Lord Oliver Lepre whistled as he strode through the corridors of the Rimeaux Estate to his designated prison.
It was an error he immediately regretted. The moment the familiar tune left his lips, all the rats hidden within the gaps and creaks of this old estate rushed up as though summoned by a ringmaster made out of cheese.
In seconds, they were on him. Heads, shoulders, knees and toes. If he sang, they'd probably sing, too. They circled around him, hopping and jumping like show horses on display.
Only when Oliver whistled again did they disperse.
Most of them went back the way they came. The rest went to take advantage of the commotion in the hall to raid the kitchens. The usual chefs weren't there to hurl them away this time. They were being escorted by the prince, covered in the regurgitations of Lucina Tolent's underlings.
He had to pity them. Few chefs could boast at having so many people upend their food without outright poisoning them. And yet judging by the sight he'd witnessed, poison would have been many times more preferable.
He shivered as he recalled the scene.
The mesmerising display of one girl. An unknown adventurer who'd scattered nigh on all of Reitzlake's finest with but a dance of her sword. Oh, how she'd twirled as though spun by Lady Catastrophe itself! It was a ballet of righteous judgement, lifting all the villains into the air to be judged by moonlight and gale.
Her merciless denouncement had left none standing.
An A-rank swordswoman.
Pity he didn't catch her name. The Kingdom of Tirea will doubtless be pleased. The Adventurer's Guild even more so. And the Snow Dancer happiest of them all. How many years had it been since such a notable individual raised their head in this tiny kingdom?
And so suddenly.
Oliver could only admire the patience this girl had displayed. He knew the pains of waiting in the wings, savouring the moment of commanding the spotlight. It was what he lived for.
And so, he admitted defeat with a smile, retiring this stage for the next.
He returned to his room, mind bristling with ideas for his next play as he continued towards the window.
How long had it been since he'd basked in the moonlight without a care in the world? There was always so much to do. So much to grace. And always in the worst designed estates. Natural lighting was a rare gift in his working day. Now it was the norm in his working nights as well.
That criminals always hid in the shadows was a terrible misconception. That it was true in Oliver's case was completely anecdotal. And unfortunate.
But there was little to be done. No decent play could be completed without a sufficient understage. His were the holes which ran without end. The sewers, the basements, the wells, the tunnels and the fresh mounds of soft earth dug deep in the woods.
Because where there were holes, there were secrets.
Nobody dug a hole without wanting to use it, and nobody wanted to use a hole for anything other than burying a secret in it.
Such as a lord with no influence and far too much debt. And when a lord found himself in such a position, the secret he wished to bury was himself.
Oliver stole from the dead as well as the living.
But what he stole wasn't crowns or possessions.
No, he took much more than that.
He took names.
This one had been a far more unorthodox role. Complex. Multi-faceted. But so liberating.
Still. It involved sewers. Lots of sewers. Which was terrible. Oliver enjoyed sunlight like daisies in a field. He wished to bloom. To dance. And to break to hearts of damsels. He used to be quite the charmer, back in the day—in another life. He still could. It'd take a shave and a change of attire. Likely a new accent. But then there were so many charmers already.
So many charmers and not enough fools.
To be a dashing gentleman was to invite envy and admiration. But it also drew scorn and resentment. So while he wished for the sunlight, 'Oliver Lepre' accepted the shadows. Attention was attention and nothing quite invited the keen eyes of others than to be both desired and maligned. Everything was easier when nobody saw the bumbling lord.
It was easier still when they willingly chose not to see him.
Even if that was a guard informing him that he was under the Tolent woman's safety. He'd picked the lock before the guard had finished explaining how meals would be scheduled. He'd never been closer to damning himself just to see the man's eyes pop out of his head should be push open the door.
Fortunately for Oliver, he still witnessed that anyway.
The guard had looked like he'd travelled the depths of the abyss. They all had. The accumulated might of the Smugglers Guild reduced to drooling invertebrates as they slouched over one another in a great big heap. The sight was breathtaking.
