Peter rubbed at the back of his neck. "I've never really looked at what that power does to people. So I'm not sure if it will count as an injury or not."
Healer fussed over the larger man in the bed. He pressed a hand to Sunder's bald scalp and his eyes widened. "Well, that's certainly interesting. No injuries, obvious or otherwise, but Sunder always was tougher than normal flesh should allow for."
Caliban glanced at Peter who seemed curious, but still skittish, then towards Healer. "So how is he?"
"Complete exhaustion." Healer said after a moment's contemplation. "No actual injuries, it's just that his metabolic processes are at an abysmally low level. It almost seems like all the energy in his body was squeezed out."
"That sounds about right?" Peter replied vaguely.
Healer shook his head. "There's not really much I can do for him besides let him rest. I've given him a little bit of energy, but I suspect he'll be fine soon enough. Probably be ravenous afterwards." He tapped at his bearded chin as he thought aloud. "I suspect I'll have to put him on a glucose drip for a while if he's going to be too unconscious to actually eat."
Caliban smiled. "Wonderful. We shall have to be on our way. Caliban still has a few more places to show Dumas for his tour."
"Of course." Healer gave them a smile, but then snapped his fingers. "I almost forgot, will you be visiting the Cistern?"
Caliban gave Healer a level look. "That is not her name."
Healer replied stiffly, "I meant the place, not the person."
Caliban's expression softened. "Fine. We are going to see her."
"Would you please ask her if she's done with my copy of L'Morte D'Artur?"
"Caliban will ask."
- - -
Peter stood just inside a large chamber that at one time was a subway station. The smell of the place was an assault on the senses. There was a mix of scents. Musk, crap, older musty scents that were buried under a ton of other less palatable and indescribable scents.
The chamber was swimming in the impression of prey and predators. Weak, barely worth pursuing, barely any effort to kill… but quite plentiful.
The rail tracks were still visible towards the far end of the area, but where the tracks should've joined with the actual rail lines just ended in bricked up walls. The bricked up walls on both sides had incongruous looking air vents set up dead center on the walls with little paper strips stuck to the vents and fluttering in an obvious breeze bringing fresh air into the area which did very little to keep the smell from becoming overwhelming.
Caliban had led Peter through a set of tunnels coming out of what had looked like an airlock at the end of the Alley and down into a set of tunnels the looked like storm drains, before they crossed over into a very old-fashioned brick Subway station.
A very old wooden sign that they passed declared the station, "Bowling Green". Someone had added a much newer cardboard sign below it, that had copied the original's style that had the words "Rat Ranch"
There were at least a dozen Morlocks moving around the area, no two of them looking alike. Some pushed carts covered with tarps that reeked, others were carrying bags of what seemed like garbage that also stank profusely.
Every visible wall of the old subway station was lined with small chicken wire cages that contained hundreds upon hundreds of large rats. The rats were, contrary to expectation, absolutely quiet. They sat and stared out of their little cages, dead eyed and apathetic.
The center of the subway station was curtained off and the worst of the smells seemed to be coming from that area. Iron and offal. All around that area was covered in a multitude of small brown stains so ground into the tile floor that it almost seemed like everything would need to be pulled up before it would ever come close to being clean.
Instead of rates, what could be heard instead was some kind of wood wind instrument playing a somber haunting tune. The music slowed and stopped as Peter caught sight of the man, just outside of the curtained area, who had been playing. He was an older man, with iron gray hair and a large beard, but no mustache. He wore overalls with heavy work boots, but over that, he had a tuxedo coat with tails. Over the bib of his overalls, was a stiff, frilly tux shirtfront, complete with a bow tie, that peeked out from under his beard. He also wore a shapeless, bonnet cap that flopped over one side of his head. In his hand was a small flute that didn't seem like it was large enough to produce the rich sounds Peter had been hearing.
The man gave Caliban a friendly nod in greeting.
Caliban returned the nod and gestured. "This is Piper. Please do not get into a fist fight with him."
Peter rolled his eyes. "Are you going to keep saying that?"
Caliban gave an innocent grin. "It is entirely possible."
Piper extended a hand towards Peter. He contemplated it for just a moment, before he tentatively accepted and shook hands. The moment of contact was enough for him to reach out and touch the man's power. Some sort of telepathic ability but with some kind of audible focus. He could feel the shape of it. The weight of it. The ease with which he could claim it.
This time, he let it go, deliberately. Not simply breaking off contact. More like what he had done with Sunder and chosen not to take it.
He gave Piper a smile and glanced around. "So… I'm going to take a wild guess here. Your power lets you control rats with your pipe?"
Piper chuckled, tapping the side of his nose with his pipe as he gave Peter a wink. "Got it in one, kid." He had a pleasant tenor voice. "It's any animal, really, but I've just had more practice with the rats."
"Piper is in charge of the Bowling Green Rat Ranch." Caliban explained.
"That seems to imply there's other rat ranches?" Peter asked carefully.
Piper shook his head. "We thought about it, but since the only other rat wrangler we have is Mother Inferior and she wasn't interested in helping. We ended up just expanding this one place instead of trying to set up other places."
Peter glanced around. "So the rat ranch is for the meat, I'm guessing?" He asked carefully.
Caliban nodded gravely. "Not a lot of room for cows down here."
"Cook it up right and you'd never even know," Piper pointed out with a certain relish. "Between the meat and the eggs, we can do alright for stretches even if we can't get supplies from up top."
Peter frowned. "Eggs? But rats don't–"