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start of week two.

Chapter 23. The Bitter Cure

by Sybil

NOTE: Even though all the other posts are taking place in the morning, this one takes place in the night. Just pretend that this took place right after Silisk's post, ok? I wanted to post it then, but I had already posted before and some of the other characters wanted to go on to morning. So, don't yell at me for this and we'll sweep this little mistake under the rug, okay? ^^;

It was absolutely unfair. How was she expected to sleep in the same room as some savage wolf and a whore? Sybil kept to herself on the bed in the corner of her room, tearing at a scone with vengeance. Her entire life had been like swimming upstream, but recently it had become something more like a mad struggle against a torrent with a shark not far behind. One thing led to another, with the arrow wound first, becoming a prisoner second, ending up in the forsaken island third, and to wrap it all up, she had Sheriff Brull to deal with.

I can handle the li'l bilge rat m'self. I could've done that earlier if that wolf hadn't stuck its ugly snout where it didn't belong. Sybil looked up from her thoughts, eying the wolf sitting to her left, Pearl's bed between them. The quiet creature had its legs drawn up, chin resting on its knees as if deep in thought. Ever since its insane babbling outburst with Brull, it had been this way- not that Sybil cared, of course.

As if sensing somebeast watching, the wolf raised its head. The marteness turned away that very second, not wanting anything to do with the mongrel. It was suffocating, this silence. If there was any time Sybil preferred the vixen to talk, it was now. But of course, the useless old hag was sleeping, stupidly oblivious to the danger within the room.

"Did you see what I saw?" the beast inquired in a soft voice, as if it had courtesy and didn't want to disturb the vixen's slumber.

"See what?" the thief asked tersely.

"That... that dream of the rat. That..." The wolf paused for a second. Two seconds. And then it shook its head and sighed. "Nothing, nothing." At that, Sybil let her shoulders relax, but then the wolf fixed its hungry gaze on her again. "If you don't mind, could you tell me what happened between you two?"

"Don't feel like it," the marteness said in a dry voice.

The savage looked down in disappointment. "I understand. It must be personal." Another pause. "What are you going to do? Are you going to fight against the... 'woodlanders' or are you going to help find the Red Brandy? I myself... I'm not sure."

"Why are ye tellin' me?" Sybil snorted. "That Sark-whatever's mad an' the sooner I find a way to get off this island the better. I'm not gunna fight an army and I'm definitely not dyin' fer a damned drink."

The creature blinked at her. "It's probably better that you think that. You should stay away from this Sarkleyet. In fact, we should all stay away from him. Whenever he's in my presence..." It stopped for a moment, frowning as if trying to recall a memory. "Whenever he's around... I think I feel the air thicken."

Sybil had to fight to keep herself from snickering. Heh. This wolf's loonier than the fox brat.

Clunk clunk clunk!

The sound made both the marten and the wolf snap their heads towards the door while the vixen simply rolled in her sleep. There was a little bit of silence, but another round of knocking followed. Sybil first looked to the wolf, to the door, and then to the wolf again. Neither beast moved. Seems like the savage doesn't even know what a knock is. Stupid brute.

The marteness hopped off her bed, keeping an eye on the wolf as she crept toward the door and turned the knob. A gangly rat in over-sized clothes waited outside.

"Miss Sybil, ain't it?" he asked in a gruff voice.

The marteness nodded. "Yeah? What'cha want?"

"Master Sarkleyet wishes to have a word with ye," the servant told her. That itself nearly made her choke. That old marten wants to have a talk with me?! What fer? What did I do? If he's looking for some fun, he should've looked for that old hag.

"No." A slamming door followed her flat answer.

"Hey!" a muffled voice shouted. It seemed as though the rat's courtesy was only paper-thin. "The master wants to give you a job offer ye can't refuse, so git yourself to his private quarters." A job offer? As what? A personal whore? It had been a long time since anybeast had given the thief a task, and from her experience with Brull, she had learned never to accept another. But curiosity tugged at the back of her mind. What kind of job did he have in store for her?

Sybil turned around to face the wolf, smirking inwardly as it stared back at her with questioning eyes. Of course, that mongrel would probably become another brain-dead hordesbeast. And as for the other "guests," they would get the menial tasks of simple soldiers or healers or servants. The fact that the leader of Red Dusk actually sought her out was quite flattering. With that in mind, the marten opened the door.

"Fine," she grunted, stepping out into the hall. "Let's just see what the dirty old miser has to say." The rat servant merely shrugged his skinny shoulders and ushered her down the hall and through a series of passages. During all this, Sybil couldn't help but to marvel at all the halls and doorways. She was sure the place was smaller on the outside, but big as it was, there didn't seem to be anything worth stealing. Nothing except for boring dreary portraits. Who would want a painting of a deadbeast anyways?

