“Shame about that poor stablemaster. And on your birthday, too. You must have felt dreadful all evening, Mole.”

“Not at all. It happened late at night, mayor, so there was no way for me to…” Again, like usual, Moleman doesn’t seem too keen on lying. At least, not with a straight face. After all, if the party had been like the mayor wanted—a posh affair with aristocrats galore and plenty of fantasy-champagne-equivalent—then there’s no chance in heck that Moleman would have stayed up until four in the morning getting off his rockers on the homemade moonshine Rat’s been brewing. Ah, good times… I can hear Moleman grinding his teeth together. “Yes. It was a shame.”

Leaning back in his comfortable chair, the mayor lets his eyes slide across the study, almost completely missing me. But he did get a look at me, a sight foul enough to make him frown in what I think might be disgust. Rude. To distract himself, he leans in again, returning his attention to the papers Moleman deposited on his desk earlier. “Unfortunately, I can’t grant this.”

As usual, nothing on Moleman’s face indicates a fraction of the anger he must be feeling. He’s gotten really good at this sort of political poker face. “Mayor, please reconsider. We’ve been searching for a stablemaster to take over his post for over a week now, and at this point…”

“Your only solution is to mercifully bring the drakes out of the city. Lest they…” he glances down at the paper to fully read it word-for-word, “‘be slain by those who yet fear the drake pox.’ Your writing, much like your diction, could use some work, I pray you know that.”

Moleman’s ears turn red. I consider the pros and cons of making Moleman a mayor today. Hmmm…

“Of course, mayor. You’re right.” Beneath the table, I can only barely catch how Moleman’s gloved hand tightens into a fist. “However, I truly can’t see any alternative. My assistant—Kitty—is extremely proficient at sniffing out the drake pox, and he has affirmed that none of the drakes currently kept at the city hospital are infected. I’ve already made contact with the human outpost in Arboga, who attest that they will be able to receive the drakes. The trip shouldn’t take more than five days there and back. While there, the delegates we send could even pick up some rations.”

“You are much too optimistic, Mole. With the threat of dragon plague, only humans such as yourself could be sent. We can’t afford to part with any of your members.”

“But my assistant can—”

“I will not permit it.”

Moleman’s jaw snaps shut.

The mayor leans back again, throwing down the papers. “Learn to take a no, Mole.”

Silently, Moleman looks down at the papers, his back hunched. “First, you refused to permit further quarantine. Then you refused my suggestion for turning the cathedral into a second ward. Few of the prominent Judges accept my visit anymore. And now this. Forgive me for assuming, mayor, but it would seem that you have taken a personal dislike to my methods.”

“Not your methods,” the mayor contradicts. “To you.”

“To me?” Moleman says. “Why?”

The mayor looks at him for a moment, and then at me, before barking a laugh. “Do I even need to say it?”

“No. I suppose not,” Moleman bites out. The mayor, all things considered, takes it well. That is to say, he laughs again. Somehow, he doesn’t seem to care at all that should some unfortunate accident befall him, Moleman’s the one in charge. Simel said so. On the other hand, I’ve got a feeling that if the accident is too mild, then the mayor might consider himself fit enough to rule, and his sway over the city would probably beat Moleman and his widely disliked king’s order by far. That’d be a bummer.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I shoot a quick look at the current number of infectees.

<14 002 infected.>

And today is…

<18:20:11

Day 1 092>

18:03:39:49>

A lovely January day. Wow, it sure is hard to believe it’s been almost three months since I came to the city, huh? Yeah, it’s about time we start wrapping things up.

It’s about time Moleman became mayor.

Unfortunately, since we happen to live in the same house as the soon-to-be ex-mayor, I can’t pretend not to smell a rat for long. So, only five days after our last chat, the mayor is hospitalized to the sound of clamoring and complaining. I don’t know if it’s a thing with his types, but they can’t seem to be okay with what they get.

“I demand your finest room! How can you possibly expect a man of my rank to share a ward with these common, vulgar goblins?”

“I’m sorry, but with the increase in hospitalizations, there are no private rooms available,” Ursula says with a politeness that I honestly didn’t expect her to be capable of. “This is the best we can offer.”

