Maurice walked to the edge of the rock and looked down at the town, which was waking up under the sunrise. “Let's make this the big one, then, eh?” he said, as rats came back. “I want to see maximum squeaking and making faces at people and widdling on stuff, OK?”
“We think that widdling on stuff is not really—” Dangerous Beans began, but “Ahem,” said Peaches, and so Dangerous Beans went on: “Oh, I suppose, if it's the last time…”
“I've widdled on everything since I was out of the nest,” said Hamnpork. “Now they tell me it's not right. If that's what thinking means, I'm glad I don't do any.”
“Let's leave 'em amazed,” said Maurice. “Rats? They think they've seen rats in that town? After they've seen us, they'll be making up storiesl”
CHAPTER 2
Mr. Bunnsy had a lot of friends in Furry Bottom. But what Mr. Bunnsy was friendly with more than anything else was food.
This was the plan.
And it was a good plan. Even the rats, even Peaches, had to admit that it had worked.
Everyone knew about plagues of rats. There were famous stories about the rat pipers, who made their living going from town to town getting rid of plagues of rats. Of course there weren't just rat plagues—sometimes there were plagues of accordion-players, bricks tied up with string, or fish—but it was the rats everyone knew about.
And that, really, was it. You didn't need many rats for a plague, not if they knew their business. One rat, popping up here and there, squeaking loudly, taking a bath in the fresh cream and widdling in the flour, could be a plague all by himself.