Alex Reynard
The Library
Alex Reynard's Online Books
Chapter Seventy-Seventy-Nine
Toby woke up to a bony nose nudging his ribs. "Sire, the sun has risen."
The mouse flopped around for a moment in unfamiliar sheets. Then he stretched and gurgled. He glanced out the window at the unspeakable horrors surrounding him, then followed George into someone else's kitchen for a quiet breakfast.
Toby had known yesterday that they didn't have much time to implement his grand plan before the others arrived. Every tick of the clock was a stomp of Red's big feet. 'Could he be at Ectopia Cordis already?' Toby wondered. Even so, the night before, he couldn't bring himself to start on the unpleasant chores ahead. Knowing he'd have to work doubly hard the next day, he and George landed within Rhinolith and found a house that wasn't currently engulfed. They snacked briefly from the pantry and fell asleep. Toby took the bed, George wrecked the couch.
Now it was morning. As Toby crunched his cereal, he knew he had a hell of a day before him. He wondered why he was even bothering to eat anything at all, knowing what was coming.
At least the weather was cooperative. The sun was bright overhead. Not a hint of breeze. But a pall covered everything nonetheless. Rhinolith was silent. A village turned to stone by a medusa made of vinyl. Like the story told by Gilla-Gilla's smashed window and secret door, Rhinolith's streets were a narrative spun in a single snapshot. Scaphis had scaled the wall, surrounded the villagers, and drowned them in herself.
Strings of skin crisscrossed the town like carnival banners. Like cobwebs. As if a giant toddler had leaned in above the town with an enormous crayon in hand, scribbling thick, waxy lines of pinkish-beige all over. And in these strands were tangled citizens, frozen in their last instant of free will. They were posed like action figures: some running away, some attacking the unkillable invader, some on their knees in despair. If these people were still awake inside, Toby thought they were probably noting who amongst their own had shown courage or cowardice.
Rhinolith seemed like the kind of place where courage would be highly valued. The architecture suggested a blend of barbarian, punk, and paranoid militia. Just about everyone was wearing some kind of armor. No one was without a weapon. 'These people didn't even relax inside their own home turf,' Toby thought. As he walked out into the empty street, he could hear the dirt crunch beneath his sandals. A tiny sound, but there were no other noises to drown it out. "I kinda wish I could have seen this place when it was alive."
"I as well," George replied, joining his side. "What are our plans for today?"
Toby crossed his arms behind his back and took in a panorama. "George, how's your nose?"
He cocked his head at the odd question. "Fine as ever."
"I meant, I know you're not a dog, but can you sniff out imaginite?"
George lifted his head and drew air up through his sinus cavities. "Not with ease, as it is an inert mineral of no strong odor, but I should be able to locate some if it is nearby, yes."
Toby nodded. He'd thought so, but it felt good to be reassured. He waved his hand across the city. "I'm going to need you to find all of it for me. Every speck."
George was stunned. "Sire Toby! These people will have quite a low opinion of us indeed if we rob them of all their wealth!"
Toby took in a deep breath and cast his eyes down. "I know. But yesterday, you told me to consider every option in fighting Scaphis. I know this city's gonna hate us. I know it's going to be hard for them to recover after we run off with all their rocks. I even thought that maybe we could pick some off Anasarca instead. But she'd be closer. If we have to sneak around right under her nose, I'd rather it be in a place her consciousness is far away from."
"So we assume," George pointed out.
"Yes." Toby nodded, then took a deep breath to reinforce his confidence. "I know this is risky, and it'll hurt these people. But I think getting unfrozen will be a fair tradeoff for them."
"I will concede that," George acknowledged. "May I ask what we will need the imaginite for?"
Toby told him.
The stallion looked very surprised. "That will certainly make an impression."
Toby let a grim little grin slide onto his face. "I hope. But before we get started, there's something I wanna try out first." He pointed down the street. "Go over there, about a block away."
Last night, they'd chosen this place because it was in-between exits. Most people had fled away from it when Scaphis invaded, meaning there was little of her vinyl to dodge. George still passed empty houses with their windows and doors smashed in. Scaphis had left a hell of a lot of herself all over the town, but there were signs she was actually conserving her flesh as efficiently as she could. She did not leave strands in any place where she had searched and found nothing. Her plastic remained only to keep citizens entombed, and to maintain a network of connections between her prisoners.
As Toby watched George trot away, he suddenly realized just how much the pattern of her stringy flesh reminded him of neural pathways. Dendrites. 'Something to think about later,' he told himself.
George stood between a streetlamp and a butcher shop. "And now, Sire?"
Toby cupped his hands around his muzzle. "Find something to throw at my face as hard as you can!"
George briefly feared his master had gone insane. "Sire!?"
Toby couldn't help a laugh at his friend's bewildered posture. "Trust me! I'm pretty sure if I think about this too much, or try to explain it first, it won't happen. Just chuck something big but catchable, like a brick. And don't hold back!"
Loathing the prospect of harming his dearest friend, George nervously scanned for a suitable object. He peeked inside the butcher's broken window and saw nothing but meat. Finally he settled on a loose chunk of curb.
When he looked back at Sire Toby, the mouse had his left arm curled tightly around his back, holding up his fingerless right to catch the projectile with. "Sire!!" he protested.
Toby bobbed from foot to foot, psyching himself up. This might be really, really stupid, and it might really, really hurt. "Trust me, George! C'mon! Throw it hard! Make me need to catch it!" He clutched the back of his vest with his left hand, keeping it locked away, useless. He flexed his fingerstumps. He felt the weight of his hammer.
George sighed and whimpered, "I preemptively apologize if I damage you."
