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Chapter 6

Kit hasn't awoken me when it came time to cook the next morning, nor when it came time to clean up afterwards. He had, however, draped his blanket over me some time during the night. So, when I wake up well into the afternoon, I feel warm and fuzzy, and I smell very strongly of him. A very strange feeling to say the least, and not objectionable per se. He stinks the least of all the sailors on board, if you ask me. Additionally, I'm covered in Kit's shed white fur, which I spend a good half an hour brushing out, even when it doesn't wind up bothering me as much as I thought it would. However, it isn't seemly, and it's far too visible against my own.

Kit isn't anywhere either above or below decks. I recover his blanket, beat the fur out of it topside, and place it neatly on the bed. Then I change his trousers for my own, and clean them for good measure. Then I remember I had promised to find that lamp oil, so I figure I might as well do that.

Unfortunately, Duck doesn't have any lamp oil, but he does offer me a spare couple of candle butts when I ask.

"I'm inclined to believe that our captain has a share of them too, as I understand he's a voracious reader. Mostly of the illuminated kinds of books, but a reader none the less."

"Can't I borrow a whole candle instead?" I ask the dog, knowing full well he has quite a few of them.

"Would you rather I read in darkness?" Duck asks with a smile. "You don't, strictly speaking, need much light at all."

"But Kit does," I argue. "I owe him a favour."

"Alas," Duck tells me. "Your promises are your responsibility to take care of."

Well, it's better than nothing.

Kit comes downstairs that afternoon, long after I've melted down and wicked a small makeshift candle that we can share. But something is not right with the weasel. He walks with a barely noticeable limp as if he's hurt his foot on something, though he doesn't acknowledge it. He barely acknowledges me, in fact, and seats himself on his cot without so much as a greeting.

"Hey, Kit," I tell him, when it becomes clear he isn't going to tell me where he's been. "Would it be alright if we read some more poems tonight?"

"Not tonight, fox," Kit groans softly. "I'm really not in the mood. I... I didn't sleep very well, so I think I'm going to lay down."

"Are you unwell?" I ask him.

"In a sense," Kit rubs at his lower back. "I'll manage though."

"In a sense?"

"Just let me lay down for a bit fox, and don't ask me any stupid questions please. I don't have the patience for them."

"I didn't know I was annoying you," I mumble quietly, trying to hide how hurt I feel from his otherwise harmless assertion. "But I guess, if I can't even grasp reading-"

"I've barely even shown you the basics," Kit groans, raising his voice slightly. "It's not like I expect you to grasp... you know what, just leave me alone for a while, okay? Go up topside for a bit, I just need some quiet."

"R-right," I swallow, trying to work more words out of my muzzle. Maybe he's seasick? I've never seen anyone seasick before, but I've heard talk of it, and it comes with a range of symptoms, so maybe this is just one of the ways it takes hold. Curious how it seemed to claim him before me. I leave him to regain his health, and good mood hopefully, and climb up topside.

With nothing better to do, I feel a bit lost. I've never had so much free time before in which to do nothing but think. As I pace around on deck, looking for some secluded spot to lie down and gaze at the clouds, I'm stopped in my track by a familiar voice.

"Hey, fox," Zeeke calls out from the helm, and I head towards him, ears cupped forward attentively. "Ya gotta forgive this old coot for going 'bit hard on ya' t'other day. Caught in t'cross fire, you were."

"I'm quite alright," I mumble in response. Being the subject of an actual apology is as embarrassing as it is unusual. "Your words did no lasting harm."

"Nor do they seem to inspire much in t'ways of good feedin'."

"Kit has a good routine," I tell the ferret defensively. "He works very efficiently."

"Ay, he does, doesn't he?" Zeeke doesn't seem convinced. "Had a cook from t'subcontinent, like you, on a ship I served on way back. Made fiery dishes with peppers n'such. T'was the best damn crew I ever served with, and it never got cold below decks either. Thought you'd bring some'a that too."

"Is that something the crew wants?" I ask him, uncertainly. Foolishly, I realise, when I remember the sort of abuse Kit got for his cooking. And not whispered, subtle abuse, either.

"The lil' squirt's sensitive 'bout his cookin', and if you go 'bout it in the wrong way, he'll get all kinds of sore. But just nudge'im a little' a'ight?" Zeeke punches my shoulder insistently. "A'ight?"

