by Cyn Bagley
The Case of the Golden Seed
Published by Cynthia E. Bagley at Amazon Kindle
Copyright © 2011 by Cynthia E. Bagley
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Dedication
To my husband Otto. You are my star, my hero.
Acknowledgements
Also, thanks to writer friends who have shown me the way, Lynn Raye Harris, JA Konrath and J.R. Rain.
The Case of the Golden Seed
1.
I'm sure you've heard of the "Golden Fleece." Well, I hate to tell you, since you're human and all, that it's pure invention. One of your poets in a fit of creativity decided that your poor, primate lives were dull, so you monkeys, excuuuse me - hominids, could by using your incredible imagination claim to have adventures like us . . . your common rat. You poor smuck. So, if you'd just listen, I'll tell you the story, the original.
As a respectable member of the ratus family, I spend much of my time roaming. Ya think our females and kits can take care of themselves? Yes? Well, that's why you're the smucks and we're the rats. So I spend a lot of time protecting our females and kits from the destabilizing influence of juvenile males looking for love, or to be blunt, looking for females in heat.
But, that day, the day she sauntered in my space, I had taken a day off from my duties. She slinked in, her whiskers and velvet nose close against the ground, sniffing my sign, a sign that said in rat-scent language "any time, any where, we arrange all your party's needs." I gazed in ad-mir-a-tion. She was one prime specimen of female rathood.
She took her time, sniffing my nest and checking my storage supplies. Wow. Hot stuff. Then she said, "Sir Rat, I want to hire you."
"Huh?"
"I said, I want to hire you."
I took a long look at her whiskers and sniffed the scruff of her neck. Her aroma told me that she'd be in estrus soon. Ohh baby. Sure, I wanted to work with her. There'd be side benefits. But I wanted seeds - seeds up front. I always felt better when I had a supply to last me through those times of shortage. Like the time the primates decided that we, the superior rat race, had become too numerous. I shudder to think of all my pals who were murdered by poison.
She cleared her throat. "Did you hear me? Are you listening?"
"Uh, sure."
"Well?"
"Uh." Dames. In my business, it was much safer to have the dames spell out what they wanted. They could get ya into big, big trouble, especially when they smelled like this one did. Dames, they had an agenda, and I hate to admit it, dames are smarter than me.
"Will you help me find the golden seed?
Ya, the last dame I helped got me in trouble with the BIG BOSS - Mister Bigteeth. He owns all the slimy seed gambling joints in Ratsville. Last time I tangled with him, I almost made it home in a rat bag.
"Sir rat, did you hear me? I want you to find the seed."
"Hey, sweet whiskers." She blushed. How cute. Never seen no blushing rat before. "Did ya think I was Indiana Ratson?"
"You aren't?" she squeaked.
"He lives down the hill only a meter away."
"Oh, thank you. I gotta go." She slunk out the way she came.
"By the way," I called after her. "Ya need any muscle? Someone to strip at your parties? . . . Like the sign said, I'm your rat."
2.
I got ta thinking about that sweet cutie, the ratchick, out there looking for the famous Indiana Ratson. Maybe I shoulda helped her out. My conscience nibbled, just a little. And maybe it was the estrus, but I couldn't get her out of my mind. I decided to see if she had made it to her destination.
Indiana Ratson was home. "Ya, I seen her. One cute ratchick. Yep, but I'm re-tired. Time for me to settle down with two or three females and raise a family. I'm tired of running here and there, there and here." I inquired if he told this in-for-ma-tion to the ratchick.
"Ya, I told her."
I wondered where she'd gone. "Oh, ya," said Indiana Ratson. Here's a note. Figured you should read it."
The note said, "Give us the golden seed, else we kill the dame. Signed Mr. Bigteeth." One of her fine long whiskers was taped to the note.
"Are ya going to do something about this?"
"Why should I?" asked Indiana Ratson.
Good question. I wondered why I was interested. It had been awhile since I'd been wowed by the smell of her scruff and whiskers. But, her velvet nose, the delicate shape of her paws stuck in my head.
