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Chapter 25. Sonic Screwdriver and Two Vicodin, Please

by Aras

Morning sunlight crept softly through the misty streets of Evnakt, spilling gently over the windowsill of the bedroom. Briefly roused, Aras stretched out along the bed, only to melt once more into the soft embrace of the sheets. He didn't want to wake up.

Through the haze of slow wakening, the wolverine felt a melancholy sense of disappointment. He had hoped that the rest would allow him to recall some more of the past, but last night had been nothing but unfathomable blackness.

"Good morning to you, sir!"

It was the ermine Antonio, his voice sweet enough to spread on scones. Had he even slept?

"M'rning," Aras mumbled in reply. The wolverine sat up, wiping the bleariness from his eyes. Antonio's form gradually swam into focus. The ermine was sitting up on his stiffly-creased bunk, already dressed for the day.

"I trust that you slept well?"

"Mnuh," Aras grunted. Let the blasted ermine interpret it as he willed.

Any further conversation was forestalled by a staccato tapping sound. "Somebeast is at the door," Antonio said chipperly, as though this was something to be excited about. The ermine strode over, and twisted the knob. "Do come in."

It was Sarkleyet's steward, whose name Aras couldn't recall. The weasel smiled respectfully. "Ah, glad to see that you're awake, gentlemen. Breakfast is about to be served, and Master Sarkleyet asks that you make your way to the dining room promptly."

Aras' heart and stomach sank in unison. He felt ill at the mere thought of choking down another plate of vegetables and greens. Eating that foreign garbage was akin to a severely dehydrated beast swallowing his own saliva; a temporary and inferior substitute for what the body truly required.

"We'll be right there," he sighed.

Antonio was struck by a sudden recollection. "Hold on a moment, sir, what about the Sherriff?"

Aras glanced over to the far bed, where Sherriff Brull was snoring fit to beat the band. "You can wake him. I'm going."

Might as well start the charade...

A short while later, Aras slipped out into the courtyard. Breakfast had utterly failed to whet his appetite, and Pearl's inquisitions had only made things worse.

The vixen seemed to think of him as some sort of heroic figure, albeit one that she watched over in very maternal fashion. Truth be told, that sort of connection was the last thing Aras wanted. He was here to sell out the vermin, hand over the lot of them on a platter. It was his only ticket to freedom. It wasn't supposed to be personal.

Hellgates, he needed some space to think. The stress of this whole muddled situation was giving his skull a chance to rehash some old grudges.

As he gazed around, Aras found himself strangely attracted to the architecture of this place. A series of pillared half-arches extended out from the manor walls, creating a sort of enclosed walkway. From there, the courtyard extended outwards in a semi-circle, laid out in white marbled stone. Several grand pillars and statues formed a border along the edge, giving him the sense of entertaining a stonework audience. Very impressive.

In the middle of the yard, an ornately carved fountain burbled away to itself, casting stray droplets into the morning sky. There was a crude bench next to it, a long thick slab of gray stone balanced across two smaller blocks. Aras picked his way across the mossy stones, and settled down on it. He needed to sit down, and sort things out.

The wolverine's mind ached. Different lines of repressed thought were weaving about each other, fighting amongst themselves to be the first unravelled.

What should he do next?

Aras could always abandon the search, leaving the miserable scavengers to their own devices...

No. That option took a sharp downward plunge in the not-too-distant future. Sarkleyet would brand him an enemy, and Major Calderon would be outraged that he'd wasted such a lucrative opportunity. Either way, death was likely to follow. The thing about running away, he felt, was that you could never stop running.

Sabotage was a more promising option, albeit one that Aras had no clue how to implement.

A third option was to play along, and let things fail of their own accord. Neither Sarkleyet nor the Major could blame him, could they? On second thought, never mind. They could. Probably would.

There were many possibilities, but none of them ended happily.

Unless, of course... they didn't fail. What then?

In the incredibly unlikely event that the group could actually find the Brandy, that would open up an entirely delicious range of options. Neutralize the Brandy so that neither side could use it, present it dutifully to the master of his choosing, or even simply auction it off to the highest bidder.

"Ah, Master Ikaras!" It was the steward again, probably here to insist that Aras choke down some garbage with minced leaves on it. The weasel's paws clicked softly across the mossy tiles towards him.

What was that weasel's name? It was going to bother him until he figured it out. He'd mentioned it earlier... Ach, and now the steward was standing right in front of him, prattling away. The weasel wrung his paws nervously as he spoke, obviously apprehensive about something.

