• Solo • Trapped like Rodentia!

[Oram Mednix]

92nd Trial of Vhalar, shortly after the events of this thread.

Oram knocked on the door of the Daltrik’s farmhouse and waited out the inevitable outburst of deep, loud barking. White-Beard had told him that this farmer had recently lost a dog and was contending with rat problems as a result, but apparently Daltrik kept more than one dog, for more than one purpose. While this other dog continued to bark, Oram waited.

The man who answered the door after several minutes was tall and thin, and looked to be about as old as Oram’s father would have been had he yet lived. At his hip in the doorway was the face of a large mastiff, which regarded the visitor with the same noncommittal expression as its master. He spoke in Scalveen, asking what Oram wanted. ”You have rats?” Oram replied in the same language. ”I catch rats.” The man regarded him for a few more trills. ”Would you be more comfortable in Common?” he asked, speaking now in that language. ”Or some other tongue?”

Oram relaxed and switched as well. ”Yes, please, I am much more comfortable with Common. The white bearded farmer about a quarter league from here said you had lost your rat dog and were now having some problems with rats or mice. I could help you trap them until you replace the dog.” He paused when he realized there was something he hadn’t asked. ”You are Daltrik, yes? I am Oram.”

Daltrik nodded curtly. ”Yes, I am. Well met, Oram. I know the farmer you describe, and he told you true. You catch these rats, there’ll be something in it for you.”

Oram nodded. ”Show me where the problem is, then we can talk price.”

[Oram Mednix]

IC post template

A Very Clever Title

It did not take long for Oram to see that Daltrik indeed had rat problems; two of the things scuttled out of sight just as the farmer swung open the barn door. Daltrik walked into the rectangle of light cast into the gloomy interior and gestured for the hunter to follow. ”We didn’t lose much of the harvest, thank the Immortals” he explained as Oram peered into the dark recesses around them. The farmer fetched a lamp from a nail inside the door and lit it as he continued to explain. ”We didn’t even notice the problem until after we’d moved out most of the wheat to mill.”

A dim light, more yellow than the pale sunlight, flickered against the nearby walls, then strengthened so that Oram could at last see most of the interior. Ledges, pillars, and pieces of equipment cast stark shadows against paneled walls. Daltrik’s barn was well laid-out and solidly built. Oram couldn’t feel a draft, and almost no light leaked in through chinks in the walls. That would make it easier to figure out how the rats were getting in, he figured. To his surprise, Daltrik handed him the lamp. ”Go ahead,” he invited. ”Have a look.”

Oram held the lamp and looked along the walls and floor. There were rat droppings a-plenty. A few times he tried shifting the lamp quickly, to see if he could catch any of the rats hiding in the darkness, without success.

”What do you think?” asked Daltrik.

Oram brought the lamp back and handed it to the farmer. ”I’ll do it,” he told him. The two agreed to a price, based on how many rats Oram caught. ”Do you need a place to put up while you’re working?” Daltrik asked. Oram shook his head. ”I have a campsite nearby. I’ll stay there.”

[Oram Mednix]

...and they are fine stealthy secret fellows.

With the haggling out of the way, Oram was ready to get to work, and Daltrik was ready to leave him to it. The traveler was welcome, the homesteader told him, to come to the house and ask if he needed anything. The lamp Oram had just used was always kept in the barn, and he was free to use it again as needed.

Daltrik left, and Oram was left alone to face the cavernous, dark, infested barn. As the farmer’s back receded towards the house, Oram gazed thoughtfully at that barn as he tried to formulate a plan. Oram actually had no experience catching rats, mainly being familiar with snares for rabbits and martens. He was not sure if such snares would work for this quarry; however, since it was what he knew best, he would try that first.

He would start by trying to figure out where the rats were coming into the barn, or whether they were already nested in there. That meant relighting the lamp and then wading into the gloom. The barn was in excellent repair, and Oram at least didn’t need to worry about putting his foot through a rotten floorboard. The planks thudded firmly under his feet. A good solid floor would make it easier to spot a rat’s nest or rat droppings, yet he found none as he walked down the middle aisle of the barn towards the back. As he reached the back wall, he thought he heard scurrying in the corner to his right. He twisted the lamp suddenly and looked in that direction; the flame shook and wavered from the sudden movement, and for a moment Oram thought it would go out, but after a couple trills its light steadied into a calm yellow pool that revealed a turned-over barrow, its busted single wheel jutting upward into the gloom.