Sigh. I would have to go after her. The golden seed would have to take care of itself. Besides I had no idea where the seed had gone off to . . . if it had any sense it would hide till this was all over. I wasn't too happy with seeing Mister Bigteeth, after our last run-in. But . . . at least for my peace of mind I would have to rescue the little cutie and ask her what her name is.
3.
I scampered into The Big Cheese, a seed-gambling joint owned by none other than you know who. To be frank, Mister Bigteeth had the cunning of a rat and the killing instincts of a cat. Brrr. The hair on the back of my head stood straight whenever I smelled his unique scent. One of these days I'd have to fight him to the death. But for now I knew he was the meanest, baddest, dude around.
The Big Cheese was Mister Bigteeth's main hideout and a likely source of information about the dame. Such a prime piece of female rat is likely to cause a buzz and if Mister Bigteeth had her, the buzz was sure to be a roar. I aimed to tap into the gossip. Ya, males gossip. But only on important issues like females, food, and territory.
I was on Mister Bigteeth's territory and I needed to be prepared. Ya didn't walk into another male rat's territory without making sure you were fully armed. I checked my reflection in the small puddle at the door. Yep, teeth and nails sharp. Fluff hair. Ya, I was big; ya, I was mean. I tried a smile; yep, scary.
Three-paws, the bartender, was standing in the back of the club. He was bouncing up and down on a lever. His job—to dispense the fermented seed. I never touch the stuff. I'm neither dumb nor senile. Ya, last time I tasted the stuff I was sick for a week.
Three-paws had gotten his name because he'd been caught in one of those coyote traps and chewed himself free. Ya, he was alive, but at what cost. He'd never be able to be more than a subordinate, but I guess it takes all kinds of rats.
Three-paws saw me. "Hey, Smuck," he said "I thought ya weren't ta come around here ag'in."
"I'm here aint I?" that's me the said smuck. Three-paws wasn't too smart, cause of that bang on the head. Ya, when I had my last fight, Three-paws had been trying to hit me with the lever. In a twisting motion, I had grabbed and banged him against the lever once or twice. By the time Three-paws was knocked-out, Mister Bigteeth had me by the 'ruff of my neck. I still have teeth marks from that incident on my butt.
Three-paws looked at me waiting for my answer. I wasn't sure if the smuck was being polite or was trying to decide what to do. Making decisions was not Three-paws's strong point.
"Ya, you're here. What d'ya want?" His nose twitched.
"Looking for that Dame ya kidnapped." Sometimes it pays to be direct, but not this time.
"What dame?" said Three-paws.
I grabbed him by the nape of the neck. "Unless ya want to go back to the dump, I suggest ya tell me where the Dame is." Hey, violence is always the answer to
any rat dilemma. Ya think I should of given Three-paws a chance? Ya think I'm a weak-kneed lily-livered primate? Gawd, there ain't an alpha male among the lot of you.
Three-paws started squeaking, ya know the high-pitch squeal that should have alerted me. But, I was enjoying myself too much. Damn I don't get too much opportunity to bully someone smaller than myself. I should of listened. And, I shoulda run when I felt the paw tap my shoulder.
"What ya doing here?" I knew that voice—the deep rumbling purr . . . of Mister Bigteeth. "I doubt anything good," he continued. "Don't bully my henchrat." I can't believe anyone would call that dumb smuck a henchrat, but that's Mister Bigteeth for ya. He really wants to be known as an educated Rattus. I couldn't help myself; I squeaked.
"Just getting some information, Mister Bigteeth, sir." Gawd I hate myself when I'm debasing myself. Mister Bigteeth loved to humiliate the competition. I didn't care for his smile. Nonetheless, there I can say those three syllable highfalutin words too, nonetheless Mister Bigteeth was bigger, meaner, and dare I say more dominant than myself. I needed to either abase away or get outta there. Maybe Indiana Ratson had the right idea—go away to some paradise with a number of willing females. I wish.
