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Kieran slept uneasily. He'd never spent a night away from the little cubbyhole under the cellar stairs in the bar, and everything felt new. The new, strong smells kept his mind racing, and the creaking of the wooden ship bothered him terribly. It was already getting light out when he fell asleep.

Kieran awoke to a sharp shrilling whistle coming from the sleeping quarters. At first, he was so disoriented and sleepy he couldn't say what had happened to his little straw mattress on the floor, or the stone walls, and where was the chest underneath his mattress? It was gone. There was a strong smell of herbs. He looked around and his heart caught in his throat when he caught the glimpse of knives stuck in a counter top. Then he recalled how he got here, and the night before that. His head fell back onto the pillow and he dozed off for a few minutes.

He was woken by a stir at his feet. Some great scarred ferret was looking at him from the other end of his bed. Behind him a fox with a fierce red coat and a single open eye, his other obscured by a nasty scar. Kieran's yell of surprise caught in his throat as he recalled his last night, the contract, his work, and drew out of bed hurriedly. The two threatening figures were just standing there, they didn't say anything. Behind them, a long table was filling up with various sailors, grumbling to each other, shaving or playing with cards.

Kieran fumbled out of bed, his fur all ruffled. He'd forgotten to ask the weasel from yesterday what his work entailed even. Before he could even manage to work up a panic, there was a familiar sounding voice behind him

"I'm sorry Fox, I'm sorry, I didn't hear the whistle, oh dear" The weasel called out in a huff, clutching a clean white bedsheet around his naked body, as he rummaged through the chest at the foot of the bed. A twitch of unease went through Kieran's body as he studied the weasel rummaging around in their shared chest. What if he rattled the heavy little chest? What would he say if he saw Kieran's money? Unfortunately, the fox was pinned to the spot by the three impatient eyes spread across two impatient faces. Kit was only looking for a pair of trousers and slammed the chest, hopping on a leg as he pulled up his trousers hurriedly. Kieran could have sworn he'd gone to sleep with a pair of trousers on him.

Kit started pointing out ingredients, and where Kieran could find them. They cut slabs of salted meat, and shoved it into a pot together with some strange root vegetable that Kieran had not seen before, but Kit assured him they were quite edible. Eventually the two sailors grumbled some words of satisfaction, and found their places at the tables with the others.

Kieran was sent above deck to deliver the food to the Captain and his first mate. He knocked on the door, where the broad shouldered Krish opened the door, accepted the food, and slammed the door in his face. He stood for a while rubbing his snout, which had not escaped unharmed.

After they had finished dishing out to everyone, Kit and Kieran could sit back and take their meals like the crew. Kieran was enjoying the meal immensely. He was not used to getting meat in his stew, or getting such a large portion. The bowl, which was as wide across as Kieran's whole paw outstretched, was filled to the brim.

"A perk of the job" Kit smiled and spooned stew into his muzzle.

"And we get food every day?" Kieran asked timidly. He was still prepared for the big jest that came at the end. The one where he'd been tricked again into thinking life could be good to him without some sort of catch.

"Twice" Kit smiled. "And it's free!"

"See that one over there, that fox with one eye?" Kit had his mouth full of stew, pointing with his spoon "That's One-Eyed Bill, they say he lost his eye to a mad Galdarian priest, and that ferret over there... that's Zeeke the navigator... He has never set his foot on land. Born at sea, will die at sea."

Kit was pointing around the room, naming random facts and titbits of information about the crew to Kieran. The fox nodded and paid attention, diligently keeping his eyes on where the little white paws pointed with, while revealing as little about himself when Kit asked, as possible. He remembered Duck mentioning that he should get as much information on these men as possible, and it seemed prudent to stick with Kit, as he seemed to know his way around the crew.

The sailors were finished eating, and started scrambling up to the deck in a disarray. While Kieran and Kit cleared off the tables, they could hear the sound of whistles and shouting. There was a creaking sound, and the ship gently shifted underneath their feet, and the crew's shouts grew louder. Kit and Kieran climbed up to the top deck.

