Alex Reynard
The Library
Alex Reynard's Online Books
PART 77
Toby didn't break the willwell, but he did pay for just about everyone's meal in the whole restaurant.
Afterwards, he was a shuddering wreck and had to sit down for a while, but he felt good. The kind of exhilaration brought on by exhausting accomplishment. After and Poubelle gave him many hugs and handshakes and were more than glad to help him on his quest. People moved around all the time they said, and the maps were rarely up to date. Madame Tif Tif had relocated a week ago to a spot two blocks down and three over; look for a yellow tent. Many more mutual thanks were expressed and the mouse left the eatery in a hail of good will.
Following the bat and squirrel's directions, he threaded through the city's narrower streets into an obviously-chintzier part of town. Lots were narrower, crammed in closer. More tents, fewer storefronts. Some sellers merely set up tables in their yards. The quality of the merchandise also started to look more like what he'd find in a flea market. Or a dumpster.
A smile as bright as Toby's was a strange sight in a place like this. People gave him suspicious looks as he walked by. He tried to temper his good mood. This was obviously the part of town people were shunted to when their business was slowing down and not expected to recover.
Toby wondered how a colleague of L'roon's had wound up in a place like this. Especially one whose craftiness he'd praised. 'Bad luck can hit anyone, I guess.'
The tent was exactly where the bat and squirrel had said, filling up most of a timeworn house's front lawn. Toby steeled himself before stepping inside. Mere seconds separated him from the discovery of whether he'd reunite with his friend or have to go on searching. Schrödinger's bonecuddy.
When Toby finally poked his head in, he got a great big faceful of unimpressed. This stuff looked like it belonged at the curb. Old furniture, racks of clothes, moldy statues, a car tire. Plus a humongous fur parka piled up in a chair. The light that filtered through the tent's threadbare fabric gave everything a jaundiced tint. A stiff breeze was enough to shake the walls.
'Am I in the right place?' Toby checked back outside to see if there was another yellow tent down the street. Nope. Tents-a-plenty, but only one banana-colored.
He shrugged and went back in. He scanned the piles of thrift shop refuse, hunting for anything that might be George. He saw a shimmer from under a tablecloth, but that could have been anything. He investigated further, the grass rustling under his sandals.
"There is customer?"
He swiveled towards the chair with the fur coat on it.
It came alive like a rusty animatronic. From deep within the billowy collar emerged a tiny, black-streaked face. "Yes? Something interest you?"
She was a cheetah, yet her accent was something Scandinavian. The russet coat dwarfed her. When she stretched and yawned and situated herself properly in her seat, Toby could see that her body was only about two or three years old. Her eyes were closer to two hundred though. She looked like she'd been walloped with a shrink ray.
"Madame Tif Tif?" he presumed.
She smiled, showing wrinkles beneath her fur. Her voice was very soft, her accent musical. "That is me."
Toby couldn't help but smile too. "I, um..." He wasn't sure how to bring up what he was looking for. 'Someone sold you my buddy's corpse. Can I buy it back from you?'
Tif Tif spread her arms, encompassing her shop. "I have many items from all around the world, you see. Anything you might like. I have a very old Icelandic book on thaumaturgy. I have fifteen-inch television set. Designer outfit, maybe? I have hat."
"No, actually, I..."
She hopped down from the chair, ensnaring his wrist in an iron grip. She started leading him around the tent. "So many things! You will like something here. You would appreciate fine clothing? Better outfit?" She held up a rumpled leather object that looked like a football. "How about a nice purse for girlfriend, mmm?"
"No really-"
"It is very affordable. Only one thousand. Genuine, I can promise. Some people sell fakes but never me, never me. They accuse me though! Backstabbers out to ruin whole my business!" She snorted angrily.
As soon as she stopped talking to breathe, Toby leapt in. "Actually, L'roon sent me!"
This made her get very quiet very quickly. She glared lava at Toby and pursed her lips.
He got the feeling he should not have said that.
