59. "The Royal We"

The box with the bear dozing in his chair said "Sleepytime" but also said it contained caffeine. Hey, whatever, she wasn't the one drinking it.

As her second shift as her uncle's assistant's assistant drew to a close, she found herself falling asleep herself as she brewed them the herbal tea they'd requested. She definitely didn't need any of it herself to pass out for the night, she was exhausted from a long day of trying to find him.

This time she'd taken a different approach and tried to explore the neighborhoods he frequented to try to see if anybody had any insider information on his whereabouts at any given moment on any particular day. She didn't go to the extremely blighted areas, just the ones she'd already had a working familiarity with from her last stint in this city and where she felt about as comfortable as a woman walking aimlessly alone in the city could. And if someone looked friendly and looked local, she'd say hello, and if they seemed open to further conversation, she'd casually ask if they'd seen a tod taller than her running around, one as red as earthy clay and one with an English accent just like hers if they'd happened to overhear him speak - at which point, if they knew, they knew.

And plenty of them did know. Not all of them picked up what she was putting down, and surely at least some of them played dumb because they didn't know who she was and for all they knew she could have been an undercover cop - or maybe, if she could stretch her imagination, they did know who she was and thought she was here to bust her boyfriend after becoming fed up with being abandoned for basically seven straight years, but surely these common people had better things to do in their free time than speculate on the foxes' relationship. But probably two-thirds of the people she popped the question to knew exactly who she was talking about, some realizing who she was after just a few sentences, others just now discovering that Nottingham's favorite homeless person had been in a long-distance relationship this entire time, and still others not even needing to be asked the magic question because they'd recognized her face from seeing her four years ago (though the height and accent most likely helped them). There was even one antelope who'd never seen Robin up close and consequently greatly underestimated how tall the guy was who thought Mari was Robin in disguise - a minor annoyance as it reminded her of all the times people had told her she had the "pretty tomboy" thing going on, but she knew this stranger meant well. All in all, it was pretty nice to see so much optimism in an otherwise bleak town.

...Not to say, however, that these wonderful people were quite helpful to her endeavor. Most of them gave her the same answer she'd begun her day expecting: with the nature of his lifestyle, he could conceivably be anywhere at any given moment, including possibly far out of town or (heaven forbid) in police custody if today was the day his luck ran out. One person actually did have a good idea in recommending she give old Otto a holler, this stranger providing the address to Mr. Smith's tool-and-die shop, but even Otto couldn't think of anywhere they'd be more specific than, y'know, Sherwood Forest, noting that even he hadn't seen them in a week himself and joked that maybe they'd written him out of their story for being old and boring and had replaced him with a younger, more interesting dog character. Otto did, however, have the thought to pay Friar Tuck a visit at St. Ursula's, but then Marian realized she was already cutting it close again getting to City Hall by two o'clock, so she just headed back at that point. And she didn't even realize until she left the hound's place of business that she ought to have asked if he happened to know what prison Will wound up in.

Truth be told, ever since she crossed the Chesapeake Bay, none of this had seemed real. This all felt like she was chasing a ghost who may or may not have been there. Actually, wait - that's exactly what this was. Dear Reader, even if you don't believe in the paranormal yourself, surely you're at least familiar through mainstream media what a "real" ghost hunt looks like, right? I don't mean Bill Furray and his friends tangoing with a knockoff Michelin Man, I mean like the fifty gazillion ghost-hunting shows that flooded basic cable around the era this story takes place: Ghost Hunters, Ghost Adventures, Most Haunted for our British friends, shows like these were basically half of what the Travel Channel aired besides Anthony Boardain stuff, and if you're old enough to be reading this story, you should be old enough for it to be a statistical likelihood that you've seen at least one episode of one of these shows even by accident at some point in your lifetime. Jesus, where was I? Oh yeah - think about it: a curious party who could at once be described as brave and stupid sets out in search of a mythical entity with fantastic abilities few understand, a mythical entity who many refuse to believe even exists, and our hero's or heroes' investigation largely consists of them stumbling blindly in the metaphorical and literal dark, knowing full well that one of this mythical entity's inherent powers entails that they will only be found if and when they want to reveal themselves. Tell me, Dear Reader, does that or does that not sound exactly like what Marian was doing here going on a wild goose chase after a man who had survived this long as a vagabond specifically because he'd always successfully made himself hard to find? After so long without him, he really was starting to feel more like an urban legend instead of a real person.

Heck, the only reason she knew he must still be out there somewhere was the fact that she had clearly been recalled to Delaware to be used as bait by her uncle and his sycophantic serpent-like assistant - but then again, how did she know they weren't also crazy and the three of them weren't just collectively suffering from mass hysteria about a guy who didn't exist? She was fairly certain that her time with him before he disappeared had been real, but - as much as she liked to imagine her brain wouldn't do such a thing - she could see it that maybe he'd gotten himself killed shortly afterwards and she'd lost her mind when she got the next-of-kin call. And maybe Prince John and his favorite brown-noser had lost their minds upon discovering someone had set out just to depose their administration and subsequently imagined the storyline of the last seven years along with her, the three all wallowing in delusion that nobody cared to help them escape, God bless American mental healthcare. And as for the one day she'd had to spend with him four summers ago, the one where she'd almost watched him die before a modern-day archery tournament had devolved into a cartoonish brawl, after which she'd had a quiet moment alone with him before the scene abruptly became a freaking hoedown of all things? Yeah, with its surreal moments and incredibly sudden tonal transitions, that was all starting to seem more and more like a really weird dream.

