Rat Fink (Cricket Argyll)

[Substitute Author]

"Whadda ya fink, boss?"
"I 'think' you've been watching too many mafia movies, Joey."

Cricket nosed about the wood that the badger had collected trying to smell if there might be any of the kitchen in the wreckage. Cookie was known to keep some sealed jars of yummy things in hidden compartments about the place, so maybe?The ratmaid cursed as she felt a jerk on her tail and was pulled backward and off the ground to be held upside down before Meanystripe the Bully.

?What are you doing, rat?? he scrutinized her grubby, shocked face and when she did not respond, dropped her unceremoniously on her head. ?Leave the wood alone if you value what fur you have left on that mangy body of yours. I won?t have you destroying my chance to escape.? He returned a short distance to where the other slaves were gathered listening to Tassle explain the finer points of ship-building.

Bugs fer brains son o? a louse! Cricket longed to snarl at the monster, but even she knew that was a battle lost before it began. The silver lining to her cloud was that of all the creatures present, the badger looked oldest and fattest. Maybe when food grew short and their little raft too heavy, the woodlanders would not hold their ?morals? so high.

?Are ee a?roight, miz Cricket?? the mole again. She just had to show up after the badger had treated her like a sack of potatoes.

?No!? the child huffed. ?That badger?s a big ol? bully an? he keeps pickin? on me an? nobody cares. Ya?ll hate me!? Her voice grew in intensity and volume as her temper tantrum began. ?Yer mean! I hate ya! Yer the reason we?re stuck on this island. Ya couldn?t row fast ?nuff t?keep us clear o?the rocks. Yer the reason I?m stuck here ?cause ya was s?posed t?be Cookie!  An? that?s why I ran an? then ya made me get lost an? made me yer prisoner an?-an?-an? I bet it was one o? ya what pushed mama off the ship so?s I?d be all alone!

?I hope ya algae-eatin?, clumsy-pawed, tick-covered, fat-tailed slaves drown on whatever raft ya piece t?gether outta this dung heap o? supplies!? She puffed herself into silence, feeling better upon surveying the stunned faces. Hah! Let them feel guilty. Let them question whether their worthless lives had meaning. Let them-!

The back of Ulrick?s paw descended before Cricket could even think about moving. She went sailing across the beach and into the shallows where she did not get up. ?I?ve seen better dramas in the vermin circus,? he snorted as Brooga hurried to collect the child with a disapproving look at the badger.

-----

?Cricket, bring me my supplies,? Cookie called softly to a stack of boxes in the corner of the galley. The vermin child emerged swiftly holding a cleaver in one paw and a bucket in the other.

?C-c?n I try doin? it this time, Cookie?? the girl queried cautiously, keeping the tools close as she surveyed both the tispy wildcat and the stupid mouse who had let herself fall asleep in the cook?s lair.

?I don?t know, dear,? the cat blinked hard several times. ?It?s quite a delicate procedure to drain the blood first and-?

?But I seen ya do it a hunnerd times!? Cricket squeaked quietly, the cleaver coming up to emphasize her point. ?I?ll do it right. I promise!?

Cookie scratched his chin momentarily, picking out a flea and spearing it with one of his claws as the child waited, mouth hung open, whiskers twitching and gaze fixed on the cat?s reddened eyes in anticipation. ?There can?t be much harm in letting you practice with this one,? he conceded with a fond smile. ?Alright, you can try, dear, but if you make a mess?? his smile became a feral grin as he let the threat hang.

Suppressing a shout of joy, the ratmaid stepped up next to the mouse and set the bucket and cleaver down next to her head on Cookie?s sheet before sitting and carefully taking the woodlander?s upper half into her lap. ?That?s right, dear,? Cookie nodded, rubbing his temples. He would be in a foul mood later if Cricket made her guess right given her past encounters with the cat after he drank too much. ?Nice and easy.? A thrill of something primal ran down the vermin child?s spine as she maneuvered the bucket so that it was roughly under the mouse?s throat and picked up the cleaver. ?Not too quickly now, dear. She?s still alive so that lovely neck of hers is going to gush.?

I know. I know, ya naggin? nancy, she thought petulantly. I c?n do this without ya tellin? me. Ya told me this every time ya did it. I ain?t thick! Her paws were shaking a bit now as the cleaver brushed through the mouse?s scraggly fur and touched flesh, then went through it. The woodlander woke only long enough for a gurgle to escape as Cricket haphazardly slashed across her neck, the sight of the mouse?s suddenly wide eyes spurring her to greater speeds. Blood spurted from the severed vein, coating the rat in sticky goop and stinging her eyes with its salty warmth. The bucket went flying as she accidentally kicked it while pawing at the nasty stuff on her face.

?Yuck! It?s icky, Cookie! It?s-? She was given more to scream about a moment later as the wildcat roared and lifted her up by her throat.

?Cursed rodent!? the feline screeched as he threw her across the room. The child hit the door with a crunch and crumpled, barely conscious, as Cookie continued to rant incomprehensibly. Then, through the haze and pain coursing from her shoulder and head, she heard the wildcat scream, ?Get out! Get the ?Gates out of my kitchen you worthless, brainless lump! You?ve absolutely ruined any chance for a blood broth! And you know that?s the best part. Curse you! Get out!?

-----

?Bo hurr, ?ow do ee feel?? Brooga asked when she noticed Cricket?s eyes opening slowly. The ratmaid voiced her ?feelings? on the state of her head in such colorful language that the mole was forced to splash the water she had intended to give the girl across her face to make her stop. ?Bain?t roight a choild speakin? such things, Cricket,? she explained. ?Ee shudd watch what ee say, burr aye!