Then he reared his head back and whipped it around in a perfect pitch.
Toby saw the chunk of concrete whiz towards his skull like a cannonball. Big as a fist. It rotated in slow motion.
He dumped all his willpower into his hand, but nothing was happening yet. 'Oh shit! It's gonna break all my hand bones and drive my nose through the back of my head!'
He shrieked a squeak and closed his eyes.
CLANK
Toby was breathing faster than a hummingbird. The impact had skidded him backwards three feet.
"Sire Toby!!" George shouted in astonishment.
When Toby pried his eyes open, he saw, to his immense relief, exactly what he'd hoped to. The concrete baseball had been stopped an inch from his face, with his right hand's gleaming steel fingers clamped around it.
George ran back towards the mouse to gawk.
Toby's body relaxed but he did not let go of the hunk of curb. He wasn't sure if his new hand would vanish the instant he did. At least it wasn't vanishing now. He was looking right at it, and it continued to exist while he was aware of it. That was a very good result.
George skidded to a stop, spraying pebbles. He watched his master reverently trace a finger along the metal. "How did you know? What exactly occurred?"
Toby tapped the fingers. They registered touch just like his real ones. This was not a mere prosthesis. He looked up at his friend with a dizzy smile and let go of the concrete chunk. It thudded to the street below. Toby flexed his new fingers, then waved hello to George.
He gaped. "It's your hammer!!"
Toby nodded, grinning ear to ear. "You got it. When I brought you back to your senses in the market, there was a moment where I remembered punching your head open and actually grabbing hold of your brains. My hand wasn't what I was paying attention to obviously, but later I thought, 'How the heck did I do that with all my fingers missing?' And yesterday, I think it happened again a few times, but I'm not sure. Moments where I needed both hands, so my hammer made me a new one." He rubbed his furless pink left over his new argent right. The melted steel flowed out of his palmslit, leaving a slight pucker in the center. It covered his hand all the way to the wrist, where it ended in a seam like a glove. And when he clenched his hand in a fist, the fingers fused into a solid steel block. Seamless. He was worried it might stick like that, yet when he flexed his hand again, the fingers separated just like normal. He tried it again. Fist. Fingers. Fist. Fingers. He giggled excitedly. "Cool!!"
Before he could let himself stop and think, he dashed towards the nearest building and punched the wall. His steel fist plowed through brick like a wrecking ball, but Toby was left gasping and hopping. Pain had blossomed all along his arm up to the shoulder. "Ow ow ow ow! Lesson learned! It's only my hand that's metal, not the rest of me!"
George stepped closer. "Are you injured?"
Toby wheezed a laugh. "No, no, I'm fine! I feel great, actually! I don't know how long this'll last, or if I can actually control when it comes and goes, but just knowing I have it is fantastic!" With both hands, he tugged George's ribs. "I was thinking I'd have to spend the whole rest of forever with only one hand! I even started teaching myself to write with my left! I thought I'd never be able to tie a shoe, or pick up a penny, or thread a needle, or anything else delicate like that. I mean, I was getting by before. But to have my fingers back like normal, its...!" There weren't words. He just hugged his friend.
"I am very happy for you, Sire Toby!"
The mouse grinned more and gave his friend an extra squeeze. Then he let go and surveyed the town. The success of his experiment had filled him with verve. "Allright! We've got a lot of ground to cover and I've gotta work up an appetite!"
George nodded a salute and drew in a deep breath. "I believe I smell imaginite in the very shop I was standing by a moment ago."
"Let's go!"
***
Kitchens were some of the best places to find the stuff. Many of Rhinolith's bars and eateries were thoughtstaurants, or made fresh meals from imaginite ingredients like Poubelle & After's. Better still, these places tended to have willwells nearby, so Toby didn't have to exhaust himself using his own. Plus, he rarely had to step over any bits of Scaphis, as people do not tend to run into restaurants while their city is being attacked. Though in one saloon, Toby and George came upon a few dozen children and parents who'd tried seeking shelter in the back room. Fish in a barrel. What Scaphis had done to them looked exactly like spraying a huddled mass of frightened people with quick-hardening plumber's foam. The fear in their eyes was almost too much to bear.
But there were things more important than his own emotions. So Toby stole from them right in front of their petrified gazes. He did his best to keep stoic. He apologized and promised them he had good reason. He didn't know if they could hear him.
So it went. George's wings were invaluable throughout the day. There were many places inaccessible by foot due to the dangling streaks of Scaphis all around. The duo went about their business mostly in silence, partially out of reverence for the victims, partially out of nervousness. It was skin-crawling to be so near to her, knowing that one single stumble could wake her up. She'd leap to life and end their mission so quickly they wouldn't even have time to scream.
The duo burgled businesses until Toby built up the stomach to start breaking into houses. He felt like the Grinch. Slithering through windows, tiptoeing around homeowners plastered in their beds, rifling their drawers and cupboards. It was heart-wrenching work. But Toby knew they needed all the imaginite. He could not half-ass this. He had to go for overkill beyond his wildest imagination, because too little would be fatal. He knew that. Nothing could be left to chance. And so he walked all day from room to room, following George's sense of smell, chewing until his jaw felt purple with agony. A few times he even killed himself to make the ache stop.
