RATCHETMARE - Chapter 11: Exhausting Shift (Patreon)

Author’s note: Hi guys.

I don't even know where to start so I'll start by thanking you for being here with me. I know I've said this many times, but I wouldn't have gotten this far in my writing without you. But don't worry, this isn't a goodbye or anything. I just want to say that without you, Lament of the Slave wouldn't have gotten a second chance.

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With that said, I will release the first chapter of it on Wednesday. With that, several things will change. At least until the end of March, I'm putting aside Grandora and Ratchetmare and concentrating fully on Lament of the Slave. Similarly, I'm putting off writing the "old" Lament of the Slave. I'll come back with more details on future chapter releases on Wednesday. :)

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Enjoy the chapter!

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…and please read to the end! ;)

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Chapter 11: Exhausting Shift- Link: https://www.patreon.com/posts/100479311

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Chapter 11: Exhausting Shift

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As I watched Faulkner’s back disappear down the stairs to the workshop, I couldn’t help but think about what he had said. He obviously didn’t want to get rid of me. Yay, lucky me. But did that really mean that people like Mr. Bennet might stop coming to the Atelier? Quite possibly. Even I felt uncomfortable selling him a potion for impotence, let alone how the man must have felt.

‘Hang on!’

Did Faulkner test the Vigor Potion on himself as well? If so . . .

Well, better not go that far.

However, another somewhat awkward thought crossed my mind, so I hurried to look in the catalog. In no time, I was reading from the page with the turquoise-blue potion.

[ . . . the same effects are not shared by women.]

According to the description, the Vigor Potion would relieve my fatigue and raise my energy, but it would have no effect on . . . on . . .

Ah! That was why he said my help would be most valued.

Flipping through the catalog from the very first page, I dove into the search for products that only worked on women. And to my surprise, Faulkner was making several of them. In addition to beauty ointments, I found breast-enlargement pills, anti-conception potions, and even those designed to increase fertility. The page with the ointment to prevent involuntary leaking gave me pause, and the one with the powder to help nursing mothers produce milk had me wondering if the Alchemist had tried it on himself first. The thought of him walking around leaking milk . . .

I was sure to have some strange nightmares.

“Um, excuse me?” came a high-pitched voice, that of a young woman, from the other side of the counter. I froze like I did when my parents caught me kissing a boy when I was fifteen.

“Y-yes?”

“Oh dear, I came to get some remedies, but now I am curious as to what you are reading? It’s been a while since I’ve been so engrossed in a book, let alone entertained by one like you. Something from the Red Library, if I may be so bold?”

“I . . . n-no? Uh, no,” I stammered, struggling to get my shit together. First of all, I closed the catalog. Then I lowered my head. It worked on most rich people, scratching their egos of superiority. “My apologies, miss. “I should have . . . ”

“Oh, you flatter me. I’m a married woman. Three kids. Probably the reason I don’t read as much as I used to . . . oh, how naïve I was. Let me give you some advice - don’t believe everything they say in those novels.

“Thank you, but this isn’t a novel,” I said guardedly, tapping on the catalog. “Mr. Faulkner tasked me with reading up on his products. You see, I’m . . . ”

“New here, I hear. To be honest, it was the curiosity that brought me here.”

So she wanted to check out the new girl on the street, huh? Not exactly flattering. I wasn’t some new whore on the streets of the lower city flaunting her ass.

Or did she have a thing for Faulkner as the owner of Bloom Floral Boutique, Miss Sterling? But didn’t she say she was married?

“Then I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“I kind of am,” the woman said flatly, not mindful of her words. “You kind of miss the touch of the lower town. You’re from there; didn’t I hear that right?”

“Yes, ma’am - I am.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, you see - I frequently wonder what it’s like there - in the lower Greymare. Is it as exciting as in the books?”

Was the bitch serious? Exciting? Definitely not how I would describe trying to survive from day to day.

“It’s a tough life,” I said carefully, clenching my fists under the counter to suppress the urge to show her how “exciting” such a lower town street could be.

