The Villainess Is An SS+ Rank Adventurer

The Dancing Rat had been upstaged.

It was a rare thing to admit, but an even rarer thing to enjoy. Because while the script had been torn to shreds, the performance hadn’t lacked for it.

He’d expected something quite different.

Theatre, after all, was defined not by how well things went, but how little went wrong. And when it came to devils, things always went wrong.

Despite their claims to be arbiters of order, they were each agents of chaos. Except that while he’d expected the princess to loosely balance this out, he’d failed to give the Snow Dancer enough credit as the single greatest source of chaos.

The Dancing Rat retracted his spyglass, then returned it to the pocket the guards had twice searched.

Despite all the things that he kept on him, this keepsake from his time as a scoundrel of the seas was one of his most cherished.

It was stolen from the Golden Prince, after all, and if there was one thing which brought him joy, it was acts of simple pettiness against one of the most dull brigands he’d ever pretended to work for.

It was also immensely useful.

There were few spots poorer than a tiny dungeon for viewing a performance, and yet as he stepped away from the barred window, it was all he could do not to whistle and holler at a truly dazzling display of willpower, swordsmanship and parental scheming upon a cathedral rooftop.

It certainly made for better entertainment than what his surroundings usually offered.

He should know.

The guardhouse on Claron Street was amongst his least favourite.

As one of the most decrepit holes he’d sometimes visit to bribe, befriend or blackmail guards, it was an unfitting prison to house him. But that wasn’t a concern he had to mull over.

It wouldn’t be long now before he was shunted to an even worse dungeon, until he eventually found himself chiselling away his dignity in a mining shaft.

… For soap.

Unfortunately for the princess, his hands were never meant for digging.

His were the hands of a playwright. And there were still so many tales left to tell.

Thus, he gave a whistle, long and shrill as he called for his accomplices.

They were hardly needed, of course. He had enough lockpicks and guile to escape by waltzing through the front entrance. But it wouldn’t do if lesser criminals than him were to escape. By letting the rats gnaw through the rusted window bars, he’d ensure they’d be replaced by something better.

A curious thing, then.

Because far from hearing the chittering, the scampering of tiny feet and the shriek from whoever was using the wall outside to empty himself, all he received was another whistle in answer.

… Even if it mostly sounded like someone failing to blow out a candle.

“Hmm, how vexing,” said a familiar voice, only slightly later than expected. “It seems this is another talent I lack. I wonder how this is done? Perhaps I needed to learn from a younger age.”

The Dancing Rat chuckled, then turned from the window.

There, sharing his tiny dungeon with him, was the curious sight of the Dealer as she sat smiling in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees while trying and failing to whistle.

Given her somewhat meek pose, she could have looked every bit the prisoner.

Except that even compared to him, she could escape with such ease that not even an archmage paid to observe could discern how she had done it. A most expensive service.

He offered a bow.

“If the lady wishes, I could perhaps offer to teach you the mysterious ways of whistling.”

“I shall pass, thank you,” said the Dealer, her voice light and unassuming as she eyed the window. “I wouldn’t want my memory of learning a new skill to be so tainted.”

“A perfectly understandable notion. An upstanding young lady such as yourself has little business dealing with imprisoned vagabonds.”

“You do yourself a disservice. Few vagabonds are so daring. I didn’t expect you to turn tail so soon. To seek an exit from Lotus House is one thing, but to do so with the assistance of a devil is quite another. I assumed that the wise side of you would triumph over the hapless one.”

“A man can be both. I choose which depending on the role I’m required to play. And the Dancing Rat is always nothing if not blithe.”

“Blithe does not have to mean insolence. To offer your service to Her Excellency is to have her acknowledge you for the briefest moment of time. That is a debt that can never be repaid. To leave without trying is so uncouth that even your head wouldn’t suffice.”

The Dancing Rat had quite a few things to say to that. Few of which the girl before him would actually hear. After all, it was clear that her mind was elsewhere.

He looked at her with curiosity. Particularly the smile.

Unlike any of the ones she usually wore, this one was genuine. An achievement that would make any amount of consorting with the hells worth it. He agreed with knights when they said that smiling was the right of all maidens, and the Dealer was no different.

“My apologies, my lady. But if I may say so, it seems I’ve caught you in quite a good mood. Did something pleasant occur?”

“Indeed, I was finally able to meet the princess at last.”

“Ah, yes, I did see you passing me by with the ambassador in tow. I also saw him leaving with quite the look of fatigue. I can see his resignation letter already. Was the meeting productive?”

“It certainly was. She punted me away.”

“Truly now? How was it?”

The Dealer hugged herself like a smitten maiden.

“Marvellous. It has been ever so long since anyone has managed to hurl me away like the worthless gnat I am. To be treated so poorly is something I’ve sorely missed. I am beyond overjoyed.”

The Dancing Rat was impressed.

