It is the middle of the night, and everything is quiet in the old wooden buildings on Bryggen.
Everyone is asleep.
Hans is dreaming. He is lying in a sunny meadow, chewing on a blade of grass while fluffy clouds drift lazily across the sky. Suddenly the blade of grass begins floating all by itself and tickles his nose.
Hans brushes it away.
A moment later it tickles him again.
Then he smells something sharp and smoky.
Suddenly—
Ouch!
Something bites his toe.
Hans jerks awake.
"What was that?"
He shakes his foot. It hits something soft, and a tiny shadow races up his blanket, across his chest, and gives him a sharp tug on the ear.
"Fire!" the shadow squeaks.
"The city's on fire! Everybody out!"
Before Hans can answer, it darts through the doorway like a black streak.
Hans jumps out of bed and rushes into the passage.
He rubs his eyes.
He's never seen anything like this before.
A great wave of rats is pouring through the narrow passageways, racing toward the harbour as fast as they can.
And right in the middle of them is Rattus.
The smell of smoke grows stronger.
Hans races up the stairs and pushes open the attic hatch.
His heart sinks.
Several buildings near the cathedral are already blazing.
Church bells begin ringing all across the city.
He doesn't waste another second.
"Fire!" he shouts, pounding on every bedroom door.
"Wake up! Everyone out!"
People leap from their beds. Fires spread frighteningly fast, especially on Bryggen, where the wooden buildings stand so close together.
Hans knows the rules.
Whenever there's a fire, everyone must help.
Together with the others, he runs down to the harbour.
Sailors are already pulling the great sails from their ships and soaking them in the water. Hans grabs one corner of a heavy sailcloth. It takes many hands to drag the dripping canvas through the streets before throwing it over the burning buildings to smother the flames.
But it is too late.
The fire has taken hold.
Flames are everywhere.
The whole town is in chaos.
Some people run about screaming.
Others rush to save whatever they can before the fire reaches their own homes.
A huge hand-pumped fire engine rumbles past behind a powerful horse.
People form long bucket chains, passing pails of water from hand to hand.
Others use long fire hooks and axes to pull burning beams from the collapsing buildings as showers of sparks fly into the night.
Hans looks up.
A thick blanket of smoke hangs over the harbour.
The wind changes.
Now the sparks are blowing straight toward Bryggen.
One glowing ember lands on the Hanseatic flag they are all so proud of.
Within moments, the eagle and the crowned stockfish are swallowed by flames, turning to black ash.
Above the flagpole is a tiny attic hatch.
From it, Hans sees a familiar little nose poking through the smoke.
"Rattus!" he shouts.
"What are you doing up there?"
No answer.
Only coughing.
Hans doesn't hesitate.
"Stay where you are! I'm coming!"
Ignoring the cries of people telling him to stay back, he rushes inside the burning building.
He takes the stairs three at a time.
Flames are licking up the walls.
Smoke fills every room.
He wraps his scarf around his mouth and nose and crawls on hands and knees into the little attic.
Curled beside the hatch lies a tiny black bundle.
Perfectly still.
Hans gently scoops Rattus into his arms and tucks him safely inside his shirt.
Then he crawls backwards toward the stairs.
But now the staircase is on fire too.
Hans grabs the long rope used for hauling goods into the warehouse.
Swinging clear of the burning railing, he slides down as fast as he can.
The rope burns his hands, but he hardly notices.
All he can think about is getting Rattus to safety.
Outside, he runs straight to a boat lying safely away from the flames.
Carefully he lifts Rattus from inside his shirt and lays him on a bench.
The little rat looks terrible.
His whiskers are singed away.
The fur on his back has burned off completely.
He doesn't move.
Hans gently lifts him and presses him against his cheek.
Just then, a merchant rushes past carrying an armful of scorched papers.
"Why are you cuddling a dead rat?" he shouts.
"Come and help, you fool!"
"Be quiet!" Hans yells back.
Then, close to his ear, he hears the faintest whisper.
"He's quite right, you know."
"You really shouldn't cuddle dead rats while the city's on fire."
Hans laughs with relief, even as the flames roar around them.
"I think you must have nine lives, Rattus."
Rattus gives a weak cough.
"At least nine," he murmurs.