“Oh, please, tell me about it. Are the side streets full of thugs ready to take advantage of your body and sell you as a . . . harlot?” She whispered the last word, hiding her mouth behind her fan, as if the Caps were going to come and arrest her for uttering the name of the profession by which a considerable number of women and men in lower Greymare made their living.

“No, ma’am. If they did, they’d get in trouble with the Caps.”

“Oh, really,” she said, not hiding her disappointment.

“But one can go into debt - even wrongfully - and end up like a ‘whore,’ bound by contract to work off her debt.”

The woman’s eyes lit up and her cheeks flushed as I said the word “whore” out loud. “Oh, how exciting - exciting indeed.”

Well, the women in the business would certainly show her how exciting it was if they heard her. In fact, I came this close to punching her myself. The days when I cried with hunger and saw whoring as the only way to get some food were still etched in my memory. I may have been lucky enough to find another job in the nick of time, but to take it so lightly was just galling.

“I don’t think these women would agree with you, ma’am.”

Well, not all of them. There were some who found the work - let’s say - satisfying.

The woman stared at me, confused.

But instead of finally getting the hint to shut up, she leaned closer and whispered: “Do you know any? Or maybe - you . . . ?”

“No, ma’am. I don’t think Alchemist Faulkner would have chosen me to be his assistant otherwise.”

“Oh, indeed, how foolish of me. He is certainly a man of integrity - unlike my husband.”

Her husband aside, everyone I met who knew the Alchemist seemed to see him that way, as a man of his word, someone honorable. But did these people know about his experiments on humans? The baker, Mrs. Crumbwell, did. Still, she didn’t seem to make a big deal out of it. Did she see those poor souls suffering from the side effects of Faulkner’s creations, like this bitch, inferior, someone to tickle her fancy and not worth a second thought? The baker didn’t strike me as the sort.

“Miss, miss?”

“Ah, yes?”

“Have you - and please keep this between us, have you . . . ” the woman said in a whisper as she glanced around the shop, making sure no one else was there but the two of us. “ . . . have you seen those buildings?”

“What buildings?”

“The . . . the brothels?”

“Ah, yes. I have. Never been inside, though.”

“Really? That’s a shame,” the bitch said, hiding her sigh behind her hand fan, as if that would mask the fact that she’d rather I was a former slut.

“May I ask, did you come to buy something?”

“Of-of course. A sleeping potion. A few drops in my kids’ food, and I’ll have the whole evening to myself.”

Damn. Either her kids were total brats to make her do something like that, or she was just the bitch I thought she was. Either way, I flipped through the catalog, glad I didn’t have to listen to her prattle on about the lower town.

The one thing I had to give Faulkner credit for was his obsession with organization. Thanks to that, I found the pages on sleep products in no time. And yes, pages. There was more than one: the said Sleeping Potion, but also pills and a sniffing dust.

The latter two weren’t what the bitch asked for, but despite her attitude, I made sure and read the description of the potion to make sure it was safe for children. Having her coming back later to blame me for poisoning her brats wasn’t something I wanted to deal with.

“No more than a teaspoon, ma’am.”

“I know, I know,” she waved me off with her hand fan. “I’ve been using it for a while now. You know, you are not at all what I imagined.”

“You mentioned that,” I said from the shelf where I was looking for said potion, not at all sorry that I didn’t live up to her expectations of a whore from Lower Greymare.

“Rather depressing - although, that might be because of this shop. I’ve always found this place rather austere. Maybe you could give it a bit of a lady’s touch.”

That again! What was that supposed to even mean? The shop was more than fine by my standards, clean of dust and dirt, serving its purpose.

“I’ll do my best. That makes 600 talons. Anything else you’d like to buy?”

“No, that’s all. Except,” she said, leaning toward me and whispering, “I would advise you not to mention what we have discussed to anyone. My husband holds a prestigious position on the town council - if you understand?”

“I do, ma’am. Don’t worry; I know when to keep my mouth shut. Something I learned in the lower town.”

The bitch smiled, satisfied, her eyes bright with excitement.

“You did? I’d like to hear about that - next time, though. Here.”

