Wherein very little actually happens, and yet I am still fairly satisfied with what I've written.
Rat-Boy and Skritch
Chapter Two: Treasure Hunt
Rat-boy strode across the streets of Sideways, his brigade not far behind. His footsteps jounced and thudded, and sometimes, even squelched, across the waste-ridden streets, kicking a trinket here or an old bone there wherever they lay in his path. Skritch, close behind, did his best to match his strides in his awkward and rat-like manner. The sun struggled vainly, pitifully to thrust its many fingers through the cloud of constant smoke and fog that enveloped the city.
Not many walked among the lowest level of Sideways any more. It was no longer an avenue of traffic. Instead, it was both landfill and graveyard, and only the desperate or clever (but usually both) could make their way 'round the neglected paths. The great (or perhaps terrible) towers of Sideways rose like haphazardly placed building blocks, climbing to escape the stench and the death, bridges connecting them here and there so as to avoid ever going below.
Rat-boy stopped suddenly, tripping Skritch over, and tapped his Talking-stick twice upon the ground, prompting the rats to mill about him. 'I found one!' Rat-boy picked up and dusted off what looked to be a large human skull. He smiled. 'Barely even scratched, too! Yorick, old buddy, you're just what I was lookin' for.'
Rat-boy threw the skull into the air, once, twice, before finally thrusting it towards the mass of rats. The disciplined couriers ferried it and others like it towards wherever Rat-boy strode next, diligent in his curious treasure hunt to find the skulls that were best and most complete.
'Deadeyes'll love these. Think he'll give us what we wanted?' Skritch gave only a non-committal shrug, a difficult act with no shoulders. Eventually Rat-boy was satisfied with his hoard, and as assured as ever he strode towards a certain mound in a certain alley with a certain stick jutting out of the filth, upon which hung, as you may have guessed, an old human skull.
---
'Not bad, not bad. Yes, my lad, I think we may be able to negotiate a deal, fair and just...' the old man hobbled across the uneven floor of his carved out home with grace and ease, piling skulls onto a makeshift rack in the pitch-black darkness. 'We'll bring them all back, lad, you know, we will... When I've finished my work it'll go back to the way things were. They shan't rest for much longer, believe me, lad.'
'I know, Deadeyes. You say that every time I come back here.' Rat-boy smiled and shook his head at the decrepit cripple he could not see under the underside of Sideways.
'Don't shake your head at me, boy.' Rat-boy flinched. 'I can see everything down here. I know you don't believe me any more, but you can't change fact. And don't call me Deadeyes! You know my name's Albert.'
'Sorry,' said Rat-boy. 'It's hard to use the old names.' Rat-boy wondered at the conviction in Deadeyes' voice, and again his mind turned again to the past and present, but as usual that sort of deliberation caused an acute migraine.
Instead his mind turned to the figure cobbling about somewhere in the darkness, speaking words too well-rehearsed and familiar to pay any attention to. He wondered at the impossibility of the underground cavern seemingly carved by Deadeyes himself, as disfigured and misshapen as he felt under Rat-boy's touch. No one stayed with him down here, not for very long, and he never ventured outside. He wondered how large it really was, and how Deadeyes knew always where anything was, despite the lack of light. And especially despite the two glass balls that served as the old man's eyes.
And as usual, Rat-boy wondered whether Deadeyes was wise, like a warm and knowing grandfather, or completely and utterly demented and insane, like most others. He never could decide on which.
'Ah, here it is. Just what you wanted. Take it; have a glance up top, and if you're unsatisfied bring it back. But you know me, lad -'
'- fair and just is Deadeyes the trader! Bring him what he wants and he'll give you the same. Right?' Deadeyes shook his head and smiled at the shabby little boy with the strange powers, the boy he could see all too well. It was a sad smile, but he kept it to himself.
---
Rat-boy ran his hand over the intricate carvings of the bronze hilt of the dagger. Nicked and marked with the ages, it was still of beautiful workmanship, a strange contrast to the world surrounding. His finger slid across the blade; Rat-boy yelped, and drops of blood fell to the ground. Sucking on his finger, Rat-boy said through the corner of his mouth: “It's perfect, isn't it, Skritch? Deadeyes really delivered. Where do you think he got it from?” Skritch did his best to shrug for the second time in a day, nearly fell over, and decided that some questions didn't really require an answer.