Along the way they began to understand Rhinolith as a city and the Bargeld as a people. Here they were, way out in the badlands, nightmares on every side. Everyone was walled in like life in a fallout shelter. That kind of isolation could drive people insane. Toby remembered shows about cabin fever: people trapped in the woods for so long they went mad and chopped each other up for stewmeat. Coryza at least opened up once a day to stave off claustrophobia. Rhinolith had only a few metal doors. And so the people kept their spirits up in any way they could. Sure, everyone was armed. But brawling just seemed like a way of life to them. There were posters all over for bare knuckle boxing events, wrestling, and even outright deathmatches. He saw flyers for other sporting events, concerts, and shows. Banners for upcoming festivals. And lots and lots of bars, all decorated with framed photos of good times. It seemed like these people were always either fighting or partying from the moment they woke up.
And Toby began to get the sense that these victims weren't mindwiped like Piffle, Zinc, and Junella. He passed by uncountable cocooned Bargeld throughout the morning, and sometimes he swore he heard breathing. Sometimes he'd notice one of them drool, or with a yellow puddle around their feet. Once in a great while, he'd hear a moan or an attempt at a word. A picture was emerging that these people were aware. Locked in their bodies by Scaphis' paralysis, still capable of thinking and seeing. And sometimes they even mustered up the willpower for the slightest iota of resistance.
This theory was proven when they came upon the royal palace. Or so they assumed. It was the biggest house in town, and one of only a few buildings that rose above the height of the city walls. Whereas most of the buildings were Coryzan in appearance (everything smershed together efficiently with little twisting streets in between), this house was pointy and huge and ostentatious. George had to fly Toby over a rat's nest of guardsmen, all fighting to prevent Scaphis from getting inside. Unfortunately, she had fought with equal ferocity. When she conquered them, she'd poured herself down their mouths and nostrils. Just to make doubly sure they stayed put.
Dropping through a skylight, Toby and George found the silent battle continuing inside. The walls in this broad hallway had once been bedecked in ceremonial weaponry. Almost all of it had been torn down in desperation to hold off Scaphis. Toby saw civilians, maids, and other servants all joining in the doomed fray.
At last they came to the king. Or the chief. Whatever they called the guy in charge, he was now as much a statue as anyone else. He was the biggest man in a city full of musclebound hulks: a hippopotamus with a crown of giant, jagged teeth. While his followers fought to protect him, he had not sat idle on his throne. Ensnared in vines of vinyl, veins stood out on his biceps as he reared his twin hatchets back for a last blow that never fell. On his face was stitched a snarl of undying fury.
And as Toby and George passed by to raid his treasury, a hissed whisper froze them in their tracks.
"...free...me... or...finish...me..."
Toby walked back with his mouth agape. When he looked in the chief's eyes, they were blazing. The hippo's muscles were motionless, yet seemed to vibrate with constrained energy.
Toby looked down at his palmslit. He wanted to grant the man's request. A hammerstrike to the forehead would do it. But they'd successfully avoided Scaphis' notice so far. Toby could not jeopardize that for anything. Even if he did free the chief, all the man stood to gain was a few seconds of movement before Scaphis shackled him in place again, alongside a mouse and a bonecuddy.
Toby looked up solemnly into the chief's eyes. "I'm sorry. I can't give you either."
He swore he saw the chief's rage rise.
"But what I'm doing now will free you later, I promise. I don't know how long you've been here like this, and I know it must be the cruelest thing in the world to ask you for patience. But that's how it is." Toby hesitated, but then thought if anyone here deserved an explanation, it was the city's leader. He quickly laid out his plan.
He could tell he was not believed.
Toby sighed. There wasn't time to waste convincing him. So they left.
George led the way to where the imaginite was stored. A stone-walled vault, filled to the rafters with great wooden crates upholstered in bear fur. George went to work smashing them open. Toby poured his will onto the sparkling stones inside.
After an hour or so, they returned through the throne room on their way out. Toby couldn't bring himself to make eye contact this time. He felt a burning gaze on his back until they were outside.
He decided he couldn't stand stuffy rooms anymore. They'd been sticking to a semi-planned route, but now he told George to take him someplace he wouldn't feel boxed in. George placed his troubled master astride his back and took to the air.
They passed over houses and taverns. A sporting arena. An artillery range. A school. Soon they spotted a produce market. It reminded Toby of Scarlatina. He asked George to land.
The market was completely free of frozen citizens. No one had tried to hide or fight here. No walls for protection, nothing to hide under but flimsy tables and carts. Toby and George walked amongst the rows of slowly-spoiling vegetables, looking for cash boxes or vendors' raw materials. It was quiet here. That made things much easier. Toby didn't think he could take any more eyes glaring at him as he went about his work.
Slowly, the mouse's mood lightened. He could breathe fresh air now. He wasn't surrounded by living statues or slabs of Scaphis. He still felt bad every time he picked up another measly nugget of imaginite and thought about how hard someone must have labored to earn it, but the work itself was easy to become dulled by. Repetition was calming. And it was good to know George was near. Even if they didn't speak, the constancy of his presence helped.
He even managed a smile. One display stand was a charming sight, full of hand-carved animals whose heads bobbed to and fro, tick tock, in synchronization. 'Solar powered?' Toby wondered. No one had been here to wind them up in quite some time. Behind him he heard a cross between a 'zap' and a 'bonk'.
Toby began to turn, his eyes skimming rows of abandoned booths and tables. The sound replayed in his memory until he recognized it as a transformation potion. So he wasn't too surprised to find a giant glass cube sitting in the spot where he'd last seen George. 4'x4'x4'. Flawlessly transparent on all sides. Toby could see right through to the piles of browning flowers behind him.
Toby blinked, then almost chuckled. He figured his friend had triggered a prank someone had left lying around, or had eaten a construct-trap disguised as food. The mouse shook his head and started towards the former horse, readying his hammer-arm to smash him back to normal.
