Alex Reynard
The Library
Alex Reynard's Online Books
Part THIRTY-SEVEN
"Where's your wrenches!?" Piffle called out in alarm as she swooped Toby in for a landing. She set her mousefriend on the sidewalk and alighted beside him.
Zinc looked like hell. Not just the fact that he was so slathered in blood he stank of it, but the canine's eyes bulged and swam on their wires. His lips were stuck in a grimace of panic. He was slumped on the stairs with his head in his hands.
"Stolen!!" he screeched.
Toby was completely paralyzed. Still dizzy from the flight, he was having trouble keeping his balance on solid ground, and all that red was making him even more nauseous. But more than that, he had never seen Zinc so distraught. Even when they were being chased by Hell's Bozos, the mutt had still been able to temper his clown-aversion with humor. Right now, he looked like a car crash. Grabbing at the tufts of fur on his cheeks, rocking back and forth. And somehow worse, Junella was quietly comforting him. Not making her usual sharp jokes or bugging him him to snap out of it.
"They're gone! Snatched! Those were my ARMS!! What am I gonna do!? Who the fuck steals a guy's ARMS!? Who would DO that!?"
Junella was giving her panicked partner a shoulder massage. She whispered a soothing tune to him.
Toby finally had time to notice the furson to Zinc's left. She'd obviously been in Phobiopolis awhile, despite seeming the same age as any of them. Millie looked like a squirrel who'd superglued various alligator parts onto herself. Sort of the inverse of Piffle. Her body was mostly normal (apart from a ridged yellow tummy that showed through her tanktop), but her hands, paws and jaws were bumpy, green and gatorish. There was also a path of green that ran up the center of her tail like a skunk's stripe.
"You're his otha friends?" she asked, indicating Toby and Piffle.
Toby managed to nod absently.
Piffle put her personal feelings aside and extended her paw for a shake. Her annoyance that Zinc had been fooling around with this hot tomato was outweighed by her concern for the handsome lug.
Millie accepted the gesture. She tried to shake with Toby too, but the mouse was too busy staring and wondering what the hell had happened here. "I was too late ta stop it. I didn't even get a good look at the pissant what done it. Zinc and I'd just gotten through, uh, 'reacquainting ourselves'..."
Piffle snorted.
"...and I'd left him good and dazed and wobbly. I was feelin' proud of that until I hoid the shot. I blame myself now. He wasn't payin' attention to his surroundings and so he got bushwhacked. His head was blown clear to smithereens like a casaba melon, and the bastid got away with his wrenches before I could run down the stairs ta help."
Toby echoed Zinc. "Who would do something like that?"
Millie shrugged. "It's the neighborhood, sugar. You got somethin' unique? Someone else'll want it."
Toby guessed that her abundance of teeth and claws were a self-chosen, functional alteration.
Thus filled in, Piffle turned to Zinc and rustled the fur on his skinny arms. He didn't even seem to feel it. "Zinc? You okay? Toby and I're here now. We'll help you."
The inconsolable canine stared holes through the sidewalk for a few more seconds until her voice penetrated his black mood. His head snapped towards her. The plethora of pink bewildered him for a few seconds, then he actually chuckled.
Piffle was incredibly happy to see that.
The ridiculousness of her outfit helped to knock him out of his bummer. "Piffle! Whoa, I forgot you bought that stuff today. Zowie. Um... Glad you're here."
Junella gave Piffle a glance of acknowledgment with a touch of resentful gratitude. "Thanks for comin' on the double. Nothing I was doing was getting through."
"You're welcome, Junella," Piffle said, smiling quietly.
Toby felt like a fifth wheel as he hovered around the other four fursons. "I don't know what I can do to help, but I'll offer it. I'm assuming you want to go find whoever did this to you."
Piffle had pulled Zinc out of his funk, and now Toby's words gave him purpose again. His head snapped up, "Goddammit, that's right!" He tried to resolutely smack his fist into his palm, but missed. He was used to the length of his wrenches. He looked down at the bony, branchlike limbs growing out of his shoulders in disgust. "How the hell did I ever get by with these ridic things? I want my arms back! My REAL arms!!"
Junella was glad to see his fire reigniting. "Right with you, partner. We'll find him. I'll hold, you pummel."
"We'll ALL kick his ass till it's nothin' but a wet streak on the asphalt, Juney," he corrected.
Zinc stood up and stepped forward, looking at the gush of drying crimson that had once been his head. "No one totals my dome and gets away with it. And especially no one STEALS MY FUCKING ARMS!!!"
This last part came out in a roar like a supercharged V8 spitting flames. People in the neighborhood who'd been idly observing this little drama now fled for their doorways or gaped in shock.
Seeing nothing but red, Zinc reached into his jeans pockets and dumbfounded the new toys Dorster and Alfonzo had made for him. He realized how lucky he was that he'd put them away earlier. The cups of the silver shoulder mounts popped into re-existence, followed by a foot of chain and a heavy spiked sphere on either side. They clunked in unison against the concrete. "He didn't take these..."
Toby had a feeling he knew what Zinc was about to do with them. He turned away, eyes shut.
The sounds were bad enough without visuals to go with them. Metal piercing flesh. The crack of bone. Zinc's grunts of pain, interspersed with mad giggles as he started getting high off his own adrenaline.
And then the thunder of two bloodpowered engines screaming to life.
Zinc balled his meager flesh-fists and looked down at the two metal ones Dorster had given him. Eyes that had been bulging with helpless anguish were now two glowing jack-o-lanterns. His grinning lips revealed a zipper of teeth. He whispered to his weapons, "You wanna punch somethin', babies? Want daddy to let you out to play? Allright, chillun, let's go play..."
Toby made a mental note to never, ever piss off Zinc.
With a shake of his head, Zinc throttled his engine back to idle. He hopped back up the steps to plant a smooch on Millie's green snout. "Thanks a million, babycakes. You were turbo-charged. And don't worry. If letting my guard down and gettin' blackjacked was the price for what we did today, it's a bargain."
The squirrelgator giggled and gave her off-again-on-again paramour a hug. "You're sweet, Zinc. I'd come along and crack this guy's ass in half witcha, but I'm already late for some client appointments."
"No sweat, doll. No rest for the entrepreneur."
"What I can do though is get on the horn 'n talk to some neighbahs. I'll get a description for ya. In fact, lemme get started on that right now." She gave him a last smooch and turned around to head for her telephone. She couldn't resist a glance back though. "You stop by again next time you're in EC. I'll make up for today. Maybe invite your skinny friend. He looks like he'd be fun to chew on."
At this she tossed a wink at Toby that almost knocked him backwards.
Zinc guffawed and watched her go, her tail slinking back and forth with every step. He turned back to the matter at hand, too set in his goal to notice Piffle's pout.
The hamsterfly decided to set her feelings aside for the moment. They had a mystery to solve: The Case Of The Hijacked Wrenches. "So, how do we find who thumped you?"
Zinc rubbed his chin. "I'm not clear on that. I'm too focused on how much I'm gonna tear 'im up when I get him in my sights."
