RATCHETMARE: Chapter 3: Noose (Patreon)

Author’s note: Hi guys.

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As announced, two Ratchetmare chapters this week and only one Grandora chapter.

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Enjoy!

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Chapter 3: Noose - Link: https://www.patreon.com/posts/ratchetmare-3-96665715 

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Chapter 3: Noose

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The pain was too much to bear.

And as if to rub salt on my wounds, when I asked Nurse Hargrave for some painkillers, the cruel bitch asked me for coins - to sign a promissory note first, at least. Nothing was free in this steam-powered world. In fact, for the little they’ve done for me, they’ve already taken all the talons I earned in the mine today. And those bastards at Greymare Coal Company all too willingly agreed. Unsurprising. I’d seen it happen before and even talked to those who had been in my current position. The company just wanted to draw a thick black line behind my name on their books, to get rid of all obligations to me -  nobody to them. They had their Golden Era storage, while I was left with nothing but pain.

It was so frustrating, so unfair, that I wanted to cry. Except I had no tears left to shed.

“Is th-there really nothing you can do for me here besides - besides the stupidly expensive potions?” I asked the cruel bitch, as she came back to check on me, struggling with the words against the pain that tore through my body.

Mrs. Hargrave gave me a sympathetic look. “I wish there was, sweetie. I even asked the doctor about you again, but it’s either the potion or hoping you’ll pull through on your own.”

If my strength hadn’t left me long ago, I would have laughed. Hospitals! The institutions that had lived off the glory they had earned in the Golden Era, now just hollow shells where people like me - without a coin to spare - could die out of sight of others.

Yeah, I was bitter. Defeated by unfairness and quite possibly unfair myself to the only person who cared about me right now. ‘I am sorry, Mrs. Hargrave’, I gave the nurse a silent apology.

The unfairness, though . . .

If only my injury hadn’t been so severe, if only it had been a bruised ankle, if only I had more coins, if, if, if, if . . . If couldn’t get me out of the mess I was in.

“Fortune f-favors the brave,” I sighed, slowly accepting the inevitable. I couldn’t live like this, even if I survived at all. And no matter how much I wished to die back there in the coal pit, I wanted to live.

“I’m sorry; what did you say?” the nurse asked.

“That I w-want to live.”

She smiled and patted my shoulder. “It’s great that you haven’t given up yet, sweetie. Let me tell you, the will to live is half the battle. I’ve seen hopeless cases recover through sheer willpower, while those who could have lived - if they were to keep fighting - die.”

“D-Doesn’t sound like something a doctor would say,” I pointed out, what I didn’t want to say or was afraid to say on the tip of my tongue. The potions, the alchemist!

The nurse chuckled. “No, it isn’t. Just my experience.”

Honestly, she didn’t seem that bad. In fact, I liked her. It had been a long time since anyone had been so nice to me. But she was obviously in cahoots with the alchemist. It wouldn’t be strange if her kindness wasn’t just a way to win my affection, her sales pitch.

“You said the - the a-alchemist . . .”

“Mr. Faulkner,” she reminded me of the bastard’s name.

“. . . th-this Alchemist Faulkner is a man of his word, didn’t you?”

“Indeed, he is.”

“Please tell me, honestly, w-what he’s like.”

She gave a knowing smile. “Alchemists do not have a good reputation, and rightly so, I might add. They take advantage of the fact that no one else can do what they can. They rip people out of their hard-earned talons - wounded, suffering people who need help the most, like you. They are not people you would want to cross - or have anything to do with them most of the time.”

My eyes went wide. Either her pitch was that good, or Mrs. Hargrave really did see alchemists like me, as other lowly folks. But if so, it raised the question of where her affection for the alchemist came from.

“Mr. Faulkner, well, he may not betray what he is. He’s an alchemist through and through; he lives by it. But from my experience with him, I can tell you that as long as you are honest with the man, he will be with you and true to his word.

That sounded really good, too good, actually.

Was there really an alchemist like him? Even if so, he was an alchemist, the man who wanted to impose a five-year slave contract on me. A lot could have happened and changed in that time. In fact, everything could have gone to shit.

On the other hand, what could be worse than hoping for a sliver of a chance to survive and still live a normal life?

“Sweetie?” the nurse asked when I had fallen silent, lost in my own thoughts, despite the pain torturing my body.

“Could - could you call the Alchemist Faulkner?” I asked, my throat and mouth dry. “I-I will be his assistant.”

While the nurse squealed with delight, I felt a noose tighten around my neck. Only the knowledge that I hadn’t signed anything yet kept me from falling into complete despair.

“I’ll call him right away, hang in there,” Mrs. Hargrave blurted out, rushing out of the room, mumbling all the way. “Mr. Faulkner will be overjoyed to hear this . . .”

The sheer horror of my decision settling in my bones dulled my pain to the point where I was finally able to look around the room. I can’t say it was a mistake, but it didn’t help. Women’s ward. A dozen beds under a white ceiling, surrounded by beige tiled walls. There wasn’t much else, a nightstand by each bed, curtains on the windows, and eight other patients. The room was cleaner than I expected. In fact, I’d never seen a place so well scrubbed. It almost gave me the creeps.