Without hesitation, I checked the six coins she had placed on the counter for authenticity. Another thing I had learned in the lower Greymare, where counterfeits were a kind of their own currency. But that wasn’t something I was going to tell her.

“Thank you. Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

Her smile made me want to puke. But instead of dumping the contents of my stomach on the floor, I smiled back and threw in even a wave of my hand. It might have made me feel like a lying cunt, but lies and pretense ruled this world. You didn’t want to get fired? Just swallow your pain and smile. You wanted a raise? Tell your ugly boss he’s a handsome hunk and bend over.

Fingers crossed Faulkner wasn’t that kind of guy. From what people said, he really wasn’t. But one never knew what the other was hiding behind closed doors.

Speaking of doors, when the tower bell struck six o’clock in the evening, I locked up the shop, absolutely exhausted.

It wasn’t so much standing on my feet all day that drained me, after all, I was used to that from the coal mine, nor cleaning windows, but dealing with customers. Holding my tongue and smiling when I knew they were full of shit was so taxing. And so was learning Faulkner’s list of products.

If only Faulkner had made it a little more interesting than just a list of uses, effects, and dosages. A witty remark here and there would do wonders.

But the alchemist was too meticulous for that.

Anyway, after making an evening of it, and spending another hour cleaning the kitchen to make it actually usable, I finally hit my bed.

Yes, MY bed.

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***

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[Two Days Later]

“You’re here earlier than last time. If this keeps up, I’ll have to get up earlier.”

“A much shorter grocery list,” I replied to the man in the leather apron, smiling with a slight bow of my head. “Good morning, Mister Burke.”

“Yeah, yeah, save the pleasantries, missy. You’re here about the cwatch, aren’t you? Or has the alchemist broken something else?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Spit it out.”

“Some of the machines in the house, I noticed while cleaning, don’t work as smoothly as they could - I think. And there are some broken ones in the attic.”

“Why, I’m not surprised,” Burke said, laughing hard. “Such a waste. Anyway, your watch, miss. The repair will be within a thousand talons, as we discussed. For another 50, I can engrave your initials on it.”

Make the pocket watch officially mine? My heart raced at the thought, but a heartbeat later, I froze.

“If it’s an alchemist you’re afraid of? You don’t have to tell him. Extra cost. It’s that simple - people like him; they don’t look at what’s behind it; they don’t care how the machines work - just if they work.”

A tempting proposition, for sure, yet I shook my head.

“I appreciate the thoughtfulness, Mister Burke, but I’d hate to lie to Faulkner just a few days into my service.”

“Lass with her spine in the right place - I like you more and more. All right, I’ll have the watch ready tomorrow - I’ll do the engraving on the spot. Sounds good?”

When he offered me his gear grease-stained, calloused hand, I shook it without hesitation.

“Very good, actually.”

“Damn, that’s a handshake I like for the lady. Not the dead fish hands in gloves. If I were twenty years younger, you’d have me gearing up for you.”

“Perhaps you should visit the lower town from time to time, then.”

Burke laughed.

“Where do you think I met my wife? I should introduce you sometime. I think you’d get along.”

“If she has at least half the temperament you have, certainly.”

***

My good mood from the visit to the Crafs and Gears workshop vanished the moment I stood at the door of Faulkner’s study. The Alchemist gave me no reason to feel that way, but I always felt like I was willingly walking up to the jailer’s desk to receive my sentence.

“So, how did it go, Miss Ratchetmare? Will the repairs require additional costs?”

“No, Mr. Burke said the repair would not exceed a thousand talons. He should have it ready for me tomorrow. Only . . . ”

“Yes?”

“It’s nothing, sir. Forget it.”

Fifty talons could buy a day’s worth of food, if you knew where to shop, or a decent place to stay out of the rain. Getting a few scratches in the metal was certainly not worth the coins.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss Ratchetmare.”

“Sir?”

Was he going to pry every secret out of me?

“You see . . . once I’m intrigued by something, it doesn’t leave my mind until I find the answer. So please, ease my mind - and yours.”

“Shit!”