Not unlike how odd it was that she was now standing in the mayoral mansion's kitchen at a quarter to ten in the evening after a long day of assisting her uncle's assistant - which largely entailed doing his bureaucratic duties for him while he pampered her Uncle John, they'd basically made the weasel a middleman just to cut him out - and now finishing the day by making them a caffeinated beverage to help them sleep in the same bedroom in a home that wasn't wanting for space (the mayor insisted that he wanted his assistant on-hand at all times and therefore it made sense for them to bunk together, but that would suggest she and Annie ought to be dorming with them as well, which wasn't anything the lion had proposed and it goes without saying nothing the girls would ever have accepted). This entire situation was downright wacky but, apparently, this was her life now.

...Oh, wait, it was decaf tea. She'd read the box wrong. Blimey, she was beat.

She put the cups on a serving platter, filled them and carried them up the stairs to the mayor's quarters. After delivering the drinks, they'd probably instruct her to dismiss herself, come back shortly before eleven to quietly retrieve the empty china they'd have left outside the door and take the dishes downstairs to clean them (by hand, because the dishwasher would be too loud and inefficient with energy, as if Prince John actually cared about conservation) before being allowed to herself retire for the night. That's what they'd done last night, there was no reason to expect any deviation tonight.

Knock knock knock.

"Come in, Marian!" her uncle beckoned.

Of course, she had her hands full with the platter, but while she was an actress, she had only done a little of the "struggling thespian" thing of working as a waitress, so she didn't have a sixth sense for balancing plates in her paws like her uncle seemed to expect her to. Evidently it would be a skill she'd have to quickly learn, though, since her uncle wasn't enough of a gentleman to open the door for a lady and Charles… okay, so she could have sworn that there was some mechanism to help him open the door with his feet, but she was drawing a complete blank on what such a thing looked like, so maybe her brain was making that up just like it might have made up Robin's adventures. In any case, the boys didn't seem to be in any hurry to help her.

John was comfortable in his bed (gee, can you guess what size mattress the guy with delusions of royalty had?), sitting up with his lower body under the sheets, while Hess sat in the armchair (oh the irony) on the other side of the bedside table the lion was gesturing to; the weasel probably couldn't drink tea in his own bed, a tiny little thing that was probably meant for a baby of a larger species, a little rocking sack at the end of and perpendicular to the mayor's bed, a piece of furniture it was probably very difficult to drink liquids in without spilling even if you weren't using your feet.

"Thank you very much, Marian," the mayor cooed with this sick disingenuous air about him. "Issues of tardiness aside, I must say that you've made quite a good assistant thus far!"

"Thank you, Uncle," she replied as she put the tray down. Hey, what else was she supposed to say?

"It seems that it was a good idea to split Charles's duties amongst a few different individuals, does it not?" The lion turned to his little suck-up as he reached for his cup and immediately seemed more interested in talking to him than he did to his niece. "Mr. Hess, how on earth did you ever do all this work by yourself?"

Charles actually wasn't entirely down with the mayor's fakeness either, and wasn't expecting to be put on the spot like that, but he was used to just going with the flow by this point. "Ah, I was simply driven by a sense of duty, Mayor! I cannot pretend it was any power or ability more special than that!" Then he turned to the vixen to give her what seemed a much more genuine show of gratitude: "If I may say, Miz Swift, as the one previously fulfilling most of your current duties, I do greatly appreciate the effort you're putting into what some may call menial work. If there's anything we can do to make you or Miz Clough more comfortable in these roles, please don't hesitate to inform us."

Marian nodded. "Surely, Mr. Hess." It didn't seem the right time to propose that they make the ladies' hours somewhat less ridiculous, assuming it would ever be the right time to suggest such a thing. She didn't know whether she totally believed the weasel's thanks but it certainly was more believable, and she could commend the fact that he was even trying to make her seem valued beyond a sterile thank-you like her uncle had given.

Not to mention, Mari secretly got one hell of a kick out of seeing the dirty look her stupid uncle gave his assistant when the weasel did an objectively better job at showing compassionate leadership than he had. Hess absolutely saw that livid look in his periphery but refused to meet it, silently telling himself that it was time Prince John got used to somebody else reigning over the reins.

"...Anyway, Marian," the lion said, slowly lurching into the sentence like he was trying to wipe his bitterness off of himself like mud, "you're free to occupy your time however you see fit until it's time to collect our cups and silverware, which we'll again leave out in the hallway for everyone's convenience. This will likely be the last time we see you tonight, so we each bid you a good evening. Now if you'll excuse us, we were in the middle of quite the riveting conversation!"

"Of course. Good night, gentlemen."

"Good night, Marian," Charles added as Marian exited the room, "we'll see you tomorrow."

Marian wouldn't typically have cared for whatever these two geezers fancied as a "riveting conversation", but she did have to wonder whether they'd be discussing you-know-who as soon as the door clicked behind her. Not that it mattered, she'd have no way of eavesdropping in on the discussion, and she was so exhausted that she probably wouldn't be able to find the opportunity to listen anyway. She had been planning all night to take a nap in the parlor room with a cooking timer to wake her up for the end of her shift, and that honestly seemed like the right call, so she'd have to tell herself that it would be very unlikely that they'd talk so freely about Robin when they knew she was around. Prince John was stupid but he wasn't a moron, and Hess… well, he seemed less stupid so much as just worryingly complacent in evil.

