The Prince of Rats Twentieth of Summer, 513 AV The Bazaar was busy this time of the year. Summer was in full swing and Ninus was dressed cleanly and fed well. Of course, it was only the twentieth day of Summer but already the castle was the coolest place to be. Ninus' rats had fled here to get away from the heat already consuming the lower portions of the city, and Ninus had elected to do the same. He'd buried his belongings, watered the precious plants he kept shaded and protected from the sun, and came to the Bazaar. Of course, with all the people around the coolest place was undoubtably the floor. He sat against a wall, knees pulled up against his shallow chest, a cracked plate at his feed. Passersby threw silver or copper mizas in, obviously thinking him a beggar. But a client who knew him would know to do otherwise. Ninus occasionally took the coins to get a sausage roll or cup of iced wine, happy at the heightened state of the food in the castle. The rats were content to do some scavenging of their own. They told him about their conquests in the market. A piece of bread, a bit of meat, a sweet here and there. The rats were doing well, and only a few of their numbers had been kicked or stabbed. Of course their cousins who lived in the castle proper were large grey rats, fat and sleek who spent all day below the kitchens grooming themselves and gorging on crumbs of mutton, cheese and bread. Ninus watched as a man threw something a little more weighty into the bowl. The nutmeg clanked loudly against the ceramic and caught his attention. One poison for another. He reached out and closed his hand around the hard, small little nut, pulling it into the safety of a pocket and rising to his feet. He walked around a corner, his client following, and made a quiet deal behind a pillar. A single dose of nightshade. A classic poison, and Ninus considered praising him for it, but not at all practical. Stomach pain, delirium, copious vomiting, paralysis...these were all things that were very easily seen and obvious to a healer. But he took the man's mizas, a modest sum of 2 GM for the plant, and settled back down in his 'beggar's' position to look at the nutmeg. A lethal dose, and a fine specimen. He smiled and settled back, looking for another client to come his way. The trip was already proving worth the trouble. |