from the one that King Rat had shown him, but Saul was not afraid. He walked through an olfactory patchwork, and the smells of p.i.s.s told him stories. The rat who p.i.s.sed here was aggressive and quick to anger; the one who p.i.s.sed here was a follower; the one here ate too much, and his favourite food was chicken.

Saul could feel the city above him. He felt lines and directions pull at him. He followed the geomantic tugging.

From behind him, Saul heard a pattering. He turned, and in the grey non-light he saw three rats following him. He stopped still and watched them. They halted six feet from him and shifted, without taking their eyes from him. As he watched two more rats jumped from a pipe that jutted into the tunnel, and joined their fellows.

Saul backed up a little and the rats followed, keeping their distance. One of them squeaked loudly and the others joined in, a discordant cacophony which was taken up throughout the tunnels nearby. Small feet scampered from all directions towards him. The squealing reverberated around Saul's head.

More rats began to froth around him, out of the side tunnels and the surrounding dark. They came in twos and threes and tens, and although he did not fear them the sheer number was overwhelming. There was no light to glint off the hundreds of eyes which ringed him; they remained only little points of blackness in 127.

the general gloom, foci in the simmering ma.s.s of bodies which had filled the tunnel around him.

The squealing continued. It filled his head.

Suddenly, through his trepidation Saul felt a burst of excitement. He was confused by the sensation, it felt alien and out of place. And he realized that it was not his excitement at all, but that of the rats, that he understood their shrill communication, that he could feel what they felt.

He was awash with vicarious emotions.

Saul trembled and turned. There was nothing to distinguish what was before him from what was behind, everywhere was filled with the tiny eyes and bodies of the rats. The rats' voices were tremulous, cosseting, pleading.

Saul fled the pressure of the sound, flooded by panic. He turned and leapt over the ma.s.s of bodies, which parted under him, little islands of clear sewer appearing under his feet as he landed, tails being whisked out of the way. The voices were suddenly plaintive. They followed him.

Saul ran through the tunnels and the rats scampered after him. Ahead of him he saw a wall-mounted ladder. He leapt up, caught it. The rats jumped, scratching at the bottom rail. Saul felt a surge of relief as he looked down into their inscrutable faces.

He climbed and forced open the metal cover, peeping out through the crack. The exit was fringed with high gra.s.s. Saul climbed out of the depths and 128.

emerged in a hollow between shadowy bushes. He was in a deserted park. Above the distant hum of traffic there were closer sounds of birds. Saul saw water before him, a twisted lake with islands.

Trees framed his field of vision. He saw a shape over the arboreal boundary: a huge gilded dome surmounted with a shaving of crescent moon. London's central mosque, burnished by the streetlamps. To the south he saw the thin stiletto of Telecom Tower. He was in Regent's Park.

Saul circled the boating lake and slipped silently through the hedgerows and trees and railings.

Saul clambered out into the dark city.

He walked south to Baker Street. Lights waved wildly over the faces of the buildings as cars swung by. Headlights pinned him in their glare as a battered van swept towards him and past. Saul's heart raced for a long time after it had gone.

He turned onto Marylebone Road.

People bore down on him from all directions. It took him a moment to realize that they also moved away on past him, that they were simply walking along the street. Saul's breath shook a little as he exhaled. He pushed his hands into his pockets and set off west.

The first man to pa.s.s him was dressed in a blazer and jeans, his rugby shirt tucked in, cuddling his distended belly. He glanced momentarily at Saul before his eyes flickered back ahead of him.

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Look at me! Saul shouted in his head. I'm a rat! Can you tell? Can you smell? The man must have detected the stench which hung around Saul's clothes, but was it so much worse than that which coloured the pa.s.sing of a drunk? The man did not turn to investigate Saul, who stopped and stared after him. He turned and gazed at the next person approaching him, a young Asian woman in a short tight dress. She smoked as she pa.s.sed him. She did not spare him a glance.

Saul laughed, giddy. He was pa.s.sed from behind by a short black man, from in front by a group of singing teenagers, and then a very tall man with gla.s.ses, from behind by a man in a suit who walked, then jogged, then walked to his destination.

No one minded Saul.

Ahead of him the broken stream of night traffic rose, cut across Edgware Road. It returned briefly to earth then rebounded, flying again. This was the Westway, the vast raised road which swept above London. A thousand tons of impossibly suspended asphalt, it soared off over Paddington and Westbourne Grove, with the city spattered out forever on all sides. In the west, over Latimer Road, it twisted into an intricate mess of raised ramps and exits. It extricated itself from this tangle and continued, finally returning to earth outside Wormwood Scrubs prison.