As far as he knew, nobody had succeeded in doing that. But the princess could achieve things few else could … which was precisely why he was surplus to requirements here.

Her light was too dazzling for one who enjoyed the limelight like him.

After all, it could no longer be denied. She had been sucked into the hells and the hells were burned for it. She was, by all accounts, a saint lacking her sister’s habit.

And yet … despite it all, he couldn’t help but harbour certain reservations about the young princess.

“That is a delight to hear. I surmise that you also enjoyed the conversation with her beforehand. I hope it was as insightful as my own.”

“It was all that I wished for and more. Her wisdom shines through every word that she speaks.”

The Dancing Rat nodded.

Very slowly.

“Yes, her words are certainly wrapped in layers of the same insult. Yet while I don’t doubt her prowess, it would appear that her basic knowledge is somewhat less than we’d attributed. As you doubtless noticed, she is broadly unaware of either Lotus House or the Grand Duchess’s interest. In fact, it would appear that much of her actions aligning against ours were purely coincidental.”

The Dealer’s smile faded.

She spared a glance towards him, if only to offer her scorn.

“Ah, how impressive. I believed my disappointment was complete. I see I was overly generous.”

“My lady?”

“For someone who prides themselves on the scripts they write, you seem oddly incapable of reading between the lines. The words of a princess are nothing more than the thinnest yet most useful of shields. Or are appearances something only you can assume?”

The Dancing Rat paused.

It was a fair rebuke, especially after witnessing the effects of her actions.

Except that having now spoken with her, he found himself questioning every assumption he held.

The Dancing Rat was especially adept at discerning the nature of those before him, and having been on the receiving end of her wits, he had the distinct impression that while her sword shone, she herself was slightly more … unrighteous.

After all, rather than hearing any words of a heroine, she sounded more like a villainess.

That’s not to suggest that it wasn’t all a ruse, of course.

Mercy and redemption came in many forms, and for a princess to offer a stoic exterior instead of a benevolent hand was one of the many ways she could have encouraged his turn from a life of mischief.

However … despite what the Dealer suggested, he very much did read between the lines.

And when he did, he saw nothing.

Literally nothing.

It was almost alarming. It really did sound like she was gloating while threatening indefinite imprisonment on an island with utterly no judicial oversight when speaking to him.

But not because she viewed him as irredeemable, but rather, as a source of free labour.

“Indeed, princesses are trained in the art of mannerisms,” said the Dancing Rat tactfully. “... Regardless, having now witnessed her particular brand of justice, I cannot help but wonder whether her personal motives might differ slightly from what everyone assumes.”

“And what would her motives be, then? For a princess to abandon her tower and set about resolving so many troubles is the mark of a sword maiden and a heroine.”

“True, her results speak for themselves … albeit often with a bit of calamity left behind. A necessity, to be sure, but what if her reasons are less to do with righteousness and more … well, self-survival?”

“Excuse me?”

“Her kingdom was in a poor state beforehand. Given that she seems fixated on crowns, is it possible that she simply left her tower in order to ensure she didn’t fall into poverty? Maybe even avoid a rebellion?”

The Dealer stared.

Then, she wore a look of utter disgust.

“I have always thought less of you than the rodents you keep. But such pettiness is a new low. Do not insult her righteousness because it burns away the shadows. That is a light we shall all need. I intend to petition her for it.”

The Dancing Rat offered a nod, doubting even himself now.

Perhaps his suspicions were unfounded, and she truly was more than she appeared … ?

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to cast doubt on your judgement.”

“So you say, and yet I hear the doubt like the scratching of a chalkboard.”

“My only misgiving is that it’s a gamble to entreat a princess with few reasons to hear the Grand Duchess’s concerns.”

“A gamble requires a chance of failure. The princess will offer her sword wherever the clouds gather. Of this, I’m certain.”

The Dancing Rat pursed his lips. Wisdom told him to keep them that way.

It was advice he should listen to more often. Then perhaps he’d be a crêpe merchant. He’d certainly be in a position to sway the princess better than any words the Dealer could offer.

He wasn’t quite insane enough to guess how her mind worked. But the Grand Duchess’s was clearer, at least.

He’d heard the rumours. Of prophets and premonition. Of the augers, diviners, oracles and con artists seen gawking or laughing hysterically in the marble halls of the White Citadel.

None of that concerned him. Or a princess, for that matter.

Whatever bleak horizons the continent’s finest prophets could offer, it was simply another opportunity for those like themselves to shine.

Except the Dancing Rat really didn’t do competition.

He certainly didn’t do mining.

Indeed, while the Dancing Rat had little issue playing the role of the prisoner, it was a poor thing when his audience promised to consist of worse ruffians than those who attended the Royal Arc Theatre.

“Well, I expect I’ll be watching events from a distance. And hopefully not while digging for soap. Is this where you’ll ferry me away before my loose lips reveal too much?”

