Ratastrophe Catastrophe Read Online Free PDF Page A

large in the hills around Dullitch at this time.
Best wishes,
    Tambor Forestall, Chairman
    Modeset finished reading the letter, sighed, and rang for his manservant. Pegrand Marshall arrived with characteristic lethargy, a silver platter in one hand and, for reasons probably best left unknown, a plunger in the other.
    “You rang, milord?” said Pegrand, bowing his head before the duke.
    Modeset was shaken from his reverie. “Mmm? Oh, yes, so I did. Get my carriage, will you? We need to pay a long-overdue visit to City Hall; it appears the council has drawn up a selection of possible actions against our rat crisis, and they require my seal.”
    “I see, milord,” said Pegrand. “Does that actually demand a personal appearance?”
    “Mmm? No, it does not. However, I have chosen the option of hiring mercenaries and I would like to ensure that our good friends in the council recruit the, how can I put it, correct breed of scumbag for the job. Does that sound right?”
    “Absolutely, milord. After the Virgin Sacrifice Scandal—”
    “Exactly,” said the duke, shivering at the memory of that disaster.
    “What was that heathen’s name again, sir?”
    “Umm, Teethgrit, I believe; a suitably heinous name. Shall we go?”

FIVE
    D EEP BENEATH DULLITCH, THE rodent tide began to swell. Driven on by the urgency to feed, the rats tumbled over one another in their haste to reach the surface, forming a terrible frenzied carpet that flowed inexorably upward. Despite the twisted maze of the sewers, the rats swept along with an eerie purpose, veering at every junction, scratching at every grate. The carpet of vermin seethed on: thousands of tiny legs scrambled insanely toward their distant goal, while rows and rows of gleaming teeth chattered longingly for sustenance….
    The city awaited.
    The Dullitch North Gate was hemorrhaging heralds. They rode forth in every direction, each one privately more determined than the others to return with the city’s savior; each one secretly wondering just how much of the reward money he could pocket.
    First out of the gate was a gangly, greasy youth named Jimmy Quickstint. He rode the fastest, youngest, and most agile of the horses, though, because of his natural inferiority complex, he thought it the cripple of the bunch. Jimmy had, in an illustrious career spanning more than three years, worked as a baker’s assistant, an apprentice alchemist, and as journeyman to an insane toy maker with designs on world domination. He currently spent his nights bidding for membership of Yowler’s elite thievery consortium. His days were spent serving burned fry-ups at Spew’s Breakfast Bar. Occasionally (on a Wednesday afternoon as a rule), he also found time to be a city herald.
    Jimmy didn’t know very much about horses. Indeed, he was so focused on staying astride his beast that he had little or no idea that he was a good mile ahead of his nearest rivals. He had even less of a clue that two of Illmoor’s most infamous mercenaries were leaving a village along his current path and he would soon be accosted by them. Some knowledge you can do without.
    The road out of Spittle was notorious. It wound its way along the floor of a wide valley surrounded by lush and verdant woodland. Here and there ancient standing stones would mark rises in the road, an idea employed by Duke Modeset’s predecessor toward the end of his reign to ensure the safe passage of Dullitch’s lumbering war wagons. Despite the fragrant air and sweet serenity of the surroundings, no one except the poor or suicidal ever traveled this way; the road was a notorious breeding ground for bandits.
    Gordo Goldeaxe put his head to one side and squinted. A poster was nailed to one of the trees, fluttering in the breeze. He jumped up and ripped it down. “‘Wanted for Crimes Against Alchemy,’” he read, gripping the poster in his chubby little hands. “’Leaven Grismal. Reward if believable explanation given to Society of