Oram walked over carefully and kicked the side of the barrow to see if anything stirred. Nothing. Bending over cautiously he examined the corner behind. There were rat droppings there, running all along the wall back towards the front. As he followed these, he again heard scurrying, and his eyes caught a quick flutter of motion at the edge of the lamplight; although he did not get a clear look, he was certain it was a rat. The trail of droppings disappeared behind more equipment and large oddments arrayed against the wall. On the other side of this thicket of junk the wall was again clear, only here there were no droppings. The rats were most likely coming in from somewhere behind all those things, Oram concluded

He looked around the rest of the edge of the barn, and also looked at the shelves raised along the walls. There were droppings here and there, although many of them looked old. The trail he had seen earlier was apparently the fresh one the vermin were using.

Oram had seen enough of the inside for now. He put out the flame in the lamp and hung it on its hook next to the entrance, then, after swinging the large doors to, he examined the outside of the barn. He found a small hole in the wood near the ground along one wall. It was, he judged, about the right place to come into the barn behind that thicket of junk he had seen. He assembled a snare, using a still-green branch he chopped off of a nearby tree as the tension arm, and set it at the entrance of the hole, the same way he was used to trapping rabbit runs. Lacking better bait, he placed one of his remaining carrot tops just inside the snare loop.

Rising to look over his handiwork, Oram decided that his snare was set as well as could be. Remembering that rats liked to come out when it was dark, he decided to come back in the morning. He had no idea how quickly Daltrik expected results; some townies could be impatient and unreasonable, not understanding that some things just take time. Hopefully this farmer was not such a one. Knocking on the side of the barn for luck, Oram turned and returned to camp.

[Oram Mednix]

Saw a Crow Flying Low Fooba Wooba

The following morning brought both good and bad tidings. The rabbit snares had caught two more, one still in full summer coat, the other all white. This was lucky, as some rabbits were still molting in Vhalar. Their pelts weren’t nearly as valuable as either the dark or the white ones.

Before going into town to sell his catch, Oram went to check on the Daltrik farm, to see if his trap there had been as lucky. As he approached the barn, he saw something moving along the side, around the spot where he had placed the snare. It was a large, dark, greasy-looking creature, and at first he thought it might be a huge rat. As he drew near, however, the animal pulled its head unscathed from the snare and raised it to gaze cheekily at the human, carrot top clamped in its beak.

Oram swore and stalked towards the thing. Feking crow! The bird hopped away casually as he approached, its lack of fear just making the situation more enraging. The hunter thought about chucking his hatchet at the thing, but after a moment settled on a small rock instead. Narrowly missed by the rock, the bird flapped its black wings loudly and flew high into a nearby tree, whence it cawed defiantly at its attacker.

With a sharp breath, Oram willed himself to calm down and pointedly ignored the jeering crow as he turned to look glumly at his failed trap. He was no closer to being sure if this was even where the rats were coming in, and now he knew he would have to set his trap inside the barn. Re-baiting this one had no point; the crow would just come back the moment he left to steal the carrot again.

Taking the snare with him inside the barn, Oram tried to figure out how to set it. The fact that the building was well-built actually posed a problem. It had a wooden floor, so he would not be able to drive anything into the ground. After some trial and error, he took the broken barrow and turned it upright. By tying some cord between the handles and twisting a stick in it tourniquet-style, he was able to create a tension arm to which he could then attach the snare wire. The mass of the wheelbarrow would be enough to anchor the thing for trapping rats, he guessed.

The bigger problem was how to catch the snare in place once the snare line was under tension. His usual trick of using two notched sticks to anchor a crosspiece would not work, since he had no way of forcing one them into the floor. Finally, he noticed a couple loose nail-heads in the floorboards that he could hook a thin stick under. Using these, after a few tries, he had a setup that would spring properly. He did not know if a visiting rat would visit his set, though, but for now he had no better ideas. After placing the bait under the snare, he went back to the doorway, extinguished the lamp, and refilled the now nearly empty reservoir with oil from the oil bottle.

After shutting the barn doors, he left for town to sell his rabbits, and also perhaps to ask his brother about proper rat traps.

[Oram Mednix]

The Cage is all the rage…

Oram had decided to keep the smaller rabbit for his own supper, but to sell the carcass of the dark-furred one, which was fatter. He reckoned he could get a good price for it. He would show the animal to possible buyers with its fur to assure them that it had been healthy, only removing the pelt after he had made a sale. Before he did that, however, he went to visit his Osric, to ask about making rat traps.

