RATCHETMARE: Chapter 4: Misunderstanding (Patreon)

Author’s note: Hi guys.

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This is the last chapter of Ratchetmare, which I wrote as a side story while writing Lament of the Slave. So the next one will be the first new one for tier 3 Patreons as well. But just so you know, I worked on this one just like the previous three, and shaved off some of the sharp edges.

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With that said, next week one chapter from each story plus one chapter of Lament of the Slave.

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Enjoy!

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Chapter 4: Misunderstanding - Link: https://www.patreon.com/posts/96910200

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Chapter 4: Misunderstanding

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“N-now what?” I asked through the pain that tortured my body, my throat clenched.

“Now, Miss Ratchetmare,” the alchemist said, checking the contract with a gleam in his tired eyes. “. . . we will administer the potion to you.”

He rolled the paper into a scroll and put it into a protective tube before hiding it in his bag. From the latter, he pulled out a potion, a small flask with a dark crimson liquid inside. If I didn’t know better - besides, there was no point in doing so - I’d think he was trying to poison me. The healing potions I knew used to be light red, sometimes even pink. Only the grand potions took on the colors of the vine.

“I’m s-supposed to drink it, r-right?”

The alchemist smirked. “That’s the nature of potions. If I made an ointment for you, I’d call it an ointment.”

The bastard would deserve more than one punch to his face.

“But before I let you drink it, may I make a request?”

‘That was fast!’ He barely had me in his grasp and was already making demands. No, not demands, requests - which was kind of weird, considering what I had just signed. “What k-kind of request?”

“One to satisfy my curiosity and expand my alchemical knowledge.”

The urge to hit him grew even stronger. ‘He liked to beat around the bush, did he?’

“Would you let me see the effects of my potion?”

‘Wh-what?!’ To see my wounds healed? The scars? “S-sure. Didn’t you s-say you’d p-prescribe an ointment based on t-the scars?”

“Oh, no - I mean, yes, I did say that, and it still stands. But you have misunderstood the gist of my request. I would like to observe the healing process - preferably from the moment you swallow the potion.”

Silence. Wait, what did he want? The pain and fatigue was to blame, but it took me a while to realize that he wanted to see my naked body - in other words, to satisfy his lust. Once it dawned on me, however, my eyes stung with tears. That was what I got for dealing with an alchemist.

“I think you’ve misunderstood me again, Miss Ratchetmare. I am only curious about your injuries, not your appearance.”

Normally, a guy telling me he wasn’t interested in me would have ticked me off a bit. In his case, I literally breathed a sigh of relief.

“If you believe my request to be too unreasonable, I will understand, but I am willing to give you a fatigue-relieving tonic as remuneration. Do you find that adequate, or would you rather not?”

How much the bastard wanted to see my wound heal gave me pause. The potion he mentioned wasn’t cheap. So if he was willing to give that much, then . . . in the end, I dismissed the idea of him reducing the length of my contract. Instead, I opted to negotiate for some semblance of dignity.

“B-but I’ll have the p-private parts covered.”

He didn’t hesitate to nod. “Waist and chest? Just to make sure we’re on the same page?”

‘Were there other private parts?’ Well, whatever. “Yes, w-waist and chest. Do you w-want to draw up a-another contract?”

“That would indeed be the soundest way, but if it is enough for you that we have Mrs. Hargave as a witness for the accord, it'll be good enough for me. She is an honest person.”

Glancing at the woman, the nurse, I considered whether her word would hold any sway if the alchemist went back on his promise. It would not. That was a fact. In such cases, the courts, if such disputes reached them at all, always ended in favor of the alchemist. No one wanted to upset them, not even the “unbribed” judges. Well, that was the notion I chose to go with.

It was risky, and seeing me half-naked could only arouse the lust of my new boss, my master. But doubting him in the first few minutes after signing a contract could drive a wedge between us that I might regret later. What was it that Nurse Hargrave said? That Mr. Faulkner was a man of his word? Well, even if it went against my gut, I had no choice but to show some faith in the alchemist.

Also, the fact that I was in considerable pain helped to hasten my decision a lot.

“If Nurse Hargrave doesn’t mind - t-then that’s fine with me.”

“Oh, not at all, sweetie.”

“Excellent, shall we then?” the alchemist gestured to the blankets I was lying under in a semi-sitting position.

“Certainly, but please turn around for a moment, Mr. Faulkner. I’ll get Miss Ratchetmare ready.” The nurse's voice was unusually firm. Gone was the gentleness with which she had spoken to me, or a courtesy to an alchemist. Now she was in charge. An unexpected side to this middle-aged woman.

Nevertheless, when the alchemist turned under her gaze, I was incredibly grateful to her. After all, those blankets were all that covered me - well almost all. When the nurse pulled them off, she revealed my bandaged body. A shudder ran through me at the sight, making the pain even worse.

“This is going to hurt, sweetie,” the nurse warned me before removing the first bandage. The warning was not necessary, though. That much was obvious to me the moment my eyes fell on the blood-soaked cloth. Well, I was ready - or so I thought. Pulling off the makeshift bandage from the cut I had received in the winter was nothing compared to what I felt under the experienced hands of a nurse.