"Alright." I mumble in response. "I'll try, sir."

"Sir? Hah." The ferret laughs and slaps my shoulder jovially. "Oh, and we're up fifteen silvers on m'wager. Still feeling firm downstairs? If you buy in now and hold out for the journey, you could earn y'self a good lot."

"I... eh... I'm good, thanks... Zeeke."

"No faith eh?" The ferret laughs again. "That's pro'lly for the best. You'll know sufferin' once we round t'horn. If Kit don't get in there before ya'"

Wishing not to let Zeeke elaborate further on the subject of Kit, as the weasel had been quite unsettled by it the last time they spoke, I instead ask if he has some candles he can spare.

"Candles?" Zeeke echoes, confused. "Why'd y'need candles? Can't you lot see at night?"

"It's not for me, it's for... it's for the Dalmatian."

"What?"

"The dalmatian," I gestured to the forecastle. "You know-"

"Yeah, yeah, I seen him. Why does he need candles? Ain't he got his own?"

Exasperated, I let out an involuntary groan. "Do you have candles, or not?"

"No," Zeeke exclaims. "Jeez, fox. If you need'em so badly, go to the cap'n, he's got all sorts. And keep your tail to the wall."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, nothin'," Zeeke says, but a mischievous grin creeps across his muzzle all the same. "Go on. Knock on 'is door. I'm sure he's got just what y'need."

"I really don't think I should bother-"

"AY, AJAG!" Zeeke suddenly shouts. "CAP'N!"

My ears perk, turning towards the door to the captain's cabin. Carefully, I glance over just as it swings open, and the bushy, black and grey wolf sticks his head out and stare at us with an annoyed glare.

"What is it?"

"Foxy here wan's ta' ask somthin'" Zeeke pushes me firmly between my shoulder blades towards the large wolf in the doorway. Well, there's nothing for it now.

As I draw closer, I catch a strong, unpleasant smell from his quarters. The smell reminds me of the sailors who'd come out of the girls' rooms late at night, unwashed as often as not. Rancid, musky and unmistakeably indecent. The captain likely washes as much as anyone else on his crew.

"Be quick, I was in the middle something."

"S-sorry for intruding, sir," I tell him meekly. "I was wondering if you had some candles to spare?" Well, now I'm this far, I might as well. "Or perhaps some lamp oil."

"I just sent Kit away with a new pot of lamp oil, for Christ's sake," Captain Ajag tells me with an annoyed voice. "What is it you need it for?"

"I meant... I meant to come in place of Kit." I fold my ears down even further for good measure. The captain's voice changes subtly, but unsettlingly.

"Come in his place?" Captain Ajag's smile comes out slowly, broad and mean like a shark's grin. "Did he tell you to do that?"

"No, he doesn't know... but if he has the lamp oil then I require nothing. Pardon me for interrupting, I'll-"

"You can still come inside. If you want to have a chat about anything..."

"Inside?" I ask. "It's quite alright, sir. I don't wish to ask anything of you."

"But I want to ask something of you, so to speak. I can get you what you need, but I will require a favour from you in turn."

I'm no fool. I haven't served sailors for ten years without picking up on a thing or two.

"I best not tarry too long. I have work to do. Pardon me." Rudely, but insistently, I cut the conversation short and hurry away. As I make my retreat, I catch sight of the ferret in my peripheral vision snickering openly.

"What was that all about?" I ask him, not even pretending to be courteous anymore.

"He's a fuckin' delinquent." Zeeke snorts with laughter. "Like, he can't fuckin' hide it. He almost fuckin' salivated on ya, mate. He reaaaaally likes'em small ones like yourself."

"Is this... Was that meant to be a... a joke?"

Zeeke giggles. "I just figured it'd be funny t' see how you'd react. Thought you'd kick 'im in t'nuts or somethin'. That's what Kit would've done when he was new here."

That is definitely not hard to believe. I hope very dearly that Kit keeps his tongue in check with the captain though. That one is more dangerous than any tiger, for sure.

