FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Paul splashed some water on his face, panting softly as he looked at himself in the mirror. He was pale and his eyelids were baggy. He hadn't gotten much sleep since his encounter with the rat a few days prior. Every time he closed his eyes he was brought back to that moment and how sick and violated he felt. Today he was especially unwell though, his body aching and hot one moment, and cold and clammy the next.

He shook his head to try and clear it and wiped his face down with a damp cloth, before going back out into the hall and then down towards the sitting room to join his brother and their guest. As he entered the room, the other two men were already seated. James was like Paul, with long dark wavy hair pulled back in a tail, and dark eyes. Unlike Paul, who kept clean shaven, he had a trim beard around his mouth. The other man was taller, and a good ten years older than Paul, with dark skin and eyes, and a smoothly shaved head.

Paul looked between them for a moment, and his brother James waved him over, “Ah, there you are!” he said, before looking over to the other man, “Mr. Bright, this is my brother Paul, Paul this is Richard bright, of Carter and Bright, the coal company.”

The other man stood and looked from James to Paul. He flashed a polite smile that didn’t touch his eyes, and extended his hand, “Pleased to meet you.” He kept his tone even, but Paul could tell he hadn’t expected the younger Hawthorne to be there.

Paul swallowed a lump in his throat, and took the offered hand and shook it, “Yes, um, likewise, Mr. Bright.” He said, before moving to a chair near his brother and dropping into it, glad for a chance to be off his feet for the moment.

James smiled, “You won't mind if my brother sits in on our meeting, do you? It would be good for him to know some of the ins and outs of the family business after all.”

Bright glanced at Paul for a moment that was just shy of uncomfortable in its length before nodding curtly, “It's fine with me,” he said, “Shall we get down to it?”

James nodded with a smile that Paul knew well, his brother was up to something. Both men gave the impression of wild animals circling each other, each looking for an opening, and waiting for the other to make a move. James sat back in his seat and folded his hands over his lap, “Of course.”

Paul likewise settled in, resting his head against the tall back of the chair to steady it. He ran a finger under his collar, tugging it. The sitting room felt stuffy on the best of days, but the tension seemed to make the air particularly hot and thick.

Bright was the first to make a move. He reached into his vest and pulled out a slip of paper. “I hope I can rely on your discretion with the information I'm about to share with you,” he said as he paused and waited for a nod from each of the other two men before continuing, “Times are getting tough at the mines, what coal we have been pulling out the past few months is lower quantity and poor quality, and we have had to start tapping into our reserve pile. While we do have a few promising leads on some new seams, nothing is a guarantee. As such we need to re-negotiate the terms under which we sell you coal gas for your grow houses.” He handed the paper over, “This is my new offer.”

Paul didn’t like the sound of that. The entire city ran on coal and coal gas. Ever since the sun had darkened almost twenty years prior, Bright’s coal mine, and the Hawthornes’ grow houses had become the lifeblood of Sollenfurt. The gas lamps kept the oppressive darkness at bay, and the grow houses supplied the primary source of food for the city.

James unfolded the paper and looked at it, before going wide eyed. He then glared at Bright, “A twenty percent price hike? Are you mad?”

Bright shrugged and spread his hands, “It's still well below the standard rate,” he said, “But we both know, your grow houses use a lot of gas. You are beyond a doubt, our biggest customer, using even more than it takes to keep the streets lit. I will have you know, we are going to raise our prices across the board to encourage people to restrict usage so that we make sure there is enough for everybody.”

James gripped at the armrest of his chair, his fingers digging in against the old wood and fabric. “We can’t just cut out usage by that much. We need as much light as we can get,” he said. His jaw was starting to clench.

Richard spread his hands in a placating gesture, “It’s really the best we can do,” he said. “But times are hardly ideal, and we all need to think long term.”

Paul rubbed his head, the pain throbbing through his temples grew as he listened to the two men argue. He stood up and moved to the center of the room where there was a tray with water and he poured himself a glass, looking between the two men who had turned to face him. “Sorry...it's awfully hot in here, don't you think?” he asked as he returned to his seat.

James watched him for a moment before turning back to the other man. “Twenty percent is out of the question,” he said, “Our margins are already running thin as they are,” he said. “The best I can offer you is three, maybe four percent more.”

