by Stone, J.
Erynn had not expected that the identification belonged to an actual person, though it did make sense. “Uh, yes. I suppose that will do,” she answered.
“Okay, just one last question,” Marjorie began. “Do you have any preference on your box number, Countess?”
Erynn again shook her head and answered, “No, it won’t matter.”
“Alright,” the woman said. “Wait here one moment, and I’ll go get you a key.”
Erynn stood there hoping for the teller to hurry back. She was finding it harder and harder to breathe through the tight dress and the deceit wasn’t making it any easier. She wondered how long it would take Germ to finish the tunnel and worried about how dangerous the fake bank robbery would be for Rowland.
Soon, the woman returned and held with her a small, metal key. “Here you are, ma’am. Meet me over by the stairs, and I’ll take you down to the boxes.” She pointed over to the right and disappeared behind the counter somewhere.
Erynn slowly made her way across the room to the stairs and waited for the woman to arrive. The teller had grabbed a key ring from somewhere in the back and beckoned for Erynn to follow her. Marjorie guided her to a sealed door, which after some fiddling the bank teller managed to open with one of the keys and a combination.
She swung open the door and indicated for Erynn to enter. “Your box is number 812.” The teller walked to the wall where the box was and slid in a key to one of its two locks, twisting it and pulling it back outward. “If you need anything please let me know. I’ll be right outside, so take your time.”
Erynn waited for the woman to exit the room and go out from her line of sight. She then slid in the key that the woman had given her and opened the second lock. She swung open the door, pulled out the box and placed it on a nearby table.
She again rifled through her bag and pulled out the mechanical device. She ensured it was still functioning and then placed it inside the box. Erynn picked the box up from the table and slid it back into its hole in the wall.
She walked over to where the vault door was and briefly inspected it. She could see where the code was entered and where a machine would prick your finger to retrieve a gene sample. Having seen what she needed to see, she exited the room and informed the teller that she was finished.
Erynn left the bank and made her way back to the Callahan’s house. She couldn’t wait to get the fancy clothes off and get back into something more comfortable. She hoped Rowland would be back by the time she made it there, and that they could hurry up and get on with the plan.
She arrived to a mostly empty house, however. Pearl came upstairs and greeted her, informing her that there had been no news from the professor or the others yet. Erynn asked Pearl to help her take the dress off again, and soon she was back into comfortable clothes. She shuffled her hair back into the messy curls she was used to and placed her worn-in hat back on her head.
Erynn went into the next room where Germ was still hard at work. Standing near the entrance to the tunnel, she yelled down to him that he could begin to use the tracking device.
The young chromesmith went back upstairs and entered the room where she had left Tern. She began working on a new punch card, and she told him as she was typing the program, “We’re going to need to make you into a bank robber, Tern.”
Chapter 15. Germ the Tunneler
Germ had been working on the tunnel that would stretch from the basement to the bank’s vault for some time, but to finish it he was going to need a means to locate where he was in relation to the bank. Erynn was off at that moment accomplishing such a task. She had left him a device that would allow him to determine how close he was getting to the vault, but it wasn’t yet in position.
He and the young boy helping him, Wiley, had managed to make it more than halfway to the vault. They had worked out a simple system where all the excess dirt that Germ dug out, young Wiley would carry in a bucket back to the main room. They had managed to make quite the mess back in the basement, but they were going to need that dirt.
After the vault had been robbed, they intended to fill back in the hole, so that the empire couldn’t trace the robbery to Wiley and the rest of the Callahan family. Germ had been working for a long time, and he was in need of a short break.
He worked his way back out to the tunnel, where Wiley had also thought it necessary to have a brief rest. Germ sat at a table chair opposite the boy and leaned back trying to relax for a moment.
“Hey, Mr. Germ,” the boy declared.
“Greetings, Master Wiley, but please just call me Germ,” the rat said.
“Only if you just call me Wiley, Mr. Germ,” the boy countered.
“Very well. Wiley it is,” Germ stated.
Germ picked up his monocle from the table and placed it back over his left eye. He then reached into his vest that draped over the back of a chair, pulling out a wood pipe and a small bag of tobacco. The rat shook out a bit of the tobacco into his pipe. Pulling out a pack of matches from his trouser pocket, he lit the pipe and deeply breathed in the smoke. As he placed the tobacco pouch back into his pocket, Germ knocked his journal onto the floor of the basement.
Wiley asked him, “What’s that?” while he was picking it up from the floor.
“My journal,” Germ succinctly said.
“What do you write about?” the boy asked.
“I write what I see, I suppose,” Germ answered. “Whatever happens to me, the things I see, the experiments Master Rowland performs, the machines Madam Clover creates… everything really.”
“What it’s like being a rat man?” the boy asked curiously.
Smiling, Germ answered, “I suspect my life as a rat man isn’t all that different from a normal man.”
“What about all that fur you have?” the boy asked. “Does it itch a lot? Do you hafta worry about fleas all the time?”
“I try to keep myself very clean,” Germ explained. “So I expect it’s not much different than the hair on your head. As for fleas, they pretty much leave me alone too.”