What gave me goosebumps, though, was the look of the woman on the next bed. She was missing a hand, but there was so much pity for me in her eyes. Not a word came from her. And there was no need. I knew how fucked up I was and the consequences of the decision I had just made, even without her telling me.

“Oh, sweetie, I’ve got some bad news.”

Ignoring the pain I was in, my heart leapt for joy. The alchemist had changed his mind. He no longer considered me a suitable candidate for his assistant.

“Mr. Faulkner will not be able to come himself today,” the nurse said a little breathlessly as she ran to my bedside. “He will arrive at dawn tomorrow.”

My heart sank. This was really bad news. Just not in the way the nurse saw it. “Wh-what does that mean for me?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but . . . you’ll have to endure the pain until then.”

“What! Wh-why?”

“He wants to administer the potion to you personally.”

“What kind of bullshit . . . don’t you - don’t you have some in stock here?” I said bitterly, only adding to my pain. “Or d-does he want me to sign the contract first?”

“We do have some in stock, but he insisted on preparing one specifically for your injuries. Unfortunately, it’s going to take him a while.”

I was speechless.

It almost sounded like he was being incredibly thoughtful. But I wasn’t so out of it yet that I couldn’t figure out the rest. Tailor-made potions, sure, I’d heard of them, the best you could get to fix your ailments. Only there was a price tag to match. While the price of a grand healing potion was already astronomical for most common folk, the cost of these tailor-made potions made even the rich bastards dizzy. In other words, it looked like he wanted to keep me under contract for more than just five years.

The rush of pain that shot through my body as I clenched my fists reminded me, unfortunately, that I didn’t have much of a choice.

“And what about the - the sniffing powder?” I asked through gritted teeth.

Mrs. Hargrave gave me a grim look. “Mr. Faulkner said your system needs to be clean for the potion to work perfectly.”

“Fuck . . . !” There was nothing more fitting to say. The alchemist bastard basically wanted me to suffer until morning. The thought of that and the pain brought tears - I thought I had no more - to my eyes again.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, but . . .”

“C-Can’t you tell him that I’ll settle for a simple gr-grand healing potion?”

“Do you really want me to tell him that when he’s willing to make a tailor-made one for you just in exchange for you working for him for five years?”

“You th-think that’s still going to be the case?”

“Yes. I told you, Mr. Faulkner is a man of his word. If he told you five years, he’s going to ask you for five years, nothing more.”

I let out a heavy sigh, hoping the nurse was right. After all, I was in no position to really choose. The pain was almost unbearable, for sure enough to break many a long ago. I had the will, though, as the nurse said. I wanted to live, and if that meant working for an alchemist for five years, then so be it.

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***

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The pain at the night was unrelenting, my body writhing and shaking as I slipped in and out of consciousness. Each time I awoke, the agony seemed to intensify, sending shockwaves of unbearable agony through every limb until I thought I would shatter from the sheer force of it. I had a nightmare of the alchemist, a dark figure looming over me, his face twisted in a cruel smile. The man held a vial, and I knew it contained the potion that would end my suffering. At last, some relief was within reach. However, as he leaned forward to administer it, he suddenly drew back and laughed in my face.

I awoke drenched in sweat, my heart pounding. The morning was yet to come, and with it Alchemist Faulkner. I wondered what he would be like in person, if he would really be as honest and trustworthy as the nurse claimed, something I had hoped for with all my heart. Or would he be like the rumors about the alchemist, and used me according to his whims?

As the night wore on, my thoughts turned to the future. Five years was a long time, but if I could just get through it, somehow, I would be free of this pain and start a new life, maybe even a family. Just some comforting thoughts and dreams, keeping me sane.

To get there, though, I had to survive the next few hours.

And eventually, as the first rays of dawn crept through the window, I lived to see a slim sliver of hope. The sound of footsteps outside reached my ears and two heartbeats later, the nurse rushed in with a big smile on her face.

“He’s here, sweetie. Mr. Faulkner has arrived.”

I tried to roll over on my side to get a better look at the door, but the pain was too much. Instead, I stayed lying on my back and waited while the nurse went to greet the man.

A few moments later, the alchemist entered the room. I didn’t see him until he was almost at my bedside. He was a tall man with dark hair and a serious expression. He wore an alchemist’s robe, but his most striking feature of his were the dark eyes that seemed to penetrate my soul.

“Good morning, Miss Ratchetmare,” he said in a low voice as he approached my bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“I-I wo-would have imagined a good mo-morning quite differently,” I said bitterly through the pain. How did I feel? A really stupid question.

“Sweetie!” Mrs. Hargrave admonished me in a whisper.

“I see,” the man said, ignoring her, unfazed by my tone, his eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place. “I myself did not have an enjoyable morning after a sleepless night.” A not-so-subtle hint of him having spent the night brewing the potion. Still, I was damn sure mine was worse.

“Excuse me,” the alchemist said, glancing around the room and stepping away for a moment to pull up a chair. While he wasn’t paying attention, I let out a pained sigh. Showing him a hint of weakness would only piss me off.