Rat-Boy and Skritch
Chapter Two: Treasure Hunt
Rat-boy strode across the streets of Sideways, his brigade not far behind. His footsteps jounced and thudded, and sometimes, even squelched, across the waste-ridden streets, kicking a trinket here or an old bone there wherever they lay in his path. Skritch, close behind, did his best to match his strides in his awkward and rat-like manner. The sun struggled vainly, pitifully to thrust its many fingers through the cloud of constant smoke and fog that enveloped the city.
Not many walked among the lowest level of Sideways any more. It was no longer an avenue of traffic. Instead, it was both landfill and graveyard, and only the desperate or clever (but usually both) could make their way 'round the neglected paths. The great (or perhaps terrible) towers of Sideways rose like haphazardly placed building blocks, climbing to escape the stench and the death, bridges connecting them here and there so as to avoid ever going below.
Rat-boy stopped suddenly, tripping Skritch over, and tapped his Talking-stick twice upon the ground, prompting the rats to mill about him. 'I found one!' Rat-boy picked up and dusted off what looked to be a large human skull. He smiled. 'Barely even scratched, too! Yorick, old buddy, you're just what I was lookin' for.'
Rat-boy threw the skull into the air, once, twice, before finally thrusting it towards the mass of rats. The disciplined couriers ferried it and others like it towards wherever Rat-boy strode next, diligent in his curious treasure hunt to find the skulls that were best and most complete.
'Deadeyes'll love these. Think he'll give us what we wanted?' Skritch gave only a non-committal shrug, a difficult act with no shoulders. Eventually Rat-boy was satisfied with his hoard, and as assured as ever he strode towards a certain mound in a certain alley with a certain stick jutting out of the filth, upon which hung, as you may have guessed, an old human skull.
---
'Not bad, not bad. Yes, my lad, I think we may be able to negotiate a deal, fair and just...' the old man hobbled across the uneven floor of his carved out home with grace and ease, piling skulls onto a makeshift rack in the pitch-black darkness. 'We'll bring them all back, lad, you know, we will... When I've finished my work it'll go back to the way things were. They shan't rest for much longer, believe me, lad.'
'I know, Deadeyes. You say that every time I come back here.' Rat-boy smiled and shook his head at the decrepit cripple he could not see under the underside of Sideways.
'Don't shake your head at me, boy.' Rat-boy flinched. 'I can see everything down here. I know you don't believe me any more, but you can't change fact. And don't call me Deadeyes! You know my name's Albert.'
'Sorry,' said Rat-boy. 'It's hard to use the old names.' Rat-boy wondered at the conviction in Deadeyes' voice, and again his mind turned again to the past and present, but as usual that sort of deliberation caused an acute migraine.
Instead his mind turned to the figure cobbling about somewhere in the darkness, speaking words too well-rehearsed and familiar to pay any attention to. He wondered at the impossibility of the underground cavern seemingly carved by Deadeyes himself, as disfigured and misshapen as he felt under Rat-boy's touch. No one stayed with him down here, not for very long, and he never ventured outside. He wondered how large it really was, and how Deadeyes knew always where anything was, despite the lack of light. And especially despite the two glass balls that served as the old man's eyes.
And as usual, Rat-boy wondered whether Deadeyes was wise, like a warm and knowing grandfather, or completely and utterly demented and insane, like most others. He never could decide on which.
'Ah, here it is. Just what you wanted. Take it; have a glance up top, and if you're unsatisfied bring it back. But you know me, lad -'
'- fair and just is Deadeyes the trader! Bring him what he wants and he'll give you the same. Right?' Deadeyes shook his head and smiled at the shabby little boy with the strange powers, the boy he could see all too well. It was a sad smile, but he kept it to himself.
---
Rat-boy ran his hand over the intricate carvings of the bronze hilt of the dagger. Nicked and marked with the ages, it was still of beautiful workmanship, a strange contrast to the world surrounding. His finger slid across the blade; Rat-boy yelped, and drops of blood fell to the ground. Sucking on his finger, Rat-boy said through the corner of his mouth: “It's perfect, isn't it, Skritch? Deadeyes really delivered. Where do you think he got it from?” Skritch did his best to shrug for the second time in a day, nearly fell over, and decided that some questions didn't really require an answer.
Ah poor Yorik, For he is dead.
ReplyDeleteBut then he's always dead, I don't think I've ever heard of an instance where he was alive...