"Nope! No no no no no no! Not happening! No way!" Olive dug in her trotters as Eryck removed her manacles. "J-just put me in one of those small cells! They looked secure!"
"Those are for sentenced prisoners, or danglers waiting on the noose," Frey told her, coolly, gesturing with a closed hand for the inmates to step back. "Do you want the noose?"
"N-no." Olive quailed, her tail flicking. "B-but when there''s clearly a log jam--"
"You''ll only be in processing a few hours at most," Eryck assured her, chains dangling from his fingers. "Then you''ll be moved, or let go."
"What about us?" A plummy voice called out, edged with barbed syllables. Olive turned, saw a feline face peek through the bars, snow white cheeks set off by a tarry mane, eyes like glinting emeralds. "I have been waiting two days, by my accounting, which I''ll note is passing difficult with only torchlight as a basis. But I''ve been blessed, when we count these other unfortunates! Why, Bristle here has been waiting for your call almost a week!" She exclaimed, gesturing with a paw-like hand to the mountain of fur and teeth, strapped tightly in leather, still fixed on his meal.
"We''re short a few swords," Eryck admitted, nodding. "And more quills. But be assured, the system is still turning! Just needs better pulleys."
"Or a new wheel." The feline tutted, tail whip-cracking at her back. Her eyes slid to Bristle, then Olive, softening. "Don''t worry sweetling: he''s all lick, no swallow!"
That''s not assuring! She thought, feet scraping along stone as the cell door opened, Eryck shoving her forward, ushering her inside.
The door snapped shut behind her, a key twisting.
Like a pork cutlet in the lion''s den.
"Wait! Come on! Let me out! I have a family! Bills!" Olive turned, tugged at the bars, shoving her face between. "You can''t--"
"We can," Frey sang, jostling a dull key in her palm. "And just did!"
Olive blanched, belly flipping. Gooseprickles clawed up her back. tail trembling as she felt a bristled shadow fall over her, like a veil. Slowly, she turned on her trotters, nails scratching along cold, coarse stone, a thick lump clogging her throat.
The wolven form stood over her, his eyes well dark, grinning hungrily.
"Someone will be back for you," Eryck said, turning to leave.
"Eventually." Frey had a grin in her voice, as an iron door creaked, slammed shut with a clangour of finality.
Olive screamed. It didn''t change anything, her shrill voice bouncing off the slate, resonating strangely with the iron, precipitating only a dull pain in her temple. The beast snarled, his clawed hands shooting out, gripping her under the armpits. She kicked as her feet left the ground, pink hands curling into pink fists, thwacking at his wrists, his elbows.
Useless. She was absolutely, hopelessly useless. The toothy mongrel didn''t even seem to notice.
"Let me go let me go let me go!" Her eyes welled, the back of her snout stinging. She cast about, for the cat, the green elf, the myriad deadbeats who lined the cell, clinging to benches, the bars. Most were human, some in loose rags, others in dresses and suits that could pass for acceptable with a thorough washing. The cat, in particular, was resplendent in a purple, chiffon bodice, laced up corset, and matching petticoats.
All layers of the social strata represented...
...and not a one of them raised a hand to help her. A waxy-faced girl at the end of the bench was even sleeping!
I''m sorry, is me dying boring you?!
She steeled herself, holding up her chin, as she always did when the world let her down, and braced, muscles taut. This was it. She was prey, about to be eaten by an apex predator. The natural order of things, though she''d always seen herself on the other side.
"I hope you choke on me!" She managed, snout trembling as those big teeth parted, closed in.
And a large, coarse, dripping tongue dragged along her cheek, her hair, curling it awkwardly on her scalp. She gawped, eyes wide, cheeks warm as a stovetop.
"Told you," the cat sang, her coal-tipped ears keen as wings. "All lick! Just let him have his fun."
Is it too late to just let him eat me?
Bristle lapped at her jaw, her snout, her brow, her ears, her expression increasingly broad, stupefied. The terror abated, smoothing away, replaced by something more abiding, brushing up against docile. As a survival instinct, she let herself go limp, arms and legs dangling like a ragdoll.
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This might be the worst thing to happen to me today, she thought, pouting as the mongrel lapped at her lips. And I got shot!
With a last taste of her eyelid, Bristle set her back on her trotters, smiling, tousling her hair and ears. "You''re a tasty one, aren''t ya? Gonna need to keep you close, in case I get a hankering..."
Great, I''m a pork lollipop, now! She screamed at herself, dimly nodding along with a stiff smile. The day was just a cascade of new and increasingly infuriating slights, and she was nowhere close to understanding how she got there, or what she needed to do to get back.
Was she in hell? Purgatory? If she was, it at least amused her to think that god, or the devil, had... strange tastes. Pig people, yes, she remembered those, and cat people too. But wolf people? That was certainly new...
But she was adaptable. She adapted to corporate politics, and fantasy worlds, hells, simulations, they all paled next to that adder''s nest.
So she kept smiling, nodding, ignoring the thick film of saliva on her face. Her time would come. She just needed to watch and wait.
Bristle smiled back, his matted tail rising. "I like you," he said, with another, infuriating pat on her head. "You can go wherever you want, piglet!" His ears twisted, lips curling at one end like a scimitar. "What did I say?" He hooked his thumb, pointing at the green elf, standing a few feet to the side of where he was, who paled bloodless, then stepped swiftly back. "Good man!"
"Well, you passed the test!" the cat said, taking Bristle''s spot as the brute left them, went to nestle into a corner. "I''ve been remiss. Sianna L''ye!" She dipped into a low curtsy, ears sagged, tail up. "Tailor, performer, entrepeneur!"
"She means she distracts people, then steals things!" Bristle said, with a snort, cuddling into a ball.
"And looks spectacular while doing it!" Sianna giggled, then flushed, downy cheeks blooming red. "Allegedly."
"Olive." Olive said, curtly, wiping her face on her elbow. "What test?"
Sianna shrugged. "Not sure. But, true enough, you passed!"
Bristle''s tail flicked out, smacked the sleeping woman in the face, unsettling her gossamer-white tresses. She didn''t stir. Olive stared for a long moment, looking for signs of life. She saw it, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, wrinkling her grey robe, then snorted.
"Ah, so you''ve noticed sleeping beauty." Sianna tittered, reaching into a pocket in her petticoats, pulling out a marble.
"I''d kill to sleep that well, right now." Olive sighed, leaning against the bars.
Sianna smirk, pinched the marble up in torchlight. Emerald green, to match her eyes. "It''s a good trick, really. No murder needed. Just a bit of Fabric, folded neatly..." She leveled her hand, licked her lips, then snapped her wrist, the marble whistling through the cell, toward the sleeper''s face.
A blur, and the marble skittered to a side, rolling down the slate. The sleeper''s hand was up, in front of her gaped, drooling face, which cocked to a side, in quiet regard.
"We don''t know how she does it, but a part of her stays vigil while the rest takes its winks." Sianna told her, collecting the marble. "And that part happens to have reflexes that humble my kind!" She sniggered, one clawed hand on her chest, whiskers silvery in the flickering light.
"You''re too hard on yourself." A new, lilting voice broke in. A figure stepped in from a corner, sheathed in a black mantle, violet eyes guttering under a heavy hood. "Besides, she used magic. Hardly playing fair."
Olive had not noticed her. She bit her cheek, balling her hands. "Where''d you come from?" She asked, pivoting, shuffling behind Sianna. The cat, for her part, noting her panic, wrapped her tail around the Porcene''s waist, squeezing slightly.
Her ears began to burn, and her tail trembled. I''m not a little girl... she seethed, cheeks puffed, though she did nothing to break herself free.
"I''ll ask you not to do that again, sweetling," Sianna said, with an admonishing tut. "I''ve a delicate heart, prone to hysteria."
A lie, and a bald one, too. She''d hardly reacted to the newcomer''s appearance, aside from a subtle shift of her ears.
"I''ll be sure to keep it in mind," the woman said, hands behind her back, pacing down the cell. "But you don''t get far in my profession by letting people see you before you''ve seen them."
"Then you must be very good at your profession!" Sianna said, taking her measure. "I have good eyes, even for my people. And this is a small space. Not much room to hide..."
Olive detected a hint of sage on her snout. Lavender. Burnt hair. All wafting off of the pacing woman. There was no world where she wouldn''t have noticed that...
"Oh, but there is, if you know the ways." The others were watching, now. Bristle''s snout had lifted, the green elf regarded her blearily from his niche, even the sleeper had turned her head to follow her course. "Now, an important question: who here has seen enough iron and stone to fill out a lifetime?"
Olive could smell the implication, shrinking behind the cat.
A few, tense moments stretched, Olive pinching her ear, skimming her eyes over the motley crew of prisoners. Bristle raised his clawed hand first, then the green elf. The human prisoners followed, sporadically. As did the sleeper, her bony hand swaying delicately.
Sianna, reluctantly, sighed, raised her''s.
"Thirteen to one!" The woman announced, waving her arm as she looked past Sianna, toward Olive. "What about you? Do you like the aesthetic? The mood?" A ripple of abortive laughs rolled through the room.
"I just... don''t want to--" She scraped at the stone with her trotters. What was the matter?
"Don''t want to what? Breathe fresh air?" The woman tutted, shaking her head.
"Leave the poor thing be. It''s her decision!" Sianna told her, with a squeeze of her tail.
Olive shifted red, standing straight. I can speak for myself! "I-I just don''t want to get dragged into some random idiot''s harebrained plan, whatever it is!" She huffed, breath hissing from her snout.
The woman went quiet, pensive. Sianna looked over her shoulder, regarded her charge with slow consideration, nodded agreement. The green elf quailed, further sinking into his corner.
Bristle grinned. "Knew I liked you," he said, curt as a fallen branch.
"Fair enough I suppose," the woman granted, reaching for her hood, pulling it back. Olive''s heart palpitated as a soft, radiant face came into relief. Jewel-bright eyes, a refined nose, lush lips, raised cheekbones. Hair like liquid lilac, rolling down her shoulders. Olive felt her breath catch, her muscles relaxing as the woman regarded her with radiant eyes. "Trust is important as a basis for cooperation, so I concede that an introduction should be in order, at least. To establish us as more than ''random idiots'', at least."
"My name Olive," she managed, cursing herself. Of course. Soon as a pretty woman shows up, brain goes on vacation!
She smirked, a devious, knowing smirk. "Lovely to make your acquaintance, Olive! My name is Ylsa, and today, I will be your jailbreaker!"
Chapter Six: Jailbreak
"You''re gonna say it''s stupid," Olive said, sniffing the burning end of her joint, crinkling her face. "Ugh! Where did you get this, Pepe Le Pew''s toilet?!"
Darlene pinched her rosy face into a grin, tossed her curly hair, sat forward on the couch. "Pretty much." She took it back, inhaled, blew smoke from her nostrils. "And I won''t. You know I won''t!"
"You sure?" Olive sat up, picked up a bottle of fragrance, sprayed. She didn''t need her landlord sniffing around, asking questions. Her grey, shabby apartment might have qualified as three cardboard boxes in a trenchcoat, but they were her three cardboard boxes in a trenchcoat, and she had no appetite for trading it in for a single strip of cardboard on the curbside!
Not again.
"Pretty sure!" Darlene snorted, stamping the joint out in the ashtray. "Come on! I''m choking on suspense! Just tell me!" She ran her calloused fingers across Olive''s shoulders, chills fluttering down her back.
Olive flushed, bit her lip, set the bottle down. "Alright, alright..." She mumbled, pulling up her laptop, clicking on a text file, a knot twisting in her belly. "And you promise you''ll--"
"Just show me already!" Darlene cackled, sticking out her tongue.
Olive turned the laptop around, turned away, tucked her hair. Darlene scanned the screen, nodded, her brown eyes dim.
"Flight of the Furies..." She read, her voice low. Her face dropped. "Eight hundred pages?!"
"J-just something I''ve been working on, since I was a kid. It''s about this nobody, named Alys, who gets powers and becomes this genius, Machiavelli sorceress! But in a good way!" She rambled, foot bouncing. "Just for fun. As something to do. Something to turn to, when nothing makes sense..." She squeezed a finger in her hand. "You think it''s stupid, don''t you?"
Darlene''s eyes snapped to Olive, brows furrowing. "What? No, this is amazing! Holy shit!" She told her, beaming. "The longest story I wrote was ten pages, so I''m just, like, in awe right now."
