Izak Grottle climbed down from the palanquin and lumbered over to the great barred window. His breathing was labored and he was already hungry.
He had come a long journey from the Underways to reach this secret lair. It was almost time to eat again.
He congratulated himself. It was amazing how simple the sources of the brightest inspiration could be. All the enormous effort that went into having that secret investigative lair had been born out of a hunger for him.
He doubted that any other ratfolk had been able to think of something so simple and yet so clever.
"Let the others draw up intricate and complex plans!" Grottle thought. He would soon prove to all of them that the simplest plans were the best.
He looked into the mutagen vats, and saw the monsters taking shape within the bubbling, glittering food liquids. He inspected the huge measuring orbs that dropped carefully measured amounts of the mutagenic liquid into the jars when the watchful jarmasters deemed the conditions perfect.
The foul smell of ozone and strange chemicals rose from the fluid and tickled his nose. It was a reassuring smell to him, the same smell of the den where his clan had raised him, from which he had begun his long rise to the power he now held.
He smiled, exposing his great yellow fangs, and she felt the pangs of his terrible hunger again. All ratfolk suffered from this from time to time, usually after combat or some violent activity. They called it Hunger, and to most of them it was a sign of triumph and an indication that they could devour the prey. Izak Grottle suffered from these cramps constantly.
He had long suspected that the permanent exposure to mutagen and the mutating chemicals used to create it had caused some strange effect on him. He would not be the first Beastmaster to acquire the stigma of some mutation, nor would he be the last.
In his case, he suspected that the transformation had affected his brain as well; he had stimulated him by making him smarter and more cunning than the other ratfolks, and rewarding him with fantastic insight. Which was why he had to eat so much, of course, to feed his incredible mind.
He tucked his tail into his mouth to control the terrible hunger pangs. Great gouts of saliva trickled down the bulbous flesh. He had already devoured every last bit of the huge mound of jerky that should have lasted until the end of this visit.
He knew that inside that alchemy laboratory there was nothing very edible except his own carriers and the truth was that up to now they had done nothing to upset him. The jars that surrounded him contained mostly toxic chemicals; there was nothing there for him to eat. He took a deep breath and fought to control his appetite.
Skitch looked up nervously at him. Grottle could see that the little hunchbacked ratfolk was restless. Perhaps he was thinking of all the other footmen the rumor had it the Beastmaster had devoured. Grottle licked his lips with his long pink tongue. As he liked to tell all the investigative vermin about him, those rumors were the absolute truth. The light from the magical lanterns illuminated the pebble-thick glasses Skitch wore to compensate for his poor eyesight. Grottle nodded, flicking his tail for the sheer pleasure of watching Skitch jump back nervously.
Skitch was small and weak, and so nearsighted that he could barely see a paw he had in front of his eyes if he didn't have his glasses on. In many other ratfolk clans, such weakness would soon have been cause for him to be killed and eaten, but Clan Shaper recognized his potential and kept him alive, and as Grottle knew, for that the little boy was truly grateful. And he had proven himself useful to the Shaper Clan. In all likelihood, Skitch was the best mutator master in the clan's long and glorious history. He was a genius when it came to raising and shaping all manner of beasts. At that moment he handed her the cage that contained what was most likely the Clan Shaper's greatest triumph.
Izak Grottle picked up the cage and inspected what was inside. She was a huge fat female rat, already pregnant to all appearances.
"Lay eyes would see very little difference from an ordinary rat." Grottle thought. Perhaps they would notice that it was a little bigger and a little more violent; perhaps they would even notice the wicked gleam of some abnormal emotion in his eyes. However, they would never suspect that they were looking at one of the most powerful weapons the world had ever known.
"Doesn't sound like much, does it?" Grottle commented in her slow, booming voice. "TRUE?"
"Perhaps not, sir... but appearances are deceiving." The master mutator's voice was unusually high for a ratfolk, and his words had an oddly suggestive quality. "This beauty will lay waste to entire cities, bring nations to their knees, make the world bow to the genius of Clan Shaper!"
Grottle nodded slowly and satisfied. She knew it was true; she just wanted to hear it from her lackey.
"Are you sure there won't be any trouble, Skitch? Absolutely sure?"
"Yes, yes, sir. I'm sure. We have bred thousands of these creatures and many have been tested for destruction by authorized methods."
"Good! Good! And what have you discovered?
"They show a voracious appetite for any material. They are capable of eating wood and garbage if nothing else is available; but mainly they look for and devour grain, meat and other foods."
"Excellent."
"They can consume the equivalent of their own weight in a hundred heartbeats, and be ready to eat again within hours."
"You have done splendidly, Skitch; splendidly."