"Ajag's got 'is vices, 'course," Zeeke continues. "Funny as they may be, he's still our cap'n. Can't do much bout' him. The weasel and he has been at each other's throats since day one. I remember when t'weasel came aboard. He was green as a lawn, and barely wet 'hind 'is ears, don'tcha know? But boy did he have a temper. The cap'n off'n had to pull'im in for a one'n one, but that didn't make 'im any less pissy t'start with. But they mellow'd over the years. Now'days y' don't hear much complainin'."

The ferret taps his nose in a way I refuse to try to interpret. It's just another cruel joke on the weasel's expense. This doesn't concern me, it's none of my business. Then, without warning, Duck's voice appears as if from thin air, which causes my ears to freeze, then splay instinctively.

"Have you made any headway in the task you've been given?" The spotted dog draws up beside me, which suddenly gives the ferret I've been talking to a slew of other priorities to take care of. Duck leans his paws on the gunwale, staring out across the featureless blue. "I have given you ample time to think."

"My pardons, sir," I tell him. "I have been furnished with an ample supply of other things to consider as well."

"What would those things be?"

"It's rather private," I tell him, for lack of any better words to describe the matter. "If it's at all possible, might I have some more time to consider?"

Duck's cold eyes betrays nothing, as they look me up and down.

"I can give you a month." Duck sighs. "I don't suppose we're in any kind of hurry. I'll admit I've never personally freed a slave before, I wasn't sure what to expect. But I have employed valets and other servants, and they seem quite quick to decide that service in my retinue is preferable to anything else they can get."

My ears perk at the strange Castellanian word. "Sir, the weasel... Kit... I think he's one of those, what did you call them? Valets? He told me that he trained as one, himself, that his father was one. A skilled one. How about-"

"I'm sure he's told you he has the very best credentials, too?" Duck studies me critically. "Servants work in Dalmatia is famously comfortable. I'm sure he knows well what a step up from being a lowly mess boy that would be. A rather underwhelming one at that, I'd say."

"I don't believe he's making it up," I plead. "He sounded like he really cared about his work, but he couldn't get a position anywhere in Castellania."

"So, he took ship?" Duck asks pointedly.

"I believe he has some... financial troubles," I tell the dalmatian, though I don't wish to sully Kit's good name, which debts apparently do. "Can't you ask him to help you with these things."

"Kieran, I have to shake offers of servitude off with a long stick every day, and I am not about to take on some stranger, on the whim of a fox who doesn't seem to entirely trust me."

My ears fold flat.

"I only wish to make sure I make the right choice for me, and for your cause," I tell him defensively.

"Well, get to grips with whatever it is you need to get to grips with first, as it seems to be a distraction to you. I will be in my cabin if you require my advice, or if you're ready to make your choice."

For the remainder of the afternoon, I sit on the small deck at the prow of the ship where I can come to terms with my thoughts in peace. But I'm not having any luck, no matter how long I spend looking out across the featureless blue. Eventually, the sun dips low enough that I have to begin my duties again. So, I return to the kitchen, where I find Kit sitting upright on his cot with a somewhat crestfallen look to him. He cheers up slightly as he notices me and apologizes for snapping at me earlier. Before long, we've prepared all the food, and are ready to start cooking.

"May I?" I ask, right as he's about to pour the vegetables into the cold water. "Have you tried leaving those out until the water is boiling? You could even wash them and eat them raw, you know."

"That'll take longer," Kit answers automatically, and shuffles around me to get to the pot.

"Hey, come, now," I tell him, "We're not in a rush, are we?"

"What's the matter, Kiearn?"

Kit puts down his chopping board and turns to me with a curious expression.

"Let me just try this. I think it'll taste nicer this way."

"You don't think my food tastes nice?" Kit folds his arms across his chest, his eyes turning up their intensity.

"It's not that, I... I just want to see," I tell him. Kit, for some reason, is so much more difficult to gainsay. "I just figured they didn't need to be so... mushy..." I hurry to add. "I liked your food, Kit. But I think you can make it even better. Okay? Just let me try, please."

Kit looks at me with slightly narrowed eyes, before slowly putting the chopping board with the vegetables on back down.

"If the men get narky, then I'm not standing between them and you, fox. Just let that be said."

"It's quite alright," I assure him. I'm certain this will be a change for the better. "Thanks Kit, I just want to help out."

"Well, you can do the dishes then," Kit responds petulantly. I've already planned to do them, so I just smile and nod, and accept my little victory.