Olive let herself relax, prickles running down her back as a thin smile planted itself on her lips. "So, it''s... not stupid?" She asked, shoulders slightly pricked, voice somewhat guarded.
Darlene set the laptop on the table, crawled over, and planted a warm, deep kiss on Olive''s lips, tongue darting out for a tease.
"No," she said, as Olive nuzzled her cheek. "Not stupid at all."
"This... is... so... stupid..." Olive gasped, running from one end of the cell to the other, the keratin tips of her trotters tapping out a frenzied beat.
"That''s how all great ideas start," Ylsa observed, sitting crosslegged at the end of the bench. "With someone looking incredibly foolish."
"Hush sweetlings," Sianna said, leaning against the bars, ear cocked toward the door. "Someone''s in the middle of a rather spirited rant about jams, and I''m invested."
"Are they almost done?" Bristle asked, stepping to her side and raising his own, notched ear.
"Not yet, but can''t be long now. One of them just brought up ''clover jam'', so I think the conversation is in its death throes."
''Thank... god..." Olive huffed, thick with flop sweat over her face, under her arms, her breasts. Whose dumb idea was this, anyway?
Wait, shit, it was me.
Most of the other inmates had talents to leverage: size, speed, magic, subtlety. She had none of those things, but she did have a porcine body, a porcine heart. And porcines, she had read in her hours of research while conceiving Porcenes, most commonly die from heart disease.
When they aren''t slaughtered, of course.
"Coming!" Sianna said, stepping back. "Twenty seconds!"
"Everyone knows their part?" Ylsa asked, gaze flicking to Olive. The group nodded, and Olive raised a trembling thumb. "Good. No needless risks, no killing, no backing down!"
If the plan went as written, they would soon be free, and without a sizeable tail. The guard did not like to advertise their failings, Ylsa told them, so breakouts usually went unreported, unless there was a killing. Hence, so long as they all practiced reasonable restraint, they would be mostly home free, aside from whatever price their original crime put on their head.
And it all began with her performance. A performance she had only minutes to conceive, with the failure of her last, which ended with her snout mashed in the muck, still heavy on her shoulders.
Why the fuck am I doing this? It was an immense risk, putting herself in a vulnerable position, inviting a bounty or a worse sentence. Logically, she should have kept her snout low, played the polite inmate, and swallowed whatever sentence came down.
But that was hardly the brightest course, in itself. For one, ''impersonating an official'' sounded like the sort of charge that could get one dropped in the deepest pit, for the temerity of it alone. When she asked the other inmates for guidance, they shrugged their arms, waffled, gave her nothing to calculate. Perhaps they''d let her moulder in a cell for a few months? Or perhaps they''d dispense with the niceties and squeeze her porcine head into a noose?
Sianna held up all her nappy fingers. "Ten!"
For second, best case scenario, she would be let off with a slap on the wrist, dragged through the streets, and then tossed back into the wild to trudge through the muck and beg for scraps.
No. Never again. If she wanted any clue as to what was happening, and how she could get back, she had to remain in the city. Had to cleave to the strong.
This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Sianna dropped a hand. "Five!"
Olive stopped, her legs running with molten fire, and staggered for the cage door. To her right, the sleeper sat, snoring, head resting against the bars.
Someone gripped her shoulder. Tightened. "You''ve got this! They have a quota, so they''ll take the bait." Ylsa told her, her eyes sparkling like pole stars. With a parting squeeze, she pulled away, winking. "Don''t worry. Just give them a show, and we''ll do the rest..."
Moths flittered in Olive''s belly, migrating to her heart. She nodded, swallowed, gripped the bars. If this was to work, she needed a better performance than the one she pulled at the gate. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and let it out. Okay, CMO of life! Time to make the sale of your career!
The iron door swung open, and a young man, pock-faced and lean, scrambled in, a sack hanging from one gloved hand, a ewer of water clutched tight in the other. A second, burly and hirsute as a bear, came in after, arms crossed over an anvil chest.
So far so good. Sianna and Bristle had told them to expect two, before nightfall. Prisoners were fed twice: once when the sun poked its head up, and once when it dipped. That would also, apparently, be when the communal bucket would be traded away for a shinier one. Not that Olive was especially eager to use it, clean or no.
She heaved as they shut the door behind them, gasping for breath. Her blood pumped fast through her palms, her face beamed in the torchlight, and her throat rasped as she tried to form words.
The young one stalled, doe-eyed, while the latter strayed back, hand about his belt.
"P-please--" She clasped her chest, felt the rattle of her heart. Still going strong. Good... "Ca-can''t breathe. Chest f-feels like it''s gonna burst. P-please, please..."
Overselling it, a velvet voice swept across her brain, prickling it. Sianna, but her accent was gone, flattened away. She sat in her corner, her jewel eyes regarding her with maternal concern. Don''t speak too much. Subtlety is key. You don''t know what''s happening. Don''t outline it: let them put it together.
Olive''s eye twitched imperceptibly. Of course she could do that, Of course! I was building to that, she simmered, snout wriggling.
You need to start with it, Sianna advised, sternly. If something bad, actually bad, is happening to a person, they usually try to deny it, as long as they can.
"Watch that one." The burly one edged closer, eying the porcine. "It''s plotting something..."
Shit. Her mouth went dry, chest burning. They knew.
They think they know, Sianna''s eyes were calm, a sliver of green sky prevailing through storm clouds. If they were sure, they''d have left.
Olive steeled herself. Miss I-Can-Talk-In-Your-Head was right. She tightened her grip, hands clammy.
Clammy hands, heart burn, dry mouth, all symptoms. She let herself ride them, trembling in place.
"I-I''ll be fine, I just need..." She gulped, her throat dry. "I j-just need water, and some air." Her voice was brittle, stumbling out.
The burly one took a long breath through his crooked nose, then nodded to the younger. "Check her pulse," he said, taking the ewer and sack. "You lot, get back!" The other prisoners followed his order, surging for the back corners. Sianna played her part, rising with a stretch and padding away, to join Bristle and Ylsa near the back.
All except Mr Green Elf, who was already in his corner, and the sleeper, whose snores dissolved into a cascade of snorts.
There was worry in the lean man''s eyes as he came close, peeling off his gloves. She allowed a whimper, a sharp exhale of breath, retracting the hand he reached for. "I-it''s fine, I th-think--"
"You''re pale as a fish''s belly, and just as wet," the burly one said, his beard contracted into a frown. "Let the boy check."
Good. That was a good touch. Sianna told her, with a subtle nod.
Heart in her throat, she nodded, passed over her trembling hand, prayed that her little workout was still reverberating in her chest as he pinched her wrist.
The boy''s eyes broadened. Olive suppressed a smile.
"It''s going like a horse at full tilt, cap''n!" The boy''s squeaky voice wobbled.
A rush joined her racing heart. Heat in her veins, dopamine flooding, the high of a deal well struck, of profits turning.
Now, to bring it home...
"I-I''ll be fine, I just need a-- need to lie down and..." She lurched, gasped, stumbled back on her trotters, then sketched a fall onto her side before flopping onto her back, crushing her tail.
It took the majority of her will to suppress a squeal of pain, at that.
"Shit, get in there! Make sure it''s still breathing!" She heard the burly one order, the jingle of keys following soon after. "Rest of you, stay back! Or I''ll shove my foot so far down your throat you''ll be shitting steel plates!"
Her heart still pattered, stampeding in her chest. For a moment, she wondered, with a jolt, whether she had willed herself into a cardiac episode, her belly sinking as the cell door shrieked open. Almost... Sianna began, as the young guard''s armour jostled by her head. Almost... she said, as he tipped her head, listened to her snout.
"She''s breath--"
Now!
His voice cut off, reduced to clacks, grunts, and a dim thud. Something kicked her, clumsily, in the arm, her thigh, as wet flecked her face.
Her eyes snapped open, and she saw the man''s red face twist, an arm wrapped around his neck. The sleeper''s passive, snoring face peeked over his shoulder as she wrapped her legs around his torso, leather boots digging between scales like spurs.
Behind them, she saw the burly one splayed out over the floor, drool pooling by his face.
"He should be out for a few minutes," Ylsa said, her cloak stirring as she hurried by. "Bristle, bind them."
"Permission to eat them?" The wolf asked, licking his chops.
"Denied. Fervently denied!" Sianna squealed, her hackles up. "No killing, remember?!"
"I don''t need to kill them to have a taste." Bristle whined, trudging out of the cell. "Just an arm would be fine..."
Spit bubbled by the young guard''s mouth as his eyes bulged, veins throbbing about his forehead. He regarded her with a last, sharp, hateful look, grunting something guttural and fierce, then kicked vainly at her. Olive pushed onto her rump, overjoyed at the open cell door, the fulfilment of their plan.
But it was tempered by something bitter, as the guard went limp, his last kick a feeble twitch. As the sleeper shoved him to a side, like an empty sack. As Bristle clamped cold iron around the burly guard''s wrists. As Ylsa smirked down at them, hand on her hip, face shining with satisfaction.
"Here," Sianna said, jostling the ewer in front of her snout. "Drink."
Olive''s mouth was still dry, but her belly was hollow, churning strangely. She''d played dirty before, ruined lives even, but the consequences were always far away. They weren''t red faces staring down at her, boiling with contempt.
"I think I''ll be fine," she said, shaking her head as she stood. "Maybe later."
Sianna''s mouth opened, feline incisors glinting sharp, but Ylsa''s voice closed it, shooed her away.
"Good show, Olive!" She told her, with a pat on her shoulder. "Very well done! They didn''t suspect you for a second!" The other prisoners surged, picking over the guards like rats, unclasping armour, taking keys, weapons. Sianna, for her part, plucked a purse from the burly one, her face downcast. "Now, you better stay close for the rest of this, or--"
"This wasn''t stupid, was it?" Olive asked, pinching her ear. "Like, it was the lesser of two bad choices, right?"
Ylsa tilted her head, violet eyes boring deep, then cracked with giggles. "Oh, no, this whole plan was incredibly stupid!" She snorted, giving her face a gentle pat. "And we still pulled it off! Mostly. For now. And we''ll need to iron out some kinks before our next one..."
The horse in Olive''s heart went galloping again. "N-next one?"
"Not now!" Ylsa shushed her, planting a finger on her lips. "After! When we''re out! Don''t worry, I''ll take good care of you!" Olive''s cheeks flushed, though her brain began to work behind them, to see the pattern, the echoes of before.
Another pretty woman, more assurances. She''d read this book before.
Ylsa left her there, shellshocked, as the criminals she''d thrown herself in with, the only ''friends'' she had in this sewage heap, stripped the guards bare, then kicked their unconscious bodies.
Fuck, I''m stupid.
Chapter Seven: The Spark
Barely a day in a new world, and Olive was already enmeshed in the criminal element.
The sleeper stood over her, lips glossy with drool, eyes pouched and leaden. Olive quailed, her heart still cantering in her chest. The guard she''d choked out splayed out behind her, bound, stripped to the smalls.
A droopy hand pointed to the open cage. The girl nodded, head tilting languidly, then turned, shambling out.
This is not real, Olive told herself, rubbing at her ear as she followed them out. None of this is real. I refuse.
But what else could it be? She had already run through the possibilities, dismissing most. Is it too late to hope for aliens? Holograms? Maybe I''m still dying, and this is just the result of my last neuron shooting off sparks?
If it was, it was certainly taking its time.
Bristle gave her a pleasant (or something meant to pass for pleasant) smile, his ears drawn up, as he carried the burly guard under his arm, dropping him into the cell. The green elf, still in his corner, regarded him with trepidation, beetled brows.
"You know you can go now," Bristle said, with a shrug and a sway of his tail. "Or stay. It''s your life."
The green elf, emboldened, rushed by, joining the rest of the group as Bristle locked up with a clang.
"So we''ve got the keys, and we have numbers," Ylsa began, as the prisoners made a line before her. "They''ll be checking after their colleagues in a few minutes. When they do, we let them waltz on by, no hassle, no foul. We''ll hide in the other cells, wait for them to come sniffing around, then snap the door shut like a trap behind them."
"And how do you intend some of us to go unnoticed?" Sianna gestured to Bristle, her tail a whirl. "Others can hide under covers, or in dark corners. But some..." She gave a gentle, placative smile as the beast regarded her with something that broached offense. "...some demand attention. With their charisma and handsome bearing, of course!"
