Nighttime. Why did her contacts always want to meet with her at night? Couldn’t a daylight meeting be negotiable? She didn’t mind the dark, mind you, but it made everything feel so… under-the-table. She didn’t like to think that her brother would be involved in such business. Not René. Not her baby brother. Still, she had been the one who’d put the word out that she’d pay for information. Now it was time for Eglantine to hopefully get a little further in her search for the last person she’d ever cared about.The meeting place was Mossflower, outside of a small, crude hut that had long-served as an inn of sorts. A beast could come here for a warm meal and a cot for the night, if she knew the owner. A poorly-hewn pine table sat outside, with two splintery benches on either side of it. She sat at this table, knees apart, elbows plunked down on the rough wooden surface. Cracking her knuckles and flexing her fingers, she waited.
There was a noise in the underbrush, a sort of scuffling, snuffling noise. It caught her ears, and she knew immediately that this was her informant. No well-bred creature could scuttle like that. The ferret who emerged from the undergrowth was exactly as she pictured he’d be. He was tall and thin, with a hungry look about him. His ear had been ripped once or twice, and he’d suffered a broken nose that had never healed properly. Eglantine knew his type and prepared herself for disappointment. Hunching her shoulders, she sneered at the ferret. “Alright then. Talk.”
“About my payment…”
“There’ll be none, unless I get the information I’m after.” She looked him over. He was a drunk, probably a petty thief or tavern mountebank. Riff-raff, not worth the effort it would take to engage him in combat. She didn’t particularly feel like killing him, though- she was in a generous mood. “But tell me something I like to hear, and I’ll tell you about the cask of spirits of alcohol that I’ve secreted about the place.” There, that got him. She could see the ferret’s eyes gleam in the darkness. What was he drinking when he drowned his misery? Cheap berrywine, or beer from old barley? Certainly nothing worth drinking. What she had to offer him would be sufficient.
As enticing as a drink sounded, the ferret was nervous. He had every right to be. Not many who dealt with Eglantine came back unscathed- the cat’s claws were quick to slash. Creatures had disappeared after giving her information that had… negotiable truth values. He knew he had something here, but he wasn’t an idiot. “Sure, an’ what’s to stop you from killin’ me? I ain’t daft, girlie. Pony up an’ I’ll share the good news.” He unhooked the tin cup from his belt. “Just a drop in ‘ere, that’ll do ‘er.’
Eglantine swatted his hand away, claws catching in his grimy fur. “Not yet, you don’t. Tell me what you know. I’m certain my reputation’s preceeded me- you know that I’ve never stiffed anybody on a reward if they deserved it. Spill. What news have you of my family?”
“Well,” he started, “the rumor- and I know this to be true- the rumor has it that Sinclair’s named an heir.”
“That’s… not surprising, but not what I wanted to know.” She hadn’t expected her father to name her brother as heir to the family name and territory. Sinclair was a warrior, a fighter. René spent his days playing the lute and flirting. But her running away from home had put a damper on any possibility of her inheritance. “That’s not worth my time, let alone my goods. Are you finished?”
“Not in the least,” the ferret said. “It’s said in the forest that this heir’s left home on the direction of Sinclair, bringing news to you. He’s taken a new wife, y’see, of the Swiftclaws, and-” The ferret yelped in alarm as she slammed her paw on the table. “Look, you slimy, overgrown weasel, I’m getting a bit fed up with you. Either you have something worthwhile to say, or don’t waste my time.” The cat bit her lip, choking back a thrown punch. “I know my brother left home. I’m looking for him. I don’t care what my parents are up to. If you’re one of Sinclair’s agents, I’ll gut you where you stand. I don’t care if it breaks your mate’s heart or your mother’s heart; it’s been a damn long time since I cared about breaking hearts. It’ll be a whole rundlet of liquor for you if you can tell me anything about my brother René’s whereabouts, but otherwise, leave me in peace!” she snarled.
The ferret shook his head, irritated. “Stow yer guff, girlie. I ain’t talkin’ about yer brother. I’m talkin’ about yer sister.”
It took a lot to actually surprise Eglantine, and she never let it show. But a careful observer would have noticed her fur rising and her slit pupils expanding. “...What sister?” she said, keeping her voice calm and steady. “You’ve breathed your last, liar. I don’t have a sister.” She flexed her claws angrily, waiting for the ferret’s explanation.
“She ain’t yer full sister- not yer mother’s daughter, fer certain. I tole you, Sinclair’s taken a new wife. Th’ girl’s not much younger than you- best as I can tell, it was some sorta scandal, sendin’ yer mother back home to the hills. But like you said, you don’t care. She cares, though. She’s innerested in meetin’ ye. She sent this.” The ferret reached into his satchel, rummaging around before pulling out an oblong package wrapped in parchment. “She said to tell you she nicked the other one. Token of good faith, as it were.”
Eglantine unwrapped it, carefully slitting its binding with one extended claw. The paper fell away and a small silver knife, curved like a cat’s fang, glittered up at her. This was one of her father’s prized possessions. He’d never part with it willingly, certainly not to get her back. She’d stolen the other one when she left home; Sinclair would have been guarding this with his life. Silently, she regarded it. Scarlet eyes, burning with a new, strange light, met the ferret’s.
“What’s her name?”
“Marceline.”