Richard shook his head and frowned, “Look, James, I like you, and your family has been good to mine, but I'm in a bind too. The best I can offer you is...” he paused for a moment as he ran the numbers in his head, “Say...twelve percent, and a return to the old rates if and when we find a new seam and are at liberty to reduce them.”

“Oh, bollocks,” James said, “This isn’t the first time your company has raised rates on us, and you have never lowered them, no matter how well things improve.” He gripped the paper in his fist, crumpling it between his fingers.

Paul looked between the two men, and then at his brother before speaking, “If he is willing to go back down, could we do a modest increase in our prices to cover the difference? At least in the short term?” he asked, wiping his brow, still sweating profusely, “A few extra stars per sack of grain or beans won't break many banks.”

James glared at Paul, and the younger man realized he may have just hindered the negotiations, “Perhaps...” James said rubbing his head as he mentally went through the numbers. “Alright, I can do ten percent, but I want it in writing that as soon as you strike a new seam our rate will go back to our current level.”

Richard gave an agreeing nod of his head, “I think we can come up with a fair contract. I'll get my lawyers on it right away, have the paperwork over to you in a few days.”

James nodded, “Good,” he said and narrowed his eyes, leaning forward as he regarded the other man, “But mark my words, if I catch wind that you are trying to extort us, you can be sure I'll petition the city council to look into your books.”

Richard smiled wolfishly, “Feel free, and I can bring up your own conduct,” he said. “I wonder how the council will take to you abusing your connections?”

“What the devil are you talking about?” James asked, doing his best to keep his face neutral, but Paul saw he had been caught in whatever scheme he had been planning.

“If the rumors are right, your brother will be taking over as Arbiter soon. Word has it he already has the backing of most of the rest of the Council. You brought him here to try and intimidate me.”

“I did no such thing,” James responded through clenched teeth. He was really being backed into a corner.

“Sure, you did,” Richard countered, “I figured out your father’s schemes. Paul won't have direct ownership of the grow-houses like your father does, meaning he won't have to recuse himself in decisions that could benefit you. Quite the convenient loophole, but it’s not entirely bulletproof.”

Paul listened on, his head started spinning. He shook it to clear it and stood up, “Come now Mr. Bright, I'm not here for...not...” before he shook his head again and his strength left him, “Oh...” he stumbled for a few paces before falling to the floor.

James jumped out of his seat, “Paul? Paul!” he began checking over his brother, rolling Paul onto his back and putting a hand on his head, before pulling it away quickly, “Ah, he's burning up!” he then called for one of the servants, “You, go now, run to the pest house and fetch a doctor immediately!” he said. Then he looked to Richard, “Help me get him to bed,” he said.

† † †

“Give it back!” Pox screeched as she chased the other rat through the warren, dodging bits of debris and other members of their clan as the two scurried through the underground tunnels. The other rat, a short fat male named Nine-fingers looked back and stuck his tongue out at her, waving the pilfered coin purse to taunt her, “What was yours is mine now! More coin for me!” he said before turning down a side tunnel.

Pox almost skidded past the sharp turn, falling to all fours, before scrambling down the tunnel after him. She was able to quickly get back to her feet to resume running but she lost ground in the process. “Keep the coin, give me the purse!” she shouted, bending down to grab a loose stone and fling it down the tunnel at the other rat, hitting him square in his left shoulder.

He grunted but didn't slow down, “Come and take it, slow-Pox!” he said, taunting her again, turning down another side tunnel, almost tripping over another of their brethren that was squatting in an alcove. The indignant rat screeched at them and threw something in their direction as they continued down the tunnel.

Pox was able to gain some ground once more, and the two soon exited the warrens and into the city sewers, where Pox finally caught up to the smaller rat as he slipped on a patch of slime and fell into the trough of sewer water going down the center of the tunnel. Pox pounced onto him and tried to grab the hand holding the coin purse.

He kept it out of reach as he fell backwards onto his back under her. As he squirmed around in the slime and muck, he managed to slip out of her grasp, kicking out with one foot and raking his claws down the side of Pox's leg and cutting deep into her calf. She screeched loudly in pain and responded by balling up a fist and punching him square in the snout, causing blood to pour from his nose and gums.

