Alex Reynard
The Library
Alex Reynard's Online Books
Chapter Seventy-Two
Toby was reeling in a daze. Rocking back and forth in blissful disbelief that his determination had endured and he was riding away upon his resurrected companion. But there were also rather a lot of endorphins being pumped into his skull to compensate for his pulped kneecap and grilled arm. His eyeballs felt like they were floating in hot soup.
"Are we rushing off in any particular direction, Sire Toby? Or just 'away'?"
They rocketed past a colorful sideshow of tents and citizens. Toby felt his guts constrict when he tried to focus on anything. "Do you remember where the tub stations are?"
"Certainly. I remember everything."
Nothing could have made Toby feel better than hearing that. "Stupendous."
"To be honest though, not entirely everything. You will need to illuminate me on what transpired between us just a moment ago. I feel certain it was nasty business."
"Yeah. Sorry." Toby patted his neck. "For now, just get to the tubs. I'm gonna try something stupid."
"May I be of assistance?" George asked brightly.
Toby managed a grin, despite the throbbing blister of excruciation in his leg. "You messed me up a bit, buddy. But don't worry about it. Keep running. I'm just gonna suicide real quick, then try to reform while I'm still on you. Catch me if I don't."
George thought this would require extremely dicey timing, but he had faith in his master. He nodded and grunted affirmation.
Toby could hear angry shouts behind him. Then a gunshot. Yep, the market-goers were still pissed. Toby wished he could go back and fill everyone's willwells to pay for the damage he'd caused, but he didn't think they were in the mood for forgiveness right now. They'd likely care less about repayment and more about making a pelt out of him.
He raised his palm to his temple. George's galloping frame jostled his body. He tried to calm himself and focus. 'Everything here works on will,' he reminded himself. 'I just have to envision it, then make it happen.' He pictured a point in space a few feet ahead of George's nose. Just enough distance for his new body to pop into being and plop in the saddle. "Ready George?"
"Absolutely!"
He took a deep breath and let his hammer go. His skull inverted like an origami flower.
A heartbeat later he was yelping at the sudden meeting of his perineum and George's forehead.
"Ha HA! Not the most elegant catch, but a catch nonetheless!" George tossed his neck and sent Toby rolling into the saddle.
The mouse clung on with white knuckles. Now that his head was clearer, he couldn't believe he'd come up with something so insane as resurrection on horseback. Though his knee felt loads better. He gave it a flex. "Not bad!"
George glanced back. "You are taking this rather well, Sire Toby. You used to fear death immensely."
Toby shrugged. "I guess it's like they say, 'been there, done that.'"
George chuckled. And then another bullet whizzed past him and cracked the trunk of a palm.
Toby hunkered down as low as possible. "How far to the tub stations!?"
"Not far." George sounded as unconcerned as if they were out on a Sunday drive. Outrunning mere souls was child's play. And nothing could dampen his spirits now. He knew very little of what had happened after Madam Doll had become 'something else', but there had been a long, dreadful darkness. A sleepless dream. There was no time inside, yet he felt sure it must have been ages. And worse still, there was none of the calm that had found him in the soil during his hundred-year burial. He'd felt small and pitiful instead, toyed with by fears beyond his understanding. There had come a flash of fire. And then he was looking up into his deliverer's eyes. Sire Toby had saved him yet again. "May I ask our ultimate destination?"
It took Toby a second. He was so focused on escape, he'd nearly forgotten to plan where to escape to. "...Gilla's place!" he stumbled out.
"Oh good!" The possibility of tasting more of the porcupine's cooking gave wings to George's hooves. He wove through the startled, screaming citizens and ducked the shopping bags they flung at him in terror.
Toby remembered something else. George's size. He didn't have that handy-dandy little window this time. "George, when we get there, let me off and you go first. Just duck your head under and wish. Even if it doesn't slurp up all of you, I'll go through afterwards and fix you up, okay?"
"Perfectly understood," he replied, showing total trust.
Soon enough the line of bathtubs were in sight. Eight white porcelain transporters engulfing and disgorging various Phobiopolans. Nearby were waiting benches, more map kiosks, the edge of a parking lot, and people screaming at George. Toby had worried the tubs might all be full, but the sight of a galloping bonecuddy has a way of sweeping unwanted citizenry aside.
