by Geoffry Hart
in Issue 124, May 2022
The barbarian infant was premature, and given her small size and mottled pink and purple complexion, her mother named her Souris, the word for mouse in their tongue. Like most of the villagers, subtlety was not among the mother’s virtues. Subtlety, for them, was ringing a pommel off a foe’s helm instead of disemboweling them and knitting a sweater from their large intestine. You didn’t want to be the focus of their attention when they felt the need to be unsubtle.
Under pressure from her husband of the moment, Souris’ mother gave her infant one more suck at her teat, then did what tradition expected of her: she took her daughter to the edge of the village, placed her on a soft blanket stolen from an unfortunate caravan that had strayed too close to their mountain village, and then left her daughter for the wolves.
And that should have been that, in the normal course of affairs. But the wolves rejected the village’s offering. Moreover, the grizzled old matriarch gently seized the infant in jaws that could cripple a moose and carried her to the center of the village, where she settled onto her haunches and sat there guarding the infant, flanked by two much younger males of impressive size and muscle, until the infant’s mother (not without trepidation) came to reclaim her daughter. The villagers were barbarians, but they hadn’t survived as long as they had because they were stupid. An omen was clearly an omen.
Souris didn’t thrive, but she survived long enough to learn to hate her name as soon as she was old enough to grasp its meaning. She remained small and was teased throughout her childhood and on into adolescence. As soon as she was able, she insisted on being called “Sou”, despite her keen awareness of the irony of using a diminutive. Fortunately, the irony of a girl named Sou was lost on her larger and brawnier age-mates. As even the adolescent girls in her barbarian village tended to approach 6 feet in height, she could never hope to match them in strength. Instead, she learned speed and subtlety. Her stature and the need to survive the emotional adjustments of adolescence strongly motivated her.
Those adjustments came in the form of friendly beatings by her peers. To be clear, it wasn’t anything personal, just how her tribe worked out disagreements and established a hierarchy. Sou showed her resilience. When a peer erred by taking advantage of their larger size and strength to beat her, they quickly learned not to repeat that error. As soon as she could walk again without wincing, she waited until night fell and then waylaid her tormentor. The deft application of rhetoric, in the form of a measured blow delivered to the offender’s skull with a blunt object, inspired a listening and learning attitude. As her student hovered on the brink of unconsciousness, she delivered the message that this particular dialogue was now done, and that the next such dialogue would not end so well for the student. And the discussion was done. Barbarians learned fast, or they didn’t live long.
Adolescence had other challenges since Sou experienced the same urges felt by her peers. Unfortunately, though she had many male and female friends, none was willing to become her lover, whether through gentle persuasion—for despite her size, she was a comely child—or threats of dire consequences. It’s not that they were prudes; far from it. The problem was the relentless practicality that let them survive in a harsh environment that quickly culled the weak. The usual response to her increasingly blunt suggestions could be interpreted, with some accuracy, as “I like you just fine, but I’m seeking a wife who’d survive having my child, so I don’t think this would work out.” Suggesting that gaining a child was not the point fell on deaf ears. After a time, Sou found herself wondering whether it was beyond the realm of plausibility that she’d intimidated most of her potential mates into a state of chastity.
Whatever the cause, Sou grew up tough and mean and cranky, and despite being towered over by her peers, including most of the pre-adolescent children, she kept up with most members of the tribe on the hunt and outfought any two of them, including a growing number of the adults. That garnered her respect, but never the acceptance she craved. And this lack finally motivated her to leave for gentler climes, in the hope she’d have more luck in a big city. When she left, she took her sleeping furs, the long and thin blade she’d learned to use successfully against men and women wielding much bigger and heavier blades, a dagger she used righthanded alongside that sword but also ate with, enough pemmican that she wouldn’t need to hunt for several days, and miscellaneous useful things such as flint and steel and tinder, wrapped carefully in oilskin.
Civilization’s first introduction to Sou came in the form of a pair of male predators who saw her size and hoped to make a tasty meal of this little mouse. They soon learned the error of their ways—or would have, had they survived to benefit from their lesson. Sou, on the other hand, acquired a measure of contempt for these urban men along with a small supply of the coins which, though useless in her home village, seemed likely to be of some use among the city dwellers.
***
The tavern door opened, which Sou noticed because she sat facing the door, with her back to a sturdy wall. She’d learned early on that a woman, alone in a tavern, was assumed to be there for the sake of the men, and that it was unwise to be out drinking for a night without remaining alert to their comings and goings.