The Dealer raised an eyebrow.

“There’s little that the hallucinations of a common street criminal can say which would be worse than the usual slander. But it’s true that I’ve come to ensure your release. The Grand Duchess, in her infinite benevolence, has agreed that you have earned such a right.”

The Dancing Rat was surprised. And not least the bit suspicious.

“Is that so? I wasn’t aware that I’d made such an impression.”

“The Grand Duchess has little use for those who do not enjoy her graciousness. But you needn’t worry. She is not so cruel as to prevent your departure. Or behead you for it. Repeatedly.”

“Excellent. And yourself?”

“I’m in a good mood. So while I’m no devil, I shall fulfil his promise nonetheless. You will be absolved of all duties and association with Lotus House. Naturally, I’ll also ensure your escape from this dungeon. A man of your stature deserves better than to craft soap, after all.”

Creak.

As though it had never been locked, the door to the tiny dungeon was now slightly ajar.

A needless courtesy, but one the Dancing Rat admired all the same.

What he respected more was that the Dealer had already left.

He smiled at the corner where she’d sat. To both come and go with such lasting impact were the signs of a worthy performer. It was almost a shame he was certain to never see her again.

But that wasn’t to say she wouldn’t see him.

The curtain had fallen on his time in the Kingdom of Tirea. But when one tale ended, another began. And when next he appeared, it would be with an entrance dazzling enough that not even a princess could overshadow him.

Taking his cue, he nudged the door open, then spied the empty hallway shorn of guards.

The same emptiness greeted him as he made his way into the common room, with tankards and meals left abandoned where they had been enjoyed only moments ago.

He could almost still hear the laughter, just as much as he could hear those of the revellers outside.

The Dancing Rat ignored them all.

Instead, he proceeded into the small kitchen and into the even smaller storage room, before promptly shoving aside enough crates, sacks and spilled potatoes to reveal a well-used trapdoor that the leader of the Thieves Guild had the foresight to install.

Pulling it open, he relished in the familiar comfort of secrecy.

The updraft was as foul as the darkness was thick. But to him, it was the promise of a subtle exit.

The festivities outside were not for him. He’d already played his part. And now all that remained was to prepare for his next.

He nimbly climbed down the ladder, his hands and feet working even where his eyes didn’t.

A familiar excitement coursed through his veins as ideas filled his thoughts.

Enough that he didn’t realise what was missing until his feet had touched the damp ground, for although he was greeted by the sounds of dripping, whistling and the movement of sludge, what he didn’t hear was the chittering of rats.

For a moment, he almost considered climbing back up again.

But this was the labyrinth where he’d made his home. And here where no lights shone, neither a devil nor a princess could find him.

Fwish.

“Ah, Lord Oliver Lepre. What a joy it is to see you alive and well.”

A smuggler, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely.

A torch came to life, swiping the darkness away to reveal a young woman dressed as a maid.

With her long eyelashes, her delicate smile and well-kept appearance, Lady Renise Rimeaux was far removed from the type who usually loitered in the sewers. And yet she alone was able to cast a shadow so deep that it threatened to swallow him should he waltz past.

“Lady Renise,” said Lord Oliver, a look of relief crossing his face at once. “What comfort it is to see your face once more. I wondered if I would ever earn such a chance.”

“As did I. Lady Fortune smiles upon the sewers. I thought I would never be able to truly thank you for allowing me to escape Lady Tolent’s clutches. It is a debt of gratitude I can never repay.”

“Then perhaps I’ll be forced to call upon it. My apologies for not contacting you all this time. I had hoped to keep myself hidden. Lady Tolent’s pockets run deeper than the darkness.”

“Oh? And what would those pockets seek to purchase?”

“My demise, I fear. Even now, her loyalists seek to exact their revenge in both words and blades. You would not believe the things they utter to besmirch my name.”

“I see. That is deeply concerning. But there will be time to speak and to understand. I hope to clear all that I’ve heard regarding the Dancing Rat, who was responsible for so much blood.”

Lord Oliver smiled, as only he could.

Yet just as he turned his heel, his eyes widened at the figure standing at the edge of the torchlight.

A man who should be resting somewhere in the realm of eternal slumber.

Instead, the Smuggler King was now clad in the uniform of a common hand from the upstarts known only as Rose House, his cheeks thin, but his smile full of vigour.

“It is good to see you as well, Oliver,” said Lord Damien Rimeaux, tapping the hilt of his sword. “I had the best of you during our last outing. But perhaps you shall have the chance to make amends?”

He rolled his shoulders.

A moment later, he heard the cracking of knuckles … just before seeing the slender silhouette of Sabilla Rimeaux, the Smuggler Queen, appearing just beyond the torchlight.

It was then that Lord Oliver realised that crafting soap was not so poor a fate, after all.