Snorri told herself that it was only a rat, but not long after, as she walked briskly back to the main thoroughfare, Snorri had heard a shrill scream coming from Squeeze Guts Alley. Someone who had ventured down the Alley without a torch had not been so lucky.
Snorri was shaken and in need of some human company, so that evening she had supper at Sally Mullin's. Sally had warmed to Snorri because, as she had said to her friend Sarah Heap, “You can't blame a young girl just because she's got the misfortune to be a Trader, and I suppose they're not all bad. You've got to admire her, Sarah, she's sailed that great barge all on her own. Don't know how she did it. I used to find Muriel difficult enough.”
The cafe was strangely empty that evening. Snorri was the only customer. Sally brought Snorri an extra piece of barley cake and sat beside her. “It's terrible for business, this Sickenesse,” she complained. “No one dares stay out after dark even though I tell them that rats run a mile when they see a flame. All they have to do is carry a torch. But it's no good, everyone's scared now.” Sally shook her head gloomily. "They go for your ankles, see. And quick as greased lightning they are.
One bite and that's it. You're gone."
Snorri was having some trouble following Sally's rapid stream of words. “Yorgon?”
she asked, catching the end of the sentence.
Sally nodded. “As good as,” she said. “Not dead exactly but they reckon it's only a matter of time. You feel fine for a while, then you get a red rash spreading up from the bite, feel dizzy and bang—next thing you know you're flat out on the floor and away with the fairies.”
“Fairies?” asked Snorri.
“Yes,” said Sally, springing to her feet at the welcome sight of a customer.
The customer was a tall woman with short spiky hair. She held her cloak close around her. Snorri could see little of the woman's face, but there was an angry look to the way she stood. A murmured conversation ensued between her and Sally, then the woman left as swiftly as she had come.
Smiling, Sally rejoined Snorri at her seat overlooking the river. “Well, it's an ill wind that blows no one good,” she said, much to Snorri's bemusement. “That was Geraldine who just came in. Strange woman, reminds me of someone, though I can't think who. Anyway, she asked if the RatStranglers can meet up here before they go out, er, rat strangling.”
“Ratstrang-gling?” asked Snorri.
"Well, rat catching. They reckon if they get rid of all the rats, they'll get rid of the Sickenesse, too. Makes sense to me. Anyway, I'm very pleased. A load of hungry and thirsty rat catchers is just what the cafe could do with right now."
No one else came into the cafe after the spiky Geraldine left, and soon Sally started noisily putting up the benches on the tables and began to mop the floor. Snorri took the hint and bade Sally good night.
“Good night, dear,” said Sally cheerily. “Don't hang around outside now, will you?”
Snorri had no intention of hanging around. She ran back to the Alfrun and was very glad to see the NightUllr prowling the deck. Leaving Ullr on guard, Snorri retreated to her cabin, barred the hatch and kept the oil lamp burning all night.
3
An Unwelcome Visitor
That evening, while Snorri Snorrelssen was barricading her cabin door, Jenna, Sarah and Silas Heap were finishing supper at the Palace. Although Sarah Heap would have much rather had supper in one of the smaller Palace kitchens, she had long ago given in to the Cook's insistence that royalty most definitely did not eat in the kitchen. No, not even on a quiet wet Wednesday, no way, not while she was Cook—"and that, Mistress Heap, is final."
And so in the vast Palace dining room, marooned at the very end of a long table, three figures sat in a pool of candle-light. A log fire spat and spluttered behind them, occasionally landing a spark on the wiry and somewhat mangy coat of a large dog, who lay snoring and grunting in front of the fire, but Maxie the wolfhound did not notice. Beside the wolfhound hovered the Supper Servant, glad of the warmth but longing to clear the food and get away from the smells of singed dog hair—and worse—that floated up from Maxie.
But supper was taking an age. Sarah Heap, adoptive mother of Jenna, the Princess and heir to the Castle, had a lot to say. “Well, I don't want you leaving the Palace at all, Jenna, and that is that. There's something nasty out there biting people and giving them the Sickenesse. You are to stay here where it is safe until this whatever-it-is is caught.”
“But Septimus—”
“No buts. I don't care whether Septimus needs you to clean out his disgusting dragon or not, though, if you ask me, it would be a whole lot better if he didn't clean it out quite so often—have you seen the mess down by the river? I don't know what Billy Pot is thinking of, the piles of dragon droppings must be ten feet high at least. I used to enjoy walking by the river but now—”
“Mum, I don't mind not cleaning out Spit Fyre, not one bit, but I have to go see the Dragon Boat every day,” Jenna said.
“I'm sure the Dragon Boat will manage without you,” Sarah told her. “It's not as if it knows you're there anyway.”
“ She does, Mum. I'm sure she does. It would be awful for her to wake up and find no one there, no one for days and days...”
“Far better than finding no one there ever again,” said Sarah sharply. “You are not to go out until something has been done about this Sickenesse.”
“Don't you think you're making a fuss about nothing?” Silas asked mildly.
Sarah did not think so. “I do not call having to open up the Infirmary nothing, Silas.”
“What, that old dump? I'm surprised it's still standing.”