Энди Вейр: Rat

Perrin and his company, after fierce negotiations with the armorers, finally left the armor shop. The disdainful Llwyd had ordered the finely crafted buckler he had long sought. Rat, for her part, had managed to procure, through some negotiation, a bracer for her right arm. Special ordering a bracer for her right arm was just one of the many inconveniences Rat had endured by being left-handed in a right-handed world. She never delved in to how she got left-handed thief’s tools.

Rat, less interested in her recent acquisition, fiddled with her new “Magic Bee” pendant she had bought earlier that day at Falthar’s shop. She could not immediately come up with a use for a small clockwork bee that followed verbal instructions, but that was not the point. Fiddling with the bee reminded her of her ceramic magic frog. Falthar had given it to her in advance for some sort of duty he wanted her to perform tomorrow. She knew not what that would entail, but rested comfortably in the knowledge that whatever it was, she could always refuse and give the frog back.

“Know what we need?” King blurted out in his raspy voice to whoever cared to listen.

“Hmm?” Responded Perrin absently.

“Whores! And some booze! We’ve earned it.”

“You’re disgusting,” Rat proclaimed.

King shrugged. “I’m a man firm in my convictions! I need some whores! I think I’ll get three.”

“Ugh!” Rat groaned. “I’d bet you couldn’t even handle one.”

“Hey! That only happened once! And I was pretty tired!”

Rat stared at him for a moment. “That was a lot more than I needed to know.”

King bit his lip. “Uh… I didn’t mean to say that part out loud.” He shook it off. “Why don’t you ever get a man? You probably could. Well… maybe. Yeah, probably. OK, I’ll do ya for a Noble.”

Rat made a disgusted sound. “You’re making me sick.”

“OK, OK, OK. Half a Noble.”

“I wouldn’t sleep with—” Rat stopped. “No. I’m not having this conversation with you. Just… no.”

King shrugged. “You don’t know what you’re missing! There’s a reason they call me the King!”

Perrin and Llwyd had fallen back to let the two argue in peace. “I must say,” said Llwyd, “we don’t need your bardly skills to entertain us when those two are around.”

Perrin nodded. “Yes. I’m composing an ode to spiteful bickering, and they’re both mentioned by name in it.”

Llwyd snickered.

King was really starting to get Rat’s dander up, a feat only he seemed to be able to do.

“And, yaknowwhat? You’d probably look good if you were wearing… uh… nothing!”

Rat fingered her dagger for a moment. “Don’t you have whores to hire or old men to con or something?”

King shrugged. “This is more fun. I’m just tryin’ to help, ya know. You never have any fun! Your so picky. I mean, who would you sleep with?”

“Rat?” Came a voice from behind them.

They all turned to see a man wearing merchant’s robes. His clasp identified him as an Apprentice Merchant. He was young, perhaps in his twentieth year. His brown hair hung low, partially over one eye in a rakish sort of way. He was average height, but his bearing marked a confidence and self-assuredness little seen in a man of his age. He wore a half smile and his friendly eyes conveyed a genuinely pleasant outlook on the world. Underneath the robes, as they blew slightly in the wind, the perceptive observer could see finely crafted leather armor and a stylish black hide belt.

Rat’s face was a mask of astonishment, her deep, dark eyes wider than any of her new compatriots had ever seen them. “Glawyn?”

A lot can happen in a year and a half. Especially in Tordanal.

Before meeting Perrin, Llwyd, Veancher, and Llasad, before even meeting King, Rat was an inhabitant of the Low Quarter of the city. For the Low Quarter, “inhabitant” is not the right word. A more appropriate designation would be “denizen".

With many of Tordanal’s men off fighting in the War, business was poor in Rat’s line of work. There just wasn’t a lot of money coming in to Tordanal, and therefore, nobody had much worth stealing.

Rat, then 16, walked along Cobbler’s Alley in search of one person in particular. It was a good day, as good as days got in the Low Quarter, and the sun shone bright in what should have been another cold winter afternoon.

Rat was garbed in grubby men’s clothing. While hygienically clean, her clothes made her appear filthy. It was hard to keep clothes clean when you lived in a sewer.

Cobbler’s Alley was not an alley, but a street, and had no cobblers. Presumably, when it was named, it did not penetrate all the way to The King’s Road. Perhaps a cobbler’s shop was in the way.

The street was packed with the human refuse of the Low Quarter. Fences lined the streets, their carts full of stolen wares, with the occasional semi-honest businessman in their midst. If the watch had their way, the whole street would be burned down with everyone in it. But there was nothing to be done. There was no way to prove the items were stolen, and no way to sort out the good businessmen from the bad.

She spied Dahm across the busy crowd. He made eye contact with her and jerked his head toward a small alley where they usually met.

Rat made her way unobtrusively to the alleyway where Dahm was waiting for her.

“What have you got?” She asked, looking around her.

“What have you got?” Dahm replied. He was overweight and overbearing, as filthy as a beggar and as sharp as a tack.

Rat frowned at him. “That depends on what you’ve got.”

Dahm folded his arms. “Decent house. Nobody’ll be in it tonight.”

“Where?”

“Not until you pay me.”

“What’s in it?”

Dahm shrugged. “Probably a fair haul. It’s here in the Low Quarter, but—”

“Forget it,” Rat snapped.

“-but,” Dahm pressed on, peering at her chest, “well stocked. I’ve never understood this flexible morality you have. Everyone’s a target.”

Rat shook her head. “Not if they’ll starve for it.”

Dahm shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I saw them loading the house up with food. Probably for some sort of gathering. I’m sure they can spare some for a poor girl with nothing. Even if they don’t know they’re sparing it. They’re about as well off as you can get down here. They can afford it.”

“Fine, fine. Where?”

“That’ll be a Noble.”

Rat dropped her jaw. “Dammit, Dahm. You know I don’t have that kind of money!”

Dahm shrugged. “The price is a Noble.”

“I’ll give you a Common.”

“Make it twenty Commons and you’ll have a deal.”

Rat clenched her fists. “That’s a Noble, you ass! No deal.”

Dahm thought for a moment. “OK, then. You can pay after you—” He stopped suddenly, looking over Rat’s shoulder.

A man from the watch was there. His tunic identified him as a Corporal. Rat and Dahm both knew him by name. “Hello, urchins,” he said.

Rat turned away and pursed her lips.

“Corporal Cyfraith! How pleasant to see you again!” Said Dahm.

“And what have we here?” Asked Cyfraith, “A little business, Dahm? Rat, I didn’t know you’d sink so low. What does she charge, Dahm? I might be interested.”

Rat spun and tried to punch the Corporal. Cyfraith caught her fist easily. “Temper, temper, Rat,” he tisked. “Striking a watch officer is a very serious offense. Maybe I should take you in.”

“Maybe you should kiss my ass!” Rat seethed.