Colin McCool Saves Christmas: A Druidverse Urban Fantasy Novelette by Massey M.D

Author:Massey, M.D.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Modern Digital Publishing
Published: 2021-12-11T16:00:00+00:00

7

Getting curb-stomped by goat boy and his buddies was not the highlight of my week. Turns out that cloven feet tend to cut skin when you catch the edge. Luckily, these clowns didn’t seem to have much enthusiasm for the job, eager as they were to get topside before the big parade.

After five minutes of tap-dancing on my rib cage, they left me bruised and bleeding on a bed of moldy, matted straw inside the gibbet. Of course, they’d taken my Craneskin Bag and all my gear from me, including Dyrnwyn. Lousy pieces of shit. The Bag would make it back to me eventually, but I couldn’t afford to lose Dyrnwyn. Hopefully, they stashed it instead of dumping my stuff in the drink.

I’d like to say I waited until I was sure they were gone before trying to escape, but truthfully, I was in no mood to do anything following the beating I took. After about an hour spent alternating between wishing my Fomorian healing factor would mysteriously kick in and wishing I was dead, a squeaking noise near my cage brought me back to reality.

With a long, pitiful groan, I lifted my head and turned to see what was making all the racket. It probably wasn’t that loud, but when you have a concussion, every noise is an assault. It took some time for me to spot him, but there was a rat sitting on his haunches outside the cage, twitching his whiskers and squeaking up a storm.

He was gray all over, and slightly mangy, with long, crooked whiskers, a wet pink nose, and beady, intelligent eyes. His tail seemed to be missing the tip, and it looked as though another rat had gnawed off part of his left ear as well. But, all things considered, I had to admit—he was charming, in a scraggly sort of way.

“Hey, little guy,” I said through swollen lips as I struggled to push myself upright. “Where’d you come from? Oh, right, the sewer.”

“Squeak-squeak, squeeeeeek,” he replied.

“Tell me about it. Dismal conditions here. Someone ought to file a complaint with OSHA.”

The rat kept squeaking, but even with my druid powers, I doubted I could have concentrated long enough to figure out what had him so upset. Maybe I was blocking the entrance to his lair? Or I’d stolen his bed. Whatever it was, he was putting up a fuss.

“Alright, alright,” I mumbled, tonguing a hole in my gums where a molar used to sit. “What’s the deal, little dude? Show me what you want.”

“Squeak!” he replied, as if to say, “about freaking time.” Then he ran through the bars of the cage and burrowed into the straw behind me.

“Whoa, little fella—what the heck are you looking for?”

I watched as he kept digging around in the straw, sticking his head out now and again to wriggle his whiskers and sniff the air. After a few minutes of this, the rat let out a loud SQUEAK! and sat up with something in his mouth. The rat scurried over and dropped it next to my hand, then it darted back to the other side of the bars.

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