The Rat Catcher's Tail
Richard Ford

	The candle he kept by his bedside had long since burnt out and Hugo's room was bathed in blackness. The shutters over his windows kept out any encroaching moonlight, the double bolts serving to lock him fast within his mansion fortress.
	He listened through the darkness, straining his ears for any sound. His eyes were wide as he peered over the top of his fine-stitched Estalian sheets, but could see nothing through the gloom.
	There it was again, as it had come every night for the past week - the incessant scratching and pattering of tiny feet. Hugo could no longer deny the fact that it was slowly beginning to drive him insane. They were in the walls, under the floorboards, crawling across the attic, and Hugo was powerless to stop them. He had spent the past two days crawling around his own home with nothing but a sputtering candle for illumination, waiting behind half-closed doors for sound of the vermin's passing. When he heard it he would burst in, walking cane in hand, but the snuffling, chittering, furry beasts were nowhere in sight.
	Would he have no peace?
	Hugo Kressler was known throughout Talabheim as a well-respected, and very wealthy, merchant. His business had seen emperors come and go, had survived Chaos incursions and peasant uprisings.
	When he had accrued enough wealth, Hugo had commissioned the building of the largest private property in the Manor District and on its completion he could not have been happier. It was a triumph of architecture, sporting wood panelling bought in from Ostland, lancet archways carved by dwarf masons, and boasting the latest security guaranteed by the Locksmith's Guild of Altdorf. Above all it satisfied Hugo's requirements for total privacy. For two years he had been ecstatically happy in his new abode, walking his hallways and admiring the works of art from Tilea and Bretonnia, sampling his vast wine cellar and counting his hard-earned coin.
	Now all that was falling apart.
	He had not slept for days and his usually voracious appetite had all but vanished. Hugo was now a wan shadow of his former self, a bag of saggy flesh with red-rimmed eyes that stared from beneath an unkempt mass of shaggy grey hair. It was like being a prisoner in his own home. He dare not leave for fear of what state his beloved mansion would be in when he returned. What would the pink-eyed beasts do to his belongings in his absence? The filth they would leave behind, the teeth marks... the droppings!
	Wrenching back his sheets, Hugo leapt out of bed. He blindly felt around for his bedside candle and the single match he kept on the dresser in case he was caught short during the night. With the candle lit he strode across his bedroom, one hand shading the precious illumination. He opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the wide, panelled corridor.
	All the while the noise from within the walls seemed to get louder, the rodents seeming to mock him, knowing they were winning, knowing that Hugo's wits would soon be frayed to nothing.
	'I know you can hear me!' he screamed, his voice echoing along the pitch-black corridor. 'You won't win. Mark me! Do you know who you're dealing with? I'm Hugo Kressler, the most powerful merchant in Talabheim!'
	As if in answer, the rats fell silent.
	Hugo stood in the dark, watching... waiting.
	Nothing.
	With a sigh of relief he stumbled back to his bed, climbing within the fine, smooth sheets and pulling them up to his chin. Within seconds the gentle mercy of sleep overcame him.
	Hugo was running.
	He found it curious - normally when he ran in dreams it was as though he were wading through thick treacle, his legs sluggish and listless no matter how he willed them to move. Now however he was speeding along, scurrying even, moving with all the stealth and snap of a wild animal. At first this thrilled him, his heart pounding like a taxman at the door, but soon he realised the reason for his alacrity... he was being chased!
	Something was after him, something big and mean and casting a long black shadow, and no matter how he tried to escape it he could not. He jinked left and right, over and under obstacles, but still he could not shake off his pursuer. It was a losing battle, the hunter was gaining, Hugo could hear its pounding feet at his back, and the stink of its hot breath...
	He awoke, breathless and panting. His fine satin sheets were drenched, his silken nightgown clinging to his clammy flesh.
	This would not stand - awake he was tormented by invaders in his home, asleep he was plagued by night terrors. He had to do something, had to rid himself of these torturous vermin.
	Hugo leapt from his bed, flinging open his door and tramping through the corridors of his house, which were slowly brightening in the dawn light. In the porch he donned his boar-skin greatcoat and the boots made especially for him from Arabyan horsehide, then ventured out into the chill morning air.
	The streets of Talabheim were all but deserted this early in the day, particularly in the Manor District. It was inhabited by the city's great and good, and only their footmen and domestics would be out of bed at this ungodly hour. Consequently, when he stepped onto the Avenue of Heroes and headed west to his destination, Hugo had only an endless row of posturing statues to keep him company.
	As he stamped through the streets they gradually became busier, and when he moved into the district known as Guildrow the bare cobbled road had become a hive of bustling activity. The Guildrow was a hub for Talabheim's industry, with blacksmiths and brewers, tinkers and tanners all going about their business. It was here that Hugo would find what he was looking for.