But dear God, she must have been even more tired than she realized, because as she pulled the heavy door shut, the great big thing creaking and groaning all the way, she couldn't find the strength to actually pull it all the way shut before her body instructed her to let go.

It never clicked shut.

"Finally, she's gone," said the lion.

In fact, the door had slipped out of the jamb and came to settle ajar, a slim but visible gap allowing her to see and hear through.

"You sssimply couldn't ssstand to wait for her to leave if she wasss here for hardly sssixxxty sssecondsss, sssire!" the weasel lisped.

The boys' conversation must have been so riveting indeed that neither of them noticed that their door was actually open.

...It was unlikely, but if they gave her some information she could work with, she would always be glad she hadn't just walked away. So she had herself a seat on the needlessly expensive carpeting and made herself comfortable.

"I am not an inpatient man, Charles, but when one expects their servant girl to be in and out in hardly thirty seconds, to have her linger for twice that time seems nothing short of an eternity! No man is patient enough to have their appointments run several magnitudes longer than necessary!" The lion sipped his tea, but it seemed like his frustration was tarnishing his enjoyment of it.

Hess (who was now safely in Hiss mode) took his own sip before replying. "I do sssee your point, sssire… but then why invite her to converssse with usss? Pardon me if I misssread your cues, but it did ssseem as though you were sssetting up for a dissscusssssion."

She'd heard that weird hissing lisp of his before, not too often but a few times, and always either when he thought he was alone with the mayor or seemed to forget he wasn't. Combined with the quirky word choice of sire, it seemed to be some way that he managed to charm her uncle like a snake might; it was creepy to the max, absolutely, but as long as he only ever used in on her stupid uncle and nobody else, she wouldn't lose sleep over it. Fitting, though, that suck-up, sycophant, and slimy serpentine servant all started with the letter S.

"Oh, I was simply making nice!" Prince John scoffed. "How did you not pick up on that, Hiss!? I know you're smarter than that!"

But the weasel had to smile. "Dessspite the firssst two sssentencesss, I'll take the sssecond as a compliment!"

"Oh, Charles, don't change the subject!"

"But I'm merely ssswitching back to the delightful sssubject we were enjoying before our Sssleepytime arrived!"

The lion glared at him before he huffed a little and then simply looked resigned, staring into his teacup as he swished it around and watched the steam rise to his nose. "I suppose you've got me there… once again you're smarter than I give you credit for - but not smart enough to realize it's a poor decision to go out of your way to draw attention to it."

Marian heard that and was about to take off if this talk turned out to be as boring as it sounded it would be. But then the assistant said something… interesting.

"But I don't sssay this to brag, sssire! I sssay this to ensssure you that I can contribute to our goals!"

...Goals, huh? Mari was listening. Those words woke her up like a shot of espresso.

"I can concede…" John said with a pathetic sadness, "...I would have completely forgotten about that plan of mine with the new version of the wanted posters had you not reminded me."

Wanted posters? New wanted posters!? Places still did wanted posters? And they'd been up this whole time to the point that there were new versions out? Well, she certainly hadn't been bothering to look at light posts -

"My pleasssure, sssire! After all the insssubordinate cccitizzzens tore down all of the firssst ssseriesss, we needed a sssecond draft anyway!"

...Well, that answered that question. Good to know that the commoners were taking the initiative to do what they could to undermine the municipal government. Of course, knowing Robin, it was entirely within the realm of possibility that he and his friends had torn those posters down themselves just so they could use them to hand out autographs. Her tod definitely straddled the border between charmingly confident and obnoxiously egotistical, and sometimes she didn't know herself which one she felt he was being more of at any given moment.

The mayor sipped. "This is true… this is true…" Another sip. "Though I have to ask… where in the world did you get the idea to use these posters to cause a power struggle among the outlaws?"

Marian winced. She thought the wanted posters were the end, what's this she was hearing that seemed to suggest it was just a means to another end? Power struggle?

Hiss leaned forward so his foot could reach his mouth to take a sip of his own. "A sssimple asssssesssssment of the duo'sss dynamicsss, sssire! Consssider the ursssine's sssituation: by all accountsss, he isss the sssidekick, but would anyone rebeliousss enough to try to sssubvert this cccity's power ssstructure truly be sssatisssfied to ssstand as the sssecond fiddle? It sssurely mussst drive him mad ssseeing usss remind him that he is sssubssservient to the foxxx!"

….Well, that was certainly a lot to unpack. So these posters literally spelled out that there was a fox and a bear and that the fox was the head honcho and the bear was the friend-shaped comic relief who took the fox's orders? Okay, she could understand how that could be kind of a problem, she knew how guys were and as much as that grizzly had struck her as just as self-contained as Robin, even the most self-contained guy (and self-contained gal, but guys seemed especially insecure about this) would not like being told that they were inferior to their best friend - and she realized that maybe this thought came from being around Robin too much, but she couldn't help but think it would be kind of creepy if a guy wasn't uncomfortable with being painted as a follower. And for this bear specifically - his name was John, right? Little John? Johnny? Yeah, of course it was John, how could she forget, it was her uncle's name too - she'd only met him once, but he certainly hadn't been afraid to rub shoulders incognito with the Pissy Pussycat Prince and be the life of a party, so he'd struck her as being just as self-confident as Robin; surely he regarded himself as as much of a capable leader as Robin did himself, surely Little John did, from the sample size she'd been given, Marian couldn't conceive of that bear having, like, some deep-seated inferiority complex he was struggling to get over or something.

