Rats! by
Johnathan M. Richards
Dreelix pounded the gavel on the head table three times and liked what
he heard This is the sound of power and authority, he thought. All eyes turned
his way, as wizards and sages ceased their muttered conversations and gave him
their undivided attention. Dreelix cleared his throat and prepared his best
speaking voice. “This meeting of the Monster Hunters Association is hereby
opened,” he intoned.
He shuffled a few papers in front of him as if consulting them, but in
fact he knew exactly what he would say next. “Tonight we’ll hear a
status update on preparations for this spring’s planned troll’s-blood—gathering
expedition, and Zantoullios will brief us on some fascinating new uses
he’s found for troglodyte bladders. But first, we have a new application
for membership.” Excited whispers passed throughout the room, as the
members looked around the tables to see if they could spot the new member.
“Buntleby, please approach the lectern.”
A thin figure in gray robes stood up from his place at a table in the
back, then walked up to the podium, at the right of the head table. He faced
Dreelix, who was back to shuffling papers. The whisperers fell silent, eager to
hear what followed.
“Buntleby of the Western Grove, you have applied for membership in
the Monster Hunters Association.”
“I have.”
“Before allowing you entry into our illustrious organization, there
are certain questions we must put to you. First of all, have you paid the
entrance fee?”
“I have.”
Dreelix looked over at Grindle the Coin-Counter, who gave a terse nod.
“And have you a sponsor?”
“Spontayne the Studious does me that honor.”
Dreelix scanned the crowd of faces, and found Spontayne sitting in the
back, his arms crossed in their usual position and his bearded face in its usual
nearscowl.
“Is this so?” asked Dreelix.
“It is,” Spontayne replied.
“Very well then, Buntleby. Tell us, of what creature do you bring
us knowledge? How might your inclusion into our hallowed ranks benefit the
Association?”
“I bring you detailed information on the osquip, its habits,
tactics, and usefulness—”
“Osquip?” interrupted Dreelix. “You mean that little rat
with the extra legs?”
“The same.”
“That’s the ‘monster’ you’ve studied? A rat?”
“Not just a rat, no. The osquip is far more dangerous than any mere
rat. And its potential for—”
“Still, its not much of a ‘monster,’ is it? Are you sure
this is worth our time?”
“I believe it is. Perhaps you will hear me out and decide for
yourselves.”
“Let him speak,” grumbled Spontayne from the back row.
“Very well. You may begin your presentation,” said Dreelix,
with a nod to the Conjurer Ablasta, who began her spell.
Immediately, a feather quill rose from the table and sat perched above
an open book of blank pages at Dreelix’s right, ready to record the new applicant’s
words.
Buntleby turned and addressed the audience. “The osquip, as I will
show you, is much more than a rat with an extra set or two of legs. It is an
enigma, a puzzle, but one that perhaps holds the key to a question that has
plagued many a naturalist over the centuries.”
At a table on the left, Willowquisp the Zoophile pricked up his ears,
his curiosity obvious to anyone looking his way.
“To begin with, the osquip, while definitely belonging to the
rodent family, is more closely related to the beaver than to the rat. This is
most obvious in the size and structure of the front teeth, which project
outward several inches from the jaw. However, while most rodents have four
prominent incisors, two on top and two below, the osquip has twelve. This gives
it a fearsome bite, enabling it to cut through solid rock and do terrible
damage to its enemies.1
“Unlike the beaver, though, the osquip has no fur and lacks the
beaver’s flattened tail. The tail, when present2, often closely resembles that of a rat, a fact
that no doubt contributes to the commonly-held misconception that the osquip is
some sort of mutant rat.” With this, Buntleby stole a quick look at Dreelix,
but the leader was toying with his gavel and made no comment.
“Perhaps its most odd feature is the number of its limbs. All
osquips have multiple pairs of legs, ranging from three to five, with three
pairs being the most common. The number of limbs varies from individual to
individual, and often baby osquips from the same litter will differ in the number
of limbs they possess. I have been involved in raising osquips in captivity for
close to eight months now, and I have often seen eight- or tenlegged osquips
born of six-legged parents, so this doesn’t seem to be an inherited trait."