A man nearly as small as Sou, but bearing himself self-importantly despite that, entered the room. He was followed by a man tall enough to have to duck his head to pass through the doorway. Not particularly large by barbarian standards, but large enough for a townsman. His master dressed in fine garb, with a black silk chemise and fine satin trousers that screamed rob me; the bodyguard dressed in worn leathers that quietly whispered don’t even think about it. The small man spoke while the large one kept his eyes moving, cataloguing the room’s dangers.
“I need one more pair of hands for a dangerous job. He needs to be fearless, and far better than average with a sword. If you’re sober and you want to apply for the job, speak to my servant. It pays well.” He jingled his purse, then walked to the bar and began negotiations with the bartender for a drink.
Sou sipped her drink as a small queue formed. The large man dismissed anyone who wasn’t carrying a sword at their hip or slung over their shoulder. One objected, and before he could complete his rebuttal, found himself flying through the air, coming to rest under Sou’s table. Having seen which way the wind was blowing, she’d raised her tankard of brown ale, thereby sparing it a sloppy fate as the table rocked. She took a mouthful, savored it before swallowing, then rose and moved to an adjacent table, out of the line of fire. The large man smiled at her, then sorted the remaining men by taking their hands in his: those with soft hands or a weak grip were gently directed back towards their tables. At the bar, the small man was pantomiming what appeared to be an umbrella, and the bartender was shaking his head, either unclear on the concept or denying such an implement had anything to do with the kinds of drink he was prepared to serve. The large man gestured any man who met his criteria to an open table, where the few who had passed the initial screening sat or stood, according to their preference, to await the large man’s decision.
When every last man in the line had been sorted into one of three categories (the third category being the man lying crumpled beneath Sou’s former table and a second who came to join him), she rose and went to stand by the table that contained the select few, ignoring with practiced ease the skeptical looks from the men. The large man came to join them, then raised an eyebrow when he saw her.
“You’ve got brass.”
“Not enough, else I’d find easier work.”
“You’re fearless?” The three men around the table laughed, trailing off into silence as Sou met their eyes, each in turn. Their eyes saw only a tiny woman with a sword that was on the smallish side. But something deep inside them, perhaps the part that had taught their ancestors to flee large predators with razor claws and piercing fangs, warned that this tiny person was not to be mocked.
Sou returned her gaze to the bodyguard. “No. That would be foolish. I feel fear appropriate to the situation. I get over it.”
He nodded, grudgingly. “And you’re good with a sword? And sober?”
“Let me finish this ale and I’ll show you how good I am when I’m not sober. From that, you can infer how good I am sober.”
The big man laughed and slapped his chest. “Hugh. And you are?”
She took her time sipping her ale. “Sou.”
“Isn’t that the name of a small coin used by the barbarians?”
She ignored him, drained her mug, then tossed it over her shoulder in the direction of the bar, where the bartender snatched it from the air and cursed at her. The small man came away from the bar, without a drink. He looked a question at Hugh, who shrugged. The small man drew himself up to his full height.
“Very well. You four are the candidates? Let me explain the job. I,” he puffed out his small chest like a pigeon, “am Anson the Alchemist.” He paused, expecting looks of admiration. When they did not come, he pouted and went on. “When I’m done crafting potions to astound the wealthy, I pour the residues and waste materials into the sewers. Until recently, this caused no problem, other than an occasional complaint from the Sewer Worker’s Guild. But a week ago, the consequences became dire. It seems these wastes may have been consumed by some denizen of the sewers.” He paled visibly. “Said denizen has been investigating the privies of my neighbors, who have almost as much influence with the King than the Sewer Worker’s Guild.”
One of the men tugged at his forelock and left the table without looking back. The two remaining men exchanged uneasy glances.
“I will hire one of you, but not all three, to accompany Hugh into the sewers to find and kill the creature.” He met Sou’s eyes, and when she didn’t look away, moved on to the eyes of the remaining man; the other one had slipped away, unnoticed. That last man refused to meet Sou’s eyes.
Hugh cleared his throat. “Let’s take this outside, where you have room to swing a blade.”
Sou and the other man nodded, but the man watched her from the corner of his eye. The alchemist returned to the bar, having resolved to try once more to obtain something drinkable.
