The Hunter

Chapter 8 - Unlucky Rat

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he let the uncomfortable feeling pass. It had happened yet again and this time it occurred only a day after his last episode.

John shuddered as his blood stopped humming and the feeling of restlessness passed.

“You okay boss?”

Ben’s worried eyes roamed over his face before John waved at him. “That wife of yours is making you emotional.”

He grinned boyishly, making him appear younger than he was. The Ghourdian had been with him for a while now.

How long has it been? Eight years now?

Why does it matter? You are just going to move on anyways. He’ll realize that you haven’t aged since you met, the ever present, ever cold calculating part of his brain answered his musings.

They were sitting on a bench in one of the many hallways that dotted the mansion, people watching. It was one of John’s favorite hobbies. Ben followed a slave’s journey until the girl rounded the corner at the end.

“Amazing how many people live here, and how much it takes to make this place what it is,” Ben said with a sigh as he leaned his head back against the wall.

John mimicked his old comrade and closed his eyes. “Aye.”

“So what is it?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve known you long enough to see that something is on your mind, boss.”

“Can’t get anything past you can I?”

“Nope.”

John sat in silence while Ben waited for his answer. Knowing the conversation would just come up later, he said, “I’m counting on you to take care of Tina.”

“Oh?” The one word was said with mix emotion. So mixed, John’s trained ears couldn’t make sense of it.

“She is quick on her feet but fails in the confidence department.”

“You aren’t suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

“When have I not suggested what you think I’m suggesting?”

“That makes no sense.”

John gave out an abrupt nervous laugh but Ben remained silent. When his laughter died, he opened his eyes to see his friend starring at him.

When he opened his mouth--not at all quite sure what his mouth would betray--he was interrupted by Mike’s entrance.

Thank the stars, he thought guiltily.

Sensing he had just disrupted something, Mike slowed in his approach uncertainly until he stopped in front of them. Standing up, John started for the slaves’ quarters. Behind him, he heard Ben follow.

“Um, what are we doing?” Mike asked hesitantly before following after them.

“You remember how people always gripe about making a log of their slaves’ activities?” Ben asked tightly.

“Yeah, until it hits the fan.”

Ben grunted. “Well it hit the fan today. There was only one slave near the breach’s entrance and it was unlocked from the inside. Thank the Gods we got the Slave Mistress to start logging this morning.”

“Plan?” Mike asked. The one word betrayed his anticipation. They had never invited the sharpshooter to a ‘meet and greet’ before.

Ben said, “I heard the kid is only fourteen. I’m thinking the Traitor’s Deluxe.”

John couldn’t help but grin before he said, “I like that one.”

“What’s the Traitor’s Delux?” Mike piped from behind them.

Ben laughed heartedly.

“You’re remembering that Ghourd, aren’t you?” John asked over his shoulder.

“Aye. You can’t fake pure terror.”

John starting laughing too.

He was right, you couldn’t.

When Mike pressed for answers, Ben said, “Just leave the talking to us.”

They reached the Slave Mistress’s office in short time. A stout Kalian that looked like she had bare her fair share of children, gave John the once over from behind her desk.

“And who might ye’ be?” she demanded.

Ben stepped out of John’s shadow. “Where is he?”

She tilted her head up and blinked. Her face paled slightly when she recognized him, and then she sputtered, “He is just a boy.”

“That is between him and his Creator. Where is he?”

She nervously looked at John as if searching for a way out. Seeing none, she pointing to a second door in defeat. “He is just young, good sir.”

Ben turned to the door and opened. “Don’t call me good.”

I swear he should have been in theatre.

A defiant looking boy was sitting on a three legged stool. It was an unlit broom closet.

“Take him,” John said before turning on his heels.

He heard both Ben and Mike wrestling the youth out of the closet before dragging him after John.

“Where are you taking me?” the boy demanded.

When no one said a word, and after they had left three hallways in their wake, he sputtered, “I won’t tell the Peacekeepers anything!”

“Who ever said you are going to the Peacekeepers, kid?” Ben asked almost merrily.

“Wh-What?”

John took a right.

“We are mercs, not good law abiding men.”

“Mah-mah-mercs?”

“I hate it when they repeat what I say,” Ben sighed. “Remember the last guy? He just couldn’t stop stuttering after we were done with him. Annoyed the Sins out of me. What ever happened to him, boss?”