Oram visited his brother at his work, where his wife was less likely to be around. As he had hoped, she was back at camp, and he was able to speak to Osric unbothered. The tinker was attaching a metal ring to a brass lantern much like the one Oram had just used back at Daltrik’s barn, and he greeted his younger one with a scowl that suggested that this wasn’t the best time for him. Not having a better time to talk himself, however, Oram pressed on anyway. ”Good trial, Osric,” he said, ”I wanted to talk to you about making a trap to catch rats.”

At the mention of traps, Osric’s expression warmed; the fun of making traps was one of the few things the brothers had always had in common. It was something Osric could make time for. He beckoned Oram to come into the back of the shop.

On the floor along the wall of a storage room sat an oblong, square-mouthed wire cage, with a door at one end that was currently raised, extending on the same plane as the top of the cage, and locked in to position that way somehow. Osric picked it up and brought it over to a table where the two siblings could examine it more closely. Setting it down he asked: ”Do you see the the trigger mechanism?”

Oram spotted it in a trill: a metal hook connected to a rod that extended up through the roof of the cage. He pointed to it, grinning. ”May I?” he asked. Wordlessly Osric turned the mouth of the cage to where Oram could reach into it. When the hunter nudged the trigger, the mechanism it activated released the door, which dropped gently onto Oram’s forearm. When he pulled his hand out of the cage to let the door close all the way, he saw a locking slide that had been at the top of the door fall to rest in a waiting cradle at its bottom. He tried the cage door and found that it would not open simply by pulling on it; he had to push the slide back up first.

”What are you asking for a rat trap for?” Osric queried. Oram pondered telling his brother about his job at Daltrik’s farm, but decided against it. ”I want to catch rats to use as baits for martens and foxes,” he said instead. This wasn’t quite a lie, as he intended to start doing just that once he was finished with Daltrik.

If Osric sensed that his brother wasn’t telling him everything, he gave no sign of it. He patted the cage. ”I could let you borrow this for a tenday or so if you like.”

Oram shook his head. ”Thank you, I’d rather make my own trap,” he answered.

Osric smirked. ”Of course you would. And if you’d taken me up on that apprenticeship a while back you would now know how to make one of these yourself.” He patted the cage again.

Oram rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood to be scolded. ”Are there other types of traps that I could maybe make more easily?” he asked.

The tinker regarded him, still with that knowing smirk. ”There’s a thing called a bucket trap you could probably make yourself, but I don’t happen to have one around.” He thought for a moment. ”I’ll bet the Knight’s Rest has one, though.”

”Why do you say that?” Oram asked, suddenly interested.

”I tried to sell Whit one of my cage traps while back, and he told me that he already had his rats sorted. Far as I know, they don’t have a rat-catching animal at the inn, and they wouldn’t use poison around the food, so I’m guessing Whit’s got something like a bucket trap.”

Oram nodded. Osric was always clever when it came to working out this sort of thing. The hunter was sure his older brother was right. ”All right,” he said, making to leave. ”I’ll try there. Thank you. Take care, brother.”

[Oram Mednix]

…but the Pail will prevail

It was not yet too close to mid-trial when Oram walked into the Knight’s Rest Inn, and thus it was not too busy, although even at this break there were some patrons drinking quietly at the bar. It did not take long for the traveler to spot the proprietor and get his attention. The big man was in the back, talking to his daughter in a resonant voice that carried over everything else even though he was not raising it.

As Oram shuffled further into the tavern, Whit looked up and boomed: ”Welcome to the Knight’s Rest, stranger, what can I do for you-wait, do I know you?” The innkeeper strode towards him into better light, and then seemed to recognize the new guest. Oram, like everybody in Scalvoris, of course recognized Whit. ”You’re Osric’s baby brother, am I right?” he asked. Oram nodded and raised the rabbit he had brought. The innkeeper examined it appraisingly. ”That’s quite a nice rabbit. Let’s go out in the sunlight to take a good look at it.”

The traveler accompanied Whit out the front door, where the innkeeper examined the rabbit more closely. After a moment he nodded, satisfied. ”Yes, that’ll be a nice rabbit. You could be bring me more, if you liked.” He looked up from the catch. ”What do you want for it?”

”Actually,” Oram replied, ”I had a question. Does your inn you use a bucket trap to catch rats?”

The big man scowled dangerously. ”That’s a rather rude question, young man,” he warned. ”What are you suggesting?”

