The Disjointed Tales Of Renryre Island

14-2: A Tail Of Revenge [continued]

The Scribe nodded calmly for a moment, considering. Then he looked up at Tailfin with a smile.

"Fair enough. I will do it for free, in a manner of speaking."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, I need to collect something – a trinket. I could use a man of your skills to help me retrieve it. And along the way, you can tell me your story."

"Sounds like we have a deal," said Tailfin, holding his hand out to shake. "We just need to go past my office, and then we can go collect this trinket of yours. Where is it?"

"Far to the south on the isle of Littleren. There is a large stone there, the druids use it for rituals."

"The Godstone?" exclaimed Tailfin. "I know exactly where it is. I've been there!"

"What an unexpected coincidence," said The Scribe dryly. "Let's finish your business here, then we can be on our way."

Tailfin hesitated. He was sure he'd missed something; another something. Dead certain.

*   *   *

Tailfin and The Scribe arrived back at the office to find the henchman waiting with a pleased expression. A sack was wriggling on the floor.

"What's that?"

"The scribe, boss."

"A scribe?"

"The scribe."

"Which scribe?"

"The scribe."

"No, The Scribe is standing next to me."

The henchman glanced down at the sack.

"Might be a different scribe then, boss."

"Just... get rid of him," said Tailfin, rubbing his temples.

"In the bay, boss?"

Tailfin sighed. How had he done this for so long? Four decades already. He had been a boy when the mainland had vanished. A clever boy; opportunistic. It had only taken him a few years to rein in the chaos, and build up his underworld. Back then, he had loved his work, but as time crawled on, it became just business. A transaction here, a desert run there, an accident indoors, a property acquisition, another body found in the bay. Business.

"Just lose him outside," said Tailfin. "Then round up all the muscle you can find, and meet us at the docks before the next bell. Got it?"

"Yes, boss."

The henchman vanished with the sack hanging over his shoulder, and Tailfin was left to pack his things while The Scribe watched in silence. It made Tailfin oddly uncomfortable.

"What is it?" asked Tailfin.

"I'm observing my subject," said The Scribe, with a rather creepy grin. "Learning, so that I can capture your character as I write."

"Fine. Let's head down to the docks. We can walk in silence if you like?"

"Perfect."

"Fine."

They stared at each other for a while until eventually Tailfin broke contact, looking away in annoyance.

"Fine. Let's go."

They reached the docks a short while later, and found the henchman waiting with a dozen armed men, all of them classically brutish, the perfect crew for this sort of job.