George screeched to a stop in a plume of dust and Toby went somersaulting through the air. George stretched his neck and delicately caught his master on the bridge of his nose. "Safe and sound! See you in a moment!" Toby was set delicately on his feet, and George stuck his head under the nearest vacant shower.
After a brief moment to get the world to stop spinning, Toby looked back down the path they'd taken. Plenty of howling people were chasing after him. The ones from Tif Tif's street were long gone (Toby hoped no accidental harm had come to the cheetah woman's tent during George's rampage), but plenty more guards and market-goers were determined to catch the runaway construct that had flashed past them.
Panting, Toby snapped into a fighting stance, right arm out in front of him. Several people nearby gawked, startled or confused.
"I've got a weapon in my arm! I'd rather not use it on anyone! I just want to get out of here!"
From stress and exhaustion, Toby's voice sounded a lot more commanding than normal. The people around him backed off. Anyone with that much craziness swirling around in their pink eyes was not to be trifled with.
"George?" Toby swiftly peeked back to see if his friend had succeeded in transporting. The answer was, partially. Half a horse lay slumped in the dusty street in front of the bathtub. The end of his spine was liquified and dribbling. The rest of him had already gone down the drain. Toby hopped in too.
'Gillagillagillagillagillagillagilla!!!' he thought as hard as he could. There was no hesitation this time. No more flashbacks. He had faced this part of his past already. Plus, compared to Logdorbhok, bathtubs didn't scare him much anymore.
He kept his eyes peeled, watching as the swarm of angered Lalochezians drew nearer. But they were still plenty far away by the time he felt his skin start to slide off his bones down into the bottom of the tub.
***
Toby emerged in a tangle of vines, where a flattened, ghoulish face was leering out of the foliage at him.
"GAAH!!" He was so keyed up already, he launched his hammer without thinking.
The construct had looked like a tiki face painted on the side of a cardboard box. Had. Its huge flat head imploded when Toby's hammer sunk through, killing it instantly.
Toby clutched his chest, panting. He'd forgotten how dense Marasmus was with constructs. He'd never seen that kind before though. It'd looked like something out of a Mardi Gras parade. 'And now your hammer's stuck somewhere in it's innards. Real smart,' he chided himself.
"Sire Toby? Did something happen?"
Toby looked behind him to see George with his back turned. Or rather, what was left of it. The bonecuddy retained most of a ribcage, with the rest trailing behind him in gooey streaks. He was currently trying to stand up on his two remaining legs.
"Yeah, um, there was a nightmare. I clobbered it."
"Good for you!"
He bit his lip. "Problem is, my hammer's somewhere in its face. And I don't think I can kill you back to normal without it."
George swung himself around like a hinge to face the mouse, also spotting the crumpled creature beside him. "Shouldn't be much of a problem. I was feeling a modicum of hunger anyway." Toby hopped out of the tub to give his friend a steadying paw. George managed to wobble over to the construct and start chewing. Toby turned away. The sounds were hideous.
A moment later, George looked back with a blood-soaked smile. "Here we go!" he said with gritted teeth, holding a hammer between them.
Toby reached for it.
George pulled it back. "Wait just a moment! I shall save you the trouble of cleaning it."
Toby jumped back as George's whole head became an inferno. Toby's instincts screamed that the construct had lost his mind again and was about to revert to murder mode. But then the flames died out, revealing an immaculate, gleaming hammer. George grinned. Toby was careful to take it by the rubber grip and even then the heat made him wince. "Thank you."
He nodded. "I enjoy being helpful. And moreso now that I have yet another reason to feel gratitude towards you."
Toby smiled. He needed a few moments for the steel to cool down anyway, so he spent them patting George's loyal brow. "You're a damn good friend, George," he said quietly.
The bonecuddy practically purred.
Toby couldn't let himself relax and appreciate the moment just yet. They were still on their own in a forest full of things with teeth. Best to get inside with Gilla first. Then he could break down and cry in relief and hug George all over till his arms ached. When his hammer was ready, he slipped it inside with his left hand, then popped it right back out against George's forehead.
Soon enough, a four-legged George appeared atop the bones of his previous self.
