Swamped

"Help me get in!" he shouts, reaching inside. "This window's a tight fit."

"I don't think that's a good idea. There's a whole cauldron of that stuff that drove you wild before. And a muckbeast at the door."

He frowns.

"Doesn't sound good, but I don't have much time to get away. So, in it is."

You relent, and pull him in. He wasn't kidding about it being a tight fit for him. He pulls his shirt up over his nose.

"Maybe not as good as that fancy mask of yours, but it's all I can manage," he sighs. Then he shuts the window.

"I was on my way out," you point out.

"Well, there's a gang of masked creeps looking for me. Theirs don't look like yours, though. Different color. But some other gang picked a fight with 'em and I tried to run. Not sure how long it'll be before they catch up."

Well. This is inconvenient for getting away, but you may as well make the most of it.

"Does your father resemble you closely? Because if so, I might have met him tonight."

"What?" Mortimer asks, baffled. "But he's supposed to be out of town for three days. Pops had to send a rider out to tell him what happened to us."

"Unfortunately, between that beast at the door and helping you in, I've got no idea where he is now. So it's not as if I can ask you to confirm..."

"No, now that you mention it, I can see he was definitely here," Mortimer says. He's looking at something.