Now. When the Piper said he was heading for the sewers, he had made it sound like he knew exactly where he was going. This fact was complicated by London having no real sewers to speak of, and the Piper’s tendency to ignore trivial details like destinations or planning.

On Lower Thames Street, not far from the Tower, and close to the waterfront and Billingsgate Wharf, lay a disused warehouse, whose landlord had not been seen for some years.240 From the outside, it was as nondescript as the next warehouse, and was not so different to that currently being used as a funeral parlour by our intrepid heroes. But this warehouse was special, for its architects, digging to lay founding stones, had discovered a ready-made cellar: a well-preserved Roman bath, once part of a courtyard complex. And, being of a practical nature, they had incorporated it into the building as surplus storage space: the only recent addition being a simple wooden staircase to the warehouse above. Waste not want not. And it was here, in the ruins of that ancient empire, that the Rat King had made his lair.

Finding it might have presented quite a challenge... but the Order of Pyed had long ago mastered the art of vermes ad nidum (tracing vermin back to the nest). All it took was a little melodic inversion to send the outriders in the streets scurrying homewards in a deradiating network of underground waylines...

Barely an hour after the Piper left Clive at the Duck, the trapdoor that led to the cellar was atomised before a sonic boom of pan-piped precision! The pieces had yet to hit the floor when the Piper entered, a Catherine wheel™ of red and gold and feathers cartwheeling down the stairs. He landed (three-point) at the bottom, instrument cocked to lip in one hand.

Around the reed: “Games up, King! Make it easy on yourself and come quietly!”

The Rat King turned. Clad in smoking jacket and bow tie,241 he had apparently just been pouring himself a brandy. He raised his paws, brandy balloon in one, lit cigar in t’other, sophisticated even in surprise. “Whoah! Ok! Ok! Hold the music! Piper – you got me!”

The Piper rose slowly to standing. “No, tricks!”

The Rat King kept his paws up. “No tricks! No ticks! I’ll come quiet... but first... I gotta know! How did you know it was me?”

Pied checked his peripherals, still cautious, despite the apparent lack of any backup coming to the King’s aid. Strange. The homeward horde should have been here... They must have gotten lost. “Oh, I can’t claim all the credit! I’d just swung into town to pay my respects to an old flame. A toasty little number name of… er….”

“Isabella?”

“You betcha! Anyways, I was down the Duck kicking up a storm when I received the tip-off from my little broedy Clive! The rest, as they say, is history!”

The Rat King slow-clapped in awe. “Fantastic! And I suppose, really – now I think about it – our days were numbered as soon as you heard about the Plague, weren’t they? No blight without vermin right?”

The Piper shrugged nonchalantly. “Naturally.”

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The King whistled. “Hell, you probably knew about Elman Squatcherd before I did!”

The Piper was getting slightly out of his depth now, but his grin barely cracked. “Elmon derd... Yeah, Elmonderd – sure!”

“Why, I’d be willing to bet you allowed us to take the Elixir of Life, just to lure us out of hiding!”

Pied’s tongue appeared around the side of the grin to wet his lips. “All in a day’s work…”

“Outstanding! Well, I think this calls for a drink, don’t you? After all – you did crash a party!”

“Well, er…”

“Oh, it’s no trouble! Chateau de Fawkes, 1605 – great year! I got the barrel right over here...” The King took an empty glass and sidled over to the barrel. “I was just celebrating finally leaving this old place behind! Time to move on! Find new digs!”

He poured a generous glass and proffered it to the Piper.

The Piper had to admit: he was slightly overwhelmed by his quarry’s magnanimous acceptance of his fate. These things didn’t usually go so well! He grinned242 and stepped forward to take the glass. He admired the frescoes in passing. “Nice place you got here! Shame to lose it!”

“Well, it’s like a snake shedding its skin! You have to let go, to grow, you know?”

“So where were you planning to move to if, well, if I hadn’t... you know...”

“Oh, believe you me! It would have been a BIG improvement. Cigar?”

“Well, I er… don’t mind if I do!”

The King offered a light, they clinked, and the Piper made to drink – but before he could, the King stopped him. “Hey, wait! I just had a thought! Would you mind standing for a portrait? I mean – I’m such a fan! And as you can see–” he motioned to the frescoes “–I’m quite the dab-paw!”

“Well, er, it’s a bit irregular...”

“Be nice to commemorate the occasion...”

“...and I’ve already kept Isabella waiting for years...”

“...leave something behind!”

“...and there’s the matter of my payment to collect, from... someone–”

“I’m really such a fan!”

“But... I guess a few more minutes won’t hurt!”

“Perfect!”

The Piper wagged a playful finger. “But I keep the painting!”

“Hey, I’ll be dead anyway! Whadda I care, right?”

The King mooched over to an easel and canvas on the far side of the room and readied his brush. “Now, big smile – oh, you’ve got that already – looks sorta permanent! Ok! Nice! Now, can you just hold the cigar a little closer to the glass...”

“Like this?”

“Right. No, wait! Hmm. Not quite working. Maybe hold the cigar above the glass...”

“How’s this?”

“Magnificent! Okey-dokey! This won’t take long...” The King began his sketch, a keen eye on the lit cigar in the Piper’s hand. The glowing ash on the end was growing precarious in length, and any moment now it would– “Keep smiling!” said the King.

Not a problem.

The King raised a thumb. “This is the best part!”

“’Ot’s ’er ’est ’art?” The Piper’s famed powers of ventriloquism were handy when maintaining a full mast grin during a sitting.

“Oh, you’ll see! Any moment now! Hey, you wanna take a peek?”

The Piper perked. “Yahaha! Can I?” And that overkeen movement was his end. The King dived backwards into the tunnel entrance behind him in the wall, even as the clot of ash at the end of the Piper’s cigar completed its final fated journey from tobacco to glass, a glass full of Guy Fawkes’ gunpowder!

The resulting explosion brought down the roof and the entire warehouse above it.243 The rumble was felt by most of London, even by the Lord Mayor stuck in self-imposed quarantine in the Tower! It was added to the laundry list of apocalyptic omens, further proof of the approaching end times... Unlike the comets, though, this particular omen was portentous indeed.