Up on the top deck, the First mate, Krisnananda Singh, were barking commands in a raspy growl. His jewellery glistened in the dawn sun.

"HOLD on mainsails until we are about turn. Navigator, Heading!"

"185 degrees" A voice piped up from behind him, the ferret from earlier, Zeeke, was holding a compass and writing in a small book.

"Wind Reading?"

"North west by west sir"

"Hoist Staysails, turn topsails, and tack to 15 degrees off the wind, then hoist mainsails

The ferret was right next to him. Kieran looked to Kit with a questioning look. The back and forth between the tiger and the ferret might as well have been a different language.

"It means we're going to turn the ship around, but with the wind being head on, we have to use a different combination of sails to take advantage of it." Kit shrugged, and the ferret took notice of them.

"Kit!" He smiled and came over, slapping kit on the back. "Got a bet on who's going to get the shits from your cooking first?"

"Fuck you, Zeeke." Kit laughed

"My money is on the new kid, haven't built any scar tissue in his belly yet!" The ferret guffawed, but grasped Kieran's paw before he could even begin to question whether or not he should be offended. "I'm Zeeke, I'm the navigator onboard"

"Kieran." Kieran's fist was aching from the ferret's fierce grasp "I'm the kitchen fox."

"Are you a betting fox, Kitchen Fox" Zeeke asked ignoring the insult he'd given Kieran indirectly. Repeating the nickname without hesitation.

"I'm... I don't think so?"

"I've got a tally running on who gets the troubles first, care to place a bet?"

Kit gave them both a look, and Kieran politely refused, citing poverty. He was the richest fox on board, however, but nobody needed to know that.

"So Zeeke, how long is it?" Kit asked, changing the subject from his cooking.

"About seven and a half inches" Zeeke grinned wide and gave them both an overplayed conspiratorial wink. Kieran's ears perked up without him even registering.

"The journey, you lanky doofus"

"Ahhh, I thought you meant how long my cock was, I'm sorry Kit, I had no idea!" He got immense joy from seeing the look on Kieran's face, as he overacted his way through the dirty joke. "About two months give or take. We won't have night storms, but that also means the sea will be calm for the most part. We're running her low in the water too, that means even slower progress"

"Two months?" Kieran exclaimed. "Where are we going?"

"We're taking spices to Dalmatia, where they pay well for such. There we take on wool, wheat and dried meat, which we will take to the golden continent. There we'll trade for gold, which is cheaper there. We will take the gold back to the Colonies again. It's a year's journey all the way" Kit said, before Zeeke could come up with another witticism.

"A year!" Kieran burst out

"A year. Three port calls." Kit said

Kieran figured he was the luckiest fox in the world, two whole months of two meals a day and a nice soft bed, and he got paid, instead of having to pay for it. All he had to do is feed sailors. The work was easy and familiar, the sailors weren't nearly as drunk as they would have been in the bar and they were always busy, so he was not harassed.

Kieran was more worried about his mission from Duck however. He figured Kit knew a lot about the crew, so he could just befriend this boy, instead of trying to befriend all the sailors. He wasn't quite sure how to befriend someone, but figured enough talk made a friend of anyone. The companionships that came and went in the bar all worked like that, he'd observed.

Krisnananda had stopped barking orders, and he stalked around on the top deck, looking down the sides of the ship as it slowly about turned in the little bay outside of the city. As he was inspecting the side of the ship, Kit came up with an annoyed look in his face.

"Not you too? Oh, thank god." Kit sighed when he saw Kieran merely inspecting the sea instead of depositing his breakfast in it. "I've gotten crap for my food ever since I got here. It's worst just after a port call, when the sailors have grown used to beef and fresh chicken. It's not my fault. The quartermaster doesn't know about food or cooking."

"Do you think your cooking will make me sick?" Kieran asked "I thought it was very good"

"I'm going to find out what we've got in store for the next few months" Kit scouted across the deck for someone, but there was a gentle swish to his tail at Kieran's remark.

