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Chapter 65. And Gullying Hurts, Right
by Brull

"Are you done yet?"

"Not yet."

Brull had skilfully avoided sticking his head any further into the shed than he needed to. He had told Scarnose to make it look good. The rat wasn't sure if he really wanted to see how it was going. "Well, hurry it up. She's got to look beat up, not unrecognizable."

"Hee."

A muffled scream convinced Brull that the gag was a good idea. No sense in alerting every beast too early. "Let me know when you've got it wrapped up."

"Hee."

Who knew that the guttural noise of "Hee" could have so many connotations?

A faint whiff of blood mixed with who-knows-what compelled Brull to close the shed quickly and scuttle back to Aras, sitting on a crate and trying out the puzzle on that silly box. What good was having a glass of Brandy when you couldn't drink it? Casting aside his wishes that it had been "Red Wine" instead, Brull nudged the wolverine. "They're still working at it."

Aras nodded, half listening, still working on the box.

"Don't go for this sort of thing, usually. The torture, that is. Seems gratuitous. But we need a beat up body, and that's what we're gonna get, one way or another."

"Mm-hm."

"Always preferred hanging, myself. The old quick drop, sudden stop. Light goes on, light goes off, and plenty of time to hit the pub afterwards. With torture, you have clean up afterwards, and the mess gets all over your paws..."

A single stare pierced Brull's sentence, killing it instantly. "The mess is what bothers you?"

Brull shrugged. "Well, it's not a huge deal, sure. The smell I'm not too fond of, and the blood stains the paws something fierce. S'pose if you wore gloves..."

"What about the fact that we're killing a complete stranger?"

"...Not really..." The rat felt uncomfortable. Was Aras going soft on him? "Now, hang on, you don't go about getting to know the favourite color of beasts you're about to eat, do you?"

Aras switched his eyes back to the box. "...No, I suppose I don't."

Raising a brow at this peculiar turn in conversation, Brull switched it back to something more enjoyable. "Now, a good hanging. Something you can make a day out of. Bring a lunch, a drink or two, and watch the festivities. No blood, too, so you can bring the whole family..."

"How many innocent beasts have you killed, Brull?"

What was with the wolverine today? "No such thing as innocence, 'less some beast has eaten all their vegetables from day one. Let's be serious..."

"Brull." If a no-nonsense mentality could be summed up with a picture, that picture would be Aras's face.

"I... I don't know..." sputtered the rat. It wasn't really something he thought about all that often. "Not that many, I don't think." They all usually deserved it one way or another. Brull found himself irritated at this sudden delving into his career choices. He hated when he got judged. "Maybe one or two. No, wait three. Or maybe four..."

Aras nodded in a "thought so" kind of way. "I see."

"Now, hold on there, pal, what's that mean?"

Strangely, the wolverine didn't point in an exaggerated accusing fashion as Brull had thought he would. Rather, he hung his head, looking almost sad. "It doesn't bother you, then. I think... it bothers me."

How did one pep talk somebeast who ate other creatures for dinner and had the physical ability to break necks with a single claw? "Look, I know we can't all have the strength of character I do. It's no shame feeling inadequate."

Aras frowned. "That wasn't what I meant. I meant that you can act immorally with greater ease than I."

Brull made a small grunting noise. "And what wholesome acts of goodness have you done for the world lately?"

Click.

There was no bright lights, no fireworks, no choir in the background chanting. It wasn't needed. That small click could have stopped an army short if they had been spending as much time with that box as Aras had. The self satisfied glow on the wolverine's face was spectacle enough to emphasize what had just happened.

Brull gulped. He hadn't even cared about the whole thing to begin with, and even he felt the magnitude of the event. "Did it...?"

"It did." The lid of the box had lifted up just a few centimetres as the lock was released from its hold.

Placing his paws on his hips, Brull tried to find the right words, but could only come up with, "Well, I'll be." After all that headache and sacrifice, running around, deaths, puzzle solving, head beating, the thing which had driven ten beasts mad for who-knows how long was there. "S'pose you ought to open it all the way?"

"Suppose I should." He began to open the box.

"I hope it's not broken."

A glare from the wolverine indicated that this was probably the wrong thing to say. Brull stopped talking.

Aras flipped the box open. The Sheriff held his breath. The wolverine's expression was blank, infuriatingly refusing to give any hint to Brull as to what the state of the Brandy was.

Then, slowly, like a bright crescent moon appearing behind a cloud, Aras began to smile.