Well, having your backside booted out of a primo rat bar does not do good things to the rep especially when the owner shakes you by your 'ruff. But, such is the life of an unattached male investigatin' rat.
4
.
I was fresh out of options. Chasing the dame was out of the question, unless I went mano a mano with the Big Man himself. Or, I could find the golden seed, trade the seed for the dame, and become familiar with the ratchick.
I was sitting in the alley, back of The Big Cheese, when a juvenile rat crouched next to me.
"Sir, sir? Are you OK?"
I moaned. The bruise on my butt would be there for a week, but no lasting damage. "I'm OK."
He stepped away from me. "I hear you're looking for the golden seed."
"Who wants to know?"
"My sis," he said.
I looked at him. What were the chances of two ratchicks involved in this fiasco? What were the chances that the two ratchicks were from the same litter?
"Dena wants to hire you to find the golden seed, then rescue Dara. You already met Dara."
"Don't tell me. Dena and Dara are sisters."
"Right…"
"I said, don't tell me. Just get me the next bit of untimely information so that I can get booted by Mister Bigteeth - that's the way this story's supposed to go, isn't it?"
He looked at me as if I had lost my mind. "Excuse me?"
I sighed. "Just send me on the next wild-goose chase. Gawd I'm beginning to feel like a primate. Come on, kid."
How did I ever get involved with this mess in the first place? Dames. Dames.
5.
Dan took me to his underground hide-out, full of juvenile males and the other outcasts of rat society. I glanced around, posing. The place brimmed with arrogant smucks. The only equivalent to your dull lives that would even compare to this hide-out of doom would be a primate biker bar. Same attitude. All muscles, teeth and claws on display. But, Dan felt comfortable. He assured me it was the only safe place to tell me the rest of the story. I ignored the crowd and listened.
The juveniles had been commissioned by the twins to protect the golden seed. A prophecy connected to the seed said that "whoever held the seed, ruled the rat world." A bunch of nonsense but most rats will believe anything. And, primates don't? Anyway, the seed had been stolen on its way to a more secure hiding place. The messenger had been killed, but in such a way that pointed to Mister Bigteeth, but now . . . I filled him in on Dena and the note.
"I don't know, sir. I just don't know," said Dan. "I really thought that Mister Bigteeth had the golden seed, but - "
"There's somebody else involved." I didn't know how this could get more tangled. "I want a list. I want ta know who else knows about or had anything to do with that seed. We'll find the smuck."
Couldn't be easier. Now I had to find the seed, stop Mister Bigteeth, and rescue Dara. I waddled back and forth. Did I have all the bases covered? Something niggled. How could . . . ?
"Dena's been taken," said Dan. His whiskers quivered and to my chagrin I thought he would cry. Big brown rat eyes looked at me.
"ARRGGGH. Why didn't ya. . . Oh never mind." I shook my head. Smucks. All smucks. What I needed was action. Thinking had never been my strong point and the more I thought this over the more I thought that it SUCKS!
"Come on." What I wanted to say was CHARGE. But I had no clues - claw marks or whiskers. Not even someone to stand in front of me and yell "I did it." Time to get some help. I thought of Indiana Ratson. He was a smart rat. In the past, I had seen him find the treasure, get the female, and solve the mystery. That's what I needed, someone with brains . . . fast.
6.
"I'm in a hurry, kid. What d'ya want?"
Indiana Ratson did seem to be in a big rush to pack. He glared at me with his beady black eyes. "Here," he said and pushed a suitcase into my hands. "Hold this, while I finish packing." He shoved seeds, willy-nilly into a backpack.
"Well, what d'ya want?"
I told him about the seed, the dames, and Mister Bigteeth. "It looks like there's someone else involved."
"Ya, so?"
"Could you help me find him?"
"What makes you think it’s a him?" asked Indiana Ratson.
"Uh?"
"Did you go to the scene of the crime?"
"Uh, why?"
"Did you talk to the dames?"
"Uh, no."
"Did ya do any investigatin' at all?"
"Uh, well."