The pain was excruciating.

Worse, it was just one bandage off. There was still so much bandaging to remove. An instant regret over my decision to go along with the alchemist’s whim struck my heart.

“You know, Miss Ratchetmare,” the bastard spoke, his back still patiently turned to me after a while of my anguish. “Removing those would be necessary - or at least advisable - anyway.”

To be honest, a few unkind words might have escaped my chapped lips, even at his address, as the nurse removed the bandages from my tender regions. “I didn’t m-mean . . .”

“No need to apologize. In fact, I appreciate your candor. But back to my point, healing potions are meant to enhance your natural regeneration. They are not some Golden Era magic. It is necessary to clean the wounds properly and make sure there are no foreign objects in them, otherwise . . .” he said, obviously expecting me to figure out the rest.

“O-otherwise that shit could get stuck in there, in-grown, r-right?”

“Correct. Quite unpleasant should that happen, I might say.”

To call it unpleasant was an understatement. I had heard how these cases could end. Festering and rotting. The reason I gritted my teeth and let the nurse carry on with the torture. The follow-up wound cleaning was no less pleasant. Especially when my skin was as cracked as the ground in the hot summer months. And it wasn't just the pain that brought tears to my eyes. The sight of my own body was sickening to the point where I found comfort in staring at the white ceiling of the room.

The alchemist’s patience was admirable, at least from my perspective. It wasn’t hard to guess that it was a trait that no one in his profession could do without. Nevertheless, as far as I could tell, the alchemist never once peeked back. A man of his word.

That earned him some points with me.

“Done,” Nurse Hargrave announced after gently covering my private parts with strips of cloth. “I apologize for keeping you waiting so long, Mr. Faulkner.”

“I didn’t mind. In fact, I expected to have enough time to finish my sketch.” When he turned, he was holding a small notebook and a pencil. Annoyingly, in a way, I wouldn’t see what he was drawing.

“S-sketch?”

“Of a female body, Miss Ratchetmare. I may have a great memory, but nothing beats notes on paper. On that matter, dare not look into my notebooks, even if they were open on my desk.” His voice turned uncomfortably cold and caught me off guard. It was just an innocent question, a genuine curiosity. Not me trying to get a secret out of him.

“I w-won’t, I promise.”

“Thank you. Such a book might be useless to you, but in the hands of another alchemist, it might be worth a few Golden Era artifacts. A well-known fact in the underbelly of human society and the reason for my caution.”

‘His caution? Then why the hell did he tell me that?!’ Well, it was a warning, sort of. Don’t even think about stealing my notes and selling them on the black market. Fair enough. But why tell me here, where other women must have heard him?! My only guess would be that he didn’t consider them a threat, that the thieves who wanted to know about the alchemists’ notes and their value already knew.

“Just a moment, please,” he said apologetically and hurried to finish the sketch, only to replace the black pen with a red one. Judging by the way he kept his eyes on my injuries, he was filling in the sketch of the female figure in his journal with the drawing of the damage the goo had done to my body.

The wait for him to finish the sketch was excruciating. Nurse Hargrave may have been done with ripping off the bandages, but the pain eating away at my body never went away. Not to make a sound, a hint of weakness, was so hard. Even harder as time passed and the cold sweat covering my body began to trickle into my wounds.

“I apologize for my unpreparedness,” the alchemist spoke as he apparently finished his sketch. “I must admit that you agreeing to work for me took me a bit by surprise. In a good way, of course. However, it threw me for a loop.”

The alchemist cleared his throat, straightened his clothes, and smiled slightly. “Let us proceed with the administration of the healing potion.”

‘Finally!’ The word almost slipped from my lips. My impatience and urgency must have been obvious to everyone, anyway.

“Yes-s, p-please.”

“Potions are best taken in one gulp,” the alchemist explained as he handed the wine-colored potion to Nurse Hargrave. “Alas, the amount needed to achieve the desired effect is usually too much for most to swallow at once. Don’t be embarrassed if you can’t. In fact, I recommend the approach of small sips from the start, followed in quick succession.”

Common sense. Just chug the whole potion. Of course, I didn’t tell him that. At the moment, his gruff voice guiding me through it was somehow soothing.

“Be careful, sweetie,” the nurse said, placing the mouth of the bottle to my cracked lips. The moment the cool liquid moistened my throat, I almost gasped with pleasure. Despite the color of the wine, the taste of it was reminiscent of spring water, something I had not tasted in years. The best water you could get from the taps in Greymare was heavily chlorinated. Not to mention the well water. Often it wasn’t even good for washing.

Small sips, I reminded myself, as my body ached for more. It would be so nice to dip my face in the liquid, to jump in whole. Hence the disappointment when the bottle emptied and the last gulp wet my throat. A disappointed whimper slipped from my lips.

“What’s wrong, Miss Rachetmare? The potion should barely be working yet. Did I miss something? Maybe . . .”

“N-no,” I quickly stopped him before he could come up with any crazy theories and try to shove something down my throat that wasn’t necessary. “It t-taste good, r-really good.”

He blinked, confused. But then a warm smile spread across his face, one of delight. “That’s great to hear.”

