A few minutes later finds Clive and Isabella sitting together on Old Swan pier, a few steps down from Old Swan Lane and the parlour. London Bridge churned and wheeled to the left of them. Southwark lay across the way. It was dusk. The fishing fleets were tying up their boats and retiring to the taverns for the day. The pier was growing deserted. There seemed to be no escaping the Lousy Duck: from here, it was plainly visible on the opposite bank.

Isabella seemed particularly affected by what had just transpired. She kicked her foot hard out into space as she mused. “Well, I suppose it was inevitable – sooner or later it was going to happen, anyway... I mean, who rents a workspace from their worst enemy? Phil had it coming, didn’t he! But I think it might be good for him, you know – a new start? Someplace else? Away from my father?”

Clive spread his hands. “He seemed to quite like the parlour. I’m not sure he has anywhere else to go, to be honest. Or me, for that matter...” He turned to her. “Issy... can you tell me something? What’s your opinion of spear-carrying? As a career, I mean?”

But Isabella did not seem to really be listening. “You know, this won’t be the first time I’ve seen a business pull itself back from the brink. When I was travelling around Europe with Pips–”

Clive blinked. “Pips?”

“…Oh, that’s just what I used to call Pied. Silly really! Anyway we were in Germany and there was this one town – Hamelin – that just refused to pay Pips for solving their rat problem!”

“So, what did he do?”

“He kidnapped every child in the town and held them to ransom in a cave.”

“He did what!?!”

Isabella looked up at him, unrepentant. “Oh, he really didn’t have any choice, Clive! That’s just how things are done in Germany.”

Clive crossed his arms. “This Piper guy sounds like a bit of a nutter if you ask me!”

Isabella looked at him appraisingly. “Clive. You’re not jealous, are you?”

Clive scoffed. “Jealous? Of some fluffed-up peacock who does musical tricks with animals! I think NOT!”

“He is not a peacock!” Isabella reproached.

Clive jumped to his feet. “Hah! So you admit it! You DO still have feelings for him!”

Now Isabella was on her feet too. “What?!?”

“You’re defending him!”

“Just because I don’t like the men I once dated being likened to poultry doesn’t mean that I harbour deep-seated feelings for them!” She should have stopped there, but her pride got the better of her. “If you must know, he was once voted best-dressed vivisectionist by Fast and Furry magazine!”

“I don’t care! You should be over him by now!”

Isabella waved her hand placatingly. “Oh, Clive! I dumped him!”

But Clive was having none of it! “I don’t care!”

Isabella rose to his fire! “Fine!”

“Fine!”

They both looked at each, furious, looking for an exeunt, but finding none.

It was Isabella who spoke first, softer now. “So... that’s it then?”

“Looks like it!”

She nodded, and made to go.

She stopped at the stairs. “Good luck with saving the business, Clive! I hope you find what you are looking for!” And with a final slightly melodramatic flounce, she fled up the stairs.

Clive plonked himself back down on the pier, and stared out upon the river. The Lousy Duck – or Bear – or whatever misfit lifeform Milly had chosen for the day, stared right back at him. Where he had first met her.

Her.

She.

Isabella.

The only woman he had ever loved.

Apart from mummykins.

Clive stood and turned. “Issy?” But she was already gone. Those ankles were made for running.

He sat back down forlornly.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

It was getting truly dark now. The lights were coming on in the windows on the Bridge. Including Nonsuch’s. Clive never wanted to look at the Bridge again.

In fact, he never wanted to see anything again – including his own reflection. But that was exactly what he was looking at right now, rippling up at him from the waters beneath the rotting wood of the pier.

What was he thinking? How could he ever have competed with the Pied Piper! He wagered she was back with him already, pinned between his bulging biceps and his over-polished fife! He could picture them now, cavorting across Europe, laughing gaily as they busked their way through small villages, a kidnapped child in every hand! They were laughing at him! Laughing at poor talentless Clive! The unblooded actor; the unburied undertaker! Clive, who had never featured in Fast and Furry magazine! Who had never so much as fiddled a flute! He was no use to the Undertaker. He was no use to Jerry. He was a waste! And there was only one place for waste in London Town...