And also the signal for him to silently depart.
That he'd returned to the same room he was imprisoned in was mere eccentricity. But they'd made the effort to house him here, even adorn the room with his House colours. He figured he may as well escape from here as well.
A graceful, mysterious exit.
Let the adventurer girl have her moment. He'd already his. The awestruck eyes of Damien's daughter as he thrust aside the veil of the fool had made this all worth it. What was effort, if not for a maiden's admiration?
And so—
Oliver Lepre planted a shoe on the windowsill, his hands grazing against the outer wall as he felt the grain against his fingertips, and the strong wind over the lake wishing to drown him in the waters below.
“A fine night for a swim, isn't it?”
Oliver turned his head back.
And then he smiled.
Why, he still had an audience!
A girl sat on the table where none had sat just moments before. Though her head was hidden in the shadows, her pale legs swung before a stream of moonlight.
“Do you intend to leap from the window, my lord? Please don't. Life is too precious. And you've already died once before.”
Oliver's smile widened.
Such a meaningful proclamation from such a patently mysterious individual. It sent goosebumps shooting all over his arms. Now this was the act he had been waiting for!
“Rest assured, my lady, I was only taking in the night breeze. I would only leap if the love of my life commanded me to do so, and I'm afraid we've yet to meet.”
The visitor smiled.
Even draped in the shadows, her lips could be seen silently twisting into a beautiful smirk as finely sculpted as clay.
“My mistake. But then, I suppose it would be quite difficult for you to fall, wouldn't it? Rats are such adept climbers. And runners. Where do you intend to flee to, I wonder?”
The Dancing Rat gestured towards the open sky.
“Wherever the moonlight takes me, my dear. Will you accompany me?”
The visitor giggled.
“Lines like that make me very, very close to killing you.”
In response Oliver turned around, and then bowed.
A full bow, given only to a figure of the highest standing. To a girl with a taste of theatrics. That her face remained so purposefully in the shadows was outstanding. He couldn't guess her age or appearance. The playfulness in her voice suggested she couldn't have been older than Renise. But he'd known voices to shift like water.
His was one of them.
“Before you do, please allow me to introduce myself … although I fear you already have the advantage. I am Oliver Lepre, Lord, Fool and Rat.”
“Indeed. You're supposed to be dead. The rat portion, at least.”
Oliver shrugged.
“Someone's dead,” he said casually. “It isn't me.”
Sadly for the Crown Prince, the Dancing Rat wasn't so easily killed. He would have been a terrible leader of the Thieves Guild if he'd allowed that to happen. It was a role he'd delighted in. And one which warranted a stand-in when the blade came.
The one he'd thrust.
“Did pitting Reitzlake's criminal factions against one another amuse you?”
“It was not amusement, my dear. It was drama. And if I say so, accomplished proficiently. For months, the audience of Reitzlake were captivated in their terror.”
“And yet it came to an end. The Crown Prince and the Smuggler King were your fiercest critics, huh?”
“Every play has their disruptions. Theirs were setting the stage alight. Fortunately, I had a fire of my own.”
The girl laughed, swinging her legs freely as she teased the edges of her face.
“Not the adventurer with the moonlit sword, I take it? That was less a fire and more a storm. Even the theatre was brought down.”
“Indeed. Yet a storm which was carried by Renise Rimeaux. I had faith in her capacity for vengeance. Well placed, it appears. She only needed a few hours to undertake her task. Why, I didn't even have the chance to re-establish the Thieves Guild with her by my side! Our tale of romance ended before it began, and now all our stagehands are gone. It is time, then, to move onto the next.”
“Shame. Troublesome, aren't they? Adventurers. Even in the continent's most insignificant kingdom, they appear like spring rain to wash away our foul deeds.”
Oliver chuckled.
“Do you admit to being foul, then?”
“Never. I'm a fair maiden. The fairest of the lot. Which is why I've come to captivate you with a proposition, before you flee for your next stage.”