Toby hardly noticed, because he had suddenly become fascinated by his hand. His right hand. The one with the finger-stumps. A moment ago, he remembered flexing the fist and grabbing George's brains with it. 'But that's impossible. I don't have any fingers. I couldn't have... Unless...' He remembered something else. A flash of silver.
"Sire Toby? I am able. Shall we head off to Sir Gilla-Gilla's hut?"
"Yeah, I..." Toby said absently, still staring at his hand. He had an idea about it, but it could wait till later. Right now top priority was getting inside. He hoped Gilla-Gilla was home, and that the porcupine would let him in without Zinc and Junella nearby. 'Though why not? We're friends now too.'
George knelt down for Toby to hop into the saddle again. He wasted no time in taking off. He would have enjoyed finishing his meal (as he rarely got a chance to taste a construct he'd never consumed before), but these were dangerous woods. It was possible more convorines might lurk within. Luckily, he rarely forgot a route he'd traveled before. He knew exactly where Sir Gilla-Gilla's house was. And with the Fearsleigher not currently merged to him, he could leap over the forest's obstacles with much more agility.
Toby held on tight. George's jumps sent his stomach crashing up against his ribs, then down against his pelvis. The stallion seemed in high spirits. "Geez, George. I'm glad for it, but I kinda can't believe you're back to your old self so quickly."
"Should I not be?" he asked in reply.
"Well, I mean, considering what happened to-" Toby's mind stopped in its tracks as a horrible realization hit him.
'He doesn't know.'
George hadn't seen what Scaphis had done to the others. He'd been crushed and catapulted before she defaced them. He had no idea how long he'd been trapped as a ball, or what had happened to Toby during that time. "George, why do you think I'm taking you to Gilla's?" Toby asked cautiously.
The construct's ethereal ears twitched. "I assume we will rendezvous with the others there. If you have not already defeated Madam Doll in my absence, I had further assumed I would help strategize her downfall. What she did to Sir Aldridge and myself was inexcusable."
Toby's heart broke to hear George's sprightly optimism. He didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. He hesitated as long as he could stand to. "George... it's just us."
The stallion paused. The forest was quiet all around them. "Sire? Please explain."
"Keep going, George," Toby encouraged. "I'll fill you in. But let's not stand around out in the open."
He nodded and continued, at a somewhat slower pace. "Certainly. I was just startled by what you said. Do you mean that I was not the only one whom Madam Doll... disposed of?"
"Her name's not Doll," Toby sighed. "Don't you remember? Aldridge figured it out just before she tore him apart. She's Scaphis Tarrare. She always was."
George's tone was reserved, trying to retain his composure as the awful truth sunk in. "I remember, Sire. I could not possibly have forgotten. But I suppose I would prefer not to believe it." He snorted then, his voice gaining defiance. "Even so, that will not stop me from enacting revenge. You are saying that Madam Brox, Sir Zinc and Madam McPerricone are...?"
Toby would not give him details. He could spare him that much at least. "She kept them. She turned them into slaves. As far as I know, they're still up on Anasarca. We're going to Gilla-Gilla now because I don't think we can face her alone and win."
George exhaled smoke. "Do not underestimate my rage."
"I don't," Toby reassured, giving him a pat. "But I'm also not about to underestimate hers. She's got Aldridge's wand, remember? She already started with a strong will and now it's beyond what either of us can imagine. We'll be facing the most powerful living being in Phobiopolis." He was careful to insert the word 'living', as he knew there were two more powerful who were not. "I even debated with myself about asking Gilla for help. I know his streak of not dying is important to him. But then I thought, his friends are important to him too. He should know what's happened to them. He'd want to be given the choice to say yes or no. And L'roon's on our side too. I'm not sure for how long, but he's back in Lalochezia working on a potion I think you'll like."
The construct nodded somberly. "Even with their aid, this is to be a grim, difficult challenge," he assessed.
"Yes," he said, not sugarcoating it. Toby reached up to stroke between George's ears. "But we have to. Scaphis has been stretching herself past the mountain, swallowing up people all around the badlands. She'll keep growing until someone stops her. I know it's going to be difficult. Borderline impossible. I was going crazy for a while there, thinking I'd have to do it alone. But now we're together. If we don't have an army, at least we've got an 'us' again. With luck, that'll grow."