"A good point, and one worth addressing," Ylsa allowed, with a click of her tongue. "But, let''s just say, I''ve accounted for this particular variable." She opened the door, looked over her shoulder, and gave a knowing wink. "I haven''t played all my cards yet..."
Olive huddled under the ratty blanket, clinging to a dank corner as Sianna sat athwart, Bristle taking up a leading share of the room. Ylsa stood behind him, hand out, keen, focused.
"You can play your hand whenever you like, sweetling," Sianna whispered, rolling her eyes. "We won''t oppose."
"The Fabric can''t just be folded and refolded as you would a shirt, darling!" Ylsa sang back, sliding her eyes to her, sticking out her tongue. "It doesn''t like it when you do that."
"So I''ve heard." Sianna looked to Olive, gave her a wry wink. She ignored the Porcene''s snort, and continued. "But we''re rather exposed, in here. Like bats in a mine. The less risk we take on, the better."
"The sooner I''m out of here, the better." Olive shivered, the smells of mildew and urine ripe on her nose. "I''ve taken on enough risk for one quarter."
"Think of it more like you''ve made intriguing investments," Ylsa said, with a wink. "With promising new business partners."
"I haven''t invested in anything, yet!" Olive pouted, her tusks jabbing her lips. "I just don''t want to be stuck in jail."
"So you''ve invested in freedom." Ylsa smirked, and Bristle snorted. "A temporary freedom, for now, but invest a little more, and maybe it''ll last."
Olive groaned, tamping down the compulsion to explain the fallacy of sunk costs. "It''s not freedom I want, it''s--" My body? My life? My job? My money? "--it''s everything."
"And I''d love to hear all about it over a nice cup of cocoa," Sianna said, her ear quirking as she turned to Ylsa. "Once we''re out of this. Up the stairs. Descending. Whatever you intend, do it now!"
Sure enough, Olive soon heard the clack of steel, the low groan of the perennially tired. Ylsa reached out, laid a hand on Bristle''s matted back. The air rippled around him, bending like heat and rolling over him like waves, sloshing water. It dragged him under, then Ylsa, eddies settling over nothing, and where before stood a hackled beast, Olive saw bars, a dim hall, a seperate cell.
Aha! That''s how she snuck up on me! Olive grinned, tucking her snout under her blanket, mutely mortified that something as fantastical as invisibility had only spurred validation from her.
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The footsteps approached, then receded. Sianna jumped, shuffling out as the iron door squealed open, then crashed shut.
Voices lifted, carrying hue and cry, but a satisfying click sealed them away.
"Expertly done!" Ylsa exclaimed, the waves giving way around herself and bristle as Olive threw off her musky blanket. The wolf man looked at his hand, fascination glittering in his dark eyes, like the stars emerging from behind a fog. "We''re in the last leg! It''s just a sprint, now."
Olive heard another shuffling, then saw Sianna poke her pale head into the cell. "Sprint?"
Ylsa nodded, and Olive''s face blanched. "We''re going to run, now."
"What happened to all the stealth, and magic, and clever planning?!" Olive dragged at her ears, pacing down the hall, past the other prisoners. "You see these tiny legs?!" She kicked out a trotter, catching a bar, making it rattle. "Look at me and tell me, honestly, that they can outrun anyone!"
"They won''t be after you," Ylsa said, with a tut. "You''re a small, non-priority target. If they come after anyone, it''ll be me, Bristle, or Sianna."
"Lovely," Sianna said, with a sigh.
Olive went to pinch the bridge of her nose, only to clamp a clump of skin just above her snout. "And I''m just supposed to take that on faith? Assume they''ll ignore me?"
Ylsa took a deep breath, stepped in front of her, and crouched. "Olive, you''re a Porcene," she said, blunt as a cudgel. "If they don''t ignore you, they''ll underestimate you. That''s your secret weapon. That''s why those hayseeds were so quick to believe you." Her violet eyes shimmered as she pressed a finger under Olive''s chin, made her meet them. "You''re right. Maybe they''ll ignore you, maybe they won''t. But, in either case, it''s not them or their long legs that have the advantage. It''s the little spark they don''t expect."
Olive''s eyes were broad, her pulse racing, her palms clammy. There was certainty in her smile, a daring faith in the way her eyes slanted. She believed in her. She cared.
Was it real? Maybe not. Maybe nothing was, but she wanted, desperately, to believe it could be. Just once.
"A-alright," she said, with a gulp. "I can try..."
Ylsa''s smile widened, and her hand retracted. "That''s all anyone can ask." She told her, standing. "The rest of us will run ahead, give interference, knock a few of them down."
"I would rather stay back," Sianna said, her tail raised as she stepped in beside Olive, one hand laying snug on her shoulder. Olive tensed, and then pulled back. "To make sure we all make it out."
"Not a bad idea. Just don''t stray too far back." Ylsa nodded, then turned to Bristle, nestled at the bottom of the stairway.
The beast squinted. "You want me to lead the way, don''t you?"
Ylsa nodded. "And smash things."
"Because I''m big?"
"Because you''re big."
"And I have teeth?"
"Big teeth."
Bristle nodded, pensively. "You make a good point,"
"So?" Ylsa asked, fluttering her eyes.
Bristle picked at his big teeth. "Can I pick up a snack on the way out?"
Ylsa grinned back. "No deaths. But, if you''re good, and I mean really good..." She leaned into his ears, whispered something.
His tail wagged, and he jolted up, spun around, snarled, showing his big teeth. "WHAT ARE YOU ALL WAITING FOR?! LET''S SMASH THINGS!"
The clangour rolled down the stairway as Sianna listened, an ear cocked. Olive huddled beside her, snout raised, sifting for hints of metal, oil...
Blood. It was there, irony and ripe, twisting her stomach.
"Do you have a place to go?" Sianna asked, tersely.
Olive blinked. "N-no. No, I don''t."
Sianna nodded, her tail patting her on the back. "You can stay with me, if you like. I know it''s hard, being somewhere new, looking different from everyone else." Someone screamed, sonorous and sharp, making her wince. "Which is... well..." Her voice caught, eyes stuck on some detail in the coarse stone of the stairway. "Which is why we need to stick together. Us runts."
Olive paled, skin bristling. "You... mean it?" She said, disbelieving, her tail trembling. "L-like... you''re not just... saying that, right?" Her voice wobbled, a thread going taut in her chest.
Sianna snorted, flinching as something crashed overhead. "I''ve spoken a lot of lies, in my time, but they were always to the greedy, selfish, and cruel." Olive felt a spike of ice lance up her spine. "Never the worthy."
Something toothy ravaged the Porcene''s chest. Something like guilt. Unworthiness.
She opened her mouth, but Sianna raised a hand, cutting her off with a look. "Now!" She told her, leaping up two steps at a time. With a huff through her snout, Olive followed.
"We just need to go forward, forward, left, right, forward!" Sianna called back, summiting the steps. "Then we''re--"
A spear shaft appeared from around the corner, cracking her across the face, knocking her back as Olive neared the top.
She stopped, her mouth going dry, as Frey stepped over the unconscious Sianna, bare-footed, wearing a simple brown tunic. She moved soundlessly, sneering, her ears prickly as burrs.
"You," she said, hueless, her form wrapped in shadows. "Should have figured I''d find you at the core of this, hog. Your kind always stirs the cauldron. Don''t know why we can''t just kill you. The Matriarch usually doesn''t do mercy, so why are you so lucky?" She held her spear in a tight grip, its point still sterling in the murk, knuckles white. "But it''s fine, though. You''ve given me a good cause. No one can blame me for acting in self-defense to quash a violent revolt, can they?"
Olive trembled, eyes flitting toward Sianna, the woman''s mouth gaping, drool drizzling down her fur. There was no salvation there.
"I--I just wanted to go home..."'' She sniffed, her head throbbing. Her mother''s severe, lined face came into relief. Then her father''s, scolding her for dreaming. Darlene followed, rosy, keen, perfidious.
Then Ylsa, tricky, cunning. Belief shining bright. It''s the little spark they don''t expect.
"Don''t worry. I''ll send you there." Frey grinned. There was a glimmer of keen delight in her eyes, like a fire repressed, allowed to burn free.
Olive pricked her shoulders, dropping her head as if in surrender.
The killing point jabbed, meeting empty space.
Olive ducked, scuttling along the stairs with a squeal, pressed her back against the wall, then smashed a trotter into Frey''s unprotected ankle. She felt a give, saw her leg bow, grinned as her face tightened into outrage, waxed into fearful surprise.
She tipped forward, crashing onto her side, then pinwheeled the rest of the way, with thuds and cries.
Olive cackled. "You should really watch your step!" She called down, with a broad grin.
Then she heard a damp crack, and that grin faded away.
Chapter Eight: Aftermath
The elf''s head bent at an alarming angle, back arched to a side like a wish bone. Olive watched her, a moment, waiting. Holding her breath.
Frey twitched, gargled, then went utterly, despairingly limp.
This isn''t real. This isn''t real...
"Oh... oh god..." Olive clamped her palm to her mouth, stomach lurching. Something acrid bubbled in her chest, lapped at the back of her tongue, deposited bile. Her throat tightened, hands scrabbling along the rough stone for purchase as she wobbled, shook, sought balance.
The dead woman''s eyes stared up at her, cloudy, promising thunder.
"O-Olive?" Sianna''s groggy voice echoed in the periphery, floating through a void, rebounding, receding.
It should not have mattered. Olive knew death, thought it a colleague. Her father''s stroke, her mother''s overdose. She had a killer''s instinct, she always told herself. Ruthless as the alpha wolf.
She didn''t feel like a wolf, though. He was a few rooms away, howling, raising Cane. No, she felt very much like her nose, her ears, her tusks. Like livestock, a thing born to maunder, eat, and die. Not a predator, bred for killing.
"Olive?"
Why was this happening to her?! She knew she was no saint, knew that she deserved some karmic return, but this?! She only ever did what the world forced her to! Why punish her for doing what was necessary?!
"Olive?!" Sianna shook her, downy face softened, ears drooping down her head. Her green eyes were split by hair-thin slits. "Are you here with me? We need to leave, and we need to do it now!"
Olive''s voice was strange, a creak in the night. "Sh-she''s--"
"Gone, and there''s nothing we can do about it now!" Sianna told her, grabbing her by the wrist, her palm warm. "It was an accident. The will of Regelia, Mycah, Aly-- the Matriarch, whoever you kneel to!"
"I fucked up..." Olive croaked, stumbling up the steps, into the hall. "I should have just ran!"
"What''s happening, here?" Ylsa called as Sianna towed her toward the barracks, tail around her waist. Papers floated about, tables sat inverted, legs raised like hedgehog bristles. Guards, in various stages of dress, flitted and squawked, rattling their spears at Bristle, who tore into pillows and tossed mattresses onto their side. "Everyone else is out, we''re just waiting on you!"
"We were... waylaid," Sianna said, towing a heaving Olive through the row. "We''ll talk about it when we''re free and clear."
"Not worrisome at all," Ylsa snorted, turning an eye to the shellshocked Porcene. "Are you alright? You look... haunted."
Cloudy eyes. "F-fine." She rasped, with a curt nod. "I''m fine."
"You''ll forgive me if I don''t take your word for it." Ylsa wrinkled her nose, a chair spinning through the air above her head. "Hurry up, I''ll follow you, then show you where to go!" She commanded, tapping Sianna on the shoulder. "Bristle, let''s take a bow!"
The three fled through the chaos, surging for the exit. A cluster of guards shambled together, barring the way. They reached for cudgels, fumbled at their belts, swore under their breath.
A table windmilled across the room, crashing between them, throwing them on their backsides and forcing a retreat.
The moment lingered, time slowing around Olive, refining to a perfect moment of unalloyed chaos. A man had fallen into an alcove, belt around his knees, reaching out for a spoon on the floor by his feet. A tankard balanced on its handle by the door. The gnome manning the desk scrambled to and fro, catching documents out of the air like snowflakes, her face splotchy red.
This was her life, now. Flustered, confused, scrambling for scraps of anything factual. None of them, at least, had killed anyone, accident or no.
