LaCroix had known for nearly 2000 years this day would come. There was no avoiding the confrontation. Even Nicholas did not know of this adversary's existence. Perhaps that is why his son had laughed at Screed's fear when begged for help. After all, who'd ever heard of a carouche frightened by a mere rat.
"I ain't lyin', I ain't," Screed babbled, grabbing the sleeve of LaCroix's Armani suit as they stood outside the entrance to the carouche's cellar. "It's a brutal beastie; a hair-raising, 'orrible ratsie thingee. It's evil, even Urs could feel it. Said it perm-e-ated me 'umble, abode. Gave 'er the willies. The V-man's out o' town, couldn't 'elp his best matie..."
Jerking his arm out of the carouche's grasp, LaCroix snapped, "Silence."
"Yes, sir, your Lordship, sir," Screed said sarcastically. "Almost sorry I 'ad Urs ask for your 'elp, I am. Suppose to be so 'igh and mighty powerful." He punctuated his comment with loud, wet raspberry.
LaCroix glared at him while pulling a silk black handkerchief from his inside pocket. He wiped the spit from his jacket front. Then without warning, he lifted Screed by the neck and carried him down the steps into the dank dwelling.
The stench was nearly overwhelming, even for a vampire as powerful as LaCroix. Yet the place was neat, if seriously under decorated. What was bothersome, however, was the recognizable presence within. The sensation set his ancient nerves on edge. He felt his eyes shift and his fangs begin to descend.
The Rat was indeed not only in Toronto, but in this very building.
"Feel it, don'tcha!" Screed squeaked out through LaCroix's tightening grip. "Makes ya 'air stand on end, wot ya got of it."
LaCroix threw Screed against the nearest wall. The impact startled several rats from a small hole along the baseboard. But none, fortunately, were the Rat.
"LaCrow, watch your bloodless arse!" Screed yelped, pointing frantically. "Behind ya! It's behind ya!"
The moment LaCroix whirled, he knew this could prove troublesome. The beast was grotesque; large, mangy, and gray. It's eyes glowed blood red. It's front teeth extended downwards into sharp fangs. It stood on hind legs to its full height of at least fifty centimeters. It waved a flaming popsicle stick, gnawed to a fine, sharp point.
Laughing maniacally, the Rat squeaked in a long dead dialect, "At long last we meet again, General Lucius! Your powers have grown, but not enough to defeat one as old as me."
"We shall see about that, Raticus," LaCroix sneered, learning all too quickly that one should never sneer at a rat holding flaming popsicle stick, especially one gnawed to a fine, sharp point. Before he could react, Raticus took to the air. A sharp, intense pain seared through LaCroix's body as he found himself impaled against a door on the far side of the cellar.
His vision began blurring, yet he could see Screed leap at the Rat, biting him on the tail. Before all consciousness left, LaCroix muttered, "That hurt."
Pleasant sensations of a cool sea breeze under a starlit sky welcomed LaCroix back to the land of the living, or unliving, depending on your point of view. The odor of salt water and the gentle rocking of smooth sailing soothed his sore muscles. Not even the rough hewn wood tearing through thin material into his knees as he scrubbed the deck could distract from the beauty of the evening. All he needed now was a bit of ratsie morsel...
Willing himself to semi-consciousness, LaCroix opened his eyes slowly, swallowing deeply of the reviving blood. Instinct told him the sun was up, yet since he wasn't becoming French toast, he was obviously in shelter of some sort. Focusing his vision, he found Screed staring down at him, grinning moronically but could not remember why there was a carouche staring down at him, grinning moronically.
"Enjoyin' the meal, matie?" the carouche asked.
"What the...?!?" LaCroix muttered, knocking Screed's arm away. He fumbled for his handkerchief, only to find he wasn't wearing his jacket, or his shirt for that matter. Peering beneath the worn blanket, he was relieved to discover his trousers were still in place.
"Need the slop bucket?" Screed asked. "Or are ya too old and powerful to piss?"