“Imagine my surprise when I received a call from Mrs. Hargrave yesterday informing me of your decision. Nevertheless, I hope it wasn’t a whimsical prattle on your part, Miss Rachetmare, and that you still stand by it?”

A small part of me, the defiant one, wanted to tell him no, that it was just a joke and he could take his potion and shove it up his ass. My pain-clouded mind wouldn’t let me, though. As much as I didn’t like it - or him, I had already made my choice. “Wh-what if I say I’ve changed my mind?”

“Sweetie!”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Hargrave. She’s just curious. Right?”

“Yes.” He was basically right. Annoyingly so.

“Well, as for your question, that would mean I wasted the whole night for nothing. The potion in my bag would be worthless and I would have to look for a more trustworthy assistant . . . again.”

“Worthless, it can’t be . . . ?”

“I assure you that if anyone other than you were to swallow the potion, it would do more harm than good.”

“You mean it’s t-toxic?”

The corner of the alchemist’s lips tilted with a lighthearted expression.

“Aren’t all potions toxic? They must always be administered in the proper amount and for no longer than the recommended period of use.”

That was not what I meant. And the bastard knew it. The tone in his voice said it all. To him, I was the kid he was lecturing. He enjoyed it. “My healing potion is designed to treat your injuries. Injuries caused by the coolant from the Golden Era, of which I took a sample. Unfortunately, to my knowledge, there is no other person in Greymare with the same type of injury. A living person,” the alchemist added, knowing there was no need to say more. The two idiots from the mine didn’t make it.

“So, Miss Ratchetmare, may I hear your decision about becoming my assistant before we proceed any further?”

“And the terms are - still true? Five years?”

“Excellent! Always make sure. One of the basic rules of the alchemists. Yes, five years as an assistant in my shop, which includes attending to customers, running errands for me, picking up groceries, and basic cleaning of the shop. Should your duties exceed the above, it will be done by prior agreement with you and with appropriate remuneration.”

Damn, that still sounded too good to be true.

“Yes, I agree.” The other options were to die in pain or live with it for the rest of my life, and I liked those options less and less.

The alchemist’s dark eyes lit up, and he quickly pulled a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. “Everything we agreed upon is written down here. Please read it and sign it,” he said, stopping short. “You can read and write, can’t you?”

If I didn’t know how much it would hurt, I would have laughed my head off. The man was looking for an assistant for his shop and didn’t even bother to make sure the gal he was asking could read and write. He was in luck, though. “I can read - I’m not so sure about my ability to write right now.” To prove my point, I gritted my teeth and pulled my bandaged arm out from under the blanket. My hand shook like that of an old woman. It would be a miracle to hold a pen between my fingers, let alone sign my name.

The alchemist understood and put the pen back in his pouch. “Apologies for my oversight - lack of sleep. This will do, then.”

Fingerprint Stamp. A little item they had in every store. Even in the mines, the officials had them on their desks. A necessity when dealing with people who couldn’t write. It wasn’t a stamp as such - more like a needle for pricking your finger, tucked away in a neat little box.

“Yeah, that’ll do,” I said, my eyes fixed on the object that gave many people blood poisoning. You see, the needle required cleaning, not something everyone did. “Would you - would you help me sit up?”

“Certainly . . .”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary, Mr. Faulkner. Let me help you, sweetie.” The nurse was very gentle, yet I cried out in pain when it came to bending at the waist. “Would you like me to hold the contract so you can read it?”

“Please.”

What I saw on the paper gave me pause. Not so much what the alchemist and I had verbally agreed upon. That was there, word for word, nothing more or less. It was the details about me that pissed me off.

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Employment Contract

Contractor’s details:

Name: Nika Hester Ratchetmare

Citizenship Number: F - 0 - 354-2-896-17

Height: 172 cm

Weight: 68 kg

Hair Color: Brown

Eye Color: Dark Brown

Prominent Marks: Birthmark under the left breast.

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Where he got the details aside - that was far too obvious, Nurse Hargrave - the fact that he felt the need to put them there was quite offensive. And quite strange, too. It contrasted with his judgment that I could write. Such details were written for contracts with illiterate people, immigrants and refugees, to make it clear who the signer was. Sometimes they even included a rough sketch.

[Always make sure.]

The alchemist’s words about one of their rules came to mind. Well, being careful was understandable. But it would have been easier on the soul if he had written down the same amount of details about himself. Instead, under the heading ‘Contractee’, there was only his name, citizenship number, stamp with his insignia, and signature.

“Everything all right, Miss Ratchetmare?” The alchemist asked, noticing my frown. “I took the liberty of signing the document already.”

“I n-noticed.”

“So, if you don’t see any discrepancies in the document, please,” he motioned to the fingerprint stamp.

My throat tightened, and I pressed my thumb, one of the two fingers not covered in bandages, onto the needle. The sting was hardly noticeable compared to the pain coursing through my body.Then, with all my effort, my hand shaking and the pain dulling my reason, I pressed my bloody thumb to the contract.

The noose tightened.

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Author’s note:

Thank you for reading :)

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