Something flit by.

The marten stopped, narrowing her eyes at the corner where she just saw movement. There stood a neat little shelf of trinkets, but nothing interesting. Perhaps she had seen nothing? It might have been the torches throwing shadows for all she knew. She stepped a little closer to the shelf, her curiosity still piqued.

"It's this way. Hurry up!" The rat jolted her attention. She had completely forgotten that he was supposedly "leading" her. As much as he was a bumbling idiot, Sybil had no idea how somebeast could mess this job up. The point of being a guide was to walk in front so that the honored guest could follow.

"Then walk faster, rat," she growled, turning on her heel and following him down a narrow, empty, dark hall. Even though no eerie faces peered down at her, she felt a chill scuttle up her spine. Again and again, the servant seemed to flicker in her vision, sliding in the darkness before stepping back into the sparse candle light.

"Here we are." The rodent stopped abruptly, making a snapping quarter turn before knocking on a large, blackened door.

"Come in," a voice said from the other side. Nodding, her guide turned the knob and held the door open for her. Sybil sniffed in response, stepping into the room. It was huge, but there was almost nothing to fill the space. No jewels, gold, or silver adorned his room. Instead, piles and piles of useless things- dusty furniture, pieces of rocks, and books, mostly - lined only one side of the room. A few doors stood across from her and a plush stool sat awkwardly in the center of the floor. And on the far side, a marten bent over a desk, scribbling madly with a plumed quill in paw while being guarded by two well-muscled weasels.

"What do you want?" she asked in an even tone, noting how the door behind her creaked to a close.

"Ah, Miss Sybil." He seemed to notice her for the first time, though his eyes never left his work. "Please, have a seat." She thought he'd say something like that, try to appear like a gentlebeast. But she wanted to make one thing clear: she was here purely out of curiosity and she wanted to be out of this place quick-like.

"No," Sybil replied, crossing her arms over her chest. If this answer enraged or surprised the marten, he didn't show it. Sarkleyet stayed immersed in his writing, only pausing to stare at another document before continuing his task.

"You said you wanted t'see me," Sybil said in a sour tone. The quill stopped.

"Yes," the host finally acknowledged, raising his head so that their eyes met. "Yes, I did. Ahem, please forgive me for the delay, Miss Sybil. You arrived here sooner than I expected. Now then, I called you here to talk about a proposal of mine." The marten stood up and walked around his desk while his guards stayed rooted to the spot. "Now Miss Sybil, according to some witnesses during your rescue, I understand that you are a skilled acrobat?"

"Only the best," she stated in a bored tone.

"Ah, yes." The host nodded at that, pacing around his desk. "I don't mean to boast, but we martens have climbing abilities that rival squirrels... better than that, even. But alas, my youthful days are over. But!" he said brightly, as if a brilliant idea had dawned upon him. "We have you, Miss Sybil, and your impressive skills would be essential to the Red Br-"

"I'm not doing it," Sybil declared. "I'm not interested in your little scavenger hunt." That bit of news didn't seem to catch Sarkleyet off guard, as a grin soon spread upon his face.

"Oh? Then name your price. What would you like in return for your service?"

"Nothing," she answered firmly. "I'm not stupid enough to go on this wild goose chase an' risk being skewered by woodlanders. Whatever you're payin', it isn't enough to cover my life."

"Interesting..." the elderly marten mused, his nonchalance unnerving the thief. Sybil swallowed, noticing how the weasel guards flattened their ears. "So what shall you do now?"

"Get off the island," she replied carefully, her eyes flicking between the door and the professor's beasts.

Sarkleyet nodded to himself before suddenly looking off to the side, his ears angled forward as if trying to catch a tiny whisper of sound. And as quickly as it came, all traces of tension melted off the marten's shoulders as he continued his pace, stopping right behind his desk. "Of course, Miss Sybil, you may leave if you wish to. I don't break beasts out of imprisonment just to enslave them. Ah, how ironic that would be." Sybil didn't know what the meaning of "ironic" was, but she didn't feel the need to waste time pointing that out when she could slip through the door.

"Is that all?" she questioned, already taking a few backwards steps. "I'm leavin'."

"Ah ah ah!" The call made her stop in her tracks. "How rude of me, Miss Sybil. I forgot to ask you if you enjoyed the scones I sent directly to your room. Some of my favorites, you know. If you want more, you have my permission to take some from the kitchen."

Huh, Sybil scoffed inwardly. Just like any old fogey, his brain's as gray as his fur. Looking at him now as he spoke of pastries, she had no idea why she had felt intimidated by his presence in the first place. Without a word she turned to leave, grasping the doorknob before Sarkleyet's velvety voice called out to her again.