“Uh, h-how . . . how long before it starts w-working?” By the time I finished my question, a pleasant warm feeling had spread through my body. There was no comparison. Neither sunbathing under the warm rays in the summer nor a hot honey tea in the winter could warm up your body like this.

“Very quickly,” the alchemist smiled, noticing my reaction and already taking notes. “There is no need to be alarmed. The healing process should be painless. Do not confuse that word with not unpleasant. You may experience twitching, itching, or goose bumps. Please let me know if you do.”

A grin spread across my face. There was no helping it. Somehow, I found his efforts to reassure me, complemented by his alchemical curiosity, amusing. Honestly, it could have been the warm feeling, the knowledge that my ordeal was over. The fear of being crippled or dying was washed away with the potion - a huge weight lifted from my shoulders.

My fingers twitched, and the alchemist took a note.

“An itch on my r-right shin,” I informed him, fighting the irritating sensation.

“I see. Don’t scratch it.” The warning was unnecessary. Even if I wanted to, raising my arms or moving in general would be an ordeal for me. Getting rid of an itch just wasn’t worth it. Especially when other itchy spots popped up as the potion did its work, some even in places I was reluctant to mention to the alchemist, who was eagerly taking notes on every single detail he picked up.

Him aside, my nasty injuries were slowly but visibly healing. The cracks in my skin sealed, leaving only scars, while the pus stopped oozing from the deeper wounds, and even the pain rooted deep in my bones receded. Seeing and feeling that, eagerness took hold of my guts. The speed with which the potion was ridding me of my injuries was not enough.

“Patience, Miss Ratchetmare,” the alchemist spoke as my restlessness became all too apparent. “The best way to heal properly and quickly is to stay calm and relaxed. This also applies to potion healing.”

It wasn’t an order, just a suggestion. Yet the subtle hint that I’d better listen or I might interfere with the work of his potion was not lost on me. How I felt didn’t matter to him. By that, I meant that he wanted me to report my pain, itching, and tickling, things that had to do with his work, not my emotional state. What mattered to him was the result of his work, whether his remedy cured me or not, how much or how little. That was a line beyond which his interest did not extend.

How his products changed people’s lives was irrelevant to his work as an alchemist. What mattered was the pure result of his products' effects. At least that was my impression of him. Anyway, I curbed my impatience and, as excited as he was, continued to watch my wounds heal.

Frankly, it was a miracle.

Before long, every crack on my body closed and I was left with the skin streaked with pink scars reminiscent of cracked pavement.

“And done,” the alchemist said as he watched the last wound heal, pocket watch in hand.

While he excitedly took a note of the time, I hardly dared to breathe. No discomfort in movement, no pain. “So it’s . . . ?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said, looking up from his notebook. My heart sank, along with my excitement. His tone didn’t bode well. And he realized as much. “I’m sorry, Miss Ratchetmare. Misunderstanding. As you can see, the potion did its job, and let’s say did so slightly above my expectations. But if I were you, I’d stay still for a few more hours, preferably until the next day. Newly grown fusions, - ehm, new tissue - will be very delicate now.”

“I . . . all right,” I stammered, hesitating. “Thank you.”

The man wasn’t the only one caught off guard by my thanks. If anyone ever told me I'd ever thank an alchemist, I'd laugh at them. However, it just felt right; the words came from the heart, from the joy I felt. A network of scars may now cover my body from the chest down, but that was nothing compared to the fate of a cripple or eventual painful death.

Obviously uncomfortable with my gratitude, the alchemist cleared his throat. “No need to thank me. I only kept part of our contract. I expect the same from you, Miss Ratchetmare.”

Five years of assisting him in the shop. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so much for what he did for me - that is, if he was the man of his word as Nurse Hargrave made him out to be. But if he was, if he was who I hoped he was, for once fate seemed to be smiling at me. I almost laughed. “Yes, I will stick to the terms of our contract,” I phrased my answer in a way that would satisfy him. “You said I should ideally rest until the next morning - does that mean I should be in your shop at that time?”

He actually thought about it, unprepared for the arrival of his new assistant. Thinking about myself that way sounded pretty damn strange, even to me. “That would be ideal. Let’s say ten o’clock,” the Alchemist said eventually, glancing at the nurse. “I trust that won’t be a problem with the hospital, Miss Hargrave?”

“Not at all, Mr. Faulkner,” the woman giggled, obviously delighted with the way things had turned out. “The Director will be pleased that we were able to help you. Taking care of this young woman here until morning is the least we can do.”

If it weren’t for the undisguised joy in the nurse’s voice, it would almost sound like they were going to kick me out of here if I turned down Faulkner - and leave me to die on the street. Even though the hospitals were shitty institutions, they didn’t resort to such things, or if they did, they covered their tracks well.

Anyway, even if that was the case, it didn’t matter now.

As of today, I was the assistant of the alchemist.

“Excellent, then at ten in the morning, Miss Ratchetmare. 537 Brass Row. I expect punctuality.”

Damn, that was some fancy address.

Nevertheless, I nodded. “I’ll be there, Mr. Faulkner.”

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Author’s note:

Thank you for reading :)

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