The Diplomat, The Fence, and The Mummer
The tavern door flew open, carrying a trace of salt air on the nighttime breeze. A small, finely-dressed gentleman stepped inside and gazed nervously about the taproom before making his way to the bar.
“Welcome to The Salty Seaman stranger,” the lantern-jawed barkeep greeted him. “What can I get ya?”
“Ah yes, my good fellow,” the tiny man said. I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”
The bartender nodded and jerked his thumb towards a dimly-lit table in the corner where a pudgy, middle-aged gentlemen sat watching a mummer perform on stage. The man’s bushy beard, the tiny man noted, was as golden as the buttons on his red coat.
The small man approached the table. “Mr. Davenport, I presume?”
The seated man nodded. “Pontius Veramore,” he said, motioning to the seat across from him.
“Indeed,” Pontius replied as he sat. “I received the message from your runner about moving up the meeting time and rushed right over. Though I’m not sure what difference a quarter bell makes.”
“My apologies, but I have an appointment that I simply cannot miss,” Davenport replied.
“Very well, let’s get on with it.” Pontius continued in a whisper, “As you know, I represent the interests of a certain benefactor, who shall remain nameless.”
Davenport seemed to have returned his attention to the mummer, who was now pantomiming an elaborate death scene that seemed to involve either poison or a noose.
“Amateur”, he muttered.
Pontius noticed that the mummer’s signature ribbon-cloak had very few ribbons attached to it. And those he had were just felt and velvet, not the more prestigious silk. “Indeed,” Pontius nodded, before continuing. “Well, my patron is most interested in acquiring the specimen in question.”
“Yes, the creature.” Davenport replied, making no attempt at subtlety. “I have it, as promised.”
“Yes, well, may I inspect it?”
“Of course,” Davenport said, and reaching under the table he produced a crate draped in thick black cloth. Pontius leaned closer. “Mind you don’t get too close. These things can be quite vicious and this one is no exception. The team who acquired it for me lost three good men trying to capture it.”
With a gulp, the tiny man leaned back as Davenport slowly pulled back the drape. The dim light didn’t do much to illuminate the interior, but as the drape lifted a low menacing growl rose from the shadows. Suddenly, a dark-striped fur leg shot from inside, razor-sharp claws reaching for the diminutive man’s throat.
Pontius fell back in his chair, gasping. After taking a moment to calm himself, but still trembling, he produced a heavy coin pouch from within his coat and threw it on the table between them. “The agreed-upon price.”
Deftly pocketing the purse, Davenport smoothly rose to his feet. “Pleasure doing business with you, but I must be getting to my next appointment.”
Pontius nodded as the man departed out the back. Gingerly picking up the crate he made his way to the entrance. As he approached the door it suddenly flew open and another portly, middle-aged man in a gold-buttoned red coat and sporting a blonde bushy beard entered holding a crate with a black leather cloth draped over it.
“Mis…Mister Davenport, I presume?” Pontius stuttered.
Eyeing the tiny man and his nearly identical crate, the newcomer replied “Pontius Veramore?”
Pontius nervously pulled back the cloth on his own crate, revealing an angry striped cat wearing a headband with felt rabbit ears.
“Oh my…” the tiny man muttered.
EPILOGUE
Skulking down the alleyway, the shadowy figure of a pudgy man stopped before an old shipping crate. After a quick glance around, the man slid the lid off the crate and retrieved a cloth bundle from inside. Setting it aside, he quickly stripped down in the dim light of the alleyway and stowed the discarded items in the crate. Opening the bundle, he dressed himself before bending down and snatching up the large cloth itself that had contained the new clothes.
Exiting the alley and stepping into the light of a nearby streetlamp, the man - now thin, clean-shaven, and sporting a tight-fitting blue coat, green breeches, and yellow cap, flashed a smile. As he turned, he gave the cloth he was holding a dramatic twirl, sending hundreds of multi-colored silk ribbons rippling in the breeze and scintillating in the lamplight. Settling the cloak around his shoulders the figure began a merry whistle as he sauntered off into the night.