Tif Tif let go of Toby's wrist, but kept on rooting him to the spot with her medusa stare. Daring him to elaborate.
Toby backed up a little, accidentally bumping into a card table upon which many heavy items were precariously balanced. "You see, um, it's about something he sold to you. He said that he did. About a month ago? I hope you remember it. I kinda don't know how to describe it. It's, like, horse bones? But glowing?"
"He stole this from you?"
'Technically, kinda,' he refrained from saying. "I'm just trying to track it down."
Her eyebrows nearly shot through the roof. "You WANT this!?"
"Yes, very much! I-"
The tiny cheetah barreled past, shoving him out of the way. Her coat dragged behind her like a bridal train. From the spot where Toby had seen a flicker before, she whipped back the tablecloth and rolled out a sphere of blackened calcium about half her height.
Toby's heart caught in his throat.
There was no mistaking it. Char flaked off as Tif Tif rolled the ball closer. From within and without, faint colors glowed and faded in a rhythm like a sleeper's snore. Even though the poor bonecuddy was compacted tighter than a wad of gum, it was definitely George.
The diminutive cheetah pushed it to within an inch of Toby's feet, then smacked it hard and held out her hands, like, 'Voila!'
Toby tried to keep the joy out of his voice. "That's exactly what I was looking for."
"GOOD!" Tif Tif exploded. It was louder than a toddler's larynx should have been able to produce. "L'roon, so fancy with his speakings, making the assurance that this will sell soooo easy! It will fly like it has bird's wings, he tells me! I will not trust him again!!"
Toby was a little stunned. Apparently L'roon's customers didn't always stay satisfied, despite his bragging.
Tif Tif punched the bony disco ball a few more times, as if it were the peddler's face. "Of course no one want it! Who wants trophy they have not killed themselves personal? He tells me, 'It will be decorative light! People will love it for living room!' But everyone customers are afraid from it! They think it will come back alive when they are asleep and it eats them!"
From the way she was pounding on it, Madame Tif Tif did not share this fear. She even threw in a few kicks.
Toby winced. "Actually... that used to be a friend of mine."
The cheetah's face popped up, disbelieving. "A friend?" She looked at the ball, then her shoe, horrified.
Toby held his hands out. "It's okay! If it's sat here a month with no one buying it, I can understand your reaction. Plus, I heard your selling-space got downgraded recently. I'm sorry to hear that."
Tif Tif looked away, pouting solemnly. She shuffled over to Toby and reached out to hold his hand in hers. "Thank you. It has been a rough time for me." She glared back down at the ball of bone. "I treat like bad luck charm, but really, I know, business has been not so good for while now. Customers are gone. Afraid."
He was itching to wake George back up, but knew he could put him on hold a few more seconds to gain info on what'd been happening in his absence. "When did it start? And do you know why?"
She gave him a look like he was an idiot for asking. "You haven't been hearing the talk!?"
He shook his head. "Nope. I've been... on vacation. For a while. Though I did hear about Papilloma."
She nodded and pointed at him. "Yes, yes! Other places too! Plastic Storm! Some people have seen and others are caught in it, all frozen stiff solid. They cannot move. It strikes quietly, when people sleep. Everyone, like I said, afraid from it. They don't come here from other town anymore. Less and less do. Now it is mostly us: sellers selling to each other. Soon this whole place? Gone dodo. Pfffft!" She shook her head sadly.
Another pang of guilt. "That's genuinely sad. How long ago was this?"
"A month maybe? A few week more? It is slow. It creeps. But it comes, people say, from the mountain." She pointed past the tent, up at the sky. "Cities closest were the first to fall. I don't know how much longer I can stay. But where will I go? Maybe I can fall asleep and dream and become statue along with my old junk..."
Toby didn't really know what to say. He wanted to reassure her by saying he was on a quest to stop the fearsome plague upon the land, but he didn't want to get her hopes up. "How much is it?" he asked, pointing at the boneball.
Tif Tif began drifting back towards her seat. "Take it."
Toby followed her. "Hey now, I can't just do that. I don't have anything to trade, but if you've got a willwell, I'll at least give you what you paid for it."
