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Chapter 35. Children

by Lock

Ms. Agatha Dumple triumphantly produced a bottle of non-alcoholic cranberry juice out of her pantry. "There we are, knew I still had some left." Clawing the dusty cork out of the green glass, the stoat-wife who owned the Pies and More Pies cafe poured the still fresh cranberry juice into a small mug. Weaving her way through the empty tables, barely visible in the early dawn light shining through the windows, Agatha arrived at her lone patron's table. "Can't say I've ever had somebeast ask for this straight, but you're more than welcome to it, Mr. Lock."

The fox looked up from the peach pie he was inhaling and accepted the mug with a nod of thanks. "Your ability to actually produce something non-alcoholic is a tribute to your talents, Ms. Dumple. I had begun to think that such a request was an impossible feat in this Harbour."

Agatha waved an embarrassed paw at the compliment. "Aw, s'nothing. Anything for me first customer since this war thing started. And you needn't worry about silly things like poisonings or the such."

Lock raised his eyebrow, fixing the stoat with a steely glare, causing Agatha to wonder if the fox had caught on to her joke. "Madame, if it were to cross my mind that you had any intentions of lacing my pie, I would have you arrested here and now for ruining an otherwise delicious pie." A subtle wink and a smile appeared on his tired featured. "Though I should think having it announced that the General of the Southern Army was slain by a piece of peach pie would look rather silly in my eulogy."

Pleased that her guest seemed in good spirits, Agatha laughed loud in appreciation. All that stuff going around about supporting the local defence against the vile Southern barbarians was a load of malarkey. If the South hadn't invaded, then there would be some revolution against the Empire, or the Minister of Misanthropy would be lopping off heads for no reason. One war was as good as the next, and there was no sense in holding it against potential customers. "Well, if you're that particular about it, Mr. Lock, I'll just leave your pie be. Fates above, but you're tearing into that thing! It's just as well you're my only customer at this time of the morning, or I should think I'd be out of food before long."

Wiping the crumbs apologetically from his mouth, Lock shrugged. "It's a fondness I've always had. I recall as a child being caught for pilfering from the bakery. They caught me because I insisted on taking one slice from each pie. I had no plates, so I stacked each slice one atop of the other. So when I actually tried to pick up my gains, the entire thing teetered over and fell right on my head." The memory caused Lock's shoulders to shake with mirth, and despite his best efforts, the fox eventually made the slightest of audible chuckling noises. "They found me stuck to the floor, and they had to dig out a spatula just to get me up!"

"What a sight y'must have been! I fancy your parents must of had a few words with you over that."

"Oh, yes, they did, and I believe I was grounded for several weeks. The part that annoyed me, however, was that I was to wash off all the pie remains without even getting to save some of it. Seemed like such a waste." Finishing of his slice of peach pie, Lock pushed the plate aside. "Oddly, I never cared for blueberry pie. It's the pips, you see. They get caught in my teeth, and I spend hours trying to pry them out with my tongue."

"I have the same problem with raspberry jam. Course, I haven't made any since the Unsmudgables nicked my posts to make helmets." Agatha raised her paws in the air in mock exasperation. "Pots as helmets! No wonder we lost! And I'm having a horror of a time making custard without them."

"Without the pots, or without the Unsmudgables?"

"Oh, the pots, of course," Agatha laughed. Making custard out of Unsmudgables sounded disgusting. "'Tis a great pity, custard making was good fun. I liked the noises it made when y'brought it to a boil. Somewhat of a hobby of mine, y'might say. What d'you have for hobbies, Mr. Lock."

The fox opened his mouth, but no sound came out, as if he forgot what he was going to say, if indeed he had anything to say at all. Looking blank, he tapped his claw on the table top, in deep thought. "I... don't suppose I have any."

"Oh, come now, y'must have something to do in your time off?"

Lock shook his head in a negative. "I don't really have time off. Running the army is a full time occupier. There's lists to check and statistics to memorize, orders to send and requisitions to pass. I spend most of my time deciding how other beasts are to spend their time."

The stoat wrinkled her nose. "Sounds dull t'me. Couldn't y'get other lackeys t'do all that?"

Lock grimaced at the thought. "They always do it wrong, or they put things off and forget to finish them. If I do everything myself, I know it's getting done." He could visualize somebeast like that Wazzock fellow tossing aside a report on ammunition requisitions because there were too many numbers involved. The General bitterly sipped his cranberry juice.

"Alright, then, what'd y'do for fun before y'became a General?"

