The titular ermine character in this short story is a parody of myself, but with very exaggerated negative qualities, including some which I'm able to repress.

Sceya II is the one who collected all the stories and information about Boneflower into a single work, i.e. the Boneflower Saga.
He's not the same as the character of Sceya in the main part of the Boneflower Saga. He's just named after him, and thinks of himself as somewhat of an heir and a saviour of his namesake's memory.
He is not me - I see myself as an editor working several centuries later on a republication of the old work.

I enjoyed writing this - it's always fun writing about an anti-hero.


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Nearly halfway through his duties, the rat decided now was as good a time as any to take a breather. He pushed the cart laden with cleaning supplies to the side of the hallway and leaned against the wall. He scratched the base of his ear and, breathing deeply, let a smile open across his face. He might not make enough to afford a room for the night, but he figured working in those rooms was almost as good, certainly the best he could expect in this lifetime.

"Excuse me."

The rat turned his head, in no particular hurry, to face the voice, which didn't sound like it deserved to be excused at all. It belonged to a short, bespectacled stoat, sporting a chocolate-brown mop of hair and a grumpy scowl.

"Yes, sir?"

The stoat regarded him over his glasses. "I was told this was a first-class, five-star establishment. Is that true?"

The answer was already embedded in the tone of the question, but the rat had been trained to deal with this kind of guest. "Yes, sir."

"Really! You certainly seem sure of that!"

"Yes, sir."

"Hm! Amazing, how easily a business can brainwash its employees! Anyone with two bits of sense to knock together wouldn't rate this higher than a 1 - at best!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way, sir. Is there any way I can-"

"Sorry? Hah! But yes, you CAN do something about it: you can take a look for yourself at your monumental screw-up."

He had been trained well. The desire to flip the stoat the bird remained well packed beneath his respectful veneer.

A pause. "Well?" The stoat stuck out his head. "Come on! Follow me!"

Despite the perfect opportunity to make faces and obscene motions at this self-proclaimed judge of hostelries as they proceeded along the corridor, the rat maintained his professionalism.

They passed through an open doorway into a room which virtually epitomised opulence. Everything that could be gilded was so, sporting decadent floral and arboreal designs ad nauseum. Even the spice-scented atmosphere seemed somehow golden. Even the most world-weary and blasé of nobles could not have suppressed a tear at the overwhelming grandiosity. Yet somehow, the current occupants did - the rat, because he was conditioned to betray no such emotion, and the stoat... the rat had his suspicions, but all of them involved multiple-tiered curses laced with profanities that would leave a priest sobbing.

Hands akimbo, the stoat passed his arm in front of him, motioning to the entire shining chamber. "Well? You see the disgrace?"

"I'm afraid," he half-murmured, "I don't know what you mean."

"Stars above," the stoat cried, throwing hands in that very direction, "are you blind?! Isn't it obvious?! Are you really that dense?!"

"I'm afraid," he half-murmured, "I don't know what you mean."

Staring aghast, disbelieving, the stoat looked at the rat, then at the silk-bedraped bed, then at the rat, then at the bed, and repeated the motion several times. "You're telling me you can't fucking see it?!!"

His willpower flattened his fur's burning desire to bristle. "I'm afraid, sir, that I do not."

"But-... but-... but how isn't it obvious? The flaw's right there, staring you in the face! Even a headless worm could see what's missing! And you'd call yourself a rat," he sputtered.

If only the manager could see this, I would be awarded Employee of the Month in an instant! "What appears to be missing, sir?"

"Nothing! Nothing appears to be missing! It is missing - they are missing!"

A tableau. The stoat held his arms in front of him, elbows bent, the forearms parallel and level, palms up, fingers slightly curved, his head sticking out forward, mouth ajar, eyes wide, staring at the rat. The rat, at ease, looked straight forward, facing the window on the opposite wall, eyes locked on the window directly in front of him.

"THE SHEETS, YOU IMBICILE, THE SHEETS AND BLANKETS! YOU FORGOT TO MAKE THE GODDAMN BED, YOU NITWIT!"

How he managed to maintain his composure remained a mystery to the rat as he walked over to the bed and looked for himself.

After several seconds of inspection, he turned to face the stoat, who had returned to his tableau pose after the little screaming dance of rage. "I think you'll find, sir, that if you move the pillows and lift the covers, you will see that both the sheets and blankets are accounted for."

The stoat stormed over, making sure to push the rat aside. Tossing one pillow off one side of the bed, shoving the others to the other side, and yanking the covers away he glared at the line of pristine, perfectly-folded whiteness, with eyes almost intense enough to light a fire. He held that pose for some time, his right eye twitching furiously. At length, a growl escaped his lips. "You will return this bed to its previous state, but you will NOT," he interjected with full lung power, "you will NOT pull the cover up all the way. You will FOLD it immediately before it reaches the pillows. Is - that - ab-solute-ly clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. I will leave you to it while I wash my face," he rumbled as he made his way to the washroom. "And don't even think about stealing anything. My namesake may have been absent-minded, but Sceya the Second is not," he added before slamming the door.

The rat's lips moved silently and profanely as he went about his task.