The hunter sensed he’d misstepped somehow, and got a bit flustered. ”W-well,” he muttered uncertainly, ”I heard you didn’t want a trap from my brother, and we figured maybe it was because…”

Whit jabbed his finger at the traveler’s chest. ”Maybe my fine establishment just doesn’t have any rats. You and your brother had better not be spreading talk suggesting that it does!"

This was going from bad to worse. ”P-please, sir,” Oram pleaded. ”I want to learn how to make and use a bucket trap, and I thought you might have one.”

Some realization came to Whit, and it caught him off guard. ”You’re a hunter. What, are you hunting *rats* now? Are times so bad for you?” His attitude quickly went from offended to appalled.

Oram shook his head quickly. ”N-no. I use them for bait, to hunt martens and foxes.” That was the same explanation he had given his brother. It had satisfied Osric, but after unwittingly offending Whit, he decided he needed to explain more. ”I also took a job from a farmer to catch rats for him, but the snares I’m used to using for other animals don’t work, so I need to figure out how to make something that works for rats.”

Whit looked at the traveler appraisingly for a moment, and Oram wasn’t certain if he had succeeded in calming the innkeeper down, but at last he grunted: ”Heh. I’m not surprised. Rats are clever. And yeah, you need a different sort of trap for that. You’re in luck, because yes, we have a bucket trap here. And you’re also in luck that I’m in a good mood, or else I’d have thrown you out on your arse just now. So what did you want for the rabbit again?”

”Just that. Show me how you make and use the trap.”

Whit shook his head, slightly puzzled, but then said: ”That’s the oddest offer I’ve heard in about a tentrial, but it’s a fair one. Alright, you’ve got a deal. Come.”

He turned to walk back into the inn, but just as Oram started to follow him, the big man whirled around and raised a warning finger. ”Breathe one word about rats in front of my patrons,” he hissed, ”and I *will* throw you out on your arse, got it?” Eyes fixed on the meaty finger, Oram nodded. With that, Whit turned back and strode into the inn, with the hunter scuttling behind.

[Oram Mednix]

…but the Pail will prevail (cont’d)

Whit lead Oram back into the pantry. There, behind two barrels of flour, sat a tall bucket half filled with water. Overhanging the water, secured at the end of a stick run through the bucket’s handle-hold, was an empty bottle. A small piece of wood formed a ramp from the floor to the lip of the bucket in front of the bottle.

”Rats can’t keep their footing on glass,” explained Whit. ”If you put bait at the base of the bottle, the rats will crawl out onto it and then fall in.”

Oram peered into the bucket dubiously. There was currently no sign of rats inside. ”Can’t rats swim?” he asked.

”Yes,” answered the innkeeper, ”but not forever. Eventually they get exhausted and drown. Trust me, it works.”

Oram looked at the bottle. There was something smeared along the bottom. He pointed at the substance. ”Is *that* the bait?” he asked.

Whit nodded. ”Hazelnut paste.”

”Rats like hazelnut paste?” Oram asked.

”Among other things. Any kind of food that they like will do, if it can be made into a paste like this. You could probably just dampen cornmeal and use that.” The innkeeper shrugged. ”Every rat is different, though. You may have to try a few different things to find out what yours likes.”

Oram marveled at the simplicity of the trap. Yes, this was definitely something he could make, with materials that a farm as large as Daltrik’s was likely to have lying around, or that he himself could scrounge up easily enough. ”How many rats do you catch with this thing?” he asked. Whit shook his head and laughed. ”More than I would like. I’ve only caught maybe three these last few tentrials, but I expect that to change as the season wears on. I’ve had as many as four appear in the trap in one morning, though something like that’s rare.”

Oram whistled. ”I’d want to make sure the rats were dead before removing them,” he observed. ”They usually drown in a few bits,” Whit assured him. ”I’ve never seen a live rat in this trap.”

Oram gazed at the thing for a few more trills, then looked up at the proprietor. ”I think I’ve seen what I need. Thank you”

The two left the pantry, and Whit pointed out the dark-skinned woman working in the kitchen. ”Give her the rabbit,” he told the hunter. ”She’ll know what to do.” Oram approached the woman and saw she was Qi’ora. He had never seen a Qi’ora before. He had no idea their skin looked that strange. Whit cleared his throat and Oram realized that he was staring. Collecting himself, he presented the rabbit. ”I keep the pelt,” he explained, ”you keep the rest.”

The woman smiled but said nothing, looking intently at the rabbit as Oram offered it. He was just about to offer to skin it himself when she took it, grabbed a skinning knife, cut the rabbit ventrally, and peeled the skin from the flesh as quickly and easily as Oram could remove his coat and hat. She dried the skin side of the pelt with a cloth and then handed it back to him. In that entire time not one sound had come out of her mouth.

