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Chapter 53. Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury
by Brull

Brull didn't like having the ex-Brandy hunters in his parlour. Well, it was Pearl's parlour, technically, but given that the Sheriff had more or less adopted the Oasis as his head-quarters, the intrusion struck a personal note. He still didn't think much of Antonio and friends, and the sentiment was entrenched after the stoat struck him. The little puke hadn't even had the guts to stick around and actually fight.

And, Brull sneered, Antonio was sitting on the Sheriff's comfy chair, leaving the rat to stand over by a wooden ottoman. Ought to be a law...

Having found himself an adequately clean glass, Brull had poured himself a drink (Scarnose was an angel, the rat had decided), placing the bottle atop of the ottoman. It was odd, considering that the alcohol was supposed to be a depressant, but Brull felt sharper than he had the whole time he had been on the island. It was like he had woken up the dormant detective in him, who was now snooping around the parlour, gathering as much information as it could, relaying it back to the rat standing in the corner. The Sheriff loved when he was on his game; there was this wonderful inkling that he had a one-up on everyone else. When had he last felt this way? Not for a long time. Certainly not since he got on the island. Wonder what he had missed...

The parlour was still well kept. Actually, given this was a house of... ill trade (Brull almost coughed aloud at the thought, but stopped himself), he had been impressed with how the Oasis could easily pass as a completely legit place of operations. He had always thought that a brothel would be run down and seedy, but really, the quality of the house was pleasantly surprising: no dark corners, no creaking floor boards, no flies. Instead, the carpets were clean, the furniture was tended to, and the lamp-based lighting, if not extravagantly brilliant, still provided the parlour with a nice, homey feeling. How much did this place cost? Brull had to wonder, especially considering the rest of the city, as far as he had seen, probably didn't have establishments like this. Pearl had done well for herself, if she could afford a literal oasis in a desert of desolation.

The rat gazed sideways at the vixen. Early on, he figured he had Pearl all figured out: a soft hearted mother putting on a tough exterior, who was smarter than the average fox. Brull made a quick mental note that Pearl was far from the helpless image she liked to portray. Had to be, if she had this level of success. And here he was, thinking himself the saviour of the damsel in distress. Silly idea, the more he thought about it: Dealing with Nevyeer and Nelda as she had, escaping from the FH on her own... more to her than meets the eye. Now, did she cultivate the "helpless mother" image in order to get favours done for free? She did keep trying to make moves at the rat; possibly part of mind control via loins. Something to think about.

The Sheriff felt guilty for a second for thinking that. After all, the vixen had lost her kid, and anyone was bound to be torn up about it. And Pearl had always shown him kindness, which, a loose tooth and aching jaw reminded him, didn't happen all that often in this place. Still, the detective told him, something to think about.

Pearl was wearing a smart blouse and long skirt, nothing provocative. She was here to do business, not to seduce. Her jaw was set tightly, and her eyes were stern. There was nothing particularly motherly in her current demeanour. A small, occasional twitch of her tail and an absent-minded rubbing of her paws were the only signs that her nerves were on edge. No, she meant business, not holding paws and getting along while singing songs of joy and peace. Brull wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. He vowed to keep an eye on Pearl, just in case she wasn't all right in her judgement. He remembered a case back home when a mother went on a killing spree, convinced that everyone she met had kidnapped her child.

Pearl's tail twitched. Brull sipped his drink. What was every other beast up to?

Zula was sitting on a stool, her legs still not long enough to touch the floor. What went on underneath those stupid looking glasses, Brull wondered. If Pearl had things deeper than what was shown, maybe Zula did too. The rat rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Wouldn't it be funny, if this whole dopey persona of Zula's was an elaborate act? Then again, if she was smarter than she looked, maybe it wouldn't be funny at all. Fates only knew what was going on in the young vixen's head at the best of times, never mind if it turned out she had half a brain after all. Especially considering Zula herself looked less funny than usual. Maybe it was the bruises, or the fact that she wasn't smiling for once, or that usually vacant look in her eyes was missing.

Rekkua was noticeably absent. Brull wondered why.

There must have been something about fire that attracted scaly things, because that snake (What did Zula call it? Silly? No, wait, it was Silisk) was coiled close to the flames. The serpent didn't seem nearly as scared or insecure as one would expect a relative stranger to be amongst others she barely knew. On the contrary, with a nonchalant flick of her tongue and keeping her head slightly aloof, Brull got the distinct impression that Silisk believed herself to be in control of the situation, and the rest of them were the ones intruding. The Sheriff sipped his drink, mentally reprimanding himself for not seeking the snake out on their first night at Sarkleyet's. He knew virtually nothing about Silisk, save she liked palling around with Antonio, and was therefore a potential inhibitor. Ought to keep his eyes on her...

