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Chapter 36. Your Sanctuary
by Vikraja
"Okay," said Vikraja.
Claws akimbo, she flicked her tongue once at the weasel kit looking up at her. "You. Ztay. Here." She pointed right to where the babe sat, right in the center of her cart and a good distance away from anything that could be ruined. Which was everything.
Ella giggled. "Zzzzzztay!" She hissed, sticking her tongue out in an attempt to imitate the monitor.
Vikraja fidgeted; did that mean she understood? The lizard guessed there wasn't anything left to do but hope. Either way, the Faye-beast was going to have to pay by the fur for all the damage this was doing to her psyche.
The walk to Veil Village, however, managed to put her mind at ease. Vikraja tasted the air, gentle and sweet, and was glad to have it to herself—no snotnose hamster or vile weasel to bother her and get in the way. She was very nearly tempted to flee with Dominic once she'd found him, and leave the rest of them to rot. The odd weasel might be diseased, she thought, but he was the only creature she could trust.
Maybe. She caught herself. He might be the murderer. The monitor's scales itched with curiosity; this above all else, she had to find. Although, secretly, the monitor would eat her scarf before she could really believe that beast was a hot-blooded killer. And since she'd be forced to kill herself for eating her scarf, it was a meaningful wager.
For having such a pretty name, the village itself was old and reeked of emptiness, with shuttered windows and mute, broken-down roofs. There weren't many beasts about, but judging from the few she spotted, Vikraja wasn't eager to stay any longer than was strictly necessary. They were so dirty and brutish looking; thugs and brigands, probably. And that one rat's tunic was so filthy that she would rather cut her tail off and hang herself with it than have to even look at it again.
Ah, a zaloon, she thought, glancing up at the sign atop a building. She glanced back at her cart negligently. Just a quick peek; it couldn't be that easy to steal a cart. The door swung a little too eagerly as she pushed it, and she stumbled inside.
The monitor hissed and shielded her eyes. Somebeast had painted the walls an offensive shade of pink. A fox, scissors in paw, turned from a marten in a dingy chair to glare at the monitor. "Ugh, what in the bloody 'gates are you? Who let amphibians in my salon? Do you have an appointment?"
"Zmozh!" The monitor ducked out, scowling up at the sign; why did those words have to look so similar?
Vowing to forget all about that, Vikraja found that the actual saloon—more like an inn, really—was only a few tail-lengths away. Just as she was about to take a peek inside, the door swung open. The monitor half-leaped half-stumbled back mere seconds away from a bruised snout. "Lzzt! Watch it!"
"Oh, sorry miss…" A scruffy old stoat scurried around the door, and Vikraja recoiled—the creature was decrepit! "Well, there's no need to be like that. I said I was sorry."
Vikraja dipped her head, although she kept her tongue tucked away; she could smell the ale off the beast's ragged fur even without a proper check. "Z-zorry. Do you know where I could find a Dominic?"
The stoat's eyeswhiskers furrowed. "Funny. You don't look like the kind of beast he'd associate with. No offense," he added quickly as the monitor's claws twitched. "Just that… well… Dom is. Dom. Anyway, I haven't seen him around, actually. Hope he isn't callin' off work on account of plague again."
"Lizten," Vikraja said, glancing back; still there. "I juzt need to know where hiz houze iz."
"Just keep walkin'," the stoat said, pointing down the road. "You'll know when you see it. Crooked door 'n bits of thatch on the roof. If he's there, tell him that Mortram wants his cart back. And that if he doesn't plan on showing up tomorrow morning, to look for a new job. Tables don't wipe themselves."
"Okay." Vikraja scurried back her to cart, splaying her claws against the smooth ironwood. A creeping urgency had wormed its way into her heart and was making itself comfortable; she had to find Dom and get out.
That muzt be it. Vikraja stopped in front of a house set a little distance apart from the others. She rapped gingerly at the broken-down front door. "Dizeazel?"
No response.
The monitor waited, pacing a bit in front of the house. The cottage was a simple brown wood, fighting a losing battle against creeping ivy vines and the overwhelming scent of hopeless age. Beaztz live like this? It was… sad.
Maybe he'z sleeping.
The monitor would have rather stepped inside an adder pit than be swallowed alive by this thing, but she slipped inside all the same, trying not to inhale more than strictly necessary.
She was standing in what appeared to be a sort of sitting room, although her eyes gravitated toward the kitchen area. Shockingly, it was pristine, despite being a little worn; pans and pots gleamed atop hooks and the woodstove was nice and polished with the firewood stacked beside it in a perfect triangle. Wanting to see more, Vikraja opened the cupboard and had to pause. The dishes were stacked in two neat rows, one of them all sterling and white and the other with a nice green floral pat—
Vikraja jerked back and slammed the door shut before the mold could spread; no wonder the weasel was diseased! How he managed to keep only one set of dishes clean was anybeast's guess.
She slunk down the hall, passing an empty washroom, and pulled at one of the doorknobs to no avail; frustratingly locked. Turning to the other, it twisted pleasantly in her claws and she peeked inside.
This was obviously the bedroom, but there was no dizeazel in sight. The room had a disagreeable scent to it, and Vikraja flicked her tail in disdain at the clothing hanging in the closet—patched, brown, grey, ragged, stained. Ewh. She supposed the black tunic he'd been wearing was the most presentable thing he owned. The tiny dresses and skirts and hats that were hung up were at least more colorful, but they would have made even the lowliest of merchants balk.