Toby tried to be helpful. "Do you have any kind of Phobiopolis-y stuff you could use? I dunno what kinda technology you guys have. Maybe something you bought from the store today?"
Zinc took inventory. "Nothing comes to mind."
"I could fly up high and see if I spot someone carrying two big wrenches!" Piffle offered.
"In a city this tall, you kidding? He could be anywhere by now," Zinc said. "Thanks 'tho."
Toby snapped his fingers. "Could you try to 'sense' where they are?" he asked Piffle. "Like when you found me again after getting away from Dr. Dacryphilia?"
"That's clever thinking, Toby, but I told you it takes a long time. I could circle all around and it might take days for me to stumble onto them."
"Darn, that's right."
Junella had been listening to all this and facepalmed. "Zinc, you goddamned dunderhead, have you forgotten you're a DOG!? Sniff the pavement, meatskull!!"
"Oh. Right." He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Junebell, my head's not on straight. I've only had this particular one a few minutes."
Together they gathered around the spot where Zinc's former noggin had been rendered into tomato paste.
"Shotgun blast, point blank," Junella guessed from the size and shape of the bloodstain.
Zinc got down on all fours, his shoulder flails clanking loudly, and asked for quiet so he could concentrate. The smell of blood overpowered everything else, so this would be like trying to blindly locate a mandolin amongst bagpipers. Thankfully, no rubberneckers had come in too close to the scene of the crime. That meant all he had to do was detect his own footprints... and ah, there they were... then find the ones belonging to the furson who'd stood... "Right here."
"Got the scent?"
"You bet your fur. Our new friend has rubber-soled Fenchurch Blue workboots. ...Size nine," he kidded. Now that he'd locked onto that smell, it stood out amongst all the others around him. Like tuning in on a radio station. He headed off abruptly in the direction his attacker had fled, letting the others catch up to him.
Toby, having a relatively unskilled mouse nose, found Zinc's ability fascinating. "What if he went up an elevator? Or one of those slappy-spatula things? Or jumped down to a lower wheel?"
Zinc grunted, knowing that was a possibility. "Then we wing it. Until then, I'm on his trail. Definitely a he. Rodent too."
"Another mouse like me?"
"No, and I'm actually glad you're here. For comparison." The sight of Zinc's dangling chains did all the work for him in keeping other pedestrians out of their way down the sidewalk. Zinc's nostrils flared, weighing the scent he was after. "Not mouse, not rat. Vole maybe? Lemming? At least I have an idea of what he'll look like when we catch up to him."
Zinc stopped in his tracks, an idea lighting up his face. "Walking's too slow. He's already got a head start on us. Piffle, let's do your idea. Be my little whirlybird. My eyes in the sky."
She saluted. "Roger wilco!"
"And take Junella with you."
"What!? Me go with her!?" the skunk sputtered.
"Naturally, partner," he said with a grin. "If you two spot him first, then you can swoop down like the angel of death and pin him in place with that pet toothpick of yours," he jerked a thumb at her cutlass.
She made a tiny grunt of acknowledgment that this was a good idea. She was also impressed to see her normally-ambitionless partner coming up with a plan for once. Normally he let her do the thinking and just went along to smash whatever she pointed at.
"Also," he told her, "I'm gonna need my skates." She nodded. He'd let her hold onto them because she was better at dumbfounding, and he so rarely used them. The last time they'd been needed, he'd forgotten what they'd felt like and had been slapping at his pants pockets for five minutes before they popped up. Junella simply recalled the feel of the metal and the heft of their weight: there they were in her hands.
"Nice cookin'," Zinc told her as he took them. They felt annoyingly heavy in his puny meat hands. He cocked his head at Toby. "I caught you castin' eyeballs at the holes in my soles. Wanna know what they're for?"
The devices Zinc was holding looked an awful lot like furniture casters. Two metal mounts, each affixed to a free-spinning wheel about a hand span in diameter.
"I think I can guess."
"Lend me your shoulder," Zinc asked. Toby stood next to his friend as the canine lifted his left foot and jammed the skate onto it. There were spikes in the mount that he slid into his foot, making Toby whimper in empathy. Zinc chuckled. "It don't hurt, Tinkerbell." He braced himself against the mouse as he finished screwing down the skate and put his weight on it. It always took a moment to get used to, especially balancing on only one. But he got his other foot in the air and hastily hammered the other skate home. "There we go! Been a while since I've taken these for a spin, but like a bicycle, you never forget!"
Toby was amazed as the canine let go of his shoulder and twirled around. Zinc held his legs slightly akimbo, wheels at an angle. The mouse made an educated guess that the skates weren't too good for standing still, but could help Zinc build up a steady speed and keep it.
"You're with me, Toby," Zinc commanded, gesturing for the mouse to climb on, piggyback style. He indicated his hands: "These things are useless as tits on a shopping cart. Yours'll be better. Hold on tight, try to keep your limbs away from the chains, and grab what I tell you to, okay?"
Toby liked exactly none of this idea. Especially not trying to clamber up Zinc's shoulders without toppling both of them over. But the girls helped, bracing the canine on two sides while Toby did his best to nimbly scale his friend. The feel of canine blood squishing against his palms was revolting. Sooner than he expected, he was peeking over Zinc's head and holding on for dear life.
"Good grip, sport. Mind lettin' me breathe?"
"Sorry."
Meanwhile, Piffle held her arms out for Junella to grab onto.
The skunk eyed them warily, then took hold. "Keep the in-flight chatter to minimum, got me?"
Piffle giggled. "I'll try!" She gave her wings a flex and pushed off. With that huge vinyl tail of hers, Junella weighed quite a bit more than Toby, but was still well within acceptable freight limits.
"You just follow behind me, eyes ahead, and call out if you see our man," Zinc said to Piffle. He was rotating in place, getting used to Toby's weight before putting on the gas.
Toby really wished the Fearsleigher wasn't in the shop. But then remembered that it wouldn't have mattered, since Ectopia Cordis wasn't built for vehicles anyway.
"Ready, co-pilot?" Zinc asked over his shoulder.
Toby nodded. "I will try my hardest not to puke on your head."
"Good enough!" Zinc said, and took off gliding.
***
Zinc didn't even need to engage Alfonzo & Dorster's inventions. The sight of a red-drenched, metal-faced canine streaking down the street with fury bleeding from his eyes like lightning was more than enough to make even the jaded citizens of Ectopia Cordis jump out of his way. Zinc's wheels sparked as they passed over sidewalk cracks and curbs, the mutt taking the bumps as instinctively as he did everything else. All that mattered was the scent in his snout. The trail of the thief's molecules. All else was blanked out. That thin thread of odor, nearly invisible amongst all the others, was all that mattered.
(Though it did occur to Zinc, he needed a name for these things on his shoulders. Maybe he'd delegate that to Toby, seeing as he'd already scored a run with 'Fearsleigher'.)
Toby was turning out to be a surprisingly great help. If the pair's looks alone didn't scare people away, the mouse's near-constant screams gave them plenty of warning to clear a path.
