The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents

“If you go down that street and take the first left”

“Fetch him.”

“Here, you can't—” the sergeant began, but Corporal Knopf grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

“He's the piper!” he hissed. “You don't mess with the piper! Don't you know about him? If he blows the right note on his pipes, your legs will fall off!”

“What, like the plague?”

“They say that in Porkscratchenz the council didn't pay him and he played his special pipe and led all the kids up into the mountains and they were never seen again!”

“Good, do you think he'll do that here? The place'd be a lot quieter.”

“Hah! Did you ever hear about that place in Klatch? They hired him to get rid of a plague of mime artists, and when they didn't pay up he made all the town's watchmen dance into the river and drown!”

“No! Did he? The devil!” said Sergeant Doppelpunkt.

“Three hundred dollars he charges, did you know that?”

“Three hundred dollars!”

“That's why people hate paying,” said Corporal Knopf.

“Hang on, hang on… how can you have a plague of mime artists?”

“Oh, it was terrible, so I heard. People didn't dare go out onto the streets at all.”

“You mean, all those white faces, all that creeping around…”

“Exactly. Terrible. Still, when I woke up there was a rat dancing on my dressing-table. Tapitty, tapitty, tap.”

“That's odd,” said Sergeant Doppelpunkt, giving his corporal a strange look.

“And it was humming There's no Business like Show Business. I call that more than just ‘odd’!”

“No, I meant it's odd you've got a dressing-table. I mean, you're not even married.”

“Stop messing about, sarge.”

“Has it got a mirror?”

“Come on, sarge. You get the sausages, sarge, I'll get the mayor.”

“No, Knopf. You get the sausages and I'll get the mayor, 'cos the mayor's free and Mrs Shover will want paying.”

The mayor was already up when the sergeant arrived, and wandering around the house with a worried expression.

He looked more worried when the sergeant arrived. “What's she done this time?” he said.

“Sir?” said the watchman. “Sir” said like that meant “what are you talking about?”

“Malicia hasn't been home all night,” said the mayor.

“You think something might have happened to her, sir?”

“No, I think she might have happened to someone, man! Remember last month? When she tracked down the Mysterious Headless Horseman?”

“Well, you must admit he was a horseman, sir.”

“That is true. But he was also a short man with a very high collar. And he was the chief tax-gatherer from Mintz. I'm still getting official letters about it! Tax-gatherers do not as a rule like young ladies dropping on them out of trees! And then in September there was that business about the, the—”

“The Mystery of Smuggler's Windmill, sir,” said the sergeant, rolling his eyes.

“Which turned out to be Mr Vogel the town clerk and Mrs Schuman the shoemaker's wife, who happened to be there merely because of their shared interest in studying the habits of barn owls…”

“… and Mr Vogel had his trousers off because he'd torn them on a nail…” said the sergeant, not looking at the mayor.

“… which Mrs Schuman was very kindly repairing for him,” said the mayor.

“By moonlight,” said the sergeant.

“She happens to have very good eyesight!” snapped the mayor. “And she didn't deserve to be bound and gagged along with Mr Vogel, who caught quite a chill as a result! I had complaints from him and from her, and from Mrs Vogel and from Mr Schuman and from Mr Vogel after Mr Schuman went around to his house and hit him with a last and from Mrs Schuman after Mrs Vogel called her a—”

“A last what, sir?”

“What?”

“Hit him with a last what?”

“A last, man! It's a kind of wooden foot shoemakers use when they're making shoes! Heaven knows what Malicia's doing this time!”

“I expect you'll find out when we hear the bang, sir.”

“And what was it you wanted me for, sergeant?”

“The rat piper's here, sir.”

The mayor went pale. “Already?” he said.

“Yessir. He's having a shave in the fountain.”

“Where's my official chain? My official robe? My official hat? Quick, man, help me!”

“He looks like quite a slow shaver, sir,” said the sergeant, following the mayor out of the room at a run.

“Over in Klotz the mayor kept the piper waiting too long and he played his pipe and turned him into a badger!” said the mayor, flinging open a cupboard. “Ah, here they are… help me on with them, will you?”

When they arrived in the town square, out of breath, the piper was sitting on a bench, surrounded at a safe distance by a very large crowd. He was examining half a sausage on the end of a fork. Corporal Knopf was standing next to him like a schoolboy who has just turned in a nasty piece of work and is waiting to be told exactly how bad it is.

“And this is called a—?” the piper was saying.

“A sausage, sir,” Corporal Knopf muttered.

“This is what you think is a sausage here, is it?” There was a gasp from the crowd. Bad Blintz was very proud of its traditional vole-and-pork sausages.

“Yessir,” said Corporal Knopf.