Once the meal is ready and has been distributed around the ship, we share our now accustomed portions in the mess. Kit does frown suspiciously at the slight change in his accustomed stew, but that doesn't stop him finishing off the meal, and having a second helping too.

When I feel the time is ripe to open up a conversation again, I avoid talking about the food, so as not to bruise his ego even further. It is the Duke's offer which sits foremost in my mind.

"What do you think about Dalmatia?" I ask. "To live there, I mean. Do you suppose it's a good place?"

"It's probably my most favourite place in all the world," Kit replies quickly, almost without thinking it would seem. "Far more than Castellania, that's for sure. That stinking pile of refuse can go hang, for all I care."

I splay my ears in confusion. "Why?"

Kit looks at me with a long, wary look.

"What do you mean, why? They're a dualistic, greedy, power hungry empire, who care more about their wealthy than their poor. And anyways, they enslaved you, didn't they?"

"Oh no, that was Matron," I tell him, but not so confident this time. I never did learn who was responsible in truth, but I suppose Matron had a paw in it all. I can't forget what Duck told me, either. Castellania definitely isn't the shiny beacon that I've been brought up to think it is.

"The only Castellanians I ever met were sailors," I tell him. "They weren't all bad. I'm sure it's like that with everyone. Some good, some bad, most are unremarkable. They don't have slaves in Castellania, though. The dalmatian implied as much. Isn't that right?"

"That's true," Kit admits. "But... Dalmatia doesn't have any colonies at all, and has even outlawed the trade of slaves. It's trying to regulate the trade of goods made by slaves too. Even without slaves, it's doing well. Prospering, even."

"Is that your reason for liking the place?" I ask him, studying his expression carefully. "It's a valid reason, but you're no slave, right? So why do you care?"

"Why can't I just care?" Kit asked me right back. "It's evil what Castellania enabled this... Matron person... to do."

"That wasn't Castellania's fault. Duck... I mean the Dalmatian, he said there were corrupt officials in Nawesh who-"

"But it IS Castellania's responsibility," Kit insists. "In the end, it is the mother country's responsibility whenever something bad happens to her citizens, colonials or other."

"What, everyone?" I have to smirk at the thought. "So, if I tripped over my feet and broke my ankle, and couldn't work, then that would be... what? Nawesh's responsibility? Or Castellania?"

"In a sense, yes." Kit turns to me, paws on his hips. "Well. Ideally. We don't choose what nations we're born under, and we don't choose to be hurt or incapacitated, either. Why should we be punished with a life on the streets for a simple accident? Dalmatia cares about those who live in her borders. She feeds her poor in communal soup kitchens, and houses them too so that they don't freeze. Castellania, the richest empire the world has ever seen, has more street dwellers and vagrants than any of the other empires. Even when it trades in slaves. Why do you think that is?"

"There are more people in Castellania, isn't there? It makes sense that there would be more poor people, right?"

Kit sighs and grumbles for a while.

"So, do you expect to require this aid? Surely not. You have aspirations, Kit, I'm sure. So what's the reason?"

"They... they have this history. Democracy. The arts. Trade. Social..." Kit trails off, his ears taking on a pinker hue. His annoyance quickly gives way to another kind of frustration. "Social things... society."

"Arts and history?" I ask. "Is it because you write those poems? I mean, I guess I can understand, and I do admire that they don't deal in slaves, don't get me wrong. But please, can you tell me what it is you truly want? I know there's something you're not telling me, I would like to know. I might be stepping off in Dalmatia when we reach it, for all I know, and I'd rather not run into any surprises, if I can help it."

"I'll have you know, the reasons I've given are quite sufficient," Kit begins but he falters quickly. "But they're not everything, really... You see, Dalmatia has some laws... which I rather think are good ones."

"Laws?" I perk my ears attentively and hopefully not too confrontationally. "I'm not sure I've heard about Dalmatia's laws in any detail."

"Well, they have a very good system of rule," Kit explained, "There's a prince in every city state, and in Dalmatia proper, there's a very good and kind one."

"So, you admire their government? Or is it a particular law? Or this prince?"

I struggle to imagine someone related to Duck as the prince. I keep seeing them in the gown of the queen chess piece. Kit scratches his ears again, but they won't stop flicking.