Tears puddled at the corners of Toby's wide-peeled eyes as the wind whipped at them. The mouse's head snapped back and forth like a tennis spectator; every couple of seconds they averted a near-crash. Toby could feel his heart trying frantically to bash its way out of his ribcage and escape this insane situation. "I'm sorry!" he blurbled. "I'm trying not to make so much noiYAAAH!!!"
The hot dog vendor jerked his cart out of the way just in time to give the pair a hairsbreadth clearance.
Zinc chuckled. "Not a problem! You're like a built-in siren!"
Toby whimpered, then shrieked again as Zinc ducked an awning.
He forced himself to trust Zinc's driving and look away. Behind and above, Piffle's wings were a silver blur as she fought air friction to keep up with them. Junella, hanging by her wrists, looked none too pleased with the situation. Her eyes were so bulged Toby could see the little orange record labels from a block away. He took a tiny bit of comfort in that. At least he wasn't the only one feeling queasy about this.
And that was exactly what occurred to Zinc just then. He didn't stop, but he slowed. "Actually, um..."
"What now? Did you lose the scent?"
Zinc swiveled one of his eyes around 180° to check on his passenger. "Nah, still strong. But it just hit me that, well, this is-" He whipped his eye back around, needing depth perception to steer through the pack of idiot teenagers who were too busy gawking to dodge. "What I mean is, I just realized this is kinda selfish of me."
Toby cocked his head. "What?"
Zinc ramped off the luggage cart a bellhop was trundling. "You're the client!" he said after hitting ground again. "This isn't your problem. I can drop you off somewhere safe and deal with it myself."
The rest of the world faded in importance for just a moment as Zinc's words made Toby pause. He hadn't even thought about that option. Zinc had just told him to climb on and he'd done it. Maybe it was his usual conformist streak obeying whatever orders he was given. But he could have refused. He could have. He hadn't though. Because, looking back at that moment, he had been thinking of something other than his own safety. He was angry that someone had stolen from his friend.
Toby gave a small squeeze to Zinc's shoulder. "I'm probably gonna complain and cry like a baby the whole way, but I'll still keep holding on."
Zinc did not expect to hear that. A smile crawled across his lips. "Good to hear, chief. And glad to have you with me."
Toby nodded. Then bit back another shriek as Zinc leapt over a barrier of garbage bags.
The canine guffawed. "Man, I am outta practice on these! I shoulda cleared that by an extra foot."
"Maybe I'm weighing you down?" Toby fretted.
"Nah," Zinc waved it off. "You weigh a bunch less than Junella." He blinked. "...Don't tell her I said that."
A short laugh.
"Then again, with my wrenches, I coulda just bulldozed through those bags. Goddamn, I am itching like hell to get 'em back!"
A sudden flashback to Rither. "What do you think you'll do to whoever took them?"
"Nothin' fancy, Toby-old-boy. I'm just gonna pound him flat as a nickel. A buffet of knuckle sandwiches. I'm gonna beat on him till his pinks come out the tail end. Then I'm gonna shove 'em back inside and, and if he can stand up after that, I'll tell him to run off and stay the fuck outta my sight."
"That's about what I expected."
"Juney's apt to spend half an hour talking someone to death first. Me? I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy. They already know what they did, so I get right to work. You keepin' your puke in up there, Tobe?"
"Barely! Also, PAYPHONE!!!"
Zinc swung around it with inches to spare.
***
The scent trail dead-ended at an elevator, leaving them with the fifty-fifty choice of up or down. Zinc had a few moments to ponder this while he was rotating in place, waiting for the car to reach his level. Every few seconds he jammed his finger into the call button like whipping a slow rickshaw driver.
Once the doors opened, Zinc whooshed inside, then convulsed so hard Toby nearly fell off. "Smellquake," he explained dizzily. He'd been following the thinnest thread of their quarry's scent for a handful of miles now, and suddenly he'd stepped into an ocean of it. Zinc could smell the guy's clothes, fur soap, everything. Even the metallic tang of two wrenches with his own blood inside them. The thief (now confirmed positively to be a muskrat) had spent a while in here. Which meant he'd either gone many levels down, or many levels up. Zinc leaned in and drew in a sloppy, snorting inhale of the button panel. His nose drooled boogers on the numbers. Then he guffawed in triumph and stabbed his finger into number 52. "Hot shit, Toby! Top of the sky!"
They had plenty of time to talk on the elevator ride up. Toby also had plenty of time to realize how squirmingly uncomfortable it was to remain balanced with his legs wrapped around his friend's waist, hands braced against the sides of the car. The elevator's nauseating yam-orange and diarrhea-brown color scheme did not help much. Neither did the thin window inset in each side. Streaks of light shot by at a terrifying pace. Toby did not want to imagine how fast they were going.
Zinc was babbling, the words falling out of his mouth like rubber balls falling down stairs. Their thief had gone all the way up to level 52. Fifty-fucking-Two! The penthouse suite! The literal top floor of the city! Zinc couldn't fathom what the guy's motive was for heading there, but he let Toby know the mouse was in for a treat. If there was anywhere in Phobiopolis closer to paradise, he'd never seen it. Fifty-Two was the playground of those so rich they were untouchable. Even in a world made of nightmares, there will always be people with enough wealth to bend everything to their own comfort. Toby just hoped he wouldn't have to look over the edge at anytime. Realizing how high up they were would probably make him pass out on the spot.
The elevator dinged. The bright smears outside the window coalesced into a solid image. Considering they were almost literally scraping the sky, Toby expected to be hit in the face with an arctic wind when the doors opened.
Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to be greeted with a balmy 72 degrees, and the exhausted faces of Piffle, Junella and George.
"Sire Toby! Sir Zinc! Good to see you both again!" George boomed. "Miss Brox summoned me with a scarab to join in the chase." Toby was amusingly startled to once again hear that great, resonant voice coming out of a little toy bird.
He and Zinc had entered the elevator in a sparse, graffiti'd sidewalk of Bigwheel 14. They had now emerged in a polished little indoor lobby. It was small, but every inch of it looked expensive. And not ostentatiously so. The way you can sometimes just tell, even without seeing gold or jewels, that something was made to be the finest.
"We've got news," Junella sang, sounding halfway between hopeful and bitter.
Piffle waved a scrap of paper. "Millie sent us a message! While you guys were scooting around, a mouse crawled outta my pocket and gave this to me." She read it off, unaware she was mirroring Millie's accent: "'Zinc honey, I called around to all the girls. Best description I can give is that he's short, got gray fur, and no one noticed his clothes. But that doesn't matter because you'll know him when you see him. His eyes are on sideways'."
"What does that mean?" Toby asked.
Piffle shrugged.
"But wait, that's not all," Junella added in a grim parody of a commercial announcer. She stepped aside to point out the guard.
Toby flinched.
Heck, it was so bad, Zinc did too.
