Master of Rats: The Rat Lord
We heard the tales—all of us did. Walls talk, and rot whispers, if you watch and listen. And we rats? We do both.
The light isn’t the only one with tricks. We rats hear and see everything. We hear what all say and see all they do. That’s how we became the masters of rats.
But what we saw recently, what we heard—it goes beyond normal rot. The changes make even a killer like me squirm. Still, we won’t talk. We rats watch, but we don’t squeal. We just watch, like everyone else, waiting to see what comes from these new things. The things that changed even us.
—Random musing from the Rat Lord
The castle walls were old stone, worn by time. With time came cracks, and with cracks came the rats. This one, in particular, was a skinny thing with matted fur. Despite its looks, it could avoid the rot and the cats, now scurrying through the halls under the Rat Lord’s influence.
The lord never demanded. But if they listened, he would feed them later, and he was hungry. So the rat journeyed through the walls where it could or along the edges when it could not.
One hall led to a specific place with tall creatures in metal standing near a door. The rat didn’t care about it—no food smell nearby—and was about to turn back. But its lord whispered to its mind: Follow.
All the rats that lived long enough to think and be fed a few times knew how it worked. It took time to understand the feeling, but it was easy enough once learned, and food always followed. The lord saw what they saw and heard what they heard. Like seeing random things and hearing certain noises—they just had to wait, listen, and be fed. It was good.
So, once more, it followed the lord’s will and scurried toward the big room. The tall metal men didn’t look at their feet, or they would have stomped it easily. Beyond the door, it saw a room draped in silks, mostly bare from what little it could see through a crack under the door. The only major thing it noticed was a tall creature, like its lord, in the middle of the room on a chair, drinking alone.
Was this the source its master sought? The rat tried to get closer to hear.
It scouted carefully for cats, fearing death in this new place. It sniffed the ground slowly, getting near. A sound it wasn’t expecting made it panic and dart to a nearby pillar, assuming it had been found.
“Well, you’re not dead, and you took your time. Do you finally have something to report, or are you just going to beg me to forgive your failure?”
The sound confused the rat. It didn’t seem to be hunting it. Yet it only saw someone sitting in a chair. From its new spot near the pillar, it got a better view. Among the shadows, another figure appeared.
“I tried, my king. They hide their secrets well, but there is change, specifically in the slums.”
“And I care why?” The man in the chair waved his hand dismissively while he drank. “It still sounds like failure.” The tone was almost bored to the rat, yet was there a slur to it? It was hard for the rat to tell. All voices sounded the same to its ears. The master spoke in their heads with feeling rather than words, which was much easier to understand.
Move closer. Listen more.
The rat risked hiding under a silk drape, feet away from the one sitting on the throne. It could feel its master’s thoughts: the one sitting is a king? And the other a spy? Odd words meant little to the rat if they weren’t food.
From the new hiding spot, it could see both more clearly. The man from the shadows—the spy—still bowed to the king.
“The church is losing power, lord,” the spy said.
“WHAT? AND WHY DID YOU NOT SAY THAT FIRST?” The king stood and threw something at the bowing man. It hit him, and liquid spilled on the ground. The rat smelled sweetness and a taint that reminded it of random puddles that made them feel off when they drank from them. It wondered what this tasted like.
Watch. Listen.
The rat was losing interest but focused once more. It had come this far—what were a few more sounds to hear?
“As I said, Your Majesty, they hide well. Everything is calm, no riots, everyone seems happy, except the church in the slums. They’re angry.”
“Do not try my patience just because I made you spymaster. I know what the slums are. I left the rot there, and I put the church there to keep things safe. If the church isn’t happy, something’s wrong.” A brief pause, and the king kept watching the kneeling spy. “And if the goddess comes for me because of a hidden failure, I swear by my damned soul, you will join me in whatever hell she puts me in.”
“So think carefully about why you’re worth more than explaining to me how you will fix this before the goddess takes away that option from both of us.” The king sat back down, seeming to calm. “And don’t think of running. Even if you could survive the rot lands, the monsters would kill you, and the evils hold the forest, so good luck there.”
“I did not wish to bring you rumors, lord, but facts. Yet people are not talking, and it was hard for me to witness anything with proof.”
“Then pay them,” the king said, bored. “Rats love coins; they’ll talk after that.” He searched near his throne. His cup was gone, but the bottle remained, so he drank from that.
“True, lord, but they only told me the church knows. When I tried talking to the church, coin or not, they mocked me, saying I was doubting the goddess and their actions.”
Silence settled, and the rat was getting sleepy. The sounds were more annoying than helpful, and it wanted food.
Listen more. Food later.
“Lucky for you, my failure of a spy, the goddess granted me respite with no missions, or we both would already be dead. Honestly, I don’t care what happens in the rot. The rich are happy, the middle class still works, and nobody we care about died.”
A brief silence before the kneeling man spoke. “But I feel it best I keep seeking answers, Majesty.”
“Do what you like. You’ve already wasted my time. If you find something worthwhile, I’ll listen.” The king’s words sounded casual and bored, as if he were sleepy, but then grew sharper. “But stay close in your search. If word gets out that you tried to run, I will personally risk the goddess’s wrath to see she strikes you down first. Even if it kills me, I won’t burn alone for your failure.”
“That’s a bit extreme, Majesty. When have I ever done anything to make you doubt me?”
“The fact that you spent weeks to tell me you tried with no result and still think you did your job is proof of your incompetence. The fact that you question me is also proof of your ignorance. The goddess killed for less. Perhaps I was a fool not to do the same. It only bred contempt for my mercy.”