Wiley continued, “What do like to eat? I hear that rats love cheese. Do you really like cheese too?”
Being used to this line of questioning from when Erynn was a child, Germ had answers prepared. “I like cheese just fine, Wiley, but I’ve always preferred a good potato. Well... until I met Gerald that is.”
“Gerald?” the boy asked. “Who’s that?”
“Another of the professor’s experiments,” Germ explained. “A potato he taught to eat flesh.”
“Wow,” Wiley exclaimed. “Do I get to meet him too?”
“I’m afraid not,” Germ replied. “We had to leave Gerald behind. Be glad you didn’t have to feed him though.”
Wiley appeared to momentarily be out of questions, so Germ took this opportunity to get back to work on the tunnel. He placed the pipe and his monocle back down onto the table and proceeded back down the ever-lengthening tunnel. It wasn’t long before he heard someone enter the basement room.
Erynn called down to him, “The beacon is in place, Germy. You can use the device I left you to start identifying where to dig now.”
“Thank you, Madam Clover,” he echoed back to her just before he heard her close the door, as she exited the room.
Germ pulled the device she had left him from a pocket in his trousers and looked at the dial, which indicated the number, ‘231.’ He moved backwards down the tunnel a short ways, before the illuminated numbers changed to ‘232.’ Germ hoped that this meant he was on the right track to the bank vault.
Germ continued his work after placing the device back in his pocket. His paws scraped away at the earth, and young Wiley came in after him to clear out the loose dirt he left in his wake. Germ occasionally checked the device to ensure he was still headed in the right direction, but it seemed his path was true.
“What’s having a tail like, Germ?” the boy asked, as he came back for another bucket of dirt.
Germ turned backward to look at his tai
l as he answered, “It almost seems to have a mind of its own, Wiley. It does what I want it to do most of the time, but sometimes it will just do things instinctively.”
“What does that mean, ‘instinctively?’” the boy asked.
“It means it just happens naturally without you having to think about it,” the rat answered.
“Oh.” The boy smiled at this newly acquired knowledge and took his bucket of dirt back to the basement.
Germ continued his work and when the boy returned once again, he had prepared a new question. “So, you were changed from a normal rat into a rat man, right?”
“That is correct, Wiley,” he responded. “I was quite literally the professor’s lab rat.”
“Then, do you remember what it was like to be a normal rat?” he asked.
“Not particularly,” Germ answered. “Though, I do occasionally have dreams of a life in the sewers of Cultwick City. I may also have some memories of living in the professor’s lab as a rat, but they could also just be strange dreams.”
“So you can dream?” Wiley inquired.
“Indeed, I can,” Germ replied. “And when I do I write those in my journal.”
“I don’t remember my dreams,” the boy responded continuing to shovel dirt into his bucket
“That’s not always a bad thing,” the rat said. “If you don’t remember your dreams, you won’t have nightmares.”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Wiley said.
Germ pulled the device out of his pocket again after making more headway in the tunnel. He found that it read ‘150.’ He was indeed getting closer to his mark. All this while, he had been guessing where to go from the scents in the air.
His rat sense of smell had been guiding him, accurately it seemed, toward the bank vault. His senses had always been a muddled combination of human and rat. Because of that, he had not ever been completely willing to trust either his nose or whiskers to give him information about his surroundings.
After this experience however, maybe he would need to adjust his thinking. Germ placed the device back into his pocket and quickly dug at the earth in his way, following the scent of money, Cultwick City, and metal.
“Do you like mazes?” he heard Wiley ask behind him.
Germ was confused and paused for a moment. “Mazes?” he confirmed.
“Yeah, you know,” the young boy began, “Whenever you see a rat in a lab they’re always wandering around in mazes. I figure you must like them.”
“Oh, well, not really,” Germ answered. “I think the scientists were testing the rat’s senses. Smell and touch specifically I’d wager. Rat senses are quite different from your human senses.”
“Really?” the boy asked. “Like how?”
“Well, from what I understand,” Germ started, “my vision is blurrier than a human’s. My whiskers, nose, and ears make up for it, however. The professor tells me I can hear much higher pitched noises than humans for example.”
“What do your whiskers do?” Wiley asked.
“They give me very detailed information about my surroundings,” Germ explained. “They are much more sensitive than your fingertips. Essentially they enhance my vision and allow me to see through touch.”
“Neat!” the boy exclaimed, grabbing up his full bucket and exiting the tunnel to dump it.
The rat continued his efforts in silence for some time. He had the opportunity to think back on how different his life had become, since Erynn left that note for the professor in the entryway of the manor. Though he knew that it was no longer an option, Germ wished that things could go back to the way they had been before the lottery.
He would gladly clean up hundreds of Rowland’s failed experiments and Erynn’s exploding contraptions, if it would get him back to the familiarity of his former life. Though he didn’t always enjoy that life, he was very accustomed to it. Change wasn’t something Germ was particularly good at handling.
Interrupting his thoughts, Wiley returned with yet another question. “Germ,” he began. “How old are you?”
