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start of week five.

Chapter 51. A Man Chooses; A Slave Obeys
by Antonio

"You fell?"

"Yeah, I fell," she affirmed. "Onto a nail…I'm real clumsy like that, mister Tonio."

The stoat found himself in an awkward mood, then. On one paw, she had just called him by the wretched pet name that, uttered by any other beast, would have made him consider clawing the speaker's eyes out. On the other hand, the expression on Zula's face was…she was just a child, after all. How was she to know better?

"I see. Might I have a look? I do have healer's training. If left unattended, a scratch too deep can become a scar."

"Y' certainly may!"

Zula craned her head, allowing more of the light to shine upon the affected area. He knew even before looking at her injuries that they were not caused by simply tripping and scraping upon a stray nail. Antonio knew the cause even before he had overheard snatches of conversation, little whispers of "that conceited vixen" or other such titles that did not bear repeating, although each and every one was more fitting than the last. Nelda was becoming quite the impediment. Disagreeing with the fallback location for the rescue attempt even as woodlanders were bearing down upon her, quarreling at any given chance with the beast who took her into her home, polluting the air with her rancid, alcohol soaked breath – from what Antonio had heard and seen, the vixen was not helpful in the slightest. Would that he was in charge, he would have her disposed. But Antonio was not in charge. Brull was.

"Mister Tonio?"

He winced visibly. "Yes, Miss Zula?"

"You're holdin' me arm a bit too tight."

He released it as though letting go of a hot ember.

"Terribly sorry. I am…distracted."

He felt a tiny paw pat him on the arm. "It's alright! It happens to me all the time. Why just the other day, I was in the kitchens, an' I was wonderin', how'd they make all the pots an' pans all nicely shaped for food and fixin's, 'cos iron doesn't rightly grow in the earth in that shape, dontcha know. An' then one of the other beasts, a big rat with a torn vest, he looked a bit scary but I wasn't frightened on account of his smile? He tol' me that they pounded 'em like that with a great big hammer, right out of a sheet of the stuff. But then that got me thinkin', what's a hammer made out of? Why, it's metal. So then, if the hammer's metal, then – "

"Zula?"
"Yes, sir?"

"Is it at all possible that we continue this another time?"

"Alright!"

Antonio's claw traced the scratch all the way to her chin and almost inadvertently added to it when something thumped against the floor above them. Fox and stoat looked up.

"I wonder what that was."

Antonio's eyes paced from the door to the ceiling and back toward Zula. Whoever was upstairs was clearly trying not to be heard; the soft footfalls had a very deliberate tambour and pace.

Antonio's paw sought his chin. Unless they had stolen something, none of the 'guests' would have any cause to sneak around as such. There were beasts on the upper floor who might be able to deal with a possible intruder, but only if they were observant enough. Antonio had seen the rabble up on the second floor. They were not observant enough.

"Come, Zula, stay close behind me."

He kept his eye on the young fox as he made is way promptly to the stair. It was safer for Zula to come with him. A common tactic employed by the assassin was to lure the stronger beast away with an "accidental" noise while another scout went after the weaker beast. One of his father's honor guard had learned that the hard way and the image of his corpse afterward branded the lesson into Antonio's mind.

Zula's paw in his, he began to ascend the stair carefully until the subtle padding on the floor above broke into a calamitous racket. Antonio ran, dragging Zula behind him. More noises joined the commotion: a breaking chair, a door thrust open, banging against the wall, muffled, indiscernible shouts, blows being scored against flesh, the rapid stomping of a beast in swift retreat, shattering glass. Silence. Silence, save the soft murmur of a crowd. The stoat could now see what the disturbance was.

"How did a hare get in here?"

"Roof, maybe?"

"And none of us 'erd a thing. We all could've been killt in our beds!"

"But you weren't," Rekkua spoke up over the hubbub. "I could zmell t'e beaztz before any one of you could hear t'em. T'is one ztayed behid to hold me off while the other escaped."