Placing his juice down, Lock's expression softened a bit, tapping the table top as his memories came back. What did he do before he became a General? The word had eluded him for a second, before he finally managed to say, "Fishing." Fishing. He hadn't even thought about fishing in years, and had quite forgotten that he liked it at all. When was the last time he had gone...?

Agatha was a bit taken aback. The fox didn't seem like the fishing type. "I didn't take you t'be the mariner type, Mr. Lock."

"Oh, not deep sea fishing or anything like that. Just a matter of taking a small boat into a lake and seeing what you could catch." He had liked fishing, hadn't he? No one pestering him with their petty "problems," no one wasting his time. Just Lock and the serene quietness of a lake. Catching anything was a minor point: what really mattered was the act of going fishing. When was the last time he had gone? "I haven't done it in years, though."

"Well, if y'liked it that much, why'd y'give it up?"

"After being promoted, I suppose I had other things to tend to. Papers and forms stacked up that needed dealing with, and there just wasn't time for silly games any more." Silly games, that's all hobbies were. Took away from valuable work time. Everyone was far too concerned with their hobbies. You could get more work done without them.

Seeing the fox was busy thinking about something or rather, Agatha decided to leave him be. "Well, I must be tending to my baking now. I'm trying my paws at blackberry and rhubarb pie today. If y'wait about an hour, I might be able t'slip you a sample, Mr. Lock."

The fox sipped his juice, looking out the window at the rising sun. He really needed to be getting back to work. The plans for a march on the capital city of Amarone had to be tackled today, and handling the logistical morass involved in a winter march would take half the day. "I should love to take you up on that offer, Ms. Dumple, but if my secretary doesn't see me every five minutes, he thinks I've died."

"Actually, I only begin to worry after half an hour."

The mug of juice flew across the cafe as Lock's arm jolted from the shock of Darcy appearing in the chair next to him. Digging his claws into the table, the fox made sure he hadn't suffered a heart attack before saying, "Major Darcy, I believe you have already received explicit orders to never do that again."

The rat seemed on edge about something other than spooking the General. "I'm sorry, sir, but we've got a bit of a problem, and I think you need to hear it."

"We always have a bit of a problem that I need to hear about. What is it now?" Darcy paused after noticing Agatha was still present, and then leaned and whispered into Lock's ear. Lock's face turned cold and emotionless as he listened, yet before Darcy had finished, the General banged his fist on the table, causing both the rat and stoat to jump. Too livid to articulate his displeasure, Lock angrily dug out the proper amount of money for his food and drink, placed it on the table, and limped hurriedly out of Pies and More Pies, with Major Darcy scuttling in his wake.

Agatha Dumple was surprised at this outburst of temper. Mr. Lock had struck her as quite a pleasant fellow, if a bit on the quiet side. She wondered what could have worked him into such a snit.

"What were you thinking?!" yelled General Lock, after returning to his Funeral Home headquarters. "One of the first orders given upon landing was that civilians were to not be harmed in order to avoid retaliation, and yet you feel compelled to push one down a flight of stairs? Does that sound like following orders to you?"

Captain Steep didn't seem to understand why every beast was so intent on yelling at her today. "Because I escorted her to the stairs," Steep said stiffly. "I don't wait to be injured first. She came at me while I was in the bath, ranting like a lunatic, trying to hit me. I pushed her back. She slipped. The railing broke. It was an accident."

"Then would you care to explain why you are in perfect condition, unscarred from the encounter, and Ms. Lightfoot is dead?"

"Because I got her before she got me," Steep sniffed. "I don't enjoy waiting to be killed first. Besides, she ruined my bath."

If the weasel expected some kind of sympathy on the latter point, she was sorely mistaken. "She ruined your... you..." Lock stared incredulously at Steep. That was her justification? Her bath was interrupted? "We're facing a propaganda problem of mountainous proportions and you come to me about bathes?"

"Among other things..."

"Shut up!" Lock pointed at Steep, his head feeling like it was on fire. "Children are to be seen and not heard, and until you decide to start acting like an adult, you will not speak until I tell you."

Captain Steep's eyes flashed, and Lock saw that her paw considered going for her sword. "That is not a fair accustation..."

Lock jumped up from his chair. "It is a fair accusation, because that is what you have presented yourself to be in your time in this army: child-like. You act as if orders and regulations apply to everyone but yourself. While the rest of the officers have to spend their time actually doing their job, Captain Steep and her merry gang get to gallivant about town and do whatever they please."