Annoyingly, I had only myself to blame for my big mouth and my longing to make the pocket watch, a little shadow of the Grand Workings, truly mine.

“Mr. Burke.” There was no getting out of it. “He offered to engrave my initials . . . for fifty talons.”

“Is that it?”

“Sir?”

“Having you here has cost me, and costs me more every day, Miss Ratchetmare. 50 talons is not an amount that would bankrupt me.”

“I didn’t mean to imply . . . ”

“You don’t have to explain. Each of us grew up in different circumstances, with different perceptions of money and values. I understand that. While I may see the engraving of initials into pocket watches as pointless, in your eyes it may add value to them. Or am I mistaken?”

“Value to me,” I clarified, eyes wide. There was no mockery in his voice.

“I will repeat myself, but I will say it again. I appreciate your candor, Miss Ratchetmare. If only the rest of the humans were like you, dealing with them would be so much easier.”

No lies and no pretense? That was pure delusion. It would mean to give up all secrets; to put oneself out there, so to speak. Still . . .

“I have to agree with you, sir.”

Faulkner smiled, knowingly. “Some customers, they can be . . . exhausting, no? So can unfulfilled desires. In a variety of ways, of course. Not getting the desired results from a potion, for example, can be quite a burden on my mind.”

“I see, sir.”

What I didn’t understand was why he was telling me all this. Was it a lack of human contact and he just needed to talk to someone?

“Excellent. Then you can certainly understand how frustrating it is not to get the results you want because of others.”

“You mean like not getting paid because your boss just said so?”

“A crime, no doubt. Nevertheless, in a broad sense, yes. Getting your initials on a pocket watch is my decision, not yours.”

“Sir, you don’t . . . ”

“I’ve already said I don’t mind. On the contrary, I see it as an opportunity. If I were to say no, you would hold me guilty of denying you your wish.”

“I know where my bounds are, sir.”

“Even if it was an exaggeration, I’m glad to hear that, Miss Ratchetmare. My point is that it can lead to disappointment. That disappointment can then lead to deeper rifts in the relationship between two people.”

I broke into a cold sweat, my blood running cold. “R-relationship?”

“I see. Bad choice of words - although I don’t know if there’s a better word for it. Interaction, perhaps? In any case, let me assure you, Miss Ratchetmere, that I have no desires for your body beyond a purely academic interest - the satisfaction of which, in turn, depends on your decision.”

Wait, what? Did he want to fuck me or not? Academic interest - ah, testing for side effects. The bastard had the balls to compare having my initials engraved on a pocket watch to experimenting on my body.

Fists clenched, lower lip chewed, I took a deep breath to stop myself from saying something I’d surely regret.

“Mr. Faulkner, if a body at the mercy of your potions is the price for a pocket watch with initials on it, I’ll pass.”

“Disappointing,” he said with a sigh. “However, not what I implied. I was merely saying that just as the watch would make you happy, it would make me happy to have your help with my research. Of course, I stand by what I said, and you can have your initials engraved on it - no strings attached, so to speak.”

“Didn’t you also say that you wouldn’t ask me to test your potions . . . products again?”

The alchemist smiled innocently. “I didn’t. We’re just talking about what makes a person happy and the consequences of that.”

“What consequences?”

“Again, poor choice of words. Apologies. Just as you know your bounds, I have my principles that I uphold, Miss Ratchetmare. Therefore, you have nothing to fear from me as long as you stick to what we agreed upon.”

The question was how much he was willing to twist the words of the contract.

“The same goes for me - in fact, here,” he said, picking up a small round box from the desk behind him and holding it out to me. “Salve for your scars, as we agreed.”

Damn, he sure knew how to shove a dagger in someone’s ribs and twist it. The guilt I felt when I took the ointment left my stomach in knots.

“Now go, I need to concentrate on my work.”

“Y-yes, sir,” I said with a nod and turned on my heel, glad to be allowed to leave. Annoyingly, though, my conscience caught up with me at the door.

“I’ll think about it, sir.”

“Thank you, Miss Ratchetmare, that’s all I ask.”

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Author’s note: See you all back with Lament of the Slave.

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