She looked unimpressed. "You have forty thousand grit?"
He flinched. That had been the same price as two nights at the inn back in Coryza. "...Sure," he told her semi-convincingly.
She rolled her eyes, but smiled to see he was willing. "Okay, hotshot boy." She turned to the small table beside her and lugged out a machine that at first he didn't recognize.
Toby didn't know what differentiated an old willwell from a new one, but Poubelle and After's certainly hadn't looked like this. Like a turn-of-the-century electroshock device. He honestly didn't know how much willpower he had left in him after his experiment back at the restaurant. But he stared at the dial and gave it a shot.
Tif Tif watched and her whiskers perked up. "You are very good at this."
Toby could hardly believe it. The red line didn't exactly fly around the dial, but once again, he was keeping it on a steady course with about as much effort as pushing a shopping cart. He didn't have anything to prove this time, so he took it slow and steady, not wanting to end up all wobbly like before.
When the machine finally dinged a few minutes later, Madame Tif Tif just gasped and stared.
Toby took a deep breath. "Whew! That got a lot harder near the end!"
Massive coat arms swallowed him. "You are wonderful! Many thanks to you, my sweet friend!" she cried out as she hugged the breath out of him.
He gasped, then grinned. "It's fine! I was happy to! You can let go now!"
She did, and gazed up at him with shining eyes. "This will do so much good for me! This is more than I have made in past week! I might able to down payment my old houseshop!"
"That's great! And I've got my friend back, so we both came out happy." In his mind, he chuckled. 'Ha! I can do it too, L'roon!'
"Yes, take your friend." She still seemed a bit unclear as to how the glowing black lump could have ever been a furson, but she was happy for her benefactor nonetheless. "I promise I was not aware. Good luck to you in waking he or she up. If not, enjoy paperweight. Or boat anchor."
Toby chuckled, then went back to George and started rolling him out of the tent. It was not as easy as pushing the willwell. George had weighed over two hundred pounds in his normal state. Condensed like this, it was like trying to move a small planet. "Good luck with your customers!" Toby called back as he grunted and struggled.
Madame Tif Tif bounced in her chair, just gawking in gleeful disbelief at her cash register.
***
The lawn sloped a bit and Toby was able to roll George out to the middle of the nearly-deserted street before his arms gave out. He sank to his knees, then leaned his back against the boneball, panting. "You need a diet, George."
He had only loosely planned for the possibility of success, as he hadn't wanted to psyche himself up too much in case of disappointment. Originally, the idea was to carry the horseball somewhere secluded and have a quiet reunion there. 'Carry' was not going to happen though. Despite knowing it was probably a bad idea, exuberance and practicality convinced Toby to try opening his Christmas present right there in the street.
He turned around, running his fingers over the beachball-sized lump of glowing char. The texture was immediately familiar. "You're safe now," he whispered. "I'm here. We're back together again, just like before."
Customers walking by cast strange looks upon him, but Toby didn't notice.
He breathed in and out, readying himself. He raised his right arm and planted his palm at the equator of the bonemass. "One hammerstrike ought to do it, right? Sorry if this gives you a headache."
He tensed the steel arrow inside his arm, then let it fly.
WHAMMM
Nada.
Toby was a bit stunned. The bones cracked a bit, and the road beneath kicked up dust, but George was still a sphere.
"Huh. Allright. Two tries."
WHAMMM
Even harder this time. Toby really strained to pump as much force as possible into the strike. The dry ground beneath the bone cratered, but still, same result. Many more people were casting curious glances, wondering why this mouse was trying to crack the world's biggest black walnut.
Toby felt sweat in his fur. He did not allow himself to be discouraged. Scaphis had squeezed George really, really tight, that was all. It was taking more than normal effort to kill him back to normal. No problemo. Toby swore he could see George's glow flickering a little faster. The stallion's body was tied in a knot, but purple, green, and blue lights chased each other through the cracks in the calcium like a highway of fireflies.