The hare was out cold, Antonio observed, a large bump beginning to form on his crown from where the monitor stuck him. The stoat nodded to the lizard.

"Very nice work."

Rekkua flickered her tongue amongst a tense pause. "…T'ank you." He sensed what she wanted to say was, "Don't patronize me, filt'y zartachach," or whatever the reptile liked to call those not of a cold blooded persuasion, but something stopped her.

Antonio cast his gaze down to the hare. Woodlanders were all over this island, but few among them were hares. The only one he had seen had been the jailer who he had offered to supply with information. Infiltration did not seem the style of the Feldoh's Heirs either. Therefore, there was only one group to which this hare could belong.

Antonio nodded.

"More than likely he has information which we require. Rekkua, if you would be so kind as to carry his body downstairs for me, I would be most grateful. You and you, there are supplies which I will need for my interrogation. I will need your help in acquiring them."

The two beasts nodded. There had just been a large amount of disorder and now somebeast was taking initiative. They were happy for the instruction.

Zula…" He paused. "There is…there is something in the way of a supply closet downstairs, is there not?"

"I believe so, Mister Tonio. Saw it when I was helpin' t'clean up, doncha know."

"Show me."

*****

"Alright, yeah," said the rat.

Antonio's eyebrow wanted to cock in that moment. He kept it just where it should stay, parallel with its brother at a half-claw's length from his eyes.

He could not keep control of his mouth, though, blast his vocal chords.

"Are you quite sure?"

He could almost hear Brull's grating laughter at his foul-up. "Go nuts. Get what he knows. I'd do it myself, but since you're in a pleasing mood, it's all yours. Sides," he smirked, "it's nice you're earning your keep. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

Antonio nodded. "Very well." He turned to leave.

"I will, though, ask one thing of you."

He knew it would not at all be that easy. "And what would this thing be?"

"I'm putting somebeast to guard the door. 'Case the long ears gets out of paw."

Why? I certainly did not have any assistance knocking you to the ground in one blow.

Antonio nodded. "Very well."

The supply closet was larger than anticipated. Everything about the space made it optimal for the task, save the rather large water stain to one side of the room. It gave him a brown, moldy stare and so he had to rearrange the setting so that his back was to the vile mark rather than his captive's.

The hare's eyes blinked open. Internally, Antonio counted to ten, the precise amount of seconds it takes a beast to wake up, realize he is tied to a chair and, although he knows it a futile task, tug against his bounds.

eight…nine…

His ears picked up the distinct note of rope fiber's tensing. The stoat allowed himself a smile.

"No need to try pulling against the ropes, there's no use escaping, this room is surrounded, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera," Antonio drawled. "Now that we have the basics out of the way, what exactly would a hare, two hares, rather, be doing inside of a building housing more than a score of vermin?"

No answer.

"Maybe you were assassins. Maybe you had meant to 'kilt us'n all in our beds' as one of my colleagues so eloquently put it."

The hare had not so much as opened his eyes yet.

"But then, why were you not heavily armed? No poison, no blades outside of simple dirks and daggers and you were bested by a lizard. Clearly, you are no skilled assassin.

"Perhaps it was a fact finding mission. You are a woodlander on a vermin isle. The only reason you would be here is because you are affiliated with one of the brash and boorish groups seeking our destruction, correct? No need to confirm that. Even the most simple of simpletons could discern that much. So, perhaps you were here to do reconnaissance?"

The hare opened his eyes. He was rewarded with a grim smile from Antonio.

"No. Simple scouting is feasible, but sneaking into the enemy base only for the gathering of information? Highly unlikely." He counted three seconds, ample time to temper the tension, let the hare know where he stood. "Thievery, then. You came here to steal something, correct?"

No response.

"You will not at least humor me with some typical insolent statement? Nothing along the lines of, 'you'll never guess why I am here' or 'we will kill all of you'? No?" Antonio sighed, donning his best sympathetic face and tone. "Then I am afraid I have no choice."