Antonio was, of course, still in Brull's comfy chair. Overlooking his personal dislike for the stoat, the Sheriff noticed that he no longer sat quite as straight, and that smug little grin he had worn was absent. A copious amount of blood was present on his clothing, presumably from his interrogation of the hare. If punching out Brull didn't prove that the clerk had some lead in his pencil after all, then this certainly did. Admitting reluctantly to himself that perhaps he had underestimated Toni's position as a power to be reckoned with, Brull took a sip of his bourbon and promised to get the stoat back for hitting him. It wasn't natural, being hit and not wanting to hit back...

Aras was dominating a red chesterfield; even if someone wanted to sit next to the wolverine, it would have been impossible. The somewhat dour expression on Aras's face would have soured any hopes to get comfortable around him anyways. A pawful of claws scratched absentmindedly into the fabric of the sofa-arm, which, coupled with a blank-stare into the fireplace, indicated the wolverine was doing some thinking, and was only half concerned with what was going on around him. Funny, Brull thought, that he had thought Aras incapable of any real thought; who else but a complete moron would let themselves be ordered around by Sarkleyet when they could easily rip him to shreds? Still didn't make sense.

Brull sipped his drink. He had missed, it seemed, quite a lot.

"Sandy's safety is the only thing that matters to me now." This declaration of Pearl's raised a few eyebrows, and a mean spirited snicker from a certain older fox in the corner.

"Protecting that whelp because you couldn't save your own?" Nelda sneered. "How sentimental. I may just start tearing up."

Pearl stared cooly down at Nelda. "Just because you've sold your soul along with your body numerous times over doesn't mean all of us have."

"Only because no one would have a mongrel like you."

Brull beckoned Scarnose over with a wag of his claw and whispered something. The stoat nodded.

"Ladies, if I may," Antonio mumbled, rubbing his brow with irritation. "We are here to discuss important matters, not pursue the fine art of insults."

"You say 'ladies' as if there's more than one," said Pearl, still glaring angrily at her counterpart.

"Oh, I reckon me mam's a lady, Miss Pearl," Zula added helpfully. "That's what all the gentle-foxes say. 'Scept that one who asked why there was another todd in bed with 'em..."

"You shut up!" Nelda screeched, grabbing a flower vase off of a shelf. Before she could throw the thing, Scarnose, who had snuck behind the vixen, grabbed her by the arms, putting her in a full-nelson. Still furious, Nelda kicked and squirmed, trying to break free of the hold. "Pah! Search for your frog-spawn, Pearl! The little worm's probably got its head stuck in a sewer somewhere. Like grand mother, like..."

The slap which Pearl delivered to Nelda's face reminded Brull of the sound made when a wooden mallet crushed an overripe pear. Make that a mouldy pear, in this case. Having knocked her taunter speechless, Pearl tried to compose herself while Scarnose hauled the other vixen away. Seeming somewhat embaressed after losing control in front of all the others, Pearl tried to change the subject back to relevant matters. "Well, any ways, I intend to seek out Sandy. Anyone who wants to help me is free to."

The silence in the room was only interrupted by the shuffling of paws, or the crinkling of clothes as beasts tried to see if anyone else was volunteering. Brull became very interested in the bottom of his glass.

"...No one?"

Deciding to say what no one else dared, Antonio placed his paws on his lap and explained. "Miss Pearl, while your grief over the loss of your child is understandable, you must understand that given the myriad of catastrophes that threaten to overtake us at any given time, searching for Sandy takes a lower priority to most of the beasts here."

Pearl opened her mouth to object, but staring at the blank faces in the parlour, seemed to realize that the truth was both painful and obvious. "Sheriff Brull?"

Oh, why'd she have to go and do that? As if staring at a glass of liquid wasn't message enough that he didn't want to talk. Damn it all. "Miss Pearl, you know that I want you and your kit to be back with one another, sure you do. I helped break into that building just for that reason, didn't I?" He tried talking to her face, but the utter disappointment of one seeing her friends abandon her was too strong, and Brull lowered his head again. "But, I mean, she wasn't in that prison, or in the FH building, and I don't know where else she could be. And with mad martens running around and hares popping out of no where, there's just too many other things for me too look at..."

"So Sandy's not important?" Pearl stated coldly, cruelly crushing Brull's attempts at justification.

"I didn't say that. I'm saying that there are other things going on." The rat could feel his compassion for the vixen being rapidly replaced with annoyance. Curse it all, he had counted on Pearl backing him up in case a debate started between him and Antonio. Why was Pearl being so selfish about this?

