Chapter 32: 38. The Invitation

Rorri

 

I am not a pet dog. I am not a pet dog.

 

Markus eyed Rorri as he approached the gate. Even the magpie on his tunic seemed to regard him with suspicion. The forest elf’s eyes gleamed like the point of a spike, his clothes disheveled and covered in paint.

 

I am not a pet dog. I am not a pet dog.

 

“State your business, ser!” Markus called when Rorri was still several paces away, his tone even sharper than normal.

“I’m here to s-see Shacia,” Rorri said, sounding a little too out of breath for the distance he’d walked. Markus’s scowl deepened.

“You will refer to the Lady by her title, ser,” he spat.

Rorri bowed slightly, unfazed. “M-my apologies. I’m here to see the Lady.”

“On what business?” Markus barked. “You have no lessons today, ser, I would know—”

“With all due respect, Markus, my business with the Lady is n-none of yours.”

Markus’s jaw dropped. He started to speak, but stopped short, then abruptly stormed off to the manor, slamming the gate shut behind him, leaving Rorri alone outside the black iron fence.

 

I am not a pet dog. I am not a pet dog…

 

Nobody came in Markus’s stead to watch Rorri while he waited. He knew better than to betray what trust he’d earned, though he couldn’t deny the thieves’ opportunistic sense that crept up on him. Were he there for any other reason, he might succumb, but his true prize could not be stolen away like a string of pearls, and it certainly wasn’t the thief in him that would win her heart. So, he waited, feet firmly planted, hands behind his back.

Several minutes passed without any sign of Markus’s return.

Perhaps his tone had been… slightly less than respectful. Rorri made a mental note to apologize later, sure that his behavior would be forgiven. The servants loved him, and Shacia would understand. She picked on Markus, too…

The minutes ticked on. He’d never waited this long before.

From the corner of his eye, he saw someone fling the curtains open, then draw them shut just as quickly. He swallowed hard, heart pounding, all swagger he’d possessed evaporated from his spirit. Why did he have to make such a show at the gate? What was wrong with him?

Finally the front doors flew open, but it was not Markus’s ruffled figure that appeared. It was Shacia’s.

Every muscle in his body locked as she stomped up to him, a blur of ghost-white skin tinged red with fury, her yellow hair flicking about like fire against the late afternoon sky. He kept his eyes firmly planted on her feet, where her comfortable pants cuffed at the ankle, and her soft blue slippers barely crested the lines of her toes.

“Rorri,” she said, her voice even and cool. “Please look at me.”

His gaze danced about the space around her before it settled on her face. Her jaw was trembling, clenched tight, the bones in her temple pulsing like a quick heartbeat. Her lips were taut, dry, and peeling, struggling to contain what magma churned behind them. The stark web of veins around her eyes were pulsing bright red, hot and ready to combust, but her eyes flashed with fury only when they flitted towards the manor. When on him, they rested softly – smoldering, but still soft.

“Unfortunately,” she said, managing a strained smile, “I can’t invite you inside at the moment.” Markus hovered a few paces behind her, listening closely.

“O-of course,” he stammered. “I-I’m sorry for, erm, sh-showing up, you know, out of the blue, like this…” He gave a nervous chuckle. Shacia’s smile shimmered into a state of fleeting sincerity.

“It’s quite alright,” she murmured, glancing at the manor again. Rorri unconsciously followed her gaze to the same window, where a silhouetted figure peeked out from behind the partially-drawn curtain. He jerked his head away, suddenly feeling vulnerable, as though whoever stood there was skinning him with their eyes.

“I’ll see you for your next lesson, then,” she said, a little louder. “Don’t forget to practice the trick I taught you – the one for fixing holes in your pockets.”

Rorri squinted, head quirked to the side. She returned his expression with a curt nod, and a faint twitch in her drooping eye. He blinked, looked at the dirt, and smiled.

“Y-yes, my Lady.”

Shacia flinched at the sound of her title, subtly tensing her fists.

“Get home safely.”

She disappeared back into the manor, leaving Rorri alone with the guard.

“S-sorry for the trouble,” Rorri muttered, then scurried away as quickly as his feet would carry him.

 

*******

 

Shacia had never taught him any pocket-mending tricks.

Rorri waited until he was out of sight to sift through the endless sea of lint, change, and cigarette stubs that littered the inside of his coat. Finally, after turning out nearly every other possibility, he found his treasure tucked into his breast pocket: a neatly folded, fine-toothed scrap of paper, too clean to have been living in his coat for long. How she managed to slip it in, he’d never know, but whether it was by magic or sleight-of-hand, she never ceased to amaze him.

Rorri unfolded the note with the care one would take in unswaddling an infant, hands trembling in the cold, crisp air. As his eyes met the handwritten script, the letters seemed to move, but only in his peripheral vision. When looked upon directly, they snapped into place. Even then, the words they formed made no sense. Each time he glanced away, they danced the same addling dance, and each time he tried to read them, they spelled out perfect nonsense. It was dizzying, straining his eyes, jabbing at his mind…

 

…an illusion only holds up as well as you can trick someone’s mind into believing it…

 

…Of course.

He shut his eyes, took a deep breath… And saw through the illusion.

 

Mouse & Lion Inn

808 Ferryman’s Court

Room 104

Full Moon, Midnight

Bring your Papers!

 

*******

 

Rorri magically sent his front door crashing into the wall, too restless to use the knob.

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“What does this s-say?”

He waved the note in the air as he swept past the painting, causing the easel to teeter. Adar was clothed, casually gutting a fish. Bilge sat across from him, idly scraping a coin in the table’s cleft.

“Wot’s wot?” Bilge grumbled.

“This,” Rorri said, shaking the paper at him. “What does it s-say?”

