Chapter 496: The Last Act
The Masked Gentleman whistled as he strolled upon the deck of Weinstadt’s former flagship.
He was pleasantly surprised.
Only a handful of rats were there to answer his call. The last time he had done that, there were so many rodents rushing forth from every nook and cranny that he had to wonder how the ship was still afloat.
Particularly given the maintenance orders he was in charge of.
He gave another whistle, then smiled as they all hopped overboard to enjoy a leisurely swim in the moonlit waters of Reitzlake’s docks.
Usually, he wouldn’t bother.
Trying to rid himself of the rats that followed him was like trying to bat away the wind. But since he’d already failed to ask Princess Florella for permission to intrude upon her ship, the thought of allowing his companions to accompany him for this breach of etiquette was too galling for him to bear.
After all, he saw firsthand the improvements she had made.
Starting with the name.
The Gentle Princess.
It was far better than whatever it was before. But that wasn’t the only thing that had changed.
The Golden Prince had insisted upon the most gaudy decoration he could dig from a swamp. And all of it had to be trimmed with gold. By the end of his tenure, the formidable galleon was less a seafaring vessel and more a floating treasure chest.
Fortunately for him, his ship hadn’t been plundered. It’d been vastly improved.
The Masked Gentleman had made a cursory inspection. And everything he saw was a miracle more stunning than anything a sister with a holy chalice could accomplish.
Beneath his buckled shoes were corridors filled with polished oak and mahogany furniture. There were maroon carpets and fluttering curtains. Brightly lit lanterns and paintings of calming scenery. Even proper signage for the bathrooms.
The last one impressed the Masked Gentleman the most.
Compared to the tastes of those who only referred to themselves as royalty, the sensibilities of a true princess were undeniable. But it wasn’t the improved décor or thoughts of the Golden Prince’s demise that were the reasons he wore a smile behind his mask.
It was Reitzlake.
In truth, the royal capital was a far lesser sight than Princess Florella’s floating home. Or most things, for that matter.
It was a rustic affair, where even the noble quarter was eschewed in favour of the old town by the visiting dignitaries, knowing that if they were forced to come here, then they may as well experience all that a rural kingdom had to offer.
However, when seen beneath a curtain of stars and with the moon reflected upon the waters, even the vomit upon the docks could be forgotten.
A thing he never thought he’d miss.
Nostalgia was an uncommon thing. As a man of the stage, he was acutely aware that few things were more likely to bore an audience than overstaying his welcome.
Once his part was done, he gracefully left and seldom returned.
But every so often, even he was partial to an encore.
Thus, he whistled as he went, the tune joined by the gentle creaking of a ship at its moorings, the waves striking against the hull, and the conversations of the night watch who failed to hear the guest amongst them.
The deck was busy, as expected.
The ogres that Princess Florella had employed lacked neither experience nor loyalty.
He’d seen enough of the Golden Prince’s crew to know the difference between those likely to abandon ship before or after looting it. And these were perhaps likely to wait until somebody else decided which to do first.
Even so, while the sailors were adept at catching thieves, they were less versed at catching rats.
The Masked Gentleman easily weaved his way past the ogres, his golden mask and silken cloak as invisible to their eyes as a stagehand in the shadows.
He made his way to the base of the principal mast, then began climbing up the rigging.
Once upon the crow’s nest, the nostalgia that tickled away at his heartstrings plucked even harder.
It would have taken quite a lot of convincing for Lord Oliver Lepre to scurry up to a point high enough for all of Reitzlake and all its streets to be seen.
As a minor lord, his balcony had the worst view of the finest tavern he couldn’t afford to frequent. But he remembered the sights and the sounds. The music, the lanterns, the games and all the thievery that he conducted in-between.
And so–
The Dancing Rat made his return.
Doing away with the mask, he tossed it to the side, daring to let it plunge into the waters.
Enough witnesses had seen him to know who would be responsible for tonight’s performance. It would be the Masked Gentleman’s final act.
But where one tale ended, another continued.
The Dancing Rat was not yet dead.
He was still the head of the Thieves Guild. And there was one last thing he needed to steal.
Triumph.
With a roll of his shoulders, he tried to ignore the soreness that would last for several days.
It had been an endless dance. A Grand Dance. But he would have time to rest at his leisure soon enough.
A welcome reprieve. He was not used to working at the schedules of others. But when it came to Lotus House, the expectation was that everything was done promptly and with minimal fanfare.
Both ideals he sorely disagreed with.
Yet the Dancing Rat was a man of his word at least 50% of the time. And so he would offer a performance of a lifetime, spanning the continent, involving all the greatest powers and with all the eyes of the world as his audience … just before he bowed out.
A problem given his new employer.
Lotus House did not humour resignations. But he had also never signed a contract.
His whims were his own. And once the acclaim began to sound, not even the ire of the Grand Duchess would be heard.
“A fine night for a swim, isn’t it?”
She, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely.
Her voice could find him in even the furthest of places. Even his nightmares.
Thus, the Dancing Rat turned around, his ready smile blossoming.
“That would depend on the company. Come, my lady. It is said that the waters of Reitzlake were blessed by Lady Luck herself. Shall we see what treasures lie beneath the waves?”
The Dealer raised an eyebrow.
