“What did she mean by rats?” I asked, following Esmerelda out from Ma’s office.

Esmerelda was leading me down another hallway, this time passing through the kitchens. The setup felt modern, with ceramic sinks, bronze spigots, and both deep fryers, stove tops, and ovens. The place had running water, which boded well for my future here. It had been a long time since I had enjoyed luxuries, and I had been worried I would be stuck in a world suffering from primitive technology.

As I followed her in, I reveled in the sticky air, enjoying the spices. Our steps clicked across the tiled ground, and we passed over several grates meant for drainage. A part of me wondered if the grates were the grease traps, but Esmerelda continued walking, and I continued following, until we were to the far back corner of the kitchen.

There, a worn wooden hatch was set into the floor, below the tile, with a rusted ring serving as the handle.

It was here that she turned to me with expectation heavy upon her furrowed brow.

She scanned the surrounding kitchens, though I was unsure of why. Perhaps, she was making sure nobody was listening. But that assumed Ma was unable to spy on us through her surveillance network, that assumed that Esmerelda would know if that were the case, that assumed that Esmerelda would care if Ma heard what she were to say… in short, there were far too many assumptions for me to make anything more than a guess.

However, the fact she had scanned our surroundings gave the situation a subtle weight, and I could not help but feel nervous.

Unfortunately, what she said next failed to quell my growing nerves.

“Tell me true,” she said. “Can you fight?” The way she stared so intently, I feared disappointing her, and I strove to avoid wilting beneath her appraisal.

I might not have been completely successful.

“W-what?” I asked, stuttering slightly. “I’m… not sure I understand where this is coming from.”

Her brow pinched together. I found myself inspecting her in turn. Her heavy brow overhanging her eyes ought to have been ruining her beauty, but it only added a vigorous charm. Quite fascinating really, considering the beauty standards that Mother had drilled into me for when she sent me scouting for marks.

She blasted air from her nostrils.

“Well, can you?” she asked, drawing me from my musings. “If not, pay what you can, and pay the rest later. I’d rather take the potential loss on lending you the Cee than fish your corpse up out of the cellar.”

My corpse… ? I had thought I was to clean out grease traps, which while disgusting, would hardly require combat skills nor risk my life and limb. Unless… I blinked.

“Just how dangerous are these rats?” I asked, feeling somewhat scandalized.

“A rat on its own?” she clarified. “Middling. But they tend to swarm. Can you handle them?” She raised her brow once more. Her eyes were swamp green with specks of gray floating therein. Quite notable. She snorted again, drawing my attention once more.

“Answer me truly,” she said. “Can you fight?”

While I disliked the turn of this conversation, and the requests thus far made, I had yet to hear anything truly worrying. More likely, this was merely some test for new hires to prove their mettle. If I truly thought my life were in danger here, I would likely seek employment and lodging elsewhere.

“You want me to fight the rats?” I asked for clarification, once more, because the entire situation felt off. My sister would have called it sketchy. I would call it suspect at best. “What about leaving out poison for the rats?” I asked, assuming that this world did in fact have poison readily available. It must. I had tasted and seen the stuff produced by Alchemists.

“Think we haven’t thought of that?” she scoffed. “The rats track it in when we do that. It gets in the food, risks killing patrons… besides, if you saw half the stuff the rats crawl through, you’d realize they’re resistant to the cheaper stuff.”

While running a kitchen fell far outside my area of expertise, I had to wonder if the staff were even trying. I resisted the urge to sigh.

“What of traps then?” I asked.

“Have you not dealt with rats before?” she asked, sounding incredulous. “Or are they different wherever you’re from?”

I grimaced. “Enlighten me then. Please.”

“Alright,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “The rats are adapted. I guess it might be the tunnels and warrens beneath the city, but I heard other cities got them bad too. The rats are too smart for traps. Resilient too. It’s not like these are mindless vermin. They are deviated.” The last word came off like a curse.

If what she was telling me was true, then I may have bitten off more than I could chew. However, I still remained hopeful I could handle this. Afterall, I had several powerful Marks. And despite how clever the rats were, despite how resilient they were… at the end of the day, they were still rats.

Despite my confidence, I felt it prudent to request advice.

“Any recommendations for fighting them?” I asked.

“Shouldn’t you know how to best fight?” she asked. “I didn’t ask before, but what sort of Marks do you have?”

I grimaced at her. From what I knew of this land and these people, that question was rude. Uncouth even.

Esmerelda realized she may have overstepped. She raised her hands up, waving me off before I could speak. “Not that you have to tell me, at least not yet.”

I frowned.

She snorted.

“What? If you’ll be working with us, you’ll have to show us something.”

“If I end up working here, I suppose,” I said, keeping my voice as neutral as possible. “But my question. Any recommendations for fighting rats?”

“Depends,” she said, “Sticks, melee, a firm stomping maybe. It depends. Do you have Marks for combat?”

My Marks on my own only partially pertained to combat, and I had marginal experience in using them. Largely, I relied on my Marks to avoid dangerous situations. But… if I did have to fight… I glanced down at my false arm, flexing the faux-fingers and making a fist. It was possible, I decided.