"I'm not giving up on you, George."
He raised his arm again, pulling back on his hammer and surging it full of kinetic energy.
WHAMMM
WHAMMM
WHAMMM
Toby's arm was like an oil derrick. The noise turned heads and the vibration made street debris clatter like jumping beans. Toby gritted his teeth and kept at it, pouring on more and more force as he noticed tiny cracks spiderwebbing through the densely-welded bone.
WHAMMM
WHAMMM
WHAMMM
WHAMMM
WHAMMM
WHAMMM
WHAMMM
WH-KRAK!!!
The bone crumbled suddenly and Toby faceplanted directly into the shattered chunks.
He didn't hurt himself, but he coughed a lot at all the horse dust he'd accidentally inhaled. He pushed up and looked around. He was surrounded by fragments of black, fossilized bone. Plus one hell of a pothole. When Toby raised his head, standing just in front of him were two black hooves and two tree-trunk forelegs. A shuddering laugh came to his throat and a grin burst across his face.
"GEORGE!!!"
The obsidian skeleton stood motionless for several seconds, as if not knowing what to do with its reassembled body. The faint aura of its tail flickered, then its ears. The pinprick lights in its eye sockets flared and dimmed erratically.
It looked down at the sprawled mouse.
Their eyes met. One soul, one construct. Then Toby's pair turned from hope to horror at the realization that the other's were as cold and inanimate as an icepick.
Toby did not waste time screaming. He rolled out of the way with inches to spare when a mighty hoof raised up to trample him to death.
Another evasive roll saved him from the ensuing exhale of flame that barbecued the spot he'd been just a second before.
Unfortunately, he didn't dodge the kick that caught him square in the stomach and swept him ten feet away like a bag of trash.
After the flash of pain that let him know he'd survived somehow, Toby heard hoofbeats stumbling away in the opposite direction.
He got his legs underneath him and wrenched himself to his feet. The pain was faraway. Detached. The mouse's face was frozen in a mask of heartbreak. George had shown no recognition of him. None. He'd acted like any other nightmare. Like he'd been mindwiped. Rebooted to factory settings. "No..." For a moment, hopelessness ensnared him.
But in a flash it was gone and replaced with outrage. "NO. You're not gonna take him away from me too! Not after all this!!"
Sellers and customers screamed as a flame-belching bonecuddy appeared in their midst. They scattered in every direction, dropping their shopping as they fled. Their only advantage was that the beast was disoriented, wobbly. It seemed unsure of its new body. Plus, there were so many victims and so little time. The construct zeroed in on a man who'd gotten entangled in a map kiosk. The nightmare rushed towards him with bared teeth, ready to bite into his head like a ripe, juicy apple.
Toby ran towards the bonecuddy, flailing his arms and screaming at the top of his lungs.
George was distracted for just a second, giving another shopper time to bash him in the side of the snout with a fire extinguisher. Another citizen ripped the trapped man's coat free and scuttled away with him. George saw his food escape. Then it looked back at the squeaking rodent that had broken its concentration. Enraged, the nightmare lit its whole head aflame and zeroed in on the pest.
Toby managed to keep all his pee inside as a flaming freight train came screaming towards him. His heartbeat felt like a buzzing bee, but he kept his eyes open, planted his feet, and held his arm out in front of him. "GEORGE, STOP IT!!!"
The thing that was no longer George lowered its head and prepared to stomp this little white nuisance into street jelly.
Toby's legs trembled, but he held firm.
They clashed, and it was not a clear victory for either.
Toby fired off his hammer at the exact instant of impact, catching George on the jaw and snapping his head back so hard it unbalanced him completely. The massive bonecuddy slammed to the ground with his legs kicking empty air. However, the recoil of this action sent Toby's much smaller body flying. He crashed backwards through a shop's wooden sign and ended up on the roof with a shattered back.