"I know that!" the vixen snapped. "But if you don't mind my saying so, Sandy is all I have left to fight for, and some support would be appreciated!"

What could you say to a despondent female when she wasn't going to listen to reason? Brull wasn't certain what the best way of going about this was. Maybe truthfully? "Well, you can't win them all."

A groan from Pretty Ears and a mumbled "Oh, Gates," from Antonio indicated that that was not the best way to go about doing it.

Absolutely livid, Pearl didn't seem to want to hear the rest of Brull's argument. "Of course," Pearl ended the conversation just as Brull was getting ready to back up his case. He hated when females did that! Regarding the audience with the feelings of betrayal slowly dripping from her eyes, the vixen turned to walk out. "Enjoy my parlour," she said without feeling. "Clean up after you're done." And with that, Pearl exited the room, with Emma following her out.

The self-concious silence which followed was abruptly ended by Silisk. "What is a 'Sandy,' prithee?"

"Oh, it's like a me, but smaller," Zula explained. Then, less cheerfully, she wondered aloud, "I notice no one ever asks me for help..."

"Congratulations on bolstering morale, Sheriff," Antonio commented, inspecting his claws.

Sneering, Brull took an overlarge swig of his bourbon, which burned unpleasantly. He hated when the snide little clerk was right. That had went badly, and Brull knew it. But what else was he supposed to do? It was the truth, wasn't it? Spies are lurking around the Oasis, and she wants to look for a kid which may or may not even still be alive? See, he told himself, this is why you never get involved with females! They never wasn't to talk about things. They just go on and on about little things, and they never listen to reason... Thankfully, Brull found, his bourbon was more than understanding, and consolidated him correspondingly.

"If we can get back on topic," said Aras, impatient.

"How'd you get your shirt so messy, Mr. Antonio?" Zula asked.

For once, the obsessive stoat didn't seem chronically depressed that his shirt was less than perfect. "Our late night visitor was reluctant to fill out the necessary forms required to enter, and I had to convince him otherwise." Brull wasn't certain, but he could have sworn Antonio made a passive grin in the rat's direction. Was he supposed to be impressed? "The hare was presumably a member of the Long Patrol detachment present on the island. He and some comrades had heard of the Red Brandy and were trying to investigate. He also informed me that the rendezvous point was a block away from the Felldoh's Heir's building on the south side."

Realizing that everyone in the room was looking admirably at the stoat for providing this valuable data, Brull realized that maybe an oral analysis was in order. "Well, that gives us something to think about..."

"Presumably, that is why the hare was confiscated and interrogated," Silisk interrupted. The Sheriff made a mental memo that he didn't like the snake much either.

"For starters, it means Sarky's well kept secret of the Red Brandy isn't so well kept..."

"Ooh, do we have some brandy?" the drunken street rat asked. "I ain't had any of that since..."

"Wait, what's a Red Brandy?" another one of the escaped prisoners inquired, followed by several other curious voices. Brull had forgotten that there were more beasts on the island than the original ten that had escaped from the basement of the inn. How many of them were still almost grateful that Brull had broken them out of prison? Probably not grateful enough to not steal the Red Brandy and sell it when they thought no one was looking.

"Pretty Ears, see everyone out, save our new guests and Zula," Brull ordered. This was naturally greeted with some protest, but oddly, every beast seemed to leave the room once Pretty Ears looked at them. What was with that fox and his power of persuasion, anyway? It was something to think about, Brull knew, as the handsome right-paw bowed to the Sheriff, taking his own leave and shutting the door. "Now, as I was saying, news of the Red Brandy is getting out, and believe you me, every beast is going to want it for something or rather. That is, I'm guessing you still have it?"

Antonio nodded. "Yes, or at least, we have the box in which it is located. The thing is infuriatingly locked."

"Be that as it may, the longer we have that thing here, the bigger target we have saying 'Come and kill us.' Not to mention there's that Cast-iron bloke, or whatever you call him."

Antonio twitched. "His name is Castille. He is a sable, and I believe you have heard our reports on his actions."

Did in Sybil and saved Brull the trouble. Couldn't be all bad. "And I've heard enough. I say we chuck the Red Brandy and forget about it altogether."

This didn't please the stoat at all. "Not after three of my comrades have died looking for it in the first place."

"Three now, Tony, and how many more? Better to cut our losses."

"They are not losses, they are dead individuals with feelings of their own." For some reason that Brull didn't quite understand, using statistics annoyed the statistician.

"If I may," Silisk hissed, holding her head aloft as she was about to make the announcement of the evening, revealing an enlightened outlook that not a soul had considered. "The fact that the masses clamour for our Brandy means that it is valuable. To throw it away would be folly."

"And to keep it would be even worse."