Wearing the smile of a charismatic lord, Oliver shook his head in regret.
“Propositions imply an expectation of duty from me. Mine is to the sewers. I'm beholden only to the first name to catch my fancy. And I am always spoiled by choice.”
“You have a high price. Everyone I headhunt does.”
“Oh? And to which business venture am I being headhunted for?”
The girl threw her arms up in dramatic fashion, as though to shower herself with confetti.
“A super shady, super secret one. The pay is terrible. The grind awful. You have no holidays and if you complain to your manager, your heart mysteriously stops to function. And then it blows up. I personally don't recommend joining.”
“You make a compelling offer. Go on.”
“Not only the Dancing Rat. But all your roles will need to be ready for the stage call. I require flexibility. Awful, huh?”
“Indeed. And I require your name. I can offer my terms if you can offer that.”
The girl didn't move to jump off the desk.
Instead, she stopped swinging her legs, and tilted her head forwards, revealing her face in the moonlight.
“Ah.”
Oliver nodded. He had wondered if he'd receive a visit from her soon.
A girl who wore a mature smile which belied her young age. But it was neither her red lips against her pale skin, nor the colourful uniform of a non-existent casino that first caught his attention.
It was that of her eyes, one the colour of rubies, and one the colour of gold.
“The Dealer,” said Oliver, his demeanour shifting, hardening for the conversation ahead. He noted the distance between himself and the window. It would only take a moment. But not even he was confident that was enough. “Quite the diplomatic tightrope to walk in the Kingdom of Tirea, is it not?”
The Dealer shrugged.
“I was never here. You know the drill.”
“Indeed. And so does Lady Lucina Tolent. Tell me, did it entertain you to leave her in the lurch?”
For a whisper of a second, a playing card was visible among the darkness, catching a morsel of the moonlight.
“Lucina Tolent overplayed her hand. She lost. The House will not cover her expenses.”
Yes.
Lady Lucina lost.
As did Oliver. And how strange that was, for even together, the Smuggler King and the Crown Prince should not have been able to root out his guild from each nook and cranny so decisively. And yet they'd accomplished it with apparent ease.
It was as though they were helped by the very shadows.
Oliver couldn't help but be delighted at the brazenness of it all. This girl, and who she represented, discarded allies as readily as foes. And now they wanted him as well.
They who had brought him low.
It was beautiful.
“To think that I would have such ardent fans amongst the famed Lotus House. Is it my employment that the Grand Duchess requires?”
“The House has no affiliation with the Grand Duchess or the Grand Duchy of Granholtz.”
“Of course. My apologies. I rarely have contact with state-sponsored clandestine organisations.”
The Dealer waited an extra heartbeat before replying.
“You're forgiven.”
Oliver smiled, assessing once again the distance between himself and the window.
“So, my employment, is it? Or is it simply my autograph you desire? I assure you that if it's the latter, such a circuitous route isn't necessary. Have you a quill?”
“Just your employment.”
“Ah, my wounded pride.”
The Dealer reached out her hand from the shadows. The single card was replaced with an entire deck.
“Would you like to place a bet? For your gruelling life of poorly paid service to come, that is. Not your autograph.”
Oliver chuckled.
“Not my soul, then?”
“I don't need that. But there might be a clause. Just in case.”
“And what am I betting to win, exactly, for the price of my employment?”
“Any sordid fantasy you desire. The usual stuff. Crowns, castles, power. All the things you'll reject, but which I need to offer anyway.”
“A man who can be anyone can have anything. There is no sordid fantasy which I cannot attain by my own designs.”
The Dealer leaned forwards yet again, the mismatched colours of her eyes glinting sharper than the moonlight, yet not as much as her smile.
“What about a performance of a lifetime, spanning the continent, involving all the greatest powers of our time, and with all the eyes of the world as your audience?”
Oliver paused.
And then he chuckled.
“... Which game do you wish to play?”
