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Chapter 21. Old Janx Spirit

by Rekkua

Find the meeting. Learn when they were attacking the cursed woodlanders. When she was with Pearl, that was a solid plan. Unfortunately, Nevyeer's mansion complicated things.

Rekkua stalked down the hallway, pawsteps resounding with purposeful agitation. How many rooms are in this place? She had stalked down more hallways than she could count, traversing a path she could never hope to retrace. The distinct lack of other living creatures from whom to ask for directions did nothing to help. Nor did her devoting half her thoughts to forming an opinion about Pearl.

The vixen was different from other Zattaka. She doesn't treat me like trash. Reminds me of Colbarr – no, it's more than that. Rekkua paused, considering, thinking over their conversation. It was odd. At times, Pearl had seemed like a helpless hatchling, snuffling for its first meal. Just as often, though, she reminded Rekkua of her mother – kind and caring and exuding an aura of confidence. Her and Uncle Zaika must have gotten along well. She smiled at the thought, a sibilant chuckle sliding from her mouth.

Someone else laughed, too. It was drunken and spilled from an open doorway, gritty and harsh to Rekkua's ears. How such an ugly thing could indicate merriment was beyond her. Pushing past the door, she strode into the room and stopped, surveying the gathered corsairs. It took approximately two seconds for the laughter to die away.

All eyes on her.

Great. "T'iz iz meeting for fighting woodlanderz?" Much as she despised asking these furry invaders, she needed their help if she hoped to free her brother and Sandy.

A lady pine marten – Captain Serpentcharmer, if Rekkua's memory served her correctly – swaggered over, hat teetering perilously on her head. "Hey there, Scaly. This the meetin' fer takin' out 'em woodfellers? Woulja like t'know?" She leaned in towards Rekkua, a grin splashed across her muzzle.

Deep-voiced titters ran through the room as Rekkua's head weaved away from the pirate captain. The furball's breath tasted vile! Whatever it was they were drinking – no doubt a foul Zattaka creation – wasn't fit to nourish ants.

Captain Serpentcharmer chortled, breath rolling over Rekkua's snout, and swigged from a ceramic mug. She winked at Rekkua, spreading her paws expansively. "Course this isn' th' bloody meetin'! Save those fer th' mornin', aye? Right now, s'time t'celebrate a job well done." Her grin went carousing around the room. "Innit that right, boyos?"

Mugs and bottles rose towards the ceiling, buoyed upwards by shouts and cheers, contents sloshing in a reckless attempt to find the floor.

Rekkua found her lips curling back of their own accord, and the rest of her expression followed suit. Here these furbeasts were, congratulating each other on a job only half completed. "We iz wasting time! My brot'er and clanmate iz ztill prizonerz! You didn't zave t'em today! T'ere's no time to zit and laugh!"

Captain Serpentcharmer thrust a flagon at Rekkua's face. "Nothin' we kin do 'bout it righ' now, Scales, so lighten up an' drink wi' us! Not th' best grog, bu' gets ye jumpin' righ' quick."

Rekkua stepped back, yellow eyes wide with disgust, fear, anger, and a pinch of confusion. "You zpect me to drink t'at?"

"Shore, why no'! Leave th' plannin' fer tomorrer. Plenny o' time t'save yer frenns."

Rekkua shoved the bottle away. "I not drink zomet'ing zo vile!"

The room burst into renewed laughter. A ferret managed to gain control of himself long enough to shout out a slurred challenge. "I 'eard ye folk couldn' 'old yer drink! Gar, din't think t'was true!" He lifted his tankard, grog disappearing into his fuzzy maw.

Rekkua's narrowed eyes locked on the ferret. How dare he insult the Varan! Her anklet jangled as she moved forward in one, long stride. An enormous wave of satisfaction rolled over her as he lowered his drink and nearly choked at the pillar of brown scales towering over him. "You t'ink Varan can't hold our drink? You t'ink wrong! We Varan grip like eel. Not drop anyt'ing, even drinkz."

Somebeast tapped her shoulder. "S'at righ'? Well, why don' ye prove it, Scales." It was Captain Serpentcharmer, again offering the flagon.

Rekkua hissed as it was pushed against her tattooed chest, the cold pottery frigid against her scales. "Fine!" She snatched the container, its contents surprisingly heavy. If this is what it takes to uphold my clan's honor. Turning in a slow circle, she raised the ceramic vessel with both paws in plain view of all. "Zee? We Varan hold our drink juzt fine!"

The moment of silence as the meaning of this statement filtered through several layers of alcohol lapsed a moment later into unabashed, roaring laughter. Guffaws, snickers, cackles, chortles, and banging of mugs on tables drowned out all else as Rekkua watched in amazement. Were these Zattaka mad? Was this the Martin's Madness of which Colbarr had spoken?

Captain Serpentcharmer straightened from where she had doubled over on the floor, wiping her eyes along the way. Between titters, she explained to the befuddled lizard. "No, no, tha's not what it means t' 'old yer drink, matey. T' 'old yer drink, y'gotta drink it."