“Fell on his sword,” John lied.

“Huh. Thank the Gods. I couldn’t imagine passing him in the streets. That damn stuttering was like nails on a chalk board.”

Their prisoner started breathing in short gasps. “You-You guys don’t scare me.”

To the boy’s horror, they didn’t say a word.

It wasn’t until they reached the stairwell leading down into the basement that the kid’s fear peeked. As John took the first step down, he heard them struggling with the slave.

“Talk now and we can forgo this,” Ben said tiredly as John paused.

In response, the kid kicked him in the shins. “Go to hell!”

“Defiant little brat,” Mike muttered as Ben lifted him up in a bear hug.

They winded down into the basement and toward the back, far into the depths of the subterranean vault. John had a slave light up the old torches earlier and the light played with their shadows, casting them all around the three and a half men in every direction. It played on his imagination--and it must have done a number on their prisoner for he started sniffling.

John opened the last door and Ben threw him in.

“So what do you think?” John asked as the boy fearfully scrambled to the corner.

“T said she got a Lord to talk with Two Finger Joe.”

“Really?” John asked in mock surprise. “How many fingers did it cost the Lord?”

“Two. I bet we could get him in one.”

“No. I’m tired of that one. Let’s be more creative with this boy.”

The kid started to hyperventilate.

“The Capri Tango?”

John waved his hand, “The nearest chicken coup is a league away.”

“Farmer’s Donkey?”

This time he had to hold back the laughter from his voice. “Does it look like we have a donkey here?”

Crestfallen, Ben said, “No. You’re right. But hey, I’ve heard horses can work too.”

“No. No. No. Hmm.”

“Farmer’s Donkey?” the boy asked in a quite voice. Under John’s night vision, Mike also looked intrigued.

Ben smiled deviously. “You see. When a donkey is in heat, you can--"

“Ben, I’m really not in the mood of spoiling surprises.” John interrupted, trying desperately to hold back his laughter. “Let’s go with the Trapped Rat.”

“We haven’t done that one in a while,” Ben agreed. Turning to Mike, he said, “I’m going to need a rat and a large pot from the kitchens. Oh, and grab one of the torches from the wall when you come back in.”

“Wh-What are you going to do?” Desperation filled his small squeaky voice.

As Mike exited, John walked over to the boy. His night vision showed the slave’s ever fearful attributes. Squatting down to his level, he pulled back the kid’s shirt and exposed his stomach.

“When you trap a rat between you and… oh let’s say a copper pot. And you heat that pot up. The rat will want to get out.” He tapped the boy’s belly. “And there is only one way out. Very painful. You sure you don’t feel like talking?”

“I-I..” He looked to the door as if hoping for a hero to save him. Unfortunately for the kid, the book was a dark comedy.

“I swore to them fealty,” he gasped. “I-I can’t break that!”

Gaining the last shred of courage, he raises his chin and exclaimed, “And-And I wouldn’t even if I could! You southerners don’t know true power, you are weak!”

At the end of the ranting, it trailed off noticeably to desperation--like a belief he had been told but wasn’t sure if it were true anymore.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” John sighed.

The doorway seemed to tilt when a torch outside was lifted up, casting the light about perilously.

That was quick.

“So much pain to endure, and so misguided. Your last chance.”

When the boy looked on the verge to say no again he stopped upon the sharpshooter’s entrance. Mike had the pot in hand--the distinct sound of a rat scratching the inside of the copper pot filled the sudden silence.

John said, “I’ll even be nice and give you a way out.”

The boy slowly shook his head and made as if to say no, but stopped. His eyes darted to Mike’s looming form again, almost apprehensively. As the silence spanned, the rat’s shuffling increased.

“A way out?” It came out in a squeak.

There was both hope and caution in his voice. He had obviously been burned once before.

Perhaps the boy isn’t stupid.


“Pledge fealty to me. Do this and it will nullify your previous obligation.”

He looked at Mike who held out the pot to John, his bright torch’s light engulfing the room. The pitch dripping to the floor was the only thing they heard as the he thought it over.

Slowly, he shook his head. “I’ve never heard such a thing.” And then he shook his head even harder, as if to kindle his courage back to life. “I will not be marked a liar!”

Loyal, misguided, stupid kid.

He made his choice.