	Eventually he located it and with renewed vigour Hugo marched to the front door of the trapmaker's shop. The lintel had been painted black, and written on it in faded white script was the legend:Gerhardt Moller - Master of Traps, as appointed by Helmut Feuerbach, Elector Count of Talabecland. This on its own filled Hugo with some relief as he rapped on the door. Moller would clearly have the answer to the twitching, scurrying, defecating problem that was assailing his home.
	At first there was no answer, but after several successive, and steadily more frantic, knockings at the door it was hauled open. The man Hugo could only assume was the 'master' trapmaker stood staring from within the gloom, his hair dishevelled, his body encased in a tattered, furry robe of indeterminate origin.
	'What?' said Moller gruffly, clearly none too impressed at being disturbed at this hour of the morning.
	'I have a problem,' Hugo replied, a little more desperately than he had intended.
	'Clearly,' said Moller, looking Hugo up and down. 'You'd best come in then.' He pushed open the door, allowing Hugo to step into the gloomy interior of the shop.
	Once inside, his eyes slowly adjusted, revealing the dusty wares on sale. All manner of grim and dangerous-looking equipment lined the walls: spiked cages, leghold- and bear-traps, manacles of varying length and thickness, weighted nets and snares.
	'What is it you're after, then?' asked Moller. 'Bear? Wolf? Boar? I'll assume it's game since you certainly don't look the bounty hunting type.'
	'Erm, no,' Hugo replied. 'It's... well, it's, erm... rats!'
	Moller narrowed his eyes, staring across the dark room with clear disdain. 'Rats?'
	'Yes, I'm plagued by the filthy degenerate vermin. I need traps, and plenty of them.'
	Moller shook his head, grumbling to himself as he entered a back room. Hugo could hear banging and clattering as the man searched through a mass of clutter until he eventually found what he was looking for. He returned with a small wooden box which he dropped on the shop counter with a disconsolate shrug. Peering in, Hugo could see a collection of jumbled garbage, some of it recognisable as trap components, but mostly it was a box full of broken wood and rusted metal hinges.
	'Is that it?' Hugo said. 'On your door it says Master of Traps!'
	Moller frowned, grasping the box. 'Now look here - I've crafted traps for elector counts in four provinces, hunters come to me from as far as Nordland. If you don't want-'
	'No, no. I'll take it,' said Hugo in a panic, producing a purse from inside his coat. 'Here, for your trouble.' He placed four shiny gold crowns on the counter.
	Moller seemed to instantly brighten, clapping his hand over the coins and sliding them into his meaty palm.
	Hugo grabbed the box and was about to leave when Moller held up his hand.
	'I've got something else might help,' he said. 'If you're interested.'
	Hugo nodded, unsure whether to trust the wry smile on Moller's face. The trapmaker disappeared into the back room once more, but this time there was no sound of clattering. What Hugo heard was far worse, as though Moller were wrestling with some kind of foul daemonic creature. He reappeared seconds later, holding a large object with a tattered piece of sacking draped over the top. Once he had slammed it down on the counter he jumped back, as though the object might explode in his face. Hugo could hear a frenzied gnashing and spluttering emanating from beneath the sack, and he too retreated to a safe distance.
	'This,' said Moller, grasping the cloth between the fingers of his outstretched hand, 'is Gertrude!'
	He whipped away the sack to reveal a cage beneath. Hugo couldn't tell what the sight within it filled him with more: fear or revulsion. Gertrude was the sorriest looking excuse for a cat he had ever seen - all gnashing teeth and mangy fur. She attacked the cage with a frenzy to rival any Norscan, howling like a banshee all the while.
	'Best ratter in the Taalbaston, although she does have some... issues. Yours for only five crowns.'
	Hugo stared as the cat tried to chew her way out of the mesh cage, her chipped yellow teeth grinding against the metal.
	'No thanks,' he replied. 'The traps will do for now.'
	'Suit yourself,' said Moller. 'But if you change your mind, you can always come back.'
	'Of course,' Hugo said, backing out into the street, and closing the shop door behind him. 'I'll be back - right after I've flashed my fruits at the Emperor's Parade.'
	It took him hours to disentangle the mess of traps Moller had sold him. Some had broken hinges, some brittle bases, others were rusted beyond use, but eventually Hugo managed to salvage over a dozen usable rat traps.
	After much planning, he located them strategically throughout his house then carefully baited each one with Grossreiche Blue - the most pungent cheese he owned. As he carefully secured the clasp on the last one, Hugo giggled at his visions of an unwary quarry wandering up, summoned by the tantalising aroma, only to have its neck snapped as it tried to take a bite.
	Still chortling to himself, Hugo retreated to his bedchamber, snuffed out the candle and jumped into bed.
	In the morning, Hugo was awoken to brilliant sunlight invading the slats in his Cathayan blinds. He could remember no nightmares; in fact his sleep had been so sound he couldn't remember dreaming at all.