This was Bigwheel 52. Home to the crème de la crème. Naturally, the residents would not be welcoming towards filthy commoners coming up to mingle. So while anyone was perfectly free to take the ride up, there would be armed guards ready to send you right back down again if you didn't fit the bill. Though in this case, their thief had been prepared. The man lying on the slick black marble floor was dressed immaculately in a tan watchman's uniform, with shiny white boots and gloves, a sidearm wand, and no head. As in, not just removed, but vanished. There was barely any blood, suggesting the thief had used something with more finesse than a shotgun this time. Yet the man was somehow still alive. Into his twitching neck had been inserted something similar in appearance to a meat thermometer.
For Toby's benefit, Junella explained. "Want to kill someone and keep 'em from coming after you? Jam one of these things in. Keeps 'em from dying too quick. No death, therefore no resurrection."
"That's awful," the mouse said.
Zinc was staring at the sleepstopper, worried at the implications of it being there. "Luxy's banned 'em. Says they're unsporting," he mumbled. "This is bad. Him having one of those couldn't be an accident." It began to gnaw deeply at him that maybe he hadn't been mugged by accident. Maybe he'd been the pawn in someone's plan. But for what purpose?
Toby really wanted the guard's body to stop flopping like a fish. "Pull it out and let's tell him what happened. Maybe he can help us."
Zinc nixed the idea with a shake of his head. "Ain't got time. Besides, he'd just tell us to clear out. We're not supposed to be up here either. In fact, we've probly only got a short window to get the hell outta here before more fuzz show up and throw us over the edge."
"I got an idea about that, partner," Junella said as an impish smile crossed her face.
Zinc grunted in a 'Lay it on me' way.
The skunk turned to George, petting his metallic feathers. "How's that nose of yours?"
He was puzzled. "It is currently a beak," he replied straightforwardly.
"What I mean is, could you follow the same scent Zinc was on?" she cooed. Her tone and touch made it clear she'd be very grateful if he could.
"Oh, indubitably. My senses are quite keen."
That was just what she wanted to hear. "Then if the bouncers are gonna come kick us out, our only chance is to outrun 'em. George, baby, how'd you like to stretch your legs again?"
Zinc got wise to Junella's idea and guffawed. The thought of tearing ass through the ritziest part of EC on the back of a literal nightmare was mayhem of the once-in-a-lifetime variety.
From the way George's eyes lit up, he liked it too. "I admit I shall miss flying, but I have certainly been thinking about how nice it would be to slip back into my old body again!"
Piffle's antennae twitched. "Might wanna do it soon, Georgie-porgie."
Just then, two more tan-and-white guards stepped around the corner. Rough-sounding voices had drawn them near. What met their eyes was Fred Keyton lying like a guillotine victim on the floor, and four weird sonsofbitches standing around him.
Their wands were out, tips glowing, in seconds. "FREEZE!!"
George's little clockwork head swiveled around towards them with a 'click, click, click'. "I deeply apologize, good sirs, but we simply haven't the time."
And with that, he was back to his old self again.
Spreading his wings, he leapt from Junella's shoulder and shook off the transformation potion in mid-leap. Shards of his metal self were sheared away as his bones exploded into existence beneath them. His beak split into splinters as his black skull rammed through. His wing feathers shot out like shrapnel and gouged the walls as his forelegs kicked out from within them. Gears clattered against the black reflective floor as charred, glowing ribs took their place. In less than two seconds, a specter of onyx menace had landed in front of the two stricken guards. And if that wasn't enough for them to get the message, George lowered his head and swept a plume of cracking flame towards them.
Wisely, they started screaming and ran away. Rogue tourists they were prepared for. This thing? Fuck no!
"Oh, I have missed that! Really most enjoyable!" George brayed, clopping his hooves happily against the marble.
"Super job!" Piffle cried out, running over to hug her equine friend, back to his former boniness.
"They're gonna call in the national guard in about thirty seconds!" Junella rang out, taking charge. She planted her boot between George's ribs and swung herself onto his back. Pointing behind her, she ordered Piffle, "You take bitch seat."
"That's naughty language," the hamsterfly said, but hopped on anyway.
Junella didn't recall when, but at some point earlier Toby had mentioned to George's ability to grow flesh over his bones. She patted the horse's crest. "I need you to pop out a tail. Somethin' for Zinc to grab hold of."
"No trouble at all," he replied, and pushed. His bony appendage in back wouldn't offer much grip, but as the nightmare concentrated, he was able to create a thick cascade of greasy, scraggly hair. More than enough length for towing.
Zinc reached out for it, then realized the strength in his flesh-hands was pretty pathetic. "This is exactly why I needed your help, Toby."
The mouse sighed. Just when he thought he might've been able to hop down off Zinc's back... Though, as he reached out to grip handfuls of George's godawful-feeling tail (A fully fleshed-out George would probably look like pestilence incarnate, he thought), he felt a sticky pull from his vest and realized he was very likely glued onto the canine from all the dried blood. He threw up in his mouth a little.
Zinc tried not to laugh. "If you're gonna pull a technicolor yawn, let it out now before we blast off! I'm not too keen on you showerin' my eyeballs!"
Well, now that he had permission...
Toby caved in to the pervading urge in his guts and created a modern art masterpiece on the black marble floor. He was sure he hadn't eaten this much. His vision tipped back and forth and he spat to rid himself of the taste.
"Better now?"
Toby had to admit, "Yeah, actually."
"Here ya go," Piffle said. She leaned over George's tush and popped a mint candy she'd dumbfounded into Toby's mouth.
"Thanf 'ou," Toby mumbled around it.
Meanwhile, Junella was describing their thief to George. "Got all that? Can you smell him?"
George drew in deeply through his nostrils. "Ignoring the odor of Sire Toby's antiperistaltic ejection, I do believe I can trace the path of a male muskrat in rubber-soled workboots."
Junella grinned. "I like you, George. You're turning out so fuckin' useful, I might just sell Zinc to the Kasheesties and keep you instead."
"Hey!!" the canine piped up.
Junella slapped her steed's shoulder. "Yaaah! Giddyup, hoss!"
George winced a bit at such crude parlance, but obediently put the hammer down. Getting up to speed on a marble floor wasn't the easiest thing he'd ever done, but considering the pack of reinforcement guards he'd crashed through like bowling pins when he turned the second corner, he did pretty well at it.
***
It's amazing what a difference throwing up can make.
Toby couldn't believe how clear his head was already. Letting his stomach do what it wanted instead of trying to fight it had removed a sickly fog from around his perceptions. And this was immediately useful too, because he suddenly found himself with a whole lot of things to look at when George charged through the doors of the elevator station.
Bright, BRIGHT sunshine!!!
Toby had nearly forgotten what it looked like. Everyone flinched (except George) and squinted a lot.
Light and color resolved into images that Toby could hardly process. Zinc had not been kidding about paradise.