Germ paused for a moment realizing the question wasn’t as easy to answer for him, as it would be for most people. “Well, Wiley,” he started. “That would depend on whether you wanted to know how long I’ve been what I am today or how long I have been alive.”
Wiley scrunched his lips together and shifted his mouth to the side, trying to think. “Both, I guess,” he finally answered.
“I have been in this form for nineteen years,” he explained. “Before the professor’s experiment, he believed me to be at least three years old.”
“Do you have a birthday?” the boy asked.
“You know,” Germ said just coming to the realization himself. “I have never actually celebrated a birthday, Wiley.”
“We should throw you a party!” he exclaimed.
Laughing at the boy’s enthusiasm, the rat asked, “That wouldn’t be because you’re hoping for a piece of cake would it?”
Smiling coyly, Wiley answered, “Maybe.”
The young boy carried another bucket back to the house, while Germ continued digging the tunnel. Germ sniffed at the air and guessed himself very close to the bank. He took out the device from his pocket, which read the number ‘23.’ He placed it back into his pocket and carefully cleared away the remaining earth from his path. It wasn’t long before his nails scratched against a metal sheet buried underneath the ground.
He brushed some of the excess dirt off with his paw and rubbed the sheeting slowly. Germ turned back and made his way out of the tunnel to see Wiley dumping another bucket of dirt on the ground.
“We’ve done it, young Wiley,” Germ told him. “You’ve been an excellent help.” He patted the boy on the head as he exited the room, with some of the excess dirt rubbing off into Wiley’s hair.
Germ ascended the stairs to find Rowland, Vincent, Hirim, and another rebel named Ruben York talking. They were discussing the upcoming heist, planning various last minute details.
“Excuse me, sirs,” Germ began. “I’ve finished the tunnel. All that’s left is to blast open the wall and we’ll be inside.”
“Excellent work, Germ,” the professor told him.
Hirim nodded to the rat and exited with Ruben to the other room. Vincent, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be bothered one way or the other about the development.
“You look filthy, Germ,” Rowland informed the rat.
Germ looked down at the dirt and grime he was covered in, and in disgust he said, “I need to go get myself clean.”
Chapter 16. Fiona the Stowaway
She perched herself on the roof of a tall building, watching as a group of men exited a factory. Fiona noted one man in particular had an extensive crutch encasing the length of his leg. She wondered what his life story was. Perhaps she would convert and assimilate him if she stumbled upon him again.
The men stopped just outside the doors, as one of them locked the doors behind the group. She knew the jewel that she searched for was stored somewhere inside the structure. Newton had seen it in one of her visions, and she had been unable to hide it from her.
The men said their goodbyes and parted ways. The individual with the key walked alone along a stream that flowed through the town. He was an aging man - his hair color beginning to fade from black to gray, and his skin was slowly wrinkling with the onset of time. The man was dressed in cheap and grease-stained clothes and walked with a slight limp. Though it was nothing like the man with the metal leg, she thought. The man made his way into a section of town dabbled with poorly constructed homes, with Fiona following behind, leaping from one building top to the next.
Her enhanced agility allowed her to sneak quietly atop the rooftops of the taller structures littered throughout the settlement. A soft clang or thud sounded, as she landed atop each building, but none was so cacophonous as to alert her quarry. She smiled at the sheer joy of playing this game of shadows with the unknowing factory worker.
The edge of the ci
ty neared, and he had not yet stopped amongst any of the houses. Fiona was forced to abandon the building roofs, as there were none left for her to conceal herself from him. The man moved out further from the town, until he had completely left the lights of the city. Only the starry night was left to illuminate his way home.
Soon, he arrived at an unlit house beyond the outskirts of the settlement. Skulking along after him Fiona snuck up until she was right behind him. As he unlocked and opened the door to the home, she wrapped one arm around his neck and the other around his midsection.
Fiona whispered seductively in his ear, “You’re my plaything now.”
She pushed him inside the dark home, knocking him to the hard, wooden floor, and she slowly walked inside. Fiona stared forward at him while playfully closing the door with her foot, as he squirmed backward away from her.
“Who... who are... you?” he asked, as he bumped into a wall. “What... what do you want?”
“We’ll be playing a game of Fiona says... and I’m the Fiona!” she exclaimed.
“Wha… what?” he asked, stammering.
“Fiona says to stand up,” she said.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
Scowling, Fiona repeated loudly, “Fiona says, stand up!”
“Oo... okay,” he said while beginning to stand. His back brushed against the wooden wall, as he raised himself from the floor.
“Good,” she said smiling, “Fiona says, hand her your keys.”
His hand shaking, the terrified man reached into his pocket and pulled out a key ring with a dozen or so keys attached. Fiona snatched up the keys happily and dropped them into a pocket in her lab coat.
A slight twinge of pain entered her head, as she said, “Fiona says, get that blade.” She pointed to a kitchen knife that was sitting out on the counter top.
Cautiously, the man complied with her order and grabbed the knife. She fell to the ground holding her head in pain, as Newton painfully took control of their shared body.
