the harsh whisper echoed in his head as if those lips were an inch from his ear. It took a moment for him to understand what had been said.

‘What do you mean?’ he said. ‘Who are you?’

‘You’re safe now. No one can get to you now.’ A strong London accent, an aggressive, secretive snarl whispered right in Saul’s ear. ‘I want you to know why you’re here.’

Saul felt dizzy, swallowed spit made thick with phlegm by the atmosphere. He did not, he did not understand what was happening.

‘Who are you?’ Saul hissed. ‘Are you police? Where’s Crowley?’

The man jerked his head in what might have been dismissal, shock, or a laugh.

‘How did you get in?’ demanded Saul.

‘I crept past all the little boys in blue on tippy-toe slid hugger-mugger under the counter and I sneaked my way to your little queer ken. Do you know where you’re here?’

Saul nodded dumbly.

‘They think…’

‘The constables think you killed your daddy, but you didn’t, I know that. Granted, you’ll have a fine time getting them to Adam and Eve that… but I do.’

Saul was shaking. He sank onto the bunk. The stench which had entered with the man was over powering. The voice continued, relentless. ‘I’ve been watching you carefully, you know. Keeping tabs. We’ve a lot to talk about, you know. I can… do you a favour.’

Saul was utterly bewildered. Was this some casualty off the streets? Someone ill in his head, too full alcohol or voices to make any sense? The air was still taut like a bowstring. What did this man know about his father?

‘I don’t know who the fuck you are,’ he star slowly. ‘And I don’t know how you got in…’

‘You don’t understand.’ The whisper became a little harsher. ‘Listen, matey. We’re out of that world now. Two more people and no more people things, get it? look at you,’ the voice harsh with disgust. ‘Sitting there in your borrowed duds like a fool, waiting patiently to get took before the Barnaby. Think they’ll take kindly to your whids? They’ll bang you up till you rot, foolish boy.’ There was a long pause. ‘And then I appear, like a bloody angel of mercy. I spring your jigger, no problem. This is where I live, get it? This is the city where I live. It shares all the points of yours and theirs, but none of its properties. I go where I want. And I’m here to tell you how it is with you. Welcome to my home.’

The voice filled the small room, it would not give Saul space or time to think.

The shadowy face bore down on Saul. The man was coming nearer. He moved in little spurts, his chest and shoulders still tight, he approached from the side, zigzagged a little, came a little closer from another direction, his demeanour at once furtive and aggressive.

Saul swallowed. His head was light, his mouth dry. He fought for spit. The air was arid and so full of tension he could almost hear it, a faint keening as if the sound of the door hinge had never died away. He could not think, he could only listen.

The stinking apparition before him moved a little out of the shadows. The filthy trenchcoat was open, and Saul caught sudden sight of a lighter grey shirt underneath, decorated with rows of black arrows pointing up, convict chic.

The angle of the man’s head was proud, the shoulders skulking.

‘There’s nothing I don’t know about Romeville you see. Nor Gay Paree, nor Cairo, nor Berlin, nor no city, but London’s special to me, has been for a long time. Stop looking at me and wondering, boy. You’re not going to get it. I’ve crept through these brick when they were barns, then mills, then factories and banks. You’re not looking at people, boy. You should count yourself lucky I’m interested in you. Because I’m doing you a big favour.’ The man’s snarling monologue paused theatrically.

This was madness, Saul knew. His head spun. None of this meant anything; it was meaningless words, ludicrous, he should laugh, but something in the curdled air held his tongue. He could not speak, he could not mock. He realized he was crying, or perhaps his eyes were just watering in the stagnant atmosphere of the room.

His tears seemed to annoy the intruder.

‘Stop moaning on about your fat dad,’ he spat ‘That’s all over, and you’ve more important things to worry about.’

He paused again.

‘Shall we go?’

Saul looked up sharply. He reached his voice at last.

‘What are you talking about? What do you mean?’ He was whispering.

‘Shall we go? I said. It’s time to scarper, it’s time to split, to quit, to take our leave.’ The man looked about him conspiratorially, and hid his mouth behind the back of his hand in a melodramatic stage whisper. ‘I’m Breaking you out.’ He straightened up a little and nodded his head, that indistinct face bobbing enthusiastically. ‘Let’s just say your path and mine cross at this point. It’s darkmans outside already, I can smell it, and it looks like they’ve forgot about you. No Tommy Tucker for you, it seems, so let’s bow out gracefully. You and I’ve got business together, and this is no place to conduct it. And if we wait much longer they’ll have banged you up as a member of the parenticide club and eaten the key. There’s no justice there, I know. So let me ask you one more time… shall we go?’

He could do it, Saul realized. With a terrified amazement he realized he was going to go with this creature, was going to follow this man whose face he could not see into the police station, and the two of them would escape.

‘Who… what… are you?’

‘I’ll tell you that.’

The voice filled Saul up and made him faint. The thin face was inches from his, silhouetted by the bare bulb. He tried to see through the obfuscating darkness and discern clear features, but the shadows were stubborn and subtle. The words mesmerized him like a spell, as hypnotic as dance music.

‘You’re in the presence of royalty, mate. I go where my subjects go, and my subjects are everywhere. And here in the cities there’re a million crevices for irrjH kingdom. I fill all the spaces in-between.’

‘Let me tell you about me.’

‘I can hear the things left unsaid.’

‘I know the secret life of houses and the social life of things. I can read the writing on the wall.’

‘I live in old London town.’

‘Let me tell you who I am.’

‘I’m the big-time crime boss. I’m the one that stinks. I’m the scavenger chief, I live where you don’t want me. I’m the intruder. I killed the usurper, I take you to safekeeping. I killed half your continent one time. I know when your ships are sinking. I can break your traps across my knee and eat the cheese in your face and make you blind with my piss. I’m the one with the hardest teeth in the world, I’m the whiskered boy. I’m the Duce of the sewers, I run the underground. I’m the king.’

In one sudden movement he turned to face the door and sloughed the coat from his shoulders, unveiling the name stencilled crudely in black on the back of shirt, between the rows of arrows.

‘I’m King Rat.’