Without waiting for someone to notice her up-stretched paw, Zula spoke up. "What if we just give it back to Mr. Sarky? I'm sure he'll like it back."

"No." Aras's one syllable answer was empathetic and decisive, and killed the debate as quickly as if the wolverine had shredded all dissenters with his massive claws.

Zula seemed put out that her contribution to this important meeting was being crushed without any consideration at all. "Well, if not Mr. Sarky, then what about Mr. Nevyeer? He's a little funny, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

The eyes of the Brandy hunters lit up. "You found Nevyeer?" Antonio queried.

Happy that beasts seemed interested in what she had to say, the young fox nodded. "Yup, he's got a nice shed in the sewers. And lotsa books. Ooh, I wonder if he could fix your puzzle for you, Mister Antonio?"

The stoat at least seemed to consider the issue. "Perhaps."

Amusing as the idea of Antonio trying to reason with insanity of Nevyeer was, Brull still wasn't convinced. "I still think you ought to just throw it in the sea or something..."

"You seem to have an awful lot of opinions over something that is not your concern," Silisk once again interrupted.

Oh yeah, he really didn't like the snake. "Course it's my concern! If something's going to get me killed..."

"You made it very clear that you wanted nothing to do with the Red Brandy," Silisk explained, with all the condescension in the world at her command, "and did absolutely nothing in getting it this far. You hardly have a right to decide what happens to it."

"Listen, you talking piece of twine..."

"Twine!?" It was hard to tell whether the insult or indignity was more prominent in Silisk's voice. "You fur ridden pest, do you know who you are speaking to?"

"Yeah, a snake who's gonna get a face-full of fist if she doesn't stop interrupting me!"

Zula's eyes opened in alarm. "Don't do that, Mr. Sheriff, sir! Silly didn't mean it!"

"Can we please get back to business?" The wolverine, it seemed, was not in the mood for personality clashes.

"I think Silisk is correct in her diagnosis, Sheriff," Antonio announced, slightly smug that Brull was being shut out of at least one thing. "At any rate, the Brandy is in our possession, and we will decide what is to be done with it."

"What if the hairy things still want it?" Zula questioned. "They might not be happy."

"And that," said Brull, "brings me to point number two. Those hares came to this specific house, specifically looking for us. That means we've made a name for ourselves."

"That will happen when you light a building on fire."

Ignoring Silisk, the Sheriff continued. "It's safe to say that it's not going to be the Long Patrol versus the Red Dusk, or the FH vs Evnakt, while we sit behind a steel curtain and don't worry about a thing. We just got well and truly placed in this game, whether we want it or not."

"So it would seem," Antonio agreed. "But I doubt you are merely narrating the turn of events. What do have as a suggestion?"

"Now, much as I hate to admit it, there are more odds then I can count blocking escape, even if we could get enough beasts willing to board a ship. So that means we're stuck here. And if we're stuck here, I reckon we ought to establish ourselves as something that doesn't let hares sneak into their base."

"Ooh, you mean like if we got on Mr. Sarky's side again?" Zula added helpfully.

"Mm," Antonio mused, rubbing his chin. "There would be a benefit in numbers, and yet..."

"Forget Sarkleyet."

All eyes turned to Brull, who stood, he hoped, in a defiant pose, leaning against the ottoman and drinking his bourbon. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said forget Sarkleyet. Forget the Red Dusk, forget Nevyeer, forget the whole lot of them. No more running favours, no more cow-towing to nutty mustelids. We go into business for ourselves."

That earned a defiant laugh from Silisk. "You wish to cut your nose off to spite your face. I do not enjoy the marten scientist's company, but having some ally is better than none at all."

What was it that the Earl had said about foreign relations? "Having more friends than enemies?" Funny thing to remember. "Sarky's half of the problem. He thinks he can run the island, and if we do get the woodlanders out, I still don't think he's going to just let the beasts who know about his experiments just get off freely."

"So you hope to battle both sides of the war? To what end, persay?"

"Survival, persay. Both sides don't care a lick about us, no matter what you think. The FH wants us dead, and the RD thinks we're fodder for the fire. Why'd you think you lot got sent on that damn fool errand? Because you're expendable, that's why!"

Silisk hissed. "Stop trivializing the Brandy. As I have said, we have a valuable..."

"All you have," Brull spat, "is a valuable sack of..."

"Sheriff Brull," said Antonio, capping off the series of interruptions. "They only thing gained by creating a third side in a war is to give every other beasts someone else to fight."