"What's the matter?" I ask him. "You look really unwell."

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing, Kit. Do you have a fever?" I lean over and try to place a paw on Kit's brow. I'm sure what to feel for, but I never get that far, because Kit brushes me away hurriedly.

"No, it's... let me explain... please don't think less of me, though. You're the nicest fox I ever met, and I don't want there to be any misunderstandings between us."

"Why do you think I'd misunderstand?" I ask. "What's so special with these laws you speak of."

It's hard to press Kit like this. His eyes speak of something akin to pain, but there's no doubt to me at least that he has something he needs to say. That he wants to say, badly. As a friend of his, I feel it's my duty to listen. And I can't just let the world happen around me while I remain a stowaway.

"Argh... It's just that... In Dalmatia, it's not illegal to love whomsoever you chose. They don't concern themselves with such things, as the Castellanians do."

"Whomsoever? So... People might love outside their species? Is that rare? It happened every night in the pillow house. Do you love someone of a different species?"

"I don't... love," Kit struggles to parse the words, interrupts himself with another groan, splays his ears and finally looks down at the floorboards with his ears folded flat. "It's not the reason I mean to convey, Kieran. What I mean is... they... Lord save me, they do not persecute... men... for loving other men, or women for loving other women... which means they wouldn't... persecute me."

Kit slumps on the bed, head bowed and elbows on his knees. The weight of the statement must have been immense. It certainly hits me with a lot of force.

"Oh."

With no other recourse, and because my silence is clearly bothering him, I say the first thing that comes into my head. "They don't persecute people like that in Nawesh either. All those things you speak of are allowed there."

"Not the same." Kit looks up. "You're not angry with me, right?"

"Angry? With you?" I have to search within myself for the answer to that question. I'm not angry. I'm scared. My heart is pounding in my chest, my throat was barely cooperating and my feet tickle uncomfortably. I almost climbed into the same bed as him, and everything. I fell asleep near him. Anything could've happened. "I'm not angry... Why should I be? In th-the colonies such... acts... are legal. Even encouraged in some circles. Trust me, I would know."

Some of the girls had spoken in whispers about the special pillow houses their clients had visited. I had overheard what was done to the boys who served there. I know all I need to know.

"I don't admire the colonies for their handling of this issue," Kit whispers. "Even in Castellania, there are boy brothels. They treat it as a distasteful act someone can only be expected to do for money, as if they were cleaning out privies or rendering horses. I hadn't realised it was like that in Nawesh too. I had been excited about coming here ever since I heard it was a stop along our route. The silks and smoke and scents. And the exotic fruits and spices, too. I'd heard so much talk from other sailors, so many stories about what someone might do there, if only he had some means. I was so ready to try... well... Try everything." Kit breathes out a long sigh, and shakes his head. "But when you came aboard, I realised that those beds... can't have been filled with free men."

"That's... that's true." I confirm. "They're all slaves. I haven't heard of one where they aren't. The men who visit those places are not kind. The acts they do... The pain they cause..."

I look up to meet Kit's horrified eyes.

"I never caused any pain," he whispers. "I went... and saw, but I swear I never hurt anyone."

"You went there?"

"Only to find out," Kit whines, "If I'd have known, Kieran, I'd never have gone. But nobody told me. Nothing happened, I swear, I just went to... to find out some things... please trust me on this. I don't want to hurt anyone. That's not how things work. Not in Dalmatia. The Dalmatians recognize that some of us are simply made that way by the Lord. I would never... never... share a bed with a slave in that way... just like I'd never want to be with someone who didn't want to be with me."

I'm not sure what to say. Maybe Kit is different. Maybe he's just lying to get under my guard and lure me into his bed. Maybe he's just naïve? But he is strangely insistent, after all and he's from a different place. Can I be so sure in my own experiences that I can discount his? I don't dare to voice my concerns. Our friendship, the only friendship I've ever had, rests on a precipice and hinges entirely on whether he speaks the truth or not. I remain silent for a long time, and I guess I must have stared pretty intensely at him during that time, because he shrinks back with a worried expression on his muzzle.

"You're not angry with me, right? Truly? It's just that for people like me, telling something like this is very dangerous. I feel I can trust you as a friend, Kieran. But if I make you uncomfortable, please tell me... rather than you go around and hate me."