Whit was already in the common room, tending to customers and discussing something with his daughter when Oram emerged from the kitchen. ”I have what I need,” he announced when Whit turned to look at him, ”and your cook has your rabbit. Thank you, and good trial.”

With that, Oram set out to scavenge the parts he would need for his first bucket trap.

[Oram Mednix]

It’s just a harmless little bottle with food on it…

Well into the afternoon, Oram walked back to the camp with his meager loot in tow. He had a large, deep pail, solid if somewhat battered-looking, inside of which were: an empty glass bottle with a long crack on the side, a few hard lumps of beeswax, a short plank of wood with a split in it, and a half-used packet of hazelnut paste, the contents of which had started to sprout a skin of mold. Only the beeswax was purchased. The bucket was on loan and the other things scavenged. The coppers he had gotten for his pelts would scarcely have covered buying such items new. Squinting up a the sun, Oram reckoned he had a couple breaks of sunlight left, just enough to check on Ornot, then get to Daltrik’s farm, do what he needed to then, check his rabbit snares and finally return to his campsite before dusk, where he could sup on the rabbit he still had with him.

When he got to Daltrik’s farm, the farmer and his wife were both on their front porch talking. They had seen him coming up the road some ways, and Daltrik called to him as he approached. The farmer introduced his wife, Thera, a sturdy weatherbeaten woman who didn’t look much younger than Daltrik. Inside the house, the traveler could hear the deep, strong barking of the dog apparently named “Bumblebear.” Thera’s welcome of Oram was about as neutral as his response to her. As far as he was concerned, that counted as a good start. Daltrik pointed at the bucket. ”You’re gonna make your trap out of that?” he asked. Oram nodded.

”I have such oddments lying around” the farmer protested, ”some of them in the barn itself. You could have asked.”

Oram shrugged. ”Didn’t want to impose,” he replied. ”Making the trap is my worry, not yours.”

Daltrik made a gesture as if he feared he might have somehow given offense. ”Of course,” he said soothingly, ”do as you see fit.”

Oram paid no mind except to give a vague nod. With a final parting ”Ma’am” he excused himself and left their company for the late-daylight shadows of the barn. When he got there he opened the barn door and left it open while he fetched the lamp from its nail and lit it. In its light, he could see that the trap he had tried to set up with the wheelbarrow had not been disturbed. There was no sign of anything, not even ants, being interested in the carrot top. Disappointed but not really surprised, Oram turned to the components for his new trap, and looked around for the droppings and other rat trails he had seen earlier.

When he found them, he could not tell if there were any new droppings; at most there were not many. He doubted the rats were done with the barn, though, so he picked a site along the droppings trail and started to lay down the components of the trap. He wouldn’t set the trap yet, but rather lay down the pieces on the floor crammed against the wall, with a bit of hazelnut paste smeared along the base of the bottle. The bucket he placed next to the plank and the bottle, so that it hid them from view from the center of the room. The one component he didn’t leave was the beeswax; he didn’t want rats chewing on it before he’d even set the trap. He wanted both to find out if the rats here liked hazelnut paste, and also to give them a chance to get comfortable with coming to the site to take the bait. Once everything was in place, he left to check his rabbit snares.

[Oram Mednix]

Il va un rat dans le grenier

The trap components showed no signs of being disturbed by rats when Oram checked the following morning, nor did his makeshift wheelbarrow snare. Deciding the latter was a waste of time, Oram dismantled it and threw the now-rotting carrot top away. He had caught another rabbit with his snares in the night, another lovely white one, so after he had checked the traps he went into town to sell it for some provisions. When he got back to his campsite, he spent time making sure Ornot was alright, then settled down to rest for the remaining bits. Saving energy was important, Oram told himself, as he lay down. Then again, his father used to say to him: “There is never nothing to do. If you think there is, you’ve overlooked something.” So even as he tried to relax, his mind was restless, trying to figure out what needed to be done.

Something occured to him when he decided to take a dump: unless he made a latrine, things were going to start getting messy around this campsite. He should also make a little pen for Ornot, which would make the goat’s turds easier to clean up, too. With a groan, he realized that his father, long dead as he was, was right, and that he had work to do yet. After he dug himself a little slit trench for his own waste, he stretched some rope between some trees in a rough square, and stacked branches against it to make a little pen for the goat. By the time he was done, it was late enough, and he was tired enough that he didn’t feel like doing anything other than resting, for the rest of the trial.

