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Chapter 9. Play the Game

by Antonio

The stoat kept his gazed fixed, scrutinizing each detail. Surely, it must be as he thought, and yet, why would there be such a thing here; was not an officer expected to take more care? But all evidence stated otherwise. As his head leaned slightly to his left, his pupils continued to slide down its frame, noting the position of the corners, the sides, the center. Surely it was a trick of the light or, something.

A door opened; somebeast padded across the room. "Mister Calceterre?" said a voice with the distinct air of a hare. "I would like to ask you some questions."

Antonio's eyes shut in resignation. It was exactly as he thought - the picture was crooked. Now he'd have to stare at it while the hare interrogated him.

Futilely trying to will the picture straight, the stoat sat as the hare leafed through a sizable bundle of parchment. His attention was diverted momentarily by the unintelligible scrawl splattered across the notes. If the hare in fact was an officer, he couldn't have been a very good one, not if he went around relying upon notes that only the most sharp eyed cryptologist could decipher.

The hare waited the typical amount of dramatic beats before he said anything, shuffling the papers about. After clearing his throat, the hare said, "Antonio Calceterre, age twenty-four, stoat, of average height for his species –"

"I am quite aware of what I look like and what I am, sir," said Antonio. "Now, you said you had some questions that were perhaps more…pertinent?"

The hare paused a moment, his eyes betraying nothing. So, thought Antonio, the game begins. One fluid motion of his paw and the hare was clutching a quill, Antonio's quill to be sure. The stoat flinched inwardly but took care for the gesture to remain as such, even as the hare loaded the instrument with far too much ink and pressed it to the parchment with excessive force.

"Where is it you hail from, Mister Calceterre?"

Antonio raised an eyebrow. "But sir, is that information not contained within your extensive notes? No? Very well then. I was sent as part of a team paw-chosen by the Emperor to survey Evnara and the city of Evnakt, review their assets, set up trade negotiations: the typical processes," he drawled.

"And from what Empire do you hail?"

"Northward." He smiled. "I am afraid I cannot be very descriptive, you see. As our Empire is currently at war, I am not allowed to divulge any information that might compromise our security."

That and I do not like you very much, what with your dirty tunic and the barely sewn together hole-ridden pieces of cloth you call breaches. A good leader should look the part.

The stoat leaned back in his chair, paws folded behind his head. "And where, pray tell, do you hail from?"

"Mossflower Wood," said the hare absentmindedly. "How were you captured?"

"Surely a captain would know even the most basic of comings and goings under his command?"

The hare smiled, but Antonio could see some strain in it. "A formality. We are to record as much as we can. Not keeping strict records in a situation such as this could lead to accidents, wot?"

"Ah yes, caution is a virtue." A shame my previous company didn't realize that, he added internally. Antonio took a deep breath, forcing himself to relive that humiliating moment.

"Very well, as I do not wish to disrupt your processes, because goodness knows you're running such an efficient system here…"

*~*

They had made it to Evnara before the storm broke, although perhaps it would have been better had they not. Antonio did not posses the kind of suicidal mind that believed it would have been better to have been scuttled in the squall – all of those minds were now dead. Yet, Antonio would have appreciated being blown off course at least, rather than landing on the rock just in time for the chaos. And now it seemed as though the months before had only been a prelude to more disharmony.

"I seens 'em 'round the edges of the block," grumbled a crewrat to all who would listen.

Antonio did not pay him much heed. There was no use worrying about something over which you had no control.

After reporting, the crewbeast shuffled back to the barricade stacked in front of the main door. So far, it had kept the marties and thieves alike at bay and, even though it often pained Antonio to look at it, he had to admit it was a reliable fortification, if un-elegant.

Currently, the stoat had taken a seat in the back corner of the cottage in which they ten had taken refuge. He had lost his notes in the storm and the rush to escape the quarantined block of the city. Oh my, the Emperor will be quite upset to hear that his previous documents have become lost, thought Antonio sarcastically. He knew, though, that the Emperor would be more upset to know that he had survived the storm. There was no way the Emperor could have predicted the disaster, but it was obvious that he had not been dispatched with the other beasts in the hopes that he would return home.

Antonio gave a brief sigh and leaned back in his chair. How long had the General – his Excellency, been trying to cheat him out of his birthright? Four seasons? Eight? Each time the plots' creativeness waned until, as an obvious last-ditch effort, he had been shipped off with the expedition to Evnara, undoubtedly in the hopes that one of the corsairs would kill him, or that the ship would hit a rogue reef and sink or that a shark would randomly attack the vessel. The Emperor was growing feeble, as were his schemes. Antonio smiled at that. After he escaped this island, there would be nothing to prevent him from taking what was his.

"Rations."

