Thyme and Spyce sniffed the air. It was weirdly familiar, but also very distinct: seven moons passed since their involuntary kidnapping, and that was enough time for two new generations to come into the world. The two rats were approaching fifteen full moons of age, they were well into their maturity for common rats, their cousins, but by the standards of their species they were a little bit more than children, but couldn’t be considered mature. The rat elders of their colony were more than eighty moons old, and still had some life to live, so you can understand, reader, that theirs was a long-lived strain of rodents.

After leaving the carriage and saying goodbye to the weird beings playing oxen, they scuttled away towards a drain. It was the shortest route to the colony, situated inside an old warehouse next to the biggest home in the city. It was always warm, since it shared a wall with the back of a chimney and, being almost at the center of the city, it was a strategic position to be in. That’s without thinking about the fact that cats were scared to come into the vicinity, where some big dogs were lazily making rounds along with buff humans, all covered in metal. They were all brawn, no brain, tho, and every rat of the colony had, at least once, stolen a bite from the meal of the beasts. Some even made a game out of it. It wasn’t riskless, though, as attested the tail of their sire, its point missing, bitten away by one of the brutes. He wore it as a mark of pride, since that was the time he managed to bring home a big bloody piece of meat. They still were not born, but they heard him tell the tale and the feast that followed his great endeavor. After walking for a bit, they finally arrived at some sort of gate, made up of twigs. To make it easier for you, reader, I’ll translate the sounds, calls and body movements that make up the rats’ language into something understandable for your human mind.

“Identify yourself!” squeaked a guard from inside, having smelled the two strangers approach the Sanctuary.

“We’re The one who can smell through eras gone” said Thyme, raising his voice “and Little shadow slipping through the fabric of reality! We’re finally back from our forced exile! Is that you, cousin He who stalwartly held the door?”

“Cousins! Is it real? Are you really alive? I thought the worst had happened when you did not come back from the expedition to the temple!”

The gate opened, well, the gate was removed chunk by chunk by a big rat. It was twice the size of the other two, short of an ear and a toe on his front paw, but with a luscious mane of white, curly fur. He jumped on the two, pinning them on the ground and starting to groom them, harshly. The two smaller rodents squealed.

“Come on, cousin! We’d like to get inside all in one piece!” said Spyce, disappearing and reappearing a palm away. Thyme was still pinned down and seemed to be enjoying the grooming.

“Yes, yes you little runt”, said the heavyset rat, “let’s get inside! You absolutely have to tell your mother and your siblings that you are alive! Are you back for good?”

Thyme got up, a little pensive. He looked at Spyce. “I’d think so, but I smell like there is something we will be needed for very, very soon. You see, it was a child of the pines and the river who brought us here, with her companion who smells of light and lies and a couple of weird spirits playing as oxen. It was to repay us for service rendered, but I fear that, being so old and grumpy, they’ll get themselves in all kinds of trouble. We’ll probably go to check on them later.”

“It seems like much has happened while you were away. I’m happy to see you, both of you, alive and energetic. But it’s late in the morning, everyone is still resting now. Let’s find you a bedding so you can lay down for a while, while the big sun comes up. Then, you will tell us everything, and talk to us about these two humans you took to heart.”

“Yes, please, cousin!” said thyme and Spyce in unison, and trotted behind the white furred guard of the gate to finally lay on something that did not move.

—- —- —- —-

The Mayor was restless. He had fallen asleep in the evening, after he drank an entire bottle of Catol Irylian wine, the finest product of grapes that the empire could offer. Confiscating that tavern was the best idea he could have had, he thought: the host had hidden barrels and bottles of fine beverages away, even if he insisted they were the inheritance of his late father and they were to be used for his son's marriage. Well, he could have foreseen that incurring a debt to pay for the coming festivities would not be a good idea. But sleep did not come for him: the second he closed his eyes, he was back in the clearing he dreamt of the night before. He looked around, scared, and the two wolves appeared again, barking and shouting. He tried to run, but he could not manage to lose them. The weight of the coins in his trousers was too heavy, but how could he part with even a single lyre? They were his, by virtue of contract! His money! The two beasts shredded his pants, leaving him with just his undergarments. He felt vulnerable. He felt miserable. It hurt more than the bites the wolves inflicted to him. He still had that feeling when he woke up, screaming. That's the reason why he ordered another expropriation on one of his debtors. He was on time with his payment, sure, but it seemed like the tailor was living a bit too well. He saw him smiling while walking with his youngest daughter today. He had his workshop, after all, what did he need a house for? Was he hiding money? Jewelry? It did not matter. Everything could be levied with the right coin in the right pouch. After today, the house and all it held inside would be the property of Klavus Merripenny, by decree of himself, the Mayor.