"Master Sarkleyet asked me to locate you. He'd like to do a quick briefing in the courtyard for those who've chosen to assist with retrieving the Brandy. But, er, of course, you're, already here. The others should be out right away."

In fact, Sybil was already stamping angrily in their direction. Brushing roughly past the steward, she slumped onto the far corner of the bench, scowling darkly.

Shortly after, Antonio emerged from the shadows, with the serpent draped loosely about his shoulders. The ermine seemed pleased to see Aras there, giving him a respectful nod as he sat down.

Was that it? Only the three of them? Four, he supposed, if you regarded a snake as a complete entity.

Rea appeared in the breezeway, alleviating his fears somewhat. The young wolf's hesitant facial expression matched how Aras felt inside. Sarkleyet followed her, closing the latticed doors with a flourish.

The marten waited patiently until everybeast was seated before launching into his address.

"Good morning. You may have noticed several absences from among those present at our assembly yesterday afternoon. Evidently some ungrateful beasts have deigned not to participate in our search for the missing Brandy."

Aras fought back a sardonic smile. What a change the morning brings. It's not "your search", it's, "our search." Quaint.

"Before the meeting progresses any further, I would request that each of you make a final confirmation of your intentions. This venture will be difficult, and the potential for danger is quite high. If you would like to change your mind, now is the time."

Aras was aghast at the marten's duplicity. Blackmail, followed by the compassionate offer to make one's own decision. What a joke.

Aras' eyes wavered sideways. Nobeast moved a muscle, save for the adder's darting tongue. Rea, though, looked absolutely morose, and Sybil seemed to be scowling even harder.

Sarkleyet grinned with mock gratitude. "Excellent. The Fates have truly provided a superior group for this endeavor." At this remark, his eyes twinkled in Aras' direction.

Aras rolled his eyes. Your Fates provide through duplicity and coercion, apparently.

"I beg your pardon," Antonio piped up, "But, where, pray tell, are we to begin this venture?"

"Mm, yes, that's a very good question. Nevyeer, as previously stated, did business at a number of locations throughout Evnakt. His major center of operations was an old warehouse near the harbour district, used chiefly for his own private research. Nevyeer's assistants abandoned the facility shortly after he contracted Martin's madness, but the possibility exists that he returned there after stealing the Brandy."

Aras felt dubious. "How are we supposed to find this place, exactly?"

Sarkleyet beckoned forth his hovering steward. The weasel smiled anxiously at the group as Sarkleyet turned his attentions back to them. "Since none of you are residents of Evnakt, I have asked Thalliv to accompany you on the search. He will guide you through the city, and anywhere else you may find it necessary to go."

Thalliv, that was the weasel's name. Aras filed that away for future reference.

Rea spoke up. "Will we have any supplies? We'll have to eat at some point during the day."

"Of course. Rations are already being prepared, and Thalliv will be on call to provide any further assistance you may require."

Antonio had another line of questioning. "What sort of hostilities might we expect to encounter? Will we require weaponry?"

Thalliv fielded this one. "We'll be travelling mostly through areas controlled by, er, by independent bands. They shouldn't be any bother to us, really..."

The ermine looked unimpressed, and opened his mouth to protest before Sarkleyet cut him off.

"I have the utmost confidence in this group's capabilities. However, as an emergency measure, Thalliv will be bringing his crossbow along. I rather doubt you'll require more weaponry than that. Now, are there any further questions?"

Antonio looked as though he was struggling to contain an urgent query, but bit his tongue as Sarkleyet brought the meeting to a close.

"It will take a short while to prepare the ration packs, so you are dismissed until then. I suggest you say any farewells now, since you'll be leaving shortly."

The motley crew dispersed towards the house, soaking in those last few minutes before things took a startling plunge into the unknown. Aras lagged behind, not wanting to face the troubling road ahead.

The wolverine paused for one look back. Hold on... what in blazes?

Sarkleyet was pressing something into Sybil's paw. Aras couldn't quite make it out, but it looked almost like a jewellery box. As the female slunk away, Sarkleyet turned to introspectively face the dawn, rubbing his paws together delightedly.

So, the plot thickened. Last night, Sarkleyet had referred to Sybil as being "rather fetching." Perhaps he was pursuing the younger marten? A coy smirk crossed the wolverine's face as he slipped into the house.

=~*~=

It was an infernally hot day. The morning sun beat down on the group, tracking their progress through the winding avenues of the dead city.

Aras cursed the daylight. The thick, shaggy fur that protected wolverines from frostbite now worked heavily against him in this sweltering heat. Rivulets of sweat trickled down Aras' forehead, stinging his eyes.