"Over here, Jack!" Kit ignored his concerns and waved at a large water vole with a pair of round glasses on the tip of his pointy dark grey nose. Jack had slippery brown fur and small ears, and reminded Kieran a little bit of an otter, but his snout was long and sharp, and he had an intelligent look in his eyes that most sailors couldn't reproduce.

"Kit" Jack said, disinterestedly looking down his nose at the weasel with the patchy trousers in front of him.

"Storage report?"

"There's food enough, now who is this lovely lady?" Jack bowed and took Kieran's paw. Kieran's fur bristled, and he felt heat rising to his head, but Kit laid a paw on his shoulder before he could protest.

"This... is Kieran, he's the new kitchen assistant, I wanted you to say hello to him"

Jack recoiled from the touch, and pushed his glasses up to his eyes again, affirming the gender of the fox in front of him. The vole sniffed the air to reassure himself that Kieran was a fox. His twitching nose and whiskers pursed at the smell.

"So he is. Greetings, Mr. Fox. Welcome aboard. If you need anything, it is I with whom you must talk. If you want your pay, verily, for it is also I to whom you shall address yourself"

Kieran looked at him with a cocked head, but shook his paw in a more manly fashion.

"He's gone to school" Kit said with mock reverence "Where they didn't teach him that women cannot come on ships."

"One of these days, young weasel, a maiden of virtue will find herself in need of a gentleman, and I shall spring to her rescue from you artless savages." He raised his snout and walked below deck.

Jack's voice was very exaggerated, as if he was drunk or something, Kieran figured. He must be drunk.

"What is it with him?" Kieran asked

"He didn't get to use his education for something important, I think. He's always been like that, but he's very good with numbers, and if you slip him a coin, he can get you an extra ration of wine. But you have to listen to his poems. Very boring stuff. He also has medicine for a troubled belly. Figured it would be good for you to know about him, because this is your first round, and you will become sick."

"Sick with what?"

"BOYS!" a growling voice came from the top deck "GET SCRUBBING!"

"Ah, that would be the whip." Kit joked. "Krish, but you call him whatever you don't feel like. Let me show you what you have to do."

Kit took Kieran downstairs. In a corner of the kitchen was a large barrel filled with little circular stones, each about the size of two curled fists put together. They were smooth but porous like a dried sponge.

"These are holystones. We rub them on the deck planks to keep splinters down, and keep the decks clean. Once we're at sea, we have to do it fairly often."

He shoved a bucket and some stones in Kieran's arms and sent him upstairs. Kit started scrubbing the floor with a stone downstairs, and Kieran followed his lead. The upper deck was filled with sailors, each going every which way, so Kieran started his scrubbing at the very back of the ship, on the top deck, behind Krish. From here he could see the city where he had lived all his life, disappear into the distance. The light house, the tallest structure he could see, disappeared as he was finishing scrubbing the top deck.

The ship was wide, but not as wide as the bar. It was far longer than the bar though, and he'd scrubbed that floor with a brush for enough times that this felt similar. At the front of the ship was a tall forecastle with a single door in the front, mirroring the door to the captain's hut in the back. This was the place Krish didn't want him to go. Topside was another top deck, the forward one mirroring the rear one in height. All the way out front were the bowsprit, a long spear like mast stuck out from the bow of the ship.

More sailors introduced themselves to him with a mix of politeness, indifference and suspicious hostility on his scrubbing rounds. When they discovered that he was the Kitchen Fox, the comments turned to whether or not the food would get better on this round or not, and some coins changed paws behind his back.

Kit didn't look like he took the comments personally but he did have an annoyed look in his eye from how Kieran talked with the crew. Pointedly, shortly, and revealing as little as possible. His annoyance didn't die away when night came, and it was time for bed.

Kit didn't bother him for the bed that night. Kieran didn't know where he slept but every day he'd show up in the mess before Kieran had woken up. They always got the food out to the sailors around the table on time, and never got any complaints about the monotonous meals.

