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One
third,whileMr.Vandemarfashionedtheringshewearsonhisrighthandoutoftheskullsoffourravens,Mr.Crouphasnoobviousjewelery;fourth,Mr.Crouplikeswords,whileMr.Vandemarisalwayshungry.Also,theylooknothingatallalike.
Arustleinthetunneldarkness;Mr.Vandemar’sknifewasinhishand,andthenitwasnolongerinhishand,anditwasquiveringgentlyalmostthirtyfeetaway.Hewalkedovertohisknifeandpickeditupbythehilt.Therewasagrayratimpaledontheblade,itsmouthopeningandclosingimpotentlyasthelifefled.Hecrusheditsskullbetweenfingerandthumb.
"Now,there’soneratthatwon’tbetellinganymoretales,"saidMr.Croup.Hechuckledathisownjoke.Mr.Vandemardidnotrespond."Rat.Tales.Getit?"
Mr.Vandemarpulledtheratfromthebladeandbegantomunchonit,thoughtfully,headfirst.Mr.Croupslappeditoutofhishands."Stopthat,"hesaid.Mr.Vandemarputhisknifeaway,alittlesullenly."Buckup,"hissedMr.Croup,encouragingly."Therewillalwaysbeanotherrat.Now:onward.Thingstodo.Peopletodamage."
ThreeyearsinLondonhadnotchangedRichard,althoughithadchangedthewayheperceivedthecity.RichardhadoriginallyimaginedLondonasagraycity,evenablackcity,frompictureshehadseen,andhewassurprisedtofinditfilledwithcolor.Itwasacityofredbrickandwhitestone,redbusesandlargeblacktaxis,brightredmailboxesandgreengrassyparksandcemeteries.
