Chapter Text
Verdauga wasn’t sure where he was. He thought it wasn’t Castle Mortspear, unless somebeast had considerably renovated the place, but where else it could be he had no idea.
Sighing, Verdauga rubbed his temples and tried to remember. Where else have I lived? Besides Mortspear there was that village up in the mountains, and then after that there was that place in Mossflower… What was it called again? Ko-something? Ko...Ko… It was on the tip of his tongue, he swore, but all the same the name eluded him.
A young Wildcat entered the room. He was tall and lithe and looked rather like Verdauga did, which was perhaps why he seemed so oddly familiar. “Young one,” he asked the Wildcat, “what castle is this? All of a sudden, I cannot seem to remember.”
The Wildcat looked sad for some reason. “This is Kotir, father.” He replied quietly.
“Kotir? Ah, yes, how could I have forgotten.” Verdauga frowned. “But if you called me ‘father', then that makes you… ah!” A tear rolled down the old Wildcat’s cheek. “By the fur, Gingivere, I can’t believe I forgot you for a moment. I’m so sorry, son, I don’t know how I could’ve.”
Even in his semi-confused state, Verdauga could tell that the grin on his son’s face was completely forced. “It’s alright, I know how you’ve been lately. At least you didn’t call me Ungatt this time.”
“Oh? Did I?” He chuckled softly. “Now that’s something I’m glad I forgot.”
“I brought you breakfast, father, straight from the kitchens.” Gingivere walked over and gently set down a plate of Risotto on his father’s side table. “I’m sorry there isn’t much more than Mushrooms, but I ordered the lot of our meat and vegetables down to the Loamhedge camp.”
“That was good of you, putting the other creatures of this land before yourself.” Not that Verdauga could remember what ‘The Loamhedge Camp’ actually was , save that it was important for some reason.
Cutting up the food to eat was surprisingly difficult, but eventually with Gingivere’s help Verdauga was able to manage. “So,” he asked between bites, “how is that Wildcat girl?”
“You mean Sandingomm?” Gingivere blushed. “She’s...well. Been spending a lot of time with the Loamhedge mice lately, trying to help where she can.”
“That sounds like your mother.” Verdauga smiled. “Mina’s always been - was always the type to rush about aiding less fortunate creatures. That’s what I loved about her, truth be told.” He waved a paw. “But enough ramblings from an old Wildcat, especially one that is still in his nightclothes.”
“Will you be needing help with that?” Gingivere asked.
“I’m certain you have more important duties to attend to?”
“Well...nothing that couldn’t be delayed.” Gingivere took a step back, discomforted by his father’s sudden anger. “But if you’re really worried about it, I can summon somebeast from the castle to -”
“You will not ,” Verdauga snapped, “as I am still perfectly able to dress myself.”
“Oh, um, alright.” Ears flat against his head and his tail tucked under his legs, Gingivere turned and left.
Verdauga stared after him, seething from the anger and indignity at being treated like a child, before reaching over and grabbing the robes somebeast had laid on his bed before he’d woken up. The old Wildcat struggled to put them on, his paws even more clumsy than during breakfast, and by the time he managed to get everything on he’d already half forgotten what had made him so angry in the first place.
“By the fur, you’re hitting the books earlier than usual. I had figured you’d still be up with your father for at least another hour.”
Gingivere looked up from a ponderous history of some far-away island called Helskerland to see Bella leaning against a bookshelf, looking oddly winded. “I was dismissed, and thought I would come down and start researching.”
“What do you mean, ‘dismissed’?”
“We were done.” Gingivere made it clear that there would be no further discussion. “Although, I have to admit that I shouldn’t have started with this book in particular.”
“Why?” Bella leaned over. “Surely it can’t be that boring.”
“Speak for yourself. It’s all ‘we imported this amount of goods from that mountain, the sea currents made it hard to get ships out because of that, and the occasional protest from some segment of the populace or another.”