Lord Oliver Lepre whistled as he strode through the corridors of the Rimeaux Estate to his designated prison.
It was an error he immediately regretted. The moment the familiar tune left his lips, all the rats hidden within the gaps and creaks of this old estate rushed up as though summoned by a ringmaster made out of cheese.
In seconds, they were on him. Heads, shoulders, knees and toes. If he sang, they'd probably sing, too. They circled around him, hopping and jumping like show horses on display.
Only when Oliver whistled again did they disperse.
Most of them went back the way they came. The rest went to take advantage of the commotion in the hall to raid the kitchens. The usual chefs weren't there to hurl them away this time. They were being escorted by the prince, covered in the regurgitations of Lucina Tolent's underlings.
He had to pity them. Few chefs could boast at having so many people upend their food without outright poisoning them. And yet judging by the sight he'd witnessed, poison would have been many times more preferable.
He shivered as he recalled the scene.
The mesmerising display of one girl. An unknown adventurer who'd scattered nigh on all of Reitzlake's finest with but a dance of her sword. Oh, how she'd twirled as though spun by Lady Catastrophe itself! It was a ballet of righteous judgement, lifting all the villains into the air to be judged by moonlight and gale.
Her merciless denouncement had left none standing.
An A-rank swordswoman.
Pity he didn't catch her name. The Kingdom of Tirea will doubtless be pleased. The Adventurer's Guild even more so. And the Snow Dancer happiest of them all. How many years had it been since such a notable individual raised their head in this tiny kingdom?
And so suddenly.
Oliver could only admire the patience this girl had displayed. He knew the pains of waiting in the wings, savouring the moment of commanding the spotlight. It was what he lived for.
And so, he admitted defeat with a smile, retiring this stage for the next.
He returned to his room, mind bristling with ideas for his next play as he continued towards the window.
How long had it been since he'd basked in the moonlight without a care in the world? There was always so much to do. So much to grace. And always in the worst designed estates. Natural lighting was a rare gift in his working day. Now it was the norm in his working nights as well.
That criminals always hid in the shadows was a terrible misconception. That it was true in Oliver's case was completely anecdotal. And unfortunate.
But there was little to be done. No decent play could be completed without a sufficient understage. His were the holes which ran without end. The sewers, the basements, the wells, the tunnels and the fresh mounds of soft earth dug deep in the woods.
Because where there were holes, there were secrets.
Nobody dug a hole without wanting to use it, and nobody wanted to use a hole for anything other than burying a secret in it.
Such as a lord with no influence and far too much debt. And when a lord found himself in such a position, the secret he wished to bury was himself.
Oliver stole from the dead as well as the living.
But what he stole wasn't crowns or possessions.
No, he took much more than that.
He took names.
This one had been a far more unorthodox role. Complex. Multi-faceted. But so liberating.
Still. It involved sewers. Lots of sewers. Which was terrible. Oliver enjoyed sunlight like daisies in a field. He wished to bloom. To dance. And to break to hearts of damsels. He used to be quite the charmer, back in the day—in another life. He still could. It'd take a shave and a change of attire. Likely a new accent. But then there were so many charmers already.
So many charmers and not enough fools.
To be a dashing gentleman was to invite envy and admiration. But it also drew scorn and resentment. So while he wished for the sunlight, 'Oliver Lepre' accepted the shadows. Attention was attention and nothing quite invited the keen eyes of others than to be both desired and maligned. Everything was easier when nobody saw the bumbling lord.
It was easier still when they willingly chose not to see him.
Even if that was a guard informing him that he was under the Tolent woman's safety. He'd picked the lock before the guard had finished explaining how meals would be scheduled. He'd never been closer to damning himself just to see the man's eyes pop out of his head should be push open the door.
Fortunately for Oliver, he still witnessed that anyway.
The guard had looked like he'd travelled the depths of the abyss. They all had. The accumulated might of the Smugglers Guild reduced to drooling invertebrates as they slouched over one another in a great big heap. The sight was breathtaking.