What surrounded him now was a pastoral utopia. He was immediately reminded of stories about Mount Olympus, where the Greek Gods played. While it was still the same five-spoke construction as any other Bigwheel, number fifty-two had been transformed into a perpetual verdant summer afternoon. How could there be so much grass up here? And trees! Great big beautiful flowering trees! Some of the branches drooped with the weight of ripe fruit. The sky was as blue as the sea, perfect cotton clouds swimming through it like lazy whales. Sparkling white waterfalls poured out of thin air around the perimeter. High above, the blazing sun kept everything warm and cheerful. Citizens were well-dressed, colorful and carefree.
Not to give the impression that Bigwheel 52 was just a nature preserve. The elite are accustomed to living in luxury, after all. Architects had been allowed to let their imaginations run wild designing livable works of art in every direction. Rich, mouthwatering colors. Soaring arcs. Gold and silver to dazzle the eye. It was almost too much beauty. Like stories about monsters so hideous they'd drive minds mad, this was the extreme inverse: perfection in such abundance it made the senses overload.
This resplendent vista was spoiled a bit by the sudden chorus of panicked screams from citizens who had come to use the elevators and were now suddenly face to face with George.
These were not people who had daily experience dealing with the horrors that lurked in Phobiopolis below. That was what they paid other people to do. Quite a few of them passed out, or were struck dumb on the spot like gawking turkeys. Junella wouldn't have otherwise cared, except that it meant these moonheads were now blocking their path.
Piffle suddenly got a really good idea. She jumped up, standing on George's hindquarters, and flourished her arms wide open. "The circus is in town!!" she cried.
Her four companions rolled with it, trying to grin cheerfully.
This ruse did not exactly turn the crowd in their favor, but it did sow enough confusion for George to trot past them. Ahead was 52's equivalent of a carpetwalk (cobblestones instead) and he made a beeline for it. Many shrieks followed wherever he went. Though Piffle was doing her best to diffuse them via a variety of ringmaster-like poses and shouts.
Junella leaned in close to George's ear-holes. "Still smell our guy?"
"There are quite a considerable number of other odors to contend with, but thankfully his boots have a particularly pungent quality. I can 'see' his trail without difficulty."
An encouraging pat. "Go git 'em. Focus on the stink. Let me take care of the putzes in our path."
"Understood, Madam Brox." George sped up to a decent clip. Junella flinched a bit at the loud circus tune Piffle started singing, but it did seem to give people on the cobblewalk advance warning that they might wanna get the hell out of the way. George tried to add to the effect by belching out little puffs of black smoke, thinking people might then assume he was mechanical.
Since all he had to do now was hold on tight to George's tail and be their caboose, Toby took the time to appreciate the scenery. The sheer amount of prettiness reminded him of Coryza, but what it might've looked like with an unlimited budget. Things were way more spaced out here, too. Coryza had been as compact as a stuffed suitcase. Here there was plenty of breathing room. Rolling hills and parks; places simply to be seen and enjoyed. Buildings were any height they wanted to be. And there were some amazingly huge wheels up here. Skyscraper ferris wheels. Shopping centers and apartment complexes. As if a giant's jewelry box full of bracelets and rings had spilled out onto a grassy meadow. (He saw only one Luxy Sez billboard up here. It read: WHATTAYA NEED MY ADVICE FOR? YOU'RE RICH!)
Though the longer he looked, the more Toby began to sense the seams of an illusion. His mind knew they were thousands of feet in the air in a land of perpetual night, so the breezy afternoon temperatures had to be manufactured somehow. And the sun, he realized, wasn't painful to look up at. It didn't seem to be the source of the Bigwheel's warmth either. Rather the atmosphere had the slight stuffy twinge of air conditioning. Was this all indoors? A giant dome with the sky and clouds projected onto it?
No... Squinting, he could swear he saw tiny pinpricks of light behind the blue. The stars of the true sky. "Is this all a hologram?"
"Not quite, but I'm impressed you noticed," Zinc replied. (Toby was slightly startled, as he'd been talking to himself.) "S'more like a spell. A shared belief. Like... Okay, you know how you gotta concentrate on your imaginite to make it a meal? All this nice summery stuff up here is what happens when you get a buttload of people to all agree that this is what it's gonna look like. So the blue sky and sunshine are there 'cause everyone cooperates and agrees they're there, dig? Everyone, believing just a little bit, all the time, equals the same as like when we paid off the big willwell."
Toby was fascinated. "Like crowdfunding..."
"What?"
Toby fumblingly explained the concept while trying not to stare too much at all the pretty things they were passing. Especially the people. Holy heck, whatever the Phobiopolis equivalent of plastic surgery was, these people must have indulged in it as often as going out for groceries. Intimidatingly perfect faces surrounded him. Sculpted cheekbones, luscious eyes, full lips, immaculate fur. Bodies sculpted purely of feminine curves or masculine might. These were not people, they were works of art.
And quite surprisingly, this was the first place Toby had come across where there were more adults than children. It made sense. It'd take serious time to get rich enough to afford this place.
Toby also noticed that almost all the families he saw were mixed-species. Two cats carrying a penguin baby. A ferret mother, goat father, and bat daughter. Of course, they tended to look a bit horrified when George zoomed by, but otherwise they all seemed pretty happy together.
Toby mentioned this observation to Zinc, who nodded. "It's the afterlife," he replied. "Can't have babies down here. Spark's missing, I guess. So everyone adopts."
The mouse nodded.
It briefly crossed his mind that maybe he could find someone to adopt him.
***
Uncountable Ectopians scattered out of the way at the sight of George and the sound of Piffle. The hamsterfly was having a blast, dancing on his butt and singing her heart out. The combination of rampaging nightmare and voluminous pinkness succeeded in confusing a great many living hells out of the citizenry.
It wasn't too long before George's nostrils led him to the gated entrance of Bigwheel 52's second biggest apartment complex. Like the hovering name of Lady Xenoiko's inn, two immense words floated over the property, carved intricately from jade: PRAXUS PAMMER. Toby had no idea what that meant.
It sure was a neat-looking place though. The gilded gate allowed non-residents to look (but don't touch) at the four humongous side-by-side ferris wheels that made up the housing conglomerate. A sixty-foot cylinder of living space. Each car of each wheel was the size of a whole floor of apartments: twelve rooms per car. Each wheel had at least twenty slabs of roomage by Toby's count. The four wheels were set so closely together, little tube airlocks would pop out to connect neighboring areas, and elevators within the spokes allowed intra-wheel travel as well as access to the main hub and ground floor. The whole thing dazzled with color. Gem green, brick red, ivory white.
The doorman had a bazooka.
The blocky malamute in the bell-shaped leather coat calmly hefted the weapon onto his shoulder and paused in chewing his gum long enough to tell them, "Allright you lot, clear off. You're not gettin' in here without residency cards, and I'd bet me mum's wig you ain't gottem."
Zinc leaned out from behind George's posterior. "Think you could give us some assistance, ol' chap?"
The two canines regarded each other, Zinc trying to pleasantly plead; the malamute looking bored as could be. More chewing from him. "Depends wot."
Zinc grinned ingratiatingly. "Have you seen a muskrat guy swing by earlier? Sideways eyes, maybe? Probably carrying two gigantic wrenches?"