“I will do better, lord.” The kneeling man faded into the shadows, surprising the rat that was only half-paying attention. It panicked, wondering if the shadow-man was hunting it.
Calm. Did good. Home. Food.
Happiness bloomed within the rat. The task was over, and it wanted to eat. It just needed to avoid the tall ones and cats. Both liked to eat their kind or stomp on them for just scouting.
Later that day, the Rat Lord was startled awake, feeling his rats’ fear. They’ve come. The thieves, kicking his rats. He didn’t want them there, but the thieves knew well that rats hide in sewers. Not all rats could hide in walls, so the sewer was supposed to be bigger, safer, longer, and freer. But none of those things mattered when they chose to hunt you. It wasn’t fair, he thought—they worked out info for food elsewhere, not here…
It wasn’t long before they found his nest. “God, you smell of rot. How are you not dead yet?”
Watching them, he felt confused. He felt fine. Even his rats looked confused, but more concerned about getting stomped.
“We smell fine?” This wasn’t how info-giving went. Why were they really here?
The thieves looked around, confused, but one started to get a sharp look, reminding him of the cats—watching and waiting before they attack. They all looked the same to him, but he vaguely remembered the head man from the pack.
“Don’t listen to his words. He’s mad, thinks he’s a rat, too stupid to know he’s human.” The thief stopped mid-speech, staring at the Rat Lord. “Barely, but human.”
The Rat Lord tilted his head. He knew he was human… and a rat? He was both. Was that wrong? Were others not the same? They were even in the sewer like him, hiding like him, hunting for things like him, so how were they different?
No. Thieves lie. Keep secrets. We know. We watch.
“See? Doing it again, looking like he’s drunk and too stupid to know where he is.” The main thief looked on with disgust and pulled out a small package of meat, slamming it near the Rat Lord’s feet, startling him.
“There’s your food, rat. Now tell us what you’ve seen.”
The Rat Lord looked around. His rats had mostly fled, not wanting to be stomped. He wanted to flee too, but he was too big. What had he seen? A lot, but he wouldn’t tell them everything. What could he say? He wasn’t sure. This wasn’t how it had worked before—they asked him about specific things and guided him. Now they just wanted him to say things? What? He wasn’t sure…
“Are you sure he even knows? He looks lost, maybe just mad,” a thief asked before gagging. “God, the smell. Did he shit himself?”
“We’re in the sewer, don’t be stupid,” the main thief said casually but never took his eyes off the Rat Lord. The calm was proof something was wrong. The Rat Lord knew stomps came soon after if he didn’t talk. What did they want to know? They knew everything he did, no? Maybe the spy? But they saw him too, so no? The main thief moved forward, no longer letting it be an empty threat, so he blurted the only words he thought could quell the anger he sensed before the strike came next.
“We saw a spy!” he shouted, hoping it would be enough.
The thieves all looked surprised, except for the main one. He still had the cat-like hunting glint. He wanted more. Tell him about the slums changing? No, they never went there. More about the spy just watching? Why would they care for that info? The king? That led to the slums once more… he was stuck and desperate, so he focused on what worked before and kept talking about the spy.
“The spy is seeking something,” he tried saying, and a foot kicked him back into a nearby wall. A wave of panic from the rats, unsure where to flee. This was his home.
Calm. Safe. Just need to speak to them.
The rats didn’t believe, but he still needed to give better information. “They’re not hunting you, we swear. Trust our words. We see.”
“So what is he looking for?”
“The spy seeks answers for the slums. He cannot see what happens there.”
“We didn’t look much. They eat rats there, so we don’t know.” It was a partial lie, but still true. They did eat rats, and he didn’t pry too much, focusing on the spy instead.
“Are you sure we can trust him? Sounds convenient. A spy snooping for weeks, just lurking in the slums, and nothing useful from there.”
The main thief stared the Rat Lord down. “He’s mad, but can be trusted. Also, don’t think we won’t be back. We don’t trust that spy or you, so make sure you watch.”
“We watch. Always do. Promise.”
Panic swelled in his chest—he was unsure what led to this. They used to be calmer in the past and asked simple tasks. Now they seemed to want more, and he was unsure what for. The glares and shift from just being disgusted by the smell to something more finally got one to bark more, and he tried to hide in his corner.
“I’m telling you, boss, the freak’s mad. We should send a few guys to keep tabs on the spy. This thing is not even worth stomping into a corner.”
A smack startled the Rat Lord—it wasn’t him being hit. “Don’t undermine me! I’ve already done that. I needed info, and we got it,” the main thief spat at the Rat Lord’s feet, making him jerk back as if it were a strike. “Barely info, but it’s something. Which means we can keep our operation running. Just need to watch the roofs and use more cover. Nothing changes. We’re still playing the same game.”
“Let’s get out of here. I hate when we have to chase down a rat in a sewer. The little shit is usually closer to the surface.”
The Rat Lord agreed with the retreating form of the bandit—when needing food, rats would be closer to the surface searching for scraps, so he did wander more on top, but only at night. He wasn’t going to tell them that, lest they hunt him there too. This was supposed to be a sanctuary, but they learned long ago he never leaves—he never had to. So it was his safety and his prison, a forever game he was bound to. Always able to wander the walls of the city as a rat, always bound to a sewer from which he never moved. A rat in a cage, forever used.
A rat, sensing his distress, crawled into his lap, easing some of his pain as he brushed its fur. No longer desiring to complain, he just needed to shift his sight, and he was out there again, free among the rats, seeing the world anew.26Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVcSx7rVi8r
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