At the instant of his second step, reality fell out from underneath him and plunged him into deathly cold.
Gravity bodyslammed him. Toby was paralyzed from the neck down, engulfed in the most vicious freeze he'd ever felt. This was unnatural cold. Concentrated cold. A thousand wasps of ice all had their stingers in him. The pain obliterated his senses. His eyes stared at the dusty ground but saw nothing. Screams could not force their way out of his choked-shut throat.
'NO! STOP! THINK!!!' his brain screamed.
It was only pain. He'd been through this before. 'Okay, maybe not this, but close enough.' In fact, didn't it maybe feel kind of familiar? His curiosity perked at the idea. Good. A mystery to focus on instead of how much it fucking hurt to be dunked in liquid nitrogen. 'Where have I felt this?' His mind first brought up the tundra-place where they'd located Red. But no, even as piercing as that place was, it still just felt like normal cold weather. He didn't have too many memories of being outside in Earth's winter, but enough for comparison. No, this was...
Toby looked down at his vest. He could hardly see anything else of himself with his face in the dirt, but he could see enough. His vest was normal. Not all puffed up.
So the chill wasn't real. It was freezing inside his mind. 'That's it!'
Despite the agony, Toby felt a spark of pride for figuring it out. 'Kay and Kaye! That little cube-thingy they put on my neck to help me hold still!' That explained the paralysis. And of course theirs hadn't felt so chilling, but Zinc had said, this was the badlands. Lalochezia was nearby. It wasn't a wild guess to think that someone had gotten one of those silver cubes at the market, popped it open, and pumped up the settings.
Having some knowledge over the situation made him feel less helpless, despite being an inert lump of mouse ensnared in a web of nonexistent ice. Toby craned his neck to look at George. 'He didn't transform by accident.' Someone did this to both of them. Someone quick. Or maybe it was a trap they'd laid out? Toby sure as hell hoped not. He thought of a nonev fox caught in a snare, having to wait hours or days for the fur trapper to come back and end them.
Toby swiveled his ears. If he had to wait, he'd go insane. The cold was like icicles with teeth. Like roots of a life-stealing tree burrowing deeper and deeper into his meat. Did he hear footsteps?
Maybe. Far away. The city was so silent it wasn't difficult to make out little noises like that. Pitter-pat. Someone was jumping around arrhythmically. Cleaving a straight, acrobatic path directly towards the prizes they'd caught. Toby turned his head sideways as far as he could. He thought he saw something.
She came into view at the edge of the market. The world had gone diagonal, but Toby could make out a brown blur right at the limit of his vision. It was lithe and light: a coffee-colored body clad in leather. Barefoot. Moving soundlessly from years of practice. A long, thin stick was strapped across her back. The market stalls were no impediment to this hunter. She leapt them like hurdles.
The stench became clear before the visuals. Toby's nose wrinkled. Stale piss and sweat. Whoever this was, she smelled like she'd been marinating inside a hot coffin.
Suddenly a small, clawed foot kicked his side, rolling him over onto his back. Direct daylight sizzled his eyeballs.
Before he even had a chance to blink, her fingers were digging into his shoulders, hauling him snout-to-snout. Sour breath smacked his nose. "ANSWERS!!! YOU'RE GOING TO EXPLAIN EVERYTHING! NOW!!! EVERYTHING!!!"
Toby's brain felt like scrambled eggs, trying to comprehend all the crap suddenly vying for his attention. The burning cold, the stinging sun, his body's continuing refusal to move, and now this smelly, angry person screaming an inch from his face.
"I don't know anything!" he sputtered.
A sharp slap across his nose. "Wrong!!"
"Dammit!" Toby yelped. "I don't even know who you are!" He blinked hard, trying to get the floating green sun-spots out of his eyes. A face was hovering in front of his own. A preyish shape, but a predator's teeth. Some kind of weasel. Pine marten, maybe?
Her eyes were latched onto his. Drilling into them with molten ire. Toby had no idea why, but it was immediately clear that this furson hated him. Wanted him dead. Like he was her personal lifelong nemesis.
Her lips pulled away from yellowed teeth. "Answers," she snarled again.
"What-"
She drove her claws into the flesh around his eyebrow and cheek. Her words came quick, slurred by speed and the intensity of her anger. "Don't play dumb with me!! I saw you! You and your dead horsie! Flying around last night, looking down and probly chuckling to yourself at how well it all worked out! But you didn't see me! HAH! Didja, shitpig!? Didn't see me, looking right back at your ugly face through my scope! You CAN'T EVEN KNOW the effort it took to not to shoot you down right then and there! But I knew, I knew you'd be back! So you could parade around and get what you came for! But you didn't count on me! I waited! Fuckin' piece a shit, I waited for WEEKS on you!!" The nails drove deeper into the mouse's uncomprehending face. "And now you're gonna tell me how to get rid of it so I can have my city back!!"
Toby's mouth opened to start protesting his innocence, but he stopped himself, realizing that he was in enough pain already without adding more. This marten was insane. Clearly. She smelled like she hadn't bathed even once during her weeks of waiting. And her eyes were practically bursting from their sockets at him, like barking dogs at the end of their chain.
He gulped a breath first, then tried to reply in a reasonable voice, "What do you want me to get rid of?"
She nearly choked on her disbelief. Her free hand waved wildly at the threads of vinyl criss-crossing her village. "THAT!!! All of it! The pink shit you spilled on us! What did you fucking think I meant!?"
Looking into her eyes, trying to keep his words as sincere as he could, Toby replied, "I'm trying to."
She didn't expect that. Her eyes scanned his face. They weren't getting what they wanted, so she threw him against the dirt like a mailsack and stood up.