The doorman showed the slightest expression, curious as to how this motley bunch could know about that. "Yeh, actually. Maintenance man came by 'arf an hour ago. Wrenches, like yeh said. 'E was goin' up to Two's main 'ub to tighten things. How d'y know 'im? Friend a' yas?"
Zinc looked directly into the other man's eyes, saying calm and persuasively, "He's the guy that killed me and stole my arms."
The doorman's eyebrows raised.
To Toby, Zinc whispered, "Inside front pocket. Laminated. Whip it out if you please."
The mouse reached down into Zinc's jacket and felt around a bit. He found a wallet with a waterfall of ID cards and photos inside. He held them up so the doorman could see that, yes, those wrenches had been attached to his friend's shoulders just recently.
The doorman squinted, so George pulled Zinc and Toby a little closer. The malamute's trigger finger twitched at this. George tried to smile harmlessly.
"Never seen a pet one before," the malamute marveled at George. He scrutinized Zinc's pics and chewed his gum pensively.
"There's a whole bunch of people coming up the road toward us," Piffle pointed out.
The malamute looked, saw the approach of guardsmen, and made a decision. He spoke fast; "Right. Make this quick-like. You shoot me in the 'ead so I don't get into trouble for lettin' you loonies do this. Promise me you'll be IN and then GONE, got me? I let that squeaky minger in earlier despite me better instincts. 'E 'ad a card 'n all. But I ain't fond o' thieves. Get your rightful property back and get the fuck out. Good luck."
"Thank you for being so understanding, sir," Junella sang pleasantly, as she drew her revolver out of the air and put a well-placed bullet between his frontal lobes. Perfectly painless.
Toby looked back. A considerable amount of tan-and-whites were charging towards them. A purple lightning bolt from one of their wands streaked by.
"Think you can jump this fence?" Junella asked George.
"With four passengers? I have no idea!" The novelty of the challenge seemed to amuse him.
"HOLD TIGHT!" she screeched, and dug her needles in.
A second purple bolt zinged so close to Toby's ear it made the hairs inside stand up. He doubled his grip on Zinc's waist and George's tail.
The equine made some calculations based on his heightened nightmare senses, then backed up a few steps. A determined grin on his lipless face, he dug his back legs in and cocked them like a clockwork bullfrog. With a ratcheting pop of scraping bone, he jolted up into the air.
Toby yelped. A moment later he was thrown off Zinc, still glued to his jacket, and did four somersaults before coming to rest in the grass.
They were successfully over the fence, though everyone landed rather ungracefully. Piffle had managed to spread her wings and control her descent enough to merely bounce on her tushie. Zinc was now holding back a wail as he'd ended up doing the splits. Junella had the worst of it though. The others had landed in the grass, and she'd splattered onto the cobblestone entrance. The impact had basically sanded off half her head. Grumbling in irritation, she felt around for her face, realized this was too complex to will herself normal from, and got out her cutlass. She swung hard in an arc, decapitating herself (showing obvious practice with the move). A moment later she was shimmering into normalcy again. She spat a pebble out of her mouth.
A massive black crater suddenly appeared in the grass beside them, tossing Zinc and Piffle into the air like candy wrappers.
Of course, the other doormen had bazookas too.
George went into action. With his teeth, he swung Junella up into his driver's seat, then did the same with Piffle's dizzy form. He caught the next incoming rocket in his mouth. The doorman who'd fired it went slack-jawed. George spat it out while looking him dead in the eyes, daring him to try again.
"...I'm sorry..." squeaked the doorman.
George turned to where Zinc was groggily getting up and flopped his tail down in front of him. Toby, reacting on blind instinct, frog-hopped onto Zinc, grabbed him with his legs, and grabbed George's tail in his hands.
His passengers secured, the nightmare horse impersonated a missile himself as he aimed right for the nearest clump of doormen and head-butted his way through. The remainder retreated in several different directions, one of them tripping and firing his weapon into a bicycle rack.
It wasn't hard to find building two, since there was a great big emerald "2" on every car of its wheel. Of course, calling it a 'wheel' or a 'building' was too commonplace, so instead each section of Praxus Pammer was labeled a Gyre.
"How do we get inside?" Junella called out to George.
"Let us try the direct route," he decided. "Dig in, my dear friends!!"
George charged at the wheel, staring hard at the nearest block of apartments slowly revolving into view, carefully timing everything. His leap over the gate was so much easier than he'd expected, he'd overpowered it which resulted in their poor landing. Never again would he allow such sloppiness.
Residents inside block 2F gawped in horror as a snorting nightmare came running full-tilt towards them.
George kicked off, scattering divots of concrete, and landed with pinpoint accuracy on the roof.
His passengers were a bit rattled, but otherwise 100% unharmed. George smiled in satisfaction. "I am certain there is a more comfortable path to the main hub of this wheel, but that would undoubtedly require entrance inside. I'd wager I would not do well in such close quarters. So, for the sake of simplicity, I shall simply ride this car up as if upon an ordinary ferris wheel, then jump down to the hub when the trajectory is right."
Junella dug her claws in a little deeper. "I trust you, George, but I hope you won't feel insulted if I keep my eyes shut the whole goddamn time."
"No offense taken, Madam Brox. Perfectly understandable."
On the ground, the doormen were swapping their bazookas for sidearms. In most cases, the big guns tended to intimidate trespassers away without having to be fired. And right now, any shot at George would be unnecessarily imperiling the residents. They wouldn't be happy with that. So the doormen took useless .22 potshots at the onyx intruder as he pranced back and forth, merrily avoiding their fire. Soon the doormen were joined by Bigwheel 52's guardsmen, who were in a similar pickle. They had their wands pointed upwards, but the more the wheel rotated, the more 2F itself was now blocking their line of sight.
George was feeling bouncy. He hadn't caused mayhem like this since before his burial. It tickled his old nightmare instincts. And he was finding it most gratifying to know that he was performing such impish actions in service to a helpful goal. This was not the same as his old ways of mindless fright delivery. Now he had a purpose, and a consciousness to appreciate it with.
He kept a careful eye on Gyre 2's main hub. Since the wheel itself was so gigantic, the center structure was the size of a small factory. Through the windows in its steel surface, he caught glimpses of its inner workings. There was a counter-rotating inner wheel for workers to stand on and service the mechanisms in-motion. And there, just for a moment, he saw a flash of grey fur and silver metal. "I've spotted the miscreant!"
"Great news, George," Zinc said with a quaver in his voice. "How 'bout we pounce his ass posthaste? The top of a moving wheelcar is not a great place to be on skates!" Toby nodded fiercely.
"Just give me a moment, Sir Zinc. If my timing is not precise, we will likely slide off the edge and hit several things on the way to the ground. That would be undesirable."
Junella grit her teeth. "Didn't need to hear that."
"Could I help you steer?" Piffle offered, flicking her wings.
"Much appreciated, Madam McPerricone. But no, I think I shall do just fine on my own..." George's sentence trailed off as he switched his focus to his eyesight.
