Alex Reynard
The Library
Alex Reynard's Online Books
Chapter Twotenty-Seven
A stranger emerged from tub station six in Lalochezia. Odd in appearance, but no more so than anyone else.
Out of the porcelain stepped a short red knight. He appeared to be clad in a suit of armor, except the armor was actually his skin. Glossy scarlet segments of chitin exoskeleton, streaked with ivory white, covered him head to toe. His face was a mask of radial symmetry from within which two small orange eyes lurked. Additional pads and arm-guards added seemingly-redundant protection. He was short, but looked formidable. He might have even been intimidating if not for the fluffy yellow feather boa curled around his neck.
George twitched like an irritated cat's tail. "I like this even less than being a parrot," he whispered.
Toby didn't want to break character to reach up and stroke him comfortingly. "I know. But I'm technically naked right now so I'm not comfortable either." He'd stashed his shorts and vest in the backpack, lest anyone recognize them. "We won't be here more than half an hour, tops. Then you'll get a nice surprise. I promise."
George sighed. "I shall endure this because I trust you, Sire Toby."
Toby headed away from the tub stations, back towards the market's many shops.
He got a few odd looks from the crowd, though nobody pointed to shout, 'Hey, there's the guy who let a bonecuddy loose this afternoon! Let's kill him!' That was good. Gilla-Gilla's transformation potions had worked perfectly. It made perfect sense that the one meant for himself would remold the target into a walking tank, while the other made a nightmare into something laughably harmless. Toby wondered if it was a random effect every time. He imagined George as a whoopie cushion, a lady's hat, or a corn muffin.
He rather liked this new body. Heavier than he was used to, but that wasn't really a problem because the muscles were tougher. He felt a bit like a turtle. Slow but protected. His exoskeletal plates clinked and rattled with every step. It was a nice sound, a bit like wind chimes. Toby guessed Gilla might have used this form if it was impossible to evade an enemy, so the only choice was to plant himself like a stone and withstand the attack.
Lalochezia at night looked like a different planet. Toby still didn't know if the giant palm trees helped maintain the city's outer aurora, but they definitely kept the place lit up after sundown. Each treetop was blazing an incredibly powerful red. The color of stop signs and taillights. The fronds were not on fire, but illuminated from within. The bloody glow played hell with the colors in town, making everything look like a photographer's darkroom.
Toby vaguely remembered where L'roon had said to meet him. He thought he could pinpoint it once they reached an area he'd seen before. Until then, he and George passed shops and carts and tents and customers. The streets were still mostly empty, but there was a different energy to this place at night. Maybe it was just the red tint, but the people here looked tougher now. More surly.
Toby passed a street performer perforating himself with knives and showing no pain. He saw a small gang in identical jackets, all chained together by their nose rings. He saw a barbecue stand where customers were served their own grilled hearts on paper plates. He saw a female hippo with mouths on either side of her head, smoking cigars out of both of them.
There was a rumpled mess at the curb with an overturned hat and a sign:
I AM MADE OF BURLAP SACKS
YOU WILL GIVE ME BURLAP SNACKS
And then, as his head bobbed back and forth taking in all the sights, Toby spotted something he remembered. A real blast from the past.
A bright white rocketship.
It was the exact same diner. Bubble cockpit, red tail fins, porthole windows. Even the same neon name: OUTERSPACE EATS. And just like before, people were avoiding the place like a bad smell.
Toby babbled to George, "That's it! That's the fake diner that trapped me and Piffle! With the waiterthing! The one that took us to..." He winced. "I knew his name earlier. What the hell was it?"
"Doctor Dacryphilia?" George supplied.
"Yes! Thanks!"
The boa nodded. "I remember you telling the tale."
"I have a feeling I'm gonna need your help on a lot of names," Toby said distantly. He craned his neck back, making sure the diner hadn't been a hallucination. He was unsettled to see it again. He guessed these places sprang up everywhere, like roach motels. Not just in... "Dammit, what was the town?"
"Stoma, Sire?"
"Yes," Toby growled. He'd been making so much progress with his memory, he'd forgotten how much he still had left to rebuild.
Toby was on edge anyway, and that feeling spiked when a voice behind him called out, "Hey, nice scarf!"
It was not said as a compliment, but a mocking challenge. Toby thought immediately of the terrier bully he'd met in Ectopia Cordis. He didn't remember that asshole's name either, but what did it matter? The mouse kept his face a stone, which was easy with this insectlike form.
"Hey!" The voice was following him. "You're not too chum-chummy, are you? I'm only making conversation, pal!"
'I'm about to be mugged,' Toby realized. He could feel his muscles pull taut. He stayed silent and kept his eyes on the path ahead, showing no reaction. But he listened intently until he could pick out the crook's footsteps distinctly from the crowd.
"I only need a few hundred grit. You could fill that, right? You look like a charitable guy. C'mon!"
