by J. B. Garner
While I hadn’t been able to stop us from being kidnapped, those Garou had taken us by surprise. These guys had made the critical error of trying to intimidate us first, showing their hand so that we would be ready for them.
Mercutio fursploded as well as I slipped my hammer out of my bag. While he was still dwarfed by Bunny, he was undoubtedly the biggest of the rats I had seen, a hybrid of rat and man that stood a good six feet tall. His fur was black shot through with grey and his thin frame filled out with wiry, corded muscle. The Cheese N’ Crackers apron did detract from the dangerous beast image, though.
“You are welcome to try and shake the tree, cottontail,” he snarled as he dropped into guttural Truespeech. I had the distinct impression that his use of cottontail was a rather slanderous racial slur to Lapin Garou. “Just like we’re welcome to defend ourselves and our property. If you lose an ear or an eye in the process, that is simply unfortunate.”
Bunny growled, her raw animal aggression somewhat hindered by the ear that flopped cutely over one blazing red eye. “Are you threatening a Huntress in the course of her duties, Master Frizzoli?”
“I am simply a humble guildmaster protecting his business and apprentices,” the elder Frizzoli retorted, his claws gouging into the Bakelite. “So, are you going to leave, or shall we be forced to – “
I interrupted the whole back-and-forth, jockeying-for-dominance bit by slamming my hammer down onto the poor, abused countertop. While typically such an act would have made a nice, loud bang, backed by my rather impressive muscle, the glowing runeword I had inscribed along the top of the head amplified the impact of the blow tenfold. The surface broke into splinters of plastic as the head of the hammer drove into the counter up to the handle, letting out a thunderous crack.
For centuries, my ancestors had used their power over runes to craft the most powerful weapons, armor, and relics known by the Figment world. It was about time for me to carry on the family tradition. The word I had activated evoked memories of those past times, of the ringing of hammers both on the forge and on the battlefield, and the might of the Dwarven people, channeling that strength into my own implement. That wasn’t the only runeword I had laid on the thing, either.
Hopefully, I wouldn’t have to use them all.
“That is enough of that,” I roared from atop my crate.
I could get rather loud for my short stature, and my enchanted blow had already silenced the room. The only person who wasn’t now regarding me with a new, more cautious light was Bunny. As best as I could tell, she had the equivalent of a smirk on her rabbit snout. The Frizzolis were all paying attention to me for the moment.
“That’s better.” With a grunt, I wrenched the still-glowing hammer free of the counter, pointing it head first at Mercutio. “You may be a blackguard of the first order, from all I can tell, but as my esteemed associate said, we are not here for you today.” I twisted the hammer in my hand, holding it up to show him the multiple runes I had carved into the handle. “Now, you must have some idea what a Dwarven runecaster can do or else you would not wish so fervently for their service. With that in mind, do you really wish to tempt fate and force me to use these runewords?”
Mercutio’s rat eyes, black and beady, focused on the runes and while I saw his whiskers twitch, he didn’t back down, not right away. “You are bluffing, are you not? Unleashing that much magic is not only against Figment law, but it also would not get you what you want.”
My hard, green eyes didn’t wave as I spun the hammer to an excellent striking grip. “Maybe I am … or maybe I have reached my last thread with threats and posturing. Tell us about Klaus, Patches, and the moon before you snap that last, tenuous thread of my patience.”
“I would refrain from testing her, Master,” Bunny added, eyeing me sidelong. “You know how stubborn Dwarves can be and how prideful as well. You did imply that you would consider doing almost anything to put her under your thumb, in a manner of speaking.”
The ratwere’s whiskers twitched with agitation as his shrewd eyes flitted around the room. No doubt he was calculating his chances. No doubt Frizzoli had more of his little syndicate (or maybe huge, who knew how many Garou he had on his side?) coming. Though the risk was high, he might decide to tempt fate for a chance to have the only Dwarf in the city and, as far as I knew, the state in his clutches.