"I am fine in that regard," he replied. "Retrieve my garments -- now, carouche!"
"Revive ya from me own wrist, I do, and this is the thanks I get," Screed said, stepping back from the cot. "'Fraid your fancy duds got kinda burnt, they did." Crouching on the floor, the carouche grabbed a remarkably beautiful dagger and began cleaning the dirt from beneath his fingernails. Though surprised by the weapon, it was what Screed was wearing which captured LaCroix's attention.
"Where did you get that shirt?" LaCroix demanded.
"This shirt?" Screed asked, looking down at the long sleep shirt reading 'I Spend My Nights With the Nightcrawler'. "Dicky Nick give it to me. Said 'e wouldn't be caught dead in it. Mind tellin' ol' Screed just one thing, wot the scribblin' say? Wouldn't want to be wearin' nothing that wasn't obscene..."
"That will be enough!" LaCroix exclaimed, sitting up despite the lingering pain in his chest. He forced himself from the cot, advancing on Screed threateningly. Screed, dropping the dagger, scurried across the cellar until he was face first against a wall. With one swift motion, LaCroix yanked the shirt over the carouche's head.
"Watch it, will ya," Screed squealed. "Liked to pull me arms out o' the joints ya did. Just cause I like a lil' sip o' the rodent..."
"What is this?" LaCroix asked, reaching down to grab the waistband of Screed's once white boxer shorts before thinking better of it. Germs didn't normally worry LaCroix, but immortality was no excuse for carelessness.
"Me drawers," Screed replied. "Or are ya too ol' n' powerful-like to..."
"I am referring to the 'Forever Knight' logo sewn across your... derriere."
"Ya mean me cross-stitchin'?"
"Yes," LaCroix growled. "Do you not realize the risk to the Community if the Logo Police were to discover your copyright infringement?"
"Ain't scared of no Logo Police, I ain't," Screed said. "Ain't like that Ratsie, they ain't."
Raticus. Suddenly the memory of the Rat, the flaming popsicle
stick gnawed to a fine, sharp point, and, most of all, the humiliation of being overcome by a mere rodent, however temporary, returned to LaCroix. His eyes narrowed as he turned, surveying the room. "Perhaps Raticus assumes I'm dead and has fled..."
"Nah," Screed said, shaking his head as he jerked from LaCroix's grasp. The carouche went to a clothes hamper, digging through the pockets of his laundry. "'Ere it is! Knew I'd put it somewhere safe," Screed exclaimed, holding up a long, gray object. "'Is tail. Bit right through it, I did. 'E'll come back lookin' for it..." The carouche's expression turned to one of sheer terror as he crouched to the floor, fangs bared and eyes yellowed. "Maybe we oughta scoot along out o' 'ere while we can, ay?"
"No!" LaCroix announced forcefully. "It is time for this battle. Raticus must be defeated once and for all."
"I take it ya know the beastie..."
"Yes," LaCroix admitted. "It is a secret I dare not share, not even with my Nicholas. But perhaps the time has come to talk of many things, of ships and strings and sealing wax, and other fancy things."
"Huh?"
"When I was a very young vampire, even younger than yourself, I returned to Rome from Egypt and set up household," LaCroix said. "It was a beautiful home, in the best section of the city. I have yet to live in a finer dwelling. However, one of my slaves discovered a rat in my bedchamber."
"Wot 'appened?"
"She was drained of her blood, of course."
"The rat?"
"No, fool, the slave," LaCroix snapped.
"You drained the slave?"
"No! The Rat did," LaCroix said, staring off into the distance, remembering long ago days he'd rather forget. "Thus began my battle with Raticus, who is rumored to be among the first of our kind. Or at least your kind."
The carouche looked thoughtful for a moment, at least as thought as a carouche could manage. "Was this when ya were a pompous general?"
"Pompous general ?!?" LaCroix barked, advancing on Screed.
"Whoa, there, matie," the carouche said, raising both hands in a surrendering gesture. "Don't getcha ya britches in a bind... Ol' Screed's just repeatin' wot everyone's been saying; that ya was an ol' timey like general from Pompous."