His first week was the hardest. He quickly got used to the work, but the sea sickness was a constant disturbance. The men were not talking to him like he thought they might do from time to time, they left him alone for the most part. Apart from Jack, he'd not heard many other voices than Kit's. He was constantly having to listen to Jack the Vole reading out his poems, so that he could have medicine and some wine for his upset belly.Kieran noticed Kit went well with the crew, chatting and exchanging jokes and comments about their mothers.

The ship itself, however, was becoming more familiar to him. He knew where the hazards were, and he'd skip around on deck avoiding sailors and ropes, and dance away from haphazardly placed blocks and crates, as if he was in another time and place. His light footfall made not so much as a whisper of noise.

He spent the days asking Kit more about the crew, pointing at hardened sailors with strange markings or scars or mysterious quirks and characteristics, and he'd be getting hearsay and rumour in return. But each sailor's story was shorter than the last. First with a genuine smile, then a forced smile, then no smile. Annoyance came into Kit's responses to him. He paid more attention the work Kieran did, and put more effort into criticising his way of chopping food, or scrubbing the floors. Nothing Kieran wasn't used to.

"What do you know about the captain?" Kieran asked one day while they were preparing supper. The ship was two weeks into its journey, and he had exhausted Kit for any and all information about the crew.

"The captain? What do you want to know about the captain?" Kit said, disinterestedly, chopping vegetables.

"I'm just curious" Kieran said "Who is this guy we're working for?"

"He's the captain, tells the first mate where the ship should go." Kit said shortly. His vegetable chopping became slightly fiercer. "He bosses people around and tells them what to do"

"Right" Kieran said, uncertainly. "Never mind..."

They chopped vegetables in silence for a little more

"How about the first mate?"

A loud thunk came from Kieran's place as he jammed the knife into the chopping board.

"What about the first mate?" Kit said annoyed.

"I just want to know more about the crew..." Kieran said, ears flat

"Just... Just go and ask them, then!" Kit said exasperated. He poured the vegetables he'd chopped into the stew pot, and started to slice up meat.

"I just thought..." Kieran hesitated. Kit's annoyance was starting to show clear on the weasel.

"Well, then listen to this. Don't ask about the Captain." Kit almost snarled at him; he was whispering but his voice carried efficiently in the tiny kitchen. "Or the first mate, for that matter"

"I'm sorry, Kit" Kieran whispered. "I'll not ask about them."

Kit's eyes, tired and annoyed, met Kieran's. He sighed and his shoulders sagged, and he put a paw on the black fox' shoulders.

"Listen fox, this is the real world. You pay with the coin which you earn"

"I'm not sure I'm following. I don't get paid until next month"

"What I mean is that you can't just go around asking about everything, and telling as little as you do. Do you understand?" Kit stirred the pot with his other paw. The fox felt uneasy, but it wasn't the contact from another male that made him cautions this time, it was the ominous words the weasel had said.

Kieran had sworn to protect his secrets from everyone he met, and find out as much as possible. He knew what he had to do, explain himself better, but would that compromise him in the eyes of Duck? The spotted dog had told him to gain friendships, and make people reveal to him their secrets. How could he get him to reveal his secrets, or any of the crew's secrets?

He could try to lie about his past, but he'd never been a practiced liar, and he had no time to practice. If he got found out, he'd never be able to befriend the weasel.

He lay awake in bed that night, contemplating the slits of light that shone through the spaces between the deck planks above. It struck him that he didn't need Kit to tell him anything, he could find out by himself. Had not Duck said he was here to sneak, as well? He could try to spy on the captain's quarters, maybe pick out some of the captain's conversation from a keyhole.

His naked feet made no sound as he traversed the lower deck and found the stairs leading up, his tail swaying as he placed his weight carefully on each creaking step, making as little noise as possible as he climbed, his tail swishing from side to side to keep his balance and his ears perked and on edge, scanning for the slightest sound.