Looming over him like his tombstone, Toby realized now that the 'big stick' across her back was a sniper rifle. She was covered in little pouches, but her outfit was otherwise simple, plain-colored, and designed for mobility. Shades of brown, like her fur. Though her bloodshot eyes were nearly as pink as his own. Toby could see frustration crawling all over her face. He was not giving her the reaction she'd expected. That was irritating her. Toby wished he could find whatever words would placate her enough to take the cold off of him. Panic had made him forget it momentarily, but it wasn't getting any less painful.
She slowly unslung her rifle and held it by the end of the stock, pointing it right at his nose. Her finger was off the trigger. For now. "Better answers," she ordered.
Toby tried to slow his breathing enough to speak without his teeth clattering. "Hi there. My name is Toby deLeon. You seem to think that me and my companion caused this, what happened to your town." He saw her twitch at the denial. "We didn't!! Please, I swear we didn't! I'm here trying to get rid of it! Same as you! Please!"
His attempt at peacemaking only made her angrier. She was practically vibrating, keeping herself from whipping around the rifle butt and gooshing his head like a jack-o-lantern. "I don't... fucking... believe you, rat."
She dug the barrel into the meat of his nose. "I've watched you all day. It's all I can do in my little tower, watch. Afraid to go out. I'm the last one, of course. You got everybody else. But I keep hidden for a living. I'm good at it. So I waited it out, watching and listening while everyone else screamed. I knew someone caused this. I knew they'd be back. And now here you are, just like my gun told me. It knows. The target always puts themselves right in front of my bullet. I just have to wait until they park themselves there, right in that perfect spot. Just like you did. I waited, and you did."
'I'm at the mercy of a lunatic,' Toby thought but didn't say.
The marten rotated the gun, smearing Toby's nose back and forth. "So my rifle says you're guilty. You wanna call it a liar? It can smell liars."
Toby began to fully comprehend just how deep in trouble he was. 'She's not joking. Not the slightest little bit.' And on the heels of that thought, a surprisingly petulant one. 'I don't need this. I really don't. I have work to do. The imaginite scavenger hunt was already bad enough, and now I've got to deal with this on top of it.'
Toby knew he couldn't do anything in this situation but tell the truth. It was all he had. "I'm not lying. This wasn't me, I swear."
A giddy smile came to the marten's face. She was so glad he was making it worse for himself. "Is that right? I'm just misunderstanding? A rat, on a tamed nightmare, flies in here after everyone's all tucked away silent, then starts robbing us of everything we have. Pretty solid case, seems like."
Toby paused. He hadn't thought about it like that. All of his actions made sense from his perspective, but now that he could see hers, he realized it did look pretty damning.
A bit of hope flickered. They didn't have to be enemies. If he could see things from her perspective, he could explain the situation to her. Maybe she'd even help once she understood. He gave her an ingratiating smile. "It really does look bad, doesn't it? I understand your anger completely! I'd feel the same thing if I were standing there! But please, I really can explain everything. See, Geor-"
He was cut off by the rifle barrel grinding in harder. "I don't need everything. I just need to know how to take off the pink shit you put on us."
Toby wiped the smile off his face. "We can't." The rifle pushed down harder. "Not YET!" he quickly added. His nose already felt like it was halfway to concave.
"And why is that?" she asked with a sarcastic lilt.
"Because it's not a spell or a substance or anything like that. It's alive."
"I know that!" she spat back impatiently. "I told you, I watched!! I saw how it moves! I watched it chase people, swallow them, pour itself down their mouths! I fuckin' saw!! Just quit the garbage and tell me how to kill it!!"
Maybe if she had some idea of the gravity of the situation, that'd sober her up. "It's Scaphis Tarrare," Toby said gravely.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Can you see Anasarca from here? Notice how its color's changed lately? Doesn't it look like the same color that's all over your city? That's her. I'm sure you don't care how, but she's got Aldridge's wand and she's growing like mold across all of Phobiopolis. I'm trying to stop her."
The marten stared at him for several moments, expression unchanged. Her fingers on the rifle trembled. In a flash she turned around and stepped away. Hunched over, thinking.
Toby shivered with relief. He'd bought himself some time. Even if she didn't believe him, if he could somehow get away quickly enough, it might not matter. He tried not to think about how fast she was, how he'd seen her gliding across the city like a skipping stone. 'Well, you can run pretty fast too when you're scared,' he reminded himself.
A bit of good luck. Now that she wasn't blocking his vision, he could see his chest. There was a shiny silver cylinder right above his heart. A dart. 'She's a damn good shot,' he had to admit. And this proved he was right about the cold. If he could pull the dart out, that was the first step to getting away. He looked back at his captor. Only a few seconds had passed. She still had her back to him. He started stretching his neck forward as far as it could go. If he could just pull it out with his teeth...
"No," she said.
Startled, Toby jerked his head back.
She turned around and looked down at him. Her anger had chilled, but not in a good way. It reminded him of when Junella's rage iced into a calm, remorseless need to kill. "It doesn't fit," she said, even sounding a bit like the skunk despite her Rhinolith accent. "You came in and right away started stealing every bit of imaginite in town. From families. You even had the balls to steal from Chief Ghummin. As excuses go, you're gonna have to do a lot better than blaming a dead fairy tale."
"I will!" Toby shouted. "Just give me a chance."
She remained unimpressed. "Prove it yerself. Give the plastic a poke and we'll see what happens."
Toby tensed. "No. That is a bad idea. We can't. I would love to prove what I'm telling you, but she's too dangerous to play around with. Anything I can think of, you've already seen her do. It's too dangerous to risk."
