Free Reign of Beasts by Tansy Rayner Roberts Page A

and he looked at me in surprise. ‘You’re awake.’
    My throat was too dry and hot to do more than croak. He brought me honey water, dripped it into my mouth a bit at a time, fumbling with the glass.
    â€˜Welcome back to the land of the living, little rat.’
    â€˜I dream of rats,’ I said when I could push out the words. ‘Big white ones. Clambering everywhere. I dream that all the time.’
    â€˜Doesn’t surprise me,’ said Garnet.
    Even that small amount of talking was enough to wipe me out. I closed my eyes again, and when I opened them, he was gone.
    I got stronger after that, a little at a time. Tasha babied and cosseted me in a way I’d always wanted from Madalena. She called me her Poet, which I didn’t understand, but it was better than Boy or Baby. She delighted in my memory, packed with a lifetime of overheard plays and pantomimes, and as I recovered she made me recite stage verse to her until my voice went dry again.
    I’d do anything to please her. Anything.
    If the fever had harmed my voice, I have no doubt she’d have thrown me to the street. Or perhaps not. She knew a secret about me, after all. Something even I didn’t know yet.
    One morning I woke up and couldn’t think straight. It was like my mind was in a bunch of tiny bodies, all paws and tails and noses, running in a hundred different directions at once.
    You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?
    I climbed the walls, clung to the wooden eaves, hid under the bed, and when I realised what was happening — I was rats, big white rats, dozens of them — I was so shocked that I fell back into my human body and crashed to the floor, bruised and bloodied and panicked.
    Tasha came in, but I was screaming and crying and grabbing and she got bored fast. She shoved me down and walked away. ‘Deal with it,’ she snapped as she left.
    Three young seigneurs stood in the doorway looking at me. Garnet and the two others, one dark, one golden.
    â€˜What’s happening to me?’ I yelled at them.
    Garnet came, pulled me up on the bed, found another of the seemingly endless pairs of pyjamas that Tasha liked to dress me in.
    â€˜Rats,’ he said with a sigh. Not drunk this time. ‘Either of you pricks got a good way to explain it to him?’
    â€˜I can’t change in front of him,’ said the dark one. ‘Cats might send the poor bugger completely over the edge.’
    The golden one shrugged. He unbuttoned his shirt, kicked off his breeches, and then … changed. I had seen stage tricks before, and this was no trick. I was too close to fool myself this was anything other than a fellow shaping himself into a large furry creature. He was gold and brown and lithe, and his pelt slithered over his muscles as he padded towards me. My fingers stilled on the pyjama buttons as I gazed in a mixture of horror and awe at the amazing creature.
    He licked my face, and the other lads cracked up at my horrified expression.
    â€˜Nicely explained, Lysh,’ the dark one said, shaking his head.
    Garnet sat by me, one hand caressing the furry head of his friend. ‘This is Lysandor. He’s also a lynx. See his tufty ears?’ He tugged at the pointy tufts of hair that looked a bit like devil horns. ‘I’m Garnet. I’m gattopardi. Two of them. Abit like our friend here, but smaller, shinier. Better looking.’ Lysandor the lynx snorted and Garnet cuffed him lightly. ‘The smart-arse back there is Ashiol. Plain old house cats.’
    â€˜Fuck you,’ said Ashiol, without any heat. ‘What’s your name, lamb?’
    â€˜Poet,’ I said in a low voice.
    Lysandor was warm. I wanted to bury myself in his fur and go to sleep.
    â€˜No,’ said Ashiol. ‘What was your name before you came here? Before Tasha got her talons into you?’
    â€˜Poet,’ I said again, rebelliously.
    â€˜Knows his own mind, doesn’t