"Well, unless every beast aims to sit down and talk things over, yeah, I reckon we're going to do some fighting." Practically hearing the eyes rolling, and feeling insulted that he was being dismissed, the Sheriff pointed in the air empathetically. "Listen, you can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs. We're rapidly approaching a last-beast-standing type of situation, and I'm not planning on being part of the hill of skulls for the victor to sit on. They hit us, we hit them harder." He thought after the killing of the freak-fox, the Brandy Hunters would be dying for revenge. Wasn't natural, being hit and not wanting to hit back.

"Your opinion of your own abilities is grand, if not absurd," Silisk scoffed. "If we must play this game, we must play it with our wits, not our fists." Smirking, she added, "which means, of course, you cannot play."

Furious at this constant condescension and far beyond caring about whether or not he was going to convince anyone of his plans, Brull dropped what he liked to call his 'business tone' of voice. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I don't remember giving you permission to talk."

If the rat hated being talked down to, it seemed the snake wasn't a big fan either. "Sweet... permission...you insolent cur!" Darting from her fireplace, Silisk stopped in front of Brull, raising herself so she could look him in the eye. "I ought to have you flayed for such an insult!"

"Aw, muffin!" Brull cooed in mock concern. "Did her royal highness forget that she's two acorns shy of being the size of a cockroach?"

"You are a vile, bloated, intoxicated meat-sack! It is a sheer miracle that anyone in this house of sin takes you seriously!"

"They take me seriously 'cause I keep them alive! How are you lot doing in that department?"

"At least we do not alienate the ones we swore to protect!"

Damn it all, that was not his fault! And he didn't like having Pearl angry at him! Luckily, he found that laying Silisk unconscious on the floor with a swift right-fist into the side of her head proved an effective stress reliever.

A shrill shriek burst from Zula before any other beast had the opportunity to act. Shuffling over to the fallen snake, the young fox looked positively upset with Brull. "You oughtn't hit Silly like that, Mister Sheriff, sir!" she chided him. "She's my friend, she is! And you oughtn't hit her."

Oh lovely, now he had Zula mad at him too. What a night this was turning out to be. "She'll live, don't worry," he offered as consolation. He noticed a hint of a smirk on Antonio's face, which vanished almost as soon as it appeared.

"I know that," said Zula, sticking her bottom lip out. "I know everyone thinks I'm stupid, but I know enough about bein' hit an' all to know that it hurts, and I don't like Silly getting hurt." And before Brull could apologize, the young vixen heaved the snake over her shoulder and padded out of the room.

Hating just about everything in the world, Brull turned his attention to his bourbon. Now he knew why he had so animatedly avoided becoming attached to others: because they always got bent out of shape over the most trivial things. He noticed that no one seemed to be trying overly hard to understand him.

Antonio was still here. Brull wished he wasn't. The silence in the room was a cover for the triumphant music that must have been basking the stoat. The rat decided to pretend that his nemesis wasn't there, staring at the fireplace instead. Knowing that no finishing blow was needed to cement his knockout of this boxing match, Antonio simply smirked in satisfaction and obligingly left the parlour. Brull doubted that he had ever come to hear the rat's plans.

Grumbling, the rat turned his back on the lounge, taking his treasured bourbon flask by the neck and, damning all manners, took a drink directly from the bottle. Well, he mused, that went poorly. Every beast running around, doing their own thing, with no set goal. Not the way to get things done. No, they definitely all should be listening to Brull. Of that, he was completely certain. Damn it all, he had a plan, and knew how to go about solving it! No silly boxes or clues or riddles. Of course, once again, no one ever listened. Leaving the conquering hero to save the world by himself, alone, as always. Wiping his mouth with a sleeve, Brull grumpily convinced himself to leave the ottoman in the corner and stumble up to bed.

And he would have, too, if he wasn't stopped short, completely stunned, by finding that he was not alone in the parlour at all.

"Sheriff Brull." The wolverine was either unaware of the rat's shock of his continued presence, or was immune to showing any more emotion then necessary.

Brull prided himself on not being phased by much, but he had thought that Aras had left with the rest of his usual group, and the sight of an unexpected, massive, claw-embedded juggernaut, who was staring very intently in his direction, was enough to make even the Sheriff balk. Coughing on his choked drink, Brull gasped out a response. "Gack! How'd you... caff! How's a bloke like you sit so quiet like that? Thought you'd left."

The wolverine didn't flinch through the rat's coughing fit. Rising from the sofa, Aras padded over towards Brull's corner. "Sorry if I surprised you. There are some things I want to talk to you about."

Having gained his composure, the Sheriff couldn't help but notice that the wolverine's wall-like body was all but blocking any possible dashes for the door. "Such as?"

"Your plan for the near future. Specifically, taking back the town."