Her tone was the epitome of unsurprised. "How very convenient."
Toby imagined a small cartoon mouse, digging himself into a hole. Every word out of his mouth was a shovelful.
"This is a plague bullet." She pulled it out of her pouch in a smooth swipe, holding it up where he could get a good look. "If you think the ice dart's bad, you're in for a right treat." She began loading it into her gun. Leisurely. She had him dead to rights, which meant she could take as long as she liked to get what she wanted. "The tip is full of microbes. They're going to crawl up into ya. Into your blood. You've never felt anything like them. And you'll scream anything I want to hear. You will. Everyone does."
Blind, stupid fear eclipsed Toby's rational mind.
"You're a very good liar." The marten snapped the bullet into place. "But you're still lying." She stepped closer. "This bullet's going in your guts to make you tell the truth. And if that doesn't work, maybe I'll carve off your little pecker for a necklace."
Toby looked down the length of his body. Still paralyzed. He'd be completely unable to fight back. He'd have to watch every second of it.
She raised the gun. "Or whatever else it takes. We can do this all night, or all of tomorrow, or for a month, I don't care. Because you took my city from me. You took my everything. My HUSBAND! My CHILDREN!!!" Her voice rose to the roar of a storm. She looked down the barrel's sight, aiming an inch below the mouse's bellybutton. She put her finger on the trigger.
There was a loud bang. Something black flew. George did not have time for anything more than a simple, practical head-butt.
The marten was hit in the chest with 200 pounds of horsepower. She went flying backwards, limbs flailing, and landed with a shattering crunch in a display of flowerpots. Her rifle was flung even farther, clattering to the ground in the next aisle over.
Toby did not waste time asking how the miracle had happened. "George!! The dart!!"
"Indeed!" he hollered back, not even adding a 'Sire Toby'. His charred teeth closed around the silver cylinder and yanked it free. Toby spasmed instantly, knocking the dart away into the dirt with a tiny 'plop'.
The mouse curled into a fetal position and started rubbing his arms all up and down his clenched body. He sputtered loud, incoherent gratitude at George and tried to rid himself of the cold. Fortunately, it had vanished as soon as the dart was out. Only an illusion. But his body still shivered from the memory and his face still ached.
'No time! She's gonna get up any second!' his brain screamed.
Pain could be ignored for a few moments more. Toby popped up, kneeling, and looked to where he'd heard the crash.
Smashed pottery. No marten.
"Where'd she go!?"
George stepped closer. "I'm sorry, Sire Toby! I took my eyes away for just a-"
Toby watched the lower half of George's face explode.
He didn't know if the plague inside would work on a construct, but it sure as hell did fine as a regular bullet. George's jaw and sinuses became flying splinters. He stumbled sideways from the force of the impact, trying to keep himself from toppling over onto the nearest stall. Toby held up his arm just in time to shield his eyes from bone shrapnel.
The gunshot was almost deafening, but Toby looked around for where it had come from and saw the marten standing in the open, trying to reload fast enough to take out her primary target.
She clawed at the leather of her bandolier, muttering to her bullets, "...Get outta there! Fuck!!"
Toby had one shot. She'd be ready to fire back within the next few seconds, but he was ready right now. Just like he always was. He tried to shake off the pain. Snap himself back into the past, to his training day in Gilla-Gilla's front yard.
He reached his arm towards her, palm out. He grabbed the wrist to steady it.
POW
His hammer streaked through the air towards her face.
She dodged it easily.
It 'thunk'ed in the dirt behind her, useless. The marten watched it pass by her shoulder with a quizzical expression, then looked back to where it had come from, and a laugh started to rise across her muzzle.
Toby felt helplessness and humiliation engulf him like fire. He saw her head tilt back, her teeth bared in a grin, laughing at the stupid little mouse who had so perfectly failed.
Teeth grinding in frustration, Toby made damn sure his next shot wouldn't miss.
POW
Her eyes were closed just long enough. She never saw the second hammer coming. It crashed into her cheekbone at the speed of an arrow, churning the bone and muscle to pulp.
An unholy, gurgling scream poured out of her
Toby stared in shock. He hadn't killed her, but he'd certainly ruined her depth perception.
The marten wobbled back and forth on her feet. Still standing, incredibly. Her hands reached up to touch the damage, then recoiled. The hammer had split her lower jaw in half. She'd lost sixteen teeth. Her cheekbone was a pulverized mess, which the remains of her left eye dangled down into. Her staccato shrieks sounded like someone drowning in jam.
Toby was paralyzed again, this time from revulsion. But then something occurred to him, and he looked down the length of his outstretched arm.
He'd fired his hammer. Twice. But he only had one. So where had...
He could still feel the weight of it inside his arm, just like always.
'Oh you total moron,' he berated himself. 'Of course I can do that!'
He thought of Junella and her endless supply of pistols.
"PIECTHHH UV SHHIGKKTTT!!!"
Toby's head snapped back towards the marten. Her remaining eye glared like a blowtorch. Her half-jaw swayed back and forth. Blood poured from her face like a running faucet. She stabbed a pointing finger towards him. "I'HM NOGHT 'HROUGH 'ITH YOUU!!!" She bent over and snatched up the rifle from where it had fallen. Her hand found another bullet and shoved it in.
Toby was too transfixed by the godawful sight to look away, even though part of him realized he was right in the line of fire and begging for a hole in the head.
But she didn't aim at him. She twirled the rifle around like a baton and crammed the tip into the dripping hole where her upper palate had been. She gurgled something close to, 'be right back'.