With this information, it begged a few questions. For one thing, Marian had been under the impression that Robin's leadership was very much a de facto thing rather than de jure and that he treated his men as friends and equals who just happened to not make as many plans or decisions as he did; was there actually a much bigger gap in authority than she'd realized? Again, she knew how guys were, so that could be a problem. So if that bear, who did not seem to have an ounce of insecurity about him, saw that poster… would he laugh because the notion that he was a sidekick was bogus and he didn't care what the stupid mayor thought? Or would he get angry because it was bogus and it wounded his pride to suggest such a thing? Or or would he get angry because it was true and he didn't want to be reminded of it - or would he laugh because it was true but he didn't care because he was fine with taking a lieutenant role in the name of fighting for justice? There were many ways Marian could see this shaking out, but it all basically boiled down to a fifty-fifty chance that these posters would either have absolutely no effects or would absolutely emotionally compromise the Merry Men's dynamics.

Of course, the most troubling individual word in Hiss's little monologue had nothing to do with power structures. "Duo". Er… there had been four members of the gang the last time she'd checked, right? Maybe only three, she still wasn't clear on whether the badger counted or not, but in any case, definitely more than two. Granted, Robin had told her that Little John was definitely his right-hand man, but… were Charles and her Uncle John just talking about the pair at the top, or did something happen to the others? Had the coyote or the badger since wound up joining Will in prison? Or… oh, heaven forbid any of the Merry Men had fallen in battle, Marian had always known that was a possibility but if it were to ever actually happen… oh, good lord, don't let it be, maybe most of them were near-strangers to her, but having her love lose a dear friend of his wouldn't be much easier on her. Well, at least that loose cannon Will was probably safer in prison than he was on the streets; shy of Robin himself, his brother was the one who she'd be the most crushed if they'd lost.

But as for the two dingleberries in the bedroom, the lion also found something in the weasel's answer worth scrutinizing. "Hmmm, an interesting perspective, Charles. Though… this does make me wonder… need I ever worry about you becoming bitter about being my second-in-command? Shall I start looking out for signs that you may try to overthrow me?"

Marian had to concede that that was actually a very good catch by her uncle.

But Hess seemed to be ready with an answer: "And sssome part of me sssaw that you might conssstrue my hypothesisss that way, sssire, but I asssssure you not to dwell in a ssstate of fear: the differenccce between us and them, sssire, isss that they champion anarchy while we embraccce law and order. I'm quite sssatisssfied with my posssition ssserving you, sssire, it is the honor of a lifetime! I am well aware that a posssition of leadership is no placcce for a helplessss wretch like me - whenever has there been a great leader who lacked a pair of armsss?"

The mayor's slurp of his tea was loud and exaggerated enough to be heard through the narrow gap. "Ah, splendid to hear that you've made peace with your lot in life, Hiss! If only everybody could come to accept the life given to them - it's something we should all aspire to, really!"

M'kay, so remember Marian pondering whether it was a little toxic that she found it kind of creepy if a guy seemed comfy in a lowly position? Yeah, that weird little speech of the weasel's confirmed in her head that that was a valid feeling. Of course, Charles couldn't have meant it - he'd also called himself a helpless invalid when he was clearly anything but, surely he didn't actually think that way about himself, so the part about enjoying his position surely must have been horseshit as well - but he was doing a bang-up job of playing this creepy character who seemed to be hitting all the right notes for her uncle. And the fact that her uncle preferred this unnerving and clearly fake version of his assistant spoke volumes about what kind of a guy he was.

But Mari couldn't think too much about this. She was still thinking about those posters. What exactly did they say and what exactly did they leave up to the imagination? She was tempted to run out the front door and wander the streets until she found one.

"And why would I ssseek to dissspossse of you, sssire?" the snaky servant asked. "I truly believe that together… we do make a mossst exxxcellent team!"

Alright, it seemed like they were done talking about the posters for now and Marian wasn't going to get any more information out of them about it. But where was this conversation going now?

"Hm…" Prince John pondered as he sipped his tea. "...Perhaps I can concede that my reign over this city would has benefitted from your help in… some capacity…"

Okay, this sounded like it was gonna get boring again. But what if they said something else of value? And did she really need to know what the posters actually said?

...Well, what else was she going to do to kill time until the end of her shift?

"I do not wishhh to boassst, sssire," said the snaky one, "you sssimply have always ssstruck me as the kind of man who ressspectsss when sssomeone ssstands up to claim their accomplishmentsss."

The lion pondered that. "But why do you want so dearly to have my respect, Charles?" he asked suspiciously. "You say you're content to serve me, but what leader respects their servants? Why are you so desperate for me to see you as an equal?" (John Norman actually said this.)

Hess was… admittedly not prepared for that cynical of a reply, but he was in the right headspace to think quickly. Suffice it to say that he had been very ginger with his sips of tea just to maintain that much more of an alertness advantage. "Ah, but you sssee, sssire… I ssseek your ressspect ssso that I may better ssserve you! After all, with more… autonomy…" [he almost said "power" but thought better of it] "...comesss more ability to ssserve. You would know bessst, would you not, sssire? Leadersss are given great power ssso as to ssserve their sssoccciety!"

