2

The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Bugs

Patches woke early. She poked her head from her hole but saw Gad standing uncomfortably close and retreated back inside. All the ghouls Oydd created with the troll's blood breathed, which was unusual for the undead and seemed wrong—almost as if they were fighting to throw off the dark magic and come back to life. So Patches avoided them.

The mouseling decided to entertain herself with the many objects already in her hole. When the dhampiri started their occupation of the Warrens, Patches was forced to abandon her workshop in the prison, moving all of her most valuable possessions back to her tiny burrow. After spending only one night in the cramped, overstuffed hole, the mouseling decided to expand, and spent the following weeks excavating. Each night she carried the dirt to a new location and deposited it in various places around the Warrens.

When her tunnel was nearly three times its original size, the mouseling realized she didn't have enough stuff to fill it. So she began to borrow items from the kitchen—a bag of mushroom flour and a ladle—as well as Oydd's library where she found several dusty tomes with colorful bindings. But now she resented the stack of unread books for taking up too much room and the mouseling had no idea how to resolve the issue.

Patches slipped past the problematic stack and ruffled through a pile of assorted items in the back of her burrow, including dozens of dry leaves from the surface, a bit of string she found in her magic sack, and the dhampiri jailor's ring of keys. Near the bottom she found Oydd's glass orb of invisibility. The rudra had spoken a word to suppress the magic field it generated, so now it sat doing nothing and looking more like a plain, giant marble.

She wondered why she never saw him use it anymore.

Patches lifted the orb in her hands and tried a few phrases to release its magic.

"Aperta..." she whispered, then paused. Seeing no response, she whispered more assertively, "Aperi!"

The glass orb did nothing.

She thought hard on what words Oydd had used in the past. Once she almost asked him, but worried that if he knew she had it, the rudra would insist on retrieving the orb, which seemed unfair.

"Release!" the mouseling placed both hands on the glass ball. She thought another moment. "Dimitr... dimmi... dimittis!" At the final word the orb sparked to life. Not the way it did when Oydd spoke the word however. It glowed orange and turned warm to the touch. Suddenly a crack appeared on the glass, and then another, and before the mouseling could react the orb shattered and her hands vanished.

The mouseling squeaked and moved away from the pile of burnt, smoking glass, but her hands remained invisible. Patches panicked. She ran around her burrow squealing and sorting through her belongings for a treatment. First she tried a salve she had found in a dhampir noble's nightstand—unlocked!—which meant it was communal. When it had no effect, she tried a healing potion she had borrowed from Jeshu while the dryad meditated. The potion tasted like flowers smelled, which the mouseling found oddly off-putting. After a few sips, the potion had no effect, so she downed the whole thing, which was more than a meal for a mouseling! When that had no effect, she took the sap that Jeshu had once used to treat Cricket's shell and painted her paws black. Since she had not borrowed the cap to the container, the thick sap had nearly dried out, and felt gummy as it covered her fur. It also accented a place on her right paw that had been cut open by the glass. She placed a little extra sap there to stop the invisible bleeding, then raised her paws in front of her face for inspection.

Patches knew her stained paws would still draw questions from Oydd, but in a less frustrated tone than invisible paws. The mouseling looked around the burrow for any other ideas and settled on retrieving the magic bag from her pouch to see if it had any ideas. The bag always presented her with the thing she needed most, whether it was a shiny rock, a nail, a worm or a warm muffin.

Patches saw the velvet bag bulging and loosened the green ribbon excitedly. Inside she found a long strip of tan cloth, similar to the bandages Jeshu used to treat wounds. The mouseling squealed in delight and began to wrap the fabric around her paw. When she had gone through half of the cloth, she bit it off with her teeth and began to wrap her other paw. This time her hands happily passed inspection.

"Come, Pip," Patches called to her familiar and the ladybug flew from the wall and landed on her shoulder, slowly tucking its wings back under its shiny red shell. A moment later, the mouseling emerged from her tunnel, darting behind the heavily breathing ghoul, and scurried to the commons.

*****

Cricket wrestled himself to the ground and slit his own throat with a sickle, then looked up to see three more Crickets coming. It was easy to win when he brought himself to the ground, because he didn't always know how to grapple. But he couldn't take down two of himself at once, which meant he would have to resort to weapons. Cricket preferred not to use weapons against himself because he knew how to use weapons, which meant it was a gamble on who would win.

He circled the group of himself trying to line them up so only one could attack him at a time, then blocked and countered, striking the foremost Cricket in the neck with a sickle. Before he could retrieve the weapon, another Cricket lunged from the side and tackled him to the ground. It must have had the same plan, knowing Crickets don't fight as well in close quarters.

Cricket groaned and scrambled to take out his attacker just before the final Cricket stabbed him in the face.

He woke up with a start. That still counts as three, the insect thought.

What? Oydd's irritated voice responded.

Oh, sorry, I wasn't trying to contact you. Just sleep telepathy.

The rudra groaned and forcefully closed the link.