I had to give Mercutio credit. He had guts in spades. Most people who had any inkling of what they were seeing, the blazing runes still active on my hammer, would have backed down. Out of the those that wouldn’t, most would have been stupid enough to give a tell, to make a stupid, boastful comment that would have clued both Bunny and me off to their next move. Master Frizzoli was that rare intersection of bold as brass and smart as a whip, unfortunately.
That twitch of the whisker or flick of his gaze must have been some kind of signal, or maybe it was the simple fact that he didn’t step back or lower his head to us. Whatever he had done, the entire pack of ratweres took it as a sign to move in for the attack. They rushed for us during that lull, that moment of silence while my attention was still entirely on Mercutio, waiting for his answer.
I’d have been bowled over and thrown from my literal soapbox if I had been alone. Fortunately, I wasn’t.
Two of the thugs, one that had produced the classic biker weapon of choice, a chain, and the other relying on natural claws and teeth, leaped right for me, no doubt to keep the big magic from happening, but Bunny cut them off. I had seen her in action against a raging Sinclair before, and if I weren't in the midst of the fight myself, I’d probably have grabbed some popcorn to watch her work again.
Her powerful legs took Bunny clear over my head in one bound, dropping her full weight foot-first onto the head of the Biker Mouse from Mars. His buddy looked shocked at the Huntress’s speed, which served him no favors as she clotheslined him with an outstretched arm at the end of her leap. The three ratfolk that had made their initial move at Bunny found themselves scrabbling at the empty space she had been in.
That left one unaccounted for, but I didn’t have the advantage of the animal reflexes. I barely turned halfway towards the sound of scratching claws on the linoleum floor before something hard and distinctly bottle-like clonked me in the side of my head. Thank the ancestors it didn’t hit my already-wounded side. While it stung like crazy, the whole incident proved conclusively that a Dwarf’s skull was stronger than a mere glass bottle as I finished my turn, my arm already bringing the hammer around to defend myself.
What I saw was an albino rat, eyes as wide as they could be, garbed in what I could best describe as business casual for your discerning mouse, and brandishing a ketchup bottle. His disbelief at my continued consciousness was evident as my anger for him daring to Heinz my brains in. His ketchup went up in a desperate defense as I carried through with my hammer swing, the head glowing bright gold from the runic power flowing through it.
It was good for him that I had a close enough brush with killing someone once before and that turned the target of my wrath from the side of his face, still woefully unprotected, to his outstretched bottle arm. The blow caught him neatly in the forearm, followed by another resounding, meaty thwack and, well, a more sickening crack of bone. Now free, the innocent ketchup flew out of the albino’s limp hand, spiraling once to strike one of the three that was tangled over Bunny’s stool in the temple. It hit just right to finally shatter, dispensing tomato-based condiment all over the unfortunate rat’s face.
Mercutio was now the one I couldn’t account for, and the scrape of metal on wood concerned me greatly. Even as Bunny’s second dance partner flew through the air, tracing a similar arc that the wererabbit had taken herself, but with far less grace, I kept turning on my box. By the time I was back around, the elder Frizzoli was in the process of pulling what I suppose was the standard issue armament of his family, a sawed-off shotgun, from under the counter.
I was done with that, and I was done with this entire mess. Bunny wasn’t wron
g when she talked about Dwarven tempers, well, my own at any rate. While I wasn’t a bloodthirsty type and I’d much prefer to share a drink with someone and talk about a problem, pulling a gun was taking this brawl too far. Maybe it wasn’t a lethal threat to the Garou, I still wasn’t sure how far their regenerative abilities went, but it was to me.
Besides, every moment posturing and fighting with these goons was a moment Patches was still missing.
As the flying rat crashed down beside me atop his ketchup-covered brothers and sisters and before Frizzoli could level the gun at me, I focused my mind on the second runeword, the one inscribed on the hammer’s grip. The furious warmth of pooling magic rushed down my spine and into my hand, leaving chills in its wake, before bursting up the hammer and out through the head.