	With a spring in his step he crossed his room and flung open the door, eager to see the carnage his traps had wrought. He padded, barefoot, to the end of the corridor then gingerly peered around the corner. Hugo had never had the strongest of stomachs, and despite the inevitable joy he knew it would bring, he was still reluctant to view a splattered rat's corpse.
	But there was nothing there - no trap, no Grossreiche Blue, and definitely no dead rat.
	Hugo stared for several seconds. He was certain he had placed one of the traps right on that spot, but there was nothing. Scratching his head, he moved on to the next trap.
	Perhaps he was mistaken, he thought as he moved through the house, perhaps his frenzied eagerness to eliminate the vermin had confused him and fuddled his mind. It was perfectly possible, he was under a lot of strain after all, but when he reached the location of the next trap he let out an audible yelp. That one had also disappeared!
	With rising panic, Hugo rushed through the mansion, his feet slapping against the bare floorboards as he hurried to view each carefully-planned spot in which he had left his baited traps. Every one was missing, with not even a crumb of cheese left to mark where they had been.
	His heart was beating now, slamming against his ribcage, the blood pumping audibly in his ears. The pressure in his head felt as though it would smash through his skull, releasing his frustration in a black gout of fetid steam.
	'I know what you're up to!' Hugo screamed, his voice echoing through the chambers and corridors of his mansion. 'You're trying to send me mad! Well it won't work! Do you hear me? I'm Hugo Kressler, the greatest merchant of Talabheim, and I won't be beaten by scavenging pests!'
	At that he raced down the stairs, this time not bothering to don his greatcoat or boots before hurrying into the morning air.
	Hugo returned two hours later. He tramped up the garden path bearing a heavy package, made all the more cumbersome by the gnashing, whining, spitting creature that was secreted within its wire mesh confines. On any other day his entrepreneurial nature would have compelled him to haggle with Moller over the price, but this was not a day for bartering - besides, five crowns had seemed like a bargain under the circumstances.
	The front door slammed open as Hugo entered, a maniacal grin on his face.
	'I'm back!' he screamed. 'And I've brought a friend with me!'
	After placing the cage down in the centre of the reception hall he removed the sack that covered it, eager to release Gertrude on his unsuspecting houseguests. On seeing the raging whirlwind of fur and claws though, Hugo had second thoughts. Perhaps he should try and bond with Gertrude first, at least enough to stop her trying to claw his throat out.
	He raced to the pantry, sniffing the pail of milk that sat within. It was a bit on the sour side, but he doubted Gertrude would notice - by the looks of her she'd not been offered anything this fresh for months.
	Pouring some of the milk into a saucer he returned to the entrance hall and placed it in front of the cage.
	'How about a little peace offering?' he said, sliding back the bolt.
	In response, Gertrude calmed a little, seemingly mesmerised by the promise of milk.
	Hugo swung the cage door open and backed away, leaving the saucer between him and the cat. She padded forwards with a sniff, then tentatively lapped up a mouthful. To Hugo's relief, his souring milk appeared to Gertrude's liking and she finished off the saucer with gusto, then sat back with a satisfied purr.
	'There,' he said, taking a step forwards to pat her head. 'You're not all that bad after all, are you?'
	His hand didn't reach within a foot of her before she screeched, clawing at him, yowling her hatred and attacking with unrestrained fury.
	Hugo fled, sprinting up his staircase pursued by the angry cat all the way back to his bedchamber. He just managed to slam the door before Gertrude inflicted any further harm, and slid the bolt across just in case.
	It was several hours before he mustered the courage to open his door, peering out into the dark corridor beyond. When he saw there was no wicked, hissing cat waiting for him, he let out a sigh of relief and stepped out into the passage.
	His bare foot squelched down on something soft and unctuous. It oozed between his toes, unleashing the most horrendous odour Hugo had ever had the misfortune to experience.
	He didn't have to look down to know that Gertrude had left him a gift reflecting just what she thought of him.
	Well, she didn't have to like him, did she - she just had to do what he'd bought her for!
	Hugo hopped to his nightstand, removed the doily that sat atop it and wiped the pungent cat crap from his foot, then went in search of Gertrude.
	After checking the ground floor and finding no trace of the cat or her prey, Hugo moved to the first floor. As he reached the top landing he cringed as he saw fresh claw marks on his fine oak banister. He clenched his teeth against the fury, and moved towards the stair for the second floor, only to slip and stumble on a warm puddle of what could only be cat piss.
	Hugo clenched his fists, moving to the foot of the stairwell and dragging his sodden foot along his embroidered Kislevite rug. It was then there pealed forth a horrendous sound the like of which he had never heard before. It was a tortured crowing, as though some wild animal were braying its last in agonising pain, and he was suddenly frozen to the spot by the sound.
	Steeling himself, Hugo moved up the stairs onto the second-storey corridor. A number of doors led off into his various guestrooms and the sound seemed to be emanating from within one of them. It was louder now, and clearly coming from the first room on the right. Hugo grasped the door handle, girding his loins as he pushed open the door, squinting as he entered lest the sight be too much for his delicate sensibilities.