And also the signal for him to silently depart.
That he'd returned to the same room he was imprisoned in was mere eccentricity. But they'd made the effort to house him here, even adorn the room with his House colours. He figured he may as well escape from here as well.
A graceful, mysterious exit.
Let the adventurer girl have her moment. He'd already his. The awestruck eyes of Damien's daughter as he thrust aside the veil of the fool had made this all worth it. What was effort, if not for a maiden's admiration?
And so—
Oliver Lepre planted a shoe on the windowsill, his hands grazing against the outer wall as he felt the grain against his fingertips, and the strong wind over the lake wishing to drown him in the waters below.
“A fine night for a swim, isn't it?”
Oliver turned his head back.
And then he smiled.
Why, he still had an audience!
A girl sat on the table where none had sat just moments before. Though her head was hidden in the shadows, her pale legs swung before a stream of moonlight.
“Do you intend to leap from the window, my lord? Please don't. Life is too precious. And you've already died once before.”
Oliver's smile widened.
Such a meaningful proclamation from such a patently mysterious individual. It sent goosebumps shooting all over his arms. Now this was the act he had been waiting for!
“Rest assured, my lady, I was only taking in the night breeze. I would only leap if the love of my life commanded me to do so, and I'm afraid we've yet to meet.”
The visitor smiled.
Even draped in the shadows, her lips could be seen silently twisting into a beautiful smirk as finely sculpted as clay.
“My mistake. But then, I suppose it would be quite difficult for you to fall, wouldn't it? Rats are such adept climbers. And runners. Where do you intend to flee to, I wonder?”
The Dancing Rat gestured towards the open sky.
“Wherever the moonlight takes me, my dear. Will you accompany me?”
The visitor giggled.
“Lines like that make me very, very close to killing you.”
In response Oliver turned around, and then bowed.
A full bow, given only to a figure of the highest standing. To a girl with a taste of theatrics. That her face remained so purposefully in the shadows was outstanding. He couldn't guess her age or appearance. The playfulness in her voice suggested she couldn't have been older than Renise. But he'd known voices to shift like water.
His was one of them.
“Before you do, please allow me to introduce myself … although I fear you already have the advantage. I am Oliver Lepre, Lord, Fool and Rat.”
“Indeed. You're supposed to be dead. The rat portion, at least.”
Oliver shrugged.
“Someone's dead,” he said casually. “It isn't me.”
Sadly for the Crown Prince, the Dancing Rat wasn't so easily killed. He would have been a terrible leader of the Thieves Guild if he'd allowed that to happen. It was a role he'd delighted in. And one which warranted a stand-in when the blade came.
The one he'd thrust.
“Did pitting Reitzlake's criminal factions against one another amuse you?”
“It was not amusement, my dear. It was drama. And if I say so, accomplished proficiently. For months, the audience of Reitzlake were captivated in their terror.”
“And yet it came to an end. The Crown Prince and the Smuggler King were your fiercest critics, huh?”
“Every play has their disruptions. Theirs were setting the stage alight. Fortunately, I had a fire of my own.”
The girl laughed, swinging her legs freely as she teased the edges of her face.
“Not the adventurer with the moonlit sword, I take it? That was less a fire and more a storm. Even the theatre was brought down.”
“Indeed. Yet a storm which was carried by Renise Rimeaux. I had faith in her capacity for vengeance. Well placed, it appears. She only needed a few hours to undertake her task. Why, I didn't even have the chance to re-establish the Thieves Guild with her by my side! Our tale of romance ended before it began, and now all our stagehands are gone. It is time, then, to move onto the next.”
“Shame. Troublesome, aren't they? Adventurers. Even in the continent's most insignificant kingdom, they appear like spring rain to wash away our foul deeds.”
Oliver chuckled.
“Do you admit to being foul, then?”
“Never. I'm a fair maiden. The fairest of the lot. Which is why I've come to captivate you with a proposition, before you flee for your next stage.”