An unexplainable chill spread through Rekkua's veins as she stared at the dark liquid between her paws. Drink it? This horrid stuff?

"Whatsa matter? I saw ye fightin' t'day shore as th' day is long, an' wasn't no fear then. You 'fraid o' a liddle drink, aye?"

Rekkua tried to glare at the speaker, couldn't figure out who it was, and glared at Captain Serpentcharmer instead. "I iz Varan! Varan not afraid of anyt'ing!"

The corsair's smile had gone crooked, half of it sinking into a sneer. "Go on then! Prove it, Scales, matey!"

I will! Powerful tail flicking with agitation, Rekkua lifted the jug up to her lips, hesitated but a moment, and drank. The first fiery sip exploded on her tongue, burning its way down her throat before coiling into her belly, heavy and foreign.

It tasted as bad as she thought it would, sharp bitterness cutting her tongue like a dagger. She nearly dropped the flagon, gasping as she blinked away tears. Her ears filled with roaring, and it was some time before she realized it was the laughter of the corsairs.

"Whatsa matter? That all ye kin 'andle?"

Her mind cried out that it was, that there was no way she would drink another drop, but what came off her tongue was quite different. "I iz zimply catching my breat'." Not quite sure why, Rekkua again lifted the jug, this time drinking long and deep. Now that she knew what to expect, the burning was not quite as bad, but it still left her coughing and spluttering.

This time, the container did drop, tumbling and rolling along the floor, a thin trail dribbling out.

"Cor! 'E drank th' 'ole thing!" There were mutters and murmurs of amazement as wobbly gazes sized up the monitor anew.

Rekkua's closed eyes opened, glassy and unfocused. The whole room shifted around her, and she reached out to steady herself against a chair. Her throat throbbed, the taste on her tongue reduced to a dull blade. "Worra thizzz?" She managed to focus on a grinning marten in front of her, one that looked familiar. "Zerrrpentcharmerrr, worra thizzz?"

Captain Serpentcharmer's muzzle split into a grin that wove from side to side in a most erratic fashion. "Tha's th' fines' grog we 'ave t'offer, Scales, an' y'jest drank a 'ole flagon o' it."

Someone patted Rekkua on the back, sending her staggering straight into the corsair captain's arms. She sagged and stared up, blinking lethargically. "Grooog?"

"Tha's righ'. Warms yah up, don' it?"

"Warrrm…" Rekkua realized that Serpentcharmer was right; whatever this grog was felt like it had seeped into her blood, removing every chill. It felt very pleasant, as if she was lying in the sun on a nippy day. "Yezzz. Warrrm."

No, this isn't why I'm here! I need to free Kiaza! She tried to clear her head, but only succeeded in slowly shaking it from side to side. "We free my brot'errr now?" Her head flopped back to stare into Captain Serpentcharmer's eye, but had difficulty because it refused to stay in one place. "Yezzz?"

"I tol' you, matey. We'll plan tomorrer. Now s'time t' 'ave some fun. 'Ave 'nothe' drin'!"

A mug found its way into Rekkua's right paw, a bottle into her left. She looked at the mug, not quite comprehending. "I don' wannnt morrre of…" Her words trailed away as she emptied the tankard, grog dribbling from her mouth down her chest. Now it was the room that would not stand still. "I… gooo…"

Thrusting the empty cup at the marten in front of… table. That was a table, not a marten. Having thrust the empty cup at the table, Rekkua found herself meandering down a hallway.

The walls were fascinating.

Her tongue wagged about, tasting all it could. The walls taste like…taste like whatever it is I drank. She smacked her lips; whoever flavored the walls knew what they were doing. Her muzzle smacked the wall and was still. Just the right temperature, too.

Slowly, slowly, Rekkua crept along, neck stretched out as she nuzzled the wall. Every bump and dip was discovered, each one leaping out and falling away from her. One dip, in particular, fell especially far away, and Rekkua went tumbling after.

Blinking, she stumbled to a halt and looked around at the sudden light that surrounded her. Several blurry figures danced and twirled towards her. She hissed at them. Strong paws gripped her, pulling her, leading her to a cushioned seat. So soft.

"You alright?"

Rekkua stared into the concerned eyes of someone; she couldn't quite figure out who. Her tongue flicked out. Something. There was something there. "Whazza zmelll?"

Whoever it was looked away, probably exchanging glances. "What smell?"

Rekkua pointed at the ceiling, at the wall, and at a blurry blob, frowned, and finally dropped her head to gape at a tray not a foot away. The taste was stronger from that direction. She tried to move her paw to point that way, failed, and had to move it with her other. "Whazzzat?"

"The scones? Practically just crumbs after Sybil got to them."

"Zconezzz?" She scrabbled at the tray, finally managing to grab hold of a crumbly something. Bringing it close to her snout, she licked it.

Heaven.

Her taste buds exploded, the flavor cutting through the previous taste of grog. These taste better than the walls! Rekkua actually giggled aloud. It was warbly and sibilant, but definitely a giggle. She regarded those around her, brow furrowed and tone serious. "Izzz zconezzz."

