<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars I: Disipicio (t) Malger laughed, stretched out an arm, and ruffled the fur atop her head. “I'm gone not quite five weeks and you all act like it was five months! Very well, I shall tell you. I warn you though, it is not very exciting. I will not be responsible for you falling asleep where you sit while I tell my tale.” “I could never fall asleep from one of your tales, Father!” Suria assured him with a slight yip to her voice. Charlie chortled under his breath when he heard it. Ever since she had changed Suria had hated the little animal noises she sometimes made without realizing it. Malger glanced at his family and friends, and even at his Steward Aspittier, Timothy and Peter, and the other handful of servants who had come to serve them that afternoon. “All right, well set those instruments aside somewhere and we'll get started.” Leaning over he gently lifted Suria's violin from her delicate paws and slipped it under his chin. “The journey from Metamor to Weislyn was, thankfully, so uneventful I shan't bore you with the details of broken wheels and cracked traces.” He slowly drew the bow across the strings bearing out a minor note that sounded both bored and flat. “We are known well so not even a surly gateman stood to challenge our entry, for the beasts of Metamor are passing common even beyond our borders, this far north.” The bow returned in a higher register, denoting the satisfaction of achieving a goal, if a minor one. “But thieves abound.” A slightly quicker draw accompanied by a dance of his fingers along the frets. “News I was not given to know as the messenger bearing it passed over our heads, bringing such tidings to the Duke, yonder, who listens to our chorus with pleasure. Upon the messenger's return the missive I gained was thusly simple; “Recover what was stolen, or recompense in turn, for a mighty lever was given to us by that very theft.” A downward cascade with a stroke of the bow, from merriment to ire. “For, you see, it comes about that a trade caravan bearing goods toward Marigund carried more than was listed upon its manifests. A full ingot, a full stone's weight, of our precious Mithril was discovered during a routine inspection of the caravan as it paused in Weislyn.” The bow stopped upon the violin's lowest register with an abrupt skirl of dissonance as Egland let out a snort of surprise and Charlie's eyebrows lifted. “Ah, yes, indeed my friends and loves, a full stone's weight in one unbroken piece, an amount the good Duke would unlikely trade away to many eager kingdoms, much less to a single guild sitting smack in the middle of a Kingdom that calls us enemy.” He lowered the violin slightly and smiled over the polished wood, tapping its edge lightly with the back of the bow, “And, thus, having come to entreaty for more protection along a key route of trade, I found myself in the strong position of the affronted party from whom something precious had been stolen, and this is what I did.” For the next hours, even beyond the falling of full night and the slow quieting of the land beyond the balcony, and long after the Duke's family had retired from their own, Malger wove a complex tale of politicking and intrigue, all to the deft accompaniment of nothing more than a single violin. Though without the subtle magic of a true Bard, he made the violin speak as clearly as his own voice, trailing through complex allegro cascades of triumph and slow dirges of anger and shadowy deals brokered behind closed doors. Through his lengthy discourse from which Metamor emerged with a profit that could not be measured in coin, gained by laying guilt and pulling shame, everyone remained rapt. Even the two young rats assisting the Steward, ever easily distracted and short of patience, eventually came to rest upon stools or railings simply to listen, enraptured by the almost poetic singing delivered in a conversational voice accompanied by naught but a single instrument of music. By the time Malger let the music trail away only the last fading tolls of the chapel bells calling the second watch offered hint that a city resided beyond the horizon of the balcony. A single steady light shone from the windows of the Duke's residences; Thalberg's chambers, where the alligator was very likely diligently planning the day to come. As the last notes faded into the night the small audience seemed to twitch, coming back to themselves from the distances traveled upon music and word, and as one they all leaned back upon their seats or lounges and let out a collective sigh. “Rapturous,” Misanthe breathed with a soft clapping of her petite vulpine hands. “A minstrel, a royal, and one of the most devious schemers I have ever known.” She grinned with a flash of bright white teeth. “And I have known more than my fair share. Yet none so subtle, and quick to turn vulnerability into strength!” “I daresay the Verdanes, Otakars, tradesmen, and the mages of Marigund are going to be a lot more careful when I'm sitting across the table from them in the future.” Malger chuckled, his throat dry and his arms sore from holding the violin and stroking its strings for the better part of three hours. He smiled and gratefully accepted a chalice of wine from Timothy, holding violin and bow in one hand while he slaked his dry throat. “But this does bring to light a grave concern; whom in the complex, carefully secreted line of handlers has deigned steal so much