The mayor was clearly skeptical. "Leaders? Serve? Nonsense, Charles, leaders are to be served so that they may better lead! Leaders as servants… rubbish, I say!" (I swear to God I'm not making this dialogue up, if the entries in Charles's journal about that night aren't enough to convince you, then the audio recordings from the paranoiac prince bugging his own bedroom ought to do the trick.)

Marian, however, cannot vouch for the accuracy of this, as she was already bounding down the stairs and out the door. It was a balmy summer night and there was no need to waste time grabbing a jacket or slipping into more appropriate shoes, she just grabbed the handle and walked through without a moment's hesitation. She got to the curb of Castleberry Street, flipped a coin in her head, turned left and walked down the street until she found what she wanted to find.

The weasel had a placid look upon his face as he took some deep breaths through his nose, processing the revelation that his boss kept outdoing himself in proving how unfit he was for his job. But Charles knew he could get what he wanted out of this exchange. He was thinking about last week when Sheriff Woodland, who was stupid, successfully gaslighted the mayor into thinking he'd called them in to talk just by being persistent. If Ward, who was stupid, could do it, Hess surely could too. He would not be outdone by someone like that wolf, who was stupid.

"But I ssseem to recall you onccce sssaying that the misssssion of a public ssservant isss to… as the the title sssuggestsss… to ssserve their public!"

"Yes. You do that. You are the servant to a public official, therefore a public servant. As is our sheriff, who serves the public by following the orders of myself, this city's leader. My god, Charles, are you daft or are you just an arsehole?"

Johnny, are YOU fucking daft or are YOU just a bloody arsehole!? the weasel would later write in his journal. The answer, however, was clearly both. But this obstacle was no excuse to give up on an achievable goal.

"Ah, but it's sssuch a shhhame that the memory of thisss scccene has ssslipped your mind. I remember it well, sssire! You did indeed include yourssself as a public ssservant and ssspoke of your resssponsssibility to ssserve the cccitizzzens you led, as leadership is a posssitttion of ssservice, not a ssspot to ressst upon your laurelsss and be comfortable. Perhapsss you don't recall as it wasss quite a long time ago - I envisssion you delivering thisss riveting ssspeech to the old Chief of Policcce, Ssstephen Jerzzzykowssski, ressst his sssoul…" But despite the dour mood, Charles smiled brightly. "But I remember that moment ssso fondly, sssire, as that wasss the moment I realizzzed you truly were to be a great mayor as you underssstood the golden rule: to lead is to ssserve."

Prince John stared off into space for a moment, loudly sipping his tea as his brain manufactured a false memory on the spot. "That does seem like something I'd have felt the need to say to Jersey, that hard-headed Old Bull seemed to have it in his head that his leadership was equal to mine, I can see myself saying that to put him in his place…"

Hess just nodded with a sickening smile. You fool, Johnny… Of course, not quite the ideal reaction as the mayor still didn't buy the idea of leadership being a form of service, but if it gained the weasel credence with the lion, he'd take it.

"So hard to keep that one under my thumb…" John continued to muse, "...and if he heard me simply say the word 'thumb', he'd be brazen enough to mock me for my psychological disability…"

"How niccce that he himssself ssset usss up with a sssimpleminded sssuccesssssor?" Hiss hissed with a wink.

The mayor chuckled under his breath. "And that's another thing I can concede, Sir Hiss… the thumbtack was your idea! Mock the thumb, and the thumb will have its revenge, Stephen! My only regret is that he'll never know it was us…" He kept chuckling before trailing off and coming to look rather… downtrodden. "...But for all these fond memories, I can't help but wonder why it seems I keep forgetting things recently and need you to remind me of them. This, the new posters…"

"Oh, but fret not, sssire, it happensss to the bessst of usss-"

"Charles, come morning, please contact my doctor and ask him whether the primitive treatments they put me through as a lad are now known to have long-term side effects, this is a question that can't wait for my annual check-up. A-and please don't give this task to either of the ladies, I would much rather my medical history remain private-"

"But I would never think of shhharing sssuch exxxposssitory information shhhould you wishhh to keep it sssecret!" (You may have noticed that Hiss was putting his hissing into high gear, stretching out s-h sounds as well just to fill the air with as much hypnotic white noise as he could.) "But I mussst wonder, do you not think they'd be impresssssed by your sssurvivorshhhip though sssuch a sssevere sssickness? After all, sssire… there would not be that many sssubjectsss on which to ssstudy the long-term effectsss of those drugsss, now isss there? Your continued exxxissstanccce isss not only a tessstament to your fortitude, sssire, but sssomething scccientifically miraculousss!"

Prince John held his teacup at bay with his right paw while his left hand was stroking his chin, albeit with his thumb sticking into his mouth halfway to the first knuckle as he gently gnawed at it with his teeth, resisting the urge to suckle upon it as it teetered in and out of his jaw. "And perhaps under the right conditions they would, but I'd still prefer they hear it from me than from a doctor."

"Underssstood, sssire, a perfectly accccceptable sssentiment." The weasel was not above letting the poor lion believe that the chlormethine and other nitrogen-mustard-based drugs he was administered as a child nearly half a century ago were now having adverse health effects (which they probably were, they were drugs based on freaking nerve gas used in war) if it meant the mayor wouldn't question why his assistant seemed to keep remembering things he'd forgotten.