	Gertrude let out another shattering howl, and Hugo's jaw dropped open at the sight. The cat lay in the middle of the room, her fur in tattered pieces, and clasped to her body, from the tip of her tail to the ends of her ears, were Hugo's missing rat traps.
	What could have done this? What foul creature could overcome Gertrude so? What fiendish jester was taunting him in such a manner?
	The answer was clear - these rats were revealing themselves as a force to be reckoned with!
	'Bastards!' Hugo cried. 'You may have won this battle, but the war isn't over yet!'
	With Gertrude safely de-trapped and placed in her cage, Hugo left his mansion once more. This time he had the wherewithal to dress himself, albeit shabbily, before he set out onto the darkening streets.
	The Frog and Trumpet was one of the more upper-class drinking establishments of Talabheim, being situated in the affluent Manor District and with a clientele to match. Although Hugo received a curious look from the doorman as he walked in, his face was well-known enough to secure him entry despite his drab appearance.
	Dergen Henschnapf was sitting in his usual spot by the fire, supping his schnapps and listening to the well-versed lute player secreted in one corner of the drinking house. When Hugo slumped into the grand leather chair opposite, Dergen peered curiously over his half-moon spectacles, barely recognising his old friend.
	'I have a problem,' Hugo said, his eyes wide and desperate.
	'Clearly,' Dergen replied.
	'Why does everyone keep saying that? Anyway, you have to help me, I have nowhere else to turn.'
	Dergen took another sip of schnapps before giving Hugo his Do go on, I'm listening look.
	'I have rats. In my house. They're everywhere,' Hugo said before glancing around furtively, as though admitting he had rats in public might be more of a social faux pas than turning up at the Frog and Trumpet looking like a pauper's dog.
	Dergen said nothing, merely altering his expression to What would you like me to do about it.
	'You have connections,' said Hugo, growing ever more desperate, unable to keep his voice below a hoarse whisper. 'You move in those kind of circles.'
	Dergen raised an eyebrow. 'What exactly are you suggesting?' he replied.
	'Do I have to spell it out? You know people in the extermination business.'
	Now it was Dergen's turn to glance furtively before sitting up and moving closer to Hugo.
	'I have contacts, yes, but they're not skilled in exterminating the kind of vermin you're talking about.'
	'You must know someone, Dergen. There must be something you can do, I'm at my wits end!'
	Dergen reclined in his chair, deep in thought. Then he nodded, a sly smile crossing his lips. 'Actually I do know someone who may be able to help. Owes me a favour, and he's skilled in just this line of work.'
	'Really?' Hugo's face brightened. 'You do?'
	'Yes. You can find him in the Ten-Tailed Cat. Just ask for Boris, the barman will know who you mean.'
	Hugo suddenly glared with indignation. 'You expect me to go to the Ten-Tailed Cat? I'm Hugo Kressler, the most powerful merchant-'
	'-in all Talabheim. Yes, I've heard it before Hugo, but I'm guessing the rats in your house don't care about that. And let's face it, you hardly look too powerful or merchant-like for the Ten Tailed Cat right now, do you? In fact, dressed as you are I'm guessing you'll fit right in.'
	Hugo glanced down at his apparel, then ran a trembling hand through his straw-like mop of hair.
	'Well, I've been under a lot of stress,' he said.
	'All the more reason for you to hurry along,' replied Dergen, waving Hugo towards the door.
	Hugo could only nod, thanking his old friend and rushing from the Frog and Trumpet before anyone else could see him in such a dishevelled condition.
	The docks stank of rotting fish and ale, mixed in with the sickly-sweet aroma of cheap perfume wafting from a gaggle of preening harlots. None of them bothered to give Hugo a second glance as he made his way through the shadows towards the Ten-Tailed Cat.
	A muted din of conversation emanated from the confines of the alehouse and, as Hugo approached, the door was suddenly flung open, allowing a drink-addled patron to stumble out into the night. The raucous interior was revealed in all its insalubrious glory; a heady mix of dirty laughter and thick pipe smoke.
	Hugo hesitated at the threshold. What had he been reduced to? Sneaking through the dark of Talabheim's most woe-begotten streets to mix with the patrons of the city's foulest dives. But he was here for a reason... a quest some might say. Even the heroes of legend had to reach their lowest ebb before rising to victory. This was merely another step on his path to defeating the enemy in his home.
	Raising his chin, Hugo strode forwards, opening the door to the Ten-Tailed Cat and walking in as though he owned the place. Immediately, several sets of mean, hard-bitten eyes turned his way, and any confidence he may have summoned immediately vanished.
	Dropping his head to avoid eye contact with anyone, Hugo made a dash for the bar. It turned into a weird kind of dance as he jinked and dodged to avoid touching any of the hulking, brutish patrons in his path, but eventually he made it in one piece. He squeezed between two grimy dockers and signalled the barman. Over the din of the alehouse he explained he was looking for Boris, and with a nonchalant nod of the head, the round-faced barman signalled towards a booth in one dank corner.
