by Robert Bevan
The rat nipped at him again, and once again Tim jumped out of the way. He was more agile than this thing, and he might be able to dodge a few more bites, but he wouldn't be able to keep this up for long. He put his arms out to make himself look bigger. He wasn't sure if that worked or not, but he was able to initiate a slow clockwise face off with the rat. He hoped it would buy him enough time to grab the bone again. They didn't quite make it that far. Sensing that the rat was about to make its move, Tim dove for the bone, and the rat caught him by the foot. Tim screamed as the top and bottom of his foot was invaded by what felt like thousands of hypodermic needles, probably injecting entire civilizations' worth of bacteria in the saliva.
Tim ripped his foot away. It tore into ribbons as it raked across rat teeth. Tim swung the bone as hard as he could, and finally connected with the rat's face. It was an awkward angle, and it accomplished little more than buying him some time to stand up again.
With its face covered in Tim's blood, the rat managed to look even more terrifying than it had before. It jumped up at him and bit a small chunk of skin from his calf on the same leg with the injured foot. Tim held back his scream and tried to channel that energy into his swing. Too much energy. He swung wide again, and hit nothing but air. The room spun around, but he managed to duck out of the way of another rat bite. Tim held the rat at bay with the end of the bone. It stared back into his eyes, drooling his blood, whisking its leathery tongue around its lips, looking for another opportunity to strike. Tim saw that he had actually managed to do some damage to it when he hit it before. Blood flowed from a gash in its nose.
“Better hurry it along, lad,” said Greely. “You're about to have some more company.”
“Shit,” said Tim, and did the only thing he could do. He took one more swing. He missed. “Fuck!”
The rat closed in for the kill, and Tim knew that one more bite would probably do it. He blocked the bite with the bone, and then tore it out of its mouth. The rat hissed at him, and Tim swung the bone around one more time. He connected squarely with the side of the rat's head. It fell over sideways, and Tim beat it a couple more times for good measure.
“Um,” interrupted Greely. “Mr. Tim?”
Tim looked up, and then over toward the bed. There was the familiar sound of frantic scraping. Claws against brick and mortar. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Shit.” He crawled over to the bed, and tried to push it back against the wall. With only one good foot left to push with, the bed wasn't budging.
“He's nearly out,” said Greely. “Get ready.”
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Tim muttered to himself. He examined the bone. It had a fracture running down it, and wasn't going to take a lot more abuse before it split in two. An idea occurred to him, and he deliberately smashed the bone into the floor, breaking off the weakened part. What he was left with resemmbled a sword more than a club. It would do nicely. He waved it around until he got a good feel for it, thrust it forward a couple of times, and then crouched down on the side of the bed. He'd only have one chance at this, but if he pulled it off, this rat should go down much faster than the previous one.
The scraping calmed, and stopped. Tim resisted the urge to run back into the corner. Claws clattered against the stone floor, and a second rat scurried toward its fallen mate, completely oblivious to any threats to itself. As soon as its head was in view, Tim thrust his weapon forward, straight into its neck. It didn't even have a chance to shriek. It just gurgled as its blood poured down the length of Gorp's former leg. The rat fell, and Tim wasted no time making another attempt to move the bed back against the wall.
“Ye got a third one comin' through,” Greely warned Tim.
Tim winced in pain as he pushed with both feet to move the bed. It gave about an inch, and the scraping on the other side became more frantic. Tim braced himself for the pain, pushed with every ounce of strength he could muster, and succeeded in moving the bed back up against the wall. It didn't connect with the solid thud he had been expecting, but instead with a crunch and a screech. The screech kept on going. He'd caught at least part of the third rat with the bed. Maybe a front paw or its nose.
“Oh,” said Greely. “Ye seem to have neutralized the third rat.”
“He doesn't sound neutralized to me,” Tim said over the screeching. He was sitting on the floor, thankful for what he was sure would only be a brief opportunity to rest. He put his mind to work on what he should do next. His escape tunnel was looking like less of an option now.
“What's on the other side of that wall?” he asked Greely, pointing to the wall behind him.
“Another cell,” said Greely.
“That's it?” asked Tim. “Why didn't you tell me that before?”
“I tried to, but ye–”
“Fuck,” Tim cut him off. “I'm back at square one,” he said to himself. “Except now I'm nearly dead and I have two giant rat corpses for company.”
He considered his current inventory.
1 broken bone. Not entirely useless as a weapon.
1 bed complete with lead brick. No immediate uses came to mind except for the one in which it was currently employed.
2 giant rat corpses. Food? He supposed they'd have to do if it came to that. They must have some kind of nutritional value if they've been keeping Greely going for so long. It was a shame that he couldn't give one to Greely. He couldn't think of anyone who would be more excited by the gift of a big dead rat. He hadn't had any time to really form any sense of affection towards Greely. In fact, if he had to make the choice right then, he probably would have judged him as an idiot and someone who he didn't like on the whole. But when you've got something you don't want, and there's someone else not fifteen feet away from you who you know would really want it, well that situation doesn't– an idea hit him. Rat bones. If he could get some of the longer, thinner bones out of one of these bastards, he'd be able to pick that lock with no problem.
