Ratchetmare: Chapter 2: Rumored Offer (Patreon)

Author’s note: Hey guys.

.

It's Friday and that means it's time for the chapter of Ratchetmare.

.

Reminder: Grandora on Sunday. Although I'm thinking of rearranging the release schedule, since it'll be the fourth chapter of Grandora on Sunday, while Ratchetmare will only have two out. Well, I'll clarify on Sunday. :)

.

Enjoy the chapter!

.

Chapter 2: Rumored Offer- Link: https://www.patreon.com/posts/96355730

.

___________________________________________________________________

Chapter 2: Rumored Offer

.

I hated mornings.

That was true when I was a kid, and nothing about it has changed since then. So when wakefulness intruded on my slumber, it took time for my mind to pull itself out of the morass of my torpor and into a functional state. Especially today, my mind would not give up the sweet oblivion, and it took me longer than usual. Well, as soon as I regained consciousness, I immediately understood why.

The sounds of wailing attacked my ears and the smell of medicinal tinctures sneaked up my nose.

The infirmary. That was my first coherent thought before the events in the mine came back to me. Two assholes, the goo, the cold. Breathless, I shot up to sit and look - or at least I intended to. But I remained prone, my body refusing to obey.

Panic gripped my guts and twisted them, making me taste the sourness of my stomach. I almost threw up at the thought of being crippled. Why was I here? How did I get here? Whose stupid idea was it to save me? Seriously, it would be much more merciful to leave me there to die.

For fuck’s sake, I wasn’t even able to move my frickin’ head.

Failing to hold back my tears, I pushed with all my might to move my head, right and left. Yet I remained facing the dreadful white ceiling of this place. Over and over again I tired, always with the same result.

“Oh, my. You are awake.” Blinded by crying, deaf to the outside world, the woman’s shocked voice scared the shit out of me. Not literally - or I hoped as weirdly enough, I had a hard time feeling my own body. Terrifying as that thought was, I blinked away the tears and tried to look at her to see who the woman was.

A white cap was all I saw.

Not much, but enough to know that I was in the hospital and not in the mine’s infirmary. That was a nurse’s cap - the woman was a nurse. Someone I knew for sure didn’t work in that black dust bowl and probably knew a thing or two about treating injuries. Back there in the mine, in the infirmary, the injured wretches were patched up by people who had only heard of first aid.

“Hang in there, sweetie. I’ll call the alchemist Faulkner right away.”

‘What the fuck?! Alchemist?’ Was I wrong? This wasn’t a hospital? It looked like one to me, at least the ceiling of it. Then why didn’t she call for a doctor? Please call a doctor! I screamed in my mind, in vain.

I really, really didn’t want anything to do with alchemists. They tended to be arrogant bastards who wouldn’t talk to anyone unless the person in question had the appropriate coinage. Seriously, some of their shops had bouncers who would require you to prove that you had a certain amount of talons before they would let you in. And the prices of the goods there? Not something I could ever afford. Whether it was a potion, a pill, or a powder, it cost more than what I made in a month.

The thought was just a terrible reminder that, in my current state, I would never be able to earn a single talon with my own hands. Tears welled up in my eyes.

‘No, please. Don’t call the alchemist!’ I tried to yell at the nurse again, but not even a hiss escaped my dry, cracked lips. ‘Don’t call him!’

Alchemists. Stories were told among the folk about how once in a while one of them would take pity on a poor fellow suffering on the street and give the person a sip of a healing potion. However, it was not out of the greatness of the alchemist’s heart, as it might seem. The man, sometimes it was a woman, did it to put the person in debt to them. For what purpose? That varied from tale to tale, from tavern to tavern: to work for them for a pittance - basically as a slave; because they lusted after them; or, in the most gruesome cases, to carry out experiments on them.

Of course, all of that was officially illegal.

Unfortunately, the alchemists had enough money to pay the Caps, the ones who were supposed to enforce the law, to look the other way. And the Caps knew that, too, more than happy to take the extra coin. Every talon in your pocket counted and made your days less troubled. Everyone knew that.