The first time I had used a runeword like this one had been purely subconsciously, scattered runes worked into paintings based on my dreams before I knew who I was. They had formed walls, protective wards of glowing magic to protect my apartment. I had taken that word and added subtle variations in the exact runes used. The word that now shone on the handle of my hammer took those impressions of high walls and sturdy gates and made them into half-remembered images of lines of charging Dwarven warriors, facing down their foes with shields interlinked into an impregnable barrier before crashing into the opposing front lines.
So, what had before formed a magical ward to defend a castle became an octagonal shield of pure, glowing force that rocketed out towards the ratwere’s snout, a good yard in diameter. Either fueled by bravery or a mere accident of Mercutio’s twitch reflexes, he still managed to pull the trigger, though it did him more harm than good. The shotgun’s roar was almost deafening in those close quarters, and the shot that exploded from the barrel was entirely blocked by the glowing shield. While most of it was deflected away or blunted, a fair few pellets rebounded at such close range back at Mercutio, forcing him to cry out in pain a split-second before the full force of the shield bashed him right in the snout.
A spurt of blood accompanied the crunch of cartilage and the breaking of bone under the magical force. It carried forward another few feet, snapping Mercutio’s head back as he crashed to the ground before blasting into the double coffee maker on the back counter. A cascade of steaming hot coffee joined the elder Frizzoli on his trip to the floor below.
I hopped on the maligned front counter. If the poor thing took too much more abuse, it might collapse, and my surprisingly heavy weight and workboots were doing it no favors. Behind me, Bunny’s angry chuffing was accompanied by a crash as she bounded into the rats who still had some fight in them. Mercutio was sprawled out, the shotgun now sitting in a pool of hot, black coffee, his paws clamped over his gushing broken nose and snout.
“It is only because I am a more noble person than you, Mercutio Frizzoli, that I will give you this one chance.” I puffed up to my full height, feet planted, shoulders squared, majestic scarlet beard and wavy hair flowing in an eldritch breeze, my hammer blazing as I held it down towards him. “Call off your pack of cads and ruffians, apologize for what pain and woe you have laid upon our feet, and tell us all that we wish of Patches Sanderson! Do it now, or I swear to my ancestors I will bring your entire web of infamy down around your head thread by miserable thread!”
I felt like a Viking goddess proclaiming judgment from the prow of a dragon boat or the lead singer of a heavy metal band throwing down her influence over an awe-struck audience. If the faint gasps and staring eyes I felt upon me were any indications, I looked that way too. Even Bunny was caught up in it, though knowing what I did then, I think it had a slightly different effect on her.
Mercutio, eyes locked unblinking at the magic coursing over my hammer, let out a surprisingly soft squeak before abruptly turning his head up and away, one hand still trying to staunch his bleeding. He quite literally was showing me his neck, a show of submission before a dominant force.
Huh, maybe I would have to try this the next time Aelfie was a bit reluctant about something. Of course, it might have an entirely unintended effect then.
“Back off,” he cried nasally. “Do as the Dwarf said!” To be fair, there was still a glint of pride in the rat’s eyes as he added, pain and the broken nose making his speech a little off-sounding, “You win … for now.”
I hopped down to the space behind the counter, my boots thudding heavily on the floor next to Mercutio as he reluctantly sat up. “Now, Master Frizzoli, let us discuss a certain Corgi and the Gnome fence you had him meet.”
15
Despite his still crooked snout and the blood-stained apron, Mercutio had taken on his gentle old man façade by the time we sat down in his surprisingly small and cramped back office. Though he was playing nice for the moment, it was important to note that he hadn’t shifted back to his human form. Of course, neither had Bunny and my hammer never left my hand.
So, instead of a full-on brawl, we had decided to talk things over like civilized people, with proverbial guns pointed politely at each other’s faces.
Frizzoli sat behind a desk cluttered with papers, an old CRT monitor sitting on a side table hooked up a dusty desktop computer. We had dropped back into English now. “Let’s finish this as fast as possible, shall we? I think at this point we would all simply want this association to end.”
“We have a man to find, and you have a criminal empire to administer,” Bunny said with a chuff. “And I’m guessing we’re running out of time on the first.”