George looked back over his shoulder. "You have changed greatly since we were separated, Sire Toby," he said with gentle, proud approval.
Toby smiled. "I hope so."
George took in the subtle differences of the mouse's posture, body language and speech. This was a wholly different soul than the self-destructive wraith that had emerged from Dysphoria. But different also from the mouse he'd been before that. Pre-Dysphoria, he had been a Sire Toby who was just beginning to discover confidence. Whereas here was a Sire Toby who had not only caught hold of it, but had begun to feel comfortable with it. "I grieve for the absence of our friends," George said, "but at the same time, I am happy to see what you have become."
Toby was struck speechless for a moment. Then he leaned over and draped himself across the construct's neck, hugging him wholeheartedly.
"Thank you."
***
The walk was short. Just enough time to give George a summary. The events atop Anasarca, Toby's days on the body sea, his new family in Scarlatina, the reemergence of his memory, and the few plans he'd made for the coming darkness. (He left out a few details of what George had briefly become in the marketplace. He knew he'd be drowned in apologies otherwise.)
George was very quiet but nodded frequently. He ached to hear about his friends' suffering. Every fiber of him wished to stampede back in time to save them. But since that was impossible, the only course of action was to keep moving forward and change the future instead. He agreed with Sire Toby, Sir Gilla-Gilla would be a powerful ally and a good start.
They reached the edge of the clearing. The woods were silent here. Ash had fallen to cover the circular field around the tiny cabin.
Something was wrong.
Toby squinted across the distance. Gilla's cabin was just as before. Everything seemed normal about it. But there was still something wrong. Toby felt it in his gut. And then he realized what was right in front of his eyes.
George looked back to inquire why the mouse had gotten quiet.
Toby slipped down from the stallion's back and gave his friend's ribs a pat. He continued staring across the blackened lawn, watching the wind pick up swirls of ash and dance them to and fro. He did not want to be right about this. Maybe there was an explanation. Maybe this was just his own dread telling him to expect the worst.
There was an easy way to test it though. He started walking towards the perimeter.
George darted his head out and clamped down on Toby's collar. "Sire! Have you forgotten the defenses?"
"I haven't," Toby said. "Look, George. Tell me when you see it."
This confused the bonecuddy. He studied the cabin. "Everything seems to be in order, if quiet. It is possible Sir Gilla-Gilla is off on an errand." The face of the cabin seemed identical to their memory. The porch chairs were still rickety. The airlock was barely perceptible past the screen door. (George bristled, remembering having to stand outside like a common dog before the porcupine would allow him and Madam Doll to enter. Although in hindsight, his distrust of her was entirely appropriate.) George scanned the surrounding area and felt puzzled. Something was out of place and he couldn't quite-
"My stupidity embarrasses me."
Toby shook his head. "It took me a second too. And don't worry, you've got a lot on your mind."
It wasn't just that the ground around the house looked like Gilla-Gilla had been rotating the soil for gardening. It was the ash. There wasn't an even coating. There were footprints.
Toby steeled his nerves for incoming flame, then stepped past the border line.
Not a damn thing happened.
Toby would have almost preferred being barbecued.
If that had happened, all it would mean was that George would have to stomp him out. He'd reform and everything would be okay. But his unsinged fur meant Gilla-Gilla's defenses were down. Nothing short of the apocalypse could cause that.
Just then an idea took hold of him. It was awful. Impossible. Though, now that it was in his mind, it seemed inevitable. He took off in a run towards the house.
George followed behind. They crossed the clearing, scattering ash behind them in dusty clouds.
Toby was panting when he got to the porch. He inhaled too much, choked, and had to breathe through his arm-fur for a moment. He'd forgotten how bad the ash tasted here. Still coughing, he looked all around for a way inside. The windows were intact. The airlock door was definitely shut tight. He took off to the side of the house.
George changed course to keep up with him. He turned the corner and saw his master standing frozen stiff, staring at the busted window and the massive hole in the lawn.
"She did," he muttered weakly. "She got to him first."
He didn't know that for sure. Maybe something else had broken in. Convorines, or that bunny with the tuning fork, or the boogeyman. One broken window wasn't proof. Even if there was a gaping, sunken crater in the dirt just beneath it. But of course, his gut already knew. He stared at the curtains that flicked back and forth in the wind like cats' tails. He saw the light glinting off the remaining shards of bulletproof glass.