"I do not gallivant, sir..."

"Is that a fact?" Lock sneered. "Then perhaps you'd like to explain why, when I gave you explicit instructions to hold a beach head during the invasion, you deserted your unit, left the entire operation without command, and rather than do anything remotely useful, holed yourself up inside a bar?!"

Steep's expression turned from mild belligerence to outright anger. "Me and Private Devonshire alone secured the immediate front lines at the Local Docks, General. If you think I'm capable of holding a beachhead with one soldier, then I'm flattered, but I could not wait for Captain Terion's regiment to get ashore. I did not drink," she added quietly.

"It doesn't matter! What matters is you were absent without leave for the entire battle so you could wallow in self indulgence inside a bloody bar!" Lock felt slightly feverish, but refused to sit down. "Desertion, ignoring orders, pursuing personal interests before duty. And after you fed me that story about your drinking problems not having any effect on your role as Captain! Does that sound professional to you? Does that sound like something an adult would do?!"

Steep opened her mouth in an apparent attempt to protest, but fell silent instead.

"And now this! Killing a civilian over a personal squabble. The papers only need to get a hint of this, the headlines will go up about "Southern Brutality," and we'll have to deal with riots as well as Gloria Ruston."

On cue, a cagey looking cat came through the door, ignoring the attempts from Major Darcy to stall her. "Talley Tipson of the Flatfish here, General Lock. Would it be possible to get an interview with you?" A pad of paper and pen were at the ready as if concession had already been given.

"Get her out of here!" roared the General, his fury giving Darcy extra motivation to force Tipson back through the door, slamming it shut. Slumping back into his chair, Lock went for his glass of water, went to take a sip, and instead slammed it down in frustration. He doubted yelling at reporters would help much either... and right after a lecture on handling the media. Lock didn't want to think about the irony. He didn't want to deal with snotty reporters, he didn't want to deal with insubordinate officers, he didn't want to deal with spies who kept dying or a secret project that kept getting harder to do.

When was the last time he had gone fishing...

It took a few seconds to remember Captain Steep was still here. Lock was depressed, and didn't feel like yelling anymore. Placing his paws atop the desk in an official manner, the fox started at the weasel. "Captain Steep, as of right now, I am considering removing you from your command."

At least that got a reaction, if the widened eyes on the Captain were any indication.

"You have two strikes against you, Captain Steep: being AWOL during battle, and the killing of a civilian. A third strike will result in your immediate termination. I suggest you pull your socks up. Dismissed."

To his surprise, Steep saluted before she turned to leave. Lock had thought she would make a completely different gesture. Before exiting the door, the weasel paused. "If I may inquire, sir, is your old contact really dead?"

"Yes." What did that have to do with anything?

Nodding, Captain Steep left the office.

Her presence was replaced by a frazzled looking Major Darcy, who was trying to straighten out his spectacles. "That loony female hit me!"

Lock raised an eyebrow at the rat's ruffled appearance. "Which one?"

"That reporter cat! She started going on about freedom of the press and the right to know things, and I told her that most cats probably preferred remaining ignorant. And I think she took it badly. Oh, and Captain Steep told me to get out of her way."

"Hm." The fox went back for his glass of water, now sitting in a ring of its own contents. The water made a nice, shimmering effect as he brought the glass to his mouth. He wondered how much a boat cost... The General scowled. No time for things like that. Silly pet projects in the middle of a war. Honestly. "I don't suppose there was any news about that Wazzock that was with Sal?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. He's off on his own. Though that might mean he's found something and is working on it."

That was what he had better be doing, Lock thought. Why did Sal have to be the one to die? She was one of the very few subordinates he had that called him Sir as if she meant it. Wazzock would have been substantially less missed. And still nothing on Ballroom Dance...

Having straightened his glasses and pushed them back on his nose, Darcy added, "Oh, and General Scott is here to see you as well."

Lock was sick of every beast in the world right about now. Falling back into his chair, he placed an exhausted arm over his eyes. "Tell him I've died and everyone can go back to living their sugar-coated, air-filled lives." There was a space of five seconds before Lock finally asked, "Major Darcy, why is General Scott here?"

"I don't quite know, sir. I think he's just coming to see how things are going. I had him wait in the embalming room so he wouldn't hear you yelling at his fiancé."