Cricket sat up in his bunk and reviewed the fight in his head. Four was too many. He should just try to fight three of himself next time. If he'd only been fighting three, he would have won without also dying, which made it feel like a tie. He had only tied three of himself.

Cricket cleaned his eyes and his antennae then dropped to the floor with a yawn. His muscles ached. All of them. He looked around as ratlings bustled about the barracks, then trudged toward the kitchen.

He found the dryad, Zarachi, scrubbing pots.

"Did I miss breakfast?"

The old dryad looked up a bit annoyed. "You missed lunch."

"No soup?" Cricket cried.

"I would have saved you a little, if I'd known you were here. Figured you were out on patrol."

"But there's no soup?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have anything prepared. I had to feed new recruits today. A large group just left."

"Do you have anything not prepared?" the insect asked desperately.

The dryad lifted a pointy orange root from a pile on the counter, and let it dangle by the green leafy stem.

"What is this monstrosity?" Cricket's antenna twitched.

"It's a carrot. First crop of the season."

Cricket stared, stunned and wide-eyed.

"From the new garden, beneath the craters."

"Since when do we have a garden there?"

"Jeshu got permission to bring in some bulbs and seeds from the surface, since we have so many mouths to feed. He didn't tell you?"

"He... did not." Cricket accepted the dangling orange root with marked hesitation. He nibbled the carrot and grimaced. "Do we have anything that's not from the surface? Like maybe something from the depths of hell?" The insect stared at his root in disgust.

"I could fix it for you," a chipper voice joined from behind. A squat, grey-haired gnome, coming only to Cricket's knees, reached out and grabbed the carrot. "What's your favorite food?"

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Maybe raw eel."

"Raw?" the gnome scrunched up his face. "No, no, no… I'll make it cooked." He twinkled his fingers in front of the carrot and it began to turn as purple as an eel then darkened and stretched and squirmed. "And a little razzle-dazzle!" The gnome made a fist, popping all five fingers open and the eel began to steam and brown at the edges.

The gnome handed the cooked eel to Cricket, still dangling from a leafy green stem. His bushy white eyebrows bounced over his proud, gleaming eyes.

"Why'd you cook it? I told you they taste better raw," Cricket complained, despite his mouth watering.

"I think they taste better cooked, with a bit of dill."

Cricket bit happily into the eel then spit out a big orange chunk. "It still tastes like carrot!" He stuck out his tongue and wiped it clean with his lower arms.

"Ah yea, it's going to still taste like carrot. It's just an illusion," the gnome bragged.

"You couldn't change the flavor? Maybe put a curse on me to make me think it tasted like eel?"

"Well," the gnome thought. "I could have, but I can't do both. This is better though. Appearance is the best thing to trick your mind!" The gnome tapped the side of his head. "I'm Braxter, but my friends call me Brax." He held out his grubby hand to shake.

Cricket groaned and spat on the ground while the dryad cook protested. Finally he extended one of his spit-covered lower hands and the gnome grabbed it enthusiastically.

"That's kind of a long name. Can I call you Bax?"

"You can," the gnome agreed happily. "I thought it was a bit long myself. This will save time. Bax..." he repeated. "Bax Tumbleweed, at your service."

"You know," Cricket said. "The last gnome I knew was an illusionist too. That must be a popular profession in... gnome land?"

"Don't know," Bax said with a frown. "I lived among elves. Only ever met a few gnomes. Unpleasant lot, and none of them were illusionists. Might just be a coincidence. Or..." the gnome added with a sparkle in his eye, "survivorship bias!"

"What's that mean?"

"Maybe there aren't many gnome illusionists, but illusionists are more likely to survive down here, so all the ones you meet are illusionists."

"You think kind of like a rudra," Cricket said with a tone that made it unclear if it was a compliment or an insult. He took another bite of his carrot and forced it down. "Well, um... nice to meet you, but I've got to go."

As Cricket made his way toward Oydd's... no, Eyrgan's office, the eel slowly reverted back into a carrot. Once it was wholly orange again, Cricket lost his appetite and tossed the half-eaten root aside, where a scrawny ratling quickly recovered it and scurried away holding it in both hands, nibbling loudly.

Cricket found Eyrgan at his desk, writing by the light of a low candle. The dhampir claimed the extra light improved his penmanship. And to be fair, the commander had excellent penmanship. He made his capital letters into an artform!

The commander looked up just long enough to see the insect then waved him off. "The patrol's already left. Report to Oydd today."

Cricket found the door to the laboratory open and made his way down to the morgue where Oydd worked furiously sewing the last stitches on Skunk's bulging belly.

"You're late," the rudra scowled. "I told you to report in the morning."

"No, you said you'd send for me."

"Well, either way, you're lucky Lord Licephus hasn't arrived yet. We have about an hour, at which point I'm hoping the anesthesia will have run its course." Oydd scratched his chin beneath his face tentacles as he stared down at the still body.

"He's... ready?"

"Yes. I suppose. He was walking around this morning. And he should heal quickly."

"Is he... him?"

