All Their Lives Waiting In The Wings

[Eliza Lacrimosa]

Well, things were just going from awful to terrible to the despondent slums of deplorable, weren?t they?

Pock. Pock.

Pock.

Eliza glared bitterly at the ceiling. Small drops of moisture were seeping through a gap in the joists. After a brief flash in the light, they dashed themselves to spray against the floor and were lapped up by the filthy timbers.

Pock. One fell, and instantly another welled up to replace it. Pock. 

She hated that noise. There was no pattern to it, no discernable rhythm. The drops fell whenever they pleased. 

Pock.

These stupid drops had more freedom than she did.

Eliza felt an eerie wavering sensation, churning in the pit of her stomach. The pine marten clutched tightly at the cage bars, trying to will the nausea away. She?d never get the hang of this vile pitching and heaving, not if she lived for a thousand seasons.

Her stomach?s contents had long ago decided that seafaring life was not for them, and elected to strike out on their own. The wine had spearheaded the movement, ending up in a splattering scarlet film across the bottom of a dented bucket. 

Eliza lay back on the stiff bunk, trying to placate her frothing innards. As her eyes roamed the ceiling, the pine marten idly wiped shreds of fungus from her claws. Tufts of the sickly white stuff sprouted everywhere in this horrid dank cell, and had begun to creep subtly across the floor. She had passed the time by scratching away as much of it as she could, but the spongy growth sprang back with disturbing alacrity. The guard would probably start growing patches of it on his bottom before long.

She looked over at the slumbering oaf. Lazy sluggard of a guard. Slug-guard, more like. Duping this one into service must have been pathetically easy.

Her eyes traversed the lattice of scars etched into Slug-guard?s carcass. The ferret had apparently never figured out that enemy blades were something that one could avoid. Fungus would probably be an improvement on that hideous hide.

There was a splintering crash atop the stairs, followed by shuffling and clomping noises.

?Garn! Hold ?er, mate!?

?Hold er yerself!? snapped a brash voice. ?She?s slipp?ry as an oiled eel!?

Paws began to emerge, falteringly descending the steps. Legs and torsos sprouted from the shadowy feet, finally resolving into an image of two corsairs wrestling with a vaguely familiar female stoat.

One of them, a weasel, fumbled briefly with a ring of keys before jamming one of them into lock. There was a click, and the rusty portal groaned outwards. His compatriot shoved the portly stoatess inside. The newcomer slipped forward, clutching Eliza?s shoulder for balance. The stoat?s paws felt warm and sticky. 

The bars tolled a somber note as the weasel shoved the cage door back into place and secured the lock.

?What?s the meaning of this?? Eliza demanded, extricating herself. ?You can?t just shove this...?

The pine marten looked down at the crimson smudge on her dress. She stifled a retch. ?She?s covered in blood!?

?Ain?t ?er blood,? snorted the other one, a runty dogfox. ?She sliced an arm offa one?f the slaves. Poor sod was spewin? blood like a typhoon.?

?What?? Eliza shrieked.

The fox ignored her, instead kicking a stubby paw at Slug-guard. ?Oy, get on yer paws, ye lazy git! Gorra ?nother one fer you to guard.?

Eliza smacked the bars, loudly. ?Hey! You can?t lock some bloodthirsty lunatic in here with me!?

?We can?t?? asked the weasel, feigning a shameful countenance. ?Gaw, it?s a right shame we just did, then.?

?Betcher the crazy stoat kills ?er afore sundown.?

Greasy claws thoughtfully stroked a ragged chin. ?I dunno, mate. Didjer see the way the marten latched onter Nivard?s face when we dragged ?er on board? Bit ?alf his whiskers off. You gotta be some kind of vicious ter attack the first mate like that.?

?Ey, ey,? said the stunted fox, picking at the weasel?s sleeve. ?Mebbe the stoat?ll carve out ?er tongue. Then both our problems?ll be solved, eh??

The weasel nodded sagely. ?Lucky you, ferret, you?ll git ter watch ?em get torn up.?

?Fah! ?E ain?t that lucky, ?e?s gonna ?ave ter clean it up afterwards.?

They chortled their way up the stairs, until a heavy slam cut off the sound. 

?Did you actually bite the first mate?s face??

Eliza glared at Slug-guard. The ferret was leaning casually against a barrel, eyebrows raised in mild interest.

?Come here, and I?ll show you.?

The ferret rolled his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. ?He prob?ly had it comin?, that's all.?

Eliza?s new cellmate began sniffing nervously at the bars, whiskers twitching. Her claws scraped faintly against the rusty metal.

?I want out. Stinks in ?ere,? she said quietly.

The stoat?s eyes wandered down one side of the cage, past the ferret, and finally to Eliza. ?Why?d they put me in ?ere for? Jus? tried to make a soup.?

Eliza stared at the stoat?s bloody paws. ?They said you sliced off a slave?s arm.?

By the Fates, I?m actually talking to this demented creature? This was a travesty.

?No,? the stoat interrupted. ?A vole?s arm.?

?Why??

?For soup.?

There was a very grim silence. Pock.

The stoat stared at Eliza for an unnerving length of time, before finally asking, ?What are you??

How ignorant could this beast be? ?I?m a pine marten.?

?Revel,? the stoat said patiently.

Eliza gripped her head in consternation. ?What??

?M?name?s ?Revel.? Not ?Martin.?? After a second of thought, Revel added, ?An? you don?t look like a pine.?

The accursed ferret snorted, eyes slit with amusement. Eliza shot him a withering stare. ?You shut up!? The stoat?s stupidity was making her head throb. There was a creaking sound behind her.

Revel had flopped down on the bunk, and was scratching her flabby stomach. 

Eliza?s blood boiled. How dare that slovenly beast steal her bed! Her mouth gaped in furious protest.

"Gah. 'M starvin'. They took away my soup, an' I can't stand that 'orrible porridge..."

Eliza's stomach burbled irritably. Porridge was a beastly, runny, common sort of thing. But at this point she would have killed any ten of those searats for a bowl, and said so.

?I'd kill a rat,? Revel said solemnly. After a moment of reflection, she added, ?But not for porridge. It's th'ribs got th'best meat.?

Eliza blinked, slowly. ?Uh,? she tried. Surely this stoat couldn?t be saying... 

?An? th'neck. Legs're good.?

The pine marten peered into Revel?s mirthless eyes. The stoat wasn?t joking.

?But,? she stammered, ?You... you eat rats??

This creature was absolutely revolting! Eliza watched the stoat?s bloated stomach swell with breath. How many innocent beasts had been absorbed into that grotesque mound of flesh?

"What? No!" The stoat paused. "But... Hm. Rats... well, they're like big mice. Mice're dumb, like fish'n'birds. Never 'ad a mice, though. Never 'ad a rat afore either, but I imagine 's th'same, only biggerer. Might try one, if there's nothin' else."

?Mice are not like fish or birds!" Eliza protested, incredulous. "For one thing, they can talk."

Revel grimaced, picking at her snout with a dirt-encrusted claw. ?An' what's th'point? Stupid creatures got nothin' to say. Bird warblin', 's all it is.?

Eliza sighed pressed herself against the slick metal bars, wishing for all the world that she could melt through them and escape the clutches of this revolting stoat.

Home felt an awfully long way away.

Pock.