= = = = = = = = =

The headache woke her - a heavy pounding somewhere behind her eyelids like a thousand woodpeckers searching for a worm. When she opened her eyes, light burned them, and she promptly closed them. With a groan, she rolled onto her side, away from the light, and again tried peeking through squinted eyes. It was not quite so bad this time, and she widened them further.

She found herself staring at a chair, the grain of the wood dizzying. A patchwork blanket covered her – and why was she lying on the floor? Moaning, she slowly sat up, supporting her head with a paw. Great snakes…what happened…?

Everything came rushing back so fast she had to lie back down. A bottle clinked and tipped, contents beginning to churn out. She cursed and swiped the bottle off the floor, wrinkling her nose with distaste at the dark liquid that spread along the floor. I can't believe I drank that.

Throwing the blanket off, she used it to mop up the spill. Rekkua clambered to her feet, deposited the bottle on a chair, and caught her reflection in a mirror. Her tattoo lay obscured behind sticky liquid and caked-on crumbs that covered her entire chest. She flexed her claws in agitated annoyance.

"Well, look who finally decided to wake up." Rea stood framed by an open window, a scowl marring her features. "Had a nice rest in our room?"

"No."

"Good. After the way you killed that otter yesterday, I hope you never sleep well again."

In absolutely no mood to reply, Rekkua simply hissed and retreated from the room. After several minutes of irate wandering, Rekkua discovered a courtyard that was the very picture of serenity. Pillars rose overhead, holding up a ceiling of blue sky. Vines climbed the walls, green leaves sparkling in the warm sunshine. But the thing that held Rekkua's interest was the round patch of sky on the ground, rippling in the light breeze. Stalking to it, she stared at the water. It looked so very clean and inviting. She stepped into it and sighed in relief.

A short while later, feeling much cleaner and refreshed, headache reduced to a manageable ache, Rekkua finally found Captain Serpentcharmer amongst a small group of corsairs, her paws a blur as she shook something up and down. Something clinked and rolled as the marten released the cup, sending its contents spinning onto the cobbled floor. As one, the gathered vermin bent down to examine whatever it was. After a moment, Captain Serpentcharmer cried out in triumph.

"Haharr, that's me win, mateys!" She glanced up, caught sight of Rekkua, and grinned. "Well, look who it is! Mornin' to yah, Scales! 'Ad a good sleep, I hope?"

Rekkua scowled, not even bothering to reply. "We have meeting now to attack woodlanderz, yez?"

"Easy does it. Yesterday was a bloody success. We deserve a break, savvy? Get back to us in a coupla days." With that, Captain Serpentcharmer returned her attention to the game.

"A couple of dayz? T'at iz too long!" Lips curling into a snarl, Rekkua stepped forward, claws curled and menacing. A dagger found its way to her throat and began testing how ticklish she was.

"Easy does it," Serpentcharmer repeated, now tall and daunting. Her eye glinted like her dagger – hard and cutting. "Like I said, jest wait a coupla days. There'll be another attack, and you kin be a part of it."

Rekkua's eyes flicked from the pine marten to her subordinates, now with weapons much in evidence. She growled and finally took a step back. "Zattaka." It was a muttered curse, but Captain Serpentcharmer still heard it.

"That one o' your fancy lizard words, Scales? Always thought yer language was an ugly 'un."

This time, Rekkua outright snarled and nearly charged before remembering the assorted weapons all around her. She gritted her razor teeth and ground out a response. "Very well. I come for you in a couple of dayz." I'll come for you, alright. Rekkua whirled away, tail nearly broadsiding a stoat, and stormed away.

Of their own accord, her feet carried her to her room and set her to pacing in small, agitated circles. She hardly noticed it was a different room than the one she had woken up in.

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

Rekkua froze and stared at the small, bespectacled fox staring right back with wide, innocent eyes. She had seen the vulpine creature the day before during their escape; she had had the snake around her neck then. And now here she was addressing a Varan with what Rekkua had learned was a title of respect. Was it possible she was one of those furbeasts who actually did not look down on reptiles?

Perhaps… Rekkua leaned in to peer at the fox. She looks the same as Pearl to me. "Iz your name…Zandy?"

The fox laughed. Surprisingly, Rekkua did not find it annoying. "Nope! I'm Zula, I am! Zula Higgins. Pleased t' meetcha!" She stuck out a paw, grin full of innocence.

Ah, right! This is some kind of furbeast custom. A sign of mutual respect. After a moment's hesitation, Rekkua's paw reached out to Zula's, the fox's fur feeling incredibly soft against her scales. "I iz Rekkua of Clan Jahk. Pleazed to – mee cha."

Zula giggled and pulled Rekkua after her. "Well, that's settled, then! Let's go! Breakfast is ready, an' m'mum says it's awful bad manners t' be late for a meal! Silly already headed down!"

And so the fox and monitor lizard made their way through Sarkleyet's mansion, one practically dragging the other.