The World of Myth Magazine

Randolf van Rattertan was the greatest thief in the whole of the Capitol, perhaps even the whole of the kingdom. It was not only he who thought so, merchants whispered his name fearing if they said it too loudly he would appear and somehow by magic steal all of their profits. Princes and Princesses prayed each night that the Gods would watch over their precious trinkets, that all thieves, rogues, and tricksters would somehow not find them and smuggle them away. The ten or so names of specifically talented stealers would almost always mention Rattertan, sometimes as The Rat, sometimes as Ratters, on occasion he was just mentioned as you-know-who. Yes, Randolf van Rattertan was a renowned thief, an expert, an enigma. A true legend, which was made so much greater, after his mysterious disappearance.

Randolf had overheard one night, eavesdropping at the Monk and Donkey tavern, that the sorcerer Seraphya del Ravenlock had in her possession The Seer’s Stone diamond. Such a jewel would be the largest ever acquired by a thief if any thief were brave enough and clever enough to steal it. Randolf van Rattertan thought himself to be that brave and that clever, but to take on a sorcerer; especially one from the Ravenlock family, Ratters certainly was not that stupid. So, he listened, and he watched, and he waited. A shadow lurking, wanting to confirm that none of his colleagues would think themselves with the capacity and capabilities to pull off the impossible.

“The King will wish to have this rumor confirmed,” suggested the barkeep, Three-eyed Anthony.

“You’re not the one to confirm such things,” laughed Anthony’s wife, One-eyed Sheryl.

She was a plum woman built like a juicy pear. Sheryl worked the kitchen while her husband tended the bar. Although she obviously still had her two eyes, Sheryl had gotten her nickname from a habit of always keeping one eye on her husband, thereby doing everything else with only half the concentration she needed.

Three-eyed Anthony was far skinnier than his wife, many suggested he was constantly fed dried bread husks and watered-down wine as punishment for wandering. Any who were regulars of the Monk and Donkey knew better though. The tavern keep ate well, a handful off each plate that came out of the kitchen. He drank well too, the dregs from every mug he served and then collected. His slimness came from how he moved from table to table each night, starting gossip, collecting gossip, and having a good laugh with every patron. The three eyes came from the fact that the man seemed to be everywhere, he did not miss a single thing. Whether it was happening in the tavern, or out on the street, or even in the adjacent buildings close by, Three-eyed Anthony seemed to somehow know all about everything.

“Neither do YOU have the bravery to ask Seraphya, not outright anyway,” scoffed Anthony, replying to his wife in the way that he replied to everyone who questioned his bravery.

“Perhaps a thief could sneak within Tower Ravenlock, find the diamond, and take it,” suggested one of the drinkers.

“For the King, of course,” suggested another.

Randolf had quietly scoffed at such a suggestion, a suicidal mission, and the thief had vowed he would take the drinker’s purse as punishment for suggesting such folly. It never happened though, for later that same evening Tricky Tarook, an amateur thief had made a drunken vow that she would steal the Seer’s Stone diamond and then use it to buy a round of drinks for all. Ratters had seen the determination in Tricky’s eyes. She was stupid enough to try. With a sigh Randolf knew he’d need go back on his vow. Tricky Tarook would have to be stopped before she started, and there was only one way that could be done.

Under the cover of the roar of delight that emanated from the drinkers, Randolf van Rattertan chose to slink off into the night. Randolf was not one to be outdone by an amateur such as Tricky Tarook, especially not a drunkard. There and then was it so decided he would sneak that precious stone and sneak it that night.

If he had known then what he knew now, Ratty would have chosen at that moment just to go home. Instead, though, he decided to make the biggest mistake of his stellar thieving career. He set off through the dark streets in search of the residence of Seraphya del Ravenlock. The moon was hid behind a bank of storm clouds, a bad omen in everyone’s books. The van Rattertan family placed little faith in omens though, they were stronger believers that skill and luck can get you into and out of any situation, even where and when magic is involved. He was soon to discover that he wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t completely right either.

Tower Ravenlock was a surprising oasis that proudly extended from the otherwise ramshackle that was the Slums District of the Capitol. Law was loosely followed in that maze of backstreets and alleyways, the soldiers of King Frans de Tulip dared not venture into the shadows there. It was unspoken, but well known that Seraphya was queen of that place and all others that the shadow of her tower touched. It did not help that Ratty’s home was in those slums and that he had looked curiously upon Ravenlock Tower each and every day.

“Ratty, my boy,” he muttered as he slunk from shadow to shadow. “Tonight, may just be the very night you get to meet the queen.”

Within the hour the thief had managed to mount the high wall that was rumoured to exist solely to keep the locals, like Ratty, out. As he dropped into the well-manicured garden, so unlike the slum streets, Randolf van Rattertan discovered Seraphya’s first spell. His soft leather boots sank into the lush, green grass and he began to slowly sink into the earth.