The mouse was dead and the horse was struggling to get to his feet. A momentary pause in the action. It gave the rest of the market-goers just enough time to either run like rats or ready themselves for a fight. A handful of shopkeepers whipped out personal weaponry or looked around for improvised implements of destruction. Carefully, they began to circle the still-struggling bonecuddy with pistols, daggers, and painlaunchers. One particularly burly soul scooped up the fallen map kiosk and was wielding it like a bat.
Toby came awake seeing stars. He rolled over, and only instinct saved him from tumbling off the roof onto the yellowed lawn below. That got him back to alertness real quick. He was on top of a building somehow. He swiveled around and scuttled to the edge, hiding behind the remnants of the sign he'd decommissioned.
George was still squirming like an overturned beetle. A dozen Lalochezians were closing in, armed with all manner of weaponry. Though they all jumped back a step when George suddenly flung himself sideways, gouging his hooves into the dirt and leveraging himself back to standing. The citizens recoiled. He stared back at them with the bottomless contempt of a pure nightmare. He snorted, his flames pluming. Someone fired a shot that splintered a rib. George responded by whirling around and unleashing a hurricane of kicks.
The citizens had been so kind as to arrange themselves in a tidy circle. George whipped around 360° like he'd done with EC's copbots, taking out half of them in the space of seconds. One guy got his ribcage pounded inside out. Another unfortunate had her jawbone launched straight through the top of her skull. Toby covered his mouth in horror.
But others had dodged the bonecuddy's back legs, and were now ready for retaliation. George shrieked as someone jabbed the red-glowing tip of a painlauncher straight up his pelvis and activated it. A reflexive kick sent the man airborne, but it gave his comrades a window to get their own attacks in. George was shot in the face, stabbed in the backbone, and bludgeoned across the forehead with a map kiosk.
This angered him.
Roaring with enough force to split the heavens, he bucked his attackers away. Using his head as a wrecking ball, he knocked two of them aside, then planted hooves in their guts to make sure they stayed down. Another he sent sailing through the side of a housetent. The people who'd been cowering inside crawled out from under the collapsed fabric and skedaddled. A particularly hardy fella with arms like battleship cannons threw his strongest punch at the beast's face. The bonecuddy caught it between his teeth. And bit down.
All of this took only a matter of seconds. Toby was not spending them on panic. He was frozen motionless, but thinking fast as lightning. Looking all around the street, he considered his options. He had to get George under control and get the market-goers away from him. Multiple enemies; only one Toby. What did he have? A hammer. That was it. His bracers and pouch were still in the Fearsleigher, high and far away. Anything on the street below? A few scattered weapons. More tents, some shacks, a hot dog cart...
'And I have the high ground,' he suddenly realized.
He did not give himself time to think about the insanity of what he was about to try. Instead, he slid out of his vest, grabbed the sides, and backed up for a running start.
The bonecuddy spun in circles, eager for more victims. He'd plowed through the souls so easily it was a disappointment when he ran out of them. His mind was a muddled fog, but his instincts were a clear guiding voice. 'Cause fear. Cause pain. Never stop. You exist to rain down suffering upon the weak.'
A streak of white motion fell from the sky. The bonecuddy looked up to see a parachuting mouse, and then he saw nothing.
Toby was amazed he hadn't missed. He landed on George's back, too high on adrenaline to feel the astonishing pain in his crotch when balls hit bone. With the vest held out in front of him, he'd managed to net George's head. He quickly pulled the blue wool into a tight blindfold.
George bellowed in outrage and shot flames in a circle, scorching nothing but dirt. He kicked and bucked, but Toby held on tenaciously, his slim weight an asset.
The mouse tried to shrink his world to nothing but the strength in his arms, ignoring how the rest of his body was flopping around like a pennant in the wind. Ignoring how his chin kept smashing into George's forehead. Ignoring the impacts of horse vertebrae on mouse testicles. He had to keep the blindfold on. If he couldn't stop the other people from fighting George, maybe he could give them a chance to incapacitate him, then try to retrieve him from their capture later.
George was not at all happy with this situation. When thrashing alone would not dislodge the pest, there was one option left. Roaring again in fury, he reared up fully on his hind legs, then toppled backwards like a collapsing building.