Oh, of course, Brull mentally gulped. Made perfect sense. Antonio was sending in the wolverine to rub out the rat. Should have seen this coming. the stoat had spent more than enough time with Aras to win him over, just like with Silisk, and now they were all one big, happy family who stuck with one another through thick and thin. And with Antonio and Brull at loggerheads, with the rat acting as leader of a plan that the stoat did not agree with, he would simply remove the problem at its source. "Yes?"

"The others... they don't seem to like the idea of killing in order to get what they want."

"So it would seem." Now, how did one fight a wolverine? Brull was no light weight, but the wolverine surpassed him in just about every category. He intently gripped the elongated, glass neck of his best friend in the world, ready to sacrifice him if the situation arose. "'Course, I've never been worried about what others think, 'specially those who don't do what needs to be done."

"I agree."

Ikaras smiled, long fangs showing underneath his lip. The Sheriff noticed a hint of rosy stain on the ivory spikes. Brull visibly blanched as he put two and two together: It didn't take a detective to figure out how one got red markings on their teeth, but it would have taken a beast of steel to not twitch at the connotation that it implied. Screw fighting; Brull's mind rapidly tried to figure out how quickly he could actually run if put to the test.

"And that's why I want in."

Fortunately, time obligingly stopped for a quick eternity, permitting Brull's nerves to cease their rapid-firing as he stared blankly at the giant beast in front of him. If Brull had been penning the greatest mystery novel of all time within the last minute, then this was the plot twist that caused the reader to stare at the page, rereading multiple times to make sure it actually made sense. "What?"

"I agree with your plan. Removing the obstacles in the way of peace and escape is our best move."

A few blinks did nothing to ease a still rapidly beating heart which didn't know that the time of danger was over, if it had ever existed. "Excuse me," the rat mumbled. Not bothering with a glass, Brull removed the cork of his bottle and inhaled a good third of the bourbon within. His throat and tongue hated him for it, but his shaking paws appreciated his concern. Gasping for air as he removed the relief effort from his lips, there was something Brull didn't understand at all. "Why?"

Now it was Aras's turn to seem taken aback. "Why not?"

Rapidly shaking his head, Brull explained. "Oh no, don't get me wrong. I'm as happy as can be that you're on my side. Oh, good Gates, I'm happy you're on my side! But it doesn't add up. I mean, when I tried to run the idea of escaping by you the first time, on the night we were brought in, you shot me down as quick as you could."

The wolverine paused, nodding slowly. Like Brull, he probably couldn't believe it had only been a few days since they met either. "Things change," was the answer he provided.

Feeling somewhat bolder after his drink, Brull (with a slight stagger) moved out the corner, making sure that Aras was no longer in between him and the parlour door. "Nuh-uh. Things don't change unless something changes them, and I want to know what exactly changed your mind." There was still the realistic possibility that Aras was to act as a plant against the Sheriff's plans, and at the very least, Brull wanted a believable story as to why he should trust him.

Aras didn't seem pleased at this prodding, and with his eyes averted, gave a carefully considered response. "When all this began, I had... other obligations. To other creatures. And it seemed that staying on this island was the best way to carry out these obligations. Soon after, I found myself once again in indentured servitude, this time to Sarkleyet."

Brull interrupted with a quick laugh. "A big fellow like you, intimidated by that runt?"

Clenching his claws at the memory, Aras growled. "He knew of something which would... compromise my stay. He agreed to keep quiet about it as long as I hunted for his Red Brandy."

"And, ah, what do you know now that you didn't know before? What's switched your course?"

Staring the rat straight in the eye, Aras gave an answer which Brull understood and believed to be true. "I'm tired of being controlled by other beasts. And if I get off this island, and get back home, I won't have to worry about playing butler to creatures I could probably snap in half."

The wolverine's expression was set as stone: a furrowed brow, fists clenched in frustration, a small twitch in the gums at being held helpless by forces outside his control. If he was acting, then he was doing a fine job of it. Brull took a contemplative sip. The story worked, and was in Aras's character. The wolverine himself seemed sincere, and even if Brull was prepared to watch his new partner's doings with a scrutinising eye, at the very least he trusted him for the moment. "I'll buy that," he said, starting to hold his arm out before deciding that shaking paws would be a bit odd. "And if we happen to go against the wishes of Tony and friends...?"

"Then we go against his wishes. He'll probably cry."

That was what Brull wanted to hear. At the very least, the wolverine wasn't still on the stoat's side. Allowing some of the happiness of his liquid dinner to seep into his speech, Brull became positively cheerful. "Lovely. Aras, I'm glad we're on the same page. I thought for a second there, you were going to talk me out of it."