“In the name of all things unholy,” hissed Ratty in surprise.

Quickly he struggled free and bolted lightly the rest of the way to a great oak. Grasping a low-hanging branch, the thief scrambled his way up the trunk to what he hoped was safety. The tree took offence to hosting an intruder and the branches, becoming animated, began to pod and poke at Ratty as he hurriedly balanced his way along to a second-storey window. The poor stealer almost perished as he drew close to the tower and discovered that the branch decided to break. For one such as Ratty who had little time for gods, his leap from the oak’s limb was less about skill and more about blind hope. To his credit, Ratty made not a single squeak, nor did he utter a chirp as he flew through the cool night air, landing harshly upon the tower’s stone, fingertips alone keeping him alive and not plummeting to an untimely demise. From there it was a maddening scramble to prise open a stubborn window that refused to budge. Then, following that battle won, there was a scramble up a smooth stone wall that did not want to be climbed. Ratty thought himself to be finally safe once he was within the tower, but his troubles had only just begun. The dinner table set with feast enough for a hundred decided to rise up and strikeout at the evening’s intruder. The chicken carcass took up a fork and launched it with dangerous accuracy before acquiring the carving knife and brandishing it menacingly. Ratty whipped out a weapon of his own and put the short sword to work, parrying the roast’s thrusts and swings as the dinner plates began to flank him. When the thief had the chook wiggling upon his sword point the carpet wrapped around his feet and then snaked up to his knees. In a matter of moments, the greatest thief in the whole of the Capitol was caught like a snug bug in a rug. What should have been a simple job had turned into a waking nightmare.

“Ah,” purred a voice as Seraphya del Ravenlock appeared. “The evening has brought me a visitor.”

Ratty often reflected on that moment wondering if the queen of Ravenlock Tower had always been there, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to make her existence known. Otherwise, it could only be coincidence that her timing was such perfection, and Ratty did not believe in coincidences.

“Seraphya, your home is indeed a challenge,” Ratty began. “I especially did take a dislike to…”

“Silence!” hissed the sorcerer. “I am well aware of how well protected my tower is, although I am surprised to see that you have made it all the way in.”

Ratty took that moment to bow deeply before the sorcerer.

“Madam Ravenlock, you are meeting Randolf van Rattertan, renowned rogue, considered one of, if not the cleverest thief in the whole of the Capitol,” he said with a smile.

“I have not heard of you,” stated the sorcerer, wiping the confident grin from Ratty’s face. “But I am sure others have… I must make an example of you.”

“But… But… I assure you, sorcerer,” stammered the stealer. “That will not be necessary.”

“Oh, but it most certainly is, Mister Rattertan,” mused Seraphya. “I cannot simply just let you go.”

Ratty’s pleading arguments then fell upon deaf ears as the sorcerer ignored him.

“Rattertan… Rattertan… Rat… Turn… Tan…” muttered the Slums Queen. “I know I’ve got the perfect punishment for a sneaky, little rodent such as you!”

The mischievous look that Randolf received from Seraphya made him gulp. With a wiggle of her fingers and a handful of mysterious syllables the sorcerer placed a curse upon her visitor.

Randolf squeaked in surprise as he began to change and transform, shrinking down to a mere thousandth of his size, his body began to sprout fuzzy, light-brown fur, and his hands and feet morphed into tiny pink claws. The worst thing though was the long tail that sprouted painfully and awkwardly from just above his bottom. As he shrank Ratty fell out of his clothing, he felt the carpet squeezing closer and tighter, threatening to suffocate him. In a rush he scampered upon his new claws, running on all fours, searching for a place to hide.

“Cat!” boomed the voice of Seraphya van Ravenlock. “I have a new playmate for you.”

At that moment Ratty thought that his night and his life had come to an end. A slinky, black feline appeared at Seraphya’s call and raced straight towards where the brown mouse, Ratty, was running. As cat and mouse both met the rodent cried what he had thought would be his last. Instead of tooth and claw and death, the cat strangely scooped up Ratty and ran for another room. Ratty clung on for dear life as first the kitchen and then guest rooms and finally rooms full of tomes from floor to ceiling flashed before his little mouse eyes. Finally, the cat stopped its run in a room full of mirrors. Ratty could see himself for the first time then, a sight that had made him weep.

That was a year ago, a year that passed by with great monotony. Too few visited the tower, Seraphya van Ravenlock preferring to disguise herself and leave the tower rather than meet with devious minds at her own home. Ratty overheard numerous conversations that gave him need for concern, discussions regarding the kingdom, King Frans de Tulip, and the royal family, and then the very world made the mouse’s brain hurt and stomach churn. In frustration he had so much to say and no way to say it. His only companions were the spiders who had nested in the room full of mirrors, and that strange black feline who carried him everywhere. The cat had shown Ratty as a mouse where in the tower he could safely find food and water, the cat had shown the thief how to navigate the numerous passageways, common and secret, and most importantly that cat had stood guard as protector every time that the sorcerer had gone hunting for Ratty, with who knows what in mind. Ratty had noticed over the course of the year that Seraphya’s mood became more and more erratic. She began to make regular visits up to the topmost room of the tower, an observatory, always with that seer’s stone in hand. Although the cat tried to keep Ratty away from all of the rooms above the first floor, the thief always managed to find a way to sneak up there. Seraphya too tried to bar Ratty entry, but he had found a way in mouse form to befriend the tower. It helped him find the nooks and crannies, secret passages that only someone tiny could traverse. Ratty caught many a conversation that Seraphya had, seemingly with her lonesome, conversations that caused the mouse great concern.

