The Faeman Quest

Three

The rat was coming again. Brimstone could hear it. Could smell it and sense its evil little ratty thoughts. It wanted to kill him, of course. Everything wanted to kill him these days. Especially Dr Philenor.

Brimstone was squatting in the corner of his cell, spotlighted by a ray of watery sunshine streaming through the sole high window. It was his favourite spot, marked by striations and browning bloodstains on the flagstones where he’d once tried to dig his way out with his bare hands. He usually squatted naked, or covered in excrement, but today he was wearing a suit. Today was a special day.

He expanded his senses to discover what else might be threatening him. His mind flowed out into the tangled corridors of the Double Luck Mountain Lunatic Asylum and latched on to the left ear of one of the nurses, a plump attractive little Faerie of the Night, who was currently thinking of buying sardines for her cat when her shift ended. There was a special offer on sardines at a fishmonger she passed on her way home. She could buy four at a saving of thirteen per cent and cut them up for Tiddles, who liked to eat them raw. Four sardines, chopped, would be a very satisfactory supper for Tiddles, and once Tiddles was fed, the nurse could come back in the middle of the night when the asylum was quiet and use her special pass key to get in and murder Brimstone. She was just the same as the other nurses. They all wanted to kill Brimstone. As did that nurse’s cat. And the fishmonger. And the sardines.

There were cockroaches in the walls. He could hear them easily with his heightened senses, clicking and feeding and singing martial songs. They were planning to get him, those cockroaches, just as soon as they’d mustered enough troops. There was an army of cockroaches stationed just inside the walls, not quite big enough to kill him yet, but they were breeding steadily in their special farms, training up young cockroaches for the cockroach army. When there were enough of them, say 3.7 billion cockroaches, they would swarm out of the walls and begin to eat him from the feet up. Cockroaches always ate you starting at the feet, leaving your eyes to the last so you could watch what they were doing right up to the bitter end.

A bluebottle squeezed through a crack in the windowpane and began to buzz lazily around the cell. Almost certainly a spy-fly for the cockroaches, Brimstone thought. Insects stuck together when it came to killing humans. Insects and germs. Dr Philenor was breeding giant germs, of course: things the size of sparrows. He kept them in old handkerchiefs and unleashed them on his enemies. They flew up your nose and made you sick.

The bluebottle buzzed within a yard of Brimstone. He caught it expertly and ate it.

The rat was definitely getting closer and it was not alone! With the astonishing reach of his expanded senses, Brimstone could tell the creature was bringing his wife and children, four hungry little rats, less than half the size of their parents, but with sharp, piranha teeth. It was a family outing, aimed at killing Brimstone.

They were all planning to kill Brimstone – the rats and the spy-flies and the cockroach army and Dr Philenor’s giant germs and the nurses and their cats and the sardines and the fishmongers and anything else that could burrow, fly, squeeze or otherwise gain entry to his padded cell. But Brimstone was not afraid.

He had George to protect him.

There was a scritch-scratch at the door of his cell and for a moment Brimstone wondered if the rat family had circled round in a flanking movement, then realised, as the door swung open, it had to be Orderly Nastes.

‘Are we dressed?’ asked Orderly Nastes as he marched in with his tray. ‘I see we are! Well done, Silas. It’s an important day for us, isn’t it? Do you know why it’s an important day, Silas?’

‘Yes,’ Brimstone muttered, scowling.

‘Of course you do!’ exclaimed Orderly Nastes cheerfully. He was a plump bald man with an unexpected lisp and a drooping moustache, grown in imitation of Dr Philenor. ‘It’s the day we meet up with our Review Board. And that means our Sunday suit, doesn’t it? Because we have to look our best.’ He placed the tray on the floor beside Brimstone. It was set with a mug of medicinal ale, a lump of stale bread and a piece of mouldy cheese.

‘Ta,’ Brimstone muttered, taking care not to meet Orderly Nastes’s eye. It was important not to meet the eyes of orderlies, who were equipped with special eye inserts that shot invisible rays into your head and melted your brain. He reached out for the cheese and began to break it into crumbly pieces.

‘How’s George?’ asked Orderly Nastes conversationally.

Why don’t you ask him yourself? thought Brimstone crossly. George had put in an early appearance, as he often did when there was cheese about. He was towering over them now, fangs bared, with his back against the far wall. But experience had taught Brimstone that idiots like Nastes often failed to notice things that were right under their noses, so he murmured, ‘Fine.’ George smiled and nodded his agreement.

Orderly Nastes gave a discreet cough. ‘Word to the wise, Silas. Wouldn’t want to mention George to your Review Board, I were you.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Get my drift?’

‘Yes,’ Brimstone muttered. He wanted Orderly Nastes to go away now, so he could drink his ale and feed George with the cheese. If George was hungry – and George was always hungry – he might eat Orderly Nastes instead of the cheese. How would he explain that to the Review Board?

But Orderly Nastes was already on his way out. ‘You have a nice breakfast now, Silas,’ he said. ‘Nurse will be down presently to take you for your review.’ He shook his key ring and selected the three that locked the door. ‘Well, best of luck now.’

As soon as Nastes was gone, Brimstone spread the crumbled cheese on the floor, laying it out in neat little lines the way George liked. But George mustn’t have been hungry after all, because he didn’t touch the cheese and the food stayed there until the rat Brimstone had heard crept cautiously out of a hole in the skirting. It stared for a long time at Brimstone, who sat immobile in his corner, then crept forward and began to nibble at the nearest crumb. Brimstone caught it and ate it, starting with the head since he was not a cockroach.

It tasted even better than the bluebottle.