"I am from Pompeii !" LaCroix growled through clinched teeth. "I was a Pompeiian general in the Roman Emperor's army!!!"
"An' this was a once upon a time ago?"
Before LaCroix could decide whether or not to merely shove the rat eater out into the sunlight or torture him to death with a toothpick, a familiar eerie sensation caused him to pause. "Raticus," he said, not bothering to turn. "You have returned for more..."
"I could easily say the same for you, General Lucius," Raticus squawked.
LaCroix spun around, looking into the creature's evil eyes. "You will find I have grown in power over the centuries, Raticus. I still do not tolerate defeat, no matter how temporary."
"Really?" the Rat squeaked, lunging into the air.
LaCroix held up his arms to divert Raticus, but the Rat was still able to make its way to his throat. Sharp fangs pierced his skin. LaCroix pulled at the unwelcome intrusion into his personal space with no success. He tried clawing at the Rat's eyes, throwing himself against the wall, prying its jaws open with his bare hands. Nothing worked - Raticus held tight, drinking his blood.
Although LaCroix sampled none of the Rat's blood, there was enough of a back flow from Raticus' sloppy slurping that some intruded into his artery. The thoughts and experiences were more disgusting than even LaCroix could believe; after all, he did have his limits. Countless unsuspecting cats were slowly tortured before being fully drained. Sewers from societies much older than LaCroix were wallowed through. Women and children were nipped upon in their sleep. Men were driven to madness when awakened by a fanged out Rat on their chest. Raticus was even responsible for unleashing the Black Plague upon countless civilizations, thoroughly tainting LaCroix's meals for centuries.
"Looky 'ere, ya Ratsie bast'rd," LaCroix heard Screed say. "Ol' Screed's got ya tail, 'e does. Right 'ere in me grimy lil' hands."
Through fuzzy, battle wearied vision, LaCroix saw the carouche dangling the tail in the air. Was Screed utterly mad, he wondered, quickly realizing it was a rhetorical question as all carouches were mad. This particular one, however, was also very stupid. There was no way under the stars Screed could defeat Raticus, even though the Rat was also a carouche. Raticus, after all, was very old and very powerful as well as quite skilled with flaming popsicle sticks gnawed to a fine, sharp point.
Raticus broke his bite, twisting from LaCroix's grip. "My tail! Give me my tail, rat murderer!" it cried, flying through the air at Screed.
LaCroix immediately slumped to the ground. He was weakened by exhaustion, blood loss and shock at the atrocities a Rat could commit -- some of which he made a mental note to use in the future. In the back of his mind, he considered Sydney Lambert's reaction to having his butthairs plucked one at a time.
The force of Raticus' impact knocked Screed off balance and across his cot. There were sounds of growling, tearing flesh, and animalistic snarling. The noises Raticus voiced were even worse. With the Rat occupied, perhaps there was a way to catch it off guard. Staggering to his feet, LaCroix noticed Screed's beautiful dagger laying on the floor. It appeared well cared for and quite sharp. Managing to grasp it, LaCroix mustered all the warrior instinct within him and struggled toward the cot.
Peering over, LaCroix watched as Screed and Raticus wrestled furiously. Well, to be quite honest, LaCroix decided, Raticus wrestled, Screed merely wiggled. Raising the dagger, LaCroix tried to judge the best angle from which to strike. The way the pair were moving, he knew there was little chance to hit Raticus without also slicing Screed in half. Shrugging slightly, for what did one carouche have over another, he brought the dagger down. There was a loud, eardrum shattering squeal, then silence before a soft whimper began. He'd managed to pull his blow before cutting Screed's skin even slightly.
Using the tip of the dagger, LaCroix knocked both the Rat's body and its head from Screed's chest. "What are you whimpering about?" LaCroix asked. "Now that Raticus is dead, there should be no remaining affects from his bite."
