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Chapter 10. Sic Temper Tyrannis

by Soriss

Soriss hated fairy tales. He felt deceived every time he heard one. They began with the promise of being about an ordinary beast -- which was way underdone, in Soriss's opinion -- but in the end, the hero or heroine turned out be quite the opposite.

Still, every time he heard the words "once upon a time," he was drawn in like a roach to his traps, eyes dulled by the sing-song voice of the storyteller. Then the dreaded "and they lived happily ever after" assaulted his ear holes, and he felt his blood warm of its own accord. Nobeast lived happily ever after! Not even the Emperor himself.

If he ever told a story, it would be about an ordinary creature -- one who managed adequately ever after.

It would look nothing like this moment in his life.

Clutching his knives against his chest, Soriss puttered around the galley, trying to decide what to save. With the sudden wind that had sprung up, the ship was moments from sinking, if he knew anything about boats. Which he didn't, come to think of it.

The Stormchaser rocked violently, and a frying pan fell from its nook to clang against his skull. The monitor's jaw went slack, and he collapsed in the corner. Beetlesss, he thought. I'll losse the ssilverware.

After a few moments of blissful paralysis, Soriss sat up, rubbing his head. The ship shuddered, making his insect traps dance a jig under the counter. His tongue flicked out sadly. This was war. He couldn't save the traps.

The spectacled face he so feared peered into the galley. "We're docking. I suggest you get dressed and come up on deck," Kriley said. He peered over his glasses. "Grab a weapon and make yourself useful."

Soriss hissed at the rat's shadow as the door clicked shut. He managed to wobble towards the exit, snatching his pristine cook's jacket off its hook and swinging it on over his shoulders. His knives tucked safely into the sleeves, he put his claws on the knob and tugged.

Soriss later swore that the massive wave giggled as it bounded over the listing Stormchaser's prow and dove into the galley. The lizard barely had time to hold his breath before he was caught up in the return motion; he flailed his stubby arms, then realized he was endangering his knives and tucked them against his sides. He at last bobbed to the surface and was snagged by Wazzock and the friendly lookout Sunyl as the water disappeared over the side.

"Ho, chappie! Come to watch the landing, have you?" As usual, Wazzock was entirely too chipper. Soriss experienced a sudden hypothetical vision of smacking the rat's nose, hard. The monitor almost smacked himself for the thought.

"Kriley ssaid -- " he tried to start.

Wazzock pushed him into Sunyl's paws. "Must help Nemik get things in order. You stay here! Plan our next meeaaalll..." The captain's voice drifted away as he left.

Sunyl moved Soriss to the side. "Heh. Bit of a bad break there, Soriss? Oh..." The fox looked down at her paws. "I -- I think I saw your pots wash overboard."

Soriss felt a deep sadness crest inside his stomach. He quelled it with a soggy biscuit. "Figuresss," he said.

The Stormchaser's prow bucked and tilted as whichever crewbeasts Wazzock had fighting it managed to turn the vessel against the wind. Soriss tipclawed to the railing and clutched it, willing his bad eyes to see the harbor. He scratched at his face. That wasn't -- but it was, a dark red light, like a massive pit of embers, right where Bully Harbour should have been.

Soriss swallowed. Even in his muddled state, he knew three things: the docks were on fire; the Stormchaser was most certainly made of wood; and wood lived to burn.

----

Soriss crouched beside the fire made of splintered timber scraps from the Stormchaser's iceberg escape, spazzing violently from the cold at every other heartbeat. Nearby, the other remaining crewbeasts kept their distance from the fire, some shooting violent looks at the lizard. He ignored them, pulling his blanket tighter; he knew what they wanted, but his insect traps were washed overboard, and his pots were sunk, and there was no way he would cook for anyone. Not right now. Not even to get rid of those -- he shuddered again -- those dirty looks.

The landing had been smooth enough -- for a trip through the shallows in a not-so-shallow ship already half-destroyed by an iceberg. Nemik managed to nose her slowly into the sand a good distance from the silhouettes of the enemy ships, so she stuck firmly and denied the tugging waves. Soriss glanced over his shoulder at the Stormchaser. He was glad to be done with boats and storms and 'bergs, and hopefully this land under his claws would become a permanent thing.

Nearby, Wazzock flicked the tip of his muzzle absently, keeping his back pressed against the smoke-smeared wall. He motioned Soriss over. "Soriss, m'scaled chappy."

"Captain, ssir." Soriss gave the flames a longing stare before inching over to the rat.

Despite his sodden fur, Wazzock looked serene. "I've got a plan. It involves espionage, treading lightly, and generally sneaking around quiet-like. Oy, Krill!"

Kriley held up a claw, proceeded to hack up a combination of phlegm and water, and then sidled over. "Yes, sir."

"We need to infiltrate the attacking forces. Find a way to blend in."

Kriley's eyes lit up. "Uniforms."

"Right! Good chap."

Soriss kept his mouth clamped shut to prevent his chattering jaw from unhinging.

