- Influence
- 333.00
Fishface considered himself an honest beast with his paws firmly grounded. He worked hard, which was more than could be said for a lot of his comrades in the dockworking trade, and the rat had grown fond of his unpleasant moniker. By day he helped oversee the herring hauls brought in ready for the market, by night there were other tasks to complete. It was his turn to run a stock check on a brand of building materials and it was his intention to get ahead on it, to impress the bigwigs over at the Ministry with his competence. A risky business, perhaps, to be out late in Bully Harbour, but he could take care of himself could Fishface and, besides, there were other beasts getting similar ideas. Nothing was going to get in his way.
The harrowing vulpine scream tore through the warehouses, putting his fur on end. Fishface almost dropped his lantern. There was a distant crunch of glass that suggested one of his colleagues hadn’t been so lucky. He cursed. What in ‘Gates was going on?
Fishface drew a knife and stepped out into the open, cursing under his breath. He was almost knocked off his feet as Gravel rushed past him. The other rat stumbled around, only taking long enough to acknowledge him and point back the way he had come, gibbering madly, before he was sprinting off again.
Another wailing sound ripped through the air. It didn’t sound like somebeast was being attacked or like they’d been out on the town. There was something off about it.
“Idiot,” Fishface muttered, ignoring how his knees trembled. “I ain’t scared.” He paced quietly toward the noise, toward the shadowy hulk of the Ministry of Commerce.
At the last corner of warehouses before the ministry proper, he managed not to wet himself when two other dockbeasts appeared, looking just as perturbed, swords drawn and lanterns held high.
“You seen owt, Fishface?”
“Nah. Prob’ly some fool broke their skull falling offa roof.”
“’Ere, wossat over there?”
Just beyond a pool of light from a street lantern, there was somebeast there. A silhouette in what might have been a frock coat and a cavalier hat. It stood completely still with its back to them.
“Oi! You!” Fishface called. “Wot’s the racket?”
The figure, if they were even sure someone was definitely there, didn’t move at all. They didn’t look like they were waiting for something. They might as well have been a statue. Fishface felt a shiver run down his spine.
Not wanting to be the first one of them to look a coward, he took a step closer. “Oi!”
The figure lurched around, its head lolling unnaturally, and stepped into the light. A fox white from head to toe, from hat to tail, save for bloody spatters down its face and bared chest. Its coat was ragged and old, ripped at the shoulders with buttons missing, as white as the rest of it. The creature raised its left arm, revealing a gauntlet of metal.
It pointed at Fishface and keened.
One of the dockbeasts ran for it. The remaining other rat yelped and stood close.
“Wha’d’you want?” Fishface blurted. “What are yiz?”
“Can’t ye see?” his companion whimpered. “Ol’ Minister Ironclaw! Wot got blown up all them years ago! I knew we shouldn’a used those old stones fer rennyvayshuns last week!”
The pale horror wobbled forward like a broken marionette, the other paw reaching out toward them now. A growling rasp escaped its muzzle.
“Vuuuuulpuuuuuz waaaaants yeeeee.”
Whatever Fishface believed, this was enough. The two rats turned tail, fear spreading to the remainder of the docks in the wake of another bone-chilling shriek.
The harrowing vulpine scream tore through the warehouses, putting his fur on end. Fishface almost dropped his lantern. There was a distant crunch of glass that suggested one of his colleagues hadn’t been so lucky. He cursed. What in ‘Gates was going on?
Fishface drew a knife and stepped out into the open, cursing under his breath. He was almost knocked off his feet as Gravel rushed past him. The other rat stumbled around, only taking long enough to acknowledge him and point back the way he had come, gibbering madly, before he was sprinting off again.
Another wailing sound ripped through the air. It didn’t sound like somebeast was being attacked or like they’d been out on the town. There was something off about it.
“Idiot,” Fishface muttered, ignoring how his knees trembled. “I ain’t scared.” He paced quietly toward the noise, toward the shadowy hulk of the Ministry of Commerce.
At the last corner of warehouses before the ministry proper, he managed not to wet himself when two other dockbeasts appeared, looking just as perturbed, swords drawn and lanterns held high.
“You seen owt, Fishface?”
“Nah. Prob’ly some fool broke their skull falling offa roof.”
“’Ere, wossat over there?”
Just beyond a pool of light from a street lantern, there was somebeast there. A silhouette in what might have been a frock coat and a cavalier hat. It stood completely still with its back to them.
“Oi! You!” Fishface called. “Wot’s the racket?”
The figure, if they were even sure someone was definitely there, didn’t move at all. They didn’t look like they were waiting for something. They might as well have been a statue. Fishface felt a shiver run down his spine.
Not wanting to be the first one of them to look a coward, he took a step closer. “Oi!”
The figure lurched around, its head lolling unnaturally, and stepped into the light. A fox white from head to toe, from hat to tail, save for bloody spatters down its face and bared chest. Its coat was ragged and old, ripped at the shoulders with buttons missing, as white as the rest of it. The creature raised its left arm, revealing a gauntlet of metal.
It pointed at Fishface and keened.
One of the dockbeasts ran for it. The remaining other rat yelped and stood close.
“Wha’d’you want?” Fishface blurted. “What are yiz?”
“Can’t ye see?” his companion whimpered. “Ol’ Minister Ironclaw! Wot got blown up all them years ago! I knew we shouldn’a used those old stones fer rennyvayshuns last week!”
The pale horror wobbled forward like a broken marionette, the other paw reaching out toward them now. A growling rasp escaped its muzzle.
“Vuuuuulpuuuuuz waaaaants yeeeee.”
Whatever Fishface believed, this was enough. The two rats turned tail, fear spreading to the remainder of the docks in the wake of another bone-chilling shriek.
