The fat rat, paunch wobbling gloriously as he resumed strutting back and forth, gestured histrionically and burst into a singsong rendition from Henry V:
“But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, conjure up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage!”
“Tradition!” chorused Pistol. “Anyway, what difference does it make? We’re going to kill it and eat it, anyway. It’s a dumb animal, even it looks a bit like us. What difference does it make if, uh, we do our soldierly duty first?”
“It makes a difference to you!” Siobhan was practically choking from indignation. “Rape! How can you even think of it? I’m going to call Bronstein.”
“Hmm.” Doc’s eyes were almost crossed, as he pondered the ethics of the matter. “But consensual sex implies and indeed presupposes an intellect. Therefore, where there is no intellect . . .”
“You know, Doc, you’re about as much fun as an enema!” snarled Fal. “I’m proposing soldierly rapine! That’s not a matter of intellect. It is a matter of tradition! Like pillaging and burning! We soldiers have a reputation to keep up. It is our soldierly duty!”
“Since when, you buffoon?” Chip had the average conscript’s respect for his uniform, but this was a bit much.
“Always! ‘Tis in my memory banks!”
Nym finally came to his own conclusion. “I know. We’ll kill it first. Then it won’t mind.”
“Take the logic through to the end,” Doc immediately countered. “Eat it first, kill it later and rape it after that.”
Chip shuddered. “I’m going to kill it now and get it over with, you sick bunch.”
Fal sighed. “Chip, you are a sorry gutless hobgobbin. A spoilsport. You won’t let me get drunk. You won’t let me force my will on this svelte little rat-maiden . . . and she rather fancies me. Don’t you, my sweetness?” The plump rat reached out for the wild rat.
She bit him, and ran.
“Yow! After her!”
But they were too slow, and the rat dived down a hole.
Fal nursed his paw. “She bit me.”
“Good,” said Bronstein, who had come in behind them.
“Now, where is our dinner?” demanded Doll. “Get down that hole after it, you idiots!”
“That’s dinner that bites. Besides I don’t think I’d fit down that hole.”
“I’ve a good mind to kick you down it!” Phylla snapped. Hunger made her very irritable.
“Hullo. What is going on here?” asked Melene, who had just wandered in.
“These stupid, randy, male sots have just let our dinner get away, in their quest for more bawdy lechery. They’ve let a tasty wild rat escape away entirely with their dumb oversexed behavior!” Phylla aimed a kick at Fal, who was still sucking his paw.
“That’s males for you,” sniffed Melene. “Come, I have found us something to eat. We’ll leave them to their bit of wild-tail, seeing as we’re not good enough for them.” She linked arms with Doll and Phylla.
“Wait . . .” said Fal, hastily.
“Stick your private parts in the rat hole, you tripe-visaged sots.” Doll smiled nastily back at them. “Maybe the wild one will bite them off.”
Shamefaced, the male rats followed them.
“No, no, stick to your ‘soldierly’ duties,” said Phylla, showing teeth.
“Ah, come on . . .” begged Nym.
Doll showed teeth. “Bugger off and go and enjoy your wild rat.”
“We too have found some useful things, Connolly, although not to eat,” said Bronstein. “I was just on my way to find you.”
“Fine. Let’s just go and see what the rats have found. The honest truth is, Bronstein, I could have eaten that rat myself. Raw. A bit of a come-down for a former sous-chef, eh?”
The bat chuckled. “We also need food, Chip. We aren’t as voracious as the rats, to be sure, but flying is an energy-expensive exercise.”
“Well, let’s go and see what they’ve found. But, knowing their tastes, don’t expect smoked salmon,” said Chip, with a half-smile.
He was quite correct. The smoked salmon, presliced and inadequately preserved, had gone off. In the tasting room next to the cellar, where the wine farm had provided delicate little snacks for its wealthy Shareholder clientele, was a small fridge. Without power, much of what was inside was simply gag-making rotten. One or two of the soft cheeses had actually evolved to self-awareness, and had to be forcibly suppressed. But there were a fair number of sealed bottles and tins. And up on the wall was a cupboard full of cellophane-sealed packets of dry crackers.