His whole body resisted further investigation. But he had to be sure. Toby felt like he was mentally grasping his legs and forcing them to step forward.
One look through the window was all it took.
"GODDAMMIT!!!" he burst out. He clenched his balled fists and buried his face in them.
George came running over. "Sire Toby!" Before he could ask what was the matter, the mouse ran off yet again, this time towards the back. George snorted in vexation, but dutifully followed.
As soon as he turned the corner, everything was explained. Without needing to see the cabin's interior, the story was already laid out for them. Here at the back, camouflaged so perfectly that none of them had noticed it, there was a secret door. Of course Gilla-Gilla would have one. Probably several. Some time ago, something had come tapping at his window. He'd undoubtedly wondered how it got past his security. Then it let itself in. It had punched its way through inch-thick safety glass; the stuff skyscraper windows are made from. Gilla had run to his emergency escape route. But she was already there. And still was. Frozen like a snapshot, George and Toby beheld a tidal wave of beige-pink plastic. Thick around as an elephant's torso, bursting up from the soil to completely envelop the back door. A motionless battering ram of vinyl, every flying droplet as perfectly petrified as a sculpture.
Toby did not move so much of a whisker. He was standing right in front of her. Nothing was stopping her from launching out a gush of herself and engulfing him too.
'This is it. Everything ends here. All those plans you made? You might as well rip them up right now, because what did we figure out earlier? That if we come face to face with her before we're ready, she wins. Automatically. There is less than seven feet between us. You shouted loud enough for anyone in half a mile to hear. She knows you're-'
Actually, wait.
He had shouted loud enough for her to hear. And yet, she hadn't reacted in the slightest.
'Maybe she's baiting you.'
Or maybe not. Slowly, Toby turned around to make eye contact with George. With a nod, he indicated they should back up very, very quietly. George acknowledged this and the two of them began to tiptoe in reverse, all while keeping their eyes locked on the swirling surge of amorphous vinyl.
'It's like an earthworm. The biggest nightcrawler ever.' From its arc, Toby could see that it had stabbed its way out of the ground, reared back, then lunged for the doorway at full force. The door itself was hanging diagonal off its timbers. 'She punched through the instant he turned the knob.' And he already knew what the porcupine's fate had to be.
When they were out of sight again at the side of the house, Toby indicated to George to help him up through the broken window.
'Inside!?' George asked with his reaction.
In a careful whisper, Toby replied, "She's in there, I know. But I don't think she can hear us. If she could we'd be dead already, right?. But maybe this happened days ago, and maybe that chunk of her out there can't sense us. Maybe it's like her foot fell asleep. Maybe her awareness is somewhere else. Hopefully back on the mountain."
"A plausible line of deduction," George admitted. He lowered his snout to make a step for the mouse.
Toby watched where he put his paws, careful to avoid sharp bits. But Scaphis hadn't left much in the windowframe. The shards were spread from one end of the cabin to the other. He gripped the pane, then eased himself up and over. He lowered his foot slowly, remembered the trick to walking on broken glass.
Within the house, he could see that all of Gilla's boxed possessions remained neatly stacked. Scaphis had her prize and that was all she cared about. Toby gestured for George to follow him in. The much-larger construct surveyed the frame and recalled squeezing through before. At the time it had been for so much happier reasons.
Once all his hooves were on solid footing, he looked to where Toby was perusing and felt his heart drain dry. Toby had told him what Scaphis did to her victims. He hadn't seen it for himself until now.
Like a colossal eruption of vomit, Scaphis had completely flooded the secret passage and entombed the porcupine on the other side. The mouse and construct could see how the fluid had burst inwards like a firehose spray, then flashed itself frozen. There was a furson-sized lump at the center of its clutch. All that remained visible of Gilla-Gilla was a single splayed hand and a glimpse of a boot sole. He'd been flung backwards, fighting to the last. But he'd never had a chance. Her flesh was now his prison.