Antonio felt something bounce off his thigh. Bending down to pick it off of the floor, he retrieved the hardtack, gave a nod of thanks to the crewbeast and tentatively nibbled the edge. The call of, "Rations," echoed eight more times before interrupted by a sound.

It was a small sound to be sure, but distinctive, clearly not the typical ambiance of the house creaking or the screams of pain they had grown used to hearing from outside, but a tiny, intentional crash, a bottle hitting against the main entrance and shattering. The less intuitive beasts mulled about their business but Antonio and the rest of the intelligent survivors gave the door full attention. Somebeast reached for their sword; Antonio echoed this by grasping his quill.

Fire erupted in a gurgling crescendo outside the door and the flames soon crawled in, lapping hungrily at the barricade. The cabin's entire population was now active, albeit uncoordinated, some running about in search of something to douse the flames apart from the meager remaining water supply, others throwing themselves bodily at the barred windows. Antonio stood up, grasped the chair behind him with his quill held like a dagger in front.

The barricade finally gave way, revealing a small rabble of silhouettes framed by the red embers dancing about where the door had been. Swords were drawn on both sides. Antonio kept still. Keep your head down, that's how the game is played.

The first three beasts to charge the attackers met with mixed success; around two scored hits that elicited gurgling sighs from the silhouettes before they themselves fell, the rest died instantly. Then half of the men attempting to cave the boarded windows gave up their futile task and charged, meeting similar results. The silhouettes advanced on the stoat. Antonio stayed where he was. The herd had been thinned.

The stoat's paw came around, hefting the chair against the front runner, then tossing the remnants at the mob behind. His eyes sought an escape route, but before he could find one Antonio was enclosed by the hodge-podge militia. Up close, he could discern woodlander features on each dirt-and-ash-ridden face, telling him that that the island's new visitors had finally come to say hello. He checked his peripheral vision to see if the ferret who had drawn his sword earlier was still there.

"Gentleman." He nodded. "I am Antonio Calceterre of Harwood. Those beasts you murdered not a moment ago were mere peons. I fear, though, that I shall be a bit of a more challenging foe to you amateurs."

He extended his arm towards the remaining crewbeast and snapped his claws. Where he expected to feel the pressure of a sword hilt, though, his palm was met with empty air. Grimacing, he repeated the gesture several times, each to no avail, until, finally, he shouted to the simpleton, "Sword!" before turning to find naught but an empty space and a caved-in window to his immediate right. Begrudgingly he put up his paws, dropping his quill.

"I reluctantly surrender."

Keep your head down, that's how the game is played.

"I say, not good form for a comrade to run out on you, wot?"

Antonio shrugged. "One may argue that it is 'not good form' to mob a harmless group of castaways, Captain."

The stoat could read that same strain creeping its way into the hare's smile. "It's Sergeant, Mr. Calceterre." The hare changed his tact, "I assume you've read the posters strewn about the city?"

"Yes, although I would advise you to perhaps ask them that own the breweries and wine cellars around Evnakt. I, for one, have never been that much of an avid consumer of alcohol."

And this Red Brandy of yours certainly sounds as though it is quite far out of your price range, you unkempt oaf.

"Very well." the hare nodded to the guards standing at the door.

Antonio remained fast to his seat. "I do, however, know that you are a stranger in a strange land. I have been here much longer than you have and, while I confess I do not know the whereabouts of your sought after beverage, I would not at all be adverse to relaying any information I have acquired…or possibly will acquire during my captivation."

The hare had already turned his back to Antonio, revealing a few unsightly stains in the process. "We are not in the business of compromising with the enemy," he said without turning.

"But of course; I do not expect any compensation, at least not immediately. I would not want to you strain yourself in attempting to devise a fitting prize for information, but the offer still stands, sir."

Without a word extra Antonio was issued out the door and down the stair to the cells. He concealed the look of disgust he felt creeping in at the edges of his face in reaction to the stench that grew with each step. It did not take much longer for the stoat to discover that the holding cells sported the same tumble-down motif as the rest of the post-storm town. Indeed, his stay was going to be quite a long one.

After the door shut behind him, Antonio waited precisely twenty-five seconds span before turning to take stock of his cell mates. At one end sat a beast massive enough to rival the girt of a badger, possessing a blank expression and clad in a few pitiful rags that at least satisfied their goal in covering the creatures more private features. At the other end of the cell and size-spectrum was a large rat, this one wearing a more upset expression as well as slightly better maintained clothing and appearances, though not by much.

"Gentlemen," he greeted them.

Antonio looked at the floor and, thinking better of it, dragged a crate over to his side of the cell upon which to sit.

"Antonio Calceterre, at your service. It seems that as we are both in the same unsavory situation, it would be best if we got to know each other more intimately."