“Yes,” I said. And if not my Marks, my false arm.

My glancing at the ‘deviation’ of my left arm did not go unnoticed.

Esmerelda nodded knowingly at my arm, before clearing her throat. “Anyways. If you get in over your head, scream, and I’ll come down.”

That left me somewhat confused. “If you can handle the rats… then why should I head down there?”

“Just because I can, doesn’t mean I want to. You’ll see–” she spoke through a half chortle as she opened the hatch door, revealing a dank and dark cellar that smelled horrific “-what I mean.” She grimaced as the grimy air wafted up.

With the door open, with the foulness seeping upwards with the draft, I felt dirty. Instantly. Soiled. My stomach turned in disgust.

“Down there?” I asked, unable to keep disdain from my voice.

“Yep!” Esmerelda said, now laughing. She clapped my shoulder and backed off, separating herself from the open door. “I’ll see about getting you a change of clothes for when you finish–” she ran her eyes over my soiled dress and poor jacket “-I don’t think you’ll be wanting to wear those again anyways. For the best, really.”

“-new clothes? But–”

“-you’ll need a uniform either way,” she shrugged. “Now, off you go.”

I hesitated.

The cellar was dark and dank and left my eyes watering.

“Unless you’re having second thoughts about working here?” she asked, knowing I had already decided to do this. “You know, there are always easier jobs out–”

“I’ll do it,” I said, cutting her off. Because no matter how tempting backing out was, the opportunities and stability would be incredibly helpful.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

So, before I could have further doubts, I turned and climbed down the ladder to the cellar.

She called after me from above.

“Alright!” she said. “Remember to call if you need help. I’m going to leave the door open, but you should find the lamps down there just in case.” Esmerelda left as I was reaching the bottom rungs of the ladder.

Climbing I: 3/9 (+1)

The cellar was larger than I had expected. Much larger. It extended in all directions, running beneath what must have been most of the restaurant. Support beams and cross braces were placed regularly, running from a stone floor up to the wooden ceiling. Lanterns had been installed haphazardly on the support beams, at random, and off kilter. More than a few had been ripped from their posts. It almost looked as though the lanterns had been sabotaged.

The spacious cellar was certainly a surprise. Because with this much space, I would have expected all of it to have been built for a reason, such as storage. But much of the space was empty. Which begged the question of why it had been built.

I continued my inspections, to hopefully determine that reason.

The stone floor was inclined, and appeared to be a natural surface. The slope followed the same direction that Ma’Ritz had been built on.

It could have been that cellars were standard construction here. Did other buildings have similar cellars here? If so, then that was something I could exploit.

But just because the cellar had not been built specifically for storage, did not mean there was no storage there. Nails had been pounded in along planks, serving as hangers for sacks, some full, some not. Shelves had been installed between beams, making an inadvertent labyrinth.

I was left with one question, though.

“How do I clean the grease-traps?!” I called out, upward, hoping that Esmerelda was still there.

No answer came forth.

I supposed I was to figure this out on my own.

From the rank smell, I had been expecting things to be worse than they were.

Where even were the grease-traps, I wondered.

I followed my nose.

From the kitchens above, I found several piped holes that dropped into drainage gutters. The holes themselves in the ceiling above were only piped for a short duration to avoid clogs. I realized the design relied on waterfalling the drainage down to the floor, with no regard for the splatter. If that runoff contained food waste, then it was no wonder they had a rat problem. Another result of their open pipe design, the interior of the pipe passing through the floor was visible, allowing me to see the rime of gunk and grease.

This must have been the grease-trap, or part of it.

But the pipes themselves would be easier to clean from above. Which meant that was not what I was meant to clear. Following the line from the pipes to the ground, where the grease would ordinarily flow, I found the drainage gutters.

The source of most of the stench. The thought of getting close to the gutter left me wanting to gag, but investigate it I did.

The gutter had been carved into the stone, clean and waxy, meaning the work had been done by an artificed tool. The gutter was a foot wide, and around two feet deep, though with the gunk filling up the bottom, it might have been deeper.

Of course, the gutter had to run somewhere.

I followed the decline.

The gutter passed under one of the shelves, forcing me to make a detour, and step further from the ladder and the hatch door to safety.

While my eyes could see well enough as a beast, my human eyes were weak. I had forgotten that aspect of my Guise though, and I tripped twice before reaching a lantern and lighting the space. I really ought to have done that first.

It turned out that most of the lanterns failed to light. The only one that worked gave a dim blue glow, and I assumed it required a fresh Charger. Which I was not about to spend. Satisfied with that, I finished following the gutter to the edge of the cellar, where a blockage of sludge obscured a grate.

So far, I felt some confusion, because there had been no rats. From the way Esmerelda spoke, I was expecting… more. Perhaps she was hazing me? Or preparing me for the worst?

I went back to the ladder, without tripping this time, and called up.

“Hey!” I shouted. “How do I clean this stuff?”

I waited a moment in darkness, almost giving up in waiting for a response, before someone answered.

“New help?!” the voice called down. The voice was on the feminine side of androgynous and carried a familiar accent.

