Inktober Prompts 6 & 7 - Rodent and Fancy

The Prince and the Rat

There are often rumors of individuals in the kingdom who have a “special touch” with animals. Lesser known than these men and women and others who can converse and commune with animals are the animals themselves that have a similar gift with regards to other creatures, including humans. Those who have it tend to become important figures in one way or another. This tale concerns two such individuals; a creature, and a young man.

Despite the grandiose nature of those heroes and their stalwart creature companions, there are those with these gifts that remain largely unknown even if they’re of high status through other means. Prince Hector was one of these relative unknowns. Of course he was bright enough, and charming, and when he assumed the throne he governed well and was liked by his subjects. But he didn’t have any grand adventure with a trusted familiar or noble stead, and he didn’t have any astounding features, at least not one that would make for more than a small footnote in the historical scrolls. He preferred, instead, quiet pursuit of knowledge and of course the gourmet benefits of the wealthy class. He had often been chided by his tutors and governess for overindulging in pastries and other rich foods, but the young man had rather more affinity for the trappings of the feast hall and kitchens than he did for those of the armory and battlefield.

Hector first noticed he had a gift when he was 13 years old, he’d finished with the day’s tutelage and was on his way back to his chambers his mind full of the wonders of apothecary science and a banquet to be held that night when he happened upon a rat which had gotten itself stuck under a heavy ledger tome. The young prince saw a platter with some crumbs upon it on the table above the imperiled rodent, probably left there by a night guard, and surmised that the rat had dislodged the book while trying to get at the leftovers there. As the prince watched, the rat squeaked and struggled but, it was unable to free itself from the weight pinning it. Hector took a step closer and saw that one of the rat’s legs stuck out at an odd angle.

The boy looked up and down the hallway, wondering if he should call for the caretaker to dispatch the rodent. He’d heard the cooks and maids bemoan rat infestations on several occasions and knew that Marcel the head chef would be likely to burn whatever he was cooking at the time if he heard there was a rat in the halls so close to the kitchens. But as he regarded the creature he rather thought he could feel its panic and its pain.

Eventually after watching the rat for what felt like a long time, Hector held up a hand in what he hoped was a calming gesture and made little shushing noises as he approached the rat. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently removed the tome from the rat’s back. Hector expected the rat to flee immediately, but it didn’t. The rat merely backed up a few paces and stared up at the prince, its breathing still quick but appearing to calm slowly.

“There, little friend,” Hector said with a small smile on his face, he laid his hand on the floor near the rat in an invitation to climb onto it. The little creature did so with some hesitation, and then Hector covered it gently in his handkerchief and carried it to his chambers.

Once there he closed and barred the door, so that no one would be able to enter without knocking first, and Hector then sat the rat down on his lectern. “You seem to have gotten yourself in a bit of trouble, Mr. Rat.” He said softly, probing at the rat’s injured foot with great care. He’d learned how to splint a fracture from his tutor a week or so earlier, as a prince he was expected to be versed in at least the basics of battlefield medicine, and he figured the concept must be fairly similar for rats. At this moment he was grateful for the lesson, even if he’d have rather studied poultices with the court alchemist or pastry baking with Marcel.

The rat squeaked in alarm and pain when the young prince straightened its awkwardly bent leg, causing Hector to withdraw and speak calmingly to it again. “I’m trying to help, Mr. Rat. I can make your leg a bit better if you hold still.”

The rat regarded the prince for a moment before rolling to its side and elevating its broken limb. Hector tore a strip from his handkerchief and found a bit of stem in a table centerpiece that was sturdy enough to bind to the rat’s leg. Then, with great care and whispering many apologies to the rat when it would squeak or stir in discomfort, he painstakingly tied the tiny splint to his new friend’s leg.

“There, Mr. Rat, now your leg will heal correctly!” Hector reported happily, bending low to inspect his work. But a moment later he heard rapping on the door.

“Prince Hector, dinner shall be served soon, you’re expected to greet the court guests,” the governess called through the door. Hector had nearly forgotten the feast! He rushed to his cabinet, shouting toward the door, “I will be there, I’m getting ready now!” That done he rummaged for a box that held his collection of dried flowers from the gardens, with a slight pang he dumped its contents out on the table and went back to the lectern only pausing by the table to pick up a crust of bread that was left from his breakfast that morning. He placed it in the box, and then gently lifted Mr. Rat into it. Then Hector  hid the box, rat and all, underneath his bed. “I shall be back later!” He whispered smiling down at the little creature which he’d helped before hurrying through the door to accompany his governess into the great hall.