The moment passed, a leaden weight settling in her stomach, as Sianna dragged her away, throwing the door open, and trading the scents of ink and iron for the perfumes of the street under dark. Cinnamon, alcohol, urine.
The moon was a silvery disk, dancing around a blue obelisk. The Maiden and its Patron. It was a mystery she intended on expanding in later works, she remembered dully. A mystery even she hadn''t managed to solve. Are they just empty shells, following the whims of gravity and inertia like the rest of us?
Bristle roared out soon after, and Ylsa came in behind him, smashing the door shut and rushing ahead. The streets were barren, noise filtering out from a nearby hostelry, a silvery bed with wings, embossed into its facade.
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"Now that was a show!" Ylsa squealed, skipping along the flagstones.
"Not now!" Sianna snarled, grip tight on Olive''s wrist.
"Oh, right."
Around the corner, leading into an alley that smelled sharply of mold and rot, the sleeper''s sagging face poked, a hand waving them on.
Olive let them pull her behind them, winding down the backstreets and alleys. It was only the five of them, now: herself, Ylsa, Sianna, Bristle, and the sleeper, flitting from dark corner to dark corner. A batch of common criminals, fleeing the law.
And a murderer among them. No. She couldn''t think like that. Sianna was right, it was an accident. She only meant to stun her, thought she was hardier.
And this isn''t real. It isn''t real...
They ducked down, peeking over a conspiracy of barrels to look across what seemed a marketplace, its stalls packed up, flanked by a dozen dark alcoves, set with awnings.
"So, um," Sianna began, her ears flattening. "Olive! Is that short for Olivia, or...?" She turned to her, her green eyes bright, a smile contorting her face.
Olive stared, a moment, her snout twitching. "I-uh-- No. No, it''s just Olive." Her voice warbled. "My parents really liked olives."
"Ah! Right, right, yes! Olives are good!" Sianna nodded urgently. "I like olives! Do you like olives, sweetling?"
"Too salty," Bristle said, with a huff. "Too green."
"Why is that an issue?" Sianna''s pink nose scrunched up.
"Green tastes bad." Bristle shrugged.
Sianna gaped. "What?!"
"So, do any of you mind sharing with the rest of us what happened back there?" Ylsa asked, her voice a sharp edge that made Olive''s ears shudder.
Sianna''s face broadened, then crinkled. "We can go over it later."
"If it concerns the rest of us, I''d like to hear about it sooner, thank you!" Ylsa hissed, her lips pinched.
"Someone... fell..." Olive managed, tweezing her ear.
The air went still, and thick, as Ylsa considered her, brows furrowed. "Fell?"
Bristle shuffled to a side, hiding behind a pair of barrels. Sianna''s tail coiled, nails poking at Olive''s wrist. The sleeper snored lowly.
"I-it was an accident," Olive said, the space behind where the bridge of her nose should have been stinging. "I-I..."
"I shoved her down the stairs and she broke her neck," Sianna interjected, with a shrug. "Accidents happen."
Olive gawped up at her, jaw sagging, tusks bare. They didn''t know Ylsa''s true intentions, didn''t know whether she''d turn someone in for murder to save her own skin.
And yet, Sianna had taken the fall for her.
Ylsa sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Well, shit." She sighed, shaking her head. "We''ll talk about it later. But... shit!"
They hurried across the market, heads sweeping from side to side, Olive stared up at Sianna, eyes narrowed, trying to work out the puzzle. Is she working me? She''s a thief, so she clearly wants something. Was that bit about runts a lie?!
It wasn''t just a pleasant word or piece of assurance. She had put herself at peril, had taken on risk. No one takes on risk if there''s nothing to gain!
Ylsa lead them to one of the alcoves, under a purple awning, spangled with stars. A sign above wrote ''Magician''s Cap!'', with a top hat carved in either corner. She pressed her thumb against the door latch, and a circle of webbing runes glowed lilac as something inside clicked.
The door swung open, the smells of polish, plastic, polyester, and herbs bowling over her. The main room was dark, encircled by shelves stacked with wands, hats, boxes, cans, pellets, and spheres. A counter demarcated the back rooms from the front, made of polished maple.
On either end of the counter, Olive could make out the outline of a cat, wearing a top hat. Coming closer, details emerged. Blue eyes, a black coat, a red cape, a wand curled in one paw.
Sianna picked one up, pouting. "Really?" She groaned, her ears pinned to her temple.
Ylsa shut the door behind them, pressed her thumb into it, shrugged as runes gleamed. "What? Cats are cute! You should be flattered!"
"I''m choosing to ignore that!" Sianna sang, tail whipping as she finally released her charge. Olive, trotters sore, stumbled toward the counter, dropped, sat up against it. The sleeper did the same, hair brushing at her shoulder.
"What now?" Bristle asked, tail swatting a metal sphere off the shelf, which belched a noisome smoke.
"Now, we wait," Ylsa said, holding a hand over her mouth and nose. "Wait and talk."
"What about?" Bristle asked, poking at the sphere as smoke smothered the room.
"Oh, just the weather, the economy, your favourite colour, and oh yes, what in the Matriarch''s name happened back there?!" Ylsa growled in the dim light.
Sianna tapped her claws, and took a breath, the smoke dissipating as it surged toward her mouth, her nostrils. She brushed at her petticoats, stepping forward. "It was simple. I was threatened. I defended myself. I took no undue measures to hurt them. And gravity did most of the work." She told her, with a shrug. "If anything, I was more an accessory."
Ylsa regarded her, for a spell, eyes twinkling in the dim. They flicked, snapped to Olive, narrowed. "That so?"
The Porcene blanched, thanked the relative dimness of the shop. Her snout flared, heart pattering. Confess, and get out of her debt, or let her take the fall, and leverage?
Confessing would let her take power into her own hands, give her a reputation, too, if Ylsa let it leak. She had done something similar while in middle management, letting a rumour spread that one of her colleagues had killed himself after she had ''broken'' him during a short relationship. He wasn''t her type, for a set of reasons, but they had gone on one date to watch a movie. Some popcorn flick she didn''t remember. He''d bought her a board game, though, and a set of dice. The game was confusing, with a small bible to memorize just for setup, but the dice were nice. She still had them in a drawer in her apartment.
That same, toothy something nibbled at her heart as they remembered their shine, the way they glittered, the clear expense in their making, the effort it would have taken to find them. The fugitive, girlish thought that it was nice to be worth a hassle.
"Y-yeah, from what I remember," she said, shrugging. "It''s a bit blurry."
There was a clattering outside, guards marching by. Bristle dropped to the ground, Sianna pressed up against the shelves, Ylsa turned invisible with a tap of her nose. The sleeper snored.
"Well, that makes things just a bit more difficult for the next part," Ylsa whispered, sighed.
"What next part?" Sianna''s tail thrashed, arms crossed tight against her chest. "We need to find a place, lay low, then go our own way. That''s the only next step!"
Olive''s heart stung, dully.
"We can do that, yes." Ylsa allowed, in a daring tone. "If you want to be fugitives the rest of your days. Or..."
The air rippled as she turned her head, a grin coming into relief, even through the spell. "You can help me rob the Matriarch!"
Chapter Nine: A Fresh Perspective
Eryck pressed two fingers against Frey''s twisted neck, feeling for a pulse, coming up wanting. Her skin was cold, knotted, eyes grey as winter dusk. To a side, her spear had skittered, its point still polished, sharp and gleaming as ever.
"Dead," he said, resigned. "It would have been instant. No pain." He reached out with two fingers, closed her eyes. For whatever else she was, she was a colleague. A comrade in arms.
And she had been murdered, right under their noses.
"What a mess," Thyme grunted from down the hall a ways, stretching out the hem of the sheepskin shirt he''d swiped out of evidence. It bulged at his chest, tightening about his broad shoulders. "Her folks''ll be pissing fire when they hear about this!" His ursine face crinkled around a hard frown, trying to project some command back into his voice.
He''ll be demoted for this, Eryck knew, with full certainty. Knocked unconscious by criminals, stripped of his keys, locked away, and one of our own dead. He knows it''s over, but he''s still putting on the same face.
"If they do, I''d rather show them to a better chamber pot than the barracks, captain." He stood, climbed up a few steps, considered the body from a vantage.
"Well, I wish you very good luck with that," Thyme said, scratching at his beard as he edged closer. "No one had eyes on it. Could bring in some Tasters, but--"
"Her family would never allow it." Eryck nodded, swinging his gaze up the stairway. Elves viewed their flesh as sacred, to be buried in their Garden upon death, that it might live again. Oversentimental, but he appreciated the symbolism, even if it got in the way of the judicial process.
He considered the steps, the corpse, the angle of descent. The way her body contorted suggested she''d fallen from near the top. "I don''t get it." He said, lifting up his clipboard.
Thyme chuckled, leaning against the bars by the landing. "Oh, the prodigy is onto something, is he?"
Eryck ignored him, producing a pen from behind his ear. "Frey was careful. Supercilious, but careful." He gestured to her crooked body, its state of undress. "She wouldn''t pick a fight without armour. Not a real one."
Thyme shrugged. "Maybe she wasn''t expecting one. They moved quick..."
"Not that quick," Eryck tutted, scratching down notes. A bubble, ''Pushed?'', branching out into other bubbles. "She just got off shift, and would have been in her cot. The Lupene should have been the priority, she''d know, and she would have been smart enough to put on armour for that, or engage him at range. She didn''t have a reason to come here, not when the row started. Not unless she thought she had an easy target."
Thyme''s beard puckered as he nodded along. "And you have any idea who this ''easy target'' might have been? Or how she knew to find them?"
"She could have seen them, heard them, smelled them, or just sensed the vibrations of their coming." Eryck shrugged, adding a bubble. ''Elf senses = strong''. "And I have a few theories. Check the limbs."
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The captain grimaced. "You think she put up a struggle?"
"Maybe. Wouldn''t hurt to check."
There was no blood or skin under her fingernails, no chips, no sign of bruising about her wrists. They gingerly peeled off her stockings, checked her toes for bleeding, contusions.
"You know, I heard of some fellows who would pay good Wings for this..." Thyme snorted, giving her foot a wiggle.
Eryck stared at him, expression blank. The captain chuckled, dimly, then let it fall, stepping back. A decent attempt at humour, but poor timing... and gross.
"So, anything else to check? Want to make sure she was a vir--" Thyme''s face pinched as he caught himself, tugging at his shirt again. "Er... I mean, um..."
Eryck ignored him, again, checking over her heel, her ankle. Thoroughness was a neighbour to excellence, his brother told him, and he was always the neighbourly sort.
"You know, it''s been a long night." Thyme sighed, rubbing his neck. "Let the robes come in and do their work. I''m sure they''ll find anything untoward plum quick, and--"
"Keep it behind ten layers of bureaucracy while her parents hire assassins to go out and kill whoever fits their theory?" Eryck shook his head. "There were thirteen prisoners down there--"
"Fourteen." Thyme corrected, wearily. "That''s what Balm said. He counted fourteen."
"Then he miscounted," Eryck said, his voice certain as stone. "After the Porcene, it was thirteen. I read the ledgers. Reread them, too."
Thyme held up his hands, placative. "Fine, fine, if you say so!"
Eryck rolled his eyes, felt at the ankle. "As I was saying, there were thirteen prisoners down there, and only one of them is a murderer. I won''t countenance a witch hunt, not if I can narrow it down."
Thyme chuckled. "So that''s why you''re giving your dead colleague a foot massage, huh?"
"I''d rather give myself a foot massage and relax by the fire with a ginger tea." Eryck told him, deadpan. "And I''d rather my colleague was still up and sneering, too."
Thyme narrowed his eyes. "You''re a hard man to amuse, Eryck. And much too bold when talking to your superior." He snorted, then spat. "Here''s what I think. Those prisoners made us seem like fools. They made a shambles of our barracks, a mockery of our best and brightest, and left one of us mangled in the dirt!" He growled, forming a fist. "Far as I see it, the bastards all belong on the gallows, in a neat little line!"
"Then why aren''t you looking for them, with the rest?" Eryck asked, blankly, feeling a groove. "If you''re that passionate, captain."
"Because I have to listen to your smart mouth before I can make my report." Thyme scoffed, puffing out his chest. "So, can I do that? Can I make my report, Ser Highest and Mightiest? The sooner I can, the sooner they''ll be dancing..."
And the sooner you''ll be jobless. Eryck sighed, running his hands along the leg in a hurried motion. They were aligned on haste, at least.