Oh, no. This was not good. This was worse than she'd even imagined. They had put Robin's picture in prominence - albeit with a very poorly-printed photo that looked like a shoddy scan of a Polaroid someone had snapped during a public appearance, but you could tell it was him, rocking that trademark bycocket cap - ...and they had erased his friend altogether. A vague acknowledgement that there were followers of this fox but no going into detail about who they were and what they were all about. Again, this wasn't necessarily a terrible development; Marian could see the boys laughing at this horrid excuse for a wanted poster, especially if there were indeed more than two of them left. But if it was just Robin and his ursine underling… well, hell, there you go, she had just caught himself thinking of him as an underling and not as an equal partner, and there were very, very few individuals on this planet who would be cool with being painted as the lesser of two. Her goal remained to find the Merry Men and assess their current state, but her next goal after that was to make sure that they kept their heads on straight so that they didn't completely implode from tension (if applicable). This poster could have been a whole lot of nothing, or it could have been even more destructive for morale than would have been the version she'd assumed she'd see; there was no middle path.

So that weasel had dreamt this up? It's funny, ten minutes ago she'd have welcomed a world where the assistant was in charge instead of her idiot uncle, but maybe Charles wasn't necessarily the better option. Hey, for all she knew, maybe her uncle was just Hess's puppet.

Which Hess would have loved to be the case, but he wasn't quite there yet. But he had faith. He was making progress. He just had to get the mayor into the headspace of seeing him as something at least close to an equal… and then his new ability would give him the power advantage. Because as much as it was effective to just persuasively lie like he just had then and there, Prince John would surely catch on if he kept it up forever.

"...Ah, damn you, Charles, now you have me worrying that I'm losing my mental fortitude," the mayor grumbled before once again chewing gently on his thumb, letting his tongue taste just a little bit of his claw.

"But my presssenccce putsss you at eassse, doesss it not, sssire?"

"...It does," said the lion as he brushed off his thumb and took another sip of tea. "Which is why I very much like having you around as a sort of pet. And why it unnerved me to hear this, let's say, pet snake of mine slither out of its terrarium and ask to be treated as an equal. Now, who treats their pets as equals, Hiss?"

This was getting just a wee bit ridiculous, and Charles felt the urge to do something risky: he wanted to try to stand up for himself.

"Sir," he began, dropping the lisp for a moment, "there are very few people in this world who would not take exception to being called pets; it's not that far a reach from calling someone a-"

"A servant, yes."

"...I was going to say slave."

But the mayor seemed unfazed by the loaded word. "And that's what makes you special, Hiss! It's so rare to find someone like you who's so comfortable in a role subservient to a great man like myself without becoming jealous of my talent and power!"

Charles had worked for this geezer for nearly a decade and this had genuinely been the most belittling, condescending, and downright disrespectful discourse they'd ever had. But he remained firm, trying not to look too angry.

"Am I so special, Mayor, that you'd fear losing me out of worry that you'd never find another like me?"

"Why, of course-"

"What if I were to say that I was never quite comfortable being treated like someone lesser, but submitted myself to such a position anyway believing that I'd ultimately gain rapport with you and become something better than that?"

The lion stopped smiling. "You've stopped hissing."

"I believe I asked a question."

"And as your superior, I will not be bullied into answering! Are you threatening to quit!?"

"If you tell me I've wasted all these years trying to earn your respect… then I just might have to." Clearly, Hess hadn't wanted it to come to this, it would be undoing a ton of hard work in the course of a few seconds, but to be clear: the mayor was making this far, far more difficult than the weasel could have ever imagined just to get one measly morsel of dignity out of him. Hell, maybe Charles would be better off exiting this toxic situation, so if he were to suddenly get fired right now, so be it. But he wasn't planning on actually quitting; consider this the highest-stakes gamble of the night.

The lion huffed. "You talk so much of respect, but I'd lose all respect I had for you if I found out you only ever followed my leadership for hope of something greater."

"Oh, who doesn't take a job hoping for something greater!?" Hess stood up in his chair. "And didn't you already claim it's not your place to have to respect me!? So what respect is there to lose!? Are you truly going to die on this hill? Are you really going to tell me I'm evil for demanding to be treated as something more than just a servant after all the invaluable help I've provided for so long!?"

"You're standing up as though you're getting ready to attack me," Prince John observed coolly as he gently put his teacup and saucer down on the end table. (Man, so much for this Sleepytime stuff mellowing people out.) "I have two arms and you have none; does this seem like a wise fight to pick?"

"Oh, are you threatening to strangle me again!?" Charles jumped up and onto the end table, then onto the mayor's bed, taking a spot right between his spread knees to look him in the eye. "Go ahead then! Throttle me! Strangle me until I pass out and never wake up again! And then find a suitable replacement for me, I defy you! Find someone else who'll put up with all of your babyness and petulance, find someone who won't quit on the spot when you throw a temper tantrum! Find someone who won't mock you for sucking your thumb or for your pathetic inferiority complex! Find someone who's going to agree that a big, strong, noble lion wouldn't hesitate to strangle a little weasel who's not only a fraction of his size but also bloody handicapped! Find someone who won't question your work ethic when they're doing all your tasks as you sit in your office alone sipping wine from countries that aren't even fucking known for producing good wine! Find someone who'll tolerate taking your incessant disrespect and won't protest lest they disrespect you. And pull out a goddamned ouija board and tell my ghost where you found somebody who will be loyal and subservient without question and without ever expecting better things to come of it! Where do you plan to find these individuals, Mayor!? Tell me! TELL ME!"