Outside in the street, the two drew their blades. His was a fairly standard broadsword, with an extended grip that allowed the use of two hands, but did not require it. Hers was shorter, about an inch in width and with polished steel that shone in the lantern light. Sou lifted her chin towards him, offering him the first move, and without further ado, he ran at her, swinging an overhead blow that would have quickly ended the fight, not to mention Sou, had she been there when it landed. She was not, for she’d stepped slightly aside, guiding his blade so that it met the cobbles beneath their feet with a clang. Before he could raise the blade, she stepped into him, smacking the pommel of her blade into his temple. Blood streaming down his face, he staggered back, swinging a horizontal cut to keep her at a distance. Stepping forward an eyeblink behind his swing, she cut twice at the suspenders that held up his trousers, which promptly slid from his hips, tangling his legs. Before he could disentangle himself, she cut shallowly across his forearm, forcing him to drop his sword and clutch at the wound. He cursed at her, blood seeping between his fingers.
Hugh applauded. “You both show considerable courage. You, sir, on the other hand, fail to show the necessary skill with a sword. I suggest you seek employment elsewhere.”
Hugh held out a large hand and, after a moment, Sou sheathed her sword and took it. He squeezed her hand gently; she squeezed back hard enough to make him wince before she released him.
“You, on the other hand, are hired.”
Sou inclined her head. “Should I be worried?”
“I’m not.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. Large men tend to be stupid brave until they become stupid dead. Are you that kind of man?”
Hugh scrutinized her a moment, then shrugged. “I hope never to be stupid dead.”
“Wise dead isn’t much better. What should I know about this creature that you didn’t tell the others?”
At that moment, the door opened, and the bartender emerged, carrying the alchemist by the scruff of his neck. “Is this one yours, Sou?”
“Put him down, McPhee. He’s with us.”
The bartender released his grip, and the alchemist staggered and fell into a noisome puddle. The door slammed behind the bartender as he re-entered the tavern.
“Hugh, teach that man some respect.”
Sou shook her head. “Best you not do that. McPhee can handle himself in a fight, gods know, and he has many friends inside.”
Hugh nodded. “Never fight a man on his home ground if it can be avoided.”
“Or a sewer creature?”
Hugh sighed. “If it can be avoided.”
Sou looked at Hugh. “What does the job pay?”
“One gold piece as a signing bonus. Another once the creature’s dead.”
“Not much for risking an unheralded death in the sewers, followed by burial at sea when the tide flushes the sewers.”
Hugh snorted. “Now that I’ve seen you use that blade, I’ve a suspicion we’re over-paying for the time you’ll take.”
Sou bowed, acknowledging the compliment.
Anson cleared his throat. “Take us home, Hugh. Time is short, and the King has made his impatience plain.”
***
Anson’s home was in part of the city Sou had never visited, in part because the town guard actually patrolled this part of town both day and night, and was vigilant about keeping out the riffraff, among whom Sou numbered herself. It was a stiff uphill climb. She watched her surroundings with a keen eye. Some day, she thought, she’d have a home here. When she’d earned enough money or found enough treasure to no longer need to earn a living. In the meantime, however…
Hugh pulled a key from his vest and opened the door of a small mansion. Anson entered first, followed by Sou, then Hugh closed the door behind them and locked it.
“Deal with her, Hugh.” Anson waved dismissively over his shoulder and climbed the stairs at the back of the entry hall.
“Have you eaten?”
“I can always eat.”
“Then follow me.” Hugh led her past a lavishly appointed dining room, dark teak complemented by gleaming silver fixtures and a large cabinet full of crystal tableware, and into the kitchen. There, he opened the door to an icebox as tall as he was. “Help yourself.”
Sou chose a platter of assorted meats and cheese, and removed it from the icebox. With the small silver knife from the tray, she began stabbing choice bits and conveying them to her mouth. She ate in silence, Hugh watching her every move in a way that made her nervous.
“What?”
“You surprise me.”
“How so?”
“You clearly fear no one and no thing. Yet…”
“Yet I’m a woman? Where I come from, the women are more to be feared than the men.”
“And where do you come from?”
She waved vaguely in the direction of the door. “A barbarian hill tribe. One you’ve never heard of, nor likely ever will.”
“You’re a barbarian warrior?”
Sou kept chewing but raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, so you’re a barbarian warrior. Who knew?”
Sou swallowed. “You have ale?”