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— — — — —

The cart rolled gently down the slope that connected the mines to the city. Brama and Dulci were ecstatic at the idea of finally resting, far from the cart. A bit less of the idea of eating, but well, they had to. It was part of organic life. It did not make it any less weird, though, especially the ruminating part of it. They were silent, and a bit thoughtful, since they felt the horrible stench of the night coming from their present handlers. They did not dare to ask questions, though: Lazar was sleeping, resting his head on Liliane’s lap, who was gently stroking his hair while humming a song. The chilly night felt less cold, the wind softer, and the smell on them was fading, bit by bit. The city was in their line of sight, finally, but no sounds of taverns and drinking after a long day of work could be heard from it. No lamps were lit up, no lights could be seen from the distant windows, only the periodic sound of dogs barking and snarling. The cart finally stopped in front of a dimly lit inn. The sign hanging from the entrance had some big black letters spelling “The Whimsical Whisker” and a pair of big, smiling cats were painted over them. Liliane woke Lazar up, and the two tidied up the cart a bit, before trying to find the stables usually connected to such activities. There was one a short walk away, and they gladly unshackled Brama and Dulci from their burden.

“Be on your best behavior, you tricky beings”, said the old man.

“Mooo”, they replied, knowingly. The stable hand was a bit confused by the exchange, but accompanied the brown and the black oxen to their respective enclosure, brought some hay for them to munch on, and said goodbye to the old couple, now walking back towards the inn. The stable boy took out a curry comb. Dulcicloxia’s eyes shined a little bit brighter.

“What can I do for you, elders?” said the innkeeper, a thin, spindly man, a head with some hair trying to cover the rest of his scalp, but all very, very black. It was almost as if someone had drawn it in place. He had a soothing voice, and a handsome face. He couldn’t be older than thirty moons.

Liliane looked at him intensely, like she was trying to sense something.

“We require a room for two nights, at least. We are also using your stable, we’ve got two oxen, and we want to pay for their care, too.”

“But of course, ma’am. We’re actually empty right now. You know, the stories about this town and its mysterious disappearances do not make this a prime tourist spot. And to think that I bought this inn because I liked having company!”

“How long have you worked here?” asked Lazar, while taking in his surroundings. The inn was mostly clean, the fire lit in the fireplace, but all the chairs except for two tables were piled up next to the wall.

“Three, four months, I think. The old owner sold it to me to pay his debts with the Mayor, and I think if the situation doesn’t change I’ll have to sell too. I do not want to become indebted to that nightspawn. It’s already enough that I pay his ever rising taxes on time. If it wasn’t for his Deginish brute…”

“Really? He employs a Deginish? That’s pretty progressive of him, we’ve been at war with them since almost the end of the Night.” Liliane commented, a crafty smile on her face.

“He’s not an employee, he bought him from a slave merchant. Well, an indentured servant contract seller, but between you and me, we know that’s mostly the same thing. The only saving grace is that it shouldn’t extend to one’s children, but using the debts, that Mayor… No, sorry, I’m souring your evening. Would you also like something to eat? We have rabbit stew tonight. Can I also offer you a pint for having listened to my ramblings?”

“The stew would be perfect, but no beer, please. We don’t drink.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry, I’ll be sure to bring you the freshest water that I can! Just sit and wait, I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

THe young man disappeared into a room in the back of the reception. It was probably the kitchen, since a heavenly smell came out when he opened the door. The old couple sat on one of the tables, both deeply in thought.

“I really believe there is more here,” Liliane said, “than a simple tax evading noble. He seems just a cog in something bigger.”

“Fortunately, dear, we used to be pretty nice cog smashers in our youth. And I think it’s time to get back to it. No clockwork works with half his cogs.”

The innkeeper came back with two big bowls full of stew, with floating chunks of meat and big slices of pomato roots and carrots. The couple dined while bouncing ideas about the course of action to take, then, tired, asked the young man for the key to their room. It wasn’t very large, but it seemed cozy. It had a nice furred mat all over the floor, the bed had three thick blankets on it, and two feather pillows. It really seemed like the old owner had invested heavily in this endeavor, before having to sell it at a loss. They got out of their clothes, put on the pajamas Liliane had hidden in the bottom of her purse (I can’t sleep well without it and you alway say that you’re cold when you fall asleep fully clothed!) and they finally, at the end of this long, weird birthday, went to bed, falling asleep one next to the other.