Toby felt a hand clap his shoulder.
It was reflexive. He whirled around, grabbed the wrist it belonged to, and POW. The hammerstrike was like a grenade explosion. The ragged chunk of hand dropped to the street, and so did the young kangaroo it used to belong to. Two more kids who'd been shadowing the talkative one turned and bolted at a supersonic pace.
Toby froze as he saw this was just another of the street kids that ran around scrounging for meals. He was even skinnier than Toby had been. And there he was, on the ground, clutching his gushing wrist, backing away and staring up at Toby in all-consuming terror.
For the first time in Toby's life, someone was afraid of him.
Before the roo could get to his feet and flee, Toby reached out. "I'm sorry!! I thought you were going to rob me or pull a gun on me or something! I'm sorry! I didn't realize!" He wished this was a real suit of armor so he could lift up the faceplate and show his eyes.
The kangaroo kid was still breathing hard, staring up into the expressionless orange orbs in his attacker's masklike face. But the voice wasn't what he'd expected to come out of it. The kid stopped moving, but was still tensed to run at a heartbeat's notice. "You blew up my hand, you assface!! How the HELL!?"
Toby was about to show off his palm, then realized the kid might freak out at that. "It's something I have in my arm, for self-defense. Is there anything I can do to help you? Honestly, I had no idea you were, well, smaller than me." He also finally noticed that the kangaroo's skin was exactly the tone and texture of a baseball glove, stitches included.
Distrust was still in the joey's eyes. He hesitated a moment more, then hopped to his feet, still holding his stump. He glanced around and noticed his mates had abandoned him. "I guess I should've known better. I saw you come outta the bath. You've been fightin' nighties, havencha?" He mimed looking all around at imaginary enemies. "Got you spooked up? Tense? It's my fault."
"It's not," Toby insisted. "But you're right. I have been fighting a lot of things, not just nightmares. You said you needed some money? I'd be happy to help with that."
The kid grimaced. "Well, I had a wellwatch. But it was on my wrist. Echo: had." He pointed to his bleeding hand, indicating the little bits of plastic shrapnel in it.
"Oh crap! I blew that up too, didn't I?"
An annoyed nod.
"Um... I thought willwatches couldn't store will."
"Wellwatch, goob. Shit, you are a tourist. Mini-willwell. Like a wallet. I saved up for it."
The kid did not lie well, and Toby guessed it had probably been lifted from someone else's arm. Still... "Do they sell them here? I'll get you a new one."
The kid actually flinched, like he expected a trap. "...Thanks. That's nice of you. I appreciate it."
Toby saw his guarded posture. "I mean it. It's only fair. If nothing else, I..." He sighed, his voice lowered. "The way you looked at me a moment ago, I don't want to cause that feeling in anyone else ever again."
The roo was surprised to see this strange furson so affected by something like that. He shrugged. "Haven't been here very long, have you?"
Toby laughed dryly. "I don't even know anymore."
"Heh. Whatever. There's a watch shop a few blocks backit. Were you really serious?"
Toby nodded. "I'll follow you."
The roo turned and pointed down the street.
Toby couldn't help noticing the kid's wrist steadily dripping on the sidewalk. In the palm tree light, the blood looked black as oil. With the glove-leather skin, Toby half-wondered why stuffing wasn't pouring out instead. "Y'know, I could, um, finish you off and get you back to normal, if you're comfortable with that."
The kid laughed, bouncing on his long feet. "Nah! Either it'll grow back or I'll pass out from blood loss. I'm used to it. Just don't rustle my pockets if I go down, 'cause there's nothing in 'em but air anyway."
"I'd never do that!" Toby assured.
Another laugh. "You're crunchy on the outside with a marshmallow center, aren't you?"
"I... suppose so?"
A paw shot out for an unannounced shake. "Chorizo."
"Toby."
***
Wellwatches were just about as expensive as Toby had feared. But a promise is a promise. And he'd had plenty of practice spending willpower earlier that afternoon. After completing the sale, he filled the little device with as much juice as he had left in him and gave it to Chorizo, somewhat exhausted. The joey was practically dancing in disbelief that Toby had followed through. He bought them both corn dogs at a nearby grease joint. They sat on a bench while they ate. Chorizo inhaled his and went back for another. Seeing the kid's hunger, Toby let Chorizo help himself to the snacks he'd lifted from Gilla-Gilla.
Toby was glad to see the change in the way the kid looked at him. A large part of him still felt ashamed for attacking without thinking. When he'd heard the voice, he hadn't noticed the needful tremble in it. He hadn't remembered watching the street kids trying to cajole customers earlier. Toby's only thought had been, 'here comes something else trying to hurt me,' and reacted accordingly. He didn't want to become someone like that. Maybe it wasn't the smartest decision in a place like Phobiopolis (Chorizo razzed him about it a few times as they ate their dogs), but Toby still promised himself he'd remember this incident. It would be a marker to help him find a balance between trust and self-preservation.