“So, let’s start with the obvious.” My hammer was on my lap, atop my bag as I leaned forward slightly. “You don’t have Patches, or else you wouldn’t have tried to snatch us originally. You were hoping we already had a lead on him. The question is why are you trying to get him?”
Mercutio’s eyes went a little hazy as he began to reminisce. “The thing I always liked about Patches was that unshakeable loyalty. He’d be happy to do anything you asked him, and he never once asked a question or got suspicious. Took you at face value, you know. Most folks, even my own brood, don’t usually have that kind of trust anymore.”
His gaze moved over to the two of us. “Maybe I relied on that too much. Patches was so gung-ho for the Council, you see, that all I’d ever have to say was that it was an errand for us. He’d sniff out anyone we asked, deliver things around town, whatever, and he’d never let out a peep about it. Wonderful boy. I bet he didn’t even tell his old lady half of what he did for us.
“That’s loyalty, right there.”
There was a glint of that red glow in Bunny’s eyes at the vague reference to Mother, but she didn’t make a move of any kind. “Let me guess. Patches finally decided to ask a question.”
Mercutio grunted as his whiskers twitched, followed by an immediate squeak of pain, a paw going to his nose. Guess it hadn’t fully regenerated yet. “Yeah, in a manner of speaking.” He collected his composure as he gently touched his snout. “It’s more like he looked in a box he shouldn’t have. My fault, I’ve come to accept, for having him do the pick-up from the Gnome. Smaragd doesn’t exactly have a sterling reputation around town, you know.”
I nodded slowly. “That’s what I’ve been hearing. So, if I’m following you, Patches picked up something from Klaus and then made off with it.” I snapped my fingers. “The blue moon! It’s some magical artifact?”
“I don’t know why you two keep bringing up this blue moon thing, but you’re mostly right,” Frizzoli muttered. “Klaus informed me of a big score that had come his way, something a Garou might find fascinating. I still don’t know precisely what it was, because the earth-licker has gone to ground, well, figuratively.” He growled under his breath. “Maybe literally.”
The side-facing eye of Bunny’s closest to me gave me a thoughtful look while I assume the other was still focused on the ratwere. “Whatever it is had to be a big deal then, dangerous enough that Patches didn’t want to give it to you now that his eyes are open and valuable enough that Klaus is afraid of your retributio
n.”
“I don’t even care about the Gnome at this point,” Mercutio shot back. “Tunnel mother, I’d pay him a pile of Drake’s Marks more if he would at least come clean as to what the thing even was. It’d be easier to track it down if I knew what it was.”
I laughed, something that brought on a glare from the crime boss. “That’s good on Klaus then. The further you’re away from Patches the better.” Just then I had a bad thought, and if the color of Bunny’s eyes meant a thing, I think she did too. “I’d keep away from the Sandersons, by the way, no matter what happens with Patches and this artifact thing. You’re pushing boundaries that are going to raise my ire.”
“And mine,” the Huntress added. “I know you don’t care that much for Garou principles these days, Frizzoli …”
“As if you ever did, Reba,” he snapped back, but Bunny kept going.
“… but the pack, the herd is sacrosanct, even to scum like you, and I’m not the only one with eyes on you now.”
Whether Mercutio made the connection to Sinclair or not from her vague implication, whatever one he made was enough to make him blanch through his fur. “Anyway, Patches isn’t keeping an eye on his pack at the moment, so going after them doesn’t get me any leverage.”
He eyed us closely. “There, that should be assurance enough. Now, that’s all I know about this whole business. Patches has disappeared off the map, and Klaus is holed up in his pawn shop behind enough arcane traps and artifacts that I won’t send any of my brood off to get blown up trying to talk to him.”
I ran my fingers through my beard as I tried to figure if he was straight with us. Ferreting out a liar was something I had practice with, and Aelfie had taught me a few tricks over the last month or so. After a moment, I came to believe that Mercutio was truthful, at least as much as he was capable of. His back was to a wall, we had given him an out, so he took it.