The deck was empty apart from a single lookout on the bow, but he paid more attention to the ocean. The ship was far from shore now, there was no escaping if something went wrong. The lookout was thankfully not paying attention to him, and in the darkness, he wasn't entirely sure the guy could see him at all. Kieran crept towards the rear of the ship, where the hut with the large glass windows were. The door was closed, but sounds were coming from behind it. There was no way to peer through the keyhole, something was in the way on the other side of the door. From here, the sounds were too muffled and muted to be made out. However, every now and then, a short sharp smack, muffled by the thick painted door, would sound out from inside the room. The sound bore a strange sense of familiarity to Kieran

He figured if he climbed on top of the hut, he could possibly hear something through the roof, like he could sometimes see the moon through the deck of the ship when he lay in his bed. Around the roof of the little hut, there ran a low railing, beautifully carved from thick wood. In the middle of the deck was the great round wheel that controlled the rudder. It had been tied fast so the ship could amble along in the very slight breeze that befell these coastal waters at night.

The planks up here were slightly different from the planks on the main deck. These were coated in a thick black paint, and there were no cracks or holes through which sounds could escape. Kieran crept up to the railing and lent over the backside of the boat to peer inside the large glass windows. There was ample light on the inside to show clearly what was going on from where he stood other. He could clearly see the bed which had been right next to the windows.

On the bed, leaning two pale thin arms on the windowsill, was Kit. His head was bent down and his ears were flat. Kieran could not hear the whacks, but he could clearly see a striped brown arm wielding a large leather belt. The belt descended on the Kit's exposed back, and he arched and recoiled with each strike, seeming to cry out, but the fox could not hear any screams through the thick window. What was the meaning of this?

Kieran winced with each strike, feeling them as urgently as Kit must have felt them himself. The fox was no stranger to the belt. Kit was panting on the windowsill; He'd not recoiled for a while. Kieran sensed that something else was happening, and he leaned closer. He was almost at the tip of his balance, but he could see the captain distinctly. He was closing up on Kit from behind. Kit didn't have any clothes on, and the bedsheet on which he stood, and his back, was dripping with red flecks. Kieran wanted to shout but another half of him, a darker half, already knew what was about to happen, and shouting and screaming would not help.

The Captain's heavy paws clasped Kit by the scruff of his neck, and pinned his head to the windowsill. Kit's expression changed from pained and humiliated, to even more pained and humiliated. Kieran's eyes widened, as the Captain, one paw on Kit's scruff, lifted the stubby weasel tail in the air, and postured himself behind the boy.

Kieran wanted to shout and punch something very hard, He wanted to hide away and cry. He was angry and frustrated. The poor weasel had his eyes closed, wincing in pain, and when they opened, his eyes were tired, and focused on something far away. Kieran couldn't look away, but he forced his body away from the railing so violently that he fell back.

Kieran sat for a while looking at the stars from the bow of the ship. He tried to find answers in the little dots, like the wise men in the stories, but the all he saw was the images in his own head. He fervently tried to not think what went on just a few feet away from him

He wanted to get back to bed. He wanted to hide under the blanket and never face the world. The world that could allow this to happen ever again. On his way down the staircase, he bumped into something, and stopped dead in his tracks.

"What are you running around on deck for at this hour?" A gruff voice said. He had a red rag tied over his long floppy ears, and a golden ring in his nose. Most his spots were hidden by a black scarf tucked into the neck hole of a lose white shirt. A red silk scarf tied around his belly almost radiated in the moonlight with fine silk, into which an elaborate hilt poked out, as well as the menacing cane shape of a short pistol. His blue cloth trousers were belted with a large, gleaming buckle, and a wide, heavy leather belt. For all his elaborate get-up, his feet were bare, and splayed, claws gently digging into the hard wood deck.

"You're the night watch?" Kieran said, momentarily forgetting himself.

"You don't know me, Fox." He said, still with a gruff, raspy tone. "What are you doing on deck at night. Don't you know that you could fall overboard?"

"I was just... s... sick... OW!"