Tim grabbed the shorter shard of bone that he had broken off from his makeshift weapon. He could probably use it to scrape some flesh away, dig down to some bone. Moving with only his hands, still in a sitting position, he made his way to the second rat. He poked at it with the longer part of the bone. It did not respond. He ran the bone sword through the hole in its neck through which he had killed it, and tried to leverage the body forward a little.
“Maybe ye should cut that guy loose,” suggested Greely. Tim hardly noticed the third rat's screams anymore. It was just part of the background noise to him. “Listen to him. He's suffering, he is.”
Tim leaned forward, and then slammed his back as hard as he could into the bed. The rat gave a new shriek of pain, and then maintained its former screaming. “Fuck him,” said Tim. “Did you see my foot? I might never walk right again.”
Tim grabbed the rat next to him by the ear, and shoved it forward as far as he could. This meant that his back was pushing hard into the bed, and the third rat once again voiced his objection. He managed to get the front paw exposed from the side of the bed, and tried to cut away as close to the body as he could, but his bone weapons seemed less ideal for precision cutting than they had been with panicked stabbing. Once he removed the arm from the bulk of the body, he'd be able to whittle the flesh from the bone with greater care. Right now, he only seemed to be succeeding at mangling a corpse. With the help of his good leg and both arms, he finally ripped the leg off of the creature, and fell backwards.
“Change of heart?” asked Greely.
“What are you talking about?”
“Ye gonner eat that?”
“No, I'm not going to fucking eat that,” said Tim.
“Mind tossin' it here, then?”
“No,” said Tim. “Why would I go to all the bother to cut this thing's leg off just to toss it to you so you can eat it?”
“Dunno.”
“I'm getting the fuck out of here. If I've got time, I might be able to get you out too. Or you can stay here and eat all the rat you like. Makes no difference t
o me.”
“Well whatever yer doin', ye'd better get a move on it. Shorty should be making his rounds sometime soon.”
Tim scraped furiously at the flesh on the rat's former forearm, trying to remove the skin without breaking the bones underneath. Digging down, he finally found the bones. He was able to remove one without breaking it, but the other one snapped. The bone he successfully recovered was slender, but strong. It would probably do. He would still need one more. He was getting the hang of flesh removal now, and he separated the bone of the rat's upper arm from the flesh around it without much effort. It was thicker, but not by much. It might do.
He pulled himself up to his feet, and hobbled over to the barred door, keeping as much of his weight as possible on his good leg. He put his ear to the lock, and felt around the inside of it with the rat bones. About ten seconds later he heard a click. He pushed. The door swung feely on its hinges.
“Well I'll be damned,” said Greely. “Not a bad show, lad. Not at all.”
Tim closed the door again. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked Greely.
“Yar,” said Greely. “I think I'd like to see the sky again.”
“Are you willing to fight? I mean, if it comes to that?”
“If we get caught outside of these cells,” said Greely, “ye can be damn well certain it's gonner come to that. I'll fight. If ye can kill two dire rats with naught but poor Gorp's leg, I'll manage te find somethin'.”
Tim opened the door as carefully and silently as he could, and then went to work on Greely's door. “You really eat those things?”
“Nah,” said Greely. “Not those bigguns. They can't get inte me cage. I just eat the normal rats that come in every now and again, when I can catch them. Shorty raises the bigguns fer himself. Takes away about one a week. I normally get a taste of it round the Great Harvest.”
The lock clicked. Greely pushed on the door. Tim pushed back. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“You said Shorty's due to come around soon, right?”
“Yar,” said Greely. “So it's probably best we get our arses a movin', dontcha think?”
“No,” said Tim. “He's pretty small. If we can catch him by surprise, we can take him out of the equation.”
“Ye don't mean–”
“No,” said Tim. “But we can at least lock him in one of these cells. We don't know what we're going to face out there, and we don't need any surprises from the rear.”
“Well aren't ye a smart little guy?”
“You know, that's really condescending.”
“Sorry.”
“Listen. When he comes in here, he's going to head immediately over here and ask me what the fuck's going on with all these giant rats. You're going to open your door and grab him from behind. I'll get out of the way, and you can keep on shoving him into here.”
“Right.”
Tim spent a full five minutes wondering if they made the right choice to wait in their cells before Shorty finally showed himself. He walked into the hallway with a concerned look on his face, and nodded to Greely. Greely nodded back as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Shorty turned his attention to Tim's cell. His yellow eyes grew round and his jaw dropped open.
“My rats!” croaked the old goblin. “What've you done, boy?”
“Oh, I'm fine,” said Tim. “Don't worry about me.”
“Get back, you stupid, murdering half-wit.” He raked his giant brass key ring across the bars of Tim's cell, and Tim instinctively stepped back from the noise. “What the devil?” said Shorty, as the cell door nudged back a bit. He looked up at Tim, who smiled and shrugged.
The next thing Tim knew, the goblin was engulfed in something that looked like a hairy broken box kite, and being pushed into his cell. Tim relieved him of his keys, and picked up his bone sword from behind the rat where he had hidden it. Greely stood up, and Tim pointed the blood-soaked broken bone down at the surprised looking goblin.