	As Hugo approached he saw that Boris was a hulking figure, his head encased in a tight leather skullcap, his bare arms bulging with thick, corded muscle. He nursed a large pewter tankard into which he stared with a strange melancholy and, despite his rough exterior, Boris looked as out of place amongst the boisterous carousers of the Ten-Tailed Cat as Hugo felt.
	'Erm, Boris?' Hugo asked as he reached the booth. The man seemed to brighten at Hugo's approach, nodding and offering the bench opposite. 'You've been recommended to me by Dergen Henschnapf as a man who might be able to eradicate a certain pest problem I currently have,' said Hugo, taking the proffered seat.
	Boris frowned, suddenly deep in thought. 'Can't say as I recognise the name,' he replied in a rumbling voice. 'But my memory's not been all it was since I got retired from sewer duty.'
	'Retired? Does that mean you're no longer in the business?'
	'Depends what the problem is.'
	Hugo glanced around, but it was clear the rest of the alehouse was too busy with its own revelry to care about his problems. 'I have... rats. In my house,' he whispered over the din.
	'Have you tried traps?' asked Boris.
	'Of course I've tried bloody traps,' Hugo snapped with immediate regret. 'I mean, yes. But these ones are clever, devious... cunning.'
	Boris smiled knowingly. 'Ah. You'll be needing an expert then.'
	Of course I will, that's why I'm in this stinking fleapit! was what Hugo wanted to say, but he merely nodded in reply, keeping his lip firmly buttoned.
	'Well, you've come to the right man,' Boris continued. 'I'm the best rat catcher in the city. Let me know the address, I'll pick up some supplies and be right round.'
	Hugo felt a sudden rush of elation. 'Excellent,' he replied.
	He gave Boris the details of his mansion, along with easy instructions on how to find it, then stood to leave. Before he could escape the cloying confines of the Ten-Tailed Cat, though, he paused, curiosity getting the better of him.
	'You say you were retired from sewer duty? What exactly happened?'
	Boris smiled, gripping the leather skullcap and pulling it from his head to reveal a gristly stump where his right ear should have been. 'Big 'un took my ear off. Made a right bloody mess it did. Don't worry though, I took the bugger's own ear right back.' With that he reached into his hide jerkin and pulled out a chain, on the end of which dangled what was clearly the ear of a cow.
	Hugo began to wonder whether this was a good idea - Boris was plainly unhinged, but then he guessed most rat catchers were.
	'How come losing your ear meant you had to retire?' he asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
	'Oh, it's not because of this. Me ear wasn't all the big 'un took.' With that, Boris heaved himself out from behind the table, to reveal a chipped and weathered wooden leg, which he patted affectionately.
	'A rat took your leg?' said Hugo in astonishment.
	'Like I said; it was a big 'un.'
	Hugo could only smile, staring down in bewilderment. A rat took his ear and his leg? The man was clearly out of his gourd. Was this the kind of person he wanted running riot through his house - his beautiful home? Some nutter with delusions of monstrous rats that could tear you limb from limb?
	The answer was obvious.
	'On second thoughts,' Hugo said, trying to smile through his discomfort. 'I've just remembered I may have double booked. Yes, that's right, I have someone else on the job, so there's really no need for you to trouble yourself. Anyway, must dash.'
	With that he stumbled away from the booth, turning to push his way through the crowd, this time not caring who he nudged and shoved out of the way to escape the madhouse.
	Once out in the street he breathed in the fetid air, sucking it into his lungs in relief.
	The Ten-Tailed Cat indeed! What was Dergen thinking to recommend such a place, and such a man? Once this whole business was over, Hugo was sure he would be having stern words with his old friend regarding his recommendations, and with the sound of the bawdy house ringing in his ears he made his way back home.
	That night, Hugo dreamed again.
	He was running flat out, his tiny heart fluttering like a hummingbird's wing, his feet tapping against the hard ground in a staccato beat. The hunter was after him once more, pounding the earth in his wake, chasing him down, relentless and indomitable. Still Hugo dare not look back, dare not look upon the beast on his trail, so determined was he to avoid his fate.
	But he could not.
	No matter how fast or how far he ran it was still there, always there, breathing down his neck, slavering at the mouth in anticipation of the catch.
	Hugo suddenly stumbled, losing his footing, falling, rolling. In an instant he was back on his feet, ready to move once more but that single mistake was enough for the hunter to gain on its prey.
	Strong hands, iron hard and huge, grasped him tight, digging their fingers into his flesh, lifting him, raising him towards that infernal maw...
	Hugo screamed himself awake, his eyes wide, staring into the blackness of his bedchamber. He panted in the dark, feeling every bit the helpless child. It was all he could do not to cry out for his mother. Once he realised he was alone, and there was no dark hellish beast after him, he let out a laboured sigh of relief. It was only then he realised he was sitting in a damp patch of his own urine.
