The sun is shining. Truly shining. Not just that kind of “well, at least it’s not raining” weather, but real sunshine. The sea lies completely still, the sky is blue, and the seagulls are crying as if it were spring—even though it’s only October.
Hans sits on a barrel with a rope in his lap, squinting toward the harbour.
“It’s almost… nice today,” he says carefully, as if he hardly dares believe it himself.
“Exactly!” shouts Rattus, standing on a tub nearby. “Perfect weather for discoveries and grand expeditions!”
“Oh no… What is it this time?” Hans asks, with a mix of suspicion and hope. He never quite knows whether what comes next will be a welcome change—or a completely mad plan. With Rattus, you never know.
“I’ve made a map!” Rattus waves a crumpled piece of paper and dramatically rolls it out over a wooden crate. “The great trading network of the Hanse—hand-drawn by me, of course!”
“That’s just a wet piece of paper you pulled out of the rubbish, Rattus,” says Hans, wrinkling his nose.
“It was rubbish. Now it’s treasure!” Rattus declares proudly. “Look here: London, Bruges, Novgorod—and of course Bergen! All these places had their own Hanseatic trading office—huge warehouses full of goods, barrels, and busy merchants.”
Hans leans forward and squints at the map. “I’ve learned a bit about this… These are Hanseatic cities, right? But I thought there were many more?”
“Oh no, no, no!” says Rattus, jumping up and down. “You’re mixing things up, Hans! Hanseatic cities and Hanseatic offices are not the same!”
He points firmly with his paw. “Hanseatic cities were members of the Hanseatic League—cities around the Baltic and North Sea that cooperated in trade and protection. There were many of them—Lübeck, Hamburg, Danzig, Riga… the list is long. But Hanseatic offices were special foreign trading bases. That’s where the Hanseatic merchants lived and worked. They had their own laws, their own houses, and even their own language!”
Hans opens his eyes wide. “So… they were like little German towns in the middle of other countries?”
“Exactly!” says Rattus, delighted.
Hans looks back at the map. “And how do you know all this?”
“A German sailor dropped a book into the sea,” says Rattus, full of excitement. “I fished it out. It smelled of herring for two days—but it was full of knowledge!”
Hans rolls his eyes, but smiles. “Alright. Let’s hear the lesson.”
“Now look: London—wool, textiles, and coal. And a special prison for misbehaving Hanseatic merchants!”
“You’d probably be a regular there,” mutters Hans.
“Bruges—the jewel box of the Hanse: canals, lace… and beer!”
“That explains your enthusiasm,” Hans smiles.
“Novgorod!” shouts Rattus. “Cold with a capital C. Furs, beeswax, linen—and stares so icy they freeze your neck stiff.”
“Wonderful. Freeze and be stared at,” Hans mutters. “And what about Bergen?” he asks at last, with a small smile.
“Bergen is our own Hanseatic office. The only one still standing,” says Rattus with conviction. “Stockfish, grumpy journeymen, and one certain cabin boy who is always complaining. And the sun? Temporary system error.”
Hans chuckles and scratches his neck. “And rats. Don’t forget curious rats.”
“Never! The real heroes work in the shadows—under fish crates and between barrel lids,” says Rattus seriously.
“So we’re part of the great Hanseatic machine?” Hans asks.
“We’re the small gears that keep everything turning! Often soaked, tired, and smelling a bit of fish—but essential!” Rattus replies with a wide grin.
Hans stands up and stretches his shoulders. “Well, then we’d better do our part. The next ship is waiting.”
“Just one thing!” says Rattus, peering down at the map. “I think I forgot to draw in an important cheese city…”