Saul stared at the Westway. It pa.s.sed Ladbroke Grove station, where Natasha lived. The rules of the 130.

city no longer concerned him. The prohibition against pedestrians on the Westway did not apply to rats.

He ducked between the spa.r.s.e cars and scampered onto the central reservation, racing up the incline, skirting the barrier with vehicles buzzing past him on both sides.

Below him he heard faint shouts from the mustard coloured estates. Dirty winking lights swept away from him. The drivers could not see him. He was a dark figure, utterly inured to the cold, his back bent, his arms grasping the barriers, pulling himself along. He moved like a cartoon villain on speed, a fast, exaggerated skulking.

Four great squat blocks reached up like stubby fingers around the Westway: brown tower blocks overlooking him with uneven points of light. The sound of traffic was a rhythmic, constant crescendo, flows without ebbs, never dying away.

Isolated in the centre of this wide road, Saul could not see the streets below him. He could not gaze into windows or over the edge of the Westway at late-night walkers. He was alone with the anonymous cars and the horizon. The whole city had become horizon punctuated by fat towers.

To his left, the raised tracks of the Hammersmith and City tube line shadowed the Westway, only a few feet away. A train rattled past. With a rush of 131.

adrenaline, Saul pictured himself racing across the road and leaping out, catching it as it went by and straddling it like a rodeo rider, but he felt a sudden, certain intimation that he could not make that jump, not yet, and he stood still as the train headed on to Ladbroke Grove.

He followed its pa.s.sage on the Westway until he could see Ladbroke Grove station hovering in the air to his left. It was so close that he could probably leap across onto the platform itself. Saul peered into the headlights to his right, and bundled himself across the road, pa.s.sing like a discarded coat in wind before the windscreens of startled drivers. He flattened himself against the barrier and leaned over.

Just beyond the station, Ladbroke Grove still throbbed with the beats of ghetto-blasters. A group of youth leaned, studiously cool, outside the closed Quasar building. They did their best to intimidate the pa.s.sers-by. Late-night grocers leaned out of their doors and chatted to each other, to customers, to the mini-cab drivers. The streets did not throng, but they were hardly empty. From his precarious hide, Saul watched.

Unnoticed he clambered over the barrier and held it behind his back, leaning out over the streets. He enjoyed his own insouciance.

It was an easy jump to the drainpipe opposite, barely four feet, and he accomplished it without a sound. He descended to the wedge of low roofing 132.

between the station and the raised road, and slid into the Westway's looming shadow. He clambered over mildewed eaves. Three days ago, he thought as he jumped to the ground, / was heavy and human. And now., he thought as he moved out of the graffitied darkness towards Ladbroke Grove itself, I'm rat and I can travel how I like. I woke up so fast.

He made no effort to hide himself, even swaggering a little, and the groups of young men who clotted the pavement eyed him but let him pa.s.s, their noses wrinkling in his wake. He walked through conversations in accented English, in Arabic and in Portuguese.

He turned into Ba.s.sett Road and trotted up to Natasha's house. Her lights were off. He cursed and turned on his heel, pacing away to a tree opposite her window. He leaned against it and folded his arms, debating whether or not to wake her.

Saul had no illusions. He could never go back, he had become a rat. There was no way into that world again. But he had lived there once and he missed his friends.

As he stood trying to make up his mind, a slouching figure made its way down the street. With a sudden thrill, Saul recognized the stumbling gait. As the man approached Natasha's house and slowed, Saul cupped his hands over his mouth and hissed, 'Kay.'

Kay jumped and looked all around him in confusion. Saul hissed again. Kay stared straight at him 133.

for a moment and panned his eyes around, comically nervous.

Saul stepped out of the cover of the tree.

'Jesus, Saul man, you gave me a heart attack!' said Kay as he slumped with relief. 'You were f.u.c.king invisible under that tree, and your voice has gone all weird ...' He stopped short suddenly, shook his head and put his hands to his face.

's.h.i.t, man!' he hissed, looking wildly around him. 'What's gone on? How the f.u.c.k are you? I just heard about all your s.h.i.t! Jesus! What's happened?'

Saul had reached him, and he slapped his shoulder and gripped his hand.

'Seriously, Kay, you wouldn't f.u.c.king believe it. I'm not fobbing you off, man, it's just... I don't even understand it myself.'

Kay's face had screwed up.

'What is that stink, man? Is that you? I mean no offence, man, but...'

'I'm ... hiding out.'

'Where? The f.u.c.king sewers?' Saul said nothing and Kay's eyes widened. Tuck me! You aren't} I wasn't serious ...' Saul cut him off.

'Yeah, well, you heard about me getting out of the cell? I got to hide, man, the police think I killed my dad.'

Kay stared at him for a moment.