“Show me, more, show me what has come before,” Seraphya stated that day, eager, desperate, wanting. “Yes! Yes!”

The great diamond was positioned in a strange long tube that Seraphya pointed to the sky. Normally the sorcerer would search the blanket of stars at night, but on this particular occasion Ratty knew it was mid-morn.

“The time will be upon us soon, I will be ready, far more prepared than anyone else I imagine,” laughed the sorcerer.

There came a cry from one of the rooms below, a clear call of impatience. Seraphya sighed then and left the observatory.

“Soon I will not need to come in reply to your childish calls,” the sorcerer announced. “I shall be given what a true believer deserves.”

When the coast was obviously clear and Ratty could hear the sorcerer deep in conversation a number of rooms away, the mouse scampered towards the strange viewing tube. From the bottom of a library shelf, he raced upward, past a number of tomes whose spines he could no longer read. Nibbling at a throng that tied a scroll tightly closed, Ratty used his rogue cunning to use the parchment as a chute, grasping the two sides of the paper in his forepaws, gliding from the top shelf across to the viewer platform. Looking up from the padded seat into the domed lens a fuzzy vision of a heavenly body caught the mouse’s eye.

‘What could you possibly want with a star?’ Randolf wondered.

With a gentle meow, cat appeared in the seat, sitting beside the mouse. Ratty chattered a reply, there was no fear for the creature. Randolf had from day one learned to trust the feline, the black beast acting less like a sorcerer’s companion and more like an imprisoned captive, as Ratty was. ‘Are you trying to help me?’ Ratty thought. ‘Is there something you are trying to show me?’

The cat nudged the mouse and encouraged him to climb aboard. With a gentle prod Ratty found himself shuffling from the cat’s back to up on its head. Slowly, with a gentleness and patience that an actual cat would not possess, Randolf discovered that Cat eased her passenger closer to the lens.

“SQUEAK!!” cried Ratty and he almost fell as the blurry star came into clear focus.

It was in fact no star, instead a stone, or some other body, falling through space. What frightened Randolf the most was the creature that seemed to be clinging to the hurtling body, a creature with tentacles that seemed to grow like a beard from a beak-like maw. There were numerous eyes, ten in total, all closed bar one. That single eye seemed to stare straight at Ratty, no, more like straight through him as if he truly were naught but a tiny mouse.

“Meow,” said the cat as it caught Ratty by his tail and gently placed him down.

“Squeak,” the mouse replied.

It was a meaningless conversation, and yet, Ratty sensed that the cat was relieved that someone else, or something else now knew what it knew.

“What is the meaning of this?” suddenly growled the voice of the sorcerer.

Silently she had returned and caught the two animals. With lightning-fast fingers Seraphya del Ravenlock had Ratty about the neck and the cat by the tail. The cat thrashed about wildly, yowling, hissing, and spitting until the sorcerer had no option except to let go. Instead of struggling, Randolf van Rattertan froze. He gasped and croaked and cried out as the sorcerer slowly squeezed.

‘This is it,’ thought Ratty. ‘The greatest thief, dying like a mouse caught in a trap.’

“I should have killed you both when I had the chance,” the queen of Ravenlock Tower mused. “Never mind though, I guess this is merely a delay of the inevitable.”

Ratty felt himself growing weaker and weaker; as he was unable to breathe at all, preparing for death and whatever came after. At that precise moment the cat launched itself at the sorcerer’s hand and sank her fangs deep into the bare flesh.

“You wicked beast!” Seraphya cursed as she dropped Ratty and brought the fresh wound to her lips.

Cat scooped up the mouse in her mouth as the sorcerer began to chant. As the cat ran off Randolf felt a drip of crimson drop on to his nose. Licking it he thought there was something not quite right about the taste.

“Hold still,” commanded the sorcerer, but the cat paid no heed.

She and Ratty both knew if they obeyed then both of their lives would be cut short, very, very short.

The cat scooted by the library shelf just as a bolt of fire shot near her tail. The books and scrolls burst into flame immediately and began to crackle, emitting a terrible smell.

“Blast, and double blast!” cried the sorcerer, aghast at what her spell had caused. “That there is a thousand years of arcane knowledge, gone!”

As Seraphya began to mumble words to another spell, cat shot through her legs.

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