The Return Of The Rat

[Jemmy]

The heavy oaken door creaked, and dull lamplight streamed over the filthy flagstones of the cell. The emaciated figure within looked up at the guard, his expression a pitiful, wasted mask. The guard snorted, threw him a lump of bread and a battered canteen of water, and spat at him. Then he turned and slammed the door shut, leaving the figure wallowing behind in the darkness.

Jeremiah Middlebottom sat in the darkness, in silence. Despite his despair, the youngster had stopped crying a long time ago- it was doing him no good, and the summer heat made the cell unbearable as it was, without dehydrating himself further. He'd been sat in this cell for several months now, knowing daylight only for an hour a day. He was still waiting for his sentence, but he knew it would never come.

Jemmy The Rat would languish and rot before his case ever came before the courts.

He closed his red-rimmed eyes- sore from straining in the darkness- and listened to the chittering of the rats and the hurried scurrying of the cockroaches as they darted about their business in the cell. He swigged from the canteen, and chewed on the black-crusted, stale bread. His thoughts darted back to his time in Cove, and the few friends he had left behind there- Commander Eason, Trisha, Mela...he'd even come to regard the Baron as something of a friend and confidante.

He cursed his own misfortune. Why did he decide to make this run to Britain? He had no clue. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, and the reward seemed too good to be true. A little bit of courier work? For someone with Jemmy's knowledge of Britain, it shouldn't be a problem. And the pay was something Jemmy would never make working his marks in Cove. But things had all gone wrong when he emerged from the sewers. Those guards had been waiting for him. He knew it. And he was fairly sure he knew who had set him up.

The face of Rex Richter appeared in his mind, and he pounded the wall in frustration. It must have been Richter... but why? Jemmy had always been a loyal member of the gang, even if he wasn't the most black-hearted villain in the world. No....he was fairly sure Richter had set him up. And if he ever got out of this cell, Richter was going to pay dearly.

The hours passed in darkness, stretching into days. His routine continued- meager meals, an hour's daylight, and hours spent constructing elaborate ways to get his own back on Richter. Whenever he could, he tried to get a message to Commander Eason or the Baron, and he spent his time half-expecting to see the familiar caps of the Cove Militia rushing the prison to save him.

But they never came.

No-one ever came. The only person Jemmy had any contact with was his guard, a thick-set gorilla of a man named Sheldon, whos limited intellectual capacity made even Jemmy seem like a veritable genius.

No, only one person was going to be there for Jemmy to rely on- the same way it had been since his old mentor, Cogan, died. He'd have to do things for himself. He wasn't going to let himself die without at least trying to escape.

The door opened, and Sheldon's familiar, ape-like face appeared to throw Jemmy his daily bread. His face furrowed in confusion as he saw the boy wasn't sat in the cell.

"BOY!" he bellowed. Then he felt something lightly brush past his side, and he turned to see Jemmy slumped beside the wall, his head in his hands, next to the door. Sheldon grunted, and propelled a vicious kick into Jemmy's ribs. The boy slumped, groaning.

"Food." Jemmy felt the bread bounce off the back of his head, and felt the *thunk* of the canteen following in it's wake. He heard Sheldon snort, and shut the door. And Jemmy The Rat grinned his evil grin.

For, in his thin, bony hand, he held the key to his cell.

Jemmy waited several hours, and let himself silently out of his cell. He locked it again, knowing he had a few hours before Sheldon came back, and he slipped into the shadows. He padded through the corridors of the prison, until he found what he was looking for. The entrance to the prison was guarded by two guards wearing the tabards of the Britannian Guard. Jemmy took a lamp from a wall, then removed another. The first, he dropped, allowing it to smash on the cobbles. Both the guards, both of whom were near asleep, jumped up.

"What was that?"
"No idea, Bert. Go check."

Jemmy heard footsteps approaching, and saw Bert round the corner. Jemmy stepped out behind him as Bert walked past, and swung the lantern down, hard, on the guard's unarmoured head. The lantern shattered, and Bert slumped to his knees.

The crash alerted his companion, who ran to investigate. The first thing he saw was Bert, unconscious on the floor. The last thing he ever felt was a hand clamping round his mouth, and a dagger scoring open his throat. As his life sped away, he noticed the dagger-sheath at Bert's belt was empty. His last words came out as a croak. "Damn...damn..." before Sosaria turned into an inky blackness, and the guard slumped, dead.

Jemmy took no time in making a break for it. He bolted from the prison, staying in the shadows. He was a murderer. Jemmy had killed a man. But he didn't care. All he needed to do was get to the sewers, then out of the city.

He smiled to himself, as he pried open a manhole, and tucked the dagger into his belt, before disappearing into the sewers. Yeah. Get out of the city. Then go back to Cove.

The smile become an evil grimace, as he thought of the final part of his plan. Go back to Cove.

And get his revenge on Rex Richter.


[OOC] Finally got Jemmy's account reactivated! yay! [/OOC]

[Gregor Eason]

[OOC: Welcome back ye old scally wag!  Awesome story!]

[Jemmy]

Jemmy pulled the cloak tighter around him as the wind whipped through the old ruins that had been his home since his return. he daren't return to the barracks now, not for long periods of time. Especially not after what Mr. Eason had said.

"We can't be seen to harbour criminals, Jemmy...." "You'll have to be punished...." "Why didn't you send word, we could have helped..."

He let out a strangled sob as the despair that had been plaguing him since the day of his return washed over him again. In truth, he didn't even know why he'd told Eason that he'd killed the guard. he didn't know if they were hunting him or not. Since the day of his flight through Britain's sewers, he'd not set eyes on a guardsman until he arrived in Cove. He was sure they didn't know he was in Cove- they'd recognised him from his few previous offences and thought him British, and he'd done nothing except propagate that belief. Besides, it just wouldn't do for the Vidge-Urr-Lanty 'Ero O' Cove, Speshul Ajunt of the Barrun, the legendary Jemmy The Rat, to be recognised as such, would it?

He smiled through his misery. He'd work something out. He always did. Maybe he could convince Eason to keep quiet? He was pretty sure- from the "acceptance" of his presence in the barracks the previous night- that the word hadn't got out about his little misdemeanour. But until he was sure, the ruins would be home.

He pulled his cloak even tighter, tipped his cap over his eyes, and tried to get some sleep as the wind whipped the Northlands. He'd sort himself out. Wasn't no way anyone, Eason or otherwise, would make him dance at the end of a rope.