Nine-fingers grabbed at his face with both hands, giving Pox the opportunity that she needed to snatch the purse and rip it from his fingers, backing a few steps away. The male rat then screeched in anger and leaped at her, attempting to rake her face with his claws. She blocked the blow, raising an arm to protect herself, but his momentum knocked into her and sent both of them tumbling back down into the muck again. Pox cracked her head against the corner of the stone trough and dropped the coin purse, sending it flying back behind her.

The two rats continued their struggle, biting and clawing at each other, trading the coin purse back and forth, before finally they were both pulling on it. With a loud ripping sound, it tore apart, spilling coins onto the floor of the tunnel. Nine-fingers let go of his ruined portion, dropping to the ground to collect the shining silver and brass coins, ignoring Pox in his greed. She growled and gave him a hard kick between his legs that sent him screeching and curling over himself, “Stupid idiot! You can't spend human coins, they’re worthless to you!” she huffed, collecting the torn purse, and storming back to the warren.

She found Ticktock in one of the side alcoves of the warren, not far from the kitchens. It was in one of the preexisting structures the rats had claimed, and it had a solid door that pox took advantage of, closing and locking herself in with the other rat. Then, with a huff, she moved to a corner of the chamber, and sat down, exhausted.

Ticktock was seated at a small worktable lit by a portable oil lamp. She was following a recipe out of a worn moldy tome, mixing various herbs together with what smelled like alcohol. “Done fighting for the day?” she asked, not looking up from her work, checking with an old pocket watch to make sure she was keeping everything timed correctly.

Pox waved her off, “Nine-fingers started it, stealing my stuff again.” She huffed, running the now ruined bag through her fingers, looking at the embroidery that had held her interest prior to her scuffle. It was ripped now, but still somewhat visible when the rat held the edges together.

Ticktock finished batching her potions and she sealed the bottles, before putting them on shelves to sit with others. “Is that what he stole? A silly little coin pouch?” she asked when she had finished. She grabbed one of the bottles on a lower shelf and she went up to Pox and squatted down in front of her. Taking the cleanest dirty rag she had, she began pouring the contents of the bottle on it and using it to wipe at some of Pox's wounds.

The larger rat winced and hissed at the stinging sensation of the medicine being applied to her cuts and scrapes, “Yes, I picked it off that human I had sex with a few days ago,” she said, holding up the purse, “This crest is on the human's grow houses. I think the human is from the same clan.”

Ticktock continued cleaning up Pox's wounds, “Maybe, but why does that matter? Are you going to go find him and offer more sex for food? You said he didn't exactly enjoy himself.” she said, examining some of the deeper gashes, before applying the potion to them and wrapping them with more scraps of cloth.

Pox hissed softly but didn't fight much as she was cleaned up and her wounds bandaged. “No no...maybe...” she thought for a bit, “Oh! Well he is young. Maybe we kidnap him, bring him here and-”

She was cut off by Ticktock perking up, “Three way?” she asked, “You said he's cute,” before breaking out into a fit of giggles.

Pox huffed loudly and smacked the smaller rat, who continued to giggle. “No, stupid! We ransom him back to his clan. Human clans are tight knit, they would give us plenty of food to get back one of their own.”

Ticktock nodded as she moved around to Pox's other side, “Maybe...though maybe not...but!” She grinned up at Pox, “If they say no, we can always eat the human.” She said, pouring a large quantity of the potion into the gashes on Pox's leg.

The other rat howled out in pain, “AH! That burns!” she hissed through gritted teeth, squirming as Ticktock started to wrap the leg.

“Good! Serves you right for fighting over a stupid scrap of cloth and some useless silver.” She said, finishing her work and then sitting down to lean against the larger rat's side.

Pox put her arm around Ticktock, “It's mine, Nine-fingers shouldn't have taken it. Don't know why he's so obsessed with coins.” She said firmly before closing her eyes. “Should I go after the human?”

Ticktock yawned and nuzzled against Pox, “Sure, if not to kidnap, maybe to get more sex. You are calmer when you are satisfied, and a human can't give you pups you don't want.”

Pox shrugged, “Sometimes I think I should have had myself fixed, like you. Then I could lay with anyone and not worry.”