	With a low moan of resignation, Hugo donned his clothes, his boots and his greatcoat. It was a long walk back to the Ten-Tailed Cat, and he didn't want to catch his death in the night chill.
	When Boris knocked at the door of the mansion the next day, Hugo almost fell over himself in his eagerness to open it. The rat catcher stood there with a huge grin on his face, stinking of stale booze and pipe smoke.
	'Come in,' said Hugo, stepping aside as Boris clunked forwards on his wooden leg. The sturdy appendage clacked against the polished wood floor of the entrance hall and Hugo winced at the prospect of having to call in the polishers to retouch and varnish it.
	Boris gawped in astonishment at the interior of the opulent mansion, the grin never leaving his face. 'Nice place you've got,' he said.
	Hugo didn't reply, he was too busy staring at the paraphernalia Boris was carrying. Some of it was clearly designed for a purpose - two cages, a snare and various traps dangled from the thick belt at Boris's waist - but there were other items that Hugo did not recognise.
	'What's that?' he said, pointing at the wooden barrel under the crook of Boris's arm.
	'Rat poison,' Boris replied. 'Got to be careful though, it's very potent.'
	'And that?' Hugo pointed at the huge steel-headed maul strapped to the rat catcher's back.
	'Oh, that's for the big 'uns I mentioned before. You can never be too careful in this game. Anyway, shall we get to it?' Without invitation Boris moved into the mansion, placing his cages down, securing his snares and traps, all the while sniffing the air and muttering to himself about 'infestations' and 'soon having this all sewn up'.
	Hugo could only look on with trepidation as the gigantic rat catcher stomped through his beautiful house, exuding his unique aroma and making a mess of his floorboards.
	'Right, all done,' Boris said finally. 'Just got to lay the poison and we're all finished. Of course, you might want to wait outside while I put it down, it doesn't half hum.'
	'Are you sure this is strictly necessary?' Hugo said, looking around his home with growing concern.
	'Course I am. Poison's the best way to flush 'em out. Then the fun starts.' Boris patted the head of his maul affectionately.
	Hugo nodded uncertainly and made to leave, but he paused at the doorway, a portentous feeling of dread filling the pit of his stomach like corked wine. With one last glance around his magnificent entrance hall, he retreated to the safety of the garden.
	Boris appeared some time later, trailing the contents of his barrel over the threshold of the doorway and out into the garden. Hugo could only look on in confusion. With the poison laid, Boris place the barrel down on the lawn and turned, a self-satisfied smile on his broad features.
	'Now the fun starts,' he said. 'Once we've flushed 'em out of course.'
	The burly rat catcher took something from his pocket, and knelt down at the end of the trail of poison. Hugo heard a clinking sound as Boris ministered to the trail of powder on the ground.
	The trail of black powder.
	Hugo was suddenly gripped with a panic. He dashed forwards, about to ask what in the hells Boris was doing, when a flaring sound and the stink of phosphor suddenly struck the air.
	'No!' was all he could manage to scream as Boris lit the powder trail with a strike of his flint. It ignited, sending a blazing spark along the garden path towards the house. Hugo chased it, vainly trying to catch the burning trail before it ran rampant through his house and set light to the floorboards, but he was not fast enough. Once in the hallway he saw that the powder trail ran of in several different directions - up the stairs, into the parlour, down into the cellar - setting the floor alight in a flickering trail as it went. Flames began to spread throughout the house, and Hugo ran forwards, stamping vainly at the blackening floorboards in an attempt to rescue his home.
	Boris walked in after him, and Hugo glared up with unrestrained hatred. 'What have you done, you imbecile? You told me it was rat poison!'
	'It is,' replied Boris, a hurt expression on his face. 'Rats can't stand it - they likes it even less when you set fire to it. It's the best thing for flushing them out - look!'
	With that he pointed towards the cellar entrance as a horde of rats suddenly scurried out of the dank pit to safety.
	Boris grinned, unslinging the maul from his back and rushing forwards with an expression of pure glee on his dumb features. The maul came down with an audible swipe, smashing one of the rats to sludge and knocking a huge hole in the floorboards.
	'I told you it would work,' he yelled as he went about decimating the rat swarm, crushing them to a bloody pulp, along with the polished floor of the entrance hall.
	More rats began to flood from various parts of the house, rushing down the stairs in a squeaking, scurrying mass in their eagerness to escape the flames. Boris was waiting, the delight he derived from his work seeming to increase with every sweeping blow of his maul.
	Hugo couldn't just stand by and watch as his house was demolished. In a panic, he ran to the cupboard under the stairs, ignoring the swarm of rats that billowed from it, and grabbed a bucket. He rushed out into the garden, filling the bucket with pond water and a few unlucky fish, then rushed back inside to quench the flames that were threatening to set fire to his embroidered Bretonnian drapery.
