Margrin took the lead, “I am Mister Margrin Ephisieryón of the Taliswood, lung crixetis vidner, and this is Mister Tendil Bascombe, Esq. of Wikehold, no lung crixetis. Here to see Rathkin.”
“Very well gentlemen, stay where you are and I'll check with the boss.”
We heard his footclaps against bare wooden floor flashing down a hallway and I asked, “What in gods’ names is this business with the long crickets?”
“Oh, it's the Thieves' Cant. A secret language we use. It's ancient, very hard to follow. But I just told him that I was Syndicate and you're not. It's okay for me to have a guest, so don't worry.”
“On the contrary,” I said, “I find it to be quite fascinating. I've heard about it all my life, all so clandestine. It can't help but spark some curiosity. Especially for a child.”
“A little fledgling crime Lord, eh,?” he japed.
“Quite. I used to make up nonsense words and call it Thieves' Cant playing in my rooms by myself. One of Father's walking canes playing the role of my rapier.”
“And I daydreamed of being a wealthy brat with too much time on his hands! We should have traded. How happy we would be.”
Footsteps coming back down the hallway took forever to reach the door. Then the sound of several bolts being undone, finally the creeeaak of the door opening. Surprisingly, it revealed a middle aged human with thick black hair, in full butler's livery. Just a little out of place in an abandoned dockside warehouse.
“Welcome, Sirs, I am Laneston. Follow me, if you will. Rathkin has expressed delight that you're here Mister Ephisieryón. He said it's been quite some time that you've been away.”
“Did he seem upset or mad, Laneston? I can't handle an upset Rathkin right now.”
“He seemed fine, Sir. Oh, I should tell you, he's begun to take in stray kittens. I don't know that he's ever been around one. But he's terribly taken with them now. There are dozens. And one warning. If a kitten starts climbing up your leg with its claws, let it. He won't abide anyone not letting them do what they want to do. One of the recent new crew members made the mistake of swatting one that bit him. Rathkin had him summarily drowned in the tub.”
I couldn't say anything, but the man sounded like a lunatic. If this was Margrin's big connection, we might be in trouble.
As advertised, there were kittens underfoot everywhere you stepped. Perhaps a hundred of them. Little plates of half-eaten fish were just as plentiful. I tried to give Margrin a let's get out of her glance, but he wasn't paying me any attention. Intent on navigating the feline maze.
Finally, Laneston turned to us and said “Right through the door at the end of the hallway, Gentlemen. And may I offer you a drink?”
I answered, “I believe tea would be perfect for us both, Laneston. Thank you.”
Then we stood at the door, each waiting for the other to open it.
After several seconds, I caved in and reached for the knob.
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“Wait!” Margrin's hand caught mine just before I touched the thing. He stood there for another moment taking deep, exaggerated breaths, then took his hand off mine. “Okay, Bascombe, let's do what needs doing.”
Entering a large storage room lined with empty shelves and spider webs, we were greeted by the unmistakable smell of cats. Lots of them. Everywhere you looked, there were kittens. Dozens of kittens. All the colors of the house cat rainbow: gingers, tuxedos, calicos, black, white, gray, torties, tabbies, all well represented. They were wrestling, sleeping, bathing, staring, climbing, running, eating, and crawling around on the lap of our guest. His portly figure, not giving them adequate room to nap.
Rathkin was a huge man, taller than me, easily weighing 350 pounds or more, with large, beefy hands. I guessed him to be in his 50s, gray haired and with a duotoned beard with stripes of black in it. He had big blue eyes and a sinister countenance. A cruel looking man, the kittens on his shoulders and lap providing a jarring contrast.
He sat in a beaten up wingback chair of mahogany and crimson damask, his legs crossed and his arms on the chairs armrests. Most notably, he wore an immaculate, high-collared jacket of gold brocade with white hose.
“Margrin!” His voice was thunderous. “It's been far too long! Have you no conscience?”
“I'm terribly sorry, Mister Rathkin. Business has kept me in the North, and it's been good. I've many good men working under me now, but I'm still hesitant to let go of the reins for any length of time.”