“Bottom shelf of the icebox.”
She set the platter on a counter, then pulled a clay jug from the icebox, removed the cork, sniffed. Then she rested it on her forearm, thumb through the handle, and raised it to her lips for a long swig.
“You mentioned a creature.”
Hugh nodded. “I haven’t seen it personally, but the neighbors have. Or to be precise, their servants. None of their lordships would ever come within scenting distance of the sewers. The descriptions are inconsistent. Some claim it’s a giant rat, some claim it has many tentacles; others report something like a large bird, but with arms rather than wings.”
“In short?”
“If we’re lucky, they’ve seen naught but ordinary residents of the sewers, made more fearsome by darkness, and we’ll waste an hour at most chopping the things into little bits.”
“And if we’re unlucky?”
Hugh snorted. “Then the creature’s some ungodly combination of all of the above descriptions.”
Sou smiled. “Then at least I’ll earn my gold. Speaking of which…?”
Hugh sighed, and pulled a gold coin from a pocket. Sou made it disappear, then took another long pull at the jug.
***
Sou took a cautious step away from the base of the ladder and moved to stand beside her guide, water lapping to mid-calf on her tall boots. “I wouldn’t have believed it possible.”
“Believed what possible?”
“That your damned sewers could possibly smell worse than the city itself.”
“Just be glad they clean them regularly in this district. They’re not nearly so pleasant downstream.”
“Then let us pray to our respective gods the creature’s somewhere near.”
“From your lips to the gods’ ears.”
“You have a plan?”
Hugh raised his lantern, a device enchanted to give light without heat, lest it ignite the sewer gases and cause the two to be blown clear of the system in many independent pieces. “Mostly it’s been reported upstream of the alchemist’s home. That way.” He gestured with his free hand.
“That suggests it has a good sense of smell.”
“Then let’s be thankful the wind, such as it is, blows from it to us.”
“I’ll lead.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to lead?”
Sou snorted. “First, my professional advice: when hunting monsters, always trust the barbarian.” Hugh nodded, somewhat reluctantly she felt. “Second? You may have noticed that while you can see over my head, there’s no way I could ever see past your bulk.”
“You have a point.”
Without belaboring that point, Sou raised her own lantern and set off upstream, sword in her free hand. After a moment, Hugh followed. As they walked, the water grew shallower, until it was lapping unpleasantly at their ankles.
Several hundred paces deeper into the sewers, a pair of red eyes appeared in the darkness, at about Sou’s head level. But they were spaced close together, so it wasn’t clear whether it was a large but distant animal or a small animal close to them. Sou halted, flexed her sword arm to loosen the muscles. “What do you think?”
“Probably just a rat. They have red eyes by torchlight.”
The first eyes were joined by two more pairs. “Either that or some creature with six eyes.”
“Only one way to tell.”
“Agreed,” said Sou, and raising her sword, ran towards the eyes as fast as the flowing water permitted. Long before she reached their position, the eyes disappeared.
Hugh caught up with her. “I meant approach slowly until you can get a good look at their owners.”
Sou smiled. “Then you should have said so.”
Hugh was about to reply, when the tunnel ahead of them filled with glowing red eyes, rushing towards them. In moments, the tide of rats swept past them, and disappeared downstream. Hugh took a deep breath, and regretted it. “That’s probably not a good sign.”
Sou looked up at him and met his gaze calmly. “Depends what you consider a good sign. Me, I consider it a good sign if it means we can leave these stinking sewers sooner rather than later.”
“Once again, you have a point.” Then he raised his sword. “Unfortunately, so does that! Many, in fact.”
Sou turned and raised her lantern. In the distance, two very large, widely spaced glowing eyes appeared amidst the darkness. With a moist sloshing sound, the creature approached. Hugh held his lantern high; Sou held hers low. In the combined light, the monster’s shape became clear, and it was obvious why descriptions of its form had varied. It had the body of a rat, though one that stood a good three feet at the shoulder, and the naked tail that trailed behind it, thrashing at the water, was thick as a man’s arm. That was alarming enough, but what caused her breath to catch were the glints of light that surrounded it. From its shoulders, a disquieting number of interweaving tentacles tipped with disturbingly human hands brandished a variety of sharp objects, ranging from jaggedly broken bottles to kitchen knives and rusting swords. It had the grey-skinned head of a drowned man, a translucent white, but with the clashing beak of a squid. On closer inspection, the bulging eyes were two clusters that comprised large numbers of mismatched eyes, some of which focused in different directions.