Most would slam their instruments on the table in an attempt to assault the eardrums of the interrogated or possibly send them into shock at the sudden surprise of a loud noise. But start with a loud bang and you had nowhere from which to build. You moved slowly, gradually, just as Antonio did whilst retrieving his tools from out of the crate one at a time: rope, a chisel, a spatula, several spoons, a stick of charcoal, a bag of sand, some shards of glass, several hooks, a knife. Last was the hammer.

Where did[/i] the first hammer come from?[/i] he mused.

Antonio reached for the knife, then the block of wood. Not once did he make eye contact with the subject. Grasping the blade, he slid it several times across the surface of the wood, each skillful movement rendering a perfectly even carve into the wood and equally perfect shavings. Finished, there were ten shavings in all. The stoat took a moment to set the knife down as well as the wood block, then re-align them with the other instruments at the table, of which there were nineteen altogether. A shame there was not an even twenty.

He moved around to the back of the chair, reached out, grasped the hare's wrist before his captive could properly react. The prisoner quickly became aware of the danger he was in, though, and so tightened his paw into a fist. With minimal effort Antonio began to squeeze on a specific spot on the beast's wrist, causing the hare to release his grip within seconds. Reading those medical journals on pressure points came in useful many years after the fact.

Antonio wrapped his fist around a single claw. In his other he held one of the wood shavings. Slowly, deliberately, he took the pointed end of the hard, sharp shaving and slid it into the place where claw met flesh. To his left he could hear caged screams rattle against the hare's clenched jaws.

He repeated this with the hare's other four claws on the left paw. By the first claw on his right paw, the hare spoke.

"What do you want? What do you want to know?"

"I would like to know why you were here," replied Antonio, his claws still lightly pinched around the latest splinter.

"The Brandy. We heard about the Brandy and we were sent to find anything about it that we could."

Antonio paused his movements.

"And your rendezvous point?"

"What?"

He pressed the splinter deeper. Though he himself was unaffected, the stoat noticed that the guard posted at the door was more than a little unnerved at the resulting scream.

"Where is your rendezvous point?" he repeated. "In simple-minded terms, perhaps more to your liking, where is it that you were to meet after this mission ended?"

"Warehouse…South side of town…a block from the Feldoh's Heir's headquarters…we're going to scout…"

The hare left the fragment to dangle in the air, much to Antonio's chagrin. He turned to the guard.

"Tell Brull that the hare finally spoke. We know where they are now, we should be able to use this information to our advantage."

The guard nodded. Antonio watched as he stepped out of the door frame, into the hall, out of view-

-And then raced forward, slammed the door shut, slid the bolt back into place.

Quick beating of pawsteps from behind, soon followed by loud pounding against the door sounded.

"Do you know what the difference between a beast and a slave is?" Antonio spoke without turning around.

Tear-strained, the hare's voice wavered, "What are you…what are you talking about?"

"What separates a beast from a slave? What makes them different? Have you not ever pondered this? No, I would expect not. Allow me, then. A beast chooses; a slave obeys." He turned from the door. This time, his attention was focused upon the table, his instruments waiting upon the surface.

"This island has had more than it's share of murders over the past few weeks, as I am sure you have no doubt noticed. Most recent and notable of these was that of a wolf, not all that far from here."

"The wolfmaid? The young one, the girl, her?" babbled the hare.

Antonio cast his glance at the captive.

"We saw it – her, the murder, the murder sight, rather. She…she…it was one of us who did it, yeah, but he went rogue. Woxley was out of his melon. He did the whole thing on his own, he –"

"I do not think so. What I know is that it is considerably difficult to dispatch a wolf. Pacifistic though their inclinations may be, they would no doubt defend their own lives until the death were they in danger. To kill a wolf, no matter how young, would be the job of several beasts. You had a part in the murder as well."