He felt something. A groove, a bit of tenderness. He removed his thumb, saw a thin, faint red line craze her ankle. A scratch, fresh, and made with force. Not a fingernail, too delicate for a knife. Toe nail? No, too fine a point, and they would have been shod. Unless...
Easy target.
"So?" Thyme huffed, tapping a foot. "Can I go?"
Was it enough? Almost, but he had to be sure. If he spoke the name, he would be marking them for death. He knew she was the most likely answer, but there were always alternatives, threads to follow.
And she seemed harmless. But ''seeming'' was often the trouble, wasn''t it?
No, he needed to be certain. Absolutely certain. There was no room for mistakes, not anymore.
"That''s all I''ve got, captain." Eryck told him, standing, pulling out his clipboard and pen. "Might as well bring in the robes."
Thyme smiled, gave him a tap on the shoulder. "Good man. Go get some rest now, you hear? Captain''s orders." He commanded, taking care to step around him, and the corpse, as he ascended the stairway.
"I will, in a bit," Eryck said, drawing another bubble. ''Olive Farrier''. "I have to check in with an envoy, first."
Chapter Ten: Madness
"You''re mad! And more than the fashionable amount of ''mad''!" Sianna cried, tail flailing as she stalked between racks, from one end of the storage room to the other. "The cup positively runneth over with ''mad''!"
"You''re overselling me a bit, I think." Ylsa tapped her lips, clicked her tongue, and waved her hand flippantly. "Or underselling me. Either way, I think you''re missing the mark! And the opportunity!"
The room was lit by a dim gout of lambent light, filtering through racks, casting a pale glow over their faces. Olive sat at a cramped trestle table in the corner, its aged grain crazed with notches, little messages. ''Fuck the Furies!'' one said, imaginatively. ''Cock'' said another, just as daring, next to a detailed rendering. So many veins, she giggled, scratching wavy notches around it, making stink lines.
It made a decent distraction from... everything. From her body, Frey, whoever the ''Matriarch'' was. It was a regency, she remembered, but the King she''d written was Arlan Theo, a just man who trusted judicious advisors. She didn''t write in any Matriarchs!
The fuzzy smell of mothballs, the eggshell walls, the racks of boxes, the deathly light, they brought her back to her element, made an oasis in the typhoon that was her absurd reality. It reminded her of the hours, the days, going over inventories, ledgers, pitching ideas on how to sell new vaping flavors in an obscure room so that her bosses could assume the credit and build their reputations.
Bristle, too big for the low stools about the table, leaned back in a shadowy corner, yawning, rubbing his eyes. Olive noted a few bald patches, pink scrapes along his mottled coat. He didn''t seem to mind, of course, nor did he seem too interested in the conversation at hand.
The sleeper sprawled out between two bare racks, twitching sporadically as voices pitched, her hair a white flurry about her head, like driven snow.
"Opportunity, yes! The opportunity to remove our heads from our shoulders!" Sianna mimed a cleaver with a hand, running it across her downy neck and drooping her head, sticking out her barbed tongue. Olive snorted. "Might well ask us to ground Patron! Or joust the sun!"
"Patron''s on notice, but no use worrying about him, yet," Ylsa said, crossing her arms as she leaned against a rack. "And I''m not asking you to stab a star, I''m simply suggesting that we reappropriate some property from a prominent somebody."
Sianna skidded to a stop, then snorted. "Two can play at poetry. There once was a lady in purple, who thought she could go and--" Her ears feathered. "And..."
"Run us in circles?" Olive offered, a thin smile spreading into her cheeks.
"Yes, circles!" Sianna grinned a feline grin, ears up. "First you show up, out of nothing. Then you bring us a threadbare escape plan, and from there you try to hornswoggle us into this harebrained scheme to cross the most powerful woman in creation!"
Ylsa''s expression slanted. "That doesn''t sound like a circle to me..."
Olive raised her hand. "So, um... just to back things up a bit..." She pinched an ear. "Who exactly... is the Matriarch?" The question galled, even as it slid from her tongue. It was one thing to be trapped in her juvenile world, but quite another to be completely clueless about its main players.
Sianna and Bristle gaped at her, eyes broad and incredulous. Even the sleeper grunted in what seemed a bemused manner before turning onto her side.
Only Ylsa was unphased. "She''d have us think she''s a goddess. Hardly. More a sad, lonely woman, with her sad, shallow puppets, doing sad, shallow things..." She said, voice low, dimming as the words came. Her eyes seemed far away, like distant, violet flames.
"She''s the power behind the throne," Sianna began, her tone grim. "The wolven plague, the massacre at the burrows, the Scarlet Night. She bent every king, emperor, and baron to her will, or left them broken in the wheel to rot. She shattered the Plains, ruined their coalition. That''s where the Black Canyon comes from, a rotten scar cleaving them in two." She shuddered, ears bowed, shaking her head. "Queen Nymia has the crown, but Alys Nightshade put it there, and she could take it whenever she pleased."
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Olive blanched. None of it squared with the paragon she wrote, the champion of the infirm, the giver of life who gave her unborn child for power. I don''t even remember a ''Nymia''! "Alys Nightshade?" She echoed, swallowing. "B-but wasn''t she supposed to be just and wise and compassionate and--" Perfect?
Sianna snorted. "Once, maybe. A thousand years ago."
Olive''s jaw slacked, then clamped shut as she flushed at her tusks. "A thousand years?!" Her snout trembled, gears turning in her mind. No, no that didn''t track. Alys was immortal, she achieved it at the climax of her story, but nothing else lined up. Not her reputation, not her monopoly of her power, not even the aesthetics of the world itself. She''d seen the cityscape, the horses, the scale armour. They were all coherent with what she remembered sketching and brainstorming, basing it off of medieval aesthetics. If it had been a thousand years, why had there been no forward progress? No airships, no railways, no space program?!
"Give or take a few hundred." Ylsa shrugged, the words terse.
"Where do you come from, anyway?" Bristle asked, an ear cocked. "Everyone knows these things."
"I''m not everyone!" Olive squealed, rubbing her eyes. "I-I''m..." From the good ol'' US of A! Home of the heart attack, land of the spent ammo casings! Yeah, that''ll sell. She would need to try and tell someone else eventually, she knew. Maybe even them, but... later. When they weren''t liable to pinch her into a straitjacket. "I''m from a village to the east, just this side of the Plains." She said, tapping her fingers. "America. You''ve probably never heard of it..."
Seed the truth in the lie. Makes harvesting easier.
"America?" Bristle rolled the word around on his tongue. "Am-Er-Ick-Aaaaa! Sounds nice. I like it!"
"Don''t say that to a commie," Olive told him, smirking.
"Commie?" Bristle tasted that word, too. "Comm-Ee! Sounds fun. I like it!"
"Is that a venereal disease?" Sianna asked, head tilted to a side.
Olive snorted. "Sort of."
"I take it you didn''t see a lot of foreigners in America?" Ylsa asked, a brow cocked.
God, I could make so many jokes out of that, she thought, with a twitch of her eyelid. "We mostly kept to ourselves. Unless we needed oil."
"Huh." Ylsa tapped her cheek. "I didn''t know Porcenes had holdings inside Yor. Let alone Porcenes who needed a surfeit of oil, of all things..."
"I-it''s a part of our culture! We burn lanterns all day and night, in case the sun ever goes out!" Olive told her, with a twitchy smile. "We passed it down from generation to generation! Yeah, it''s stupid, but so are most traditions, if we''re being fair!"
"She has a point," Sianna said, with a shrug, before turning back to Ylsa with a mighty flick of her ear. "But I''m not letting you run away from this! How exactly did you picture this going? That we''d be so grateful for your help that we''d agree to a suicide mission as thanks?!"
Ylsa blinked. "That''s about what I was hoping for, yes." She admitted, with a cavalier shrug.
Bristle guffawed, the sound making the sleeper lurch. "She''s honest, at least."
"And you haven''t even asked what I want us to steal!" Ylsa pointed out, wagging her finger. "For all you know, it''s a flower in her garden."
Sianna rolled her eyes. "Fine. What do you want us to steal?"
Ylsa pinched her lips. "My contact called it the ''Implement''. It''s... a powerful dagger that can cut through time and space..."
Sianna simply sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and shook her head, tail shaking in time.
Olive scoffed. "So... how does that even work? Like, how do you cut time? Does it cut like fabric? Carrots?" What the fuck is my life, now?
"I don''t know for sure. I just have it on good authority that it works, and can reshape certain foundations of the world itself." Ylsa said with a wave, as if they were background details.
Olive felt a jolt in her chest, and leaned forward.
Sianna''s tail spun. "Yes, and who better to help you acquire this valuable, life-changing, world-rending piece than four people you met in a prison cell?" She asked, ears drawn back, a dubious twist to her lips.
"Four people with unique qualifications, and due motivations!" Ylsa pointed out, stepping closer.
"Yes, an entrepreneur, a berserker Lupene, a Porcene who clearly needs a warm drink and a bed, and a somnambulist! What a team!" Sianna grumbled, throwing up a haughty hand. "No thanks! I think not!"
"You think I don''t know how wild this sounds? Hitting the Jewel, stealing a weapon that can cut through reality, defying the most powerful woman in the world?! Yes, it''s mad! It gargles madness! But--"
"Can it open the way to other realities?" Olive asked, her eyes broad, fingernails digging into her stool.
Ylsa smacked her lips, a smile blooming. "If what my contact has told me is anywhere near correct... yes."
Olive stood, a windfall at her back, a fire in her chest. It all resolved in that one moment: her aloofness, her ennui, her shock. All snapping into a razor edge of focus, determination. Here it was, at her fingertips, delivered as if by post. A way home. Back to normalcy, away from her snout, ridicule, cloudy eyes...
"Then I''m in!" She declared, beaming broad, not caring that her tusks were front and prominent. "I can do ''mad''!"
Chapter Eleven: Piglet
Olive braced, bolting her eyes shut as she shuffled onto the stepping stool, setting her candle holder to a side. The bathroom was a tight square, crowded with cabinets, a basin filled with soapy water, and a wooden hip tub bristled with splinters. It smelled of time-eaten metal and damp boards. Hardly hygenic conditions, she thought, wrinkling her snout. But I survived worse for longer.
She reached out and ran her hand along the raspy edges of the mirror, half-corroded in its obscurity. Her knees trembled, dread shaking them like reeds. She hadn''t seen herself, hadn''t surveyed the true scope of the damage. To open her eyes, bask in what had been done to her, would make it real. Undeniable.
Schr?dinger''s pig. She snorted bitterly. Her mouth was raspy dry and she licked her lips, steeling herself. She''d broken out of jail, joined a criminal conspiracy, and killed someone, all in one day. Looking at her reflection was piddly, in comparison.
With a deep breath through her nose, she braced and opened her eyes.
She wasn''t as ugly as she feared. Pinker, yes, and definitely porcine, but not ugly. In the guttering light, the rusted mirror showed her a short, curvy piglet, yet one with a human shape, a humanoid face. The snout was a blemish, like a wart grown too bold, but there were shades of herself in her high cheekbones, her arched brows, curling with the slant of her eyes. Dark, greyish-blue eyes, larger than her old ones, and a good deal less striking. They were reflective, mirrors in themselves, showing her floppy ears and blood-red hair in stereo. She ran her pink fingers through it, let it fall, brush her shoulders. Even her tusks were manageable, only peeking out if she opened her mouth.
True, she would never want to live like this. But maybe she could survive a few days, or a week.
Maybe I can convince them to do the heist tonight, she snorted, dipping a rag in the basin and washing her face with it. Still, she had to admit to herself that something smelled. Within a day of waking up in Yor, she happened to meet someone capable of getting her back home? Someone who was willing to trust her with privileged information? Ylsa told her it was because, as a Porcene, she would go unnoticed, underestimated. It was certainly convenient, she had to allow that, but then again, so many fantasy stories were. Her''s especially.
Maybe that''s why I''m here. To play out some idiot''s stupid campaign. If that was the case, then she just needed to follow the plot thread. Even if not, it was still her best chance.
Soft knuckles rapped at the door. "You alright in there, sweetling?" Sianna asked, voice deadened.
"Yep! Be out in a minute!" Olive called back, rubbing at her ears. If she was stuck with that body, then she might as well keep it clean.
