There was still some rat-catching business to be had.
Not everyone believed the Holy King Hall's spiel. Most wealthy families behind high walls and deep courtyards watched coldly from the sidelines rather than worship the Holy King. When rats infested their homes, gnawed their paintings and calligraphy, and ruined their grain, they still hired someone to catch them.
So every few days, servants from wealthy households came looking.
At dusk, Black Snake followed a young servant through several streets to the entrance of a residence.
High walls enclosed a spacious courtyard. The main gate stood half open, revealing a corner of the gray-brick screen wall inside. The lanterns hanging high above the entrance had yet to be lit.
The young man kindly explained where Black Snake could and could not go, then hurried off to eat.
Black Snake understood. Wealthy households had plenty of rules.
They had probably chosen Black Snake because a six- or seven-year-old child wandering around the courtyard was more reassuring than some unfamiliar grown man.
No one gave Black Snake a second glance while passing through halls and courtyards.
Even occasionally wandering in front of the women of the household was fine. No one read anything into it.
Black Snake went about catching rats very seriously.
Crouching in a corner, Black Snake curled into a tiny ball.
Black Snake lowered that small head toward a rat hole and blew a breath into it. Rustling came from inside, as though something had been startled and was scurrying out. A dusty gray rat poked its head out. Barely half its body had emerged before a little hand pinched the back of its neck.
The rat squeaked, all four paws flailing.
Black Snake lifted the rat, swung it before those eyes, examined it briefly, and deftly tied it with