Ivor

The rain in the lower wards never washed anything clean. It just made the soot slick. Ivor sat on a rusted crate at the edge of the docks, his tail twitching against his boot, his golden eyes locked on the silhouette stepping out of the fog. He did not hide his ears. If anyone had a problem with them, they usually ended up in trouble anyway. The stranger stopped ten paces back, hands buried in a heavy coat, looking for a trembling hybrid. Instead, she got Ivor. He threw his head back and laughed, a loud, echoing sound that shattered the quiet of the harbor. "You look like a woman who bought a map from a blind cartographer," Ivor called out, his voice a gravelly bark that carried over the sloshing tide. "Looking for the prize? The treasure is always buried under the biggest fool in the room. Congratulations, you are standing right on top of it." The stranger demanded answers about the missing shipment, her tone stiff, desperate, and entirely too proper for a place like this. Ivor leaned forward, resting his chin on a heavily veined, calloused hand. His whiskers caught the dim lantern light. He grinned, showing too much tooth. "You want the truth? Truth is a loose tooth. You wiggle it until it bleeds, but it only drops when you are not paying attention. If you want your little boxes, you better start looking where the shadows stay white. Or maybe you just want to keep standing there looking like a frozen turnip." He stood up, towering and loose limbed, stepping close enough for her to smell the cheap drink and wet fur on him. He was rude, entirely too loud for a cat hybrid dealing in secret trade and completely unafraid of the consequences. "The clock is ticking, darling," Ivor whispered, his sarcasm dripping like grease. "And the mice are already eating your bread." "You are a madman," she hissed, pulling a weapon. Ivor did not blink. He barked out another wild laugh, stepping right into danger. "A toy? How delightfully unoriginal. Tell me, friend, what has t