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Chapter 62. Only the Good Die Young
by Aras

Why i seek you.

Why does somebeast seek something? Why does anybeast seek anything?

Aras rubbed wearily his forehead, trying to massage his brain into action. His thoughts had been chasing each other in circles for what felt like hours, without ever producing the right answer.

The first problem, of course, was that there was no way of knowing who "you" or "I" – check that, "i," since Brull had specified that it was lower-case – actually referred to. The second problem was that most of the motivations that Aras could fathom for seeking things contained more than four letters. He'd tried G-R-E-E and G-R-E-D as skewed forms of "Greed", just in case. Nothing. He'd extrapolated to M-O-N-Y, P-O-W-R, W-L-T-H, and eventually the simplistic B-C-U-Z. Still nothing.

"Aras."

"What?"

"Stop fiddling with that thing. They'll probably be coming around on patrol again any minute."

Aras sighed, and forced himself to shove the lockbox into his pack. P-A-C-K, he thought. What if it's that? His claws itched to test it, even if he knew full well that it was incorrect, because there was still the remote possibility that it wasn't. Despite the frustration, the loathing for this stupid riddle, something deep inside of him yearned to keep trying. It was like an itch, burning deep within the confines of his mind, which he was powerless to scratch.

He forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. "Have you spotted one yet?"

The Sherriff shook his head. "Nah. The guards are mostly otters and hedgehogs, big brutish types. All male, too."

After lengthy discussion, Brull and Aras had elected to scope out the Felldoh's Heirs' infirmary. Odds were, most of the delicate young things would have been stationed there, out of harm's way. Ironic, that. However, they'd failed to take into account that the buildings were unmarked, and neither of them knew enough of the city to guess at where the Heirs were keeping their wounded. So they had resigned themselves to skulking about in the shadows until an appropriate target presented itself.

"Ssh," Brull cautioned, his voice low. "I hear somebeast."

Aras crouched, straining. Voices welled up from the unseen street, faint at first. As the sentries got closer, the burblings crystallized into voices.

"Oi, mate, hold up a sec. Stubbed me paw on summat."

"Gah, Kiper, you clumsy git. That's the third time you've stubbed it since brekkist."

"Well, I can't help it. It's got a mind of its own, me paw."

"Yeah, it took the one out of your 'ead."

Kiper thought about this for entirely too long before laughing. "Dawhaha. That's a good one, mate. Oi, speakin' of bekkist, when do we get lunch, anyhow?"

"Dunno. Travi an' Bernis are s'posed to relieve us, soon as they're done eatin' their lunch."

"No wonder it's takin' so long, then. Bernis has got a belly like a barrel, it'll take him all day to fill it."

"You're one to talk, mate. I once saw you eat two trifles by yourself yesterday."

The two sentries continued on down the street, gabbing amicably.

"Ruddy woodlanders and their ruddy lunches," said Brull. "You could fill half a book just talking about their lunches. Heh, ought to nab one of their cooks instead. Fancy they'd hate losing them." The rat looked back at Aras before adding, "I guess you're not much for trifle, though."

The wolverine smiled. "Not really, no." He shook his head, amazed at how quickly his dietary habits had become normal to Brull.

"What I wouldn't give for a good trifle," Brull lamented, drifting off. "Fruit and cream, and chunks of pastry all soaked in brandy... wonderful stuff, Aras. I'd have fifteen of those. Come to think of it, I'd have it without the cream. Can't stand that stuff. Gets stuck in the whiskers. Forget the fruit, too. And the pastry. In fact, The brandy's really the only good bit of a trifle."

Something went click in Aras' head. "Lunch," he said.

"Hold on there," said Brull sharply. "I like jokes as much as the next fellow, but, given the circumstances, I think the minute you start calling me 'Lunch' we'd be better off working separately."

"No, I wasn't talking about you." Aras paused. "You'd probably taste ruddy terrible, anyway, with all the alcohol gunking up your innards."

Brull opened his mouth to protest, but Aras held up a reassuring paw. "It's okay, Sherriff. Kidding." Kind of.

"What I actually meant was, the sentries are going for lunch. We should follow them."

A distinct twinkle appeared in Brull's eye. "Right. Because all of the Heirs go to the mess, sooner or later."

"And we can find ourselves a lady friend."

They both grinned.

=-=-=-=-=

"Anything yet?"

"Nope. It's been all ruddy males coming in and out of there, save for one or two females that look like they'd sooner bathe in blood than bathwater. We need somebeast... soft. Dainty."

Aras cursed. "I don't know if we're going to find one. They'd probably have to be the hardened sort to come out here."

"Phah, maybe. Bloody fates, we must've been here for hours. How ruddy long can a lunch last, anyhow?"

Being used to more unconventional mealtimes, Aras hadn't the faintest idea. He gave a passive shrug, and withdrew the puzzle box from his bag. If we're already stuck in one unsolvable mess, we might as well throw an unsolvable puzzle on top.

Brull shook his head. "Not that stupid thing again."

"Might as well pass the time doing something constructive."

The rat snorted derisively. "Suit yourself."

Aras grasped a pawful of his headfur and pinched, hoping that the pain would stir up some kind of solution. Just looking at the little lettered dials was beginning to give him a headache. Why on earth does anybeast seek anything?

Something bothered him about the phrase. It was vague, but it wasn't... clearly vague. Riddles, in Aras' experience, made some kind of sense when you solved them. But there wasn't any clear causal path that he could see. Why i seek you. Why i seek you. Why i bloody well seek you. Four letters. Whyiseekyou. Aras rubbed his bleary eyes. Stupid box with its stupid riddles. Four letters. I've already tried all that I can think of, and it's so bloody useless. Why... i... seek... you... Why the bloody Hellgates would they tell anybeast to remember that?