Sitting upon the thin edge of the crow’s nest, a more chivalrous figure would have suggested she find surer footing. Especially as her hands were busy holding onto … a crêpe.
She nibbled away before replying.
If the Dancing Rat was a villain, he would have taken this moment to accidentally nudge her over the edge. But while the thought certainly crossed his mind, he knew it would have little effect.
Oh, he knew who this maiden was. And that alone made everything worth it.
It would take a finer liar than him to not admit that unravelling the mystery behind the Grand Duchess’s favourite toy was all the reason he needed to humour Lotus House’s requests. She was a riddle and an enigma. But all questions had answers. And hers were written in black and white.
“A swim?” she said, pausing halfway through her crêpe. “Do you wish to see what would happen should I meet with water? If so, I shall answer your curiosity. I am not quite witchly enough to melt.”
“You do yourself a disservice.. I have never once thought of you as a witch. You do not require a cauldron to charm all before you. Only your presence is enough.”
“Then I suppose I should count the seconds before you swoon to your death. You are not as agile as you claim to be, Dancing Rat.”
“Oh? Is that a hint of concern I spy?”
“It is. The tool Her Most Humble And Sparkling Graciousness has gifted you for reasons I cannot imagine is in your possession. It is a thing more fragile than your ego. If it breaks, I would be forced to retire in shame.”
The Dancing Rat was intrigued.
“Would Her Excellency permit her most loyal subject to retire?”
“Yes, only for me to be rehired on the spot. I would have my non-existent salary and all the holidays I haven’t accrued reset back to zero. But more than that, I’d have to return to posing half-revealed in the shadows.”
“A tragedy for all of us. To look upon you draped beneath the moonlight is a joy few deserve.”
The Dealer pointed downwards.
“None deserve,” the Dancing Rat corrected himself. “Myself most of all.”
“Indeed, to be fired and rehired would mean falling beneath you in rank. I cannot think of anything more despairing.”
“I’m afraid I shall have to object. I make for an excellent supervisor. I didn’t do poorly in any of my roles.”
“A matter of opinion, given how many below you are deceased. Despite what terrible things you think of me, I have at least ensured you have not been stabbed yet. A miracle that a sister with a holy chalice could not accomplish.”
The Dancing Rat bowed.
This time, it was genuine. He didn’t enjoy being stabbed either.
“You have my gratitude for all that you have done, unworthy as I am. I hope that tonight, I shall be able to pay dividends to the faith entrusted in my ability to breathe.”
“You will fail. But that is an expectation I apply to most. Not all can be like a princess eating a banana and chocolate crêpe with double cream. I must say, I agree with her tastes.”
“Well, then allow me to assure you that all is well. I have followed my instructions to the letter that changes each and every time I look away. Should you wish to enjoy the fruits of my labour, then I dare say you may do so from a more comfortable perch.”
The Dealer finished eating her crêpe.
It was an almost charming sight … were it not for the fact that she ate food in much the same manner that vampires drank blood. Indulgently.
“So you say. And yet it seems the Snow Dancer has been nimbly visiting the homes of those you had also marked. A poorly timed coincidence.”
The Dancing Rat’s smile almost threatened to harden.
If the Dealer was a thorned rose, then the Snow Dancer was a troll merchant.
One was as delicate as she was dangerous, while the other was simply … difficult.
It was vexing.
The Snow Dancer had the ability to become the greatest light upon the entire continent.
She could raise audiences to their feet with but a sweep of her silver hair and swordsmanship. Even by elven standards, she was both immeasurably beautiful and martially talented, to say nothing of her skills as a thief.
Instead, she chose to toss grapes at her ducks.
The Dancing Rat didn’t know what to do with her.
As the head of the Thieves Guild, he had always attempted to recruit her. Or at least cajole her into accidentally doing what he wanted. And yet despite successfully doing just that, what he couldn’t have predicted was that she’d be too successful.
“The Snow Dancer’s arrival was unexpected,” he said, careful as always to never speak whole lies. “But I saw it as an opportunity nonetheless. It was my hope that she could shorten my workload. Sadly, I’ve been unable to discern where she is keeping her stolen valuables, much of which consists of precious jewels. Would you have any knowledge of where her hideaway cache is?”
“I don’t,” replied the Dealer, her smile making it clear that she did.
“A shame. It is not an insubstantial amount she has seized.”
“Perhaps you should leave a letter of gratitude, then. Your task was completed, even if it was by the hands of somebody else.”
The Dancing Rat nodded in reply, feigning the humbled thief.
In truth, it was no small inconvenience that the Snow Dancer’s proficiency was far better than he had expected. Her usual laxness was missing. She was stealing for a purpose, much to his chagrin. But while that was a problem, it was not one he could not overcome.
He had little choice in the matter, regardless.
This finest of interludes was now over.
“... Very well,” said the Dancing Rat, gesturing to the side. “As you are now here, will you do the honours, my lady, and raise the curtains for the last act upon this great stage?”
The Dealer raised an eyebrow, indicating she would stay quite put.
For now, at least.
Thus, the Dancing Rat turned to the caged brazier beside them.
It was time for the flames of the festival to fill the night sky. And for both Lotus House and the Kingdom of Tirea, he intended to offer a parting bow worthy of being remembered.
At least by those who remained.
He did not do well with critics, after all.