"I don't know what to think," I tell him, honestly. "This is not... this isn't easy for me." I draw a long breath, and take that step I've been so afraid to take. I owe him an explanation, at least. "When I was first offered up for sale, I had been a slave for only four rainy seasons. That means I was probably thirteen or fourteen years of age. A buyer had come from the other side of town, representing a wealthy pillow house. For young boys. Matron wanted more for me than the buyer said I was worth, and the deal never went through. But before that, I was shown around his establishment. Several patrons who were there wanted to bid for my first night. I didn't understand what that meant right away. However, I understood the look in their eyes. It was not a nice thing, Kit. They were not good men."

"Oh dear," Kit exclaims. "That's just awful. I'm so sorry, fox."

"I feared that buyer," I tell Kit. "I feared his house too. I feared the rapes. Perversions. Even death. I still fear that place, today, but at least here... here I feel safe." I swallow, but Kit doesn't intervene to fill the silence I create for myself. It's only me, and my thoughts which I have to deal with. "I don't want to cause offense. It's just that for the longest time, I was terrified of anyone who'd want to put me in those pillow houses. Anyone who felt inclined to see me like a... a whore. Anyone who would do those things to me, hurt me, use me, and anyone else who might derive pleasure from those things."

"You've... you've been through a lot." Kit's voice is almost inaudible, It's so quiet and weak. "But... am I... Are you frightened of me? Of who I am? Please be honest with me."

"You can't know what it's like." I flick my ears uneasily, as I avoid the question.

"I'm not saying what you felt isn't justified," Kit says quickly. "But that is not how this is meant to work. I swear. I'm not like that. I don't want... I don't want to cause harm. I only want to be loved, that's all, to be cherished and kept safe, by someone whom I would cherish and swear to protect myself. And for some reason the Lord hasn't explained to me, I can't find that love with girls. If I could just step off anywhere and take a wife, I would. But I can't. Please believe me, Kieran, I swear on my life. I want to go to Dalmatia so that I might find someone who will love me, and care for me."

I stare long and hard at Kit, studying the weasel carefully. Taking in his damp eyes, full of fear and sadness, and his quivering muzzle and drooping whiskers. There's no lie in there. No matter how hard I look. There's nothing I can recognize in his features which brings to mind the dangerous men I've spent my life fearing. Nothing that suggests he's one of them. He might have a tongue on him at times, but not now. He's completely honest with both himself and me. He's sensitive to the feelings of those around him. He isn't a sailor. He's not here because he wants to. He'd rather be somewhere else.

"I was afraid at being powerless. Of having no other option." As soon as I say it, I know I've hit the truth in my reverie. The honesty of those words lifts a weight off my chest. "I was afraid of having to take the only choice left to me, the last sliver of freedom which was only mine. That was what I feared." I lower my shoulders. "Now I've been given... more say in my future, I've had time to think. To question things. I believe you're a good person, Kit."

It takes a great effort to convince my body to relax, but eventually, I do. The room, in it's cramped, salty, oily scented way hasn't changed one bit this evening. Kit is the same weasel now that he was moments ago. Nothing has really changed. I'm still me, and now, no longer distracted by my own fear, I'm just confused.

"So, you want to love other men as men like women? I can understand that. But how does that work? I mean... not legally, more... in reality?"

Kit's ears reach an even deeper red.

"Are you honestly asking me about this, Kieran?"

I nod, for lack of any words to explain why I find it so curious. Now that I'm certain I'm not in any kind of danger, I can take some time to think. Kit stands a good chance of changing my opinion on these matters, as he is the only friendly person I've ever met harbouring such desires. I want my opinion changed. If he can banish my fear so effectively, Gods know what else he could help me with.

"It's quite simple," Kit mumbles almost inaudibly, "it's not difficult... it's... it's... It's like a girl, but she's... he's a boy."

"You've not tried it?" I asked. "Weren't you in those pillow houses?"