The brain of a nightmare is a marvelous thing. Since they come into existence without need of conscious thought, their energies are devoted almost wholly to attack and ambush strategies. They have incredible spatial awareness. So it was only mildly difficult for George to calculate the rotation of the main hub, the sway of block 2F, wind speed, weight of his passengers...
And then without warning, sprint at top speed for the edge of the roof.
Screams in four-part harmony.
George grinned in triumph as his jump sailed him dead center through the largest window in the hub. As a basketball player would say, nothing but net. Glass shattered from the force of his mighty hooves, shards filling the air with sparkling sharpness. George swiveled himself sideways at just the right instant to dig in and come to a four-point landing, bracing himself against the guardrail of the main hub's maintenance walkway.
"Splendid! Couldn't have gone better!" George allowed himself to brag.
Toby (when he was able to pry his eyelids open) had a flashback to Dr. Dacryphilia's domain. They were now within a doughnut-shaped enclosure crammed full of machinery and noise. Thick smells of grease and friction lingered in the air. Harsh lamplight and inky shadows. They'd landed on a diamond-plate walkway, part of an interconnected series. Imagine a skyscraper's fire escape curved around into a beginningless loop. Toby couldn't see how in the world it stayed suspended above the pounding, grinding cogs at the heart of Gyre 2. Maybe it orbited in place? Magnets?
Everyone disembarked from George, and Zinc was much relieved to yank the skates off his feet. They would be worse than useless in here. He sighed happily and flexed his toes on the metal floor.
Junella took the skates and disappeared them with a flick of her wrist. She cast her eyes all around. "Where'd you see him?" she asked George.
"Hard to tell. I was paying more attention to our entrance. Please forgive me."
She made a 'don't sweat it' noise. "If he's in here, whatever direction we pick we'll run into him soon enough."
"Split up?" Zinc suggested.
The skunk concurred. "We converge on 'im. Thief sandwich." She headed down the closest stairs, motioning for Piffle and George to follow.
"Looks like you're with me," Zinc told Toby.
"I kinda don't have a choice." He flapped the arms of Zinc's jacket, which was still hugging his chest. "I feel like I'm in a glue trap."
Zinc started up the other stairway. He fiddled around in his pants pocket and found his switchblade. He rarely had a use for it, but it wasn't just the Boy Scouts who could be prepared. "I'll take point, second banana. You just worry about getting yourself unpeeled."
Nodding and following, Toby writhed himself back and forth, trying to free himself from the bloodstained leather.
One thing was certain; they would not have the element of surprise on their side. The metal stairs groaned and whined at the lightest step. Zinc took practice swings with his knife. If stealth was out, he'd simply need to be the faster man. He was looking forward to popping this guy's eyeballs out and lacquering 'em for a keychain.
Toby was almost glad for the sticky jacket because it distracted him from looking down (as if 'down' had a meaning here). But the steps below him had see-through slats, giving glimpses of the machinery below that would chew him up like bubblegum if he slipped. He sent a mental thanks to Kay and Kaye for his new sandals, since these stairs would not feel pleasant on bare paws.
Carefully, both parties progressed along the zigzag walkways, heading towards the opposite equator, hoping to snare their quarry in between.
It was Zinc who spotted him first.
The canine peeked up over the current landing and saw someone with their back turned. Someone in a garbageman-green uniform, with a pair of familiar silver implements mounted on his shoulders.
He was WEARING them!
Toby could practically hear Zinc's tendons constrict in outrage.
The platforms for each walkway were perhaps twelve feet wide by four feet across. Room enough for a takedown, with a little bit of wiggle room. Zinc held a hand out behind him to tell Toby to halt. The mouse misinterpreted the gesture and handed Zinc his jacket back. The canine glanced at it. Stained but washable. He slipped it back on, figuring it'd look more intimidating than just his tattered t-shirt. Practice and Junella had taught him that in a fight, one's appearance and attitude could do half the work.
Toby craned his neck, matching his footsteps to Zinc's. The stairs creaked, but the thief showed no sign of hearing them. As they got closer, he was revealed to be a very... well, there was no better word for it... a very buttplug-shaped individual. Squat legs, pear-shaped torso, and a head that tapered to a rounded point. His fur was the color of sludgy snow and his undoubtedly-stolen maintenance uniform was splashed with the color of violence. 'More blood. Just great,' Toby thought as he tried not to inhale the smell. Thankfully, the reek of grinding metal from the mechanisms beneath them more than drowned it out.
Zinc's ears twitched. His eyelids narrowed to slits. Muscles taut as piano strings. Was this guy deaf? They were standing less than a dozen feet away from him. He had to have heard them coming, right? And yet he was just standing there, staring intently at the panel in front of him full of dials, buttons, and levers. Occasionally he'd push or pull something. His demeanor was calm. He gave no indication he'd just recently killed at least two people and looted the arms off one of them.
Then suddenly, with no outward sign he'd been aware of them this whole time, he sang lightly under his breath, "Be right wiiiith you..."
Zinc recoiled like he'd been spat on. He clanged up the stairs and positioned himself like a gunslinger at the end of the walkway. "Eyes up here, skidmark. You got something you didn't pay for."
The muskrat glanced away from the controls as if he could barely be bothered. "Hmm?" He regarded Zinc standing there. Tilted his head. There was no recognition in his eyes.
His eyes. Toby flinched and suddenly understood what Millie had meant about them being sideways.
Their thief was an otherwise unremarkable man. But his eyes, instead of being on either side of his muzzle like any normal orbs ought to be, were instead stacked on top of each other. It was skin-crawling. Like a totem pole of facial features: mouth, nose, eye, eye. A double-decker cyclops.
Zinc didn't care. He'd seen weirder. And right now, he was much more interested in why this sonofabitch wasn't pissing his pants at the sight of him. Zinc took a step forward, holding the switchblade up to catch the light. "Buddy, do you need a net to catch my drift or what?"
The muskrat held his gormless expression a second longer, then his face went, 'Aha!'. "Right. You. Yeah, I didn't recognize you at first. I only saw you from the back, remember?"
Zinc felt his internal furnace shoot up several degrees. What the hell!? The guy's voice was nasal and grating, but held not an atom of fear. He was chatting like they were next door neighbors discussing the weather. "I remember! When you snuck up behind me like a chickenshit and blew my top off with a shotgun!!" He felt his blood surge into his shoulder devices, and revved their engines threateningly. "You stole my goddamned ARMS, you screwy-eyed fuck!!!"
Again, the muskrat registered no fear. At most he looked slightly annoyed at being distracted from his work. "These? Sure, you can have them back. I'm done with them."
With that, the man simply shrugged and grew his own arms out from his shoulders, spraying a fresh splash of blood onto his uniform and sending Zinc's wrenches clattering to the floor. The sound was as loud as a gunshot in the echo-primed room. Toby clenched the guardrail to keep from toppling back off his step. Zinc just scowled harder to see his personal possessions treated with such disrespect.
The muskrat gave his new limbs a test wiggle, then walked away from the wrenches, turning his attention back to the switches and levers. He flexed his fingers and smiled slightly. This delicate part was much easier now.