"Look, son. Obviously this case is not your forte . . . your thing. Why don't you forget about it?"
I had followed Indiana Ratson to the pier. He was standing in front of a rope leading to a Norwegian ship. A small sign on the pier said, "This ship is going to Tahiti. If boarding, leave three seeds." Indiana Ratson left three seeds in the box. I watched him prepare to climb the rope.
"Well, I haven't got all day." He reached for the suitcase, which was still in my hands. "Why don't ya forget about it?"
"I can't forget the dame," I said.
"Let me give ya some advice," he said. "For free . . .
Just then the ship wailed.
"Gotta go."
He jumped on the rope and ran. A primate began unwinding the ropes from the pier. I still had the suitcase, but before I could do the right thing, the rope came down. I could just see Indiana Ratson leap onto the ship. Like a dumb smuck, I stood there, waving at the ship with a suitcase in my hand.
"For standing on the pier, three seeds please," said a young rat voice.
"I'm going. I'm going." I said. I didn't have enough seeds to pay the bounder for standing with my mouth open. Dan had trailed behind me, because Indiana Ratson couldn't stand more than one male rat near him at a time. But, Indiana Ratson more than made up for his quirks with his cunning. He always seemed to get off a ship before it sunk. I wondered what he was running from.
"What's in the suitcase?" asked Dan.
The suitcase. Like a dumb smuck, I opened it right there. The brightness of the seed made me realize why it was called "the golden seed." It gleamed in the sunshine. I shut the suitcase.
"We gotta get outta here."
We slipped through some narrow by-ways that I'd never seen before. We slinked, slithered, and slipped until we reached the juvenile hangout. Even then, I wondered if Mister Bigteeth had spies in this remote corner of the ratworld.
I had two options: trade the seed for the dames or fight Mister Bigteeth for both the seed and the dames. Neither option made me comfortable. In either scenario, I could be a dead rat. My best chance for success was to challenge Mister Bigteeth to a fight, a fight to the death, for both the seed and the dames - for the opportunity to mate with prime ratchicks and to rule the world. I shook my fist. Ya mean, ya never had to make this kind of
decision? Well, me neither.
I had never beaten Mister Bigteeth. And, he was named Mister Bigteeth for a reason. My name, Harold, did not inspire confidence . . . Ya I knew ya'd laugh when I finally told you my name - Harold - probably reminds you of a nerd with poor sight that sits at his computer and plays Doom.
As I said before, thinking does not help me at all. My thoughts were getting gloomier and gloomier. In three minutes, I was in a full scowl. Gawd. I had no choice but to challenge Mister Bigteeth. I couldn't get out of it. Then, the thought that had niggled at me bloomed.
"Dan, could you get your rat friends to help me?"
"What can we do?"
"I need someone ta watch my back, when I challenge Mister Bigteeth. Can you do that?"
Dan agreed. How else could he redeem himself after all of his mess-ups? "What should I do?" he asked.
I told him my plan.
7.
Once again, I stood in front of The Big Cheese. I was gambling that I knew Mister Bigteeth's strategy, and that Dan and his ratbuddies would help me. I carried "the golden seed" on my arm like a shield. Mister Bigteeth had to know why I was there, but a challenge must be issued formally.
"Well, well, if it isn't Harold - that is your name, isn't it?" asked Mister Bigteeth. I knew there was a rat among Dan's buddies, but I didn't expect it to be Dan himself. "You think your buddies will help you?" he continued.
"Not going ta trade the dames for the seed?" I asked.
He laughed. The sound sort a rolled up and rumbled through the alleys. Well, that laugh was my answer. I had ta fight him or die. I knew what I'd rather do.
I challenged him then and there. I rushed towards him, hoping that some of Dan's buddies might be willing to protect me from Mister Bigteeth's henchrats. I had figured out how he'd beaten me not once but three times. In the heat of the moment, he would back me up against one of his henchrats, let's say Three-Paws, who would hit me over the head. Maybe, Mister Bigteeth was cunning, but he may not be big enough, or bad enough to take me. I hoped.
