3 A Spell of Rats

A ROTTING STENCH filled the dungeons beneath the Black Palace. Two viral mages in long blood-red robes strode past thick wooden doors, kicking at the carcasses, a morbid carpet of dead rodents laid out for their visit.

Threadfin Todder had heard of carpets for visiting royalty, but this was a touch over-doing it. In our case, he thought wryly, a carpet of dead rats is about as good as it gets. Appropriate, I guess, although he did not think Aiyana would’ve agreed.

He risked a glance at his companion, but decided not to engage him in conversation. Beezer, a name out of viralic legend, and lost to history for two centuries until along with thousands of others he’d returned. And all thanks to my dear sister, Threadfin thought with a tinge of sadness. Aiyana’s death two years earlier had released thousands of undead souls across the world, an ancient spell broken.

Behind the two mages strode Podral Pole – his friend, not to mention, ex-thief, ex-convict, ex-honorary-Aidari-with-no-magic-to-speak-of, and of course an ex-husband to a now dead princess of Atlantis, not that he’d ever been a prince – who was currently whistling under his breath. Out of tune. On purpose.

The Darken was in high spirits, despite the obvious changes, not least being a huge increase in the number of viral mages in the capital. Many had reappeared in various locations across the world upon Aiyana’s death, but over the past couple of years, most had journeyed to Icarthya. Some claimed they’d felt a summons they couldn’t explain. Glancing at his companion mage, Threadfin felt certain any summons was Beezer’s doing. Meddlesome old buzzard.

Then, there was the recent plague of rats. Some breathers had equated the two of course, tensions between the undead and the living unresolved despite improvements throughout the imperium in housing, jobs, and trade. His one remaining sister, Sarscha, who was now imperatrix, had stopped at nothing to improve her people’s lives.

Pole’s whistling grew louder, making Threadfin wince. He’s in too cheery a mood, he thought in irritation. I shall have to find the underlying cause. Never right when that breather is in too good of a mood. He glanced back, and Pole had the nerve to wink, crinkling up the scar which ran from the corner of one eye to his chin. One his ex-wife had no doubt given him.

Beezer remained silent as they walked the length of the huge subterranean darkness. At last, they reached the final cell in the deepest darkest layer. Being undead, I suppose I should love it down here. It’s what breathers expect of us. He gave a shudder, hoping he could keep this visit brief. Dungeons, dead rats, and a cheerful bodyguard. What a way for a simple undead mage to start the day.

Outside the cell stood another mage. They were everywhere, making Threadfin feel redundant. Lyrin, another infamous name in viralic lore, wore the same robes. Her face was hidden within a large hood, but she lowered it at their approach to reveal a visage kissed by time. Or savaged by lice-riddled jaws with ginormous rotting teeth, if one was of a nature to put it in such terms.

‘We must wait for him before we precede,’ announced Beezer, with a growl. ‘Late, as usual. I do not see the need for his inclusion in this matter.’

‘He’s family,’ said Threadfin.

‘The imperatrix commanded it,’ said Lyrin. ‘Besides, he keeps his own time, and I wouldn’t lecture him about it if I were you.’ Lyrin glanced at Threadfin. ‘Is this all your work then?’ She gestured at the dead rats.

Beneath her stare, Threadfin felt like one of those students from centuries ago at the infamous Necropolis. He winced. ‘Look, a plague of rats requires drastic measures, doesn’t it? So, I took, um, some measures. Uh, drastic ones.’ At least my rat-killing spell worked in the end, he thought with a grimace, fingering a small horn on his chin. All he’d done was take his ability to absorb lifeforce and magnify it, while tailoring it to include just rats. Those pink healthy blisters on his body were now close to bursting with life. All of it rat-juice.

He’d made several attempts overnight, going outside the city to experiment, especially after he’d set his tower on fire. Nipper was still cleaning up that mess. Fortunately, the fire had been a small one. He hitched his dark red cloak, feeling suffocated, which was odd since he didn’t breathe. If rats were the full extent of my problems, I’d be a rotting dancing undead delight.

‘Rather a plague of dead rats now,’ observed Lyrin ‘wouldn’t you say? Couldn’t you have come up with a rat vanishing spell?’

‘Couldn’t you?’

‘You are the imperial mage,’ she retorted with no sign of what she thought about that. ‘It is your job, I believe. You are the lead mage and the most powerful of us.’ Threadfin heard a grunt and unintelligible muttering from Beezer at that last bit.

‘Well, if you’re all that upset about it,’ Threadfin said, ‘would you like me to fetch you a broom? I hear there’s a fat soldier named Trotters who is already roasting them in plum sauce. At least he’s doing his bit.’ There it went again, his tongue running off without him as usual. He just couldn’t help it. Besides, he never seemed to get any recognition and all the blame. ‘This place could do with a dusting too. I’d lend you my mongrel, but he’s busying stealing everything in sight above our heads. Bastards got sticky fingers don’t you know? Makes a fine cup of tea, though. When he’s bothered.’