That brought something of a grumbling chuckle out of Aras. "Oh? Afraid I would tear you to shreds, hm? I thought you seemed nervous. Not many beasts indulge in that much alcohol unless pushed. You drink far too much, Sheriff Brull."

Brull didn't like being nervous, really didn't like when others knew he was nervous, and really, really didn't like when jokes made about it. Slightly embarrassed, he defended his drinking habits. "Well, we all have vices. I have my booze, and you have whatever it is you do to get those red stains on your teeth."

The quick shifts between surprise, suspicion, and possibly anger on the face of Aras hinted that Brull had said far too much. Making sure he still had the glass bottle by the neck, the rat watched tensely as the wolverine rubbed one of his fangs with a claw, which indeed showed signs of red residue. If his next words were, "You know too much," Brull was prepared to set a record for sprinting. Aras didn't seem to be contemplating murder; it looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to fabricate a story for his dental gaff.

Aras glanced sidelong at the rat, apparently deciding what to make of this. "So you know." A long silence followed, which, if tense, was devoid of Brull being killed. "And... will this affect our partnership?"

The rat blinked. The wolverine was the one looking for forgiveness for his actions? Of course: that was what Sarky was able to find out and hold over him. If it wasn't guilt, then Aras knew how his dietary habits would hinder his interactions with others. And how! Aras was probably the only creature Brull had ever met that truly intimidated him, and this newfound piece of information wasn't doing much to improve his feelings. But the wolverine was on board with the Sheriff's plans, and what's more, seemed to want to be a part of things. The thing would have to be overlooked.

"No, no, I don't think so," the Sheriff said slowly, making sure not to commit any more verbal errors. "I mean, we're both going for the same prize, aren't we? No sense in letting little things like cannibalism get in the way."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Well, it gives one's head a turn, if you hear me, and I don't fancy you should go around telling every beast about it, but so long as you don't plan on adding me to your lunch, I reckon I can get over it."

"Don't worry. You don't look appetizing," Aras mumbled, waiting about five seconds before adding a small laugh. Brull hoped that the statement was intended as a joke from the beginning, and that the laugh wasn't just an add-on.

Taking another drink (and recognizing, sadly, that he was down to a third of his bourbon), Brull tried to ease the situation by at least appearing understanding. "Stranger things done in the midnight sun, of course. So, tell me, do all wolverines... do what you do, or is that just a personal choice?"

Sighing heavily, Aras plodded back to his couch and sat down. "We used to, and it used to be fine, culturally. It was a natural source for sustenance, and provides all the essential elements a beast of my size would need."

"So what changed?"

"We started to accept limitations and rules, placed upon us by beasts who didn't understand, and were afraid because of it. And so the others of my species allowed themselves to be emasculated, permitting other, smaller creatures to tell them what they could and could not do." Closing his eyes, Aras took a deep breath. "The northlands are cold and barren, and the winters are long. If I didn't eat another creature, I would die. Simple as that."

Feeling chilly, Brull went to the fire place and shrugged. "Makes sense."

Aras made a deep, quick, "Humph," noise. "My logic for taking a life doesn't appal you? I'm surprised. Most beasts would consider it uncivilized."

Brull laughed, almost chummy. "You did what you had to do to survive, and that makes more than enough sense to me. No sense in sitting high and righteous while being dead, is there? Ah, I know, most of them wouldn't understand. A societal type like Antonio could probably afford to stick to his morals, knowing that he'll still have a comfy bed the next day, no matter what. That freak-fox, too, Rea. Getting her little 'magic-powers' for free without even breaking a sweat for them. Beasts like that don't understand guys like you and me."

The wolverine raised a sceptic eyebrow. "Like us?"

"Course. Bit and fought my way every inch of the road here. I remember as just a little kid, not a penny in the world, no idea where I came from or who my mother was. All I knew was that there was an uncaring world that didn't mind if I fell over and died. Started out jumping apple carts on their way to market. Know how much you make jumping apple carts?"

"Not much."

"Spot on. It didn't help that I wasn't smart enough to not rob from the same carter each time. One day he catches me in the act of pinching his purse, and out comes a gang of stoats who kick the stuffing out of me. It's a miracle I made it out alive. After I got back up and wiped the dirt and blood off, I decided that this was no way to spend a life. So I headed off to the Earldom of Meadowtop, ready to take on the world." Smirking, Brull took a quick sip. He found he liked reminiscing, and was glad someone had enough patience to hear him out. "Got a job as a cook, at first. Actually, that's not the right term. I was head potato-peeler and onion chopper. Thought I'd never get the smell off my paws. The pay was lousy, and all I got out of it was some crummy table they called a bed. Sounds fun, right?"

Aras seemed a little impatient with this sudden decision of Brull to recall his life's story. "Perhaps we should return to the business a hand..."