It suddenly dawned on him that what really scared him about the incident was the thought of his 'fight or flight' switch getting flipped. He had always been keen to danger, ready to run at a blink. Maybe that had kept him a little safer, but it had also knotted his guts up and played hell with his nerves. It was a miserable way to live. And now that he had gained some confidence in fighting, he didn't want to turn into a mirror-version of his previous self. 'I think this is what I was afraid of at first when Gilla-Gilla was training me. I just couldn't get my finger on it.' Snapping Chorizo's wrist had been easy. Frighteningly easy. In a world like this, it would be a greased path to become the kind of furson who'd react to every provocation with aggression. But, look what that could do to you in the long run. Gilla-Gilla was a nice guy, but undoubtedly crazy. And probably very, very lonely.
'Or,' Toby couldn't help concluding, 'you could end up forever frustrated, forever snarky, forever on the attack... Like Junella.'
He wondered where she was tonight. If she was even aware of what Scaphis had done to her. If she was in agony. If she and the others were trapped in an unending mirage, or escaped and hiding somewhere in the castle walls.
Chorizo rambled about the upcoming concert of his favorite band, Shatterlatch, until he noticed his armored acquaintance had gone silent. Feeling awkward, he thanked the mouse again, said there were no hard feelings about the hand, and scampered off.
When Toby came to his senses again, the kangaroo was already gone.
He spent a moment wishing he'd had time to give a goodbye. Then he got up, threw his corn dog stick in the trash, and headed off to find L'roon.
"You handled that well, I think."
George had been playing the role of an inanimate fashion accessory for so long that Toby had forgotten he was there. "JEEziss, George!" He felt his heart thudding. "And are you serious? I blasted that poor kid's arm to smithereens."
"Yes, but you made amends for it. The apology matters more than the incident, I have come to believe."
Toby considered that.
***
Brass tubular bells intoned when Toby walked through the door of the ingredients shop. A jingle began to play:
Hey, hey! Jaziezal's!
Be loyal to your will,
And be loyal to your place of skill!
Toby didn't know if that meant something or just sounded cute.
This place was dim, sticky and uncomfortable. It didn't smell any better inside than outside. In fact, Toby started choking immediately on the foglike funk wafting from the incredible collection of glass jars on the shelves. George was immediately grateful he did not have his old body, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to move an inch in here without knocking over half the inventory.
Toby stared at the stock while using his left paw as an impromptu respirator. Each glass vessel held unsettlingly intriguing contents. Things that flared. Things that made noise. Things that wouldn't stop moving. Plants and rocks and lightning bolts and organs and screws and jellybeans.
Jazeizal himself was up at the counter, looking melted. The relatively-handsome moose had his head propped up on his arms, regarding his radio with sleepy eyes as it sang to him. His antlers had been sawn down to nubs, which made perfect sense. Otherwise, Toby could imagine an avalanche every time he turned his head.
There was a door at the back. Hand-painted letters announced: 'Laboratory space. 300G per hour. 1 pick from the freebie bin every five hrs.'
Toby wasn't sure if Jazeizal was awake or mummified, but he pointed at the door. "Is L'roon in there?"
Without so much as twitching an eye, the moose responded, "Yaisssss."
"Okay. Um, thank you." He moved towards the door.
Quicker than Toby would have thought possible, Jazeizal was blocking it. "Eh boss! No. No one gets in without-a da password. What's a password?"
Toby barely kept his backpack from toppling a shelf. L'roon hadn't told him anything about this. He looked up at Jazeizal's eyes. They were floating. His grin was bizarre. Toby wasn't sure if he was being played with. "'What's a password'?" he repeated. "It's a word or phrase demonstrating that you're trusted enough to enter somewhere."
Jazeizal's grin unrolled even wider. "Bossssss!" he said approvingly. He waggled his eyebrows. "No one's gotten that one in weeks." He stepped aside, opened the door, and bowed low for Toby to enter.
The mouse passed by and wondered if the smell in this place affected a furson's mind after a while.
Before him was what looked like a darkened stable, or a gun range. A long black hallway led to individually numbered stalls with partitions between. L'roon would not be too hard to find, as only two of them were currently lit. Toby looked around at the sheer size of this room and realized the building was definitely not big enough to contain it. He shivered for some reason.
The smell in here diminished, thankfully. The lab was cut off from the rest of the shop. Though residue of past creations still clung to the walls. There was an odor of paint and pickled beets, with an underlay of mildew.
L'roon was hunched over a long table covered in ominous-looking substances and equipment. Toby thought he'd surprise him with his new appearance. Instead the construct's slender, curved head rose and nodded to him without a flinch. "My dear friend. You are making a habit of keeping me waiting on your return."
The mouse was disappointed. "You knew it was me? I've got a whole new body!"