Turning back, she caught sight of the crib. And blinked. Iz that… Etrurian cotton?
In a heartbeat, the monitor was snuggling the blanket close. She had been searching for this stuff for seasons; what in the name of scales and fangs was such a rare and beautiful material doing here? It was like tossing platinum in a swamp. She longed to liberate it; it wasn't as if the weasel really needed it. Besides, he might have left forever.
She gathered it up in her claws—so rapturously soft! And all for that bratty little kit. It wasn't fair.
Vikraja froze, horrified; she'd forgotten all about the kit. Peri'el knowz what she could be doing with my thingz!
Claws skittering against the wooden planks, the monitor bounded through the hall and out the door. In that blind singular urge, she ended up running slap-bang into somebeast.
"Owww! Watch where you're going, y-"
The monitor froze. Standing in front of her, holding a great bloodstained sword, was Darron.
"You…!" Seized by fury, she hurled the blanket to the side. "Murderer! It waz you all along! I knew it, you vile, mizerable, tailezz dreck! I'll rip your throat out!"
"Wait." Darron's voice came out somewhat shriller than usual; even with the Sword of Martin, a flesh-eating monitor, eyes sheer slits and fangs bared, was enough to rattle anybeast.
The weasel dropped the sword and held his paws up. "Let's not jump to conclusions," he said.
Vikraja's tail slowly lowered to the ground; the usual cockyness that laced his voice was gone. She nodded and he went on.
"That hamster had this. Damned bastard ambushed us, took us by surprise. She killed my wife… I killed her for revenge." The weasel's voice was like a slab of obsidian, his eyes clouded. "That's all. Came to find you. Is my brother here?"
Vikraja shook her head. The weasel did seem shaken, and that would have explained the mysterious hunchback. "Maybe he really did run away," she mused. She picked up her blanket in shaky claws and held it close, her tongue bolting out as she made for the cart.
"Where are you going?" Darron asked.
The monitor didn't turn. "After him."
"Don't be daft," the weasel snorted, getting his nerve back. "Do you have any idea where he could have gone? He could be anywhere."
Whirling around, Vikraja snarled. "No, but I've got a bloody kit doing who knowz what to my thingz and I'll be damned if I don't get her back to him somehow." The monitor felt tears spring to her eyes, but it only made her angrier. She turned so that the weasel wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing her upset and buried her claws in the blanket's cloud-soft innards. An idea formed from the murky thunderclouds upsetting her thoughts. "...We need to go back to the woodz."
"We?" Darron sneered. "You do what you like, but I'm going to find my brother."
Vikraja's tail slapped against the earth. "How far do you think you'll get on your own?"
"A damn sight further than you with that huge clattering thing."
"Fine! Go and rot for all I care!" Vikraja snapped. "But I'm keeping thiz," she marched over and picked the sword up; it was a lot heavier than it looked.
"By all means, madam," he said, bowing. "Good luck with that little brat. I'd suggest drowning it myself."
The weasel realized it probably wasn't the best idea to provoke an angry lizard who was holding a sword, and he made himself scarce before she could hurl it.
All right. Breathe. Everything iz going to be okay. Juzt… one ztep at a time.
Mechanically, Vikraja returned to her cart and peered through the back, her tongue flitting out like a miniature azure lightning bolt.
Ella peeked back at her from inside the cauldron. "Zzzzzzzztay chokwit!"
"I really hate you."
"Ah! Hello there, miss!"
Vikraja whirled around; she was getting tired of everybeast and his brother startling her. It was all a big joke, wasn't it? "What do you wa-"
There was another monitor, right in front of her eyes. Was it an illusion? A dream? She was shocked into silence, although her mind flooded with questions. What was he doing here? Where was he from? He couldn't be from her Zran. He smelled nice, but she couldn't quite place it; some kind of spice, maybe.
"Sorry, marm, didn't mean to scare you." The voice, belonging to a fox, jolted Vikraja out of the curse and she shut her mouth with a snap. "If you don't mind me asking, who were you talking to just now?"
Vikraja pouted. "I do mind, thank you very much. It'z none of your buzinezz."
She felt a faint tugging at the blanket in her claws and twisted her neck around.
"B-banky!" The little weasel's voice was muffled by the blanket she had bitten. Vikraja despaired internally; priceless Etrurian cotton! Ruined by drool! Curse the fates.
"Ah!" The fox exclaimed. "Is that the one we're looking for, I wonder?"
Vikraja placed herself firmly in front of cart, blocking the kit. "What do you mean?"
The male monitor finally spoke, and once again, Vikraja head was abuzz with curiosity bees. "Lizten, we mean you no harm. We juzt need to bring thiz kit back to her father."
Oh, thank Peri'el! All she had to do was hand the brat over and—
"No." The monitor stood her ground, glaring at the two beasts. "How do I know you'll really give her back? For all I know you juzt want to eat her. And I found her firzt."
The fox chuckled. "I assure you, miss, eating her is the last thing on our minds. Please give her to us. We… can't say anything else, but you have to believe us."
"Well then, I'm afraid that'z that." Vikraja crossed her arms over her chest. "Unlezz you take me, too."
The two creatures exchanged glances.
"You won't be able to return," the fox said, his voice soft. "Once you come with us, you'll never be able to go back."
Vikraja felt more tugging at the blanket in her claws and her will resolved. "Fine. I want to know what'z going on."
"Exzellent," the male said, with a smile. "Let'z go."