There once was a rat who became king. No one tells the tale of him too often, for kings do not want to be known as rats, and rats would never wish to be known as kings. Rats live in their place, and kings live in theirs, and neither would ever want to see the other if they could help it.

  In those days rats were wise. They did not scurry and whine, eat foolishly and die in gutters. They built their cities near men, trading their wisdom for grain, because even in those days rats were poor farmers.

  The talent of the rats came in puzzles.

  They kept their puzzles to themselves, their cities full of mazes and tricks, places where no man could follow. They would trade the simplest puzzles to men, and the men would learn them and make their own works from the ideas. Then came the greatest puzzle, and the downfall of the kingdom of man.

  The rat came before the king with the puzzle, a box which had no seam or crevice. The king turned it over on itself, trying to figure out the trick, and handed it back to the rat.

  “This is a foolish puzzle! There is no solution, and no prize to be seen. What am I to learn from such a stupid thing as this?”

  The rat laughed at the king, and the guards offered to kill the foolish puzzlemaker. The king called them back, and asked the rat for time with the puzzle to learn it.

  “You may have the time you want, dear king, and I ask only a small thing. A handful of small barley the first day, and doubling each day after. I will come to collect my due every day, and when I do you will show me what you have learned. I will give you a year and a day, and if you have not solved it you will give it over to me again.”

  The king laughed, knowing in his heart that such a pittance was nothing for such a toy to puzzle over. A hand of small barley was only 100 grains, and the kingdom could bear a rat’s needs.

  The rat came back each day. As 100 grains became 200, 200 to 400, 400 to 800, the king did not fear. A sack of barley would contain thirty times that, and he still needed to work out this puzzle. At week’s end the rat had gained only half a sack, enough to fill a few bowls.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  The king scoffed at the gifts he was giving. “Rat, you are a fool, to take such a pittance and provide me such an interesting puzzle. I heard a rattle this morning as I tilted the box, and I think I am close to winning!”

  “Perhaps, your highness, but I will be back tomorrow to collect my debt.”

  And so he was. A half sack the next morning, a full sack the next day. Two on the tenth day, and four the next. The rat brought a wagon the next day, to carry the eight sacks he was given. On the next he brought his son, to thank the king for his largess and lift the sixteen sacks into the cart.

  “You know, I saw it move on the shelf, sir Rat.” the king said, running the cube through his fingers and tossing it back and forth. “Are you cheating me? Is my work for nothing, and this puzzle unsolves itself?”

  “No, my king, the puzzle will continue, and you will find your answer soon enough.”

  Thirty two became sixty four, sixty four became one and twenty eight. Two and fifty six to five hundred and twelve sacks. The king emptied his personal barn, and began to borrow from other nobles. The queen was dry in two days, his son lost all the next. The priests was asked for alms, and in four days they’d gone like all the rest.

  The rat brought carts, and servants. He brought a great caravan. Each day the king would worry he could not solve the puzzle, and the rat would smile and say he would return.

  In a month the city was dry, and the next day the king brought in all the fields. The rat stayed in the chambers now, his carts taking back their goods and returning.

  The poor farmer began to hate the rats because they took their bounty. The taxman hated the poor farmer because they had no grain to feed him. The dukes hated the taxman for not taking from nothing, and the counts hated the dukes for offering air.

  And then, on the fortieth day, the kingdom had no grain. The king, who had been eating grass, begged the rat for the solution.

  “A king who cannot feed his people is no king. The thing I want is your crown and title. I will feed your people, and solve this riddle that perplexes you.”

  The king handed the rat his crown, and with it the puzzle that had trapped his kingdom, starving his people to husks. With a flourish of his paws the rat put on the crown, then dashed the puzzle on the throne.

  Within it was a single grain of barley, and on it written in the smallest hand a rat could muster was written beware a sweet bargain, as it may soon grow sour. And then a peasant crushed the rat, and the peasant became king again.

  Each of the people has a version of this story. It is always rats and kings, but the lesson may vary. The River Folk say the king was a fool, while the Takrim say the rat was just too greedy. In the Barrow they seem to have learned the true lesson of the tale: never trust a man to not crush you if you prove him a fool.