"I know your walk," the construct replied simply.
Toby noticed L'roon had a tube beneath his nostrils that led to a large metal tank. "Oxygen?"
"High-grade narcotics. Helps me focus. Come closer please, I could use your help with this."
The stall was about as large as an autopsy room, and blindingly bright. Toby could see every detail of L'roon's implements, the tubes of multicolored liquids bubbling nearby, and the many stains oozing towards the drain in the middle of the concrete floor. He cautiously walked closer and was presented with a measuring cup full of yellow liquid that hissed like acid.
L'roon kept his eyes on his work, not even glancing back. "Here: hate this for me."
Toby blinked. "What?"
"Lacking a soul and thus a will to wield makes certain areas of potioncraft far easier, and others impossible. Hate it," L'roon insisted, "as hard as you possibly can."
Toby didn't think he'd be very good at hating some goo, but he stared into the cup and tried to bring up his blackest thoughts. His cheeks started burning from embarrassment. But then he thought about Scaphis and results began to flow. He thought about all her cruelty and deceit. He thought about the muskrat from EC. He thought about Dr. Dacryphilia. The yellow liquid started emitting a sound like a teakettle.
L'roon chuckled. "Not bad!" He pulled the cup away and emptied it into a large beaker full of green snot. The mixture sang a few heartbroken notes, then settled into a bubbling boil. L'roon stirred it with a glass rod. "That should work nicely."
"Is that the potion I asked you about?"
L'roon cut him off with a laugh. "Ho ho! No sir, I finished that up hours ago. It's over there in the aluminium capsules. You took your sweet time getting back and so I began to play. I haven't gotten the opportunity to muck about in here for ages. It is both relaxing and stimulating to be able to experiment with no real goal in mind. To let the ingredients meet and mingle as they please. I have made nothing of importance so fa- GEORGE!!"
He exploded this last word so forcefully he broke the glass rod in the sink. Toby stumbled back several feet.
The merchant had not given any thought to Toby's boa until his subconscious put the pieces together. He ripped his drug feed away and waddled closer to regard his fellow construct. "It slipped my mind entirely! The reason I and your mouse split up in the first place, I mean. I never expected to see you again so soon! This is a disguise, am I correct? Can you speak?"
"Certainly, Sir L'roon, but I have been keeping quiet for appearances' sake."
The other nightmare's multi-pupiled eyes sparkled. His grin stretched to the moon. "Wonderful! Wonderful! What luck that Madame Tif Tif hadn't sold you off to some far-flung corner of the world."
Toby spoke up, "She's pissed at you."
L'roon steepled two sets of fingertips. "Oh? What a shame. Did she give a reason why?"
The merchant's attitude seemed an odd mixture of genuine surprise, slight remorse, and a pinch of schadenfreude. It seemed the two of them had a complicated history. "She said you promised her that George would sell, and instead her customers were afraid of him. I had to pay her back the forty thousand grit you charged her."
L'roon's jaw dropped in shock. Then he threw back his head and laughed so hard he collapsed against the work table and sent all the bottles and beakers jangling. "HAHAHAHA!!! THAT RAT! THAT WEASEL! THAT CONNIVER!! I told you to watch out for her! She played upon your sympathies, my dear friend! I only charged her ten thousand!"
Toby bit his lip. His cheeks burned. "I felt sorry for her."
L'roon got his laughter under control but couldn't keep the grin off his snout. "I'm sure you did. Why do you think she chooses such an innocuous form? Such a sweet little kitten. She couldn't possibly be hiding treachery under that big, soft coat, yes?"
At this reveal, a nasty part of Toby kind of wished it had been her tent that George burned down earlier. "Was she also lying about losing her shop and having to move to the crummy side of town?"
At this, L'roon became serious again. "She's remained in the same place for years. Hmmm. She may actually be in some genuine trouble. I shall have to go and visit later. Either to offer aid or gloat. Perhaps both."
Toby wasn't sure what to feel now. Tif Tif's shocked gratitude after he'd paid off the forty grand had seemed real.
L'roon turned his attention to the feather boa, running his spindly fingers along it. "But that's for later. How are you, my brother? You have been napping, I hear?"
George raised up one end of himself to give the appearance of having a head. "I was released by Sire Toby after considerable difficulty. I was... not on my best behavior initially. But again, Sire Toby helped."
A sly smile. "So I've heard. Stories spread like flu here. You two are already famous."
Toby winced. "Now you know why we're in disguise. We didn't want to come back and get burned at the stake."
"Is that what you think?" L'roon purred with mirth. "Some here may feel that way about you, but far more have spoken in awed voices about the little white mouse who tamed a nightmare with his bare hands. You are becoming a legend as we speak."
Toby's brain boggled. He'd never thought of it that way. "But I didn't! George was already-"
"Do they know that?" L'roon interrupted.
