How could these rat keepers have known that rats could get sick too? It was just that sick rats received no treatment. Once they died, they simply bred new ones.
Hearing his sister calling for him, Big Rat hurried out from a bend in the sewers.
This was one of the nests he had made for himself.
"Weil, what do you need me for? Are you hungry again?" he asked.
"No. Ever since you taught me to eat newborn baby rats raw, I haven't been hungry," his sister said matter-of-factly, uttering words that would make the people aboveground shudder. "Some of the little rats I'm raising have eyes that are bright red. It seems to be what the masters want most."
"Take me to see them, quickly." Big Rat's eyes lit up at once.
Before long, Weil led Big Rat to a Rat Farm as large as an entire basketball court.
Though it was called a Rat Farm, it was completely different from the modern practice of raising laboratory mice in stacked cages.
They simply did not have that kind of technology.
This place consisted of passageways, with rows of tall stone-slab buildings lining both sides.
Rats chewed, so the buildings had to be made of stone slabs. Wood would not do; it would just give them something to sharpen their teeth on. Rat teeth grew throughout their lives, and they never had to worry about cavities. It was enough to make people die of envy.
Each building had five or six tiny windows set high up, all fitted with iron bars.
They served as observation ports and feeding ports.
That alone was quite a test of a blacksmith's skill, but medieval blacksmiths were more than capable of handling the job.
After all, they could forge such complex armor. Making