Toby saw the sky and the land change places. A shadow fell upon him. Then George reverse-head-butted him into fucking smithereens.
The remaining spectators displayed appropriate cringing.
George bucked himself back to his feet, peeling his neck away from the stain of blood and fur. He showered himself in flame for a moment to burn away any remaining gore. His vanity, it seemed, was instinctive.
It was also a weakness, as it gave an arriving guardsman time to fire a harpoon into his belly. George grunted as the wooden projectile smashed through his ribs, then shrieked as three curved hooks sprang from its tip and caught in his calcium. The elephant who'd fired the spear locked his leg around the base of a nearby palm tree and started reeling in the struggling construct, shouting orders for assistance at people nearby.
George thrashed side to side, grinding his teeth, belching fire, and digging in his hooves. But the launcher's mechanism was heavy clockwork, designed especially to match most constructs' strength. Each click of the gears locked them from turning back, pulling George inexorably closer to his capture. He whinnied and kicked, flinching as impacts of bullets and blunt objects came from all sides. Bits of bone chipped off of him, sending up clouds of soot.
The elephant guardsman grinned as he drew in his catch. A minor disturbance, this one was, but soon he'd be lacquered in petrification potion and mounted as a fine trophy.
Wild bonecuddies are naturally crafty by nightmare standards, so George had not lost all intellect. When he realized that pulling wasn't doing any good, he switched tactics. The cable attached to the harpoon was strong metal, but the haft was wood. He planted his hooves like a sawhorse, then ducked his head into his ribs, chomped down, and blasted out flame.
The elephant staggered when he felt the line go slack. He and the other citizens' blood ran cold as the bonecuddy spat out a mouthful of charred splinters and began to advance on them, unhurried. They'd swear it was smiling.
WHAMMM
The people's heads turned to see a hot dog cart launched like a missile straight at the bonecuddy's rump
Toby knelt in the street, coral eyes blazing, right arm outthrust and glowing.
The cart he'd pistoned towards George rattled along so violently it nearly collapsed before impact, but it managed to hold on just long enough to do its job. The metal cube smashed into George's ass, goosing him with the umbrella. George let out a very undignified scream. Wieners went everywhere.
Toby did not waste time relishing his victory. He was up and running again, this time towards the crowd. "KEEP AWAY!!" he yelled at them. "HE'S MINE!!"
Normally they would not have listened to a skinny, shirtless twerp like him. But the fact that he'd seemingly thrown a hot dog cart from across the street gave the little rodent some cred. The stunned crowd obeyed and backed up.
George had faceplanted in someone's lawn, kicking with all four legs to get the damned cart away from him. It was lodged under his pelvis, forcing him diagonally into the ground at a humiliating angle. To make things worse, several bullets ripped into him from outside his field of vision.
Toby did not remember if he'd ever fired a gun before, but there was no time to waste fretting about it. One of the market-goers had dropped their Glock after George kicked the intestines out of him, and Toby snatched it up as he ran towards the squirming construct. The recoil damn near ripped his wrist off. He'd been aiming for the legs and didn't know if any of his shots landed. At least they got George's attention.
Snorting black smoke, he rolled over with his eyelights locked dead on the annoying little grease stain of a mouse who would not leave him alone.
Toby skidded to a stop, recognizing that look as pure murder. He threw the gun and bonked George's forehead. Then he ran his little furless tail off.
George bellowed and chased.
Toby was not thinking of strategy or backup plans. He knew only his objectives: get out of range, then get through to George. He refused to believe his friend was lost forever. Scaphis hadn't even mindwiped him. He must've fallen so deeply asleep that the Allfilth's influence had regained control. As Toby ran, he called back over his shoulder, "George! Listen to me! I love you! Stop trying to kill people!!"
The stallion showed zero recognition. He was a mouse-seeking ICBM. But the flighty little vermin was high on panic and impossible to catch. It kept darting right and left, scooping up random items and lobbing them backwards with annoying accuracy. And yelling things at him! Words that didn't make any sense! Just stupid, bleating noise!
