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Well done.’ she said, and went back to the kitchen.
Bill Door felt Cyril’s accusing gaze on him.
He opened his hand. A tiny spot of light hovered over his palm. He blew on it, gently, and it faded away.
After lunch they put down the rat poison. He felt like a murderer.
A lot of rats died.
Down in the runs under the barn - in the deepest one, one tunnelled long ago by long-forgotten ancestral smoothly, as if travelling from no distance at all. Not so much a shape as a memory of a shape.
It tried it and found that, while totally wrong for the job, in some deeply satisfying way it was the only shape it could possibly be. It went to work.
That evening the men were practising archery on the green. Bill Door had carefully rodents - something appeared in the darkness.It seemed to have difficulty deciding what shape it was going to be.It began as a lump of highly-suspicious cheese. This didn’t seem to work.Then it tried something that looked very much like a small, hungry terrier. This was also rejected.For a moment it was a steel-jawed trap. This was clearly unsuitable. It cast around for fresh ideas and much to its surprise one arrived