Clive leaned forward over the dark water, daring himself to do it. Clive was pretty sure he couldn’t swim, but he had a feeling the noxious waters of the Thames would take care of that question well before it was answered. His legs dangled... he was beginning to slide...

And then, his reflection winked.

Clive started back! What new devilry was this? Was God punishing him further? Had he not suffered enough already?

His reflection grinned toothily back at him, and yet it was not his reflection, not ONLY his reflection... for he saw now that there was another face, beneath his own, rising from the river to consume his likeness.

And it did not look human.

“Hey, Scratchfella!” a new voice, behind him, all nose and teeth. “Look who it is!”

Clive leapt up and swung round!

A besuited figure stood upon the steps, one leg dramatically bent to the step above, arms folded, a dark hat hiding its features from the little light there was. The only movement was the slight swishing of a dangling... was that a tail?

The other... thing... was pulling itself out of the river behind him. Clive shrank back.

“Who... who are you?” and then (because politeness mattered to Clive even in the face of abject horror), “Have we met?”

The wet one from the river was larger. Considerably larger. “Oh, you don’t knows us, but we knows you!”

“You do?”

The shorter one chirped in, “We do! And we know all about your little problem!”

“What?!?” Clive started! “Temperance swore she would never tell a soul! What is this? What are you?”

“I’m Pinky! That marsupial mound of muscle over there is Scatchfella.” Pinky spread her154 arms theatrically. “We’re rats!”

“Rats?”

Scatchfella felt elaboration was required. “Yeah, you know: pink noses, silky whiskers, ’airless tails – rats!”

Clive blinked. His version of the world was being challenged. “But you’re so big!”

“Well, we’ve evolved!” said Pinky.155 “Now we wear hats!”

“And suits!” added Scratchfella, proudly splaying his sodden two-button.

Clive folded his arms and sniffed. “Actually, I don’t believe in ’evolution. It’s against my religion!”

The two rats chuckled. “That’s ok!” said Scatchfella, “We don’t believe in religion!”

“I see – I think. So, what is it you want?”

Pinky spread its paws. “Why, to help, of course!”

“Help?”

“Yeah. We put the ‘rat’ in ‘Samaratan.’ See, we’s been watching you for a while now, Clive. Our benefactor’s taken great interest in your fortunes. But those fortunes have taken a turn. In a few small hours you’ve lost ya girl, ya job, ya will to live! But what if He could help you turn it all around? What if He could make you rich and powerful beyond your wildest dreams?”

“Ha!” scoffed Clive. “Just like that? And what does he want in return, this ‘benefactor’ of yours? I’ve been in London long enough to know nothing here comes for free!”

“Free? We’s never said it was free, Clive! But believe us, the price will be so small – you can’t afford not to pay it!”

Clive was intrigued, despite himself. “Who are you working for?”

“We represent the recently royalled King under the River.”

“There’s only one King in London. I should know: I’ve met him – more or less.”

“Is that a fact?” sneered Scratchfella threateningly.

Pinky waved a dampening paw at Scratchfella. To Clive: “He was the first of our kind to stand up straight! He showed us how far we could go! And He could do the same for you, Clive, if in turn you’ll do Him true!”

“A moment ago yuz t’inking of topping yourself!” said Scratchfella. “What have ya left to lose now?”

Pinky nodded. “We’re offering you the chance of a lifetime, Clive! And all you have to do is come with us!”

“Now?”

“‘Feast while the cheese is still warm,’ Clive! The grand fromaggio Himself awaits!”

Clive thought for a moment – but not too long156 – and then shrugged. “Well, this is all very strange, but I guess living with some hope is better than dying with none. Very well, bring me before this so-called ‘King!’ But I’m not making any promises, mind! I don’t even know what he wants!”

“Excellent!” grinned Pinky. Those front teeth were quite spectacular.

“So how do we do this?” asked Clive.

Scratchfella took him firmly by the shoulder with one paw and led him to the edge of the pier. “Step right over here!”

Clive found himself staring back down into his reflection in the dark water. “Hey, wait! What are you doing?”

Scratchfella grinned and moved his foetid breath closer to Clive’s ear. “Have you ever seen the t’ird bank of the Thames?”

“No! And I don’t want toooooooo…”

And with a solid push, Scratchfella tipped Clive over the edge and into the depths below...