My mental rant about alchemists and Caps came to a halt when the footsteps of two pairs of shoes and the regular clack of what I imagined to be the metal tip of a cane on the tiled floor reached my ears and sent shivers down my spine. Sure, I was relieved to feel something. But at the same time, my guts clenched with dread. He was here, the alchemist.

Annoyingly, they stopped by my bed, both just out of sight. “Indeed, she is awake. Remarkable.”

‘Remarkable?’ I didn’t like the sound of that. Once the alchemists had their eyes on something, they went to great lengths to get it, or so I’d heard.

“Thank you. That will be all, Mrs. Hargrave. I’ll take it from here.” The man’s silver, yet raspy and crisp voice gave me goosebumps. Truthfully, the man's voice wasn’t bad on the ear; if anything, the opposite. It was what this man was hiding behind his pleasant voice that made me want to run.

“Don’t be alarmed, Miss Ratchetmere,” he said as he pulled a chair up to my bed and sat down, judging by the noises. I didn’t know if the bastard did it on purpose, but he stayed out of my very limited field of sight the whole time. “Or should I call you Nika?”

‘Don’t you dare, bastard!’ Of course, much to my irritation, not a peep left my lips this time either. All I could do was stare at the ceiling.

“Maybe later then.” Strangely enough, he seemed to get the point. “. . . when we get to know each other better,” he added, and I froze. Well, mentally, obviously. My body had been stiff as a board ever since I woke up. Speaking of which, the bastard had designs on me. He lusted after my body, whether it was to satisfy his perverted urges or to further his experiments.

‘Nurse! Nurse! Why the fuck did she leave me alone with him?!’ Well, most likely because her pockets were a few talons heavier now.

“I see, poorly phrased. But I do believe we’ll be spending quite a bit of time together - if you agree, of course.”

The way he was sure that we were going to, and I would agree, made the dread grip my guts tighter - and I farted. At least, I hoped it was just a fart.

“You see,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to the stench. “I’m looking for someone to work in my shop, as my previous assistant found the job ill-suited to him.”

Yeah, no wonder. Who would want to work basically as a slave for a bastard like him? Did the guy get away? I doubted it. The man would have to be very lucky. Alchemists, if they had any virtue, tended to be very clever, one might even say cunning and took rejections very, very badly.

“You have lovely eyes, Miss Ratchetmare.” The alchemist’s attempt at flattery was like fingernails scraping a chalkboard to my ears. “Looking at them, it’s easy to see how much mistrust you have of me.”

He didn’t seem hurt by my ‘honesty’. If anything, his voice betrayed his amusement.

“I would love to argue that wrongfully so, but you and I both know that trust is not given. It must be earned.”

He was an even bigger lunatic than I thought if he thought I’d ever trust him. No matter what was about to come out of his mouth, there was no chance.

“I could give you the address of the man who worked for me for five years. Yet I can see it would be of no use. I could swear on my ancestors, and you still wouldn’t believe me.

Well, he was not wrong.

“So, if I may, I’ll get right to the matter at hand.”

I held my breath, not daring to even entertain the thought of how badly fucked up I was, both in body and as a person.

“In the Greymere Coal Company’s mine, you were hit by coolant from an old mine storage facility. Very impressive stuff, effective even after such a long time - and very corrosive to the tissues. Before they washed it off you, it went deep and I’m afraid damaged a considerable number of muscles and organs."

That was what I had dreaded and hoped to be able to hear with at least a modicum of dignity. Nevertheless, tears began to roll down my cheeks. To his credit, the alchemist showed no joy at my weakness.

“For now, I’ve stopped the damage from spreading further and used basic potions to repair the organs so you won’t die. But I hope you understand that it’s not enough to get you back on your feet.”

Yeah, I was a cripple. Whatever that goo, coolant, or whatever, did, I couldn’t move a muscle. And yet the fucker tried to sound chivalrous about it, even though he knew full well it would have been better if he’d just let me die.