Aras blinked, feeling a new avenue opening in the corridors of his mind. Wait. Four words. Four words, a phrase. That's how they remembered it. They weren't supposed to remember a feeling or a motive, they were just supposed to remember the phrase. It's an acronym. Of course.

The wolverine's heart began to beat faster as he clicked the first letter into place. W.

His claws began to tremble as he rolled the smoothly-carved dials. I. S. Oh, Fates, I bloody hope this works.

Aras bit his lip, mentally steeling himself. If the box doesn't open, I don't know what I'll do.

He turned the last dial to Y and found out, as the box remained resolutely shut.

Aras' fists clenched and shook as a protracted string of violent curses ran through his mind.

His hope fading, Aras double-checked the dials. The box still didn't open. He put it down, too disgusted to look at the stupid thing anymore.

Alright, think. That wasn't right, but it must have been close.

"Aras."

"What?" he grumbled, annoyed.

"Look."

Aras did. Perfect, his mind said. Aras hated himself for it, but it was true. The squirrelmaid was everything Brull had outlined: young, pretty, innocent. She looked completely out of place sweeping dead leaves and crusted mud from the stoop of the mess hall, like a flower blooming in the midst of a harsh desert. An otter brushed past her, and gave her a rogueish smile. She blushed, and batted her lashes shyly.

"Do you see anybeast around?"

Brull shook his head. "Nah, but wait for her to get a little ways further from the building. One good scream out of her and there'll be more Heirs on our backs than... well, than we've got hairs on our backs."

"Clever."

"I know."

The pair watched in mute anticipation as the squirrelmaid's broom flicked across the stoop, scattering stray twigs and leaves. Clearing the debris could, in reality, only have taken a few moments, but it seemed to take a bloody age.

In retrospect, they should have bloody well known that she'd finish sweeping and go back inside, but it gave them an inordinate shock when she actually did. Brull and Aras stared like idiots at the empty doorway.

"Damnation," Brull muttered.

"Do you think she'll come back?"

"Only if we sling a bunch of mud on the stoop."

"Maybe we-"

"No, we're bloody well not going to rustle up some mud, Aras."

"Can you see anything in there?"

Brull squinted. "Nope. But, if they're sweeping, that means they're finished stuffing their gobs, so there's probably only bakers and cooks left. Unless... oh, yes. I think she'll be coming out again in about... half an hour or so."

"What? Why?"

"Well, what do you do after you sweep a floor?"

"Sit down? I don't know."

Brull shot him a look. "Really?"

"Really."

"You mop it with water, to clean off all the spilled stuff."

"Oh."

"You don't mop stuff in Wolverine-land?"

"I lived in a hut, Brull. A hut with frozen dirt for a floor. And even, everything's frozen all year round. You'd only mop it if you wanted a muddy indoor skating rink."

"Good point." Brull shook his head morosely. "Anyway, my bloody point was that she's finished the sweeping, so now she'll probably grab a bucket of water and swab down all the floors. Soon as she comes to dump out the bucket, probably in half an hour or so, we can grab her."

Brull's estimate was vastly incorrect. At least thrice that amount rolled by while the squirrelmaid apparently scoured the floors with a level of fastidiousness that would have put off Antonio.

Brull's estimate was vastly incorrect. At least thrice that amount rolled by while the squirrelmaid apparently scoured the floors with a level of fastidiousness that would have put off Antonio. Aras killed the time continuing to puzzle over the box.

In the meantime, Aras exhausted several more combinations, his patience, and his claws. He had been on the cusp of something, and he bloody well knew it. It was something about the phrase, but he just couldn't figure out what...

"Aras, she's coming."

"Okay," he murmured absently.

Sure enough, she carried a bucket, from which a small amount of grayish water dribbled. The squirrelmaid hummed a melody to herself, heading for the alley. Aras and Brull, scarely able to believe their good fortune, huddled in the shadows, trying not to breathe.

She came steadily closer, closer, and –

"Now."

The events played out like a series of still captures, flicking across Aras' vision: Brull leaping forward, fists clenched... The bucket, splintering, smashed aside... Mop water, splattering in greasy droplets across the walls... The squirrel recoiling, scrambling backwards, defensive. Her mouth opening, preparing to scream...
No. Instinctively, his arm came around. The blow caught the squirrelmaid under the jaw. She was lifted off her paws and flew back, hitting the wall. There was a horrible, hollow thud.

Aras panted heavily, his chest heaving.

"Wow," Brull said, solemnly. "Well done." The Sherriff approached the fallen maid, casting about for any sign of alarm. Satisfied that the coast was clear, the rat knelt and hovered the back of his paw above her nose. The hairs rippled slightly.

"She's alive," the rat said, with mild surprise.

Aras stared at their captive. She was exactly what they were looking for. Young. Young enough to have a whole bright future ahead of her, a future that was about to be stamped out. But, more than young, she was innocent. She didn't belong here, any more than he did. A small trickle of blood ran down her face, which was swelling slightly. Looking at it made him feel as though he had somehow attracted a thick film of grime to himself.

"Aras, we should go, before they notice she's gone."

Congratulations, Aras. It's a new low, even for you. Not only are you the despicable sort of twisted monster who would do a thing like this, but you're also selfish enough to feel wretched about it afterwards.

"Aras, why are you –"

Why are you... Why am I doing this? Why-am-I. Why-are-you. Ohhhhh... Oh. Oh.

It was as though a candle had been lit in a darkened room. He saw it. The answer was simple, so simple. It was beautiful, it was elegant, it was clever. It was right, and he knew it. He just needed the time to test it out.

A muttered curse from Brull brought him back to the present. Hating himself, Aras slung the squirrelmaid over his shoulder, and the two hustled quickly down the darkened alleyway.