Ticktock perked at that and shook her head, reaching up to scratch gently at Pox's cheek, “No sister, you don't,” she said, trailing her hand down to her own belly, “I wish I wasn't a fool, and was still whole. Sometimes I think I could have been a good mother.”

“Maybe,” Pox shrugged. “You can always help me raise my pups when I decide to have them.”

Ticktock smiled, “Won't be the same, but I'd like that. Would you share your mate too?” she asked teasingly.

“Of course, I would. What is mine is yours, sister.” Pox said, embracing the smaller rat.

† † †

The doctor stepped out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him, before turning to face the master of the house. He was a tall figure, dressed in heavy robes of oiled and waxed cloth. He leaned on his cane with one hand and pulled out a pocket watch to check the time with the other. The watch was silver, with the back clasp engraved into the shape of a rat with its tail coiled around a staff.

Jonathan Hawthorn stood there, still in the arbiter's robes he wore when at city council meetings. He rushed home as soon as he heard about Paul's condition. “Tell me doctor, what is your diagnosis?” he asked with a tone that both sounded like he already knew the answer, but also didn't want it to be confirmed.

The doctor raised a gloved hand to his face, and adjusted his mask, an angular piece of black lacquered wood and leather, resembling the beak of a raven. He gave a gravelly sigh, “The signs are all there, it is some form of plague, of that I'm certain.” he said, shifting in his stance.

Even behind his thick beard, the doctor could see Jonathan's face go pale. “How is that possible? There hasn't been a whiff of plague in this city in over a decade,” the man asked, pulling a kerchief out of his pocket, and wiping his brow with a shaking hand. “It's unheard of, even in the impoverished areas of the city.”

The doctor glanced at the floor and crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his thigh with his cane, as he thought. He remained silent for several moments, before looking up and speaking again, “Do you have a rat problem in this city?” he asked.

The arbiter shook his head, “Why no, of course not,” he said, “Outside of some livestock, there haven't been any animals within fifty miles of this city in years, and that includes vermin.”

The doctor raised a hand and shook his head, “I'm not talking about common rats. Plague doesn't know the difference between rats and rat-men. Both can be carriers, especially if one was blessed by Hectis.”

The arbiter closed his eyes and nodded, “If that is what you mean, then yes, we do. They have infested the sewers, though there aren't more than a few dozen…maybe a hundred in the entire city. They occasionally rob my grow-houses for vegetables and grain, or they'll steal coal...” he rubbed his chin. “One of the servant girls said Paul came home in a state the other day. When I confronted him about it, he said he had been robbed, could it have been a rat that did it?”

The doctor nodded, “That's a possibility, but it usually takes time for the plague to transfer from one being to another, more than is involved in a simple robbery.” He removed his wide brimmed hat and rubbed his head through the thick cloth that covered it.

Jonathan frowned, “What are you implying? That this was a deliberate act?”

The doctor shrugged his shoulders, “Perhaps. The fastest way to transfer plague is through body fluids, blood or pus or bile for instance, but really, it's not my place to speculate on that.”

The arbiter sighed and nodded, “Well that is troubling...what can you do for him?”

“I have some poison at my disposal. It's quick and painless,” the doctor offered, spreading his hands at his sides in a gesture of defeat.

Jonathan shook his head, “Out of the question! My great uncle survived the plague and made a full recovery,” He said, “I will not give up that easily.”

The doctor shrugged again, “Those were different times I bet. The best I can do is keep him comfortable. I can try, and I stress that I can only try, to combat his symptoms. But I can't make any promises as to a cure, you are asking for a miracle.”

“Then you had better start praying, Doctor.”

The doctor snorted, “I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, no one is allowed in this room except for me and my patient.” He then turned, entering the bedroom again and closing the door. He sat beside Paul's bed with a book and pen and took some notes.

† † †

It had taken Pox a couple of days to find the human's home, and after a time spying through windows, she had found out about the human's condition. She retreated to the warren, returning the next day, and waited for the other humans to leave the house. It was midday when she got her chance, by then the crimson sun was high in the sky, bathing the landscape that wasn't lit by gas lights in a dim blood red illumination.