The lion just kept glaring at him, but he wasn't showing his fangs or anything.

"Who's going to care about you if I'm not around, Johnny?"

"Do not call me Johnny-"

"Who's going to care about you if not me? Who are you going to trust with things you can't tell your therapist? Who are you going to share what few happy moments you have with!? Who's going to be there if for no other reason than to ensure that you're not going to go through this life all alone!?"

The lion just kept glaring, but no growling or anything.

"Or do you prefer to be alone? Is that why you crave money and power so desperately? Do you prefer sitting around with nothing and nobody but your own miserable thoughts? Are you so selfish that you can't even enjoy the company of others because they're not you? Tell me, Johnny, who's your best friend?"

Silence. The lion had stopped glaring.

"Who's your best friend?"

Silence. The lion had begun frowning.

"Name one friend of yours."

The two stared at one another for a few more moments in a stunning silence.

"ANSWER ME!"

And that was about the time when the mayor started sobbing.

"Nooo!" he bawled with his face in his paws. "Nooooo! I… I'm sorry!"

Charles was content to stand there staring at him and waiting for the moment to pass, but much to his surprise, the lion felt the need to hold something like a teddy bear, and there was only one mammaloid thing of that size available.

"Hey!" Hess protested as he was grabbed.

But Prince John didn't care. He held his assistant close to his chest as he collapsed back onto his pillows and rolled over onto his side, the arm constraining the small creature also bent up to his mouth so he could suck his thumb while yanking on his ear with his free hand.

"Maaamaaaaa!" John blubbered between suckling. "Why doesn't anybody like meee-eeeee!?"

"Sir!" Charles tried to keep it professional as he attempted to wriggle free. "...Mayor! ...Dammit - JOHN!"

No reaction. Mayor Norman just kept rocking back and forth on his side, the sick, sloppy sounds of his saliva intercut with mumbling and moaning all the way through like a child having a nightmare.

Eventually, however, the weasel weaseled his way out of his boss's grasp, stood on the bed, and gave him a good kick in the gut. "Get a hold of yourself, man!"

"Owww!" the lion yelped as he clutched his stomach. A severe course of action on Hess's part, perhaps, but it did successfully break his thumb-sucking cycle.

As John sat up again, Charles was going to step back a bit on the bed so that they could have some space between their faces, but when he took the spot he was aiming for, the weasel - who, to work around his lack of upper dextrous appendages, rarely wore shoes - couldn't help but notice that particular section of the sheets was soggy and warm. And smelled like piss. He shuddered a little as he stepped closer again to his boss's upright torso.

"John. Are you listening to me?"

The mayor's whimpering trailed off as he seemed to finally get a grip. "...Uh-huh."

"Mayor…" Hess began calmly, "I don't wish to hurt you, but I need you to understand: I do not solely exist to serve you. I am my own person with my own goals, and those goals do not include lingering in your shadow until my dying day. I can live without you, Mayor, but I think we both know you can't live without me. Am I wrong here?"

John just meekly shook his head, looking like he was about to cry all over again.

"Then you need to treat me better," the weasel said firmly. "After all this time, I've earned the right to be a more equal part of this partnership. Do you want us to devolve into a power struggle like our opposite numbers in Sherwood are likely doing right now?"

"Nuh - er… no-"

"Then don't make me struggle for it. Give it to me. I've earned it. That ought to be enough reason why."

The lion gulped, and it was clear that he had a lump in his throat again. "But… I don't wanna share my power…!" he choked out as his eyes glassed over all over again.

"Shhhh, shh-shh-shh-shhhh!" Charles hushed his boss as one would with a temperamental child. "John… it's okay. If you don't want to share, you don't have to share. I can simply go away."

"But I don't want you to go away!"

"Then you need to share your toys with your friend."

"But I don't want to share my toys!" (Once again: John Norman actually said this. We know this because he put microphones in his own home.) "Charles, I've never had this much power to myself before, I don't wanna have to share it!"

"You've had the last nine years to do whatever you want, and you only were able to do much of that because of my help. It's time to do something about that."

"But I-!"

"John. Do you want to keep me around?"

"Er - yes!"

"Then I'm going to tell you exactly what you need to do if you want to keep me around." He took some steps back on the mattress, past the pee patch, to get a good view of him. "Look at me, Mayor. Look at me."

The mayor did.

And the weasel started swaying his head and torso back and forth like a metronome.

"Are you still looking at me?"

"Uh-huh."

Hiss couldn't help but smile.

"...I underssstand that it may make you sssad to shhhare your power when happy, sssire… but wouldn't it make you happy when… sssad?"

The lion looked intrigued. And a little bit impaired.

"With me by your ssside… not behind you, but by your ssside… you'll never sssuffer another lonesssome moment… for the ressst of your exxxissstenccce…"

Prince John muttered something dumbly.

"Doesssn't that sssound sssplendid, sssire? All you've ever wanted was sssomeone who caresss for you… and it can all be granted… if sssimply sssurrender sssome of your ssstatusss and sssuffer me to ascccend to sssomething sssuperior to a sssilly ssservant…"

If you took John's circulatory and respiratory systems out of the equation (and even those had slowed down greatly), the only parts of his body moving were his eyes, sliding back and forth, locked on his assistant's.

