Tailfin had grown weary over the years. Being the meanest guy in the city was a tough job – a stressful job – and his migraines were becoming worse as the years passed. He had plans to retire soon, to get a nice place up on the hill overlooking the bay, and live out his days reading books instead of breaking bones.
A week below the water had been calming, if a little boring. He still didn't know how he had survived for seven days without air, and he wasn't particularly interested in pursuing the topic – there were likely some fairly dangerous answers at the end of that quest.
He strolled along Sevryne Street, bearing away from the markets, heading towards a bakery that he had visited a number of times over the years. The sweet old lady always refused to serve him. Probably the only person on Renryre Island with the guts to do so.
"Good morning, Nelysse," said Tailfin. "How are you today?"
"Morning, Tailfin," said the old lady. "I am very well, thank you for asking. How are you? I heard you were dead?"
Tailfin couldn't help but chuckle at that. He supposed that word had travelled around town quickly after his disappearance. Nelysse looked a little disappointed to discover it wasn't true.
"As you can see, that's not the case," he shrugged, glancing at himself. "But I am peckish. How about a little cake?"
"As you know, it's against store policy to serve lowlife criminal scum."
He wanted to laugh, but the cake actually looked rather enticing. He drew his dagger, almost uncontrolled.
"There are two ways this is going to happen," he said, allowing Nelysse time to deduce her options.
She stepped back with a shocked look on her face. Tailfin had never bothered threatening her before. Why now? It wasn't like him.
"What happens next?" asked a voice behind him.
Tailfin turned to find The Scribe sitting at a table in the corner, casually scribbling on a parchment.
"You?" said Tailfin.
"I heard you were looking for me," said The Scribe.
Tailfin looked around cautiously. Yes, he was looking for The Scribe, but he hadn't expected The Scribe to find him first. Nelysse was still nervously watching him, and he decided to put the dagger away.
"What can I do for you, Tailfin?" asked The Scribe.
Ignoring the bakerwoman, Tailfin walked over to the table.
"I have a job for you," he said. "I am retiring soon, you see. And I need someone to write my biography. A memoir, if you like. How I became what I am, and how it gradually comes to an end."
"I don't tend to write things retrospectively," said The Scribe after a moment's consideration. "But I suppose I am interested. Any thought on what this book will be called?"
"Yes, actually," said Tailfin proudly, "A Tail Of Revenge."
"A Tale Of Revenge?"
"Tail, spelt t-a-i-l."
"A Tail Of Revenge?"
"Yes. As in, Tailfin."
"That's... just silly."
"What? Why?"
"Well, anybody who reads the title will think you can't spell. And then they won't bother to read it."
"They will read it."
"Why?"
"Because I'm Tailfin, and I will bloody well make them read it!"
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.
"Right," said Tailfin, "hop in the tender, all of you. We have a job to do."
The men all piled into the tender, which wasn't designed for a dozen men. All of them except the henchman.
"I can't swim, boss!"
"I remember. So, would you prefer to climb into the boat, or be thrown into the bay in a sack?"
"Ah... neither, boss."
The henchman turned and sprinted, vanishing into the distance.
"I suppose he won't be coming with us then," remarked The Scribe.
Tailfin and The Scribe joined the bruisers in the boat, and watched them paddle in desperate confusion while the boat swung in circles. It took a while to organise them into a synchronous motion – even then it was rather a sad display.
"I hope you aren't planning on having this bunch paddle us all the way to Littleren?" asked The Scribe.
"Of course not," said Tailfin. "See that ship over there..."
The tender bumped into the side of the luxury ship, and the men scrambled up the ropes. A short commotion on the deck quickly died down, and Tailfin and The Scribe followed them onboard.
"Good evening, gentlemen," said Tailfin to the crew being held hostage by his men. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Tailfin. Welcome aboard my ship."
"Your ship?" protested the captain.
"Yes, my ship."
"This is Arynlock's ship."
"I know whose ship it was."
The crew stood startled a moment longer before the captain relented.
"No harm will come to my crew?"
"None at all, assuming they follow orders."
"Where to, then?"
"Littleren. It's a little—"
"I know it. Claims more ships than it allows safe passage. Too risky. Besides, we'd need to fight the Whalebreaker current to get there. This ship isn't made for the high seas, nor are my crew trained for it. This is a luxury ship, it stays in the bay."
"That doesn't sound like following orders to me, captain," said Tailfin without a hint of humour. "You can die here, or you can attempt to land on Littleren. What will it be?"
The captain sagged, his arms metaphorically bound.
"Prepare to sail!" he called, then turned back to Tailfin. "Your cabin is the largest in the sterncastle, over there."
"Thank you, captain," said Tailfin, smiling as he strolled towards his cabin.
"And your cabin—"
"Thank you, captain," said The Scribe calmly as he began walking. "I know where it is."
* * *
After settling in, Tailfin called The Scribe to his cabin for a meal. Arynlock's ship was well stocked with fresh food, always prepared to entertain guests, evidently. Tailfin could relate – a successful businessman, whatever their business, should always be prepared for the unexpected.
The Scribe sat quietly, observing Tailfin, making him ever more uncomfortable.
"Right. How do we being?" asked the crime lord.
"We go back to the beginning," said The Scribe. "In fact, further back. To before it all began. Think about the first crime you ever committed. What happened before that, what drove to you crime?"
Tailfin struggled to recall that day, forty years back. Helen's Bay had been a city in chaos, its citizens stunned, staring out into the empty ocean, their pockets left unguarded.
"The mainland disappeared, along with the city watch," said Tailfin, shrugging nonchalantly. "I saw an opportunity, I took it."
The Scribe began inking his parchment, nodding as he listened.
"And when did you know you were more than a petty criminal; when did you decide to become a crime lord?"
"I always knew," he said. "I never doubted it, never questioned it. Never considered anything else really."
"Never thought about a change of career?"
"I suppose I have considered it over the years," acknowledged Tailfin. "But Helen's Bay needs me. Renryre Island needs me. Without me, the city would fall into chaos. Crime would run amok, uncontrolled. The powerful would be robbed, and the hierarchy of society would fall. Merchants would be put out of business; all trade would fail. Renryre Island would be reduced to an island of savages. I couldn't do that. This island means too much to me."
"And yet you want to retire?"
Tailfin sighed deeply, his disappointment clear.
"I want to retire, yes."
"You were gone a week. Helen's Bay was still there when you returned."
"Yes. I suppose Madrik held things together. He and his girlfriend."
"Madrik? You think Madrik stepped in? No, he was just a face, as was Tally. Arynlock is the one who stepped in."
"Arynlock?" exclaimed Tailfin. "The woman who threw me to the sharks?"
"She knew what she was doing."
"She planned that?"
"She plans a lot of things," said The Scribe, shrugging. "Sets things in motion. Moves the pieces, if you will. If you really want to retire and leave Helen's Bay in good hands, Arynlock is who you should look to."
Tailfin sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.
"Arynlock..." he said. "I sent Madrik and Tally to kill her just this morning."