Saul was aghast. 'No I f.u.c.king didn't. Jesus, do you have to ask me that?'

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All the talk of chase and crime and capture was making him nervous, and he backed into the darkness under the tree, pulling Kay with him.

'So what are you doing?' said Kay.

'Oh ...' Saul was vague. 'I've got to find something to prove I didn't do it.' He could not explain that he could never go back.

'What about the two cops?' Saul stared at Kay blankly. 'The ones who bought it in your flat.'

Saul stared at him in mounting horror.

'Didn't you know?

'So what f.u.c.king happened?' Saul shook his lapels. Kay backed away, wrinkling his nose.

'I don't know, I don't know. Fabian came up to Tash's waving a newspaper around. The police have been interviewing him all day, said the two watching your flat got beat up and died. They've got you pegged for it, man.'

Kay had no malice. He could see that Saul knew nothing of the crime, and felt only concern, no more suspicion.

'Do you ... know ... do you know who ...' he continued. 'No, but I think I know someone who does. s.h.i.t!' Saul ran his hands through his hair. 's.h.i.t, they'll be going ballistic for me now! s.h.i.t!'

He's going to tell me, he thought, overcome with rage. No more petulant silences. When I find King Rat 135.

he's got to tell me who's doing this and why, and f.u.c.k all this fobbing me off.

He turned back to Kay.

'What's going on, man? Why you here?'

Kay pointed up the road.

'I was in the pub with Tash and Fabe and this geezer Tash has started cutting some tracks with. It's a lock-in . .. we're all talking about you, man.' He grinned weakly. 'I realized I left my bag at Tash's, and she give me her keys. I'm going back in a minute. You want to come?' Saul hesitated and Kay began to urge him. 'Come on, man, everyone's worried f.u.c.king sick over you, man. Fabe's terrible.'

Saul thought of Fabian and felt a wave of nostalgia. His friendships felt shockingly distant. He wanted to come to the pub, but he was suddenly terrified. He had nothing in common with these people any more, though he wanted them desperately; he missed them. What could he say to them, tell them? And the police ... they were already questioning them. After this latest killing, could he risk incriminating them?

'I... can't, Kay. I'm wanted, man, and I can't be hanging around in pubs and stuff. I got to keep moving. But... will you tell them that I'm missing them and I promise I'll try to see them. And Kay ... tell them if they don't hear from me for a bit they can't worry... I'm sorting things out. OK? Will you tell them that?'

'Are you sure you won't come back?'

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Saul shook his head.

Kay acquiesced with a sideways nod. 'So ... at least tell me what's going on. How the f.u.c.k d'you get out of prison?'

Saul even laughed a little.

'It was only a cell, and... I really can't explain now. I'm really sorry.'

'How are you looking after yourself?'

'Kay... I can't, alright? Please stop, man. I can't explain it.'

'But are you OK?' Kay was concerned. 'You don't sound all that good. Like I say, your voice is all... weird, and you smell... like ...'

'I know, but I can't talk about it. I promise I'm looking after myself. I have to go, man. I'm sorry. Give them all my big love.' He touched him briefly on the shoulder and walked into the dark, turning to wave.

Kay stood under the tree, waving back. His eyes peered intently as Saul left the circle of shadow and found other darkness beside the front walls of houses.

'Take care, man,' Kay said, too loud, from behind him.

Saul was lost to his sight.

Kay stood for a moment under the tree before walking slowly to Natasha's front door and letting himself in. He was deeply confused. Something was obviously very wrong with Saul, but he could not tell what. The 137.

man had turned into some kind of Ninja, for one thing; walk five feet away from him and he turned invisible. And his voice ... husky and somehow . . . close up.

It had unnerved Kay, made him a little afraid. It was clear that Saul did not know anything about the dead policemen, but Kay found himself wondering whether he was somehow involved without knowing it. There was certainly a touch of the psychopath about him tonight: his eyes all dark, his voice and manner intense, and that smell...! The man must be living in pigs.h.i.t. Could he really be dossing in the sewers? How would you even get into them?

He was afraid for his friend.

He found his bag in the unlit sitting-room and left the flat, locking the door behind him. He was eager to tell the others of his meeting. At least Saul was ... well, alive, if not OK.

He stepped out into the street and turned left, still shaking his head in confusion. Something emerged from a patch of darkness behind him and moved in fast. Kay heard nothing. Metal twirled briefly and something long and hard cracked him on the back of his head. Kay emitted a gasp of air as he fell forward, was caught, dead-weight, hanging like a corpse, before he hit the pavement.

Blood welled up and dribbled onto his bag, trickling inside, staining the covers of records by Ray Keith and the Omni Trio.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.