"It''s quite alright. I''ll be here when you''re done!"
Olive sighed. The cat woman was nice, she had to admit, but a touch insistent. She just met me, and, within hours, was willing to take the fall for murder? She didn''t like the smell of that, either.
With a last pass of her face, she smiled, found herself oddly pleased with the way her eyes lit up, and blew out her candle before sweeping from the room.
They had crawled into a makeshift barracks, bored into the ground and hidden under a trapped door. A place to lie low for a day or so. The bathroom was little more than an outhouse wedged into a corner, the rest of the cellar occupied by low, creaking cots, tables, a single wood fed stove. Ylsa''s lambent orb stood vigil, above, like a bulb, casting all in a soporific glow. Thick beams buttressed the bubble, holding up layers of clay and silt. Bristle splayed out over a cot, snoring lowly as his ears and feet twitched. The sleeper snuggled in her own, a thin smirk smoothing her droopy face. Ylsa''s body was totally obscured under her own covers, chest gently rising and falling.
Sianna sat at the edge of her''s, athwart Olive''s, tail stirring as she turned to her, smiling sweetly. She''d stripped out of her petticoats, put on a roomy shift that ruffled up at her waist. She could see the impression of fur underneath, a white belly, black sides. Her silken hair rolled down her shoulders, like a river of dark syrup.
Olive caught herself smiling back. She had been relieved that she had decided to stay, to hear out Ylsa in the morning.
She held up her hand, two dice pinched between thumb and forefinger. "Want to play a game?" She asked, her ears eager. "They''re dead to the world, so I don''t think we need to worry about waking them. You pick!"
The dice themselves were of craftsman make. Cubes of clouded amber, with curling shells suspended inside. Olive''s eyes lit up, filled with suppressed envy. Her body felt wooden, yearning for the cot, but a dormant piece of her woke, longed for the click-clack.
You win this round, cat. "How about liar''s dice?" She shuffled between the cots, planted herself down. "Or... I think we need five dice, for that."
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"We do, but we can find a compromise," Sianna said, standing, picking up a small end table and setting it down quietly between them. "How about... ''odds or evens'', we''ll call it? One of us rolls, covers it, and the other has to guess if the sum is... well, odd or even."
Olive nodded. "Sounds easy enough. Do you want to start, or...?"
Sianna held up a finger. "Just one more thing to keep it interesting, seeing as we don''t have coin to wager." She leaned forward, crossing her arms. "If someone guesses right, then they get to ask the other one question. If they guess wrong, the other gets to ask them one question. If anyone refuses, then they have to--" She threw up a hand. "--I don''t know, hold their breath for twenty seconds or something. We''ll figure it out. Agreeable?"
Olive felt a churning in her stomach. She was plotting something, wasn''t she? Was this an interrogation?
And she played right into it! Walked blissfully into the snare, without a care! Her snout wrinkled. She had to abort, find an excuse to refuse. She was tired. Yes! Very tired!
But, equally, very curious. Sianna''s eyes were wide, bubbling with intrigue. Her cheeks warmed, a bellows of intrigue working in her face and ears.
Maybe I can spin this. Turn the tables...
"Seems so," she said, her tail twitching on her cot. "I''ll start!"
The fifth spread was inauspicious, a one and a six. She covered it with both hands, held up her chin, and pinched her lips into a taut grin.
The first four rolls had yielded soft questions. Olive had learned that Sianna enjoyed brandy and did not, in fact, play with string (which she insisted with a huff and a pout). Sianna had learned that Olive was in her mid-thirties and liked Devil Food Cake (though only the store bought brands).
Just need to get her comfortable. Next win. I''ll get her on the next win...
Sianna scanned her face with her ears leaning over her scalp. "Eeeve-- no, odd!" She said, eyes full of pupil.
Olive sighed, snout drooping, and lifted her hands.
"Yes!" Her tail lanced the air, and she clapped girlishly. "Three to two! Are we doing best of nine?" Her posh accent had smoothed away, leaving something less refined, and slightly nasally.
"I guess," Olive said, dejection in her groan. "Go ahead and ask..."
Sianna tilted her head, then broadened her eyes. "Oh, yes, right. Ahem..." She coughed into her fist and leaned forward, meeting Olive''s eyes. Her features softened in the cool glow. "Are you... sure about this? This insane little scheme?" She asked, voice lowering into a chasm.
And there it is. Olive sat back, pinched at an ear. "W-well, it''s... definitely intriguing..."
"You know she''s only interested in you because of your eloquence, right?" Sianna continued, scooting forward. "Because she knows how useful a smart Porcene could be, for espionage. Especially when... most of them..." She petered off, fussing over her hair.
"What''s that supposed to mean?" Olive balled her hands, blood running hot. "Do people think I''m stupid?"
Sianna waved a placative hand, a flush spreading over her downy cheeks. "Sorry, sorry! I just meant, you know..." She looked away, ears bowed. "Porcenes aren''t... educated. Goddess, that sounds worse, doesn''t it? I just mean they can''t--" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "They do not have access to the necessary materials to thrive in a civilization... context... Nope, that might be worst of all..." Defeated, she grabbed her pillow, pushed her face into it, and bit.
Olive''s momentary anger receded, replaced by a queer, stirring mirth. Then a smothering warmth. Oh no, she''s adorable!
"I-it''s fine, I get it!" She assured, flailing her hands. "We''re kind of dumb, in a sociological way! Not a biological one! It''s alright! I just misunderstood! Sorry!"
What am I apologizing for?!
"No, no, I should have been more thoughtful. Should have realized that was a tender spot." Sianna said, dropping her pillow, little bite marks forming a ring.
"I-I mean, to be fair, I did just ask you a few minutes ago if you play with string, so..."
"I suppose," Sianna granted, her lips starting to curl. "Maybe that evens the score. Don''t worry about your answer, I can void it if it cleaves too close."
Olive nodded, tapping her feet together, then sat forward again. This was her opening. A chance for answers. "S-sorry..." Again?! When''s the last time I apologized to anybody?! "It''s just that.. I mean, we just met, and you went out and... and took that fall for..." She winced, and Sianna dipped her head. "I don''t know if..." Her stomach gnashed, and she dipped her head. "I''m not sure if... you know..."
This is pathetic. I am pathetic.
Sianna took a breath, squared her shoulders, lifted her ears. "I do. Sorry if I''ve been presumptive, I swear it''s not for any untoward reason." She closed her eyes. "You just seemed lost, is all. Lost and scared." Her ears wilted. "I remember being lost and scared. Remember wanting someone to be there to make cold nights feel warmer." Her eyes were glossy, like jade dipped in resin. "I haven''t always been the kind of person who would make that girl proud. I don''t think I am now, either." She turned to the foot of her cot, looked at a fat purse laying atop her neatly folded dress and petticoats. "But I want to be."
Olive felt a twinge in her chest, an ache spooling in her belly. One of her hands rose, began to reach out.
Darlene''s laugh cut her ears. She pulled back.
"I''ll... help, if I can."
Sianna''s tail wrapped around her own waist. "I''d like that." She told her, collecting the dice, Olive watching with jealous eyes. "But, it is getting late. How about we call it a draw?" Her eyes shone keen. "Play again some other time?"
"Sure," Olive said, with a demure smile. "We''ll have time before it all happens, I''m sure."
"If it happens," Sianna said, wiggling under her sheets. "I still need some convincing. And the moment something smells off, don''t think I''ll let you go charging into the slaughterhouse, Piglet!" She sniggered through a yawn.
Butterflies hatched in Olive''s chest. She should have been outraged. Instead, she giggled. "Okay, Mittens."
A giggle answered. "That''s Razor Mittens to you!" She laughed, pulling the blanket up to her neck, turning over. "Anyway, it was fun. Mostly because you''re a terrible bluff." She tittered. "Good night..."
Olive couldn''t help grinning as she hiked the sheets up and insinuating her shoulders. It was a note of fruit in a fecal smoothie. Muscles she didn''t know were taut suddenly loosened.
She closed her eyes, part of her hoping she''d wake up in her own, heated bed under a weighted blanket. Another, smaller part didn''t mind waking up exactly where she was, clay stink and all.
"Good night."
Chapter Twelve: Awake
Olive tossed as she came to, her stomach snarling, tongue like sandpaper in her mouth. She groaned, aches pulsing in her feet, her back. As hungry as she was, as thirsty, the warmth of her cot won out, holding her in a vice grip. Nothing worse than waking up, no matter where you go...
Something poked her snout. Pain rushed through her face.
Her eyes snapped open, and she shot forward, bolt upright, throwing the starchy sheet from her legs.
The sleeper looked down at her, blank-faced, hazel eyes wide, knowing. Her fists, seeming smaller and more delicate than they were the night before, huddled at her chest as she watched, waited.
"H-hi..." The girl warbled, waving a few trembling fingers.
Olive''s pale face waxed. "Helloooo?" She waved back, eyes snapping about. The other cots were bare, sheets askew, and the lambent orb was gone, replaced by a flickering candle on the table.
The girl averted her eyes, twisting a forelock into a corkscrew. "Th-the others told me to come get you." She pointed to the wooden ladder, the trap door above. "B-but you were still dreaming. It was a pretty dream..."
Olive arched a brow. Of course she can look at my dreams. Why wouldn''t she be able to?! "Why would you tell me that?"
"Am I not supposed to?!" The girl asked, her soft, lilting voice rising to a panic. "I''m sorry! I apologize! I can''t help it! I just see them! And I thought people liked talking about them, so--"
I liked her better when she was snoring and choking people out. "What do they want?" She asked, voice creaky and stern as she rubbed at her eyes.
The girl twitched, hugging herself. "J-just to talk about the dagger. How to get it. Whether the one with purple hair is scheming something. Things like that. I don''t know, I never know these things..."
Olive''s tail twitched. "Then let''s just go, alright?" She said, swinging out of her cot--
--and smacking her foot on the table, knocking over the candle. The flame lapped at the wood, flaring, reaching out like hungry tendrils as Olive lurched back. It was faster, nibbling at her stained shirt, clawing for the tips of her hair.
"Gah!" She squawked, kicking, flailing, squealing like a pig in a sty, trying to slip the hog tie. Stop, drop, roll! Stop, drop, roll!
But her trotter was jammed, wedged between the table and cot. It twisted painfully, made her yelp, convulse in agony and panic.
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Great, I can''t even get up in the morning without starting a fire! She slapped at her shirt, the flames flaying hot against her skin, the stink of burning cloth stinging her eyes as she thrashed, thrashed...
And a blanket wrapped around her, tight. Smoke belched upward, blew against her face, but the heat dispelled, reduced to a muted smoulder about her arms and shoulders.
"Are you alright?!" The girl asked, voice keen, folding the blanket up tight behind her back. "Sorry, I shouldn''t have-- sorry..."
Olive laid back, taking in deep, smoky breaths, coughing them out. Pained tears squeezed from her eyes, blurring her vision, no matter how she blinked them out. The fact that that could have been her end, squalling and flailing with her foot stuck between a table and bed, reared at the front of her mind. "Physically, yes." But I''ll be talking to my therapist about this. After I get a therapist...
The girl was close, her breath icy cold on her cheek as she leaned over Olive, held her in her lap. She produced a lace handkerchief, dabbed at the Porcene''s eyes and cheeks, and smiled, even as the Porcene pinched a flustered moue. "That''s good. No need to be embarrassed. I do stupid things all the time. I don''t know what a therapist is, though. What magic do they do?"
Olive quailed. Wait, can she--
The girl nodded with a demure smile. "Like I said, I can''t help it. And I won''t tell anyone, if that''s what you''re worried about! I only talk about a person''s thoughts with the person who thinks them!"
Lovely.
"Well, I wouldn''t go that far," the girl said, playing with her hair again. "Nice, yes, but ''lovely'' is a bit off the mark. It can be a bit much, at times. Not that you''re a bit much! Just... everyone, thinking loudly, all the time..." Her face darkened, a pearl of sweat glittering above a pale brow.
Olive swallowed, suddenly taut in her wrapping. "Where''s Sianna?"
"Oh, up there, like I said!"
Olive wriggled her snout. "C-can we go there?"
The girl''s face broadened. "Yes! Yes, sorry!"
"You''ve said."
"Just a second. Let me--" She reached out, shoved the table away with deceptive ease. Her trotter came loose.