Up ahead was another tent. Toby gauged the distance between him and George by the sound of hoofbeats, and stopped for just an instant in front of the beige, patched fabric. Instinctive timing. He kicked against the ground, jumped up and grabbed the edge of the tent in both hands, pulling himself up and over just a heartbeat before George came steamrolling underneath.
Toby ran across the length of the collapsing tent, lungs on fire, and leapt the gap to a second tent nearby.
He landed on his bicep. The material sagged and caught him quite comfortably. From below he heard shouts from the tent's owner. Toby popped up and saw a tornado demolishing the beige tent. He grinned. George was caught in the fabric!
As Toby hopped back down to street level, his grin disappeared. George had only tangled with the tent for a few seconds before realizing it was futile. He switching to extraction via incineration. The tent became a volcano. Toby leapt back as a wall of heat smacked his face. Luckily, his vest was lying in the ground nearby (in a pool of his former body), and he snatched it up as he sped past.
George burst from the blackened tatters, howling like a vengeful god. He had had ENOUGH of this!! Flaming dishracks and display tables still boxed him in, but at least he could see. He cast around in all directions, stamping his hooves in frustration, searching for that vexatious mouse!
To his surprise, the prey was standing right there in the open. Arms outstretched. Staring him down like they were equals.
Toby was drenched in sweat. His ears rang and his head swam like he was close to passing out. But he held his ground. "You're in there somewhere, George. I am not giving up on you. I came this far to get you back, do you understand? You're my friend, dammit! And you're smarter than this! Cut your stupid tantrum and start acting like it!!"
George struggled to kick burnt merchandise out of his way so he could get to the mouse ASAP and stomp him straight through the surface of the world.
Toby held his ground.
George leapt free of the tent's remains and charged.
Toby held his ground.
George's brain was a hive of maddened wasps. He charged full-force, charring the dirt with a bulldozer scoop of flame in front of him.
Toby kept his eyes open and waited for just the right moment.
Now.
He blitzed into a run. Towards the onrushing wall of fire and bone. He dropped to his knees. Slid into the flame. There was no way to avoid it, but he risked a chance that if he was moving fast enough, it wouldn't have time to consume him. His chance paid off. Even though his ears were toasted marshmallows now, Toby kept his senses long enough to finish the move he'd planned. He shot like a bullet between George's forelegs, twisted himself around, reached out, and clamped his right hand around an ankle.
WHAMMM
George's eyelights flared and he crashed to the ground like a lightning-struck tree.
Toby spent a few valuable seconds hurling himself backwards to rub his head violently against the dirt and put out the fire. Then he skittered out from under George's tripod and further reduced the construct's balance. Grasping the opposite side's hind leg, his hammer drew back and pistoned forward.
WHAMMM
George gurgled in pain and sunk to the street. His two remaining legs scrabbled for stability. The others were shattered like glass. Shards of bone littered the ground. The mouse had crippled him.
And then, here he came. Walking right out in front of his eyelights. Singed and bruised all over, but with a look on his eyes of loving reproach. A little brother who'd had to kick his older sibling's butt to get him to behave.
"George. You can stop this. I love you."
Toby barely leapt out of the way in time to avoid the jet exhaust George blasted from his nostrils.
The mouse jumped back, screaming in his ear, "I'M NOT GOING TO LET YOU ACT LIKE THIS! You're BETTER than this! You're smart and loyal and your vocabulary's even better than mine! You're not some dumb, grunting animal! Now LISTEN to me! You're my FRIEND!!"
George whinnied defiance and kicked the mouse's kneecap into powder.
Toby's whole body clenched at the incredible scarlet pain, but he did not relent. He dropped to the ground and hammerstruck that leg too. George wailed. "Are you done acting like a baby yet!?" he wheezed.
Toby dragged himself around to lift up George's skull in both hands, speaking an inch away from his eyes. He was crying now. "George. Stop fighting me. We're best friends. You know it. Stop. Please. I'm begging you."