"Ain't that," Screed said, sitting up, though he did not stand. He kept his head down, staring at the ground. "I... I wet me knickers.... Got the logo on them, they do."
"Not unheard of for one of your kind, carouche," LaCroix said in his best fatherly 'I may sound like I'm lecturing but I'm really reassuring you' tone. He paused for a moment. This would no doubt give Nunkies Anonymous more reason to claim he had a warm and fuzzy side, which he most certainly did not. However, it couldn't be helped. This pathetic creature sitting in a puddle at his feet had obviously been quite traumatized by what should have been his dinner. "You can wash undergarments, you know."
"Hadn't ever thought o' that," Screed muttered. "But there'll still be a stain, there will."
"How will anyone be able to tell?" LaCroix asked.
The swift breeze fanned the fire in the trash can, causing the flames to reflect eerily off the junk yard's numerous vehicles. Raticus had been wrapped in scraps of material - or an old t-shirt belonging to Screed, LaCroix had decided they were one and the same - and placed on top of a AMC Gremlin. The Rat deserved no better.
"Kinda o' sad in a way, ain't it,"Screed sighed. "Older than ya, he was. Might've taught us a thingee or two, ay?"
"Perhaps taught you," LaCroix corrected. "I, for one, will not miss Raticus' insidious methods, especially his flaming popsicle sticks gnawed to a fine, sharp point." He lifted a piece of burning two by four from the trash can, lighting the Rat's body up like an Olympic torch. The Gremlin's interior began burning as well; two birds with one stone, as it were, LaCroix decided.
Screed snorted and nodded. "Then ya'll be sendin' 'is ashes n' such to the wind?"
"Actually I will give the remains to Nicholas," LaCroix said. "Feliks Twist has persuaded him to begin an indoor garden. Rat ashes, especially those that are so old and powerful, should make an excellent fertilizer."
"Gonna be leavin' now tha' the funsies are over," Screed said. "Be cravin' some bubble n' squeak, I 'ave." LaCroix felt Screed's thin fingers on his shoulder.
Thrusting the carouche's arm aside so swiftly Screed yelped in surprise and pain, LaCroix snarled, "Do not touch me!"
"Yes, sir, yar Lordship," Screed said, rubbing his shoulder. "After all the 'elp I give ya, ya treat me like trash, ya do. Woulda been done in by a flaming popsicle stick gnawed to a..."
"Enough!" LaCroix ordered. For once, the carouche fell silent. LaCroix allowed his expression to soften. "I have heard complaints of rats in the Raven's kitchen. No doubt they are most succulent."
"Then best be on me way, ay?" Screed exclaimed. "Oh, one last..."
"Yes?!?" LaCroix said, becoming more than a little irritated at the carouche's continuing chatter.
"Shouldn't we be sayin' a prayer or something, just out o' respect," Screed suggested. "Ya know, a lil' 'now I lay me down to sleep' sorta jammy-jam nonsense."
"I do not think so," LaCroix sneered.
"Suit yaself, matie," Screed said, taking to the sky.
LaCroix turned his attention back to the remains of Raticus and the Gremlin. He smiled slightly, then began giggling maniacally. Let those who are not witnessing this moment say what they will, he thought. Lucien LaCroix does, indeed, giggle maniacally when such expression fits the moment.
Showered and properly clothed following the unpleasantries of the day, LaCroix stepped out into the bar area from his private apartment. Visually and mentally scanning the crowd, he was surprised to sense Nicholas nearby. In fact, his son was amongst a group of vampires gathered around a bar stool. Everyone seemed to be enjoying whatever entertainment was being offered.
Curious, LaCroix focused his hearing. An atrocious Cockney accented voice rose above the laughter. "...An' then this little bitty Ratsie no higher then me knees stabbed the ol' General Pompous right in the ticker wit' a little bitty ol' popsicle stick!"
As LaCroix moved forward, the crowd began to part. Only Nicholas didn't budge. Apparently he was so amused by the conversation he didn't sense his own master which did nothing for LaCroix's mood.