from Joy's Legacy that they can trade half a kingdom's value with such aplomb?” He held out the chalice and Charlie's younger brother eagerly refilled it while Peter fetched a plate of meat stuffed pastries left over from their meal. “A grave concern indeed.” Elvmere offered with a rasp before coughing and clearing his throat with a penitent moue. Laughing, Timothy fetched another chalice from the service and pushed it into the surprised raccoon's hand before carefully tipping the ewer to fill it. Charlie looked on quietly as he watched his brother by flesh but not name handle the vessel despite the fact it was as tall as his arm was long and doubtlessly weighted no small amount. “Prizing the culprit out will be difficult.” “The question is,” Intoran opined as he rubbed his jaw, accepting a tankard from Peter with a smile and a nod of gratitude. He paused to drink and collect his thoughts. “If they have been so bold as to offer up an entire ingot, as such things are kept within Kyia's own vaults inaccessible to any but the Duke's family and Master Purser, how much has gone overlooked already?” “Ah, the list of responsible parties is short.” Malger nodded, setting aside his chalice. “These concerns I will bring before Malisa in the morning, and Thomas shortly thereafter.” He held up the violin with a slight smile. “Though without the musical accompaniment.” Everyone shared a laugh and nodded, congratulating Malger on keeping them entertained with the droll, dry complexities of politicking, and slowly bid their farewells. In only a short amount of time only Malger's family remained, and the quiet presence of their Steward standing attentively by the doors of the hall leading to their respective bedchambers. Suria retired with a yawn, her russet tail flicking as she stretched. Malger dismissed Aspittier with nothing more than a glance and brief nod, something the white tiger was long used to, leaving him alone with Charlie and Misanthe. Reclining back into the chaise, with Misanthe comfortably curled up against his front, Malger cast a sober look toward his son. “You and I will find this thief, Charlie.” He murmured as he offered his wife a slow nuzzle between her vulpine ears. “Only we can.” His hands stroked lightly against the front of the vixen's gown lightly and he smiled when she tilted her head back to peer up at them, getting a brief kiss in return. “Misanthe may aide us in our efforts as well. We will need many eyes, and many actors, to prize out this traitor.” Charlie stood as well and stretched, his tail thumping the lounge as it lashed animatedly behind him. “When, Father?” He asked with a groan, relaxing from the stretch and licking his whiskers. “Two, perhaps three nights hence, we will begin building the stage for our play.” Malger smiled up at him. “I will advice Thomas and the Prime Minister to say nothing, and launch no investigation, until we have discovered whom they should seek, and how they should investigate.” With a nod Charlie smiled, “Very well. If that is all, I would retire.” “Rest well, son.” Malger churred while Misanthe merely smiled, her vulpine eyes gleaming in the light of the last guttering candle. Charlie turned and closed the hallway door as he passed from the common room. His adoptive parents would enjoy the night air for a time more discussing whatever it was married folks discussed before their own slumber. But Charlie did not feel tired, merely aggravated and restive. He had so many questions, so many doubts, and was so confused about what he had been told but, more importantly, what he had not been told. Through Malger's complex discourse he had found himself distracted, already very familiar with the complexities and layers of his father's machinations and manipulations. He could tell a lie that sounded like Eli's direst commandment and make the truth seem like a bald faced lie, but Charlie had learned to see through the masquerade. He knew when his father was obfuscating something, and in the hallway he had read the profoundness of his evasive dodge. A lutin, standing beneath one of the many sconces lining the hall, looked up as Charlie passed. In one hand he held the empty bowl of a lantern and in the other a tun of fresh oil. The recently cleaned glass chimney was carefully perched upon a towel nearby but Charlie paid it, and the lutin who tended his household's lamps, candles, and other illuminations, the slightest heed. He swept into his rooms so brusquely that the two residents sleeping in the foyer jumped up from their cots in startlement. “Master Charlie,” the human, Hogue, muttered somewhere between sleep and startled wakefulness while the gazelle, Jackson, merely blinked up from his awkward seat upon his cot. “We did not expected when you would –” “I can tend my own bed for now,” Charlie retorted, though gently, as he waved his two body servants back to their rest. “Please tell Bron I wish a simple wardrobe for the morning, and the blue doublet come afternoon once my training with master Vidika is complete. I will break my fast only when I awaken, not at the table hour.” Hogue bobbed his head and stifled a yawn, “Yes, milord. We shall see to it.” “If I am in the black room come dawn, awaken me.” He turned at the door to his chambers proper, “Otherwise, allow me my sleep until the ninth bell, lest I miss another day of arithmetic.” Hogue nodded again to Charlie's drawing the door closed. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>