***

According to most books on zoology that Hector read as part of his studies over the next four years, the common rat from their kingdom should only live two to three years. But as Hector became a young man, Mr. Rat (whom the prince had now officially dubbed Randall Rattigan) remained a constant companion. Common enough as it was in his kingdom’s folklore, Hector found many references to “familiars” and “druidic companions” which might explain Randall’s longevity. And though it intrigued him, Hector was simply glad to have Randall as a pet and friend no matter the reason.

It seemed Randall was keen to return the favor that Hector had done for him, and it seemed that bringing food for Hector was the way he intended to make even. The prince often found satchels of treats from the kitchens in his room. How exactly the rat managed this, Hector wasn’t quite sure but he was certainly impressed by his small friend’s tenacity.

At first the young prince had been hesitant to eat these offerings, delivered as they were by a rat, but Randall eventually convinced him that he was a rat of manners. The rat had even seemed offended the first time he brought the prince an offering and Hector wasn’t keen to eat it.

Over the years the understanding between the two had only grown more profound; it was almost like Hector could hear the rat’s thoughts. And when Randall had offered him an éclair wrapped carefully in a napkin he could feel his small friend’s annoyance at his hesitation. A tiny squeaky voice seemed to say in his head, “I have never balked at the food you offered me, no matter the ignominy of them! And I assure you I keep my ‘hands’ clean when finding treats for you!”

After that day, Hector knew better than to view Randall’s offerings dubiously. And really, Randall certainly had discerning taste for pastries which matched Hector’s own well. The prince had also made a point to up the quality of the food he retrieved for Randall since the day the rat had called the meals he’d previously provided “ignoble”. Now typically the prince would set aside a part of his own meals to return to the rat.

As Hector grew older and reached the end of his tutelage, it was clear that though he’d performed admirably enough in combat lessons he was not particularly interested in pursuing them. His appetite for sweets and gourmet food had left him with a soft belly and plump round features that most of the court insisted inspired trust and warm feelings. Hector didn’t particularly care what it inspired, he considered his heft to be evidence of the many fine meals he’s been able to enjoy.

Randall, for the rat’s part, had grown a little plump himself from the rich foods Hector brought back from the banquet tables. Though it didn’t seem to impede the little creature’s ability to find his way through small openings or reduce his speed. And, whether because Randall had noticed Hector’s liking for them or some other reason, the rat’s offerings of pilfered kitchen goods was increasing steadily.

Hector couldn’t help feeling guilty about it sometimes. Though he figured that he would have been happy to eat just as much if not more…were it not for the governess who still admonished him about lurking near the kitchens to snack despite him being a man grown now. The woman seemed to be the only one in the castle who saw fit to meddle in Hector’s diet.

“Being overly plump is not becoming of a prince.” She would say before directing the kitchen staff to put away whatever food Hector had been angling for. Hector wasn’t sure what role she played now that he had finished his studies and had taken on the duties of prince regent, but he’d been more and more inclined to “become overly plump” simply to spite her.

Randall proved a great ally in this. The volume of his offerings increasing steadily over time, and seemingly in reaction to how quickly Hector ate them. “I tell you, Mr. Rattigan, if it weren’t for you I think I would not be able to tolerate the governess.” The prince chuckled, eating an éclair and undoing a button on his tunic, which had grown tight over his plump belly. “After all, isn’t it expected for royals to be portly? I’m just living up to that expectation!”

***

Two years onward, finds a 20 year old Hector surveying census reports and farming inventories with Randall Rattigan openly by his side. Tired of the secrecy he’d simply declared that he’d been keeping a pet rat for some time and bade the court to “make of it what they will”. Of course Marcel had been particularly furious, but Hector had promised (with fingers crossed in his pockets) that Randall would be kept clear of the kitchens. And later he’d made sure to reinforce the importance of this to Randall himself, who seemed bored with the lecture to say the least.

The two years since he’d decided that “being overly plump” was exactly what was becoming of this prince had left Hector quite a bit beyond plump. The governess was forced to keep her peace with herself now as Hector had shouldered more and more responsibility for the running of the kingdom and had found himself equal to it despite his rotundity.

There was talk that artisans would have to be commissioned for another throne when Hector finally ascended it, as he’d grown so wide. These rumors secretly thrilled Hector, and he’d more than once sat experimentally in his father’s throne to see how close he was to overburdening it. And as of the last test, it seemed the rumors would prove true.

“Perhaps I should try to force them to rethink how much bigger they need to make the throne?” He whispered to Randall, who answered the question with a series of soft squeaks that were remarkably like laughter.