Toby quieted.
L'roon checked on the beaker again. It was making a noise like a badly-maintained furnace. "If I am not prying by asking, where exactly have you two rascals been all this time?"
George took the question while Toby unspooled him and set him down on a nearby table. "Sire Toby and I went to meet a mutual friend. We had hoped to enlist him to fight beside us. But regrettably, Madam Tarrare had 'enlisted' him herself."
The other construct became quite still. "Where does your friend live?" he asked with feigned indifference.
"Marasmus."
L'roon stared off into nothing. "Oh dear. That is farther than I thought."
"I don't think all of her stretched that far," Toby said. "I think she made a special effort to get to him."
"We are speaking of Monsieur Gilla-Gilla, aren’t we? The one who will not die?" L'roon asked.
Toby and George both nodded.
L'roon nodded quietly. "Well that's not good at all, now is it? I liked him. As suspicious and wily a heart as my own. I contemplated sharing my secret nature with him a time or two, but he never stayed long enough to chat. I will miss him."
George snorted. "There is no reason to think he's gone forever!" he said defiantly.
It is hard to take a rope of yellow feathers seriously enough to glare at it, but L'roon did. "My dear friend, you may have been interred at the time, but I was perfectly awake while Scaphis Tarrare walked the world. She lets nothing go. She would burn the world to a cinder for a grudge. Of which she has millions."
Toby was too fascinated to be irritated by L'roon's pessimism. "You actually knew her?"
"Knew of her," he corrected. "I may have even sold to her once or twice before she became her most famous form. But I saw her actions; you couldn't help it. Her tantrums echoed to the ends of the universe." He grinned in a frosty way. "She imagined herself history's greatest victim. Many who are plucked to Phobiopolis come around to the notion that they must have been chosen for some sinister purpose. Most grow out of this. In truth it is sheer blind luck that any of us are here. But Scaphis persisted. She was certain there was a purpose behind her vanishing to this dismal carnival. Not just a why but a someone. She organized a cult to find this imagined schemer. She even learned of the Cruelest One, of whom you are aware as well." L'roon looked right at Toby.
The mouse did not dare ask how L'roon knew about The Allfilth.
"And still that was not enough," the construct continued. "Because she never actually cared about answers. Her addiction was in seeking them. Being right. The Cruelest One was a pawn, she concluded. Someone else's goon. And to those of us who had been watching from a detached viewpoint, it came as no surprise when she began to point her finger at traitors in our midst. Constructs in disguise."
George rose up from the table like a snake. "Sir L'roon! That must have been terrifying! Did you go into hiding?"
A plummy chuckle. "Oh no no no. Remember, I have never disguised myself. I was but a humble peddler, cursed to look like a nightmare. What Scaphis inferred was that any number of Phobiopolan citizens were in league with a shadowy, powerful evil."
Toby felt unsettled. "That can't be true, right?"
"Of course it wasn't. Utter bollocks. You are skeptical because you have good sense. But if you had been there at the time, among Scaphis' flock, lapping up her every word as if they flowed from the lips of a goddess, then such an idea would sound perfectly reasonable to you. Because why would your savior, the great truth-seeker, lie? It would be blasphemy to ever consider that she had simply grown tired of competition with other magicians, with Aldridge's endless attempts to reason her out of madness. Her thralls were nothing more than bullets for her to aim. Sent to punish anyone she deemed guilty of the unforgivable crime of being declared guilty."
Goosebumps rippled through Toby's body. Even in trying to grasp the full scope of her vindictiveness, he had underestimated it. But struggling up from within his horror, he felt a sprig of hope. Some crafty part of him (possibly nurtured by L'roon himself) recognized this as an inroad. "Then you understand," he addressed the merchant, "why it's so important to stop her from regaining power."
"Oh yes," L'roon said offhandedly. He turned and began cleaning out beakers with a rag. "From reports of the Plastic Storm, my educated guess is that she has well and truly gone off the deep end this time. She doesn't care about wooing the people with honeyed horseshit anymore. She wants direct control. She wants them in her hands, where she can squeeze."
George picked up on where Toby was leading. "Then you'll join us in combating her?"
L'roon swirled the rag around as if this were the most casual of conversations. His true feelings were locked behind a wall. "Go off with you? Comrades in arms to slay the dragon? Hm. What then about my cart? Or the customers who depend upon my presence?"
His coyness irritated Toby. "There are more important things in the world."
"Not to me," L'roon said with a smirk.
Toby knew exactly what his game was. "You want to get paid first. Well, I’ll just come right out with it and be honest. I don't have anything for you this time. Not unless you want to suck out my eyes or my blood some more. But you're a smart guy. Think of this as an investment. If you don't help us now, how long until you've got no more customers? How long until she swallows everyone?"
George nodded. "Very well put, Sire."