Turning back, the girl grinned, teeth shimmering, even in the dim light. "There! Just--" She went to unwrap her, paused, loosed a snort. "S-sorry, but... I need to!" She giggled into the heel of her hand, then gestured toward the pork burrito. "Pig! In blanket!"
People have done war crimes for less than this...
"It was worth it! You look so cute!" She almost squealed.
Olive''s face was a furnace, and her neck twisted and bulged around the hem of the blanket. "What happened to miss ''trembles at the slightest breeze''?!"
"She realized you were harmless. And cute." She said, fidgeting with a pendant at her neck.
"Can you just get me out of this?!" Olive huffed, warm air steaming from her snout.
"Oh, you can just take it off." The girl told, a smug smile crossing her face. "I didn''t tie it or anything."
Olive blinked, then shrugged her shoulders, the blanket falling away. "Oh, god damn it..."
"I''m Luna, by the way!" She said, jittery, bouncing on her heel. "At least, when I''m awake, I''m Luna."
"Olive, but you knew that already, didn''t you?" Olive rolled her eyes, standing. The shirt was ruined, holes burned into sleeves, about her chest, blessedly above the... ''forbidden zone''. Still, it made her flush, crossing her arms to cover them.
"I did. And I''ll tell you what..." She crooked her back, crouching down, cupping her mouth and falling into a whisper. "I know what you are, Miss ''CMO of Life''."
Chapter Thirteen: Assurances
Olive shoved Luna into the bathroom and pulled the door shut behind them. The room was narrow, the air close, their skin chafing, warm and cold. The waxy girl''s flesh was frigid, prising out a shudder as Olive nestled near, trying to put aside the bristling realization that her head was at chest level. No! Bad! Priorities!
The Porcene''s expression was hunted, bloodless. Luna''s was blank, vaguely bemused.
"Why don''t you tell them?" Luna asked, head tilted to a side. "I doubt they''ll confine you. Probably..."
"''Probably''?!" Olive gnashed her teeth, one head against the bathroom door, listening for interlopers. Why did the airy one have to read minds?!
"A question I ask the world every day." Luna sighed, a hand on her chest. "Nothing''s answered me, yet. It''s just the way I ''cracked'', I guess."
"You''re about to get your skull cracked if you go telling anybody!" Olive warned, scrunching up her face. "I know enough about the world to understand that, if there''s something unique or special about you, its people will twist themselves into knots trying to choke whatever it is out." She wrinkled her snout, watching Luna from the corner of her eye. "If I tell them where I came from, maybe they''ll do nothing. Or, maybe they''ll tell someone powerful for a bit of spending money, sell my soul for a few month''s rent. Maybe I''ll end up with a scalpel in my brain, poking at my limbic system!" She bit off, curling her hands into fists. "I don''t want anyone in my brain! And that includes you!"
Luna pressed her lips, her head angling away as Olive finished. "I-I told you, it''s not my choice!" she said, her mouth curling. "I can''t stop it, the faucet is always open, no matter what I shove inside it!" Her breath came fast and heavy. "B-but like I promised, I won''t tell anyone else anything I hear out of you! Not an oink!" She flushed, the chill of her skin tempering slightly. "Th-that just slipped out. Sorry. Bad timing..."
Olive''s brow quirked, her racing heart skidding to a slow stop. Why was she so angry? It was a breach of privacy, true, but as Luna said, she had no control over it. Assuming she wasn''t lying...
"If I was lying, why would I tell you I can do it?" She offered, to which Olive could only concede with a wry nod.
Her fists eased open. "Fine." She opened the door, scuttling back into the cellar. "But I''m keeping an eye on you! How did you figure it out, anyway? I don''t think I thought about it when I woke up..."
"No, you didn''t." Luna sloped out of the bathroom, ducking her head to avoid the lintel. "It was... in your dream." The words were reluctant, as if clinging to her tongue by claw and foot. She coughed, began to pick at her nails. "A vivid dream."
Olive''s ears warmed. "O-oh..." She yanked at her fingers, turning away. "Do I want to know?"
"I don''t think so." Luna hurried past, toward the ladder. "It was pretty, but... yes, I don''t think you''d appreciate the report."
Please kill me.
"No."
Fuck.
Olive kicked at the clay floor, then cleared her throat, hoping to unsettle the quickly thickening air. Besides, she had pressing questions. "H-how much do you know?"
"That you''re from a world called ''Earth'', you are the head of a ''marketing agency'', whatever that is, and you have an obsession with ''parking spaces''." She paused, stopping before the ladder. "And women." A fingernail tore as she fretted at it. "And women in parking spaces. Undressed..."
"Okay, yeah, we can move on from that!" Olive''s brow grew sticky with sweat. "But that was it? Nothing else?"
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"Aside from the fact that every surface was scrawled with ''Olive Farrier, CMO of life!'', yes."
Small miracles, I guess. She certainly didn''t want her to know every last detail. The things she''d done, the kind of person she was, not to mention what the world was...
"Hmm?"
"Nothing! Just my dumb brain being loud, again!" Olive tittered, off key, rapping her knuckles along her temple.
Luna leveled her with a cautious look, then shrugged. "Most people are like that, sometimes." She told her, with a shy smile. "Besides, your brain isn''t even loud. You''re quite quiet, actually. It''s very calming."
"Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?" Olive asked, mouth askew, chest tingling.
Luna shrugged, climbing up. "I''ll have to wait and see. In any case, you should hear purple lady. Her head is a coliseum..."
"What is this?" Olive took the mug, sniffed it, winced at the mingling of yeast, grains, fomentation.
"Beer." Ylsa told her, bright eyed, taking a seat at the trestle table.
Olive groaned. "I know it''s beer, but... it''s the morning. Can''t we have some bread, at least?"
"Beer is just bread that went a longer, more daring way." Ylsa raised a finger, spoke with a sage''s lilting tone. "Like us. Very appropriate!"
"Some of us haven''t committed to your little crusade yet, sweetling," Sianna said, lowly, voice back to its refined gleam, head nested in crossed arms. Olive took a seat at her side, laying her mug on the crude drawings chiselled there. "We''ll need some... assurances, first."
"I-I''d like assurances..." Luna squeaked from down the racks, tapping her fingers against her pewter tankard. "I-if that''s possible..." And back to meek and mousy. That''s fine by me.
"I wouldn''t mind ''em." Bristle shrugged, gulping down his brew. "But I''m in either way."
"Why?" Sianna asked. lifting her head, hair a tangled mess around her face. "She hasn''t told us anything."
"She did us a kindness," he said, wiping his dripping muzzle. "I believe in the concept of ''reciprocity''. Deed for deed, goods for goods." He turned his sharp eyes to Olive. "They have that in America, right?"
"Officially, yes, actually, no." If you weren''t screwing someone over, you were in the wrong country.
"That''s sad..." She heard Luna mumble.
Bristle snorted. "As you say, I wasn''t there. But where I come from, if someone does you good, you give them good!"
"Don''t you think her timing was suspicious? That her appearance was odd? That her choice to bring us here was a touch over-generous?" Sianna''s ears cocked. "I put a moratorium on my concerns last night, seeing as I wanted to slip the noose, but it''s a new day. And if you expect this to bloom into a partnership, I expect some transparency, for the sake of all of us present."
Ylsa chewed on her words, crossing her legs, arranging her thoughts. "You''re right," she said, at length, "it was convenient, wasn''t it?"
Sianna''s fur bristled. "Meaning?"
"Meaning I was scoping that jail for prospects." Ylsa leaned forward, stole Olive''s mug, took a sip. "I made a few runes, some months ago. Nothing serious, or anything substantial enough to be caught in a sweep, but enough to keep a vigil. I''d take a peek every now and then, to see if I could find any promising candidates to break out. Some were plausible, but unmotivated. Others were motivated, but implausible. And most in between taught me a great deal about the body, the sounds it could make, and all the exciting things that could leak out of it!" She simpered, inverting the tankard, downing it all in one, guttural glug. A quiet belch sounded, and Sianna scrunched her nose. "Any more questions?"
It seemed feasible. Something an eccentric with too much time on their hands would do. But it didn''t fit snugly. There were a few jagged pieces, and some were missing entirely.
"But... why?" Olive asked, staring at the empty tankard. College me would have killed for her. Fuck, give me another cup and I might make a vow. "Wh-why go through all that trouble, instead of hiring adventurers or a company?"
"Because, like I said, this job is insane, and they all either rebuffed me or laughed in my face." She harrumphed, thumbing her nose. "Which is one reason I needed less... judgemental candidates. Candidates who, I don''t know, have bounties on their heads?" She turned to Sianna, violet eyes stirring. "Who might have committed a spot of murder, and who could stand to rewrite reality, a smidge?"
Sianna snorted, her tail lashing. "So, blackmail, is it?"
"Sort of, but not really." Ylsa held up her hands in a pacific motion. "I needed a stick to sweeten the carrot. The carrot being untold wealth, and a chance to clean the slate. My contact says this dagger can alter facts of reality, and--"
"So why have I never heard of it?" Sianna posed, crossing her arms. "How do we know it even exists?"
Ylsa smiled, wide enough that Olive felt her hackles rise, snout trembling with dread. "I''m glad you asked." Ylsa leaned forward, elbows on the table as her eyes touched all. Bristle, Luna, lingering on a glaring Sianna, then landing on a gawping Olive. "You want assurances? You want proof?" Her eyes were fiery orbs. "Then you can go see it for yourself."
Chapter Fourteen: Errands
"And just how are we meant to get into the most intensively surveilled fortress in Yor? The world, even?!" Sianna asked, clicking her claws together.
The Opal was the heart and brain of the Last Empire, nestled into an ostentatious setting like a jewel to a ring. Olive had conceived it in the fashion of Plato''s Republic, an oasis of revolutionary thought that thrived under the gentle auspices of a secular regency. At least, that''s what the magnanimous, just Alys Nightshade was meant to put in place.
"All I ask is a bit of faith and flexibility," Ylsa said, taking down a crate from a stacked rack. "I have a plan, you just need to let it germinate! Come with me when I head out, and I''ll give you every reason to trust me, okay?"
Sianna slid her eyes to Olive, who met her with a nod, sipping at a mug of water. The Felinae nodded back. "Alright, we''ll call it a deal. For now." She narrowed her eyes at Ylsa. "Aren''t you worried about the Matriarch in the room?" Sianna cast about. Ylsa stiffened. "Won''t she be there?"
Ylsa relaxed. "Maybe, maybe not. Either way, if my man is right, she''s a recluse, barely does anything. He says she doesn''t even leave her quarters, doesn''t eat, doesn''t excrete."
"I-isn''t she omniscent?" Luna asked, voice quavering. "Th-that''s what they say, right? That the Matriarch sees all?"
"Of course they say that." Sianna snorted, an ear twitching. "Just as they tell children to finish their plate or the Mossy Gollum will come to swallow them up. It''s a lie to promote good behaviour, nothing more." She clicked her tongue, tail gently tickling Olive''s side. "I''ll wager she excretes just as much as the rest of us. From the front and the back..."
Olive''s cheeks expanded as she suppressed a laugh. Come on! That wasn''t even funny! She told herself, her face gainsaying her with an oink-like snort.
"Whatever the truth, I doubt she''ll be an issue, at least for this excursion." Ylsa cracked open the top of the crate, the nails of its lid hanging ajar. "What might be an issue is your state of dress, however..."
Olive arched a brow, then blanched with a quiet gasp, crossing her arms over her chest, the scorch marked. She swung her gaze, checking each face, finding mostly indifference.
Sianna, however, wore a flush, her ears tall. She looked away with a furtive brush of her petticoats, knuckles running along the fabric with a lady''s grace. "I take it the plan is some sort of cover?"
"You''ll be a high noblewoman," Ylsa said, shoving the lid aside, revealing frippery, a colourful stack of dresses and cloaks. She reached in, drew out a thin gown, silken, jade to match Sianna''s eyes. "The head of your household. The rest of you would play retainers, servants, guards, whatever you can swing."
Sianna measured the dress, ran her fingers along its hem, its dagged sleeves. Her face pinched, taut with focus, contemplation. "And what''s my cause?" She asked, licking her lips. "Why would I be there? It''s rare for a high born Felinae to make the trip, let alone pay her respects."