"Oh, I'm certain I could have moved up to chief soup maker in twenty seasons, and maybe even get a pension about five seconds before I died. You get it, right?" Brull asked, suddenly feeling concerned that someone hear his life story and not judge him (this wasn't like him at all; he correctly attributed his sentimentality to the few ounces of bourbon yet remaining in his bottle). "You see, I tried walking the straight and narrow. I know what beasts think of me: that I'm some kind of naturally angry tea-pot ready to explode at anything that gets in my way, and I solve all my problems with my fists. S'pose I am, in a way. But only because playing by the rules and being nice doesn't seem to get anything done. Work hard and fortune will come? Hah! That only works when you start out with fortune. If you've got nothing, you're going to stay with nothing, unless you make your own rules and do what you have to. Make your own breaks."

"Sheriff Brull, as interesting as all this is, I really think we should focus on..."

"Found myself palling around with a couple of crooks. Damn good ones, too. Had a paw in nearly every pocket, it seemed. So I joined up and did a few jobs with them, learned all the ropes it took to covering ones tracks and staying out of the public eye. Know what I did then?"

"Became a leader of a chivalrous group of thieves who robbed from the rich and gave to the poor?" the wolverine grumbled.

"Wrong!" Brull shouted, enthusiastically pointing at a startled Aras, managing to nearly tip himself over in the process. "I turned the lot of them in to the law, and saw each and every one of them hang!"

Aras blinked. If he had been only half-listening before, this latter piece of information had his interest. "You betrayed your comrades?"

Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Brull grinned. "Betrayed seems a bit sinister way of putting it, but sure, why not? If it makes it easier, yeah, I betrayed them. Was it a dirty move? Sure. Was it immoral? Absolutely. And did I wake up the next morning in a nice warm bed, having been made a deputy of the law for my accomplishments? You bet."

"Dare one ask how you got to become Sheriff?"

"See, when the old Sheriff of Meadowtop died, the Earl needed to find a new one. No direct line of succession, y'see, because there were a few of us deputies. So the only way any beast was going to get the job was to distinguish themselves. And I tell you, there's nothing I wanted more than to call myself Sheriff. Still do. Nothing gets respect like being a Sheriff.

"But I needed a case. Something big, something only I could crack. And nothing big seemed to be happening in town. So what do I do? I make my own breaks. I make my own case!"

"...You committed a crime... just so you could solve it?" Aras pieced the story together aloud, just to make sure that the rat's intoxicated ramblings were somewhat coherent.

"Sure! Why not? So long as a crime is solved and beasts feel safe and secure at the end of it, no one cares whether or not justice was served."

"But how could you possible prove anything without pointing a claw at yourself?"

A sudden warning light pierced the bourbon haze in Brull's mind, stopping him just as his mouth opened. Aras had known her, hadn't he? Of course he had, they went Brandy Hunting, didn't they? He wondered how much he actually cared... No matter, better to give an abridged version, just to be safe. "See, I found this marten. Reckoned herself a thief. She's new to town and she doesn't realize that I'm a deputy. So I take her aside and tell her I've got a job for her. We had this museum, where a bunch of rusting and shiny things from who-knows-when are being stored. I don't get them, but the Earl thinks they're important, and certainly doesn't want them stolen. So naturally, I give the marten the information on how to get in and out with some jewellery, on account that she's more nimble and fit than me. So she goes for it and nabs the loot. Earl's furious, nobles in an uproar that someone dare steal their priceless relics! So naturally, when a humble Deputy Brull uses his incredible deducting skills to produce not only the stolen merchandise, but the thief as well, they promote him to Sheriff Brull! Now, how d'you like that?"

Aras clicked his claws reflectively. "You surprise me, Sheriff Brull. I had indeed expected you to merely be an angry, steaming tea-kettle. I suppose the marten in question died?"

Chuckling quietly, Brull finished off his bottle. "You should know."

"What?"

"I said I don't know. She escaped."

There was a long silence in which cannibal and a committer of mass perjury collected their thoughts. "Well," Aras finally spoke up, "I suppose we know one another's secrets now."

"S'pose we do. Heh, at least we don't have to worry about getting into something neither of thinks is morally ambiguous."

"An army of sinners, trying to save the souls of others..." the wolverine mused, staring at the fire. "We ought to come up with a plan, then."

Tossing the bottle over his shoulder, Brull nodded, as he waddled towards the door. "Right you are. How about in an hour or two?"

"Why not now?"

The rat grinned a wide grinned as he narrowly avoided colliding with the door frame. "Because I just drank an entire bottle of bourbon, and if you don't mind, I'd like to go collapse in a corner somewhere and die."