L'roon nodded too, conceding that it was a good little speech. But when he turned around to face them again, there was a coldness in his posture he had not allowed either of them to see before. "Are you implying, my dear friend, that I am not already considering the long-term consequences?"
Toby had a feeling like he'd walked into a trap. He tried to keep a quaver out of his voice. "Yes," he finally said.
L'roon smirked. "Toby deLeon, George Charles Atkinson, you pair are the closest things to friends I have had in a long, long while. So I will give you this for free: a glimpse of myself with all masks off. Scaphis Tarrare doesn't scare me."
Toby reeled. "Why the hell not!?"
His shadow loomed over the mouse. "Because, young one, I have lived long enough to observe many patterns. The pattern of a Scaphis is that their madness is self-defeating. As I myself realized how a dirty dealer inevitably dries up his base of customers, so too does an irrational tyrant. She will rage and sputter and kick her little feet, and even if she manages to get exactly what she wants, she won't ever be able to keep it. Even if Scaphis engulfs the whole world, she'll be miserable the instant she's finished. There will be no one left to oppose her. And conflict is what a mind like hers truly craves, not satisfaction. I escaped her notice for centuries, and I will again. I am but a humble peddler after all. If Scaphis gobbles up my customers in the badlands, I will move further away to where customers remain. She will not make it past Ectopia Cordis, I'll wager. Luxy's smarter than her by a mile, and she has a chronic habit of trusting him. In the meantime, I will watch the show." L'roon finished with the most dead-eyed, sharklike smile Toby had ever seen. "Plus, there is always profit to be made in times of war. I will simply switch my stock from trinkets to weaponry."
The mouse backed away in revulsion. "You're sick."
L'roon smiled as if complimented. "I am as I am," he said lightly.
"No, I mean it!" Toby said, infuriated. He was so angry he dispelled his transformation, wanting to say this face-to-face. His exoskeleton vanished, replaced with white fur. "You're nothing but a war profiteer! Are you seriously telling me that you're A-OK with sitting on your ass while thousands of people suffer? You're really that heartless!? You care only about the money you can make off the people fighting back? Let me guess, you'll jack up the prices just 'cause they need what you're selling so badly!?"
"Of course not," L'roon said, playing at being offended. "I'd want to retain a degree of good will after the unpleasantries end."
Toby's eyes narrowed in loathing. (On the counter, the greenish potion boiled over.) "You're not taking me seriously."
"You're naked," L'roon countered.
Toby looked down and, indeed, reverting the transformation had left him in nothing but gloves and a backpack. His cheeks flushed, but his embarrassment just added to his anger. "I don't give a shit!!"
L'roon looked mildly startled.
"I actually liked you!!" Toby exploded. "But y'know... some part of me felt like all along it was going to end this way. I dreaded coming back here. I dreaded asking you to join me, because I knew you'd say something exactly like this. You COWARD!" The mouse lunged forward as he said this, and L'roon actually retreated a step. Toby shook his head. "No no no, wait. You're not a coward. Because a coward just runs away without thinking. You're something worse than a coward. You are thinking. Calculating like a cash register. Because that's all you really are: a machine! At least a coward cares."
L'roon kept his face absolutely neutral, but he'd backed himself against the workbench, braced with several arms. "I am as I am," he said again. This time, there was a bit of regret in the words.
Toby narrowed his eyes. "You can't tell me that and expect me to believe it," Toby said fiercely. "I changed. George changed. So did you!! You're trying to tell me you can't now? You just don't want to." He stared hard at the construct, demanding a reply.
The construct's many pupils looked the small mouse up and down, searching for an exception or a loophole. Some way he could wriggle out of this and make Toby happy without having to change anything about himself. Because his was a life of carefully-planned routine. There was room for adaptation to circumstance, as there always was in business. But this... He was being asked to throw his everything out the window. A life he'd spent centuries building. For what? To... to make one little mouse stop scowling!? Ridiculous! Why would he ever care about that!? L'roon tried to harden his expression. He folded his arms in front of his chest. But the master liar couldn't hide the truth. His posture did not convey defiance, but petulance. This was a tantrum. Dragging his claws to avoid being pulled towards uncharted lands.
Toby saw him then for exactly what he was. Likely what he always would be. The mouse turned around and leaned against the sink on the opposite wall. His breath felt like hot jets of steam.
L'roon did not understand why watching Toby turn his back hurt so much to see. He took a step closer, but couldn't bring himself to say a word. He turned to the boa instead, hoping for camaraderie among constructs. "George?"
Somehow, the rope of colored feathers radiated disdain. "You will find no sympathy here, Sir. I held my tongue because Sire Toby spoke all of my thoughts already. And much better than I could have."