	The mansion's systematic destruction went on for almost an hour, with Boris stomping along the best he could on his wooden leg, swinging his maul with abandon at the fleeing rats, as Hugo gradually emptied his stagnant pond onto the spreading flames. In the end he managed to put out the fires before his house was completely gutted, but meanwhile Boris had managed to lay waste to almost every room. Smashed furniture and squashed rats littered every floor, and as Hugo surveyed the carnage a tear rolled down one cheek. Boris stood in the entrance hall, or what remained of it, gasping for air, a satisfied grin on his face.
	'Well,' he said cheerily. 'This was a good start, don't you think?'
	At first Hugo couldn't speak, so griefstricken was he over the destruction of his home and the precious contents within it. Artworks he had collected over decades had been smashed to shards and the fine decor was blackened by smoke and flame. As he looked at Boris with that idiot's grin on his face, his grief suddenly turned to anger.
	'A good start?' he growled. 'A good bloody start? Are you insane, you brainless oaf? Look what you've done to my house! Get out! Get out now and take that thing with you!' Hugo pointed accusatorially at the huge maul in Boris's hand that had wreaked so much destruction in the house.
	Boris could only look back with a hurt expression. 'I was only trying to help,' he said dejectedly, before turning and limping off into the evening air.
	Hugo watched him go, making sure he was well off the boundary of his property before he slumped down on what remained of his grand staircase and wept.
	The next day, Hugo Kressler found himself in Kreiger's Gunsmiths of Wehrmunch Strasse. He had at first intended to purchase a pistol, one of the finely crafted matchlocks that Herr Krieger was so famous for, but after browsing for several moments he espied something much more suitable. Hugo had never fired a blunderbuss before, nor a matchlock pistol for that matter, but he guessed the wide spread of its shot would make it much a more suitable firearm for a novice such as himself.
	Once back home, he loaded the weapon, dressed himself in his finest regalia, or at least what he could salvage from his partially singed armoire, and sat on the edge of his bed.
	At the time of purchasing it, Hugo hadn't quite decided whether he would use the weapon to defend himself from the remaining rats in his house, or if it was to blow his own head from his shoulders. Now it came down to it, he still couldn't make up his mind. He sat for almost an hour, glaring at the blunderbuss, cocked and ready for action by his side.
	But Hugo knew deep down in his tiny withered heart that he couldn't do it. It would take a braver man than he to take his own life; he simply didn't have the courage for it. And so, saying a little prayer to thank Shallya for her mercy and guidance, he placed the blunderbuss by his bed, laid down still fully clothed, and cried himself to sleep.
	An explosion rocked Hugo's mansion to its very foundations and at first, as he awoke bleary-eyed and terrified, he thought his newly acquired blunderbuss had suddenly gone off of its own accord. He quickly realised something far more sinister was afoot, as the sound of falling masonry echoed from beyond the door of his bedchamber.
	Hugo rose from his bed, having the wherewithal to grab the loaded blunderbuss before venturing out to investigate the calamity. He did not have to move very far along the corridor before he saw what the source of the noise was. A huge crater had suddenly appeared in the middle of the mansion. Two floors had collapsed into a deep hole which, from the look of the passages that led off from it, was some kind of mine shaft.
	Possible causes for this started to swirl around Hugo's head. Had this been here all the time? Was it part of the ancient sewer system? Were dwarf prospectors digging beneath his house? Before he could begin to think of the litigious consequences for the guilty parties involved, something moved along the shadows of the corridor. As he stared, dumbfounded, a stooped and filthy figure slowly emerged from the dark and Hugo realised that those responsible for the crater were not dwarfs.
	It was four feet tall with clawed hands and feet. Filthy robes covered it from the neck down and they stank of putrescence and muddy earth. But it was the face that most filled Hugo with terror - a rat's face, with red, baleful eyes and monstrous incisors that clacked together hungrily.
	He didn't even think, raising the blunderbuss in his numb hands, and as the creature rushed towards him he pulled the trigger. The blunderbuss roared, bucking in his hands and knocking him flat on his backside. A spray of white-hot buckshot blasted from the barrel, destroying the creature's bestial face in a splatter of crimson gore.
	Gingerly, Hugo pulled himself back to his feet, staring down at the filthy animal's corpse.
	'Ha!' he bellowed. 'Not so clever now are you!'
	As if in answer, something pulled itself from the pit in the centre of Hugo's mansion - something huge and hairy. Its muscles were thick, its flesh covered in a thick, shaggy down, its hands like clawed shovels, built for tunnelling through solid earth. It too bore the face of a rat, but this was no diminutive drone like the last; this was a beast, nine feet tall and monstrous to behold.
	It glared at Hugo, anger burning in its tiny eyes, and as it approached Hugo noticed that one of its huge ears was missing. Despite the necessity for flight in this situation, Hugo found his feet simply would not move, and all he could do was stare as the creature approached, its foetid breath washing over him, inducing the need for him to vomit. He could only close his eyes, and await his inevitable fate.