The rat scurried across the lawn of long dead grass, and began climbing up the side of the building, following a path she had already laid out in her head to go up the wall to one of the high balconies on the third floor of the manor. She stood on the landing and used a piece of bent iron wire to trip the lock, before pushing the glass door open, stepping into the darkened room, with some of the blood red light pouring in behind her.

She made her way to the bedside, her nose twitching as she caught the scent of sickness coming off of the human. A hand on his head told her he was still alive, though quite ill. She made to reach for her bag before a voice startled her from the corner.

“Come to finish the job?” it asked, as a black figure emerged from a shadow, with a long beak like mask poking from under a wide brimmed hat, it stepped into the dim sunlight coming in from the open balcony, the light reflecting off a pair of goggles over the eyes, “It's fine if you have, I won't stop you. In all honestly, you'll be doing me a favor.”

Pox reeled turning on the figure, “Who you, human? What you do here?” she hissed, pulling her dagger from its sheath.

The figure took on a defensive posture, “My name is Malachi, I'm a doctor, a Son of Hectis. The family is paying me to treat the young man on the bed there. I presume you, rat, are the source of his infection. Care to tell me your name?”

Pox chittered softly, “Name Pox,” she said, “Pox give rat plague, yes. Other things too maybe,” she said shrugging her shoulders.

The doctor nodded, “I figured as much,” he said going over to the bed. “Poor kid is infested with fleas and lice, and the boils he's developed aren't pretty either. I'm guessing you rats don't bathe much do you?”

She shrugged, “Strong smell wards off blood drinkers. Not notice after long enough.”

Malachi nodded his head again, gesturing with a gloved hand, “Well, whatever works for you.” He said, then looked down at the bed, “Truth be told, I'm surprised the kid has lasted as long as he has, but I have done all I can for him. My hand has been stayed, but if you want to do him a mercy, I say take that blade of yours and slice his throat.”

Pox chittered more, “No, need alive! He useful to Pox,” she said.

Malachi chuckled, “Well he's not going to stay alive for much longer anyway, so I think you are out of luck.”

Pox shook her head, “No, no. Pox bring nasty juice. Bad for drinking, good for healing.” She said, pulling a small bottle with a few ounces of liquid out of her pouch.

The doctor turned to one of the gas lamps near the bed and twisted the knob, clicking the striker a few times before it lit, illuminating the room. “I doubt it will do much good, he has an advanced case of plague, he's already showing signs of jaundice.”

The rat shook her head, “Nasty juice cure everything,” she said, and un-corked the bottle. She placed a hand under Paul's head lifting it slightly and she poured some of the liquid into his mouth, before rubbing his throat to get him to swallow. He coughed and opened his eyes, looking confused up at the rat, who shushed him, “Drink...swallow it all...” she said softly as she fed him the rest of the mixture. He managed to choke down most of it, before coughing and falling unconscious again.

The doctor watched on as the rat finished administering the potion, and she let Paul's head rest on the pillow again. He then looked to the bottle, “May I see that?” he asked, pointing to the empty bottle. Pox handed it to him, and he brought it to holes in his mask, wafting the odor towards them. He then poured the last few drops onto his gloved fingers before lifting his mask enough to taste it. “This tastes like Theriac. Tell me, where did you get the herbs for this? Was one a gray thorny leaf with yellow blooms?” he asked, looking in the direction of the rat who was already climbing over the rail of the balcony.

“Wait!” he called out to her, “Even if this is Theriac one dose isn't enough, he'll need more.”

The rat paused, lifting her head above the rail again, “What? More? Nasty juice cure everything, one bottle.”

The doctor nodded, “It can most things, yes. But his case is much worse than a common cold. He'll need a dose every few days for at least a month to make a full recovery.”

Pox hissed softly, “Then Pox bring more later...in a few days,” she said.

The doctor moved to the balcony, “When you do, any herbs you used to make it that you can spare, if you bring them, I swear on my life as a Son of Hectis, you can name your price for them.”

Pox tilted her head, “Why?”

“My order has not been able to produce this potion for a very long time, it’s highly valuable to us.”

Pox narrowed her eyes, “Maybe.” She said, before releasing her hold on the balcony, dropping down and catching herself as she hit the ground two stories below, and she darted off into the sanguine darkness.