"So. Nemik knows his way around here; he can tell us where some decent uniforms would be found." Wazzock's tail curled. "I do look quite dashing in a common uniform. Soriss! You'll be acting captain, in case we run into any of the enemy. I'll take the position of second mate, and Kriley, you can be...the cook!" The captain clutched his stomach and chortled. "Aaahaha, but you'd make a horrible cook. Would you boil krill? Oh dear me. Here, Soriss, give him your knives. Must give him the air of professionalism."

Soriss's eyes bugged out. He gripped the comfortable weight of the cleaver and the serrated knife strapped on his back.

"You can do that for me, right, matey?" Wazzock's ears lifted hopefully.

Clacking his claws against each other, the monitor swallowed. No, in fact, he could not act as a leader. No, in fact, he could not give his precious knives to the one creature in his crew who was constantly irritated at him.

"Yesss, ssir. Of coursse," he said, and dipped into an awkward bow.

"Dress appropriately next time," Kriley muttered, his eyes slitting as he retreated into the shadows.

Soriss sighed inwardly. "Yesss, ssir."

"You could, in fact, don garb more befitting of your rank," Wazzock said with the faintest hint of a smile. From beside him, he produced his navy jacket, white vest, and a pair of dark pants.

Soriss held the pants gingerly between claws. "Ssir..."

"Oh, right, the tail. Well then!" And Wazzock stuck his claws into the rear seam and ripped.

----

The pants flopping underclaw, Soriss stumbled through the charred ruins, looking left occasionally as Nemik silently pointed out landmarks. The crew, staying mellow enough, followed behind. The monitor felt his spine crawl.

If it wasn't enough to be away from warmth of any kind, and be kept from sleep at this horrible hour, he had to lead this motley parade as if he knew what he was doing. The clink of his knives, roughly lashed to Kriley's belt, as the rat jogged behind him reminded Soriss of the humiliation of handing them over.

But, Wazzock was happy. Whistling tunelessly, even. The relative peace fallen over Soriss's superiors was enough to make him breathe easy. No more irritation at him, and no one else's life ruined by his ineptitude.

The round rock nearly tripped him, but he had his wits about him enough to give it a coconutters' kick, launching it into the darkness. Wazzock gave a low whistle. "Nice shot!"

There was no crunch of timber where it landed, only a soft thud and a squeak.

Soriss winced. Kriley swore under his breath. "Hellgates! You've hit something!" He swatted at the air. "Do you want them down on our heads, lizard?"

Wazzock's voice rose above the others'. "All right, split up -- Krill, take Sunyl and Squad Alpha to the armory and get those uniforms. Nemik, you and I'll take Squad Beta and spread out to cover your backs. Soriss!"

"Ssir?" The monitor saluted with a shaking claw. He could hear the muffled groans of whatever beast he'd hit; every moan made him wince.

"Tend to that creature. See if you can't ply them for something useful. Oh, and -- find us all something to eat, eh? Off now, chap!"

The rat and his crew disappeared, leaving Soriss standing in the dark. He looked down at himself. Wazzock's shirt was stretched over his stomach, and he could see the ends of the pants flopping loosely past his feet. With a snarl, Soriss tore off the pants and threw them into the muddy slush. The shirt and jacket followed shortly.

Soriss began to run, but a thought struck him. If Wazzock ever wanted to wear that uniform again...he winced. What if the captain grew angry? It was unbearable. Besides, a cold Primary wind nipped through his scales.

Spurting wet snow, the lizard whirled around and bent to retrieve the clothes. His claw slipped into the tear where his tail had been. Ah, but that would be an easy fix, so long as somebeast around here was civilized enough to keep a needle and thread handy. He draped the shirt and jacket over his shoulders and tied the pants around his middle.

The groaning grew louder. Soriss's beady eyes scoured the darkness. There it was -- a big-eared head poking above some fallen timbers. He dropped to all fours and scuttled the last few steps.

"Sso ssorry about all thisss...oh dear, ma'am, I wasss only trying to avoid tripping... Can you ssit? Sstand?" He crouched over his victim, wringing his claws, then gently helped her to a sitting position.

"Oww! Oh, m' 'ead!"

Soriss helped her lean against a still-standing wall and tried to see where the head wound was. "Where doesss it hurt?"

"'ere," the rat said, pointing. She blinked up at him. "Er, are ya wi' th' Imperial folk? ...Sir," she added quickly.

Soriss scratched the back of his neck, feeling frozen scales flake away. Dependsss... "Doessn't matter, misss. Let'sss get you taken care of there."

He scooped her up and cradled her against his chest. She was shivering, though probably not entirely from the cold. Soriss felt his heart sink. He simply didn't have the necessary bandages or ointments to give her the treatment she needed. A great guilt-stone settled in his stomach.

The rat's eyes widened, and she started to claw at his arms. "Ya shouldn't be 'ere! Ya've got t' 'ide, quick-like!"

The monitor snarled to himself, continuing to put on a voice of concern for the rat and gripping her tighter as he ducked past charred buildings. "But your head, ma'am -- it'sss terribly important that you sstay sseated and sstop moving! You're going to ssuffer ssomething much worsse than -- "

He froze as the strange whisper overhead became a hiss, and the moon was obscured in slivers of moving death.