Chapter Two: Knives and Owners

            Old Snow could be hard to find, harder to see. As the head of the Knife Skulkers he was the chief administrator of Ratkin law. Which could be simply paraphrased as plain, unvarnished justice. Where a crime was committed a Knife Skulker would punish someone. Sometimes it was fair, sometimes it was right, but it was always just. That was the law of the Nest.

            The point was that Old Snow could be difficult to find for any but one of his Skulkers. Peter was a Skulker, but he had been off duty, for over a week, and of little use for almost as long before that. He reasoned the best way to find Snow was find another Knife Skulker and have them tell him. Easier said than done.

            The Nest was huge, and Knife Skulkers were practiced at stealth. Still this was home, and one or two might be easily found. He started in the low tunnels, a maze of tiny rat sized passages that was often used as meeting grounds. No one there knew where anyone he wanted to see was. Somewhere above this, in what passed for a food storage area in Red Hill, he finally found someone who could help him.

            Danny Throws-Well was a few years older than him, had more experience, but resented the speed with which Peter had achieved his position. As such he was constantly derogatory, by all rights Peter should have put him in his place years ago, but he hadn't. The reasoning for this was simple: Danny was good. If Peter called him out, or even took him to a dark tunnel and beat the stuffing out of him, he would lose a valuable Skulker. Peter didn't want to weaken Red Hill. He wanted it to last forever.

            "Hey Super!" Danny was up and going. "Shouldn't you be in bed, or watching soaps or something?" He was officially in trouble. Peter had had enough.

            One minute Danny was looking at Peter's tiny rat form, no bigger than a kitten. The next Peter was a seven-foot tall monster who had his forearm across Danny's neck and was holding him against the wall.

            "Wrong day, Throws-Well!" Peter's tone was full of rage, but he was in complete control. He hoped this show of strength might result in Danny finally taking his place. "I'm back and if you don't watch out I'll staple you to this wall and leave you to starve!"

            Danny tried to shift from human to his own war form, but the pressure on his neck only increased. He was trapped. "Ok, ok," he gasped. "I'm sorry, you can have it!" Peter released him and he crumpled to the ground.

            Peter knew better to turn his back on a rat, even a human born one like Danny. So it was no surprised when Danny shifted and came after him like a pit bull. Pit Bulls, no matter their size, however, did not last long in a fight with Peter Super. He merely stepped out of the way and used Danny's own momentum to throw him into the other wall.

            "You seem to be having a problem with the architecture tonight Throws-Well. As much as I'd love to stick around and see you resolve it, I just need one thing from you and I'll be off."

            "What would that be?" said a weak voice from under the pile of detritus where Danny had landed.

            "Where's Snow tonight?"

            "That's it?"

            "One little answer and I'll be out of your way," Peter felt no need to press his new supremacy.

            "Ok, Elder Snow is down in Rundown, it shouldn't be hard to find him." Danny was glad to share the info. He only wanted Peter far from him at the moment.

            Peter was on his way out before Danny looked up from the floor. Danny got up and looked over at a bystander. "I'm glad he's on our side," he gently patted his sore ribs. "That's all I have to say about it."

            Rundown fitted its name. No one in Red Hill did repairs unless they absolutely had to, so Rundown had gradually fallen apart. It was the oldest section of the Nest. The expanding population had quickly outgrown it. There wasn't enough water, and it was too far from any decent sources of food. It had been the start of what was now a thriving colony, but rats were not overly sentimental in this day and age. You stayed on task, or you got dead.

            It wasn't hard to find Snow there. He moved around but always made his presence known over a small area. He was like a speed trap. The only place Rats would go out of their way to obey minor laws. A young Skulker tried to challenge him, still hopped up after the run in with Danny he almost broke the kid's arm. One of the Skulkers that knew him waved him by, Snow was his mentor, and he didn't need an appointment.

            He made his way to Old Snow and rolled onto his back, a sign of submission. "Get up Peter," said the gruff old man. "I've know you too long for that."

            Peter rolled over and looked his mentor in the eyes. They were dark and piercing, they seemed to root out fault like no other. Even the stern gaze of rat mothers couldn't prompt confessions like Old Snow. The white hair that gave him his name was uncombed as usual, but for some reason he was wearing a tweed jacket. Peter could hardly keep from laughing.

            "Wipe that grin off your snout! It was a gift," he seemed to be trying to justify it.

            "From whom might I ask?" chattered Peter.

            "None of your cheek!" said Old Snow half-joking. "A fine and distinguished lady, though it seems you are here for a reason other than to mock an old man."

            "Not so old yet," said Peter in whuffling and scratches. "You could still complete a dozen contracts in a night," referring to Old Snow's legendary record.

            "Don't you forget it, not even you've beaten that one yet, hotshot." Old Snow paused for a moment. Peter noticed he sometimes did this. When asked about it Snow would pretend to be senile, and try to stab the offending questioner. "But again we stray from our topic. Or were you planning on stealing Mystic Wage's best pupil as well as my own?"

            Peter grew uncomfortable at the compliment, and more so because Old Snow already knew what had happened. "I guess I had better make it official," with that he shifted into the form of a human again. His clothes were still with him. He bowed his head until his horns touched the floor. "I request that my weapons be returned to me, I am fit to return to duty."

            "But."

            "But, I won't be able to return to active duty. I have a mission to complete first. I don't know how long it'll take," with that he looked up.

            Old Snow peered at him, those judgment eyes examining his soul. "So I gather. I accept your petition, but you must prove yourself fit to serve our Mother again," he motioned to one of the Knife Skulkers Sitting quietly by the door. "Fetch Peter's rig." The boy ran off. "What do you know," his tome was more familiar, fatherly.

            "She showed me a way to help them, so I won't have to worry," Peter felt good telling Snow this. Snow had taken risks training him personally, he was the closest thing to a father Peter would know. "Jane and I have to go get all the people I'll need. They'll all be in town, so I won't be far."

            "And how are you feeling?"

            "I'm ready. This is a holy cause, I won't fail," he said in a determined voice.

            "Good," said Old Snow. "You're about to have your first test." At that moment the neophyte sent to bring his rig returned. The leather harness was put in his hands.

            It had been a gift from Snow on successful completion of his first punishment. He remembered how excited he had been that night. He slid his sweatshirt off, no mean feat considering his horns. He then buckled the modified gun harness over his stained t-shirt. Now it held the tools of his trade, his knives, and a few other things. He pulled a knife from its sheath. It was mirror clean and razor sharp. Double-edged and six inches of straight steel, it had served justice more than a few times. It was one of the few things he had owned new. The previous owner had barely had a chance to miss it. He switched hands with a simple toss, trying not to get to fancy after being idle for so long. Then a plain roll put the handle on the back of his proper hand. He held his arm out at full length and couldn't help but recall the last time he had performed this test. His hand had shaken, the blade had fallen, and as proof of his unfitness it had almost sliced into his foot.

            Now he was solid as ever, his eyes near glowed with satisfaction. This time, he thought, nothing can hold me back. "Good to have you back son," said Old Snow with more than a measure of pride. "Now get out of here before I put a contract on you myself."

            He turned and ran towards the night, he had people to meet.