Zinc needed a moment. He'd been prepared for anything but this, to be ignored almost entirely. For this pissant little prick to not even raise an eyebrow at him was unthinkable. If there was any one thing that could have stopped the outraged canine in his tracks, it wasn't a gun or a grenade (or more fucking clowns), it was this sonofafucking muskrat's complete lack of reaction.
He knelt to pick up his right wrench, never letting his eyes leave the thief. Keeping an unblinking stare was what they were made for, after all. He let his shoulder devices ('Swingballs?' he thought to himself. 'Naahh') idle down to a slow chug. Though he was ready to dial them back up to 10 at a moment's notice and scoop out this muskrat's guts.
The thief didn't even look in the canine's direction as he asked, "Anything else? I'm busy."
This was the flint to ignite Zinc's black powder. In a heartbeat he crossed the space between them. Then his switchblade was buried in the control panel between the bones of the muskrat's hand. Zinc snarled like a throaty gasoline engine.
The muskrat had flinched at the pain, but nothing else. Slowly, he turned his head to Zinc. His misplaced eyes had changed from an expression of dismissal to an arctic-cold contempt. "Can I help you with something?" he hissed out, low and quiet and condescending.
Zinc was vibrating with restrained rage. "You. Stole. My. Arms," he said again, grinding out each syllable. "Do I look like the forgiving type?"
A quick up-and-down flick of the eyes. "You look pissed-off. And why not? I'd be. I'm not denying that. I'm just unclear on what more you want from me. I never expected you to follow me here. Congrats on that, by the way. But I gave them back. There they are. Our business is concluded. Now do you mind taking that little toy out of my hand?"
Zinc paused for a moment to clear his head from the crashing waves of fury that this scumnugget was rising up in him. Then, nice and slow, he locked eyes with the other man and turned his blade.
The muskrat blinked. His lips drew back slightly. "Yes, you can cause pain. Big deal. I have shit to do, sir." He could not possibly have saturated that last word with more sarcasm.
Dumbstruck, Zinc pulled out the knife and stepped back, just staring at this freak of nature. "Do you not dig what I'm gonna do to you for stealing from me? That stab wound was a kiss on the cheek. I'm gonna make a Halloween mask out of your assfur and nail it to your face. Do you comprende, amigo?"
The muskrat toggled a few more controls, then stepped slightly back and looked satisfied. He turned to the minor distraction standing beside him. "Yes, yes, I get what you're saying. It's just not very important right now."
Zinc's eyeballs nearly boiled at that.
He held up his hands. "Let me explain, Krakatoa. You see, I'm in the middle of something much bigger than you and your grabby-clampies. You weren't even part of the script. You were just someone I saw and thought, 'Those look useful', and I took them. Your part in this was only to alter my timetable from the day after tomorrow to today. And like I said, how you tracked me here in such a short time, I don't know. Kudos for that. But your role in all this is..." He held up his fingers, millimeters apart. "...thiiiis big. Understand? Pour on the threats, little pup. They don't matter to me."
Zinc felt an ice shower descend upon him. The hot blood in his veins turned to cold snake venom. He was letting this speck of dirt get to him. The other guy was keeping his cool. Well, Zinc could do that too. "Do you mind if I ask, Egghead," he said emotionlessly, "why they don't matter?"
At this, the muskrat finally smiled. His tail twitched, almost a wag. "Because this whole building is just moments away from being referred to in past tense."
Zinc blinked.
"Was that too highbrow for you? I almost feel bad pointing out that you're literally brainless. Feels like a cheap shot."
Zinc smiled a poison little smile, reaching up to scratch the empty space between his ears and eyeballs. "What was that? Sorry, my mind was elsewhere."
"Ha-HA!" the muskrat laughed. "Touché! Okay, so maybe you can comprehend a fraction of what I've accomplished here." He clapped his hands together. "Picture this: your wrenches allowed me to more efficiently sabotage some key structures within this facility. From there it was just a matter of fiddling with the core to send it into a death spiral. Haven't you noticed it's been moving faster all this time?"
He hadn't. Zinc glanced behind the thief and noticed that the walls of the hub's enclosure were gaining speed from when he'd entered. That meant the rest of the wheel was too. That meant very bad trouble. "And what if I cleave your furry little dome in half right now?"
The muskrat shrugged, still smiling, still immensely pleased with himself. "It won't matter. I finished up the sequence while we were talking just now. Maybe you should have acted a little quicker."
Zinc's muscles tensed. Mentally, he gave himself a good, hard kick in the crotch.
"It can't be stopped now," said the grinning little man. "I've been planning this for months."
Toby had been riveted to their words, but remained so quiet he'd escaped the muskrat's notice entirely. Now he couldn't stop himself from blurting, "But whatever happens to the building, you'll be trapped here when it does!"
The muskrat showed slight surprise at the mouse's presence, then his grin seemed to triple in width. "WORTH! IT!" he thundered, over-enunciating each syllable like he was biting them off.
The muskrat looked back to Zinc. "I suppose I owe you one for letting me borrow your wrenches. Handy things. So I'll give you this: you have about three minutes until this thing speeds up to cataclysm. Better take your friends and start running."
The canine twitched his gaze towards Toby, apologizing for this choice. "Thanks, but no thanks," he growled, a feral smile of bloodlust coming to his snout. "I think maybe I'll stick around and use that three minutes to cram your head up my ass and shit your face inside out."
"No you won't," the muskrat said simply, and flung himself over the rail.
Zinc and Toby rushed to the edge of the walkway, but they only saw a red flash as the man disappeared into the mammoth gears of Gyre 2's core. Safely dead and out of reach.
"THAT FUCKEYED SON OF A BITCH!!!" Zinc exploded.
"Do we run now?" Toby asked, hoping the answer would be yes.
Zinc looked up. Junella, Piffle and George were two walkways above, where they'd been waiting and watching, letting Zinc direct the show. He nodded to them. "Yeah, we should do that."
Below them, the gears were spinning faster and faster and faster. Their thief was even less than a smear.
***
Did our heroes make it out in time?
Of course they did. Three minutes was plenty. Junella leapt down from her perch and, without needing to communicate her intention, took two cutlass swings up through Zinc's armpits. He thanked her for being so skillfully disarming. She, Piffle and Toby helped screw his wrenches on, then skewered the shoulder devices in place. To take Toby's mind off of having to remove them from his floppy, severed meat, Zinc asked the mouse to name the things. Toby blanked and syllables tumbled out, until, without conscious thought, he called them 'doorknockers'. Zinc thought a moment and said that sounded just about right. George, meanwhile, had factored in the increasing revolutions of the core, the speed of the windows blurring past them, and when all four of his friends were once more astride him, he recalculated for Zinc's new weight, and jumped.
A perfect trajectory. Straight through the window he'd broken before (he felt guilty enough about having to smash just one) to land hard on his hooves on the ground below. His impact pulped concrete and sent it spraying up like a fountain.
Toby managed to find a bit more up to throw.
*****