The less-filthy rat answered first. "Brull. Well, Sheriff Brull, at least until I wound up on this forsaken rock. Ranks don't do much good here."

The rat was a lawbeast, meaning that he probably possessed solid deductive reasoning and physical prowess, although, judging by his bulk, it was probably more the former than the latter.

The large and, Antonio now noticed, slightly musky beast followed Brull's example. "I'm Aras." He did not add to it.

A large, quiet beast of unknown origin; he would be an asset as far as strength was concerned, although when it came to brains, it was perhaps best to look elsewhere.

Antonio nodded. "A pleasure to meet you both."

It really wasn't, to be sure. But Antonio was trapped now, and when you were alone, forced into a small, disheveled room with two unfamiliar – and unwashed – beasts, you needed to take stock of your resources.

"Tell me…Sheriff" he addressed Brull, "Do you have any idea as to the nature of the woodlander occupation?"

The rat shrugged and scratched the side of his face. "Don't much know myself. I was just sent here as a request for aide. I was supposed to keep the peace but by the time I got here there wasn't much of it to be had. I can barely remember how I was captured, though I'm sure it was painful, judging by the way my head hurts right now."

"And what of this elusive Red Brandy? Any idea as to what that is?"

Brull didn't answer right away. Antonio supposed that his direct manner had perhaps put the rat on the defensive. "Don't know about that either, though it certainly seems like it's really important; can't look two feet in this place without seeing posters about it.

"And abduct innocent travelers!" Aras muttered loud enough for them to hear.

The stoat and rat alike turned a perplexed eye toward their larger counterpart.

"What are you –"

"Hello. Who's there?" said somebeast from beyond the left wall.

Wide eyed, Aras looked at the rat and stoat and then back to the wall.

"You can hear me?"

"Only just." continued the muted voices behind the wall.

Antonio jumped to his feet and rolled back his sleeves. "Quickly, is there anything with which we can make penetrate the wall?"

Brull was wary to obey but soon began to scan about the cell while Aras simply knelt by the wall and attempted prodding at it with his claws in order to puncture it. "I think there might be a broken bottle lying around that we could use," said Aras.

"Don't think they'd be stupid enough to leave us with a weapon," said Brull.

Aras snorted derisively while continuing to prod the wall. "You'd think that, wouldn't you, but there woodlanders can be pretty stupid."

Antonio joined the search and was considering prizing a timber from his seat crate when the scraping at the other side of the wall ended in a sudden boonk as a fist broke through the bottom of the wall.

"Hello?"

"Hi, there." said Aras.

Gingerly, Antonio lowered himself onto his knees and crawled towards the hole.
"Greetings," said the stoat. "I am Antonio Calceterre; this is Sheriff Brull and Aras. Who might you all be?"

They sounded off one by one: "I'm Rea."

"Pearl. Pleased to meecha, darlings."

"…Sybil."

"Zula Higgins, I am."

"Silisk."

Five females on the other side of the wall. That meant there were five more allies he could use. Something about that last voice, though, was a bit strange.

"They captured you, too?" said Aras.

Brilliant deduction, my friend!

There was a chorus of "yes" to answer this question, accompanied by little individual embellishments here and there of, "And they took my kit, too," "For no reason at all," and, from more than voice, "stupid woodlanders!"

"Ladies," he attempted to quell the growing noise. "As much as I would love to become more closely acquainted with the lot of you, we must make haste; have you all any plans as to how we might escape? Think, now, we managed to make a hole in this wall, so perhaps there is another section of this building damaged or rotted enough to break through."

The voices began to discuss tactics.

"Well, I didn't see anything else…"

"Maybe we could push through the wall and group together?"

"Won't work. There's no way to make that hole bigger and nobeast could fit through that."

"…maybe Silisk –"

Antonio put up a paw for silence and, when he realized that the beasts within the opposite cell would not be able to see, rapped on the door for attention.

"They are coming again. Quick, conceal the hole."

Amidst the quiet shuffling on the other side of the wall, the stoat slid his sitting crate over to the small opening and sat down upon it, facing his two fellow captives and appearing to all the world as though holding a pleasant conversation with them when the steps out in the hall ended with the rattling open of the door. An otter and…something else stood at the threshold.

"What iz thiz? My frriendz iz not herre!" the thing said. "You zay you iz honorable, but you iz no more zo t'an ztinking verminbeasts!"

The otter responded as per typical irate woodlander, "Don' compare me t' those scum! Jest get in there!"

With a kick, a fourth body was thrown into the cell, this one larger than both Brull and Antonio but shorter than Aras. It's scaled body scraped audibly against the ground as it pulled itself up to stare at the captives.

Aras stayed silent; Brull coughed nervously. The calm smile on Antonio's features remained unshaken.

"Greetings, sir. I am Antonio Calceterre; who might you be?"