The ex-mayor, in turn, turns the other cheek and snorts at Moleman, who’s on the opposite side of his bed. “First you usurp my position, and now you degrade me? To think that I had ever expected more of your ilk.” He frowns at Moleman before buckling over to the side and coughing up a marble-sized lump of mucus. The effort makes him moan in pain, but he turns to Moleman with no lessened anger. “And you… you…! Less than a day in power, and you are already plotting to let this stay last a lifetime!”

I know I give him credit for this all the time, but Moleman really is patient. Probably one of the most patient guys around. I mean, if he was yapping at me like this, I’d already have made a donor out of him. But Moleman? No, he just smiles, the same way you do when you talk to a child or a really old person. “Your honor, I ask that you don’t blame your estate’s lack of finances on me. Trying to make the city pay to have one of the rooms in your mansion refurbished into a private ward is simply not the kind of economic strain we can manage at this time. The treasury is lacking as it is.”

Wow. I can’t believe Moleman didn’t even mention how absolutely corrupt it was for the ex-mayor to so much as attempt something like that. A rare bit of regard for this world’s customs? Or maybe it’s ordinary respect. One never knows.

The ex-mayor, on the other hand, is less than appreciative of Moleman’s kind wording. “Such a ward would have been for the benefit of the city, as it would allow me to—” And here, again, his present illness makes itself known as he runs right into another coughing fit. Moleman smiles gently.

“Please don’t overexert yourself, your honor. Allow yourself to rest, and leave the city to me. I’ll make sure you receive care fully proportionate to your needs.”

“Dogspit!” the ex-mayor barks, but it’s weak. “When… haaah…” he draws in a deep, hoarse breath. “When will you have a heart ready for me?”

Moleman’s amiable facade crumbles into a frown I’d almost describe as hostile. “Excuse me?”

“A heart. A donation. I need…” He coughs into his hand, frowning at the slick mucus staining his spidersilk glove. “I need to be healed. That one,” he points at me, “that’s the one that does it, isn’t it? Don’t take me for an ignorant. Well? There are plenty of breathing corpses in this hospital. Let them have some use before the Gods reclaim their bodies.”

“I’m sorry, your honor,” Moleman says deliberately, “but I’m afraid that I cannot permit that. You refused to sign up as a donor, and therefore, you are not eligible to receive any donation. Furthermore, at the time, the slots for donation are quite full.”

The ex-mayor’s eyes flare open. Since I know what’s coming, I allow myself to zone out and focus on other things while he barks needlessly. But, wow. It really is true that this is the best room we have to offer. This one only has around a dozen goblins in it, and all of them have beds to lie on. Not to mention the view overlooking the cathedral down south. Best of all, though, the people here aren’t extremely sick, so you can smell things other than the dragon plague wafting about.

Absently, I watch Ursula moving through the room, checking up on the patients. She’s good. Apparently, before coming here, she was actually studying to become a nurse, hence why she’s basically in charge of this whole operation. I have no idea why she’s the sword-wielding fighter of the party, but then again, being a university student probably has such effects. Very cool.

Apart from Moleman, she’s the only one in the room who has a smell other than the ratty plague smell. It’s nice. Mellow. Easy on the…

—Hm? Hm. Hmmm…

Sniff. Sniff sniff sniff. No, that… that can’t be right.

Dislodging from Moleman’s side, I softly pad up behind Ursula, sniffing all the while. Sniff sniff sniff. This isn’t… Soon I’m standing right behind her. On my tiptoes, I’m able to fully press my nose into the back of her head. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. I don’t…

I gulp. This is—

Suddenly she turns around, her face mere inches from mine, and without any warning, she lets out a scream like a cartoon woman spotting a mouse and proceeds to jump at least three feet into the air, away from me, before toppling onto the floor. But I’m not really paying attention to that. I’m still sniffing. The scent lingers in the air.

“Sully? Kitty!” Moleman says from far away, jogging up to us. He brings Ursula to her feet and then he turns to me. “Kitty, is everything alright? What’s wrong?”

The fact that he’s asking me that type of question means that he can tell. Maybe my face is paler than usual, maybe my eyes tremble. Maybe all of me is trembling. I’m not sure. All I know is that when I look at Moleman, I feel a deep, cold knot tying itself in the pit of my stomach.

“Ursula’s sick,” I choke out.

Just over Moleman’s shoulder, I see her, her eyes wide and terrified. The scent of rats lingers over her shoulders.

“She’s got the dragon plague.”