The Pickpocket

Chapter 11 - Rats Like Peanut Butter?

I was led past sheds of food and machinery, past barracks and makeshift trenches. Piles of animal dung littered the ground and you had to watch your step. Dogs howled and pigeons cooed, horses whinnied and camels snorted. Yes, camels. The sergeant - Lewis Walker, his name tag said - had explained that the camels were used for transporting goods and people up and down the front. “We don’t get to work with them,” he said, “there are folks who work with the horses and mules who are willing to be spat on.” Sergeant Walker didn’t like camels.

“We’re here,” he said at last. We were facing a long, low building, covered in a mixture of green and grey paint that flaked in various places. Ignoring that, the area was spotless. The ground was clear and the windows gleamed. The door didn’t creak and the lock didn’t jam, the corridors didn’t smell and there were no animal noises apart from the odd squeak. It was brilliant.

“This place is very… quiet,” I said, choosing my words carefully. Sergeant Walker beamed at me and took my bag, placing it on a bed near the door. I hadn’t even noticed the room (or that the door was open) until he did that.

“It is indeed,” Sergeant Walker said, still smiling away. I smiled back cautiously. This guy strikes me as being a little creepy, I thought. Before I could say anything, Sergeant Walker had walked into the room where he’d put my bag. I followed him.

The beds were white with silver-grey frames. The covers were folded down neatly on nearly every bed, apart from one. And someone was lying on it, a bundle of fur on their stomach, rising and falling as they breathed. A book was perched on top of their knees, blocking out the person’s face. By Sergeant Walker’s reaction I could tell that the person was supposed to be doing something else and that they were known for slacking off. Even Sergeant Walker’s squirrel was bristling with anger.

“Owen!” Sergeant Walker barked suddenly. I jumped and Nicci covered her ears. The book was removed and a freckled face with dark brown, almost black, hair flopping across it in a fringe was revealed. The bundle of fur stirred, turned around, and fell asleep again. I stifled a gasp. There was a lion cub on his lap!

“Yes, Walky?” Owen replied, an air of nonchalance hanging about his words. The lion cub rolled onto its back and Owen stroked it gently.           

“Why aren’t you working?” Sergeant Walker hadn’t finished yet. Striding across the room, Sergeant Walker pulled Owen to his feet. The lion cub hissed and turned around, swiping at Sergeant Walker with a paw. The sergeant stepped back and the lion cub almost toppled off the bed.

“Oi! Don’t hurt Jinx,” Owen said, wrenching his arm free from the sergeant’s grasp and holding onto the lion cub. Nicci squealed in fright and everyone turned back to us; it was like we’d been forgotten.

“What are you doing here?” Sergeant Walker said, momentarily bewildered. Then he remembered. “Oh yes. Owen, this is our new recruit. You’re both on duty in an hour’s time.” And with that, Sergeant Walker walked off.

“Blimey, he’s tetchy,” Owen muttered. He crossed the room and sat down on my bed, patting the space beside him. “Come on,” he said, a grin spreading across his features, “I don’t bite.”

“Much,” a different voice added. A woman walked in, dumping a pile of papers on Owen’s bed. She then perched next to them, looking to me like some sort of odd bird. Her hair was as black as night and framed a pale face, making her look like a crow. Her name? Well…

“Hello, Naumann,” Owen said. My eyes widened and I began to laugh, spluttering at first then laughing properly. Owen looked at me in bewilderment and Naumann glared at me.

“Although my name is a type of thrush-” she began. Owen started laughing too.

“I never realised that!” he squealed, rolling around with laughter. I was propping myself up with the wall and laughing hard. I’m not sure what was so funny about her name, but there was just something…

“Owen Reilly!” Naumann squealed, “calm yourself at once or I’ll set Squeakers on you!” Owen froze, his laughter dying. I looked from him to Naumann in surprise, trying to work out who Squeakers was. It was no use.

“Who’s Squeakers?” I asked eventually. Naumann sniffed haughtily and turned to me.

“My highly trained, incredibly intelligent rat,” she said. I raised an eyebrow at Owen.

“You’re scared of rats?” I said slowly. He shook his head.

“No,” he replied, his voice trembling slightly, “just her rat. She experiments on him -”

“Do not!”

“- so that he’s now a giant rat. With very sharp teeth. That hates me and Jinx.” Owen gulped and shuffled backwards so that his back was pressed up against the wall. I sighed and walked across the corridor to what I presumed was Naumann’s bed.

“Woah!” I jumped backwards, away from something that I had thought was a pillow. It was big, and brown, and had little red eyes. And it was squeaking and snarling at me, coming closer, lunging for my arm…

“OWWWWWWWW!” I screamed, swinging my arm around and around to try and get rid of this thing with a foot-long tail. It stayed put, digging its teeth in deeper. Blood gushed over the rat (for that’s what it was), over me, and over the floor. Even over Owen when he reluctantly came to help.

“Naumann!” I screeched, “get this bloody thing off of my arm!” If Naumann was surprised by the drastic change in my accent she didn’t show it. Walking over to me (a little too slowly for my liking) she held out a piece of toast, covered in something brown. I took a step back as she got closer.

“Is. That. Peanut. Butter,” I said quietly, gritting my teeth against the pain but watching Naumann closely. She nodded, shrugging at the same time. I tried once more to get the rat off my arm but to no avail.

“Why? What’s wrong with peanut butter?” Owen asked. He was wiping blood off his shirt with a wet cloth and I felt a twang of guilt. It was quickly replaced by more pain.

“I’m allergic to peanuts,” I replied, my voice getting shriller every second out of fear and pain. Darkness was clouding the edge of my vision and Naumann was doing nothing to help. Instead, she was eating the toast, angering the rat further.

“Naumann!” a voice barked. I turned my head to see Sergeant Walker in the doorway. His squirrel was on his head and he looked furious.

“Yes, sir?” Naumann replied calmly.

“Get your rat off Private Hatchett!”

“Sir.” Naumann stepped forwards, wiping her fingers on a long black skirt. The rat sniffed but didn’t let go off my arm, so Naumann yanked it off me when it loosened its grip. Squealing, the rat was put back in its cage. I walked back to mine and Owen’s dorm and collapsed in a shaky heap onto my bed. My head swam and wherever I looked stars popped before my eyes. My limbs felt a dead weight and I was happy to let myself just drift off to sleep…