“Bad choice of words again, I see. To make sure that even the basic potion would do the job, I applied the Paralyzing Sniffing Dust - of my own design, I might add. Very strong, works almost immediately, and lasts up to 24 hours. In fact, it should take about six hours for the effects to wear off.”

Hearing that, a mixture of emotions welled up in my heart. An overwhelming feeling of relief and elation washed over me. I wasn’t crippled. It was just some damn Sniffing Dust. The relief was quickly followed by anger at the alchemist. He was behind my paralysis. ‘So why the balls didn’t start with that?!’

“. . . by then, I’m afraid the pain will come back as well. You see, in addition to paralyzing motor functions, the secondary main use of Paralyzing Sniffing Dust is to block the perception of pain. I imagine that with the damage you’ve sustained, you will experience, shall we say, considerable discomfort.”

I don’t know how, but I did manage to swallow dry.

Twisted ankle, strained muscles, kicks to the stomach, punches to the face, and even knife cuts; I had been through all of that. I was no stranger to pain. However, the thought of what was in store for me after the effects of Sniffing Dust wore off sent a chill through my body.

“Of course, there is no need for you to suffer through this - not for too long, at the very least,” the alchemist continued. “There are healing potions in my possession that can mend your injuries. Salves and powders that will remove all your scars.”

So tempting that it brought tears to my eyes. Only the price for the sniff he had already given me must have been through the roof. Not something I, struggling to make ends meet, could afford. And as much as I wished he would, I bet he wasn’t telling me all this out of the goodness of his heart.

“My products are free of side effects, I assure you. But there is a price. Specifically, 47'000 talons for the potion alone. I would then have to assess the necessary ointments and salves to remove the scars after using the said potion. The extent of scar tissue can vary depending on the nature of the injury and from person to person. Nevertheless, 6'000 talons at a minimum.”

I would laugh, a good, forlorn laugh if I could, as the tales of alchemists going around the streets and pubs were coming true before my eyes. I was to be the dumb gal he took advantage of, caught in debt to do his bidding. Scars I could live with, I had a few, but those almost fifty thousand talons - I’d never be able to earn that money even if I were in good health. I wasn’t even sure if I would be able to pay him back for the potion he had already given me and the Sniffing Dust.

“I can still see your distrust of my intentions, Miss Ratchetmare.”

Well, his eyes served him well. I had no plans to become his debt slave.

“And let me assure you that I will not administer said remedies without your express consent. Which, as you may realize, may be a bit of a challenge to get from you right now. We could find a way around your current condition, but I’d rather hear it from your mouth and have your signature on the paper. So - as you can see, since I need you free from the effects of the Paralyzing Sniffing Dust, you’ll have plenty of time to consider my offer”.

My first instinct was to tell him to shove his offer up his ass, that I didn’t need to hear it. However, given that I was currently nothing more than a drooling husk, there was no way for me to tell him to go fuck himself, and no matter how much I hated it, if he was telling the truth about my injuries, ignoring him would likely be a dumb mistake. It might have been my only chance, however shitty, to have a normal life. And so, while crying my eyes out, I swallowed my pride and pricked up my ears.

“Now, about my offer,” Alchemist Faulkner said, deliberately pausing. “As I said, I’m looking for an assistant to run my shop. You’d be attending to customers so that I could concentrate on my work. Running errands for me, picking up groceries, basic cleaning of the shop. That’s it. Five years, during which you will have your own room above the shop, food, and clothing. Five years, and I’ll consider what it will cost to treat you paid for.”

Sweet deal, huh? Nothing to worry about, and I get my health back.

So why the fuck did I want to run away and not look back? The answer was simple. It was too sweet a deal. There was no way there wouldn’t be strings attached - there always have been. Life taught me that. But the alchemist wasn’t interested in sharing that with me, of course. First, he wanted me in his clutches. Only then came the truth.