Toby stood in the porcupine's livingroom, stricken by the sight. Maybe Zinc was strong, and maybe Junella was quicker, but Gilla-Gilla was the most aware furson Toby had ever known. And Scaphis got him anyway. She'd stretched herself all the way down from the mountain, just for him. She'd felt her way along the ground by her fingertips. Or maybe she could take her head with her anywhere she went, sliding it around to see? Maybe she could grow more than one of them. But the 'how' didn't matter right now. What mattered was the implications. Scaphis had extended herself far past Phlegmasia for this specific purpose. That meant Toby had far underestimated her reach. But she'd come here because she knew Toby would. Or if she hadn't known that specifically, she absolutely knew Gilla-Gilla was capable of opposing her. She'd taken him out before he had a chance to.
'She knew about him because we showed him to her. We convinced him to let her into his home.'
The guilt was crushing. Toby's facial muscles trembled, but his tension kept him from crying. Instead, he walked himself through what she'd done. The house was like a map. Connect the dots. It wasn't hard to play detective when the evidence was lying right out in the open.
She'd known about the flamethrowers, so she tunneled underneath. She knew he'd evade, so she'd hunted for a secret door, anticipating where he'd run. Then she'd struck the window. Misdirection. She maneuvered him into taking the secret exit. And there she swallowed him up. A lightning flash, then her jaws closed around him like a cobra.
"It's not fair," Toby whispered to no one. "He tried so hard for so long to survive. He was proud of that. And she knew it and stole it from him anyway."
George stepped closer to reply. "Do you think there is any method of us retrieving Sir Gilla-Gilla?"
Toby bit deep into his lip to keep his damn tears in, because he knew the answer to that question and it sounded like the most heartless thing in the world. "We can't. Anything we did would wake her up. And then she'd get us too. We have to leave him here like this. I just hope he's not awake in there."
George lowered his head somberly, seeing the logic in Toby's decision. But obviously, not liking it.
Toby balled his left fist and felt his claws making pinpricks in his palm. He turned away from Gilla-Gilla's plastic mausoleum. Memories came back to him of the porcupine's voice, his crazy eyes, his hospitality, his fighting style, his coaching. Toby walked over to George and silently put his arms around the horse's bony chest. He laid his head against the sooty ribs and let the tears finally come.
George rested his head against the mouse's back.
"At least I have you," Toby breathed. "Even if the biggest part of my plan just got taken away, at least I have you. I wanted to say this earlier, George. I thought we'd settle down in here with big mugs of hot chocolate and I'd tell Gilla-Gilla about the plan and then I'd tell you how much I missed you. How much I was going crazy without you, thinking I'd have to do this all on my own. And even now it still seems too big. But at least... I..." He couldn't go on.
George nuzzled into his master's vest. "I agree that the circumstances of our reunion could be more ideal, Sire Toby. I will confess, I can barely contain the urge to rush over, chew Sir Gilla-Gilla free from his obscene confinement, and immolate myself until every last atom of Madam Tarrare's foul body melts away down the hole she came from."
Toby could feel George's rage just from the rigidity in his posture. But he didn't fear it anymore. It comforted him, because they both felt the same.
The bonecuddy sighed. "Still... my rational mind understands the need for well-considered action, not rashness."
Toby nodded. "George..."
"Yes?"
He felt his cheekfur scrape against the blackened bone. "It just occurred to me how far I've come, and how much of that I owe to you. It was pure luck that I found you. I stumbled onto that spot where you were buried. Random chance. And if I'd been transported somewhere else that night, or passed by without noticing your glow, then... Then that'd be it for me. That would have been the end of my story. I never could have gone on without you."
George fidgeted bashfully. "There is no need to sell yourself short."
"I'm not," Toby said firmly. "When I first got here I was a nervous wreck. I couldn't handle how much it hurt to lose Piffle. It made me come face to face with how useless and scared I was. I was ready to let any big monster just come up and kill me to get it over with. Instead, I found you. And because of you I was able to hire Junella and Zinc. And because of them, we made it all the way across the world. But you were the key, George. If I hadn't found you, I would have just wandered off and ended up as some random Phobiopolan. Wandering around, barely scratching out a life. No skills, no hope. It... it almost hurts my brain to think how close I came to that. But instead I found you. And there must be a million other Tobies out there whose stories did end up boring and sour and unfulfilled because they never found someone like you to help them." He held on tighter. "George, you didn't just save my life. You made it worth something."