“Yes, yes, it's very hard to find ones you can trust. Especially in our line of work.”
Laneston reappeared with a silver salver and tea service, setting it down briefly to bring a small table and two mismatched chairs to the center of the room.
“If the gentlemen should require anything else, I shall be just outside the door.” and he withdrew with a short and sharp bow.
“That one is indispensable. Not only as a servant, but he oversees the troops as well.”
“You've always had a good eye for talent, Rathkin. It's served you well.”
“And who is this, then? Your friend here, Margrin?”
“Rathkin, this is Tendil Bascombe of Wikehold. He's the reason I'm here.”
“Wouldn't have come otherwise, eh?” Rathkin's face pinched with thought for a moment, “Bascombe, Bascombe, ah yes, you must be Culver Bascombe’s boy!”
“Indeed, I am, Sir. How do you know my father?”
“My boy, Culver Bascombe has gotten more than a few of my troops out of trouble. Including Margrin here; did he not tell you?”
“Yes, Sir, I knew of their acquaintance. I just wasn't familiar with his activities here in the South.”
“He's here now, Young Mister Bascombe. On holiday or something with a terribly pretty young lady.”
“In fact,” Margrin interjected, “that's the true purpose of our visit, Rathkin. We feel this ‘young lady’ as you call her, may be a danger to Tendil’s father. She's actually a very powerful Witch with a penchant for draining the wealth of her suitors. Cralix is her name.”
His face pinched again, “Well, I've heard of her, of course. She's quite infamous. Someone should have told me of her presence here. That's a lapse in intelligence. The most important asset the Syndicate has is information. We've no room for this kind of sloppiness.”
“I wouldn't blame anyone, Rathkin. She has ways of masking her presence. You wouldn't happen to know where they're staying would you, Sir?”
“Of course I would, if I wanted to know,” he laughed.
“Sincerely, Rathkin, we need to ask your help in finding him, finding out who he's associating with down here, and what is currently motivating him. He's acting very out of character.”
“Out of character for Culver Bascombe?” he laughed again. “It must be something quite scandalous!”
I had to ask, “What do you mean, Sir? What is my father's reputation in Sandlise?”
“I find it extraordinary that he's been able to keep it hidden for so long. He really has been living two lives. Son, your father is a philanderer, a gambler, an embezzler, an all around charlatan. Even his career as an advocate relied heavily on him bribing judges and jurors. Nothing about that man is above board. I hate to have to be the one to tell you.”
I was in disbelief. It was bad enough knowing there was a mistress in the picture. Had he been stealing from the Hard Coast Company? That's a good way to get killed. It's a good way to get your family killed.
“That's probably how that Cralix creature got her hooks in him, extortion.”
“From the sound of it, Mister Rathkin, she didn't have to do much to get my father to make some poor decisions.”
“No, likely not. It's any pretty face for Culver Bascombe.”
My mind was all over the place. I didn't know my father at all. My mother and I were merely a means for his advancement with the Hard Coast Company. The bastard.
“I can tell you gentlemen where he is staying. Do you remember the streets well enough, Margrin?”
“Of course I do. It hasn't been that long in Elf years.” Rathkin laughed at that.
“The jetty down by the rocks at the end of the Finial Point Road, it's the last villa there. Rather secluded. Used to be owned by the former Duke. Cairwahl thought it too creepy and sold it. That's where Culver has been taking his women.”
“We need more help than just that, Rathkin. We need him followed and we need to know everywhere he goes and everyone with whom he interacts.”
“Easy enough, Margrin. I can tell you he'll be at the fights tonight. They have death matches every Tenthday at an old warehouse on the docks. Gruesome stuff, that.”
He considered for a moment. “Come back here tomorrow night, Margrin, and I'll have some answers for you.”
As we left, Margrin said “They call him the Rat King. Not to his face of course. Because of all the rats at the docks and his control of the docks.”
We walked in silence for a bit. I could feel that Margrin was giving me time to digest all that I had just learned.
Then he added “It's ironic with all the cats, don't you think?”