After an agonizing eternity of tramping along a dusty alleyway, the wolverine felt he would boil and die if forced to take one more step. Mercifully, Thalliv called a halt.

Sybil dropped her pack with a violent curse. "These things're bloody murder to carry!"

"You should not be carrying that thing with your arm injured," Antonio put in sensibly.

"Why don't you carry it, then?" hissed Dirano.

Antonio glared at the cat, and Aras found himself sympathizing. Dirano shouldn't even have been here. The feline had been too busy stuffing his face to even attend Sarkleyet's briefing, and only a litany of constant pleading had convinced the marten of Dirano's sincere loyalties.

"I am already burdened with food for myself and Silisk."

The regal serpent nodded approvingly from her perch atop Antonio's haversack. Silisk was quite incapable of carrying her own pack, for obvious reasons.

"I could take the pack," Aras offered, reaching towards the marten. She snarled at him, clutching the bag tightly. Well, fine. Do it on your own. Can't say I didn't try.

The wolverine retreated, taking this opportunity to take a precursory dig through his haversack. Nuts, cheese, and a couple of small, hard loaves. He cracked one open experimentally, finding it to be more crust than bread. Figures.

As an afterthought, Aras dug the red stone from his pocket and tossed it in with the food. It would be safer in there.

A loud clattering sound arose from the street, pricking Aras' ears.

Thalliv's face blanched. "Hide!" the weasel hissed, hustling the group deeper into the blackened alleyway.

Aras held his breath, trying to will himself further into the shadows as the sound grew louder. Whatever had the power to frighten their guide like that, he wanted no part of.

Holding their collective breath, the party watched a pair of burly moles pass by the opening. The black-furred creatures emitted deep bass groans as they struggled with the weight of a large wooden cart. What was so terrible about this?

Oh, Hellgates. He saw it now. The cart was piled high with carcasses, hollow shells which had once been vermin. Aras identified an emaciated dog-fox atop the heap, sprawled across a tangle of lifeless limbs. The body was horribly gaunt, with ribs showing through the flesh and fur like the curved talons of an eagle. Death had probably come as a mercy.

Unbidden saliva pooled in the wolverine's mouth, reminding him once more of just how hungry he truly was. He swallowed heavily, trying to force his mind to focus on anything else, anything to keep his mind off of the feast being dragged across his vision. His breathing felt slow and shallow.

An eternity later, the rattling sounds faded away.

Sybil extricated herself from a crumbling alcove, and spat angrily into the dust. "What in Hellgates was that? You said we'd be goin' through friendly territory!"

"I said we'd mostly be going through friendly territory," Thalliv replied weakly, to an audience of glares.

Rea's snout wrinkled with bewilderment. "What are they... Why are they?"

"She attempts to ask, 'what would yon soilsnouts want with the deceased?'" Silisk translated.

"Body collection," Thalliv whispered hollowly. "When the Madness pandemic went into decline, the wagons were sent out to clear the streets. At nightfall, we burned the corpses, hoping to contain the last strains of the infection. Now, though, Felldoh's Heirs use them to handle the casualties of the resistance."

The weasel sighed laconically. "Strike me, but I wish those corpses were theirs."

=~*~=

Thalliv led the group down a series of winding streets and alleyways, occasionally stopping to check his bearings. They reached the warehouse some time in the late afternoon. Nevyeer's workshop was a squat brick building, tucked away unassumingly behind a number of ruined shops.

Dirano tried the rusted handle. "Locked."

Rea glanced hesitantly at a glowering Sybil. "Perhaps Sybil could..."

There was a crunching sound as the door swung open. Thalliv winked cheerfully at the group. "Sometimes one good shoulder is all it takes."

Aras ducked inside after the weasel, squinting into the gloom. The main area appeared to be one large room, though on the left two smaller spaces had been walled off. Through a gaping doorway Aras could identify the first as being a sort of office. The second door was closed.

The wolverine scanned the main space. Up high, he could make out several thick timbers spanning the length of the room, festooned liberally with spider silk. One of the strands wavered as a panicked moth fluttered in vain to escape its grasp.

Several shelving cabinets were still filled with row after row of curious slim bottles of chemicals, and along the right wall ran a long counter, strewn with a curious array of medicinal-looking equipment. This place had been abandoned in a hurry.

Dirano wiped a finger along the counter. This sent up a small wisp of dust, dancing by the light of a greasy window. "What are we supposed to be looking for, anyway?"

"I'm not exactly sure," mused Thalliv. "But I suspect we'll know it when we find it."