John damned the part of him that won over the unsaid question. Grabbing the pot, he flipped it over onto the kid’s bared belly. Gasping at the sudden claws that tickled his tummy, the boy whined.

“Top…” Ben whispered the warning.

John grabbed the torch from Mike. “Both of you leave.”

Although the torch’s light fell away from the archer, his darkened face didn’t escape John’s vision. He was both shocked and hesitant.

“He is just a kid Top. Hells bells! He could be CJ’s age!” Ben almost roared over the mindlink.

John laid the torch at the top of the pot. It wouldn’t take long. It never did.

When the kid tried to move away, John pushed down on the pot harder, pinning him there.

“Boss…” Mike said, advancing him.

“Didn’t I tell you both to leave?” John emphasized the command in his voice.

He hated himself for what he was going to do but it had to be done.

Ben stormed out but Mike hesitated. Looking at the terrified boy, whose face was lit up by the torch that shifted slightly at his fidgeting, Mike finally followed Ben out.

“Just you and me kid,” John sighed. The rat inside started to move.

Whimpering, he shuddered. “I-I can’t. I--" He suddenly yelped.

“It’s only going to get worse,” he whispered as he easily fought the boy. “Once he digs past the skin, he will start to burrow into your intestines. Once he gets there-- even if you do tell me--you will die from infection. Rats carry diseases, you know.”

John hoped his calm voice would push the kid into telling.

“Please--" he whispered. Wincing, he gasped as the rat started moving about frantically. The pot was already hot to the touch.

“I don’t want to do this as much as you don’t want to experience it,” John said behind a yawn. He pushed the pot harder into the kid’s stomach when he tried to move. “Swear to me and it will all be okay. You can still live.”

The rat squealed and suddenly the kid’s eyes flared open and he screamed. Three heart-wrenching beats later, the boy cried, “I swear! I swear fealty to you! I, Hop swear it! Just stop it! STOP IT!”

John tossed the hot pot aside and the rat flew free, disappearing into the darkened hallway behind him. Deep bloody red gashes covered the area inside the circular impression the pot had made.

Tears flowing free, the boy called Hop cried.

“I hate you. I hate you.”

He kept repeating it until John pressed his hands against the boy’s wounds. At first, the boy uselessly thrashed against him until he realized he had no energy left.

Like reaching for his soul, John pulled forth his spirit.

One of the mysteries John had come to understand during his time with the Ghourd prison system was his healing. Spirit was used in the process and he had come to find a crude way of helping other’s heal, with the aide of Sikes. He couldn’t heal like mage could, or how he did to himself, but enough to numb the pain and stop the bleeding.

Hop blinked passed the tears as John pulled away. “Wha-What?”

Ignoring him, John said, “Who talked to you and how did you meet?”

Starring at his stomach, Hop slowly said, “A-A guy named Juno down in Hell’s Kitchen. He… He told me I could be like him.” Peeling his eyes away from his wounds, he whispered, “He could do the most amazing things.”

The boy’s questioning eyes looked into his. Peeling away from the stare, John asked, “How did you find him?”

“Fourth and Tawner’s street. I-I heard rumors of recruiters there. When they learned I was a slave to master Victor… He is going to hang me, isn’t he?” The realization was said not in fear but in an emotionless acceptance.

John wanted to pat his shoulder comfortingly but he knew he hadn’t merit that privilege, especially after what he had done to him. Instead, he stood.

“No one is hanging you. Get out of here. Go to Sev3n and ask for Christi.”

Wiping away the tears from his cheeks, the boy was brought out of his hollow state. He looked up at John unblinkingly.

“Go on,” John insisted. “You’re Keep has been paid.”

Looking at the door as if it were a trap, he slowly stood up and wobbled to the door. Stopping just inside the hallway, he said, “I will never forgive you.”

And then he left.

“Anna. A boy named Hop is coming to Sev3n. Buy his Keep and send the money to Victor. Then clothe and feed him.”

It wasn’t likely the boy would actually go to Sev3n but he owed him at least the Keep.

“Taking in strays now are we?” The comment was laced with amusement.

When he didn’t reply, the amusement suddenly turned to worry. Gripping his mindlink, he ripped it off and threw it to the ground.

A kid. What the hell were you thinking?

Leaning his back against the wall, John slid to the floor. He knew just how far he would have taken it and a part of him was scared of that knowledge.

But only a part.