The rules about the shoes are terribly strict. One day, one of the other apprentice boys forgot himself and walked out of the fire house still wearing his wooden clogs. Then the very thing happened that must never happen: a tiny ember had stuck to the sole, and now it was smoldering and glowing on the wooden floor out in the passage between the houses. That could easily have started a great fire! Everyone at Bryggen is terrified of fire, because it has happened so many, many times before.
Luckily, a ship boy came by with a cart full of goods and quickly stomped on the ember to put it out. Even though it was an accident, and nothing bad came of it, the poor apprentice boy who had forgotten to change his shoes was given a harsh punishment: five hard lashes across his back with the ox whip.
But Hans doesn’t want to think about the ox whip now. At last he has finished all his chores. Serving breakfast and doing the dishes went fairly quickly. Now the only thing left is to wipe down the dining tables, which will soon become the apprentice boys’ school desks.
Hans bends down to check if the benches are neat and straight, but suddenly he jumps in fright—for on the bench where his school things were neatly laid out, everything is a mess! His slate and stylus are scattered all over, and his German book is flipped upside down like a tiny tent. Inside the “tent” sits Rattus, gnawing on one corner.
“Stop that!” Hans shouts, giving Rattus a tap on the head with his dishcloth. “That’s my German book! How am I supposed to learn anything if you eat up all my books?”
“It was just a little taste,” Rattus says, offended, as he scurries up onto the table. “A bit dry anyway. School today?”
“Yes,” says Hans. “I’m a little nervous. The others say the journeyman can get really angry if we answer wrong, or if someone makes noise or misbehaves.”
“Are you afraid he’ll use the ox whip on you?” Rattus asks, glancing up at the wall. There hangs the long whip, ready for use.
Hans nods.
“I wonder who came up with that idea,” Rattus mutters, scratching his head. “To beat people with a bull’s… um… well, you know. Isn’t that strange? Couldn’t they just have used a plain stick? You humans are odd.”
“I agree,” Hans says. “But now you’d better hide, the others are coming!”
Rattus hops off the table and disappears back under Hans’s German book.
In tumble all the apprentice boys. They laugh and shout, but the moment the journeyman steps into the Schøtstue, everything goes quiet as a mouse. Everyone lines up at the tables and says in chorus: “Good morning, Hermann!”
“Please, sit down,” Hermann says calmly. “Take out your slates and styluses. Today we begin with arithmetic.”
“Hooray! Arithmetic!” Hans hears from under the German book. He lifts the cover a little and glares at Rattus.
“You must keep quiet!” he whispers. “Otherwise you can’t stay here! Hey! Don’t chew on my stylus! Then I won’t have anything to write with!”
Rattus, who was just about to sink his teeth into the long slate pencil, reluctantly gives it back.
“All right, all right. Slate isn’t that tasty anyway. Just let me know if you need help with the answers! Arithmetic is my favorite thing in the world!
Hermann raises his voice: “If you have ten barrels of grain and you sell five of them, how many barrels are left?”
“Eight!” comes a shout from under Hans’s German book. Hans turns bright red. Hermann looks straight at him.
“Was it you who said eight?”
“No! Or… yes! It was me,” Hans blurts out. “But I was thinking wrong. The answer is five!”
“That’s correct,” says Hermann. “But next time you must answer correctly right away—and remember to raise your hand before you speak!”
“I will, Hermann,” Hans nods quickly.
“You’re a math genius!” Rattus cheers, rummaging around on the bench. Hans hurriedly slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a little piece of bread for Rattus. At last he gets a moment of peace from his eager little helper—who, truth be told, isn’t very good at arithmetic.