“It is?” This obviously made a strong impression on a bat who felt himself to be, among other things, heir to the mantle of De Valera.
Fal nodded vigorously. “You don’t have to attend, but not to do so is a mark of scanty respect for the dead.”
Even Bronstein was caught half-cocked. “But is not our custom . . .”
“It is ours,” said Pistol with finality. “And our Phylla was first and foremost a rat.”
Virginia sidled up to Chip. “What are they doing to that dead rat?” she whispered, staring in fascinated horror.
“Laying her out. Maybe not the way we humans would understand it, but the way a rat would.” Chip’s tone was very dry. “Phylla would have appreciated it. Sort of a rat joke.”
“What do I do?” she whispered, unable to stop looking at the bizarre rite.
“Well, you can behave like a typical good little Shareholder, look disgusted at the antics of the proles and go off and sleep somewhere. Or you can stay and pay your respects. She only died because she went to rescue you and that smelly Pricklepuss.” Chip walked away, leaving her between anger and tears.
* * *
“Are you sure I have to drink this filthy stuff?” Eamon eyed the glass of colorless brandy with extreme suspicion.
Nym nodded. “Phylla would have appreciated it. Some with each toast. It’s tradition.”
The bat looked wary. “Toast? Are you going to cook her . . .” the bat shuddered, “and then eat her? Or do you mean drink a toast? And since when is it tradition?”
“As far back as anyone can remember,” came the sententious reply from Fal.
“About six months,” added Nym. “We didn’t have soft-cyber implants before that, so no clear memories. And now hush. Pistol is about to start the toasts.”
The one-eyed rat raised his glass to the dead. “Phylla was as near to a wife to me as we rats have. I chose her because she was the best screw in boot camp 301. Ask anyone in Alpha Company.”
“To the best bonk in boot camp!” The rats raised their glasses and drank. Except for the one-eyed rat. He took his glass and poured some into the mouth of the deceased.
Eamon watched in horror. ” ‘Tis debauched and debased you rats all are. Just like that rat was in life!”
“Hear, hear! Well said! What a fine eulogy! Go and give her a drink then.”
The big bat looked stunned. They weren’t joking. He flapped over to the corpse. “To the rat that propositioned even me.” He poured some of the firewater into her mouth. At least it got him out of drinking some of the stuff. All round the circle rats cheered and drank. “To the rat-girl that even propositioned a bat!”
Standing next to Eamon, Pistol sniffed. Wiped his long nose with a paw and said, thickly, “Thank you, bat. I’d forgotten about that. You know, you’re not a bad fellow for a bat.” He sighed. “Such a lovely corpse did you ever see!”
Fal began to tell a story about Phylla, which, were it true, would have frightened Casanova and Don Juan into early retirement and made Dicey Riley look like a temperance union member.
* * *
Chip looked at the late-Chairman’s daughter. She was still standing there. Red as a beetroot, with eyes nearly as wide as her Fluff’s. But she’d stayed. And she managed to take a small sip from the glass with each toast. Well. She had more steel in her than he’d thought. He walked over to her. “Have you got your toast ready?”
“Me?” she squeaked.
“Yes, you, Miss Chairman’s daughter. They’ll be very insulted if you don’t. I notice Pricklepuss has sloped off.”
“Will you stop calling me that! I can’t help who my father was. And I’d better go and see that the Professor is all right.”
“Siobhan had a word with him, I mean her, on her way out. She’ll have told him, her, it, not to go too far because of the booby traps. The alien’ll be fine here. This place is safe enough. And at least you had a father.”