Running of the Bulls

By the time we are supposed to head on to Amblona, we have eaten as many trout as we will hold. We pay off the hotelkeeper and go back to the station. The southbound train is late. Obert Ohn grumbles. I just buy myself a glass of rough red wine. Everything in Astilia always runs late. If you cannot get used to that, the country will drive you wild. A while ago, a general seized power and promised to make the trains go on time. Making promises is easier than keeping them. He could not do it, so the Astilians threw him out.

I am halfway down my third glass of wine and Obert is back to being annoying in all the old ways when the train chugs up at last. We climb aboard. “On to Amblona!” I say gaily.

“On to Amblona.” Obert does not sound so gay. Yes, he is back to his old self, all right.

Most of the year, Amblona is as sleepy a place as Ganelon. When the festival comes, though, it swells like a boil. If we had not reserved our rooms—and if I had not made friends with the hotelkeeper the year before—we would have had nowhere to sleep and to stow our trunks.

Ett and Kime Kelbam are in the hotel dining room when we get there. Kime waves to us. Lady Ett smiles and flutters her fingers. “Come eat with us!” Kime calls.

“I want to freshen up first,” I say, and start for the stairs. Obert stands there gaping at Ett and Kime as if he is turned to stone. I wonder if I will have to kick him in the ankle to get him moving. He unfreezes just before I haul off and do it.

He is in room 102. I am in room 101, across the hall. We have to go up the stairs to get to them because what would be the second floor in Dubyook is only the first floor on this side of the ocean. What we call the first floor is the ground floor over here.

I toss my trunk in a corner and take a fast shower. Nothing wrong with the hotel’s plumbing. It is as modern as next week. But when I slide back the curtain and start to step out of the tub, the first thing I see is a rat sitting on the sink by the faucet.

I have always hated rats. They disgust me more than anything else I can think of. I do not say there is anything special about this. Of course most people feel the same way. Men and rats. Rats and men. We are of two different kinds, and foes forever. The beady black eyes, the gnawing teeth, the skinny tail—anyone will shudder at just a glimpse.

For me, the hair is the worst. It sticks out all over them, but sometimes you can still see their soft, pink skin through it. The idea of having hair touch me . . . I cannot begin to tell you how chilling that is.

And it has happened to me. You always have trenches in war, and where you have trenches you will have rats. Rats are made for trenches, much more than people are. They feast on scraps and rubbish. They feast on the dead, too, and they will start to eat wounded soldiers. They scramble over you while you sleep, not that you can stay asleep after you feel that skittering touch and the furtive brushiness of their horrid hair.

We used to hope the enemy would gas us. We truly did. That put down the rats when nothing else would, for a little while anyhow. Rats have not figured out gas masks. When they do, we are all in trouble.

This flashes through my head in a lot less time than it takes to tell you. I look around like a wild man for something to smash the rat with. I throw a little bottle of liquid soap at it. If I catch it square, I may stun it long enough to let me grab something bigger and kill it.

But I miss. I suppose I am lucky not to smash the mirror over the sink. The rat jumps down and disappears. When I look under there, the hole does not seem wide enough for it to squeeze through. It does, though.

So before I go to the dining room, I call on the hotelkeeper. His name is Tonmoya. He is a fine fellow. In Dubyook, a man in his job would deny that rats could ever get into his hotel. In Dunlin, a man in his job would deny that rats exist. He listens to me. He sighs. He says, “Under the sink, is the hole? I’ll send a man to plug it up. Enjoy your supper, sir. He’ll fix it by the time you finish.”

And the man does. No more rats bother me while I am in Amblona. Other things, yes, but not rats.

Obert is already sitting with Kime and Lady Ett when I get to the table. Ett is, well, Ett. She wants to hear about Ganelon. She wants to hear about the train ride. She squeaks when I tell her about the rat. Kime pulls a face. He is drinking hard. He often drinks hard, but he is drinking harder than usual.

When Obert gets his supper, he only picks at it. With the magic that comes out of the kitchen here, that should be a crime. He keeps staring at Lady Ett. She does not give him any special notice. No one who knows Obert Ohn ever gives him any special notice. That must be part of the reason he is the way he is.