“The osquip makes its home underground and will often be found in
sprawling, complex labyrinthine tunnels of their own making. They live in a
family-based pack structure, consisting of a mated pair and their various
offspring. Osquips breed four or five times a year, producing litters of three
to five whelps at a time. The young reach maturity in a matter of a few short
months and are often breeding at about six months of age.3 They live for about
nine years."
“Osquips are strictly carnivorous, feeding mostly on other small
mammals. There have been instances of cannibalism, but these acts are usually
against enemy osquip packs; an osquip will never attack a member of its own
pack, although they will eat their own dead if they happen upon the body.”
Buntleby noticed several members making faces of disgust, wrinkling their noses
or putting their hands up over their mouths.
Odd reaction from a bunch of self-professed Monster Hunters, he thought.
“While usually found alone, osquips occasionally make alliances
with intelligence subterranean creatures, such as jermlaine. I myself have seen
such an alliance in effect, during some field research involving frequent use
of invisibility and polymorph self spells. Such alliances are often dangerous
to the jermlaine, not to mention expensive, for the osquip must be heavily
bribed with food and shiny objects, or it will turn on the jermlaine and devour
it. However, to a jermlaine, the expense is worth it, for in exchange he
receives a riding mount, beast of burden, and watchdog, all roiled into
one.”
Buntleby cleared his throat and looked around the room. “There is
one additional benefit a jermlaine receives in a partnership with an osquip,
but it is rather unusual. Nonetheless, it is true, and I report it to you now
only in the interests of completeness.
“As I have said before, osquips can, and often do, chew through
solid rock. However, their stomachs are not quite up to the level of ability as
are their teeth, and the stone is only partially digested. In effect, what
passes from an osquip’s digestive system has a consistency similar to wet
cement, and this substance is used by the jermiaine in a variety of interesting
ways.”4
Dreelix slapped his hand down on the table in front of him.
“Buntleby!” he sputtered.
“Do you really think we are in the least bit concerned about the
alleged uses of... such a substance?” Dreelix was actually turning red in
the face.
“I allege nothing; I merely report a fact. If you doubt me, I
invite you to see for yourself.” He motioned towards Spontayne, who
reached beneath the table and brought out a cloth-covered cage. Placing it on
the table in front of him and pulling off the cloth, he revealed a barred cage
of shining metal. Inside was a hideous creature of pale yellowgray, leathery
skin.
Spontayne opened the door of the cage, and out skittered the osquip. It
was of the “standard” variety; that is, it had the most common
features of its kind — six legs and a long, rat-like tail. It sniffed the
air curiously and squinted out at the surprised members of the Association.5
“Gentlemen — and Lady Ablasta — allow me to present
Ozzie. Ozzie, be so good as to approach Dreelix at the head table, if you
would. He doubts my claims; perhaps he requires a sample...?”
The creature scuttled across the table6 and jumped nimbly to another,
making his way toward the head table. As he passed, grown men, wizards and
sages alike, backed up their chairs in order to let him by without having him
brush against them. The sound of many voices filled the hall, as varied men of
learning were simultaneously repulsed, fascinated, or amused by the spectacle.
“Look at that thing!”
“Ugly little sucker!”
“Fascinating! It obeys him!”
“Dreelix will have a fit.”
“Most amusing!”
Dreelix pounded noisily with his gavel. “Order! We’ll have
order in here! Buntleby, call off your beast. I don’t want it anywhere
near me.”
“As you wish. Come here, Ozzie. Good boy!” The creature jumped
down from the table and crawled over to the grayclad wizard, who stooped down
and rubbed its leathery head. Ozzie, for his part, sighed contentedly and
curled up at Buntleby’s feet, rat-tail curled around his master’s
right ankle.
“Now then, if you’re done with your little spectacle,”
Dreelix said with a grimace, “kindly get on with your briefing. And I
would thank you to consider the dignity of those in whose company you find
yourself. We are not concerned with tales of the properties of... well,
dung.”