Oydd looked up at the insect. "No... no... I'm afraid not. But maybe in time. He is not animated by black magic, though I did use a little magic to prevent him from rotting. And to preserve the brain. So he's using the same brain, which means he should have access to Skunk's memories... and the same personality. Only time will tell."

Oydd suddenly scowled. "What was that business earlier? You contacted me telepathically."

"Oh, accidentally, in my sleep."

"How bothersome.” Oydd wiped his hands clean on his robes. “You said you were up to three?"

"Yes, technically," Cricket beamed.

"Three what?"

"Three me. I can take three of me in a fight now."

"Oh?" The rudra rolled his eyes. "And what, may I ask, is your evidence?"

"I just did it." Cricket pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, back the way he'd come. "In a dream."

"In a dream?" the rudra asked in annoyance. "That's hardly impressive. I imagine I could take on thousands of you in a dream."

"That is impressive though. Because when you're dreaming, you don't know it's a dream, so you don't think you can win. And that affects the dream. In a dream, you can only win if you think you can, and that takes confidence. I have the confidence to beat three Crickets at once."

"But not the ability," Oydd stated coolly.

"Well... who knows. But it's a start. By the way, I met a gnome."

"You don't say?" Oydd said impatiently.

"He was an illusionist, just like the last one. Isn't that a cool coincidence?"

"Oh," the rudra said sadly. "Braxter isn't the only one. The settlement in the sixth sect also got a gnome illusionist. Though I don't know if it's the one you let go. What was his name?"

"Griffith..." Cricket sighed.

"Well, the dhampiri heard that he got away, and they've kept a lookout for an illusionist. You did more harm than good."

"Oh!" Cricket's antennae drooped. "That's not a coincidence—that's just irony..."

"I tried to warn you. We need to remember our place. We've been... forced back into it," Oydd said, resigned.

"That reminds me," Cricket said. "Jesh received word from Licephus, and they would like him to join us today."

"Oh," the rudra said absently. "Does Eyrgan know?"

"I can go and see."

"Do that. I'll meet you by the stables when Skunk awakens."

Patches poked her head out of her hole and scampered onto Cricket's shoulder.

"Can you collect Jeshu from the infirmary?" the rudra mumbed.

Cricket left Oydd to his work and started the climb to the infirmary. On the way, he noticed the cloth wrappings on Patches' paws.

"Did you get hurt?"

"Hmm?" the mouseling said, then looked down at her bandaged paws and added nervously, "It's cold."

"It's really not."

Since Cricket had last seen the infirmary, the room had been expanded to allow for more patients. It also included a back room, where the druid hung various herbs to dry and ground the ingredients to make his potions. Cricket had only tried one once, and found them too watery and bitter. He did, surprisingly, want more, but the druid insisted on saving them for actual emergencies. The herbal mixture only had a mild magical effect, and really just sped up long recoveries, but the dryad beamed when he spoke of his craft and his progress.

Cricket knocked on the wall to get Jeshu's attention and the druid emerged from the back room, his hands stained green.

"You're a little late," the druid said. "It already hatched."

Cricket beamed. "It did? What color is it?"

Jeshu smiled and stepped into the back room.

Cricket followed.

The remains of the worm egg lay strewn about a small shelf recessed in the rock wall. Several lit candles surrounded the deflated bits of leathery shell. Cricket covered his eyes with his arm. Slowly, he adjusted to the light and saw the rock worm crawling on the ground. A two-foot-long, fat worm with six stubby legs that resembled a moth larva, though with much tougher-looking skin. Overlapping plates resembling red lava rock cascaded down the worm's back.

Despite looking somewhat like a pulsating bag of pus, Cricket suspected it could withstand a good stomping. Or at least a half-hearted stomping. He did pride himself on his stomping.

"I'm trying to bond with it," Jesh reached a gnarled hand out to the worm and it inched slowly away from him. "I'm not sure if it has the instinct though."

"Did you name it?"

"I did," the dryad replied. "Orth."

"Oh..." Cricket responded, a bit stunned. "Well... what's done is done. Hi, Orth."

The dryad lifted the larva and placed it on his shoulder. The bug stiffened and curled as if in shock.

Jeshu sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't have time to visit. I truly wish I did,"

"Not here to visit," Cricket chirped authoritatively. "Oydd wants you to come with us to Amnis... Ahbro..."

"Abris Ahmni?" the Druid corrected. "I have conflicting orders from commander Eyrgan."

"Oydd said Lord Licephus requested you personally, so his order trumps whatever you're doing. Priority one."

"Really?" Jeshu sighed, with a resigned look toward his herbs. "Give me a few minutes to finish what I'm doing."

"Sure thing," Cricket said. "Meet us at the stables within the hour. Just don't be late. You don't want him waiting on you."

"Yes, of course." Jeshu returned to his work.

While he waited for the others, Cricket headed to the armory. He remembered the mouseling on his shoulder and whispered, "Don't tell Oydd..."

Patches perked up. "Don't tell Oydd what?"

Cricket paused. "Nothing. Never mind."