Toby saw nothing but hatred in those flickering eyelights.
He recognized the slight recoil of George's head just before another firesneeze. Before he could though, Toby held up his hammer again.
George saw it. Saw the frenzied look in the mouse's bloodshot eyes. He hesitated.
Then blasted him anyway.
Toby rolled sideways, seeing flickering orange. He threw his body on top of his burning arm, trying to smother the flame. His cracked knee sent lightning bolts through his nerves. It was almost too much pain to handle without puking. But he held on. Because it was only pain. It had gnawed at his body all his life. Migraines and nerve aches and bruises and gut groans and red, stinging eyes. He had practice with pain. There were things worth enduring it for.
Smoke rising from the blackened fur, Toby raised his arm high above George's head again. "You're going to LISTEN!!! That's an ORDER!!! Do you UNDERSTAND ME!?" Throat raw, he dragged himself back to glare down into the construct's eyes, drilling George to the spot, daring him to make the slightest move.
Toby's whole body shook. He could feel the muscles in his arm, taut as elastic. He again searched George's eyes for signs of recognition but found none. Only hatred and defiance. His friend was still locked away in there somewhere. And then that sparked a memory. 'Locked away in there.' Literally.
George prepared to bite or scorch again, whichever opportunity came first.
Toby gave him one last chance to listen. "You BELONG to me!! Don't you remember!? You're MINE! You PROMISED!!!"
The blackened teeth twitched, readying to clamp down on flesh.
Toby clenched his fist first. He brought it down, smashing through George's skull. As cranial shrapnel filled the air, Toby jammed his metal fingers deep into the shifting, swirling light that was the construct's essence.
An incredible light surged from within, brilliant as the town's own aurora. Toby was engulfed in ruby, violet, and bronze.
He shrieked, the words catching and tearing in his throat as tears poured down from his eyes. "WE HAD AN AGREEMENT! YOU PROMISED YOURSELF TO ME! THIS IS MINE!" He clenched his hand tighter, feeling the ethereal sinews oozing in his grip. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!?" THIS! IS! MINE!!! NOW OBEY ME!! THAT'S AN ORDER!!!"
"Dear me, Sire! You appear quite injured!"
All of Toby's maddened fury vanished at the sound of that voice. He fell over, reaching out with his other arm to cradle his friend's poor old skull. "George!?"
"Why of course, Sire Toby! Have we been fighting? We are both in an alarming state. I recall a feverish dream."
Toby laughed out loud, heedless of the agony in his leg and arm, or the crowd of Lalochezians all gathered around staring in dumbstruck disbelief. Toby wept and laughed and kissed what was left of George's forehead. "I'm so glad to see you! I'm so happy! I'm so happy! Here, lemme fix you up!" He drew back his hammer one more time and supernova'd George's head to the heavens.
A moment later, a brand new bonecuddy was standing up in the street, tall and proud. The crowd gasped, some backing away, others wasting no time in fleeing. George regarded them with embarrassment. This doubled when he looked around at all the destruction he'd caused. "Oh goodness gracious..." Several businesses lay in fiery ruins. There was a dented map kiosk laying in the middle of the street, along with many weapons and assorted body parts. Plus a hot dog cart lying upside down with its crooked wheels still spinning. George felt a pulse of animosity towards it and couldn't remember exactly why.
"Some help?"
At the sound of the plaintive squeak, George instantly bowed low to scoop Sire Toby up in his mouth, as gentle as a mother cat with her kitten.
"On your back?" Toby requested.
"My pleasure," George replied. He positioned his master and friend delicately upon his backbone and began growing a flesh-saddle for him.
Toby didn't wait for it to finish. He wrapped his arms tight around the stallion's neck. "Just go, George! Before all these people get their hands on us and set a new speed-lynching record!"
"Yes, that is quite a pragmatic idea," he concurred, then turned tail and took off.
The sight of George's receding spectral tail snapped the citizens out of their stupor. As one, they grabbed whatever weapons they could and began a chase.
-***-