The bastard chuckled to himself and sighed as I glared at him - all I could do. “Well, Miss Ratchetmare, when you make your decision - and I believe it will be one that suits both of us - tell the nurse. Mrs. Hargrave will know how to reach me.”

The creaking of the chair and the rustling of the fabric told me that he had risen from the chair, still out of my sight, annoyingly. A few steps and the click of the cane on the floor later, he stopped at the foot of my bed. “Six hours, Miss Ratchetmare. That’s how long you have before the effects of the Paralyzing Sniffing Dust wear off. Remember that.”

With those words, striking dread into my heart of what was to come, he left, just like that, sure that I would take him up on his offer. Bastard!

“Oh, my,” Nurse Hargrave gasped when she showed up a short time later - most likely after seeing the alchemist off - and saw me crying my eyes out. “I was sure you’d be thrilled with Alchemist Faulkner.”

‘Did she hit her head on a pipe? Why the fuck would I be thrilled with a bastard like him?’ Five years of slavery, involving who knows what, if I wanted to live a normal life again. Workings above, I really wished I had died in that shitty mine - fuck, maybe if I hadn’t shielded myself with that basket I would have. Stupid instincts.

The train of thought took me to those two assholes who ended up covered head to toe in that goo. If I was such a mess, they certainly didn’t make it.

“You know,” the nurse spoke, leaning over me and finally showing me her face. She was a woman in her fifties, with wrinkles on her forehead and her hair already gray under her white cap, but to my bewilderment, with genuine concern in her dark brown eyes. “Mr. Faulkner may be an alchemist and a bit eccentric, but he’s not as awful as you think. He has been working with our hospital for several years now, supplying us at very reasonable prices - a man of his word. If you don’t accept his offer, that’s it. You’ll never hear from him again. It’s kind of sad, though.”

Her sorrowful sigh led me to a thought: ‘Why?’ A question she couldn’t hear but answered nonetheless.

“You know, sweetie, he’s been looking for his assistant here for over two months. But no matter how sick people are, they always refuse him.”

With the reputation the alchemists had, it was no wonder. And the fact that he was looking for his assistant in the hospital, clearly with the intention of shackling them with a contract, did not instill much trust in his intentions.

“All I’m saying is give him a chance, sweetie. Don’t reject his offer out of hand and consider it. It’s a great opportunity for you. I say this with a heavy heart, but there is not much the doctors here can do with your injuries except remove the damaged tissue. And there is so much of it.”

She didn’t have to say any more for me to understand. There was nothing on me that could be stitched back together, only cut away. There was so much frost-damaged tissue that they would end up making me a legless cripple if I survived at all.

“I’ll check on you every hour, sweetheart,” the nurse said, stroking my head, which was awfully strange considering I didn’t feel a thing. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me - once you’re able to - even if you find it embarrassing.”

With those words, Nurse Hargrave left to check on the other patients, leaving me with my thoughts and the growing uneasiness of what was to come. Minutes flew by, turning into hours. Each check by the nurse seemingly coming sooner and sooner.

The blasted pain came before I could even move or make a sound. It wasn’t a terrible pain at first. Dull, kind of seeping through my whole body. But as time went on, the more control I regained over my body, to my delight, the worse it got. Soon, against my best efforts and wishes to stay strong, I joined the other patients in their painful wailing.

___________________________________________________________________

Author’s note: When I intended to edit this chapter it was with the intention of making more extensive changes, maybe even including half of the next chapter, but when I went ahead I found that I quite liked the chapter the way I first wrote it and didn't see much room to delete or omit anything. Frustrating, I tell you. On the other hand, it shows me that I do tend to be overly critical of my work.

While after finishing the chapter I felt I could have written it much better - and no I don't suffer from the illusion that it's a perfect chapter, far from it - in hindsight I see the chapter in a new light. It's just my opinion, but for what I envisioned I didn't do such a bad job.

Anyway, sorry about the rant.

Thank you for reading :)

___________________________________________________________________

Previous Chapter  . . . . . . . Table of Contents . . . . . . . Next Chapter