Out of the box came a small glass vial, containing a blood red liquid. Brull didn't know what he had been expecting, but it had probably been something more glamorous looking. All in all, a bit disappointing. "So that's it, huh? Sarky's big treasure," the Sheriff nodded. "Let's break it."

"What?"

"Joking," Brull quickly amended, holding his paws up at the angrily shocked Aras. "Still, what do we do with the thing now? We're not giving it back to what's-his-name, and we can't very well use it ourselves."

"True," Aras agreed, though it didn't seem to bother him overmuch. He still seemed satisfied with having just opened the box. At the sound of approaching footpaws, Aras defensively tucked the vial under his arms, hiding it from the eyes of Scarnose.

The Sheriff greeted the stoat with a nod. "All done, then?"

"Hee."

"That's a 'yes,' right?"

"Hee."

"Lovely." Brull clapped his paws together. No time for thinking about morals and such now. Time for deviousness and conniving and everything else that Brull did exceptionally well. "Right, then! Take the body and string it up over near the market square, and make sure to drop the Red Dusk badge like I said. Then mosey over back to Sark's place and tell Serpentcharmer that the FH are spread out, or something. Just get her and the rest of them out so they can kill one another, right?"

"Hee." Obediently, Scarnose shuffled off, slinging a very beat-up squirrel corpse over his shoulder as he passed by the shed again.

"That boy needs to expand his vocabulary," Brull assessed. Turning his attention back to the wolverine, the rat smiled. "Game time."

Aras nodded slowly, rising from his seat. "Game time," he agreed. "Then I'll be off to send Calderon and the Long Patrol in the right direction."

"Not with that, you're not," said Brull, pointing at the vial still in Aras's claws. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think we should be taking that anywhere near anybody we're planning on fighting."

The wolverine pondered this for a second, holding both the box and the vial in his very large paws. Brull wondered how Aras didn't go about crushing the pair of them. "You may be right," Aras conceded. Then, without warning, he tossed the vial to the rat, who caught it in a panicked reflex. "You hold onto it."

Out of the many plans Brull had in mind, this was not one of them. "What? No! I don't want it!" This was strictly a true statement; he had wanted nothing to do with the Brandy from the get-go, and this sentiment persisted until this moment.

Aras crossed his arms. "I can't bring it with me, you said so yourself. You're the only one who can hold onto it right now."

"Well, why don't we bury it or something? Worked wonders the last time someone decided to hide the thing."

"And someone found it the last time someone decided to hide it. We can't risk it falling into the wrong paws at this stage."

Brull found it very amusing that, for once, his paws weren't considered the wrong ones. Even still, holding the object of much desire on his being wasn't conducive to healthier living. "Can't we dig up Tony and give it to him? That way, if he gets killed for it, we still win."

Aras clasped his head in his paws. "Brull, will you please stop thinking of someone other than yourself for a change?"

"No!"

"Look, I'll be back in a short while, and then I'll take care of it. Just stay out of trouble, and nothing bad should happen." Before Brull could contest that staying here was begging something bad to happen, Aras stomped off with the box, leaving the Sheriff by his lonesome.

Stay here like a good little rat while I take care of everything. Bah! Brull was extremely tired of everybeast telling him what to do. Go save Evnakt, break us out of jail, go fetch the Red Brandy, find Nevyeer, blah, blah, blah. When Brull told others what to do, they ignored him. Ought to be a law.

He brought the vial closer to his eye, taking a better look. So this is what it was all about... Heh. All the rest of them went on the fool's errand and got themselves killed looking for the damned thing, and he had it handed to him no questions asked. There was some kind of irony in that. He was the last one on the island who wanted the Red Brandy, and here it was in his paws. Brull gave the vial a little shake, watching the liquid slosh about without producing the slightest froth or fizz. Didn't look very appetizing.

Brull wondered if it actually worked. "Bottled bloodwrath, huh?" he muttered. Fancy what you could do with that. How bored must Sarkleyet have been when he decided this was a good idea? The last thing the world needed was something which could replace the power of the punch. Before you know it, they'd be inventing things which could level buildings in a flash. Silly.

It occurred to Brull he was holding a super-weapon in a very breakable glass vial. Reaching into his pocket, the Sheriff produced a long-since-empty flask. He had been hoping to fill it with a different kind of Brandy, but it would be a better carry case than a vial. Frankly, Brull couldn't care less if the whole thing was smashed and lost, but having an angry Aras after him was hardly an appealing thought either. Uncorking the vial, and having an unpleasantly strong iron smell greet hit nostrils, Brull gingerly began to pour the Red Brandy from its old home into its new one.