"Did you eat the scones, Miss Sybil? Did you enjoy them?"

The thief turned to the other marten, a smirk set on his snout. She gulped, instincts stirring within and telling her that something had gone terribly wrong. As much as she wanted to run through the doors, she had a feeling that the faction leader had something important to say; and this time, it was something that would actually interest her.

"What didja do?" she breathed, blood draining from her face as the marten plucked something shiny from his breast pocket.

"Before you go..." He paused to shake the object between to claws. "I would think you would like to have this antidote. That was some nasty poison you just enjoyed, after all."

"Poison?!"

He nodded sagely, another smirk plastered on his smarmy face. "I did say that, didn't I?"

Sybil wasted no time, rushing at him with a furious scream. The guards in turn ran in front of their master, fists waiting to pummel her to the ground. But the thief was ready for that. Fangs bared and ears flattened, she ducked past a fist. A set of arms sprang to snare her, but she vaulted off the floor, expertly leaping above the obstacle and skidding on top of the desk. A flurry of paper followed as quills and files scattered. The other marten jumped back and yelped something she couldn't discern.

Crouched on his desk, her paw shot down and grabbed something. The marteness lifted the heavy object over her head, ready to deal the finishing blow.

Something jerked her arm and the weapon left her paw, flying with deadly speed before crashing into the wall far from the marten's head. Sybil only had time to gasp before another ruthless force grabbed her by the waist, yanking her off the desk and throwing her onto the floor. She grunted at the impact, stunned and unable to fight back as the weasels hauled her to her feet and pinned her arms behind her back.

"Let go of me!" she screeched, struggling against their grasp. "I'm gunna kill 'im! I'm gunna kill him!" By then, Sarkleyet had picked himself off the floor and straightened his shirt.

"Very impressive, Miss Sybil," he stated, piecing his composure back together. "Your skills are certainly promising."

"You bastard," she seethed. "You're insane. You're out o' your damn mind!"

"Not quite so," he responded, showing her the unharmed vial. "Now, there are several things that you should know about the poison." He waited until she finished struggling before he continued. "First, it's something invented by Nevyeer and myself. It's a slow-acting poison, worsening your health a little each day before ending your life after a week. Second, the symptoms are quite nasty: fever, fur loss, impairment of the senses and mobility, coughing up blood... all sorts of terrible, terrible things."

"Stop blabbing and just tell me what'cher want," she spat, her lips pulling back in a snarl.

"Red Brandy," he answered stiffly, tipping his nose in the air. "I want you to aid me in the search of Red Brandy. Serve me well and I'll give you this..." He stepped behind his desk, opened a drawer, and produced another vial. "This is a diluted antidote, enough to sustain normal health for about three days."

"And if I don't?" the marteness growled, tugging at her arm.

"Then you die. However, if you do manage to retrieve Red Brandy and return it to me safely, you get the full antidote and you're free to go."

"Red Brandy? You already have beasts doin' your dirty work for you. You have the vixen and the wolf and..." Her eyes grew round at the memory of the two beasts munching on the elegant dessert. "You poisoned the beasts that were already on your side, you dolt!"

"Indeed," the marten sniffed. "You see, those beasts were simply pawns in my little game of wits against Felldoh's Heirs. They don't have any special skills or knowledge I value, and therefore, they can be replaced by anybeast I pick off the street..." And then he trailed off again, looking out into space, his eyes narrowing in agitation before he brought his attention back to her. "Now, you might want to take this right now." He slid the vial across the desk, nodding at his soldiers. Getting the signal, they loosened their grip so that their prisoner could shake their arms off.

The thought of leaping up and kicking him in the face flashed through her mind more than once, but Sybil knew better than that. The way her wounded shoulder ached and her head throbbed, she was sure she had learned her lesson. Those two guards were simply too much to handle, especially when she didn't have stealth on her side. Carefully, Sybil picked the glass container, peering at the colorless liquid.

"Drink it now," Sarkleyet commanded. "After a couple hours of consumption, the poison would soon take effect."

"And what then?" she asked suspiciously. "What does this do?"

He sighed impatiently. "As I said before, it makes your immune system sustain normalcy for about three more days. This is certainly not the absolute antidote, but it is better than dying." He cracked a smug smile as Sybil uncapped the vial, licking her lips as the options ran through her mind. Nothing. She had no choice in the matter and would have to accept whatever "help" he was offering her. Slowly, carefully, the thief lifted the antidote to her muzzle, faltering before put the rim to her lips and swallowing every single drop.

"What did it taste like?" the professor asked. She replied the mocking question with a venomous glare.

"Hm... I think tasteless would be a good way to describe it," he purred, grinning crookedly as he seemed to hold his breath.