"No, I-"

"The question that remains, though, is not one of whether you did or did not do it, though. It is under what pretenses." He made his way back over to the table. "Did you choose to slaughter this innocent bystander, or were you ordered to remove an obstruction by your superior officer?" Antonio retrieved the knife, moved back over to the hare. The edge of the blade pressed ever-so-slightly against the soft-furred flesh of the shoulder. "Are you a beast? Or a slave? We shall soon find out."

Antonio pressed upon the blade.

***

Voices spoke at the door. His ears were too preoccupied with the wet sound blood made as it constantly pattered a rhythm on the floor. The hare was inert upon the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the instruments, knife right down to the spoon, bloodied and in disarray. His paws ached as he fought not to bend down right then to right them. He settled for righting his posture.

From his pocket Antonio procured a small, grey square. Held between thumb and foreclaw he waved it under the hare's snout. Subtle movement tore his eyes from the misaligned tools.

"Smelling salts," said the stoat with a voice as stiff as his backbone. Bending only at the knee, he retrieved the knife.

"You are mixed. At one moment, your fortitude is quite strong; the next, it wavers. Quite hard to read."

His eyes remained on the hare's face even as the flat edges of the knife slid along its chest, cleaning the blade.

"But you know something? It is very interesting, but I realized, probably about, oh, midway through our discussion on spoons and how even the most inefficient weapon can be turned into an efficient interrogation aid. Whether you are a beast or a slave matters not."

He took a moment to survey his most recent work. It was vaguely irritating that the hare had begun to struggle futilely against his bonds, but once he noticed that the majority of them consisted of metal hooks burrowed into his flesh, he realized the fruitlessness of the venture. The wrist, the neck, a perfect line down the chest to the pelvis, the hip, a broken, untouched strip of flesh all the way down to the incision at the ankle – the cuts were precisely in place.

"If you are a beast, if you so chose to slaughter my colleague, then you deserve a proper execution. Is this not customary practice in your walk of life, killing killers, eliminating those you do not see fit to live? On the other paw, if you are in fact a slave, tied to orders rather than duty and choice, then you should not live. Your life is already nothing. I would be doing you a service to end it."

The hare muttered something.

"What was that?"

"…I'm sorry."

Antonio blinked.

"Your friend…I had…nothing to do…but…I'm…sorry."

For a breath he was very aware of how sharply the door rattled against its frame as fists on the other side continued to pound against it. Antonio moved to the head of the table, where a rope to which all the others were tied hung taught in the air, trailing up to the rafters, leading to the network of rope wound around them.

He began to cut through the fibers. He could barely make out a wave of relief as it flowed over the hare's features, made wrinkled and disgusting by the damage stress doled.

"Cutting me loose…thank you."

"I am not."

A breath stopped.

"…What?"

"You said you are sorry." Half-way through the rope now. "I am not."

A sound smaller than the pounding on the door yet infinitely more powerful commanded his attention, a kind of airy whine, the sound of hope leaving a beast through his lungs as terror floods them.

"No…no, please –"

"Yes, I imagine she said plenty of those. She had to be screaming her cries for a beast as far away as Aras to hear her. But you see, her knight arrived too late to save her. She died. Miles from home, in the arms of a beast who very well could have betrayed her, she died."

The knife cut the last fiber. At the sound of soaked tarps being torn in two, the mechanism finished its work in a moment's span, barely muting the throat-tearing sound that came from out the hare's mouth. Antonio's ears continued to ring from the scream a good time after the hare ceased. That thankfully blotted out the now fervent pounding upon the door timbers.

"You feel that, don't you? The rawness of everything. There is now nothing protecting the sensitive muscle from the harsh outer world." He procured the sack of sand, put a paw into it, flicked his wrist, letting fly the fine grains he held in his paw. The hare screamed again, a louder, wetter sound than before. "The sand, it was suddenly more gritty to her. The breeze, harsher." Antonio puckered his lips over the disgusting red mass he had transformed the hare into. He paused a moment at that thought and could offer only a smile to the fruit of his labor before he blew, forcing another cry from the twitching, throbbing red growth.

