6 Woodhouse's Story

6 Woodhouse's Story Peanut, Little-Bit, Leo and Rockwell all turned to look at Woodhouse. He had climbed up onto one of the benches and was looking out of a porthole. As he turned to face them, his long, thick tail which seemed to have a mind of its own— arranged itself neatly in a circle around him.

Rockwell did his best to conceal a shudder. ' So how did you end up joining the Resistance, Woodhouse?' asked Peanut, looking at the rat fondly. Unlike Rockwell, she'd always rather liked small, furry animals. Particularly ones that had helped to rescue her father. 'Well, it's a long story and not a very happy one, I'm afraid,' replied the rat. 'We've got time,' said Peanut, looking out at the coloured water moving slowly past the portholes. ' Dad says it'll take all night to get to the Green Valleys.' 'That's true, lassie,' replied Woodhouse. 'But you really should be getting some rest. ' Oh, pleeeeeease,' said Little-Bit, plaintively. 'OK,' sighed Woodhouse. 'If I must. He jumped down from the bench, tail following him, and stood on his hind legs in the middle of the submarine. He assumed the pose of a Shakespearian actor about to deliver a soliloquy. 'My family have lived in Chroma for generations,' he began. 'Believe it or not, we come from a long line of very noble illustrated rats. The first Woodhouses were drawn by William MacGillivra, the famous eighteenth-century Scottish naturalist, when he visited Chroma as a young man. It's something we've always been very proud of. We're practically rodent royalty.' He picked up his tail and coiled the end into a crown shape which he rested on his head.

My ancestors settled in Warholia and that's where we've remained. Braw rat country, is Warholia. Plenty of water, plenty of food. Lots of nooks and crannies in which we can ply our trade. Most of us are graffiti artists, y'see. We like to work under cover of darkness and brighten up little corners of the city with our art, in areas otherwise ignored by creatives. Many Warholian alleyways feature my tag. I've done my fair share of modelling for other graffiti artists too. One time, I posed on a deckchair wearing a pair of sunglasses for a visiting chap who made many stencils based on my likeness. Banksy, I think his name was.'

'So, what made you want to rise up against Mr White?' asked Peanut. ' The Great Whitewash, that's what,' said the rat. ' Er, what was the Great Whitewash?' asked Leo. 'I think I remember Josephine Engelberger saying something about that,' said Peanut. ' Mr White got his RAZERs to paint over the beautiful artwork decorating the walls of Warholia, didn't he?' 'Aye. All that amazing colour,' said Woodhouse, shaking his head. 'Gone in a matter of hours. He also outlawed graffti. Suddenly, my family and I were lost. Our entire mode of creativity had been taken away from us. That was when I knew I had to do something.' 'So, what did you do?' asked Little-Bit. 'Well, it took a while, but eventually a friend of mine put me in touch with someone she knew in the Resistance. Within a week, I was standing in a room with the great Mrs Markmaker. That's when she told me about the job.' 'The job? What job?' asked Peanut.

'I know what job,' said Leo. Delivering Post-it notes to the National Portrait Gallery.' 'Aye, laddie,' said Wood- house, nodding. 'That's the one. You remember it well. Mrs Markmaker said I should get myself to the old cleaning station outside of Modernia and I'd find someone waiting there who would tell me what to do.' 'Was it Daddy?' asked Little-Bit. 'Aye. Him and his metallic pal, here. Your father gave me a small, yellow piece of paper with a strange drawing on it and told me to head all the way up to the Green Valleys. There, he said, I'd find a narrow pathway that led to a tunnel of trees, at the end of which was a door. I was to go through the door with the note and, keeping out of sight as best I could, find a security guard with a white beard. I then had to give him the note and tell him to pass it on to Leo.' At the mention of his name, Leo sat up a bit straighter. Woodhouse winked at him, then continued. 'This Leo chap was then to put the note inside a lunch box belonging to someone called Peanut. I had no idea what all this meant. It sounded like some sort of strange code to

me. Now, of course, I know that it was referring to you lot: Gary's bairns.' 'And you did all that every single time? For all of the notes that I collected?' asked Leo, impressed that someone had worked as hard as he had on the Post-it mission. 'That I did, laddie. Kept me fit, that's for sure.' The rat grabbed his tail with both paws and started to lift it repeatedly above his head as if it were a barbell. 'Didn't anybody in the gallery ever spot you?' asked Peanut. ' Och, London is full of rats,' he replied. 'I barely got a second glance. Anyway, nobody would ever suspect a lowly creature such as myself of any wrongdoing. To be honest, most humans don't like rats and steer well clear of us.' He looked over at Rockwell, who was unable to suppress his shudder this time. Feeling guilty, the boy got up to walk to the other end of the submarine. As he stood, he glanced towards 67. He could have sworn he saw the RAZER's eye momentarily flick from green to red.