A pull of the trigger, and the rest of her head vanished like a magic trick. Her body tilted backwards and flopped against a wooden table.
Toby was stricken. Cheeks pale, breath caught in his throat. He thought he'd reached his limit of seeing unspeakable gore. Nope. Phobiopolis always had something new to fling at him.
"Sire Toby! The dart!!"
George's voice tore his eyes away. George was saying something. With his mouth. The one that had been blown off. Because he'd resurrected. Which meant their guest was only a second away from doing the same thing.
Adrenaline pounced through Toby's veins. He spun around, eyes darting back and forth for a flash of silver. There! He lunged for it, but some of the dart's effects still lingered. He sprawled awkwardly. Then wasted more precious time clawing his way across the dirt towards it. That little metal tube, just inches out of reach...
The instant after his paw clamped around it, he was airborne.
George knew that his master would never have time to throw the dart, much less chase and tag their assailant with it. Her new body had already appeared and was beginning to move. It was far more efficient to pick up Sire Toby between his teeth and fling him at her.
Vienna Tusk felt her consciousness awaken in a new form. She'd been in too much shock to feel the pain from her demolished face. Now she could definitely feel the after-echoes. She was flat on the ground on her belly. Her hands cast around for her rifle. The familiar wood slipped into her fingers, like a faithful pet coming when it was called. She shoved herself upwards, intent on putting a hundred holes in that cocksucker who'd stolen her city. Her bullets never ran out. She would kill him a thousand times before sundown. She glanced up and saw a white missile incoming.
Toby slammed into her with his face. They toppled together onto a display full of fly-nibbled vegetables. He did not let go of the dart. It was the only thing on his mind. He jammed it into her ribs, then pounded it down with his other fist just to be sure.
The marten stopped moving. Her eyes popped open and she sucked in a sharp inhale at the lacerating chill enfolding her.
Toby stumbled to his feet. His lungs burned from breathing so hard. The marten started screaming every swear word in existence. But she wasn't moving. So everything was finally okay.
From when George head-butted the marten to now, seventy seconds had passed. It felt like hours.
Toby slumped over a table, bracing himself with his shaking arms. He was grateful when, a moment later, George walked over to offer his forehead to lean against.
"Thank you George thank you so much oh my god thank you." Toby could not speak above a gasped whisper, but George heard him fine.
"You are welcome, Sire Toby. That was some lovely teamwork, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Toby breathed, still shaking. "We did pretty good."
The martin's newly-reformed face was boiling red. "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! THIEF! MOTHERFUCKING LITTLE HEARTLESS FAGGOT PIECE OF SHIT COWARD! LET ME GO! I'LL KICK YOUR BALLS UP YOUR THROAT! I'LL STAB YOUR GODDAMNED HEART OUT, YOU FUCKING THIEF MOTHERFUCK! I WANT MY CITY BACK! I WANT MY FAMILY BACK, YOU SHITEATER SCUMBAG! THIEF! THIEF!!!"
George eased Toby off of him. He walked over to their captive, ignoring the volume of her tirade, and raised a hoof.
She was smart enough to shut up when he pressed it deliberately against her ribcage. She winced at the dart being driven in another half-inch.
"Madam, you are speaking to one of the noblest, kindest, most selfless fursons I have ever made acquaintance of. I highly suggest you put your lying tongue back in your mouth and keep it there, unless you would like me to bite it off!"
She relented. She glared up at George with smoldering hatred, but also a bit of astonishment at the obviously-impossible sight of a speaking construct.
Her soul burned to keep on flinging insults at the fucking thief and his trick horse. She could feel the words gathering just behind her lips. But the weight of the hoof made her keep herself in check. She did not believe for a second she was wrong about these two, but maybe she had underestimated them. Maybe the strategic thing now was to observe and wait. It was what she was good at.
George returned to Toby, who was still braced against the table. "Sire, I do not believe she will give us more trouble. At least not in the immediate. Do you have suggestions for what we may do with her in the long-term?"
Toby shook his head. "I was hoping you would." He looked over his shoulder, and just one glimpse of the marten's wrathful stare was enough to make him flinch away like he'd touched a hot stove. "Y'know, for a second there, I actually thought that maybe I could explain things to her and she'd become another ally."
"Perhaps at some point," he said optimistically.
Toby sighed. "I don't think so. And the worst part is, I can't really be angry at her."
George snorted. "She treated you extremely poorly! Myself as well!"
A nod of acknowledgment. "Yes, but if you lost everyone you knew, don't you think you might go a little crazy in the head? You might want justice so bad you stop caring if you've got the right furson?"
George mulled it over. "I do not think I have ever been in such a state."
Toby shrugged. He looked at the inert, fuming sniper a few feet away. He looked around at the strings of Scaphis clogging up Rhinolith. He said very softly, "I don't ever want to be like that, George. Please let me know if I start going crazy out here."
"I have seen no sign of it thus far," the construct said comfortingly.
Toby nodded. "Thank you."
George perked up. "Oho! An idea has just come to me!"
"Hm?"
"The arena! We passed above it several times. Sire Zinc described gladiatorial battles against unenlightened constructs there. Such beasts would need to be housed in strong cages."
Toby's eyebrows went up as he followed that trail to its conclusion. "Sounds good." He patted his friend on the snout and George whinnied. He fished in his pocket for another potion, then added, loud enough to be overheard, "The question is, will she be cooperative when we take her over there?"
Vienna bared her teeth at them, but said nothing.
A devilish tone entered George's voice. "Her cooperation is unnecessary. I will carry her along regardless of her will. She has only to decide how comfortable, or uncomfortable, the ride will be." He approached the marten with several strong stomps of his hooves, pummeling the dirt into puffs of dust, and giving his teeth a clack.