Bilge took the note with interest, but as he read it, a deep crevice cut into his brow. “You a’right, mate?” he said slowly, eyeing the elf from the side.

“I’m quite w-well, actually!” Rorri replied. “What’s it say, then?”

“Let me see,” Adar said, leaning over to peer at the note. Bilge grunted and held it up for him to read aloud.

“Bread, milk, eggs—” He stopped, shooting Rorri with a sharp glare. “You know we’re not getting corn again, after what happened last time.”

“S-so it’s a grocery list?” Rorri barked with laughter, turning in place. “That clever little…”

“Oi!” Bilge snapped his fingers at Rorri. “Y’got a fever or somefin’, mate?”

“Wait a second, let me see that.” Adar set the knife down next to the fish and reached out, wiggling his fingers. Rorri jumped to intercede as Bilge passed the note over, but stopped short of snatching it up for fear he might accidentally tear it.

“Please don’t get f-fish juice on it…”

Adar brought the note in close, then held it out as far as he could. He turned it over and peered at it from every angle, squinting and widening his eyes.

“Weird…” he mumbled.

“Wot? Wot’s weird?”

“The more I look at it…” Adar’s voice trailed off as he let his eyes lose focus. “Is there some sort of magic on this?” He handed the note back to Rorri.

“Lemme see—”

Rorri took the paper gingerly, reaching over Bilge’s head. “I don’t know – I mean, it p-probably does – or, well, it definitely does…” He brought it to his nose, taking in its scent. “Definitely got fish juice on it,” he sighed. “But it’s got that sweet m-magicky smell to it, too—”

“Lemme smell it!”

“Does it look different to you?” Adar asked, tending back to the half-butchered fish.

“It’s got an a-address on it – would you relax?” he snapped at Bilge, smacking his hand away.

“Where to?”

“The M-mouse and Lion Inn?” Rorri said, finally relenting the message to the human.

“Never heard of it,” Adar said, eyeing Bilge with an amused smirk as he sniffed the paper like a dog.

“Swanky inn,” Bilge mumbled, aimlessly flipping the note around, imitating the way Adar had inspected it. He gave a deflated sigh and passed it back to Rorri.

“You really don’t see it? It’s sort of shimmery.” Adar said, flicking fish innards into the bin beside him. “After you look at it long enough, it just sort of stops making sense. Hurts the brain.”

Bilge set his feet up on the table, tilting his chair back against the wall. “Jus’ looked like a smelly grocery list,” he said, obviously feigning nonchalance.

“But I can read the secret m-message,” Rorri said, beaming. “Meaning—”

“I imagine the Lady gave it to you, then?” Adar said. Rorri’s expression fell to a stone-faced glare.

“Her name is Shacia,” he growled. “And yes, she snuck it into my pocket s-somehow.”

Bilge and Adar shared a dubious look. “That’s… sort of weird,” Adar said, his voice dipping.

“Yes, well, it was sort of a w-weird situation,” Rorri sighed. “Look, you’re missing the point. Neither of you can read it, but I can, and you can see it’s enchanted, at least, s-so I know I’m not hallucinating.”

“Is that a concern for you?” Adar paused his work, giving Rorri a worried look.

“What? No!” Rorri rubbed his face, exasperated. “For god’s sake, she invited m-me to an inn – a swanky one, apparently – that can only mean one thing, r-right?”

“Might be a setup,” Bilge mused.

“What—”

“She is a noble,” Adar said. “It’s not a stretch to think she could have some connection with the Guard.”

Rorri faltered. “Okay, th-that’s enough—”

“I’m jus’ sayin’, mate, even if it’s wot yer thinkin’ – shit, ‘specially if it’s wot yer thinkin’ – nobles ‘n folks like us just don’t mix right, ay?”

“I’m inclined to agree, actually,” Adar said, gazing remorsefully at the mutilated fish.

“Oh my god,” Rorri groaned. “Can’t you j-just be happy for me? You’re acting like I’m running off to m-marry her!”

“Just listen, mate,” Bilge hissed, dropping his chair to the floor with a loud CLACK. “It jus’ takes one noble prick wif a problem to ruin yer life. I seen it happen, an’ it ain’t pretty.”

A tense silence ensued. Rorri folded his arms with a frustrated huff. He knew that Bilge meant well, but to imply that his tutor couldn’t be trusted grated on his nerves, made far worse by the tone which suggested that his judgment might be impaired.

“I appreciate your concern,” he said coolly. “But I’m not w-worried about it.”

He gave a false, tight-lipped smile. Bilge sighed and shook his head.

“When are you supposed to meet her?” Adar asked, gathering up the fish’s entrails.

“Erm…” He peeked at the note, silently sounding out the words before speaking them. “Full moon, m-midnight?”

“Next one’s s’posed to be blue,” Bilge grumbled. “Who knows wot’ll happen…”

Rorri looked to the sky, wringing his hands. “I b-better start getting ready…” He hopped in place, eyes distant, then vanished through the kitchen door.

Bilge glanced out the window. “D’ya fink he realizes that’s not ‘til tomorrah?” he said as he watched Rorri fly down the street.

“Probably not,” Adar said, wiping the knife clean. “It does take him forever to get himself pretty, though.”

Bilge grunted. “Seems a waste a’ time to me.”

“It is,” Adar sighed. “But, then again, he’s about to bed a noblewoman. Some might call that time well spent.” Bilge glowered at him, but as he averted his gaze he seemed to unconsciously nod in agreement.

“…Bet I could bed a noble,” he mumbled, crossing his arms.

“Sure, buddy,” Adar said, patting him gently on the shoulder, before disappearing into his room with the gutted fish. Bilge sat alone at the kitchen table for a minute, fidgeting and muttering, before he too decided to retire, leaving the house quiet, dark, and smelling like the sea.

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