The bonecuddy did not know what to do with such praise. He shifted from hoof to hoof, tail swishing. "I suppose that is true. I suppose it could also be said that, were it not for me, Scaphis would not have reached Anasarca and we would not be here in these current circumstances."
Toby shrugged. "Oh well. Maybe the good parts were worth it."
"That is a preferable way of looking at things," George admitted. "And thank you."
Another squeeze. "You're welcome. Thank you too."
"You are welcome also." George lifted his head to meet his master's eyes. "What now, Sire Toby?"
The mouse flinched a little. George had said that so many times, and it hadn't sunk in just how wrong it felt. How undeserving. "George... Y'know you don't really have to call me that. I'm not your king. I don't own you."
A trace of a grin. "Correct. It is my choice to."
For some reason that made Toby cry harder, but in a good way. "Allright. Then you can call me anything you like, Sir George Charles Atkinson."
A small bow. "I will, Sire Toby deLeon." He paused. "Actually, did you ever inform me of your middle name?"
Toby blanked. "If I had one, it's long gone by now."
The mouse sighed. He thought he was getting better at this. Every time some new soul-crushing horror fell onto him, he spent less time dwelling on it. Now he could let the stormcloud pour on him for a moment, and let it pass. Not being alone helped a lot. And even though a part of him still wanted to just fall over on Gilla's couch and cry some more and give up, he knew he couldn't. He had a potion to pick up at... "Dammit. How are we gonna get back to the market now? I'm sure they're already putting up wanted posters of us. We destroyed a whole city block."
George surveyed the wallless room. "Perhaps Sir Gilla-Gilla has something we could make use of?"
That was an idea. Toby looked around too. He remembered the big sign at the entrance, the one that said 'DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING' about a dozen times. He wouldn't have put it past Gilla-Gilla to booby-trap his belongings, but what else could they do? "I guess. But we'll have to be really careful about it. If Scaphis can't hear us, she can probably still feel vibrations. Let's stay as far away from her corner of the house as we can."
"Agreed."
***
And so began their eerie scavenging. It was skin-crawling work, skulking around the house knowing they were mere feet away from the flesh-colored petrified fountain still lurking silently at the back. Knowing that they were stealing from a homeowner who was helplessly cocooned. Toby could not stop glancing back at that single dark-furred hand reaching up out of the slime. Like the last moments of a quicksand victim. 'I'll make it up to you, bruv. Promise.'
If they were stealing one thing, there was no reason not to just go all the way. In for a penny, in for a pound. For starters, both Toby and George were bone-tired from fighting and stress, so they raided Gilla's pantry for comfort food. There were plentiful bushels of tree-jerky, so they both dove in. Very satisfying to sink their teeth into the tough meat and chew it to shreds (George wished it was actually Madam Tarrare). Toby also guzzled several bottles of water and bagged more for later. Plus some spare cracker-packs, MREs, and a couple of pounds from Gilla's bountiful stock of convorine bacon.
Then came defense. Toby didn't think he'd find another bracer in here, but was partially wrong. Gilla-Gilla had all sorts of protective gear hanging up by the front door. Enough for any emergency. The mouse and porcupine thought alike: nothing here was bulky enough to impede mobility. Toby found a pair of comfortable mesh gloves that extended all the way to the elbow. Segmented plates snugged his forearms like a pillbug's carapace. Probably not as impermeable as his bracers had been, but they looked like they could block a knife if not a bullet. He also donned pads for his shoulders and knees. A codpiece hung on the wall too, but Toby couldn't overcome his quease at the thought of wearing it secondhand.
Gilla-Gilla had been thoughtful enough to label every box in the house. Toby and George scanned the stacks like library shelves. There were no magic shuriken-returning-pouches to be found, but Toby did discover a nice sack of throwing daggers and scooped up a bunch. Another box held grape-sized bombs. From their ivory appearance, Toby hoped these were smaller cousins to the electrified eggs he'd thrown before. He also borrowed a backpack, filled the center section with food, and put the weapons within easy reach in the side pouches. In addition, Gilla-Gilla had plenty of transformation potions. Several boxes, neatly marked 'For Nightmares' and 'For Me'. Toby took one of each.
As he packed, Toby remarked that he was surprised the local monsters hadn't ransacked the place. George said there was no reason for them to. Most constructs cared only for causing suffering. Incapacitated as he was, Sir Gilla-Gilla likely no longer gave off life signs. They felt no need to destroy inanimate objects.