“I recommend we retreat.”
“Agreed. We’re not equipped to fight this thing.”
“I meant only that we should retreat to that spot where the two sewers merge. So we can fight side by side.”
“Ah. I’ll lead the way then, shall I?”
“Unless you want me to leave you here with that creature at your back?”
“No, I prefer a leadership role.” With that, Hugh turned and sped back the way they’d come. Sou retreated more slowly, not eager to turn her back on the creature. As she moved down the gently sloping passageway, sliding on fetid water and worse things that passed beneath her boots, she engaged with the tentacles, the tip of her blade tapping the creature’s weapons in cautious parries, gauging its speed and strength. It was by no means weak or slow, and she accelerated her retreat.
“At your back!”
Unnoticed, she’d reached the fork in the sewer. Hugh occupied the main channel, so she stepped sideways into the branch. At that moment, the monster charged, its many blades flailing. Hugh being so much larger, the creature took him to be the greater threat, and focused on him. He retreated rapidly, parrying in wide arcs to keep as many of the blades as possible at bay. He didn’t fully succeed, and blood began flowing from slashes in his arms, thighs, and chest. But in pressing Hugh, the creature exposed its back to Sou. She wasted no time pressing that advantage.
To her dismay, the creature seemed to have as many limbs behind as in front, and used them every bit as violently. Steel rang on steel or chimed on glass as she parried, blade darting high, low, and from side to side, sparks flitting like fireflies in the lantern’s light. Though she warded off the creature’s weapons well enough to avoid injury, she was soon dripping sewage flung up by the flailing arms.
Hugh grunted, and through a gap between the tentacles, she saw one of the shorter blades hanging from where it had pierced his chest. The creature’s attacks were artless, but so abundant that their sheer number outweighed any lack of skill, also making it difficult to detect any pattern that might lead to an opening. Hugh grunted again, a little more desperately, and Sou redoubled her efforts. As the creature lashed out at her, she began timing each blow and aiming for the “wrists” at the end of its tentacles. The sewage began to flow with deep-purple blood as her blade lopped off the tips of its limbs, accompanied by a high-pitched keening that rose in volume with each additional sword stroke. The more limbs she removed, the easier it became to disarm the others. The creature attempted to withdraw back down the tunnel. Without hesitation, Sou pursued, gaining ground as it weakened from blood loss. Finally, having completely disarmed the creature, she stepped between the flailing tentacles, their blood soaking her shirt, and plunged her blade into its chest, aiming for where she imagined the heart to be. Her first thrust struck bone and rebounded, but her second passed cleanly through its ribs. The creature shuddered once, its keening stopped, and it slumped into the sewage.
Sou freed her blade and turned, triumph in her grin. Her grin faded. Hugh sat amidst the sewage, water lapping about his waist. Two blades—one short as a dagger and one longer—protruded from his chest, blood trickling from around the edges of the blades. He’d lost his sword, and was pale from blood loss.
“Are the wounds bad?”
He gritted his teeth and pulled the blades free. “Bad enough. Come help me up.”
Sou sheathed her sword and gave him her hand. He clasped it and pulled her towards him, brushing his lips against hers.
She recoiled, and spat at his feet. “Men have died for less!”
“And would gladly do it again in the hope they’d die for more.”
Sou snorted. “Flatterer. You could yet get your wish.”
Hugh offered his hand again. “Then I’d die happy.”
Sou hesitated a moment, then grinned and pulled him to his feet.
Author’s notes
The Mouse That Roared is the title of a novel by Leonard Wibberley (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Mouse_That_Roared), which has little to do with this story other than the title and the notion of the seemingly weaker party conquering a much larger opponent. Mouse’s nickname, “Sou”, is an undisguised shout-out to Johnny Cash’s song A Boy Named Sue but also a shortening of the French word (souris) for a mouse and a small antique French coin. Mouse is one of the duo of protagonists of a series of gender-swapped stories based on Fritz Leiber’s famous Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser series (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fafhrd_and_the_Gray_Mouser). Two have already been published.
©May 2022, Geoffrey Hart
Geoffrey Hart has published stories in many publications including Analog and Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine as well as in several anthologies. More information can be found at http://geoff-hart.com/fiction/short-stories/index.htm. This is his first appearance in Swords & Sorcery.