Bella thumbed through the book. “What about this? Look - ‘ a Squirrel in from Southsward took ill. Although it was the height of summer, the Squirrel claimed he was chilled to the bone. Any attempts to get him a drink were made difficult by his inability to swallow more than the tiniest amounts’. ”
“Well, that certainly sounds like Dryditch. I wonder if it says anything about a cure.” Gingivere kept reading. “ Although we tried blisterwort, willow bark, opium, and snakeroot, none of them worked’ - well that’s good to know, I guess, we can save Amber mutilating that willow tree her father planted - ‘ and the disease has continued to spread throughout the Lower City.’ Blimey, looks like they had a rougher time than we’re having.” Gingivere looked through the next few pages, trying not to wince at the rapidly inflating casualty numbers and making note of all the failed cures, until something caught his eye only ten pages or so from the end of the book. ‘ We have found a cure, although it is not a pleasant one: the Water of the Lord seems to almost flush the Dry Fever straight from the body. ”
Gingivere looked up at Bella. “What’s the ‘Water of the Lord’?”
“I’ve never been down that way, so I have to admit I haven’t the foggiest.”
“Are there any other books from this Helskerland place?”
“Maybe.” Bella walked over to a stack of books she’d borrowed from Abbess Germaine. “Loamhedge was far closer to the Southlands than Mossflower is, so maybe our Abbey friends got one.” Opening up a large, weathered book, Bella frowned. “Oh blast, I forgot - it’s all written in Loam Script.”
“You can’t read it? I thought you’d been out that way before.”
“Gingivere, that was years and years ago. I’m not sure how well I still know it…”
Gingivere watched Bella move a finger over the book, trying to sound out all the words. That’s odd, he thought, her finger looks like it’s shaking a little. “Can you make anything out?”
Bella shook her head. “Not enough - I’m having to make too many guesses. I’ll just have to take this down to Germaine and have her transcribe it. Assuming that there’s even anything of value in this book. It might not have anything to do with Helskerland at all.”
Gingivere looked back at the one book they’d managed to find, flipping back to the cover as an idea struck him. “How about this?” He tapped an image on the center of the cover, a large Fox in the middle of an Argent shield. “This looks like their Coat of Arms, so if there’s a book or a chapter or something dealing with them we’ll probably find this symbol.” Gingivere grabbed a couple books out of Bella’s paws. “Here, I’ll look too.”
They sat in silence, thumbing through the pages of books both ancient and new, looking for some hint of the Fox. Every so often, Gingivere found himself looking up and stealing a look or two at Bella. Is it just me, or was her paw kind of...warm? And she’s still breathing a lot harder than normal. A tiny bit of dread settled in Gingivere’s stomach, but he forced himself to keep working. The page he was looking at had a small map of the southern lands under what looked like a chapter heading. As luck had it, emblazoned above an island was the Fox and Shield. “Hey, Bella, I found something!” He gave her the book. “What does the large text say?”
“Hmm… I think it says “130-140 LY? LY means ‘Loamhedge Years’, by the way.”
“I guessed as much.” Gingivere looked back at the Helskerland book. “Can you see if there’s any section that gives the equivalent years in Helskerland’s calendar?”
Bella turned the pages. “Aha! Looks like 89 Helsker Calendar is the same as 130 Loamhedge Years’. Is that before your book, or after?”
“After - looks like the Drydtich plague hit them in 71, Helsker Calendar, so if there’s anything in your book on the fever it might have some reference to their treatment.”
“Well, from the looks of it, there definitely was an outbreak in 89.” Bella pointed at a word. “These word here means ‘sickness’, and there’s a few right afterwards that speak of cold and difficulty breathing, so it definitely seems like they were hit by Dryditch.”
“What about a cure?”
“Give me a minute, translating is slow going. There’s definitely a reference to ‘water’ here, but the word order’s a bit messed up.” Bella studied the passage. “I don’t see anything that looks like ‘lord’, or ‘king’, or any other type of leadership role, but it does say something about ‘water of Moles’.”
“A Mole actually was the lord of Helskerland during the plague in 71, so it’s probably referring to the same thing. Think it’s some kind of spring they have up in the castle, maybe?”