"What's so funny?" Sybil demanded, squeezing the vial in paw. He broke out in a coarse bark of laughter.

"Why, my dear Miss Syb-"

"I'm not your 'dear,'" she shouted, unsettled by his creepy demeanor. "Now stop beating around the bush and talk!" He smiled still, shaking his head as if he were talking to some brainless kit.

"You were so naive, thinking that was actually an antidote."

"What?!"

"You actually believed that I would poison a rare specimen such as a wolf just for a petty 'volunteer?'" he sneered.

Sybil's eyes widened as the truth dawned on her. "So this is the..."

"Poison. Yes." A moment's worth of silence stretched out before Sybil exploded with the most obscene curses imaginable, using every single word that she could get her mind on. Without a moment's hesitation, she threw the glass at his head. Sarkleyet ducked just in time, hearing the container break before tiny shards sprinkled down on him. Sybil struggled with her captors, kicking and lashing her head this way and that in a mad frenzy to bite them.

"I've had enough of this!" Sarkleyet snarled, smacking his desk, no longer content or curious of anything. Instead of that nonchalant marten there stood a commanding officer with a frightening and powerful voice.

"Scream all you want, Sybil," he barked. "The walls are soundproof. Nobeast can hear you and nobeast is coming to your rescue. You do exactly as I say or you die of slow and horrible poisoning."

"Yeah?" she panted, her fight now dead. "And what crazy stuff d'ye want me t'do this time? Pour acid into my eyes?"

"I offered you a chance but you decided to take the painful route. So now I will make this clear- you will not run away according to your original plan" he instructed slowly, giving every word more than enough time to soak into her memory. "You are going to stay on this island and cooperate with the group going after Red Brandy tomorrow." He drew another glass container out of a drawer and slid it across the desk to her. The marten's guards slackened their hold, though they still kept a paw clamped on the prisoner's shoulders. Sybil hesitated, scrutinizing the vial before she picked it up, treating it as though its contents could slip through the glass and penetrate her skin.

"Really, Miss Sybil, there is nothing to be wary of anymore. There's no point in poisoning a subject twice, see?" Sarkleyet paused to clear his throat, ignoring her narrowed eyes as he furthered his instructions. "I will supply you with a few vials of antidote, but after your last one, you have three days to come back for more. Repeat this process for as many times as it takes to get the Brandy. However, if I were you, I wouldn't take my own sweet time on this quest. I would keep in consideration that these antidotes are costly and that I do not have a limitless supply on them. Do your job well and you shall receive the complete and final antidote. Isn't that grand? You get to go home healthy and free."

"And how do I know I can trust you?" she growled. Sarkleyet gave a genuine look of hurt before he chuckled.

"You don't. You have no choice but to take my word for it." He turned around as he snapped his claws. At his command Sybil felt claws dig into her flesh as the guards hauled her towards the door.

"Oh!" Their master's voice stopped them dead in their tracks. "And Miss Sybil, if I were you I wouldn't try anything particularly treacherous. I am, after all, the only beast who knows where the antidote is and how to make it. Should I die, you would join me shortly."

"You just wait," Sybil screeched, kicking her legs harmlessly. "You jist wait 'til I get my paws around yer scrawny little neck. I'll stuff that poison down yer throat and make you eat glass! I'll break off your feet and stick'em on your head! I'll-"

"You'll what?" All movement stopped as both she and the guards looked up at the gloating marten. "You will tell your 'friends' that I poisoned you?" He chuckled at that, shaking his head. "From what I've seen, Miss Sybil, you didn't make a good impression on any beast. What would they do? Why, they would sooner snatch your antidotes and force you to do their biddings, wouldn't they? Of course, that's what I would do."

The thief felt her nostrils flare out. "You-"

"It doesn't matter to me what they do to you as long as you get your job done. Dismissed." And with that, he whirled around, waving the guards off as Sybil burst into another bout of curses, dangling helplessly between the henchbeasts.

The door flew open, spitting out a disheveled figure that nearly collided with the opposite wall. Sybil heard a slam! behind her and once again she was all alone, just the way she liked it.

"Dammit!" she coughed, suddenly feeling something tickle at the back of her throat. Was the poison working past her system already? Sybil looked down, just realizing that she'd kept that vial of "antidote" clenched in her paw the entire time. There was nothing left to lose anymore. She uncapped it and downed its contents. The marten couldn't help but scrunch her muzzle at the cloying, bitter taste.

She dropped the vial, ignoring it as it clattered on the ground. There was no way that she could sneak past the marten's guards and hold a knife to his throat. They already expected her to do something like that, and without the element of surprise she was useless.

I'm a thief, the marten said crossly, not a bleedin' assassin.