Head down, Toby let the slightest chuckle pass from his lips at such a compliment. But inwardly, he felt crushed. Scoured raw. He did not want to be shouting so viciously at L'roon. He liked L'roon. But he couldn't forgive what the merchant was saying. He felt stupid for thinking it could turn out any other way. He'd seen a glimpse of the true L'roon when they'd passed through the huddled refugees. The construct was friendly and charming on the surface, but ultimately operated on looking out for #1. Even so, Toby hated to end things like this. He had lost Gilla-Gilla. Now he was losing another friend, at a time when he should have been rallying them.
An ugly, ugly little thought entered Toby's mind. "You know... I could blackmail you," he said emotionlessly.
L'roon lifted his head. "Excuse me?"
Toby turned around like a rusty hinge. "You told me your secret. You told me how your business would go straight down the toilet if people knew you were a nightmare. I could tell them. I could ruin you. I could make you come with me by force."
L'roon had never looked so helpless. A mere morning ago he would have bet his cart that the mouse didn't have it in him. But right now, seeing into those reddened eyes, he would not have made that bet.
Toby stood in silence for a moment, letting the tension string out. He had discovered that he could be cruel too.
"...But I won't," he finally said.
L'roon exhaled, gut sagging.
"Because what would it accomplish? You wouldn't be choosing to help me out of compassion, or loyalty. You'd be like a caged animal. Instead of focusing on Scaphis, I'd have to worry about you backstabbing me and escaping. That's not good strategy, is it?"
"No, it certainly is not," L'roon said, sounding both relieved and mortally wounded.
Toby regarded the merchant for a moment more, his cold gaze never softening. He pinned the construct beneath it like a butterfly in a case. "We could have done something amazing together," he said quietly.
L'roon straightened up and smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt. It seemed they understood one another. "I know," he said simply. "But it is not to be."
Toby closed his eyes. "If you've made your decision, we'll be going."
The construct nodded. "The potion you paid for is there on the table. Twelve doses. It was easier to produce than I'd ever dreamed. I always keep my word."
Toby recognized this as L'roon's last effort to ingratiate himself. He considered walking on past the potions and heading out the door. But he needed them. It would be stupid to give up his best idea for spite.
George watched as, in total silence, Sire Toby set the backpack on the counter, removed his folded clothes, put them on, placed the twelve shiny capsules into the bag, zipped it up, then placed the transformed stallion back around his shoulders.
L'roon watched too. The mouse's expression did not change one atom. It was carved in marble. Their business was concluded.
Toby flexed his feet inside his sandals, making sure they fit properly. Then he turned to the sink for a glass of water. He'd hurt his throat.
When he turned the tap, a stream of dead flies poured out.
"STOP THAT!!!" he screeched at it.
Immediately, water came out instead.
Jaw trembling, throat aching, Toby poured himself a glass and drank it down. When he finished, he glanced back and saw that L'roon was actually cowering away from him, pretending to be fascinated with his beakers again.
Toby stood in the harsh artificial light, watching the immense construct hunched over, moving tubes and jars here and there. Very busy with his work. Just an act.
Toby sighed painfully.
"Goodbye, L'roon," he said softly. His voice was calm and businesslike. "Good luck with your potions. Maybe we'll meet again sometime. I might even buy something from you. For a while there, we were friends, or I thought we were. But if we meet again, you'll be a merchant and I'll be a customer. That's all we'll be."
L'roon kept his back turned. Silent as a stone.
Toby looked down at the boa. "George, did you wanna add anything?"
"Nothing that has not already been said." A small shake of the feathers. "Farewell, Sir L'roon. I wish our ways were not parting."
L'roon moved bottles around.
And with that, Toby turned and walked back towards the shop.
L'roon listened to those small footsteps diminishing in volume. He put down his tools and stared at the wall. He thought about each word that had been spoken in this small room. He twitched towards the door. His legs wanted to turn and run and catch up and apologize. Beg for forgiveness. Beg to help the humble legend who tamed constructs, wished upon a broken amulet, changed the will of Phobiopolis with a shout, and who had looked into the eyes of cruelty incarnate and emerged intact. L'roon had merely been humoring the boy's fantasies of defeating the lost age's tyrant goddess and rescuing his hollowed friends, but now he believed. And yet, bizarrely, the mouse himself still didn't. Wasn’t that worth keeping an eye on? Wouldn't that be a show worth watching?
For a trembling moment L'roon thought that if he could just overcome his inertia, he'd get right up and follow him. Leave his cart to the scavengers. Spend his nights with the mouse and the construct. Pass onto them his most secret lore. Laugh away the hours in conversation with George. Groom the mouse into a warrior king. Position himself as the guiding hand behind this new emerging power and...
"And that's why he's better off without you," L'roon said to no one.
Down the hall, he heard a door open, then close.
L'roon stood and stared at the wall for a very long time afterwards.
***
Toby passed through the miasma of the ingredients shop and drew in fresh air once he was back outside. Lalochezia was going about its evening business. No one noticed that a small suit of armor had walked in, and an albino mouse had walked out. No one connected him to the afternoon's public disturbance. The night breeze ruffled his fur. Toby felt alone again.