Shorty looked up at Greely. “What do you think you're doing, man?” It wasn't said in anger, or from any perceived position of authority. To Tim, it actually sounded like concern.
“It looks like I'm checkin' out early,” said Greely.
“You'll never get past the guards outside,” said Shorty.
“This here's a smart lad,” said Greely, gesturing to Tim. “I'm sure he's got a plan fer that.”
Shorty looked up at Tim. His face was a question mark.
“I'm... uh... still working out the finer details,” Tim lied.
Shorty started to get up.
“Uh uh,” said Tim, brandishing his bone.
Shorty scooted back, but remained sitting. “Is that rat blood?” He grimaced.
“Most of it,” said Tim.
“I'll do as you say,” said Shorty. “Just keep that away from me. Those things carry disease, you know.”
Tim looked down at his foot. “Yes. That thought had occurred to me.” He looked over at Greely and jerked his head back toward the door. When Greely was out of the cell, Tim backed out as well, and locked the door behind him.
“Sorry bout this, Shorty,” said Greely.
Shorty shrugged. “I’d have done the same thing.”
“So,” Greely addressed Tim. “What's the plan?”
“What's that way?” Tim asked, indicating the direction Shorty came from.
“Shorty's quarters, I expect. I don't get around much.”
“Let's see if there's anything useful in there,” Tim said, and led the way briskly.
“Ye got some pep back in yer step, I see,” said Greely.
Tim stopped and looked down at his foot. It still looked pretty bad, but not as bad as it had looked a few moments ago. “You know, you're right. I feel better. Not one hundred percent, but there is a noticeable difference. I wonder...” He bit his lower lip for a moment, and then shook the thought away. “We can think about that later. Let's keep going.”
Greely followed Tim down the hall to a small wooden door which stood ajar a little way down the hall. Firelight glowed inside. Tim nudged the door with his bone, and revealed a cozy little room, complete with a bed, a rocking chair, a dresser, and a shelf full of books. On top of the dresser were a few items that Tim recognized immediately. His bow was here, as was his belt, with his dagger and rapier still sheathed in it. He walked in to grab it, and was bombarded with absolute silence.
The silence was so sudden and so complete that he assumed he'd just been struck unconscious, and wondered how he was able to continue seeing. No more screaming rats. No more footsteps. No more of the general white noise that he never even knew was there until it was all gone. He turned around to look at Greely. Greely put his hands out, palms up, and mouthed the word “What?”
“I can't hear anything,” Tim mouthed back, completely unnerved that there was no sound coming out of his mouth.
Greely's face scrunched up, and he cupped a hand over one ear. “What?” he mouthed again.
Tim decided that this was just something he was going to have to figure out later. Time was too precious a commodity right now. He grabbed his stuff and walked back out. Upon crossing the threshold of the door, he got slammed in the ears with the sounds of screaming rats and a rush of white noise. He dropped his belongings and put his hands over his ears.
“Are ye all right, Mr. Tim?” asked Greely.
“Huh?,” said Tim. He slowly removed his hands from his ears. “Yeah. Just a headache. You know, it's completely silent in there.”
“Ye don't say,” said Greely, and poked his head in. He prodded one ear with a finger, and then removed and inspected it. Then he farted. Tim was at just the wrong height for that. Greely pulled his head back out. “Yar,” he said. “Silent as the grave. How about that.”
“How is that possible?” asked Tim.
“I expect it's some sort of silence spell,” proposed Greely. “Makes sense for a jailor in a dungeon. Ye'd go mad, listenin' te all those people screamin' their heads off al
l the time.
Tim shrugged. That was good enough for him. He buckled his belt, and slung his bow around his back.
He led the way back past the cells, with Greely following behind.
“Hey!” shouted Shorty. “Those are my things, you lousy thief!”
“I prefer the term 'rogue',” said Tim. “'Thief' is so second edition.”
“First you kill my rats, and now you steal my things.” Shorty turned his head. Tim thought he might have actually seen his red goblin eyes start to water. “Thirty years of service, and it's the first thing they ever gave to me.”
“Why did they give it to you?” asked Tim.
“They said it was too small for any of them to use.”
“So you knew it all belonged to me.”
“That's why I haven't been wearing it,” explained Shorty. “I'd very much like to stroll up and down here like a proper jailor, with some weapons strapped to my sides. But at the same time, I didn't want to rub it in your face. I was planning to wait until after you were dead.”
“That's very thoughtful.”
Shorty wiped his sleeve across his eyes and turned back to face them. “Hey, listen,” he said. “I've been thinking. Why don't you take me with you?”
Tim raised both eyebrows. “Ha,” he said. “Nice try, buddy. I don't think so.”
“Come on now,” pleaded Shorty. “I'm a prisoner in here, same as you.”
“You've only been in there for a minute!”
“I mean, as a jailor. Do you think I get free reign of the castle? I haven't been through that door since they threw me in here.” He indicated the door up the steps which the captain and his guard had exited through. “Once they get wind of me letting you escape, I'm as good as dead!”