He dropped the bag, grasping the knife once more

"Forgive me; I have moved out of order. Before she was skinned, she was stabbed by arrows, one…"

Damp, muffled, thick thudding, a viscous impact all along the blade handle.
"Two…three…"

Two more, louder, stronger this time. Part of the blade may have fractured off into the thing's muscles.

"Four, the last one into her shoulder, more than likely paralyzing her arm, if Aras's reports are to be believed."

One more, this one tempered by stiff bone. This time the blade had surely fractured.

"A dagger to the back thereafter."

The last was a harder, defter impact than the predecessors, accompanied by a crunch akin to teeth grinding against a wet rag.

"Then the skinning. I have become a bit fatigued of late and my thinking is not what it should be. Moving on…the arrows…the dagger…ah, yes. That was not all…"

He was virtually on top of the hare now.

"She had another creature upon her back the entire time, fat, useless, over-cultured, pompous, self-righteous hare weight bearing down on her shoulders."

His brain gave not even a slight cry as he leapt from the ground to the table, instantly straddling what was probably once the red blob's chest. More screaming, more ringing in his ears – a full grin across his face. He brandished a small pen-knife of a blade, watching it descend as he spoke as though it moved on his own.

"And he cut into her with unsteady, drunken, swollen, infected paws, turning her from a living, breathing creature into a pile of throbbing, convulsing meat, from a creature of compassion to a thing with only sputtering its last arterial red breath left. A beast chooses, a slave obeys. Either I free you or I punish you."

Ever so slightly, the blade embraced the wet, sticky wall, soon nudging, soon pushing, soon forcing it's way in, torn down the mass of a body.

"Either way, it will be long, arduous work."

***

At the finish he surveyed himself in the mirror. A red-brown splotch dominated the left side of his vest. Unacceptable; he must correct this. Antonio dipped his paw back into the crimson muck, churned until an even consistency, each internal organ now fine slurry. With rehearsed artist's paws, he smeared his concoction over the right side of his vest in a perfect mimicry of the adjacent stain. Satisfactory at best but then he did not have the apt materials with which to work.

Now to complete his work…

Antonio flickered the lock open. Shortly after he turned his back to the door, somebeast spilled in. He recognized the voice even though the muffled yelp of shock.

"Miss Pearl. My apologies for the mess."

He turned to look at her. The vixen's paws remained glued to her snout, though her eyes quickly fluttered from anything within the room

"Did…did he…"

"I am afraid he did not betray much information save what I obtained before." For good measure, he pounded his fist upon the work table. That was what one did when they failed.

"Rest assured," he continued after he was sure he had taken the precise amount of time to utter a few strained breaths and appear as though he were trying to console himself with the fact that he had failed at getting almost any new information from the hare. "I will take care of this mess. You may go, unless you wish to stay."

She had seen, though. Though she may leave, she had seen what he had done. And she would tell the other's, no doubt. Precisely what he was counting upon. They would think him mad. They would become careless, let slip their secrets to him either through stress or because they viewed him at a mental handicap. Brull would think twice about challenging him. Aras would reconsider any plans he might have at double crossing him. Pearl…well, perhaps the only perk which would come of the whore being the one to directly witness his act would be that she would leave him alone, at last, and that kernel alone was not that bad of a perk. And the hare's would not dare mount another offensive, not when he would put the remnants of their last failed attempt out in plain view for them. And he hadn't entirely been lying about the new information. The hare had done more than scream before he passed out. He was on the strategic high-ground now. That was why he had done it.

Antonio cast a glance back to the hare. The one who was sorry.

"I'm sorry…about your father. I'm sorry"

The high ground. That was why he had done it.