He headed off to his chosen destination.
George did not speak. He told himself it was necessary to resume his disguise as a piece of clothing. But that was not why. He respected his master's decision. It was the right one. Nonetheless, it hurt. George had liked it very much to be called 'brother' by L'roon. He regretted not taking the chance to say this.
When they'd traveled most of the way back to the tub stations, Toby suddenly stopped and lifted George from around his neck. The boa was puzzled by this. Toby looked around until he spotted a map kiosk. He walked over and wrapped George around the top.
"Sire Toby? I don't understand." For a horrible instant he thought his master was leaving him behind as well.
Toby's voice was faux-cheerful. "Just for a moment, George. Don't worry. There's something I wanted to take care of before we go."
It was at that moment George noticed that they were standing directly across from OUTERSPACE EATS. "Sire, I do not think that whatever you are about to do is a good idea."
Toby's smile frightened him. "Sure it is."
The mouse turned and walked across the street towards the diner.
The place was exactly the same as in Stoma, down to the last detail. The neon, the cockpit, the red trim, the flowerbeds. Toby could see through the porthole windows to the gleaming vinyl seats inside. The chrome stools. The lighted menu without an item or a price upon it.
He kicked open the door and stepped inside. Several passers-by were startled by the sound and turned to look.
From inside the restaurant they heard the squawk of an artificial voice springing to life, babbling about fine dining experiences and would you please step this way sir? Then came the sound of metal smashing wood. More people stopped to look.
Behind the diner's door erupted a cacophony like an entire hardware store turning upside down. Impacts jarred the walls and windows. There were grunts and furious screams. The crackling radio-static voice sputtered like a drowning victim and finally went silent, but the crashing and banging didn't stop there. Citizens jumped back in shock when the windows started exploding. Chairs crashed through. And then the splintered half-corpse of a broomstick-thin waiter fell out onto the grass. The screaming was still inside. Feral shrieks of blinded fury. Sounds of pots and skillets being thrown. Then, for a moment, quiet. Just when the rubberneckers started to think it was over, some of them began to smell smoke. They began to see it too, rising in grey, wispy icicles from the broken windows. From the kitchen came the orange glow of flames.
Finally, a panting, rumpled mouse came barging out with a hammer gripped tight in his white-knuckled left hand. He slammed the door behind him so hard it cracked the frame. The fire roared louder and began to consume the roof. The cockpit filled up with dark smoke. Something in the kitchen exploded. Several people began applauding.
The mouse did not acknowledge them. He walked straight over to the waiterthing's busted scarecrow body and gave it a vicious kick. "You don't look so good!!" he yelled, his voice hoarse. "You should see a Doctor! HA!" He kicked it again, then picked it up and chucked it back through the window so it would burn too.
People backed out of his way as he passed. The mouse beelined for the nearest map kiosk and began to unravel some kind of yellow banner from it.
George was having a hard time believing what he had just seen. He wasn't sure if he should congratulate Sire Toby or offer counseling. "From what you said before about this place, it may simply regenerate a new trap in a new location elsewhere. Your actions were not strictly necessary."
"Sure they were," Toby said unconcernedly. He settled the boa around his neck, then on a whim, whipped it off again to set it on the ground. "All these people are watching, George. Let's give 'em a show. Change back."
"Sire Toby!?" he asked, incredulous.
"Why not?"
By now the gathered crowd were wondering if this mouse was simply a lunatic who liked to set buildings on fire and talk to fluffy scarves. Though their murmurs turned to screams when an onyx-black nightmare suddenly appeared in their midst. The yellow feathers melted away and a full-sized bonecuddy poured into existence in its place, rearing up on its hind legs as it stretched back into its old familiar form. Those who were frozen in shock, or brave enough to keep watching, saw the oddest grin upon the mouse's face.
The bonecuddy slammed its forehooves to the pavement, then darted its head towards the mouse. Several onlookers flinched, not wanting to see the idiotic rodent getting chewed in half.
Instead, impossibly, the beast plopped the mouse down on its back.
Toby felt the comforting squish of George's backfat growing into place beneath his tush. "Let's get the hell out of here!" he screamed.
George reared up on his hind legs again, kicking his hooves and unleashing a bloodcurdling neigh, hoping to scatter the remaining civilians so he wouldn't accidentally trample anyone. After a sight like that, they absolutely gave him a wide berth.
The remaining crowd stared in utter shock, unable to believe what they'd seen. A soul riding upon a nightmare! Many of them had heard whispers about the event in the tent quarter earlier. They didn't believe until now. The horse and rider plunged into the night towards the tub stations, and within a minute, both were gone.
Some of the people who told the tale the next day said the mouse upon the bonecuddy had never stopped screaming. Others said he'd been crying so hard his eyes were red.
-***-