Wearing the smile of a charismatic lord, Oliver shook his head in regret.
“Propositions imply an expectation of duty from me. Mine is to the sewers. I'm beholden only to the first name to catch my fancy. And I am always spoiled by choice.”
“You have a high price. Everyone I headhunt does.”
“Oh? And to which business venture am I being headhunted for?”
The girl threw her arms up in dramatic fashion, as though to shower herself with confetti.
“A super shady, super secret one. The pay is terrible. The grind awful. You have no holidays and if you complain to your manager, your heart mysteriously stops to function. And then it blows up. I personally don't recommend joining.”
“You make a compelling offer. Go on.”
“Not only the Dancing Rat. But all your roles will need to be ready for the stage call. I require flexibility. Awful, huh?”
“Indeed. And I require your name. I can offer my terms if you can offer that.”
The girl didn't move to jump off the desk.
Instead, she stopped swinging her legs, and tilted her head forwards, revealing her face in the moonlight.
“Ah.”
Oliver nodded. He had wondered if he'd receive a visit from her soon.
A girl who wore a mature smile which belied her young age. But it was neither her red lips against her pale skin, nor the colourful uniform of a non-existent casino that first caught his attention.
It was that of her eyes, one the colour of rubies, and one the colour of gold.
“The Dealer,” said Oliver, his demeanour shifting, hardening for the conversation ahead. He noted the distance between himself and the window. It would only take a moment. But not even he was confident that was enough. “Quite the diplomatic tightrope to walk in the Kingdom of Tirea, is it not?”
The Dealer shrugged.
“I was never here. You know the drill.”
“Indeed. And so does Lady Lucina Tolent. Tell me, did it entertain you to leave her in the lurch?”
For a whisper of a second, a playing card was visible among the darkness, catching a morsel of the moonlight.
“Lucina Tolent overplayed her hand. She lost. The House will not cover her expenses.”
Yes.
Lady Lucina lost.
As did Oliver. And how strange that was, for even together, the Smuggler King and the Crown Prince should not have been able to root out his guild from each nook and cranny so decisively. And yet they'd accomplished it with apparent ease.
It was as though they were helped by the very shadows.
Oliver couldn't help but be delighted at the brazenness of it all. This girl, and who she represented, discarded allies as readily as foes. And now they wanted him as well.
They who had brought him low.
It was beautiful.
“To think that I would have such ardent fans amongst the famed Lotus House. Is it my employment that the Grand Duchess requires?”
“The House has no affiliation with the Grand Duchess or the Grand Duchy of Granholtz.”
“Of course. My apologies. I rarely have contact with state-sponsored clandestine organisations.”
The Dealer waited an extra heartbeat before replying.
“You're forgiven.”
Oliver smiled, assessing once again the distance between himself and the window.
“So, my employment, is it? Or is it simply my autograph you desire? I assure you that if it's the latter, such a circuitous route isn't necessary. Have you a quill?”
“Just your employment.”
“Ah, my wounded pride.”
The Dealer reached out her hand from the shadows. The single card was replaced with an entire deck.
“Would you like to place a bet? For your gruelling life of poorly paid service to come, that is. Not your autograph.”
Oliver chuckled.
“Not my soul, then?”
“I don't need that. But there might be a clause. Just in case.”
“And what am I betting to win, exactly, for the price of my employment?”
“Any sordid fantasy you desire. The usual stuff. Crowns, castles, power. All the things you'll reject, but which I need to offer anyway.”
“A man who can be anyone can have anything. There is no sordid fantasy which I cannot attain by my own designs.”
The Dealer leaned forwards yet again, the mismatched colours of her eyes glinting sharper than the moonlight, yet not as much as her smile.
“What about a performance of a lifetime, spanning the continent, involving all the greatest powers of our time, and with all the eyes of the world as your audience?”
Oliver paused.
And then he chuckled.
“... Which game do you wish to play?”