The following morning, his trap components showed signs of having been visited by rats. There were droppings on the split plank, and something had nibbled on the hazelnut paste. It was time to assemble the actual trap. Not wanting to touch the thing with his bare hands more than he had to, so that it wouldn’t smell like man, Oram wore his gloves while he worked.

The bucket had a wooden handle fastened into place with pegs, which Oram hammered loose with the back end of his hatchet. The handle was thick, so the holes left in the rim when he removed it were big enough to insert a good-sized stick. The other end of this stick would go into the bottle; Oram whittled that end down until it fit loosely into the mouth. The thicker end of the stick was almost the perfect size for one of the handle holes, but not quite, so the hunter placed a lump of beeswax on top of the lantern to soften it, then formed it into the hole so as to hold the stick firmly in place once it hardened.

Part of the stick jutted outside the bucket, and Oram whittled the top side of that flatter so that one end of the plank would sit steadily on it to form a ramp, set at right angles to the stick, as flush to the wall as he could get it. He smeared some fresh hazelnut paste on the base of the bottle. All he had to do was pour some water into the bucket to finish setting the trap.

He wanted to do one more thing before that, however. He wanted the rats to nibble at the bait one more time before actually setting off the trap, so he placed another flat piece of wood across the mouth of the bucket, parallel to the stick, so that the rats would be able to nibble at the hazelnut paste safely without falling in. After they got used to doing that, Oram would remove the plank so that the rats would have to clamber out onto the stick itself. Then once they set foot on the the bottle it would shift under the rats’ weight and they would fall off into the water below.

When Oram was getting water from the well, he ran into Thera, who asked him mistrustfully what he was doing. The hunter invited her to follow him into the barn so he could show her. After he did that and explained the trap’s setup to her, she asked: ”Why has it taken several trials to get to this? You could have set up this trap on the first trial.”

Oram explained: ”Trapping rats is hard. They are smart, and they don’t trust new things. So you have to give them time to get used to visiting where the trap is and eating the bait before you actually spring it. Otherwise they never come at all.”

Thera, standing in silhouette framed by the barn door, put her hands on her hips and eyed the gypsy skeptically. Oram didn’t get the feeling that she disliked him, only that she didn’t quite trust what he was doing. ”Your husband is only paying me for rats I actually catch,” he assured her. ”I get nothing if I catch nothing. If I could catch them quicker, I would.”

The woman seemed to relent at that. "Mark my words, though," she said. "I won't let you and my husband spend all cold cycle playing around with gadgets in the barn. I want results, and soon." With that, she left.

As Thera's silhouette disappeared from the doorway, Oram looked at his trap. He sure hoped that it would produce the results he had promised. He didn’t need the homesteaders to find out that he was guessing without the benefit of experience.

[Oram Mednix]

Trapped like Rodentia! (hey, that’s the thread title, too!)

Oram did indeed catch his first rat in two trials’ time, though not quite in the way he had expected. The morning after his conversation with Thera, there was nothing in his bucket, but on the following morning there was a drowned rat floating in the water. Apparently it had fallen in in spite of having safe access to the bait via the board laid across the bucket’s mouth. The bait was almost entirely gone from all around the base of the bottle; either that this one rat had been very greedy, or the bottle had been visited by several critters, with only this one unlucky enough to fall in.

The important thing, though, was that he had results to report to the homesteaders. That should make them happy and keep them off of his back for awhile. He went to knock on the door of the farmhouse, and Daltrik answered. The mastiff in the house woofed a few times, but did not persist. Perhaps it was getting used to having Oram around.

”I got one,” he announced.

”Just one?” the farmer prodded.

”It is a beginning. In the coming trials there will be more, I think. Do you want to see it?”

Daltrik made a wry face. ”Not really, but I suppose I should look, anyway.”

They went to the barn, and Oram showed the homesteader the rat. ”Is it dead?” Daltrik asked, squinting into the bucket. Oram took his spear, which he had left leaning on the wall nearby, and poked the body, which did not stir.

Daltrik nodded, relieved. ”Please get rid of it.”

Once Daltrik left, Oram scooped out the rat with his spear tip and set it on a cloth. Then he put on his gloves and set to work resetting the trap. He restored the trap as it was before, except this time without the plank laid across the mouth; from now on the rats would have to crawl directly onto the bottle. He suspected that he would catch a lot more rats each trial from here forward.