Duck bent down, looked around for a moment, and took Kieran by his arm, dragging him down to the mess, where they could talk without being disturbed.

"That. Bastard." Kieran hissed between his teeth at nobody in particular.

"Is there something you know, Kieran?"

Kieran explained what he had seen, shaking with emotion. He blamed himself. The worst of all was that Kit could have just told him that the captain was dangerous. Why was he being so stubborn?

"Kit doesn't quite trust me enough" Kieran said

"Do you think he knows a lot?"

"He sounds like he knows a lot, and especially... especially a lot about the captain. Are we here to kill the captain?"

"No" The spotted dog sighed and shook his head. "The captain is far too risky to kill, and we're far out at sea. I am the newest of the crew, after you, and we would be singled out as suspects. Justice works different out at sea."

"But the boat..."

"No, Kieran" Duck said simply. "Your orders are to befriend and extract information. Whatever it takes, fox."

Kieran thought for a long time

"When we reach port... "

"... We will leave the ship and put everything behind us, I will train you, and make you ready for the world."

"and Kit?"

Duck sighed. "This is your first time; I should have anticipated this. You are young and inexperienced, and I was foolish to think that wouldn't play into the proceedings."

"It's just that..."

"I know what you have in your heart Kieran. You feel for the boy, you know how it is to be in his place. Harden your heart" Duck said, but his eyes spoke a different language than his tongue. There was a clever glimmer in his eyes. "I must think on this, fox. We will speak again. Until then say nothing to anyone. Remember that we never spoke, and you do not know me."

In another moment, Kieran was left alone with his thoughts. Life was back to feeling unfair again.. He couldn't sleep that night, his own memories filling in all the missing details from the room above. The leather thwacking at skin and fur, choking feeling that rough pin and scruff grip would give. The sharp pain of an uncaring aggressor. The shame and betrayal of knowing what was going on, and the sense of complete isolation, knowing that nobody cared, and that there were nowhere he could run. Kieran lay in bed and felt alone.

Right before dawn, in the cold night, Kit came out of the dark. Kieran hadn't fallen asleep yet, but he pretended to. He could tell the boy was sobbing more muffled. There was a dragging sound from cloth being hauled, and staggering footstep sound followed. Kieran could hear kit curling up by the side of the bed, on the cold floor. Even in his current state, the weasel still didn't want to bother him. Kieran regretted more than anything that he had claimed the bed.

"Kit. Is that you" He sat up in bed, and called out in the darkness. The sobbing stopped momentarily, and the room was quiet for a few moments while the weasel drew a few shaky controlled breaths.

"It is" came a weak, hoarse voice from the bedside. There came a pathetic sniffle from somewhere on the floor.

"Kit... It's cold on the floor, you'll freeze."

There was a long silence. Neither of them moved. Kieran felt braver now then he had done that other time. He leant over and the moonlight revealed the half-naked, bruised weasel lying in a heap on the floor. Under a thick grey blanket, spattered with tiny flecks of red.

"Kit, you don't have to find another place to sleep tonight." Kieran pleaded and touched the weasel's arm. What was he doing inviting another boy into his bed? Finding no resistance, he pulled the weasel along, and managed to worry Kit underneath the sheets, taking care to not touch the boy's scarred back. Kit made no sounds, but occasionally his body would shake with a suppressed sob.

A long-forgotten memory stirred in the back of Kieran's head. From a time before anything he could remember. He let the memory take over. His outstretched paw clasped the weasels head, and he held it close to his chest, his other paw stroked the weasel's cheek. Kit's breathing went completely quiet as Kieran held him, but he could tell the boy didn't mind, as he mumbled out the lullaby that came back to him. A faint woman's voice told him the words and he knew what to do.

After the first verse, the words left him, the voice in his head dissipated, and all that was left was the sound of Kieran's own voice, weakly humming the tune. The sobs didn't come quite as often now, and Kit breathed more easily. Kieran swallowed a lump in his throat, and drifted off to sleep, still clutching Kit's head in his grasp.