He dubbed himself the Rat King when he foresaw the rodents crawling on his corpse, weaving in and out of his garments like a sensation, like a disease. Now he waits for them down in the ornate sewer home he fashioned. It is a fickle thing, the premo...
When she touched the bag it twitched, it squirmed. But, when the Hedge-Witch pointed an open palm at it and murmured "subsisto" the bag stopped. Why did the bag stop?
In the cluttered but cool rows, amongst bruising pages and visible particles of dust, there is an answer. There must be an answer.
Subsist: English. To exist.
Subsister: French. To exist.
But it is not English, and it is not French. It is derived from Latin.
Subsisto: to stand, to stop, to stay, to remain.
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"Gobbes?"
"Gobbly, Gob, Glob, Gobb, Hob, Gobbes at your service, Monsieur Grigorovich. Quel est le problème ?"
"I need a favor." The Chancellor closes his eyes. "I need you to fashion something for me."
"A bonnet, mayhap?"
"No. I am in need of... a concoction of sorts."
"I am afraid I cannot help you digest your food. Quite impossible."
"No, a potion—"
"Lotion? I will acquiesce, but I must refuse the pleasure of putting it on."
Slyv sits, his mouth drawn into a string-like line. "A potion that will put its drinker into a sleep. It must be potent enough to last a few hours."
"What potencies I know last months. Generally nine."
"It must be finished soon. What ingredients will you need?"
"For the potion of sleep, or children? Sadly for the latter I will be of little assistance—"
"For the sleeping potion, Gobbes."
An arm scuttles up one bookcase, momentarily stopping so that the fingers pass over a dying flame and breathe life into it before latching onto a finely bound tome. "Temporary or... everlasting?"
"Temporary," he grumbles. "I am no fool."
A pair of ghoul-eyes fix on his own, strangely luminous in the dimmed light.
"Oh, no, my friend. I do think you fool enough to play god with another's life." Slyv's chest constricts, but then Gobbes notes the excess amount of lint on his shoulder and extends a hand to brush it aside.
"Guten Tag! Hola! Bonjour! Buongiorno! Privyet! Here it is! Never fear, blatherskite of mine, while my wares are not to your liking, I assure you that you will greatly enjoy their fruits!"
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