“But of course, Dreelix. Forgive me, I forgot my surroundings. And
let me say that I look forward with great anticipation to the discussion of
troglodyte bladders later this evening.” The young mage nodded in
Dreelix’s direction, and received only a scowl in return.
A voice was raised from the side of the room. “Excuse me, Dreelix?
A suggestion, if I might, yes?” The speaker was Old Gumphrey, a sage of no
small renown. “Perhaps we might dispense with the briefing format at this
time and simply put questions to young Buntleby here. Yes?” He looked
about the room at his compatriots. “Agreed?”
“Yes, an excellent suggestion,” piped up Spontayne, looking
squarely at Dreelix. “That way you may approach only those subjects you
find of interest and avoid those you deem inappropriate.”
“Very well,” agreed Dreelix. “So be it. Buntleby, perhaps
you haven’t grasped this idea quite yet, but this association is founded
solely for the purpose of obtaining rare and valuable body parts from strange
and unusual creatures, useful in the production of magical spells, items, and
the like. Look about you, what do you see? Wizards and sages, every one of us.
We’re not a bunch of mindless warriors, eager to pit our muscles and
weapons against the newest monster to come along, just to say we did it.
Neither are we cloistered scholars, seeking out knowledge for the sake of
knowledge. So, Buntleby, I put it to you: What good is your information about
osquips? How might we use the osquip to our advantage?”
“If you wish to limit yourselves in such a way, then so be
it.” Buntleby cleared his throat. “In a magical sense, the most
useful part of an osquip is his teeth. Osquip incisors can be used as substitute
material components for the dig spell, allowing it to be cast as normal, or it
can be used to affect an amount of solid stone equal to half as much dirt normally
affected. The teeth are, naturally, consumed in the course of the spell.”
“How many teeth per spell use?”
“Two: one upper and one lower incisor from the same creature.”
Dreelix rubbed his hands together, and glanced over at the feather-quill
to be sure it was getting all of this down. It scribbled away, apparently
catching up on what was said, then resumed its upright stance, waiting for
further conversation to record. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What
else have you got?”
“I have found that osquip dung is a perfectly usable substitute for
clay in the use of the stone shape spell.”
“Again with the dung, eh? And are there any benefits to be gained
by substituting the dung for the clay?”
“None whatsoever. The spell performs exactly the same way no matter
which substance is used. I mention it only to point out there may be times when
the spell is required and clay is not at hand.”
“And osquip droppings are. And I suppose you suggest that we all
start carrying droppings with us for such an emergency.”
“Not at all. I merely thought to report a use for what to me, at
least, is a common substance.”
Dreelix snorted. “A common substance. Do you bring that beast with
you everywhere you go?”
“I try not to let him stray too far.”
A voice from the back piped up. “Must you bribe him, as would a
jermlaine?”
“Were he just my pet, then yes,” replied Buntleby.
“However, Ozzie here is my familiar, and as such requires no constant bribes
for his loyalty.”7
That comment started up a whole new round of whisperings and mutterings around
the room. Buntleby noticed that the feather-quill did not bother recording ail
of the side-comments made by the gathered members, but rather it concerned itself
solely on who “had the floor” at the time. Duly impressed, he made a mental
note to himself to have a talk with the Conjurer Ablasta at a later time.
“Let’s move on,” suggested Dreelix.
“Tell us about combat with the creatures. Is there anything we
should know about fighting these things?”
“Only that they are very cunning and will attack any threat to
their territory. As I have said, their tunnel networks are very elaborate; and,
in a mine or dungeon corridor that contains an osquip nest, there are bound to
be many secret tunnel entrances at the floor level from which the osquips can
spring on intruders. In addition, most osquip networks contain at least one
passage that slopes upward to a height of at least eight or nine feet and opens
out onto the main cavern or mine shaft. The osquips use this as an ambush
point, where they can leap down upon unsuspecting prey. Then, if the victim
puts up a struggle, they scurry off into one of their holes for safety and
attack with surprise from a different direction, out of a different hole.8
“So what is the best defense against the beasts in such a
situation?” asked Dreelix.
