There are few things you should know about me. I guess now is as good a time as any to fill in some of the details before events start to unfold. First, I am the youngest of nine. At least, at last count it was nine. We all share the same mother and are scattered across the City and even some of the outer Islands. Old mom got around. Second, mom had the gift. She practiced the Dark Arts, had an understanding with the devil or could touch the other side. Whatever you call it, she had the goods. Each of us got a taste of her gifts to varying degrees. Of all of us, I think I take after her most. I was tested at age 12. The results were off the cart and I was quickly bundled up and stowed on-board a ship for a direct journey to the University. Luckily, the masters didn't appreciate my skill with locks and I slipped off that ship before it set sail. Which leads me to the next little quirk I have. I love locks. Mechanical, ethereal, alchemical, or just down right nasty, I adore them all. If I was ever to go straight, I'd open a locksmith shop over on Market Street and spend the rest of my days happily tinkering away. But the straight path just isn't in the cards, as my older sister would say. And she would know. What Elsie can see in her deck would turn you hair. But I digress. Lets see, what else? Ah yes, I suppose I should catalog my weaknesses as well as strengths. The one I'm most branded with is arrogance. Go figure, right? Rashness. Again, totally unjustified. No concept of reality. And fear of the dark. No really, I'm terrified of darkness. It isn't something I'm proud of but there it is. Next break in the actions I'll give you the details but for now, we are out of time. We've reached my sister Imogien's house.
Imogen isn't the oldest of the bunch, that distinctions belongs to Rueben. But she is the oldest female which means she loves to boss us all around. She also insists, as eldest daughter, that she be keeper of the family ring. Arguing with Imogen gets you know where, trust me I've tried, so we've all resigned ourselves to this set up. Imogen did well for herself. She married early and well. But things didn't work out so great for her husband. I guess marriage to my sister isn't conducive to a long life. Suffice to say, she married young, widowed even younger, and has been living large ever since. Her home is in the posh part of town. We've learned to approach by the servants door. As we unlatched the side gate, Umberto's face lit up. He loves Imogens. Thinks she's a fine lady of quality. Just more proof that Berto's mental facilities are a bit on the shaky side. But I was more than willing to use it in my favor.
"Hey, Berto," I began as we rapped on the delivery door," why don't you pop on up and ask Imogen if we can borrow Mother's ring? I know she'd love to see you."
Umberto nodded eagerly and a big grin broke across is broad and homely face. Nellie, the downstairs maid, opened the door and waved us inside. I settled down on the kitchen table and tucked into a nice meat pie while Berto followed Nellie upstairs nattering on happily. Imogen loves Umberto. It's a bit of a bone of contention between us. She would like nothing more than to make him her ward, slick him up, and introduce him into Society. I believe Bertos strengths lie outside of cotillions and high teas. More ont he side of barroom brawls and muscle work. For this reason, I try to steer clear of old Imogen. Our "discussions" usually turn into something much nastier. So I was content with my meat pie and wheat ale. It took about and hour or so before Berto came downstairs. I don't know how Imogen did it but in that time she had managed to wash, trim and oil his hair, fit him with new breeches and a thick woolen overcoat. But no matter how you dress a turkey, it's still a turkey. Berto stood before me, shifting from foot to foot and picking at his sleeve. He managed to work loose a seam thread and I watched the cuff begin to unravel.
I sighed. "Did you at least get the ring?" I asked.
"Yeah Raz, I got it!" Umberto stuck out a meat mitt and there on his pinky rested a clouded red ruby set in a silver band.
"Alright, lets get out of here," I said and headed for the door. Berto grabbed two pies for himself and by the time the side gate had latched, his woolen overcoat was decorated with trails of grease and pastry crumb. By the time we reached the street, his coiffed hair had returned to its disheveled state and he was looking more and more like my brother every minute.
The sun was just hitting the horizon when we arrived at the wharf. The seagulls circled and called out in harsh tons above our heads and the smell of salt and raw fish lay think in my mouth. I could just see a large vessel way out on the sea. It shimmered in the suns last rays. More mirage than real as it slipped over the horizon. I lead Berto over to the rock wall I had investigated last night. It looked as solid and substantial as before but a light push on the right spot and..... the hidden door popped open silently. I took a moment to admire the mechanics of it. Very well done and maintained. This close to the sea everything rusted fast but these hinges and bolts were solid and well oiled. This was not a rarely used bolt hole. This door was too well cared for for that. Ahead, the tunnel was a deep black. And remember that fear of the dark? Yeah, that's going to prove problematic in a few moments. Very problematic.
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