Yes. And what a place it is.

( The next cough nearly rattles his lungs, too much dust, too much debris. A fever of filth, assailing him. He wipes his brow with a wrinkle forehead then thinks, politely, to hold it out.

...soiled, but still a king's offering, surely. )

I can't leave. No, not yet. I leave, every rat leaves with me. I'm afraaaaaaaaaid. Yes. Yes, you are stuck with me a little longer. ( Laughter, hollow. ) Imagine that.