“If at all possible, get to a position with your back against a
wail, where the osquips must attack you from a facing direction. This is not as
easy as it sounds, however, as you must ensure there are no ambush points above
you, or hideyholes at your feet, and these are hard to spot in the midst of
heated combat. Of course, the optimal place, in terms of defense, is in a pool
of water.”
“Why so?”
“Osquips are terrible swimmers. Partly this is due to their large
number of legs, which tend to hinder smooth swimming strokes. I believe the
biggest reason, though, is their diet: with bellies full of partially-digested
stone, most osquips tend to sink straight to the bottom.”
“Very well then, Buntleby, I believe I’ve heard enough.
You’ve picked an odd ‘monster’ for study, but it seems
you’ve researched it well enough.” He turned his attention to the
members, and formally intoned, “I call now for a show of hands: who
supports the nomination of Buntleby of the Western Grove into our esteemed
ranks?” After a quick scan across the hall, he said, “Very well, let
it be noted that a full majority of members voted in Buntleby on this day.
Buntleby, I hereby welcome you into the Monster Hunters Association. Please
take your seat, and put your... familiar back in its cage.”
Buntleby gathered up Ozzie, snoring gently at his feet, and took his
seat next to Spontayne. “Nicely done,” said the bearded man to his
younger colleague.
“And now, on to the next order of business,” intoned Dreelix,
in what he considered his most effective and business- like voice. Zantoullios,
do you have those bladders ready?”
As they filtered out of the meeting hall, Buntleby felt a hand on his
shoulder. He turned, and saw Willowquisp the Zoophile. “A word, if I
might, Buntleby.”
“Yes, of course,” replied the young mage, shifting his
position in order to better balance the weight of Ozzie’s cage, inside
which the osquip was snoring contentedly.
“Earlier, in your briefing, you said something about the osquip
holding the key to a puzzle that has intrigued naturalists over the years. Being
a naturalist, I find myself eager to hear more.”
“Certainly. It’s the matter of the variable number of legs
each osquip has. I’m not certain what factor decides how many legs an
osquip will be born with, for it doesn’t seem to be an inherited trait, but
it seems to me that such a limb-variability might help explain a few things taken
for granted in the natural world.”
“Such as?”
“Take the dragon. It, like most lizards, has four legs, and yet it
has wings as well. Anyone taking a close look at a dragon’s wings will see
that they are a specialized form of limb, much like a bat’s. Notice that
the bat managed to grow its wings by adapting its forelimbs to that function.
But what about the dragon? For a dragon to grow wings, it seems reasonable to
me that at one point in its lineage, there had to be a spare set of limbs
available to evolve into wings.
“Another example: look at the kobold and the urd. Are you familiar
with the urd?”
“Not at all.” “It’s basically a winged kobold.
Unlike the bat, however, an urd still has functional arms, and independent
wings. Again, those wings had to come from somewhere. Or, take the displacer
beast. There is no doubt that the displacer beast is a member of the cat
family, is there?”
“None at all, to the best of my knowledge.”
“And yet it has two extra sets of limbs: one extra set of legs, and
a pair of tentacles. Somewhere down the line, it had a common ancestor with,
say, the tiger. So where did it get its extra limbs?
“I believe the osquip holds the answer. I think that perhaps its
unusual limb-number variability is something that has occurred before, in other
species. I think that the cat family, at one point, had four, six, or eight
limbs, and that eventually the species evolved into your normal four-legged
varieties, as well as oddities such as the eight- limbed displacer beasts and
the sixlegged cantobele. Yet, none of these creatures today has limb-number
variability.”
“So you think, over time, this variability stabilizes?”
“It must. I would venture to guess that, many years from now, the
osquip as we know it today will be no more, that it will have produced new
breeds of creatures, some with six limbs, some with eight, and some with ten.
Furthermore, I predict that these three strains of creatures will be separate
life-forms of their own, in the same way that a displacer beast is distinct
from a tiger.”
“And what will the extra limbs become?”
“Who can say? Wings, perhaps, like the dragon? Tentacles? Something
new altogether? Only time will tell.”
“Time, indeed, will tell.”