Chapter 11

"You there – warrior with the sword! Stop my cabinet, damn you!"

Turning his eyes from the emerging disaster down the road, the Dervish found the voice behind and above him. Head held haughty, but eyes turned down to meet his, a noble sort commanded from a litter.

The servants fled past him. The rope that had clumsily lowered it to street level lay about the polished feet of the chest of drawers. The top was the lid of a desk. It opened and roared silently. It closed. When he was within five yards, without warning, it charged.

It caught his shin as he whirled sideways, but he managed to fall atop of it. First digits grasped the bottom of the piece, fore and back, and he held on. The draws not blocked by his arms slammed like bellows, and the little carven feet kicked upwards to jab at his fingernails, but the mouth could not open.

"I can't hold on to this forever."

The wooden box hopped frantically.

"I could use some help is what I mean, Creature."

"Master, endeavouring to mould myself better to the contours of your moods and mien, I had resolved..."

"Get the rope for me! Get it round him, you long-tongued beast!"

"Patience is a virtue in all things, Master – most particularly in the hubbub of hurly-burly." The Homunculus lifted the rope in its jaws.

The fingernail was cracked down to its purpled bed. The Dervish would have to remove it that night. Resting the back of his head against the wall, he looked over the town house of the noble. An empty pulley rig hung before an open second story window. Before him, the noble was scolding his workers beside the rattling cabinet.

"Here, you could use this."

The voice came from his right. A cream sleeve led to a foaming tankard. He did not reach for it. Surprise had him instead.

"It's you!"

"My arm's getting tired with you on the floor."

"Oh, yes, my apologies." He reached up with both hands, using the good fingers, and took a draft. He made to start again, but instead took another. "It IS good. But, why are you here?"

"Oh, fame and fortune, plus I have an eye for a monopolistic opportunity."

"Eh?"

"But anyway, good warrior, I would hope that one such as you would not free ride."

"Eh?"

The Tavern Maid put her hands to her hips.

"One gold."

"Eh? But … well, I suppose I needed it." He looked over his fingers - the bruising seemed better. Still wincing, he pulled forth a sovereign.

"Thank you! Well, stay out of trouble." She walked by.

"Just like that! But why are you abroa..." A rattle draw his attention back to the scene across. The rich man's tapered boot was being crushed as it visciously kicked out at his magical cabinet. A scraping noise was heard, as like wood on wood.

"Who does this fellow think he is? Hey!" He raised his voice "It doesn't know any better!" The kicking continued. "Indeed. Come on, Creature."

"Master?"

"Master? Surely not, Master? Surely not? Surely, we must leave him, Master, what good can this hylomorphic miscreant, this mahogany malcontent, this artifact anarchist, this..."

"It's not a he – it's an it. Don't be rude. You were rude to that street seller earlier, too. And fine one you are to criticise others for being an artifact, creature."

"But Master – this being was but hence your adversary. Now, yes, it follows, well, like some dog–"

"Do you not like dogs?"

"Do I look like one to like dogs! Erm, Master. But yes, my point: how long will its loyalty last? How long till it turns, with snapping … er, receptacles, and makes to gnaw you with splintered shelves, to smash you with varnished vengeances, to mangle you with handles, to ..."

"Creature – get in the desk."

The yellow eyes widened. "What? N-no.."

"I am Master. You are … horned cat-thingy. Get in the box. You'll be safe. I want peace."

The Homunculus's jaw was set tight, and it shuffled slowly backwards towards the cabinet. The Dervish looked over to it. "Now he's just going to have a sleep in your desk compartment. He's over-tired, the poor soul. Been serving me well. That's fine, isn't it?"

"CHOM!"

"You'll keep him very safe won't you?" The Homunculus's face had turned from indigo to a pale blue, but from his expression The Dervish thought him chiefly enraged. "You're a good thing. You just got treated badly by that blow-hard, didn't you?"

"CHOM! CHOM!"

"Very good."