Even in the portion of the city near the manor the houses were densely packed together, a quiet reminder of the overcrowded refugee site the city had become. Though it had been a long time since the last rain the city still felt humid, its overcrowded nature causing moisture to remain unnaturally long. Perhaps this was why the overcrowded tangle of buildings hadn’t burned down yet, a true marvel of fortune.

From down there in the city slums a damp, sullen breeze wafted past Tim, making him gag. He walked swiftly along the nearly empty streets of the city, past heavily shadowed alleyways scarcely wide enough for a man to fit through. He kept his eyes down and his shoulders hunched up to his neck in some subconscious effort to not draw attention to himself, and to not think about what he had done to the butler. He doubted the man’s innocence, seeing as how he sounded unphased when the maid was presented to him, but still… not many people deserve a death like that one. Perhaps he was just stoic. How much say in the matter did the man have, anyways? Tim ruminated, starting to shiver. He wasn’t quite sure how much of it was from shock or from the chill that was setting in as the night progressed.

Just a few blocks away, Tim could hear panicked shouting erupt from the mansion he had just escaped. Someone had obviously found the body and was none too pleased about it. Tim picked up his pace, very much pushing the limit of non-suspicious walking speeds. I do wonder what’s in these letters though… Kevin doesn’t strike me as a man who often bothers with correspondence, so there could be something interesting here. With those thoughts buzzing around his mind, Tim disappeared into the now-familiar streets and alleys that lead to his lodging.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“To whom it may concern: The cleric hero has been successfully distracted and contained as the commander of the Bastille. Your actions will no longer be monitored. I hope that this favor may one day be repaid if I am ever in need. Your servant, Dimsworth.”

Tim sat on his musty well-used bed cross-legged, with letters scattered around him in a semicircle. “The cleric hero. That would probably be the great hero Elena, and I suppose that does make sense, she certainly hasn’t been seen in the city for quite some time. But the Bastille? Seriously? What is there to guard in that old political prison that needs a hero?”

Tim rifled through the other papers with his good hand, some falling to the ground off his bed, but none of them had anything useful. Just bills and ‘now hiring’ notices that seemed to have been created to replace servants. A suspicious number of them, perhaps, but no solid information to act upon.

“Damn. Was that massive risk I took just for nothing? I suppose the whereabouts of another hero is good to know, but I was hoping for a concrete advantage I could grasp immediately.” Tim sighed as he started to put on his scholar’s robes, gingerly holding the sleeve away from his burns. “I guess the only thing I can do right now is continue working as normal. Maybe I’ll stumble upon something more in the archives.” He started for the door, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Fuck! Ow!” he shouted, yanking his hand out of his pocket. “I need to bandage this,” he said, looking at the cookie crumbs stuck to the raw flesh.

A burst of inspiration hit his mind like a bolt of searing lightning. “The rat! All this time it has been leading me around to relevant information. Maybe, if I truly am not going mad and it can understand me, my little buddy might be able to point me in the right direction. The rat! Oh my Heroes, the rat!” Tim giggled as he ran out the door, trying to silence himself even while he imagined the absurdity of it all. A half-elf asking a rat for wisdom…

The stress really was getting to him.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

By the time the church bells announced that noon had arrived, Tim walked into the large doors of the library with a slight spring in his step, glancing over the handful of guardsmen walking around asking if anyone had information over the previous night’s events. Hehe, they don’t even suspect me, Tim chuckled to himself, overjoyed that he did not need to go into hiding or do something drastic like shave off his eyebrows. He was certainly glad to see that besides the investigators, everything at the library and the market nearby was just as normal as ever.

As Tim neared the usual decorated doors signifying the start of the archives, he paused for just a second, once again taking in the majestic sight of the engraved wood, and then plunged into the dim labyrinth that was quickly becoming a familiar, even welcoming, sight.

Just as Tim passed the first bookshelf, he was met with the “squeak squeak” and a light tapping on his shoulder that heralded the arrival of his hungry rat friend.

“Yes, yes, it’s good to see you too, my friend,” Tim said as he fished out one of the cookies he had habitually bought in the market and gave it to the rat that was perched on his shoulder. “You know, I only ever call you rat or buddy, do you have a real name?” Tim asked, hoping there was no one in the archives to see him and doubt his sanity. With no answer or response to his words, Tim tried to think. “Well, I can’t say that I am the best at thinking of names, but how about Philbert?” The rat paused in its speedy chewing and gave a short nod. “Well, Philbert it is!” Tim cheered, intentionally keeping back the fact he had always thought the name Philbert was hilarious.

“Now, Philbert, as an upstanding rat citizen of the world, you understand you can’t expect to get these cookies for free, can you?” Tim asked, to which the rat gave a cautious nod of its head. “Good, good. We are on the same page. Well, as you know, I am working to make various corrections to the behavior of the current heroes, but since they could reduce me to a splatter of grease on the cobblestones, I lack the means to actually incentivize them to change, or if necessary, remove them of their title. I think we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement!” Tim looked at the rat expectantly. The rat looked at Tim blankly. Tim immediately felt bad – what was he doing, trying to impress a rat by spewing verbiage? “I apologize. What I am trying to get at, is you seem to have great knowledge of the archive layout, I will bribe you for knowledge of ways that I, weak as I am, can contest against heroes on their own level, or drag them down to mine.”

Tim looked hopefully at Philbert, who was still perched on his shoulder and not moving even a hair. Several minutes passed, with both parties staring at each other. Then, just as Tim was considering giving up and becoming a turnip farmer, a monotone voice oozed out from the mouth of the rat.

“Tim. I know what you must do.”

Tim’s gut roiled and he broke out into a cold sweat. On an instinctive level, he knew this was a voice no man should ever hear, and his wholly mundane body tried to revolt. But Tim was a practical, pragmatic man, and besides, a rat couldn’t harm him. He was being absurd! So he stifled those feelings, and wrote them off as a product of his surprise. Tim nodded towards Philbert to continue.

“Tim. I have a friend. A good friend,” The emotionless voice said, uncannily flat. “In the Bastille, a wise rat lives. One that speaks and guides the lesser ones. My friend, the good friend, is kept from leaving that place by cruel bonds of silver and sleepless watch on the walls. If you help my friend, my good friend, we can help you. We swear it so.”

Tim was silent for a bit, then remembered a crucial detail. “Ehh, Philbert, that might be a bit difficult. I have it under pretty good information that the great hero Elena is at the Bastille, and since there is only one Bastille in the kingdom that is known as such, I assume your friend is there. I can get to the place, but I don’t think little ol’ me can do anything more than stare at the walls and maybe get beheaded for trespassing.”

For a time the rat did not move. But finally, it began to speak. “The lesser ones keep watch over the land. In stinking gutters, in rotting sewers, they watch. They listen, listen. They have told me such: a powerful enemy marches towards the Bastille, hostile to all but itself, to challenge the hero who guards those walls. Tim, this is your moment. When the hero is busy, my friend, my great friend, must be freed. Do not worry about after, for my friend, my great friend, will be of assistance.”

Tim noticed that while the rat’s jaw was open it did not move when it spoke, but Tim dismissed the thought, deciding it must be an illusion caused by the flickering of his dim lantern. He let out a low, sliding whistle, impressed over the information he had received for the price of a cookie. “Well, that’s a bit more in my favor,” Tim said as he handed Philbert another piece of a cookie. “I suppose I won’t be missed from work, that pompous asshole of a boss probably doesn’t even remember my existence.” Tim grinned, happy to have a clear path once more to his one true goal.

“Philbert, let’s go visit a political prison!”