Rat - YA Fantasy

21

    But he got his little peek, it was all he needed. "Quintoxe Orgrette," the Grand Master breathed out angrily, his face darkening with disgust; he shook his fists in the air. "Slime," he muttered underneath his breathe. "Filth. Maggot."

    I snorted at the Grand Master's stunted swearing repertoire. He came back to his senses and awkwardly put away his fists. "He is an ill-content magician, unfortunately, one of several," he explained, "Cooper overshadowed many magicians. Some of them could have been splendid War Magicians if they had put their heart into it. But it is a malady that magicians have, a weakness. – They powerfully long to be recognised. It is stronger than their will to reach excellence in magic. Ah, and some of them, you could say, are merely bad weeds."

    "What are you going to do?" I asked.

    "I'll have to think about it." The Grand Master rubbed his chin. "If I invite him for an audience, he'll know what I intend and will pack his bags and leave the Kingdom. I must find his whereabouts without him sensing my scrying. And when I get my hands on him, I will treat him to some Argentbane."

    "Argentbane? That's the stuff they put on me?"

    The Grand Master frowned. "Unfortunately, yes."

    I nodded with satisfaction. "Good."

    "He probably will never come out of it," the old man said, his voice strange. "They never do, the weak ones, they rot within their flesh until death finally finds them. It takes a while for most to come out of the effects of Argentbane. Do you understand the miracle of your recovery, Rat? Do you understand the recklessness of our King? He is not a sane man, to do what he did to a mere boy."

    "I'm not completely human," I said with confidence, "I'm part rat."

    "This is a serious matter, Rat," the old man scolded gently. "We rarely use the punishment of Argentbane. At best, it takes a few years to rise out of its influence. It is the most severe punishment inflicted on Wielders."

    I didn't bother to argue my point, especially since I wasn't sure where my confidence came from. "When I turn myself into a rat," I said, "it cancels anything that hurts me when I'm a boy."

    "Have you done it before?" he asked, intrigued.

    "Only once before."

    "How did you do it this time?"

    "The others helped me," I said. "The other rats came and invited me to play with them."

    "And you were, uh, playing with rats the entire night?"

    I nodded. "Rats have very clever games."

    "Can you speak with any other animals?"

    "When I'm a rat," I said, "I can understand cats and mice, but they aren't as intelligible as rats."

    The old man mulled this over in his head. He seemed immensely engaged, as if we were discussing some brilliantly complicated riddle. "I wonder if your name is a coincidence or intentional," he said slowly as his mind was busy weighing some other idea. "Rats are everywhere, aren't they?"

    I nodded.

    "Do the rats of the city talk with the rats of the palace?"

    I nodded again.

    "So, in a way, they are like a web of communication    ."He grinned. "Marvellous."

    I caught on, my face brightening, "I can do it." The old man raised an eyebrow at me. "I can find what's-his-name, with the rats' help. He'll never know it; he'll never think to suspect rats as spies."