Lock's day was not getting much better by the second. "I suppose I'll have to see him. Tell General Scott to come in." As Darcy left to relay the greeting, Lock glanced at his reflection in the glass of water. He hadn't had much of a chance to clean himself over the last few days, but that was no concern. What mattered was that when General Scott came in the door, he didn't get the impression that Lock was about to keel over. The blow-up with Steep had left him looking wan and ragged. Combing his ears with his claws to make them look healthier, Lock tried massaging his cheeks to make them look less gaunt and pale.

The tell-tale clacking of wheels slowly approaching the office made Lock's heart flip. Rising from his chair, with some pain, he managed to stand up straight, chest out, and brushed out the wrinkles in his coat to give the impression he had been standing for some time. No sooner had he realized he had left some of his medicine laying out on his desk than the great weasel General Scott rolled into the office in his wheel chair, pushed by a vexed Major Darcy.

"Ah, General Lock, old boy!" the weasel greeted. "I'm glad to see you're doing well. Not as sick as a fish, that's good."

"General Scott," Lock responded with a salute. "My pleasure, as always." He walked, with some difficulty, closer to the weasel, just to show that he could. "We weren't expecting you to arrive for some time."

Scott shrugged in a care free manner. "I just thought a General in Chief ought to see what his Armies are up to. I take it the invasion went well?"

"Very well, sir. My objections to operating in winter were proven to be incorrect."

"Of course they were!" Scott remarked, as if the wise, old leader was divulging some lesson to a younger pupil. "I told you we had nothing to fear. All the problems we have, the enemy will have as well! You worry more than an old toad, Lock."

Placing one paw inside his coat pocket so he could clench a fist unseen, Lock conceded. "Very good, sir. Though things have gone well under my management in spite of my hesitance."

Scott nodded. "So it would seem. Still some problems though. What's this I hear about resistance still existing?"

"A minor problem, General, a few upstarts that don't realize they've lost. They won't be an issue much longer."

That didn't seem to placate the General in Chief. "Not a good thing, having the enemy running around in your back yard. You ought to take action, General, direct action!"

If you want to waddle up and face Gloria, be my guest. "Very astute, General."

"You haven't been fainting like a stoat-wife again and been putting things off, have you?"

Lock forced a laugh. "Of course not. The healer's have patched me up entirely. No issues at all with my health, isn't that right, Major Darcy?"

The rat nodded happily. "That's right, fit as a fiddle. He was running around so much during the battle that I couldn't catch him."

Pleased that Darcy was playing his role, Lock played another card. "Given that I have shown myself to be fully capable of leading, and not liable to die at any second, I believe General Drua's presence is no longer needed." The vixen had been tacked on to the army so that there would be a ranking officer if Lock fell under the weather. The very thought of it made Lock's teeth bare.

General Scott rubbed his stomach thoughtfully. "I shall consider it. Now," he said, lowering his voice, "how goes Ballroom Dance?"

Lock had hoped the weasel had forgotten Ballroom Dance entirely while having a miniature heart attack. It appeared some things were too much to wish for. "I'm afraid... it's been complicated, General Scott."

Scott's jowls shook at the news. "What, what? Complicated, you say? How so?"

"The son of Lord William informed the Captain of the Stoatorian Guard that the Southern Empire was searching for a weapon within the Vulpinsula. Furthermore, the contact we had researching the whereabouts of Dance Partner has perished, as has his replacement."

General Lock grimaced until Scott stopped quivering. "Why, that's preposterous! Dangerous! A very stupid thing to have happen on your part. You must act swiftly to save things, Lock, or the whole project will fall apart!"

"The thought had occurred to me, sir."

General Scott seemed to resent the notion that Lock had perceived the problem before him. "And what is your plan, hm?"

Sighing, Lock had to make it up on the spot. "As one of the last memos we received from our contact mentioned details on Ballroom Dance being held at the Minister of Innovations' office, I had thought to send Major Darcy, along with an escort, to see if he could find anything out."

Major Darcy mouthed "Me?" in silence. Lock nodded. Darcy looked put out.

Scott had no real problems with the plan, but he wanted to add something himself, just to make it look like his idea. "As for the escort, I nominate my own dear Steep's regiment. She'll get the job done."

Lock grimaced. "I don't think..." That correcting the officer who already thought you were unfit to command was a good idea. "...that that will be a problem. See to it that the orders are delivered, Major Darcy."

"Yes, sir," the rat said half-heartedly, shoulders drooping as he left the office.

The great weasel placed his paws atop his stomach. "Now then, General Lock, just to make sure you haven't any more screw-ups, I should like see your daily reports since the landing, as well as your messages concerning Ballroom Dance."

Lock wouldn't be going fishing today.