Beezer uttered a groan, rolling his eyes within the dark pits of his skull.

The female viral’s eyes widened, followed by a faint smile on her shrivelled lips. ‘Have you ever considered getting rid of it?’

Threadfin stared back at her in shock. ‘Of what? My mongrel?’

‘Your personality. It somewhat, grates.’ She sniffed, looking about her as though there was something of greater interest in the darkness.

‘Huh,’ Threadfin grunted, wondering what had gotten up her rotting nostrils. They’d rarely spoken in two years, it was true. In fact, he did his best to avoid all virals except for Tezcat. He’d found that these days, not being in the capital was the best method. ‘I wasn’t informed I had a personality. Quite the opposite.’

‘I definitely never told you,’ Pole said behind him. The sputtering torch he held cast ruddy shadows on the tunnel walls. ‘Might be just a vicious rumour going about though. You know how those start. Like the one got started about you being a hero and all. Like I said, vicious.’

‘Thank you, Pod, as always, for your valuable input.’

‘Is the prisoner awake?’ Beezer demanded, sounding impatient while staring at the cell door. What was he so irritable about? They were just chatting.

‘He’s been chanting in there, or praying, or something,’ said Lyrin.

‘He’s the unholy Grim,’ muttered Pole. ‘Who would he pray to? Himself?’

Threadfin snorted. ‘He’s arrogant enough.’

‘He’s been at it for two hours,’ moaned Lyrin. ‘I’m glad to see you bothered to come at all. I did send for you several hours ago.’

‘Um, yeah, sorry,’ Threadfin said, with another wince. Lyrin’s gaze cut right through him. ‘I was busy. You know, rats and stuff.’

‘You weren’t here for the best part of two years, child. Where did you get off to?’

Being called a child irritated him, as he was sure it was meant to. ‘Well, you see, I don’t like dungeons much. They give me the heebie-jeebies. Any excuse not to come down here, you know. I’ll travel half the world to get away from one in fact.’

‘Which world?’ asked Lyrin with a knowing look.

‘We’ve held him here for far too long, Todder,’ said Beezer. ‘The council should have been convened and passed his sentence long ago. I’m certain he’s up to something. The longer he remains in there, the more dangerous it will become for the rest of us.’

‘Fin here gets depressed in places like this,’ offered Pole helpfully.

‘You mean dungeons?’ asked Lyrin with a snort.

‘No,’ answered Pole, ‘palaces.’

‘Yes, exactly.’ Threadfin was not about to inform them of anything just yet. ‘I’m an upbeat fellow most of the time. Ask anyone. Open air, sunshine, and bunny rabbits. That sort of thing.’ 

Pole cleared his throat. ‘I wouldn’t bring up the rabbits if I were you. Your sister’s still upset about that. Word got back to her.’

‘I think you just did bring it up, Pod. Thank you.’

‘Is he always like this?’ Lyrin asked Beezer, half gesturing at Threadfin as though he couldn’t see her.

The elder viral groaned while rubbing at his forehead, and muttered, ‘Night and day. Could we just get this over with? Then perhaps he can pop off to visit another world, or wherever it is he gets to. I can suggest several.’

‘We must wait for him,’ Lyrin insisted. ‘He requested we do not go ahead without him, and it is his right all things considered. The imperatrix agreed.’

‘Yes, well,’ said Threadfin hitching his cloak, and trying to appear important. ‘You lot can stand about chatting. I’m going to speak with our illustrious prisoner. I’m not waiting on him any longer.’ Who does he think he is anyway?

As if on cue, a figure in a threadbare cloak arrived, face hidden within a deep hood. What was it with everyone insisting on being so mysterious all the time? At least the undead had an excuse. Or used to. With so many of them in the city, hiding their faces seemed pointless now.

As Threadfin moved to the cell door, Lyrin placed a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at her ravaged visage, and couldn’t help but wonder what he might look like after a few centuries. ‘Be careful in there,’ she whispered. Her eyes darted to the new arrival and back. ‘He is a trickster and worst of all, a survivor. You know what those are like. This may not go the way you think.’

Beezer growled and muttered, ‘I’ll be with him, Lyr.’ As if that made all the difference.

‘I hardly need any hand holding,’ Threadfin snapped, ‘thank you both very much. I think I can handle this.’

‘Is that so?’ asked Pole, being his usual helpful self. ‘Then what have I been doing all these years?’

‘Hardly the same thing, Podral. This matter involves magic.’

‘Doesn’t it always?’

Beezer nodded at the cell door. ‘Drop the wards.’

Lyrin obeyed, although she didn’t touch the door with anything as mundane as hands. Instead, a weave of magic flowed across its surface, including the lock. There was a loud clanking sound. The door swung open, and Threadfin stepped inside to greet the Grim.