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Chapter 22. You Can't Handle This

by Zula

...you'll see savoir faire!

Idiot. Useless. Waste of space. Zula, like any other beast, was well aware of what these words meant. The only difference between Zula and any other beast all boiled down to the simple fact that the vixen no longer cared. She'd heard her mother use these words many times before to describe her, though they were more often than not coupled with their more colorful cousins. She was not surprised to hear her new friends use these words against her either. While she knew the definition of such words, the young vixen had heard them so many times it was almost as if she didn't really hear them anymore. They all just sort of ran together, like so much meaningless white noise.

Zula rolled out of bed and pulled on her clothes and spectacles. The others were still asleep as she padded over to the mirror and rubbed sleep out of her eyes, pawing at her oversize ears and her messy fur.

And anyway, the vixen thought as she squinted satisfactorily at her habitually unkempt appearance, some beasts got angry and needed a target to unload their anger on. It was a fact of life and she wouldn't hold it against them. Other beasts, like her mother, just never ran out of ammunition.

Sarkleyet's mansion was like something out of a dream. It had soft beds, delicious food, and all sorts of intriguing artwork to keep Zula occupied for a lifetime. Zula wandered through the halls, admiring various portraits of aristocratic looking creatures. Then she noticed it.

A vase, as vibrant a green as she had ever seen, perched innocently on an ornate table halfway down the hall. She scuttled automatically toward it to get a closer look. Inlaid gold patterns sparkled enticingly, dancing in the vixen's amber eyes. Where did Sarkleyet find such a treasure? She knew better than to touch it, knew her mother would flay her within an inch of her life if she did so, but she couldn't help it. Besides, one little touch wouldn't hur—

Crash.

"What was that? Who's there?" a voice demanded.

Zula froze, her mind reaching desperately for an excuse, any excuse, as a big rat lumbered around the corner. She kicked pottery shards under the table and smiled nervously, just glad it wasn't Thalliv or Sarkleyet.

"What're you doing, following me?" the rat growled.

Zula's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, I know you, sir, you're Sheriff Brull, aye?"

"You didn't answer my question," Brull snarled. Then he shook his head. "I should've known they'd send someone after me. Probably want to know all the little details of my plan after all. Those females know how to play dirty..."

Zula absently scratched her ears. "Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but ah...I don't know what you're talkin' about?"

"Don't you?" Brull chuckled. "It should be common knowledge by now that I'm planning to steal a boat from the woodlanders. I've talked to most everyone by now, but they'd rather go chasing after a mad old marten's made up treasure than help me, it seems."

Zula watched the rat, her smile faltering somewhat. She felt sorry for him; she knew what it was like to be gung-ho about something and not have any support from her friends.

"Oh mister Sheriff sir, I'm sorry no one's helping. Why...I could help you!"

To her great surprise, Brull laughed. "You? Listen, kid, that's awful nice of you to offer, but er, I was hoping to get some beasts with a bit more..."

"Brains 'n' muscle?" Zula offered.

Brull considered this, shrugging awkwardly. "Well...yes."

Zula shrugged. She knew by the look on the rat's face that her guess couldn't have been that far off. "All right sir, it's your mission, but did y' know I was the only one in that little room back there with a weapon?" She pulled her knife out of her pocket and waved it aloft. "An' I found the spot Miz Rea broke through t' talk t' you all! I may not be the biggest or strongest, but I know I c'n be dead useful if'n I try hard enough."

Brull looked taken aback. "You snuck a weapon into that place? How did you manage that?"

Zula tucked the blade back in her vest pocket and hugged the tatty garment close to her. "They tried t' take m' vest," she mumbled, staring at the broken pottery around her footpaws. "But Gericault wouldn't let 'em."

"Gericault...?"

"He's m' friend. He's an otty—er, otter. One o' them, but...nicer."

Brull's face slowly broke into a massive grin. "You mean...you've got a friend on the inside?"

"Guess so," the fox said with a shrug, pushing her massive spectacles back up her muzzle. "Why?"

"Well, Zula...It's Zula, isn't it?"

"Aye."

"Well, Zula, forgive my underestimation of you. I would love to have your help."

"Really?" Zula gasped, dashing forward and hugging Brull about his considerable waist. "Oh thank you, mister Sheriff sir! I'll be helpful, I promise!"

"I'm...sure you will," he said, prying her off and looking about to make sure no one had seen the unflattering display. "Well, see you around, Zula."

With that, he hurried off.

Soon after, the vixen and Rekkua went downstairs together. Zula proceeded to tuck in to the best breakfast she'd ever eaten, stuffing scone after buttery scone down her maw.

"Going to save any for the rest of us?" Pearl asked, seating herself at the table with the faintest trace of a mocking smirk on her lips.

Zula washed down the scones with a gulp of tea and smiled. "Oh Miz Pearl, you sound just like me mam, you do. She never ate much either; always thought she'd get too fat. Is that why you're not eating much, mam?"

Pearl, who'd been halfway through a sip of her own tea, spluttered, "The nerve!"

"'Course, she never let me eat much either then," Zula continued. "Sure 'n' I never saw the point o' starvin' since I know I'm not fat. Neither was she and neither are you o' course, Miz Pearl."

Pearl said nothing to her for the rest of the meal.

She saw Brull enter and smiled at him, waving. The rat inclined his head slightly in her direction in response before turning and loading up his plate. She'd help the poor beast, no doubt about it. He wouldn't regret having Zula Higgins on his side.

end of week one.