=~*~=

Several hours of close inspection later, they still hadn't found it.

Sybil picked up a wicked metal tool from the counter and looked at it incredulously. "What kind of freak was this Nevyeer, anyway?"

"Not a clean freak, that's for sure," Aras muttered under his breath as he looked through a shelf of vials for the fifth time.

Thalliv stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Well, Sybil, I didn't have many opportunities to talk with Nevyeer face to face, but from what I know of the fellow, he was brilliant. Of course, I also know that he went to very great lengths to protect the secrecy of his work."'

"Wait." Aras turned around. "Great lengths?"

Thalliv nodded. "I heard Master Sarkleyet mention it several times. Nevyeer was always very paranoid about the projects he engineered, especially the Red Brandy. Both Sarkleyet and Nevyeer insisted on very high classification for the formula's development. I myself didn't know about it until, well, the theft, I suppose..."

Aras looked back at the doorway. "That makes no sense. There's no security here at all. After all, you were able to barge in without too much trouble, almost as if..."

Rea frowned curiously. "As if what?"

Aras scratched his head, trying to make the pieces fall into place. "Well, it seems too easy. I mean, look, there aren't even any bars on the windows. Anybeast trying to rob this place would have no trouble getting in. And they would find..."

"...Absolutely nothing worth finding," Thalliv finished. "By the fates. You think there's a secret entrance hidden somewhere?"

"It would make sense."

The wolfmaid seemed hesitant. "Would Nevyeer really be that devious?"

"Would Sarkleyet?"

A sly smile crept onto Thalliv's face. "Absolutely, he would."

=~*~=

Silisk coiled on one of the lab tables, watching. "Explain to me why Sir Antonio is counting his steps. I do not understand this."

Aras had felt rather foolish when he'd first detailed his plan to Antonio, and he felt a good degree sillier explaining it again to the ostentatious snake. "Well, he's going to walk in a straight line across the floor from one wall to the other, counting all the way. I've already had him do it on the outside of the building."

"For what purpose?"

"Well, if there are more paces on the outside, that means that one of the walls could be hollow."

Sybil made a face. "Why look in the walls?"

"Because we couldn't find anything in the offices or the floor," Thalliv said sheepishly.

The marten was unimpressed. "How do you know there's anything here at all?"

"Er... we don't, really."

Aras preemptively cut off the marten's reply by stating, "But we might as well look everywhere. That way we can definitively rule this place out before we move on. I don't want to come all the way back here later just because we didn't try all of our options the first time."

Silisk flicked her tail irritably. "Feh! A waste of time! Why not simply destroy the walls?"

Rea rapped on the nearest one, producing a solid thunk. "They're made of stone, Silisk. It would take a lot of effort to break through them, and there's no point in doing it without a good reason."

"This is stupid," Dirano said venomously.

Antonio halted in front of the rear wall. "Thirty-three," the ermine called out.

Aras grinned. "And we had how many on the outside wall?

Thalliv's brow furrowed in consternation. "Thirty-seven, I think?"

"It was positively thirty-eight," sniffed Antonio.

"Looks like we've got a hollow wall." Yeah, but which one, exactly?

"Or the stoat counted wrong." Dirano rolled his eyes.

"Sir, you are incorrect," Antonio snapped, offended. "I do not mis-count. Ever."

Rea offered an alternate theory. "What if the thickness of the walls threw off the count?"

"If you look at the windows, they're not thick enough to alter it that much." Aras shrugged. "I'm thinking we should check..."

He looked around. Front wall, had the door. Right side. Window. Left side. Also a window. "Let's check the back wall. It's the only one that doesn't have a window or door frame in it."

Aras, Rea, and Thalliv approached the wall. The wolverine moved along its length, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing immediately leapt to the eye. No dusty pawprints hinting at where to push, no scrape marks on the floor to suggest that the wall moved outwards...

When Aras reached the far corner, he turned back again, in case he'd missed something. He was right about this. He knew he was right about this. There had to be something here. But with every passing brick, Aras felt the doubt and weariness creeping up on him. His manacle, unnoticed up until now, suddenly seemed to possess the gravity of mountains, pulling him down into a pit of despair.

A discordant flicking sound drew the wolverine's attention to the rafters. The moth he had noticed earlier had attracted notice from the trap's architect. As the spider crept along the gossamer thread, the moth's wings battered in vain against the beam, drumming out one final bid for freedom.

Just before the arachnid struck, Aras could swear it rubbed two forelegs together in Sarkleyet's unmistakeable gesture of victory.