"Do you underssstand, sssire?"

"...Uh… uh-huh."

"Remember, sssire," the weasel hissed, "no man rules-"

DIIING-DONGGGGG.

"...Who the bloody hell is ringing the doorbell of the mayoral mansion at this hour!?" snapped the mayor, trance thoroughly broken.

It was Marian, who had made such haste to walk out the door and find a poster that she'd completely neglected to check if she had her keys on her. Eh, these things happen to the best of us. But that didn't make this any less of a dilemma.

She hardly let twenty seconds pass before ringing the doorbell again, and hardly ten seconds more before coming to the conclusion that nobody was going to let her in. Call her impatient, but she just had a feeling that if neither her uncle nor his assistant would open their bedroom door for her, they'd surely not open the door for a stranger at ten-thirty at night, and Annie was probably passed out from a long day's work.

So now what? Sleep on the stoop? Not actually the worst idea in the world, it was a beautifully warm night out and despite the city lights, one could faintly see the stars. Hey, if her man was tough enough to survive indefinitely in the elements, she ought to prove that she was, too.

...Or she could prove that she was just as resourceful as her man was and find another way in. Besides, her nocturnal eyes could hardly see the stars anyway. But as she made her way around the property, she couldn't help but still feel a little steamed that nobody presently awake in this house had the goddamned courtesy to even check who was at the door. Seriously, it was like they expected someone else to do it-

-Oh, wait, that's right.

"Where is that vixen!?" the lion grumbled to the walls and ceiling. "Doesn't that stupid girl remember that she's the one personally responsible for answering the doorbell at this hour!?"

Vexed, he turned to his assistant in hopes of finding agreement, but the weasel, now at the far end of the bed near where his own was, was again laying down with a foot up and a pocket watch swinging back and forth.

"...Charles, what are you doing?"

"Look at the watch, Mayor."

"But why-?"

"LOOK AT THE GODDAMN WATCH!" Yeah, fuck it, he wasn't waiting any longer.

"...Okay," Prince John murmured with a whimper.

Hess was about to get back into his sensual and soothing tone, but he first had to indulge in a tight, firm nod. He made another mental note: this wasn't a good go-to all-the-time strategy, but if need be, if he were lacking the environment and resources to successfully perform hypnotism correctly to coerce him, then simply verbally abusing the lion and bullying him and breaking his self-esteem and making him feel very small would work in a pinch.

Annie actually had been awoken by the doorbell echoing through the mansion, but not entirely. That thing happened where she woke up for what she thought would be just a moment as she rolled over to fall asleep again, only for the question of why the doorbell was being rung to keep her mind turning. Not to mention, where exactly were the speakers for this doorbell? These questions plagued her, but she was too beat to actually stay fully awake, so she just laid there catatonically in bed for a few more minutes before she heard some plunking sounds at the window, stirring her all over again. This went on for about two minutes before she dragged herself out of bed to investigate.

The plunking sound stopped as she pushed the heavy window up and propped it open with a footstool she'd grabbed from the parlor room specifically for a moment like this.

"Klucky!" came a familiar voice from outside.

"...Mari?"

The vixen had been on the other side of the tall gate, throwing crabapples from an overhanging tree at their window. She'd been patient, knowing it would take a while for the sheep to wrestle free of her slumber, but the tree had provided seemingly infinite ammunition and a certain tod from her youth had done a good job of teaching her how to aim (that being her father, of course, a man skilled in the proud English game of darts, but she'd tagged along in a few archery excursions with Robin as a child and got pretty decent at that as well, so that probably helped too).

"I got locked out of the house, Klucky!" Marian said, nevertheless smiling and seeming in good humor about it. "Could you let me back in?"

The ewe rolled her eyes, but had no reason to say no.

A couple minutes later, after Annie had navigated the labyrinthine abode in the pitch-dark, the women met at the front door.

"Mari, what were you even doing outside at this hour?"

The fox kept smiling, but the smile certainly looked tired. "Either I've just made a big fuss out of nothing… or we have much to discuss."

Charles stood on the desk, looking down at the sheet of paper the mayor was writing upon. Starting from scratch and accommodating for the fact that John would likely remember all of this, Hess had convinced him to think he was just showing off his cool watch, yes-siree, no manipulation here, and hey also remember how we had just come to an agreement that you'd start treating me more fairly?, let's put that in writing, why don't we? The weasel was silently impressed by how well the lion's handwriting was holding up while under his spell, albeit being penned excruciatingly slowly. But as long as he was getting what he wanted, the assistant could channel the patience of a saint.

"There you are, Mayor," Charles cooed, "you won't forget it this way."

Written on stationery under an official Office of the Mayor of Nottingham seal:

Note to Self, John.

Treat Charles as a more equal partner in our reign.

You do not have to tell the public or anyone else.

You must simply give him his due share of authority for all he's helped you accomplish.

He has earned the right to be listened to.

John L. Norman

And the mayor finished it off with his signature, something he'd be absolutely mad to accuse Hess of forging for reasons this narrator hopes are obvious. If he'd remember writing this come morning, he'd remember it as a voluntary act and not as an act of hypnotic puppetting. If he did not remember, this letter would be awaiting him when he woke, indisputable proof that he had quite literally signed off on the idea and couldn't refute it without contradicting himself.

With the contract drawn up, Charles thought this would be as good a time as any to say now what he had tried saying before:

"Remember, sssire… no man rules alone."