	'Oi!'
	The deep cry echoed through the cavern that now made up most of Hugo's home. The massive rat creature craned its neck to see who dared to disturb its feasting. Hugo, too, glanced towards the entrance of the mansion to see a burly figure framed in the doorway.
	'I told you there'd be big 'uns,' shouted Boris hefting his maul. 'Remember me?' he said cheerily. Then a sudden dark intent fell across his visage as he limped forwards on his wooden leg.
	The monstrous fiend roared, and Hugo was all but forgotten as it leapt down from the balcony to land in front of the rat catcher. It swept its shovel-like hand toward Boris, but despite his peg leg he was nimble enough to avoid it, slamming his maul down on the creature's clawed foot. It roared in pain, hopping back as Boris advanced.
	'I've been after you for ages,' he said, slamming the maul forwards again. There was an audible crack as the maul struck the creature's knee and it fell forwards, foundering in what remained of the entrance hall. Hugo could only watch agog as Boris set about the creature with gusto, smashing it with the hammer as it tried its best to avoid the solid blows that rained down, cracking its bones and smashing its limbs.
	In the end it teetered at the edge of the huge crater, beaten and bloody, and with a final mighty swing Boris smashed it back into the black pit from whence it came.
	Hugo's knees knocked together, his body wracked by a convulsive spasm, but he still managed to descend from the first floor, avoiding the crater that had opened in the middle of his house, to fall at the rat catcher's knees.
	'Thank you, thank you, thank you,' was all he managed to say as he clung to Boris's wooden leg.
	'All right fella,' Boris replied, clearly embarrassed. 'No need to make a scene.'
	When Boris finally managed to extricate himself from Hugo's unrestrained display of gratitude he glanced down into the pit and frowned.
	'Ah,' he said, pointing into the crater. 'There's your problem. Weirdstone!'
	Hugo looked down, and running along the side of the shaft beneath his house was a seam of glittering black ore.
	'That's most likely what they were after,' Boris continued. 'It draws 'em like flies to sh... well, you know what I mean? If you're planning on staying here, make sure you get that removed.'
	'Yes, yes, I'll do that,' Hugo replied, still trying to take in what had just happened.
	'Anyway, must be off. Lads'll never believe me down the Cat when I tell 'em what I've just done.'
	With one last grin, Boris swung the maul over his shoulder, and sauntered out of the mansion, his wooden leg clicking against the ground as he went.
	Hugo watched as he left, standing amidst the ruin of his house. 'Thank you,' was all he could think to say.
	He was running, always running, in perpetual motion, legs pumping, breath coming in quick rasps. On it came in pursuit, on his heels, keeping pace, smelling his scent, dogging his trail.
	This time he was slower, or was his pursuer just faster? Either way it caught him quickly, those iron hands grasping him in a solid embrace, squeezing the air from his lungs, raising him high.
	He turned, looking at the hunter for the first time, seeing it glaring down at him with hate in its beady eyes, and he recognised that face, those bedraggled features. It was the face of Hugo Kressler.
	In terror he squeaked, squirming for freedom, lashing his pink tail, twitching his whiskers...
	Hugo's eyes blinked open and he panted for breath. He was wrapped up in a tangle of sheets that held his arms and legs tight. With some difficulty he unravelled himself from the stark white bedding and sat up, breathing a sigh of relief.
	All was well, he told himself, the rats were gone - there was nothing to fear.
	He rose with a smile, suddenly remembering that it was to be a good day. He had commissioned Gepetto Montalban himself, the most famous architect in the province, to oversee the mansion's renovations. The Guild of Miners had sent a dozen men to remove the strange glittering ore from beneath the cellar, and he had even started to put weight back on.
	A smile crossed Hugo's lips as he walked to the window, opening the shutters and looking out onto Talabheim. It wasn't the most aesthetic of cities, it was certainly no Praag or Luccini, but it was still his city.
	Glancing down he noticed the small black statuette that sat at his bedside, the first new piece of art Hugo had commissioned. It was in the shape of a hammer, in honour of Boris, and was crafted from the glittering black ore that had run beneath his house. Yes, Boris had warned him about it, and he had heeded that warning and had the glittering ore removed - but what harm could one little statuette do?
	Taking a deep breath he turned, ready to break his fast heartily and sate the ravenous appetite he had recently developed, when the statuette suddenly fell from the table. Hugo stared down at it curiously. He was two feet away, how had he managed to knock it from the nightstand?
	Then he saw it, just from the corner of his eye, something behind him, something long and sinuous.
	He turned, looking down to see with horror that it was protruding from beneath his nightgown, twisting and writhing of its own accord, an appendage that had seemingly grown overnight - a long pink rat's tail.
	Hugo opened his mouth wide and squeaked in terror...