The hunchback almost seemed to swell up to size, thanks to the effects of the praise.
"And they can give birth to litters of up to a hundred pups."
"They grow fast, of course, don't they?"
"They reach full maturity size in a day, provided they find enough food."
"And the breeders?"
"They can give birth to one litter a day each, as you specified, sir."
Grottle threw back his head and let a deep thunderous laugh rise from his throat.
"Such a simple idea." he thought he.
When those rats were released into the human city, they would be able to consume all the available food in a matter of days. All the stored reserves of the harvest would be devoured. Food from stores would disappear under a hungry furry avalanche. They would eat and reproduce unstoppably. And when there was no other food available, they would eat the humans and their animals. And when all the food was gone, they would eat each other, or die. His life span was measured in days. However, before that happened the humans would have starved or fled the city, and Clan Shaper would win. Word would reach the Council soon, and a suitable reward would be found for Izak Grottle.
"Are you ready to begin?"
"Yes Master. We have the captured grain barge almost ready. In a few days we will have done the remodeling. We will take the specimens to the place where we have it hidden, and then it can begin its journey when you see fit."
"Perfect, perfect." The human warehouses were located near the docks. All they would have to do was get the boat out there and open the cages. A few expendable soldiers could handle that with no problem; perhaps with the help of a rat-orc. "Do it as soon as the preparations are finished."
"Of course Mr."
"You say you have thousands more like this one?" Grottle asked, as he reached into the cage to pet the glossy fat rat with one paw.
"Yes Master. Why?"
"Because I have a craving."
Saying that, Izak Grottle picked up the sleepy rat and stuffed it, still alive, into his salivary mouth. He still struggled futilely as he moved down her throat. "It tastes good." Grottle thought. "just like victory."
♦ ♦ ♦
Frey walked through the swinging doors of The Stinky Pig, and every head in the room turned to look at him. At first he wondered why, but when Katka, one of the tavern wenches, came over to ask what she could get, she knew it was because no one had recognized him. She smiled at him, and the young woman responded with a confused look until she realized who she was.
"Wow, Frey! He would never have guessed it was you. Has the duke's daughter given you new clothes?"
"Something like that." he muttered as he ran down the stairs to his room to change his outfit. He was grateful to discover that the package containing his plate armor had already arrived from the store.
He couldn't go around fighting dressed in that expensive suit. Then he realized that the mere possession of these new adornments was changing him.
That very morning he would not have given a single thought to such questions; probably because he wouldn't have needed to. And where was he going to hide the bag full of gold that he had received as supplies from the castle? To Keil, the person who generally manages the castle, it might have seemed like quite a bit of money, but it was more than Frey could earn in a season's work at The Stinky Pig. Gently, he lifted a loose floorboard and lowered the bag into the gap.
While he was changing for work, he meditated on the meeting with Osval yerónimo. He gave the impression that the authorities were finally taking the ratfolk threat seriously.
At the same time, it seemed that Osval had made some very strange assumptions regarding Frey. He seemed to take it for granted that he was much smarter than he was, and that he was involved in the whole thing more than he actually was.
He figured all Osval was doing was simply projecting his own reasoning and perception onto what he knew about him.
Well, as long as he didn't ask him questions about Fritz Helstaff's death or the college fire, Frey wasn't going to disappoint him. That Osval had deduced the existence of a vast and well-organized ratfolk conspiracy from various random acts carried out by him and the catgirl might have been too much to assume… except for one thing.
It was clear that there was, in fact, a vast and well-organized Ratfolk conspiracy. Even though he had only killed Fritz Helstaff, there had been powerful wererats present.
The assassins of Clan Furtim had been about to burn down The Stinking Pig, and monsters had been sighted just before the fire that destroyed a good part of the New Quarter. Even though he and Elysia had interrupted them, the Marchin Clan warriors had ransacked the faculty. Although they had interrupted the ritual of the plague priests, the ratfolk had managed to infiltrate the graveyard and the plague still continued to spread like a low flame fire, slow but steady.
Quickly, Frey placed the enchanted pomegranate around her neck and breathed in the scent of his herbs deeply. Osval had not thought it necessary to keep the secret that ratfolk patrols had been sighted within the sewers and in other areas of the city; scouting parties, most likely.
He knew that one of the creatures he had seen in Helstaff's house was a Black Magician, one of the rarest and most powerful of all wererat magicians; a being that, in fact, could only be seen when the ratfolks were hatching big plans.
Frey felt a chill. He was forced to admit that however wrong Osval's facts were, the basic conclusion he had reached was probably correct.
The ratfolks were planning something big in Bergheim. But what?