"A popsicle stick incapacitated LaCroix?!" Nicholas said with awe. "I got him with a flaming stake once and he came back."
"Ay, an' this lil' bitty popsicle sticky was gnawed next to nothin', it was... 'ey where did everybody..." When Screed's eyes met LaCroix's, the ancient vampire sneered menacingly. The previously confident looking carouche suddenly began trembling, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Ah, but ya master, tha' ancient, most brave-like Lucy LaCrow, 'e fought good, 'e did. Saved the Commune-o-ty if not all the world!"
"What are you talking about, Screed," Nicholas asked, still oblivious to the situation. "Why would any of us have to fight bravely against a rodent..."
"Because Raticus was much more than a mere rat, you understand," LaCroix said, placing a hand on his son's shoulder.
Nicholas looked at the hand, then twisted around to give LaCroix the most innocent 'I'm your beloved little boy look' he'd ever managed to muster. "Ah... I..."
"This is all your fault, Nicholas," LaCroix said. "I have yet to decide how to place the blame on you, but I will manage, as you know. I always do."
Nicholas nodded slightly.
"Now I want you to go into my apartments," LaCroix ordered in a most fatherly tone, or at least it was in his opinion. "In my desk you will find plenty of paper. You are to write 'I will respect LaCroix because he is my creator, my master, and my father' seven hundred and sixty seven times. Have I made myself clear?!?"
"My meal break is over in fifteen minutes," Nicholas said hopefully.
"Then you better hurry as you will complete the task before returning to your play session with the mortal world," LaCroix said sternly.
Grumbling under his breath, Nicholas stomped across the bar, pausing outside the door marked "Private". He flashed his fangs in his master's direction. LaCroix scowled back, enough of a threat so that his son quickly disappeared into the apartment.
"As for you, rat eater..." LaCroix said, lifting Screed into the air, one hand on the carouche's back shirt collar, the other holding the waste band of his pants.
"Ya can't do this to ol' Screed, ya can't," Screed squealed in protest. "I got me rights, I do. Ain't no pri-vate type club, I can be 'ere if me wants..."
LaCroix ignored the carouche as he hauled him behind the bar and through the small kitchen. Knocking the back door open with Screed's small head, he paused to make sure the carouche could see what awaited him.
The alley was filled with refuge from not only the Raven, but illegal dumping by other nearby businesses. Though a large dumpster was provided, it overflowed with quite odorous garbage. There were, however, no homeless individuals or drug dealers as they had been consumed long before.
"I saved yar life, I did!" Screed cried piteously. "Don't ya remembe'? Dis-tract-ed that Ratsie-a-cuss..."
"And since I always repay my debts, I am now returning the favor," LaCroix explained. "For if I do not rid the Raven of your presence, I will be forced to kill you."
Effortlessly, LaCroix tossed Screed across the alley. The carouche hit the dumpster head-first. Immediately, cats, rats and other unidentifiable creatures crawled, leapt, and flew from the container. Screed immediately jumped to his feet, positioned in a crouch. His eyes were yellowed, his teeth bared. "Din din time!" he whispered, nodding in LaCroix's direction. "Can't thank ya enough, matie o' mine!" he added, chasing after a particularly large, plump rodent. The carouche disappeared behind the building.
Wondering why the gods were still trying unsuccessfully to prove their superiority after nearly two thousand years, LaCroix ran a hand over his mouth. He turned to enter the building, stopping when an all too familiar sensation struck him like a flaming popsicle stick gnawed to a fine, sharp point.
Squeezing his eyes shot to clear his mind, LaCroix decided he was merely imagining things. After all, Raticus was now nothing but ashes in a box awaiting Nicholas' attempts at gardening. Soon enough, the remains would be mixed with soil.
Knowing he'd once again proved triumphant over an enemy, LaCroix held his head high and proud as he walked through the battered door into his club. Eternity without Raticus the Rat would prove pleasant indeed.
THE END???
With special thanks to Susan Pierce who offered sighs of disbelief as this story was being plotted.