?Tassle ?as finished ?splainin? what we?re gonna do to build ?ee raft t?escape?? she trailed off. ?Er?Oi jist wanted t?tell ee, miz,? Brooga continued after a moment, ?that whoile Oi don? agree with ?ittin? ee, Oi c?n unnerstand woi Maister ?Ammerpaw did it.? So she was on the badger?s side. Figures! ?Ee was sayin? vurry not noice thin?s when ee was mad an? even Oi was gettin? ?ot unner moi collar when ee said ee ?oped we?m wudd drown. Burr?that?s a roight turrible thin? t?say t?any beastie.?

?Bein? made a prisoner by a buncha meanies is ?turribler?,? the ratmaid retorted, sitting up and regretting the movement as it made her eyes throb. I musta drank the sand ?cause my throat?s killin? me. Why?d that oaf hafta go?n splash me with the water?! ?If ya?d jist lemme go, then-?

?My but how the tables have turned, rat,? Ulrick approached the pair. ?What?s the matter? Don?t like being a captive much? Don?t like being bullied? Hit for what seems to you to be no good reason? Little hypocrite.?

?I ain?t a ?hippo-crab?, Meanystripe! I?m a rat,? Cricket snarled and the older beasts exchanged a knowing look that only further infuriated the child. They thought she was stupid! That she did not even know the difference between a hippo-crab, ?Whatever that is, and a rat.

?Alright, then mates,? Tassle piped up above the former slaves. ?It?s getting too dark to do much good building today, but we can at least separate the wood that?s still good from the trash that won?t hold up under pressure; we?ll use that for our fire.

?You can tell the good from the bad by giving the wood a good bend. Too brittle, it?ll break and you?ll know to toss it aside. Too flexible and that means it?s gonna shift on us if we try to use it. Toss those pieces, as well. We want good, stiff timbers to make our craft if she?s to have a chance on the open seas. I hate not being able to work on the raft more, but we all need our rest just in case??

Cricket leered as the shrew paused. The little woodlander was worried. She knew it was only a matter of time before the crew came looking for them and then the tables would be back to their proper places and Meanystripe and Spiky would pay. Badger and shrew soup! She would show Cookie that she could cut them right. They all would be ?dealt with?, even Broo-haha! Well, the child reflected silently, maybe not Broo-haha. After all, she still needed a target to practice her aim with the knotted rope on and the fatty mole would do nicely.

?Just in case we need to go searching the rest of the tunnels for more food,? the shrewmaid recovered with more grace than Cricket might have expected after such a pregnant pause. ?Come on then, folks. Let?s-?

Before she could reassure them further, a voice cut her off. ?Big Evil!? A few terrified squeaks were uttered as everybeast stared up at the island rat perched on one of the cliffs above their heads looking like some hideously deformed bird with all her feathers and beads.

?We?ve been found!? the big-eared mouse cried.

?Steady, Roger,? Tassle glared up at the rat, framed by the last of day?s light, who was muttering something and waving her arms about. ?She might not tell that she found us. It?s one of the island rats?I think.

?It?s the shaman,? Cricket supplied, surprising even herself. She wanted these slaves to be afraid; uncertain. Why was she reassuring them? ?She talked crazy ?bout hurts an? dead, remember? I think her name was Whacky, or somethin? like that.? Ah, yes. There was the reason. The shaman was not a reassuring presence by any stretch of the imagination.

?What is it you want of us, Whack?? Tassle glared at Cricket momentarily, ?Miss Shaman??

?Wakeeha see all!? the rat writhed much as she had when they first arrived and reported their impending doom. ?See much blood in future for all. Only three??

?Only three what?!? Ulrick growled impatiently. Cricket noticed the fur on the back of the badger?s nape was standing on end. At least she was not alone in her instinctual fear of this mad creature.

?Only three live on island!? she wailed. ?All others fall. Many blood. Many dead. Many hurt.?

?Well, I hate to disappoint you, Miss Wakeeha,? Tassle interjected. ?But we?re all going to be getting off this island, alive. Many hardships? Yes. Many days on open waters? Certainly. But we?re not going to die and we?re not going to fall prey to your fear mongering. We?re free now! You can?t scare us.? The quivering footpaws of those around would appear to disagree with this statement, but the shrew ignored them, focusing a stern glare on the shaman. ?Now if you don?t mind, we have work to do, so be off unless you?d like to help out.?

?Many dead,? the island rat reiterated with a final shake before disappearing from view.

?A fine waste of time,? Tassle?s laugh was too high pitched to be casual. ?We?ve lost even more of the light, so let?s get to work, friends?and Cricket. Yes, you?ll be helping out, too.?

Keep talkin?, Spikey, the child urged as she began to sort through the woodpile without complaint, a plan forming in her mind. ?Cause that Whacky lady was right. Y?ain?t gettin? off this island alive. I?ll make sure o? that.

-----

Brooga glanced casually over at Cricket intending to congratulate her for working so hard, but the child was looking over at something. The mole followed her gaze to the rope pile that Roger and the ottermaid, Kelsey, were slowly untangling. Then the little rat turned back to the woodpile. The kindly praise the mole had been about to offer, though, caught in her throat. For the briefest moment as the sun shined her last, there had been an expression on Cricket?s face, not of petty, childish rage or pouting, but of pleasure; pure, sadistic pleasure.