Their captive did not show any sign of intimidation.
George lifted her up by the back of her shirt, and her only strong reaction was after he'd taken to the air. Seeing her rifle left behind, she winced in pain at yet another loss.
***
She did not struggle during the flight. It was pointless. She knew that thrashing her head around was more likely to injure herself than to dislodge the freeze dart. She seethed in the cold, dangling from George's mouth like a kitten by the scruff. She kept quiet, and planned.
The arena was empty. A round bowl of a building with a sand-covered floor. Opposite the pit entrance was a line of wheeled cages, vacant except for one. A tiger-sized velvet glove paced inside on its fingertips, drooling and snarling from the mouth in its wrist hole. Toby decided to put the marten in the cage next to it, so she'd have some company.
Before shutting her inside, Toby suggested frisking her for weapons so she couldn't escape via suicide. George said that was unnecessary. He remembered cages like this. In his time they had been fully deathsecured. Given his hundred-year nap, these models were likely improved-upon.
Thus reassured, Toby held the door open and George (rather ungracefully) tossed the marten inside. Toby slammed the door shut as quickly as possible, not taking any chance that her landing might have jarred the dart loose. It hadn't though, and he locked her in without incident.
Vienna slumped to the floor sideways. For a moment, she'd been hopeful that she'd end up stuck upside down with her chest compressed. Suffocation would come in a few minutes and resurrection would dislodge the dart, even if it didn't set her loose. Instead, it looked like she'd have to wait it out. The dart's effects only lasted an hour or so, but the thief didn't know that. Maybe he'd leave her like this. It would be a long hour, but worth it. When she got out, she would skin him alive an inch at a time.
Toby was not stupid enough to trust that a simple latch would hold her, dart or no dart. George had thought of the same thing and had another good idea.
Vienna watched her hopes die when the construct blew a thin, tight flame, welding the door's hinges into fused lumps.
There was nothing to lose now in venting her rage. As George continued, she unleashed a tidal wave of bile. Every insult she could imagine. She called them thieves, murderers, monsters, child-rapers. She sliced into the rat's manhood, digging at his height, his pink eyes, his cowardice, his parentage, even accused him of keeping his nightmare around for a fuckpet. She watched the rat closely, making note of what hurt the most, then drilling in harder.
Toby tried not to show any reaction, but it hurt. She insulted every part of him, head to toe. Anything and everything she could say to call him gutless. His ears burned. He could see it was affecting George as well. And that was proven when, the instant he finished with the hinges, the stallion rammed the cage hard enough to knock her head against the bars.
"QUIET!!!" he roared. He reared back to do it again.
Toby dashed in front of him, holding up his hands. "No, George! Stop. She's angry because she's grieving. We both know it's all lies. Let's just leave her here. C'mon."
The stallion was a statue for a moment longer, blazing eyelights glaring down at the marten. She glared back without the slightest hint of repentance. "You show a greater willingness to forgive than I would, Sire Toby," he growled low. "But I will defer to you."
Toby exhaled. "Good. I just want this to be over so we can go back to work."
"I understand." George turned away from the cage, but kept his eye on the mustelid for as long as he could.
Toby turned his back on her as well.
They walked towards the arena's exit. It was quiet enough for their footsteps to echo in the hollow space. Until the stillness was destroyed by another insult barrage. Toby winced. It was like she could see inside his head to everything he hated about himself.
He firmly grasped George's rib when the construct started turning around. "No."
"But-"
"We have work," Toby said, calm but firm.
George shook his head in irritation, but kept walking. He folded his spectral ears to his skull, trying to block the repulsive words. It didn't help any. The only thing that would diminish her volume was putting distance between them.
They reached the perimeter of the sand pit, where it became a concrete walkway under an ornate arch. They passed through into shadow. The marten's voice was merely echoes now.
George noticed his master was very quiet.
"None of what she said was true."
Toby nodded absently, staring down at his feet as he walked. "I know."
"Still, I felt it necessary to reiterate."
Another nod. Then Toby suddenly slumped against his companion's side and hid his face in his arms.
George stopped. He let his friend cry for a moment.
Toby's shoulders shook. He stopped trying to hold the hurt back. He let it come and have its moment. He'd never be able to concentrate on his work like this anyway. The silent sobs clutched at his chest for a few minutes. Then he sucked in a deep breath through his nose, wiped off his red eyes, and continued walking.
George did as well, without comment.
Toby sniffed. They got a few more feet before he blurted, "It's just, even though my mind knows it was all just a bunch of dumb rudeness, my feelings, I mean my emotions, just..."
"No explanation necessary," said George. "I believe I understand."
Toby looked up at him and a weak smile emerged. "You're a good friend, George. And before? When you had your hoof on her and you said those nice things about me? Thanks for that too."
A nod. "Not a word of it was exaggeration."
Toby patted his flank.
They turned a corner into a long, narrow hallway with lots of branching passages. They could see daylight now, streaming through a dusty inset window in the door ahead.
"At least I figured out I can dumbfound my hammer," Toby said idly. Then he winced at his own stupidity. "Geez, I can't believe I never thought of that until now!"
"I am ashamed to admit the idea did not occur to me either," George said. "Though I further admit that, since I have no skill in dumbfounding myself, it may be forgivable that the complexities of the process elude me."
"True." He walked another few steps. "Hey... how the heck did you get yourself changed back from being a cube?"
A modest chuckle. "Why Sire, I have had plentiful experience with transformation potions. I believe the saying is, 'been there, done that'."
Toby snerked a giggle.
-***-