“That would make sense.” Bella looked further down the page. “Hold on, it says something here: “luck...Moles...on a ship...we got much Mole’s Water from them…”
“So it’s something that can come from any Mole…” Gingivere rubbed his head with a paw. “You don’t think it’s blood, do you?”
“I doubt it.” Bella shook her head. “If Helskerland was in the business of sacrificing its lord to get their blood, there’d be some reference to that somewhere in here, or we’d have heard of it from hearsay.”
Tales of a nation repeatedly using their lord as a blood sacrifice were the sort of thing that would spread from place to place, Gingivere knew. But then what? He racked his brains, trying to think. It’s probably not spit, because that would take far too much to produce enough for a citywide cure, even if they DID have an entire ship of Moles, but if not that then…
“Bella,” he asked slowly, “the expression ‘making your water’ is universal, right?”
“Mostly, but what does that have to do with…” Bella did a double take. “No.”
Gingivere nodded. “Uh huh. It seems so. If it’s not blood, and it’s not spit, and it’s definitely something that comes from a mole, then that only leaves -”
They stared at each other. “So...you’re saying…” Bella replied slowly. “That the main ingredient the Helskers used for their Dryditch cure... is Mole urine? ”
“Yes, Bella.” Gingivere struggled mightily to keep a straight face. “The best way to cure Dryditch fever is to drink Mole piss.”
It was quite difficult for either of them to process. “Right, ah, I think I’m going to see if there are any other ingredients.” Bella looked down at the book and started reading, but after a
while looked up again with a frown. “Blast it, I can’t tell. I don’t know enough words, although judging by some of the few I do know our theory about Mole urine is spot-on.”
“Why is the book in a different language from what the Loamhedge Mice speak, anyways?” Gingivere asked, mostly to change the subject.
“Because Loamscript is a classical language.” Bella sighed. “Oftentimes, Abbeys like Loamhedge continue to put things in classical languages, partially for continuity’s sake. I won’t lie, though, it certainly makes things difficult to not have it in the language we all use.”
“Think we could get Germaine to transcribe it for us? It would probably be faster - not to mention more accurate - than muddling through as we’ve been.” Not to mention that maybe we’ll find out we’re mistaken about the whole ‘Mole urine’ thing.
“Probably, although -” Bella half-stumbled over to a chair and sat down. “I’m going to have to ask you to go to her without me. For some reason I’m rather tired all of a sudden.”
“I understand.” Gingivere faked a smile. “And besides, it’s high time I visit the camp again, isn’t it?”
Gingivere plucked the book out of Bella’s paws, taking care to touch as little of her fur as he could, and immediately scurried out of the room.
***
“Hold on, did I hear you right?” Germaine stared at Gingivere with her mouth completely agape. “You did just say ‘mole urine’, my lord?”
“Aye, I did.” Gingivere held out the book. “From what Bella was able to translate, that’s one of the main ingredients. We weren’t able to figure out any of the others, so we figured it best to bring this to somebeast that actually can read this blooming thing and transcribe it into something more accessible.”
Germaine took the book. “I understand. But where is Bella? If she was part of this discovery, why did she not come as well?”
Gingivere looked around, making sure that nobeast could hear them, before stepping closer to Germaine. “Because she’s taking ill,” he explained in an undertone, “and the symptoms I’ve seen match up with the early stages.”
“Truly?” Germaine put a paw to her mouth. “Then I need to work fast. But what about you, my lord, are you…”
“I don’t think so. But if I am, then this book probably holds the answer to curing it.”
“I’ll get started right away, my lord.” Germaine bowed. “And what are you going to do?”
“The first thing I’m going to do is send Chibb to Salamandastron with a letter. Sunflash deserves to know about his mother. Then,” he shook his head and chuckled, “I guess I need to gather up a bunch of jars and distribute them to every Mole in Mossflower.” Oh, they’re going to LOVE that. And I’m already getting more and more glares every time I set paw outside Kotir, I’ve noticed.
Making a note to increase security both around Kotir and the Loamhedge camp, Gingivere bade Germaine farewell and started back towards home.