"Hey, boss!"

It was only by some incredible trick of luck that the vial didn't drop out of Brull's paws right then and there. Catching his nerves in the nick of time, the rat breathed a sigh of relief, settling for the fact that he had gotten half of the Brandy into the flask. No sense in risking another adventure and spilling the lot. Re-pocketing the flask, Brull put the cork back on the still haf-full vial. "Yeah, Pretty Ears, what is it?"

The fox strolled through the alley towards the Sheriff. "We couldn't reach the Market. Too many prying eyes. So we settled for putting the body over by the fountain. Is that all right?"

"Yeah, swell," Brull mumbled, waving a dismissal at the fox, using the paw which was holding the Brandy.

Pretty Ears' eyes widened as he caught sight of the red liquid the rat was holding. "Is that... the Red Brandy?"

Brull managed a laugh. "That's it," he said, swishing the remaining Brandy back and forth.

The fox seemed almost entranced. "I had thought that Antonio had it..."

Turning away from the fox, Brull began to walk down the alley, tucking the vial into his vest pocket. Ought to head back to the Oasis, if he was going to wait anywhere. "All the stoat has is a feminine complex. Heh, this would just eat him up..."

Sheriff Brull could not remember telling Pretty Ears anything about the Red Brandy.

Grabbing a nearby trash can, Brull lifted it level with his head as he twirled back around, the metal crumpling as the wooden plank Pretty Ears was swinging connected with it. With a hefty shove, the rat forced Pretty Ears stumbling backwards. "Well, well," Brull scowled. "A stool pigeon. And here I was, about to make you my right hand beast."

The fox smiled his usual calm grin. If he had any concerns with exposing himself as a turncoat, he wasn't showing it. "You're a remarkably easy creature to play, Sheriff Brull. All it takes is a little stroke of your ego, and you do the rest."

"That's not all I do." The fox ducked as the trash can was hurled at his head, but couldn't dodge the clothesline from Brull, which sent him head over heels. A fake! A yes-beast, waiting for a time to strike! Damn it all, Brull's ascent to gang leader was based on the cooing of some sly fox! And that, he told himself, was why you never trusted any beast but yourself. "You've got five seconds to improve my..."

A quick lash out with his legs helped Pretty Ears catch Brull in mid-stride, causing the rat to tumble over face first. The vial of Brandy rolled out of his pocket, amazingly un-shattered. Seeing the coveted vial in limbo, the fox scrambled to grab it, but was grabbed in mid crawl by an irate Brull. Gripping Pretty Ears in a bear hug, the rat tried to crush the ribs of the fox, but was greeted with a pair of back pawed punches to the head, forcing Brull to release the hold.

Finding himself with a few seconds to breathe, Pretty Ears managed to dash forward, picking up the vial of Red Brandy, and he might have made it further if his tail wasn't suddenly seized and jerked back. The whiplash of the move stunning him, there was little Pretty Ears could do as he was lifted over the shoulders of Brull and then tossed back to the ground, landing with a heavy "thud" on the alley floor.

"Now that I've adjusted your attitude," spat Brull, wiping blood off of his busted lip, "I think you ought to tell me what your game is, Pretty Ears. If that's your real name." It occurred to Brull that it probably wasn't his real name, as Brull himself coined the term, but he let it slide.

The wind thoroughly knocked out of him, the fox had to pant as he formed his words. "It was nothing personal, you understand. I really was very grateful when you broke me out of prison. But the fact is, I already work for somebeast else."

Brull gave the fox a kick in the side, just because he could. "And I bet old Sarky pays you well, huh? Had to keep an eye on his pet projects, did he?"

The breathless laughter with which this accusation was met was disconcerting. "Sarkleyet knows nothing. He was so certain that he had been careful with his Red Brandy. But a few prying eyes in the right places pays dividends. We learned all about the ten of you, the ones he entrusted with his mission, and I was sent to keep an eye on the lot of you, just in case the Brandy was indeed discovered. Playing your lackey offered me the perfect way to keep tabs on the situation."

The Sheriff was angry. He was usually angry, but this was different. This one... actually hurt. He had trusted Pretty Ears, damn it all! Being stabbed in the back was not a pleasant experience. No wonder Sybil had been so angry. How many innocent creatures have you killed... "Time for the million coin question: who's your boss?"

"Me!"

Turning around, Brull had enough mental fortitude to register that the creature swinging the chair at his head was a madly smiling sable before the world disappeared with a heavy "clang."