Ylsa shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe you have a pet project, a passing interest in anthropology to satisfy. Maybe you''re there to leverage connections, further your family''s image." She grinned. "Or, maybe you just had a day, and thought ''why not?''. It''s your role. All kinds make the pilgrimage, every year. So long as you have the credentials, and the Wings, they won''t look too close. Not unless you give them a reason."
Sianna bit her lip, tail swinging behind her, then nodded. "I''ll give it some thought. How long do I have?"
"Until tomorrow."
Sianna''s fur bristled. "That''s a mite soon, don''t you agree? Shouldn''t we secure the capital first? The documentation?"
"Mostly done. We just need to do a quick errand and fill out a few names, really." Ylsa tucked the dress into the Felinae''s arms, like a bouquet into a bridesmaid''s. Her eyes glittered. "As for the rest of you, I have less... grand garments stored away, for you to pick out. High quality, of course! Lady Sienna never settles for less than the best!"
"Lady Regelia, actually!" Sianna corrected, with a haughty harrumph, nose thumbed high in the air. "The youngest daughter of Lord Fenris Oph''ianis, a lord known for his quick temper and ruthless taxation policies! Here to study the great deeds of the Matriarch, that I might take her example." She held out one hand over her head, the other on her chest, and beamed, took a bow.
Bristle gave a clap.
"I''ll be sure to note it down," Ylsa said, dryly. " You can tuck it away for now. Olive, though, should probably grab something now." Her mouth bent at one end, into a sly smirk. "Or are you going for the arsonist aesthetic?"
Olive puffed out her cheeks, but made no reply. I would rock it, for your information! She craned her head, peeking into the crate, skimming over the gaudy fabrics, finding bright reds, violets, blues, yellows, and pinks in multitude. Ew. Why pink?
"Would any of them even fit her?" Sianna asked, leaning in at her side, ears bent inquisitively forward as she scratched her fuzzy chin.
"Some." Ylsa picked up a velvet cape, shimmering gold. "I bought pieces in all sizes."
Olive pulled out a few likely looking dresses and robes, wincing at the lurid colours. I wouldn''t have been caught dead in any of these yesterday. Thankfully, on a cursory glimpse, most didn''t fit.
But one did. And, of course, it had to be pink.
God, why did it need to be such a good fit?!
The cut was low, showing the nestle of her pink chest, even with the laces done up taut. It hugged at her waist, propping them up, fanning the heat in her face. The sleeves were short, butterflying above her elbows, and the fringes were ruffled, spotted with white, floral patterns. A frilly skirt swayed as she walked, brushing at her thighs, her wool stockings.
Worse, the group adored the look. Luna especially, calling her ''cute''. Again. I will hurt you.
She quailed at that.
When a grey cloak was offered, as the five readied to leave, she leapt to accept, wrapping it tight to the amusement of the room. They had their own, of course, all with thick hoods to veil their very distinctive faces. Faces that the guards were looking out for.
As they went to leave, passing through the front of the store, Ylsa stopped them. She took care as she looked over the shelves, tapping her chin as she made careful calculations in her mind. Finished, she picked out a few spheres, a sack of caltrops, a box of noisome pellets. "Just in case," she told Olive, giving them over.
They crowded her arms, bulging outward. "U-uhm... thanks," she said, grunting. "I guess. Does this thing have any pockets?"
"You could use this," Sianna said, with a groan, plucking a bag from a shelf. It was another cat, like the stuffies, a hat sewn onto its sable head, a zipper cut into its back. And it gets worse! Sianna''s face was drawn, twitchy. "Assuming it''s okay."
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Ylsa clicked her tongue. "I''m sure it is." She said, out of hand.
Sianna helped Olive tuck her bounty away, slung it over her shoulder, under the cloak. Olive rolled her eyes, hiding it. It would do for a pinch.
"How sure?" Sianna asked, quinting. "Who owns this place, anyway?"
Ylsa opened the door, light deluging past her, and shrugged. "Me."
The market was abustle, overflowing with faces, colours, sounds, and smells. Sweat was sharpest in Olive''s nose, followed by leather, beer. Does everyone drink beer for breakfast, here?! I don''t remember writing that...
Luna, from the back of their party, stared at her, eyes pale in their shadowed alcove. She walked with shoulders hunched, twitching, taking in heady breaths.
They kited and elbowed their way through the throng, Bristle an icebreaker at the front, shoving some to the side, apologizing, wagging his tail, happy to contribute.
Just like any dumb dog, she thought, then sighed.
They passed between banks of jutting tenements, strumming minstrels hawking for leavings, under clotheslines, dripping, pattering their cloaks.
A wall of faces stared as they loped, pasted on what seemed to be a fortification, partitioning the rest of the city from a fortress. Maybe the army headquarters?
The wax seals at the corner of every bounty dispelled her doubt. They were silver falcons, wings unfurled. So this is the Rookery. She craned her head, tried to see over the tip of the tall, stone walls, but could only make out cerulean skies, the sun leaking through, burning her eyes. I didn''t write them having a wall. She pouted, trotting forward with a huff...
...and smacking her snout right into Sianna''s chest, bouncing back. She burned, goosepimples prickling across her skin as she rubbed at her sore nose, tail wiggling as her nerves shot. "Shit! Sorry! I--"
Sianna didn''t notice, her eyes riveted to one bounty in particular, just as the others were.
Olive followed their gazes, saw her own face on the wall, detailed to a disarming authenticity with precise paint strokes. Her heart missed a step, and she slid back a step. "Oh... that''s not good, is it?"
"It''s not wonderful, no," Ylsa said, with a sigh. Under the portrait, Olive read:
BOUNTY: Wanted alive!
500 Ws
Profile -
Name: Olive Farrier
Gender: Female
Species: Porcene
Height: 4''0
Weight: 90 lbs
Age: Early 30s
Reason for inquiry -
Special interest in on-going investigation. Please contact Eryck Carlson with information at 3141 Maverick. Payment will be provided upon arrest.
Olive''s tongue was a dried-out sponge, her ears pumping with hot, torpid blood. Do they know? Fuck, they know, don''t they?! I need to leave, this was stupid, this is all stupid, stupid and insane--
Luna laid a hand on her shoulder. A warm hand. "They don''t know anything." She told her, softly. "If they did, they''d put the crime up there..."
Olive relaxed, blew out tension with a long exhale. She was right. They might suspect something, but that was it. She could manage that.
"Where''s my bounty?" Bristle asked, ear cocked.
"We shouldn''t linger." Ylsa surged ahead, head snapping from side to side. Sianna turned to Olive, gave her a knowing, worried look, then followed, her tail curling around the Porcene''s waist. Stay close to me, she commanded, voice like a warm wind on Olive''s brain as she tottered up behind her.
"Ylsa! My sweet tea! My moonlit pond! How can I assist you and yours today?" A man with a coiffed beard and walnut eyes greeted them, lowering into a bow as they swept into the fragrant building. It was an apothecary, Olive reasoned, a large, black sculpture of a mortar and pestle set into the wooden building''s frontage. The inside was more modest: a counter, bookshelves, burning incense. Herbs, garlic, and strange, prickly flowers dangled from trellises and hooks, more ornamentation than function, forcing Bristle and Sianna to duck their heads.
Ylsa smiled, stepping forward. "Just a commission. A single commission." She told him, sternly. "To be delivered before tomorrow. Does that sound manageable?"
The man''s amber robes billowed as he gestured to the counter. "Of course, of course! Everything is manageable! Anything for our magnanimous patron! Anything!" His face, coppery and keen, held a sharp, constant smile that should have cracked his face, and his eyes glinted like coins.
Behind the counter, he appeared again, stepping through beads from a back room. "You can go, now." He told the smirking duplicate, his tone hueless. "They don''t want to deal with it."
"Um..." Olive pinched at her ear. "Why are there two of him?"
"Six, actually!" Smiley said, a finger jabbing the air, like a precise needle. "Why, because Mauro Linquest is the best of alchemists! So great that only he, himself, can play the match!"
"Enough." The hueless one said, snapping his fingers. Smiley shattered, breaking into golden shards, then a flash of light.
Then nothing.
"Apologies." The one behind the counter said. "He means well."
"Excuse me, what the fuck?!" Olive scream-whispered to a side, addressing Sianna.
The Felinae shrugged. "Just how he ''cracked'', I suppose.''
Olive gaped. What was with all the ''cracking''?! "What does that me--"
"I want you to make a poison, Mauro." Ylsa told him, stalking up to the counter. She reached up to her scalp, plucked out a few, violet hair, without so much as a wince. "Tailored to my physiology."
Olive''s jaw almost fell loose. Sianna mimed the expression.
"Are... you sure?" Mauro asked, cocking a charcoal brow. "You know I''m--"
"The best?" Ylsa broke in, helpfully.
"--good." Mauro corrected. "If I make a poison, it works."
"That''s what I''m hoping for." Ylsa snorted, laying the hairs on the counter. "Something deadly, that can linger in the system for a while before activating."
Sianna''s ears jumped. "Ylsa, what are you--"
"And an antidote, of course!" Ylsa added, quickly, holding up a hand. "One that I can drink at any point before the symptoms take hold, and experience no side effects."
Mauro took a deep breath, rubbed at his stubbly brow. "A mighty big ask, you''re giving me..."
"Well, you did say anything," Ylsa said, with a snigger. "If you get it done, consider your obligations void." His face lit up. "Clean slate."
"I''m gonna need some clarification at some point!" Olive groaned, with a stamp of her foot.
"I''m going to drink a poison tomorrow, when you go to... witness history." Ylsa narrowed her eyes at Mauro, who turned away with a grunt. "You will bring the antidote when you go. Thus, my life hinges on you returning the antidote, meaning I would be a right fool to betray you, or put you at peril." She looked over her shoulder, glared at Sianna. "Is that assurance enough?"
Sianna stood dumbfounded, ears dipping low, like a chastised dog. "I... suppose that would suffice..."
They kept their heads low as they kited down the thoroughfare, keeping quiet, letting the din rush over them. Luna hugged herself, her face pinching as the crowd swelled, the smells of stew and bread and meat rising. Olive''s stomach ached, grumbling like a sour child.
"I told you I had a plan," Ylsa whispered, leaning toward Sianna. "I know how I look, from your perspective. I''m not expecting blind trust."
"I understand, yes," Sianna said, with a sigh. "And I do appreciate the assurance. It''s just that--"
"S-so... loud..." Luna whimpered, chest heaving, fists squeezing the sides of her head. "C-can we-we stop..."
"Just a bit further," Ylsa said, pointing. "Market''s close."
Luna shambled on a few steps, her shoes skimming along the flagstones. Her face was peaked, eyes rheumy, a sickly pallor falling across her skin. Overrun, she dropped to a crouch, closed her eyes, rocking on her heels. "Down the river and past the pines. Down the river and past the pines..." She muttered, singsongy, her suede voice crinkled in places.
Sianna stopped, reaching out. "Ylsa, I think she''s--"
Luna rocked, rocked, muttered, muttered. Olive, Bristle, and Ylsa stopped, too.
"Luna, sweetling?" Sianna approached, tail up, reaching out with a tepid paw. "What''s wrong?"
Olive yanked at her fingers. A boulder of worry settled in her chest as the crowd around them slowed, stared. It made the girl rock faster, mutter louder.
"Down the river and past the pines. Down the river and past the pines!"
More bodies. More staring. Olive''s chest was drum tight
Luna, stop! She snapped, gritting her tusks as she forced an affable, guileless smile. Get the fuck up! You''re gonna get us caught, you selfish fucking--
She caught herself, rubbed at her eyes. That was too much, even she knew that.
But it worked. Luna looked up, her wide face empty of expression, her eyes broad as windows, glazed by a day''s rain. "O-okay..." Her voice was mousy, damp.
"Good, sweetling, good!" Sianna beamed, holding out a hand. "Let me help you up."
Luna reached out to accept it, then paused, her mouth agape.
"What now?!" Olive snapped, then blanched, the crowd still milling around them. "I mean, uhm... we really need to be off..."
"Yes we do!" Luna pushed up, her legs wobbling. "They''re coming! I hear them! They''re coming!"
Olive''s belly twisted, knotting with the hunger. "Who? Which they?!"
The other''s tensed, peering about.
Luna grabbed her hand, suppressing a wheeze.
She didn''t have to answer as the rustle of mail bounded towards them.