Reg Shoe shrugged and lowered his voice. “You might at least make some effort,” he said, to the next world at large. “Here’s me wearing my fingers to the bone”—he flexed his hands to demonstrate—“and do I hear a word of thanks?”
He paused, just in case.
The raven, which was one of the extra large, fat ones that infested the rooftops of the University, put its head on one side and gave Reg Shoe a thoughtful look.
“You know,” said Reg, “sometimes I just feel like giving up—”
The raven cleared its throat.
Reg Shoe spun around.
“You say one word,” he said, “just one bloody word…”
And then he heard the music.
Ludmilla risked removing her hands from her ears.
“It’s horrible! What is it, Mr. Poons?”
Windle tried to pull the remains of his hat over his ears.
“Don’t know,” he said. “It could be music. If you’d never heard music before.”
There weren’t notes. There were strung-together noises that might have been intended to be notes, put together as one might draw a map of a country that one had never seen.
Hnyip. Ynyip. Hwyomp.
“It’s coming from outside the city,” said Ludmilla. “Where all the people…are…going…They can’t like it, can they?”
“I can’t imagine why they should,” said Windle.
“It’s just that…you remember the trouble with the rats last year? That man who said he had a pipe that played music
only rats could hear?”
“Yes, but that wasn’t really true, it was all a fraud, it was just the Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents—”
“But supposing it could have been true?”
Windle shook his head.
“Music to attract humans? Is that what you’re getting at? But that can’t be true. It’s not attracting us. Quite the reverse, I assure you.”
“Yes, but you’re not human…exactly,” said Ludmilla. “And—” She stopped, and went red in the face.
Windle patted her on the shoulder.
“Good point. Good point,” was all he could think of to say.
“You know, don’t you,” she said, without looking up.
“Yes. I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of, if that’s any help.”
“Mother said it would be dreadful if anyone ever found out!”
“That probably depends on who it is,” said Windle, glancing at Lupine.
“Why is your dog staring at me like that?” said Ludmilla.