“Yeah,” I answered. “Do you know how to clean them?”

“Of course this one knows,” the voice answered. I recognized that cadence of speech. She was Kaiva then.

“Lift the grate and drain the sludge,” the voice said.

“Just like that?” I asked, still using the human tongue, though, a portion of me was tempted to speak in Kaivan, just to show off.

“Yes,” she answered. “Know of the vermin?”

“Yeah… the rats right?”

“Then, that is what should be done. This will be now?”

“Just about–” then I had a moment’s worth of doubt “-do you know where Esmerelda is?”

“No.”

“How big are the rats–” I started asking.

“This one has much work and is shutting the hatch,” she butted in. “Good hunting.”

And with that, the hatch door shut, and the dark cellar grew that much more oppressive, especially with only the single lantern lit. Were I to drop my Guise, I had no doubt that I would see just fine. But if I had refused to drop Guise while traveling across the wastes barefoot, I certainly would keep it up now.

I scouted around the cellar and found two more working lanterns. The cellar grew just that much brighter, though the shadows only stood stronger in contrast.

Once more, I followed the gutter to the grate, where the sludge met the wall.

The grate. Of course, that was blocking up the thick sludge. And why would the architect install a thick iron grate? To keep whatever vermin lived on the other side out. What even was on the other side? A sewer system? A question for later.

Pulling the hem of my dress up and over my nose, I came closer and knelt down by the wall, within arms reach of the grate.

A burble came from the other side. A pop. A fresh wave of foul air washed over me, causing me to gag. My hand reached the top of the grate. The metal, cold, rough with corrosion, and slimy in places. I lifted up.

The grate was stuck where it was, between its guide rails and the slough.

I pushed harder.

The metal groaned.

Another burble from further in. A possible squeak, or a chitter. These human senses left much to be desired, though I would loathe to smell the sump with my true nose.

Growing frustrated, I reached out with my left arm as well, my false arm, and released the imitation of bones and joints, allowing the tendrils unstructured reign. The false arm curled around the grating and I yanked.

The metal screeched, despite the grease, and the grate lifted an inch.

Lifting with my legs as well, I strained, and the grate continued lifting in increments. Noisy increments.

Far too long passed by the time the grate had finally lifted up and out of the guide rails.

Panting for breath, I set it to the side, leaning against the wall, and I sat back down on my rear. Without a tail to pinch beneath me, the experience was much richer.

The sludge made a ‘plopping’ sound as it slowly sank in through where the grate had blocked it.

I could already tell that most of the sludge would stick around, which meant I would need to push it along somehow.

If I had my Illusions, I could summon a [Clone] and let that do the work.

But with my Guise up, I was unable to use any Illusions at all. And if I dropped my Guise, then my identity as a human would be at risk, for I could not verify that none were watching me.

This meant I began looking around for something to push the sludge along.

There were jute sacks hanging from the rungs, but using those would foul both the bags and whatever they were holding. The shelves were half full of things I assumed the restaurant wanted to keep. No, what I needed was a piece of scrap, something that I could use as a trowel.

While I ranged, I kept half an eye on the drain. I knew that there were rats on the other side, and that they were rather aggressive, per the warnings I had received. But thus far, none had scurried forth, and I had to wonder if the warnings had been overstated. However, I was not willing to completely forgo caution, which meant I was somewhat limited in my search.

In the end, I found a board of composite wood which was longer than wide and, while wider than the gutter, could be used at a diagonal to push the sludge through.

I began poking the sludge through, and as it went, it churned and began flowing. Soon the blockage was mostly clear, and the gutter was draining, albeit slowly.

I decided that the grease trap was drained enough to call it a day, and I picked the grate back up and slid it back into place, locking out the vermin. Rising to my feet, I smirked when I heard an angry chittering from the other side of the grate. It looked like the rats would remain somebody else’s problem.

Clapping my hands and returning my false arm to a semblance of humanity, I began making my way back towards the ladder.

Stealth I: Area Coverage (5/9) (+1)

It was then that the first lantern went out.

The light had been weak at best, and I figured it had finally given up the ghost, or ran out of juice. Likely a coincidence.

At least that was what I figured. But then the other two lanterns went out, plunging the cellar into near blackness, with only the cracks of the ceiling and hatch door illuminating the space.

“Hello?” I called out, thinking that somebody was playing a trick. Perhaps Tiffany. Or it might have been that hazing of new coworkers.

Unfortunately, the only response was a chittering, coming from all around me in the cellar.

Mothersworn rats!

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

* Body: 65

* Mind: 75

* Spirit: 49

Talents:

* Athleticism (3/9):

* Climbing I (3/9) (+1)

* Featherlight I (3/9)

* Inversion (2/9)

* Stealth I (5/9)

* Trackless Tracks I (3/9)

* Area Coverage (5/9) (+1)

* Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

* Eschiver (8/9)

* Evasion (7/9)

Spells:

* Illusion I (5/9)

* Touch (8/9)

* Guise of the Kitsune (2/9)

* Closed

Gifts:

* Obsession (3/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)