Before the duo left, Toby sat down to write a note. He told Gilla-Gilla everything that had happened and what his plans were next (He left out certain details, just in case Scaphis somehow read the note first). Most importantly, he apologized. Partly for what'd he'd taken, but more so for not being able to help. He didn't ask for forgiveness, only the porcupine's understanding. If everything worked out, he would be freed someday soon.
Toby wanted to slip the note into Gilla-Gilla's hand. But that would have been risking everything on a poetic gesture. Instead, he left it in plain sight on the dining table. He dumbfounded a can of Anisocoria Rain to hold it in place.
Then he and George left the cabin.
***
As they walked away, there were a few last matters to take care of. "George, I want you to listen carefully. Can you pinpoint a small nightmare? Something I could pick up and hold?"
George raised an aura eyebrow. "There are not many you would want to."
Toby smirked. "Not like a pet. I just meant something that size."
"Ah." He flicked his ears, turning his head to and fro. "I hear small feet."
Toby patted him on the foreleg. "Grab it and meet me over there."
They split up. George tromped towards the forest while Toby went around to the back of the house. The ash crunched like shredded paper beneath his sandals. He kept his eye on the secret door's gruesome tableau. He could faintly smell burnt plastic, even from several feet away. The smell had also lingered in the house while he and George had been 'shopping'. Like she was whispering to him.
George disappeared into the trees. For the moment, Toby was alone. He carefully tore the glove away from his right hand, leaving just the arm-guard. He had no fingers there anyway, and he wanted his palmslit exposed. Toby hated having to ruin Gilla-Gilla's property. He promised himself he'd buy the porcupine a replacement as soon as he could.
He turned slowly, listening to the woods. He'd spent a long time inside the cabin. It had been afternoon when they'd sped out of Lalochezia and by now the sun was starting to set. The sky was every color of bruises. Toby heard thundering legs approaching.
He turned. A pigthing was bearing down on him. One of the slavering, bristle-backed hogs that patrolled Ectopia Cordis' waste heaps. It was charging. Snorting.
The Toby of the past would have run screaming in fear. The Toby of right now just felt irritated. Tired of this world that never let up on him. All he could see when he looked at the pig was how much it's dripping snout looked exactly like a bullseye.
His hammer shot out. The pig's skull shattered and its body did a midair somersault.
Toby felt no triumph as it collapsed in the ash. Just doing his chores.
George came running up. He looked apologetic for not having been able to assist, yet glad to see his master had the situation in hand anyway. He couldn't speak these thoughts, since wriggling in his teeth was an outraged eraserhead.
"That's perfect, George. Now we let it go."
George gave the mouse a quizzical look.
Toby pointed towards Scaphis. "Throw it at her as hard as you can. I want to see if she reacts to it. And if so, how quick."
George nodded. "Shmart finking," he garbled. The eraserhead kicked its tiny legs and gnashed its massive teeth.
Toby backed up past the edge of the perimeter. Scaphis had probably burrowed underneath and ripped out every wire she found, but he didn't want to risk the chance that something, somewhere might still be active. He watched George toss the snarling thumb-shaped creature towards the plastic tentacle.
The reaction was almost exactly what Toby expected.
The eraserhead flew in a graceful arc towards Scaphis and bonked off. For just a moment it seemed it might scuttle away, confused but unharmed. Then, in the blink of an eye, a dozen tendrils of flesh shot out and snared it. The eraserhead screeched and thrashed. The strands of vinyl held tight. They constricted, killing the knobby nightmare without mercy.
Then they seemed to juggle it around, like someone rolling a jawbreaker back and forth inside their mouth. Contemptuously, the tendrils tossed the mangled little corpse aside and re-absorbed themselves into the main mass. Constructs were not worth keeping, it seemed.
"It's not a threat to her," Toby muttered. "There's no reason to waste energy keeping it like Gilla." He felt a buzzing in his skull, like this was an important clue. No further epiphany emerged though, so he tucked the thought away for later. "Let's go, George. Back to the tub."
George lifted Toby into the saddle just as a pair of terrorbunnies emerged from the trees, drawn by the scent of dead eraserhead meat.
-***-