"Y... no... I haven't tried it properly." Kit mutters darkly. "Imagine my luck. A promising valet in the greatest city on earth. I had my life ahead of me, until everything was taken away from me. But I still had hope. I hear about these colonies, where a man can find all sorts of comforts. I just wanted a taste of that life, of those sweet pleasures to be found there. And then, after so much waiting and wondering, when I think my time has finally come... it turns out you're all bloody slaves... You're all slaves." Kit sighs heavily, then swallows down on something which clearly aches in him. "Yes, I went to one of those places, Kieran. I just wanted to know what it was like to be somewhere where I could just be myself. I kissed one of them... I shared some fruit with them... but I never dared... going... eh... all the way. And I'm glad I did, now, because you tell me the boys who'd treated me so well, and been so kind to me were all forced to do that. They probably hated me." The first sniff comes like a shock to me. Then Kit's eyes bead with tears. "I just wanted to know what it was like, I never knew..."

"I'm sorry you didn't find what you hoped for." I seat myself on the end of his bed, clasping my paws in my lap. "I'm sure the boys who spent time with you don't hate you. They're probably grateful for the respite you gave them, I guess. Not many brothel visitors take their time to treat the slaves like people, and I'm sure you were very kind to them. I'm sure there could be a place for a valet like you in Dalmatia, where you can be free to do what you like."

"Yeah," Kit chuckles, sniffles and adds, "With my luck, I'd be given a place in a celibate fucking monastery."

"You don't have to swear," I tell him. "I'm sure things will work themselves out for you. At least you're free to do something about it." I gesture towards his chest where a wealth of spices lies bundled up and hidden.

Kit nods weakly. Perhaps it's for the best that I accept Duck's offer. Dalmatia sounds like a good place. But more crucially, if I go there and have my future provided for, I might be able to help Kit. I might be able to give him something in return for all that he's suffered, all he's taught me, and all the friendship he'd extended already. I so dearly want my lingering fear of what he is go away. I don't wish to be constrained by it. I tell myself that if there are more people like him in Dalmatia, then Dalmatia is a fine place indeed. It feels like the truth.

Kit's burning lamp does little to banish the chill of the night out at sea. But I'll manage. I slump down on the floor again where I slept earlier today, prepared to wait for sleep to claim me again. But I never get that far.

"I take it that Dalmatian of yours didn't have a place for you to sleep after all?"

"No," I admit. "Or, well, he said I should sleep in the mess. I can sleep here. That's okay with you?"

"Of course not!" Kit exclaims. "It'll only get colder from here. You'll get a fever as well as seasick, and trust me, that is not what you want."

He leans on his elbow, looking over the edge of his cot, and down at me.

"It's quite alright for now," I tell him, gathering myself up into a tight curl. "I don't really get sick and I have slept through many a cold night back at home."

"Not cold like this, fox," Kit sighs. "Come along." He pats the mattress beside him. "The cot is large enough to be shared."

"I really don't think I should-"

"Look." Kit gives me an apologetic look. "I told you, I have no desire to hurt you. I won't touch you. I swear on my life. But if you catch a cold, that'll be on me, and you won't be able to help out here. Is that what you want?"

I feel a sting of guilt in my heart. I'm not being prudent. I'm not even being reasonable. It's the remnants of my fear which cause these worries. It's the remnants of my fear which holds me back. I want to put that fear behind me.

I have to make a conscious effort to keep my hackles from bristling. My body hasn't accustomed itself to the great changes in my head. I seat myself, slowly and carefully, down on the mattress. Oh, Gods, it's so soft.

"You promise?" I ask him, speaking into the night without looking him into his eyes.

"I promise," Kit assures me. "I've shared a bed all my life, with my family or fellow servants, or whatever. It doesn't mean anything, it's just a good bed, and it'd be a shame if you missed out on it. Go on, Kieran."

"Alright." I wring the word out slowly. I need time for my resolve to build up to the point where I can slip in beneath the sheets, and even then, I keep my clothes on.

The added heat feels strange. Almost uncomfortable, I'd say. But as night moves on, I find it more welcome. The sounds and movements of the weasel beside me, however, keeps me from dropping off to sleep entirely. And then there's the overwhelming and unmistakeable smell of him all around me. And though I'm tired and vulnerable, I still feel safer now, infinitely safer, than I ever did in the cellar of a pillow house which was uncomfortably close to another pillow house, but is now far, far away.

###

There's a lot of strange things about Kit. Every few days for the following few weeks or so, Kit goes into the captain's cabin wearing a weary, tired expression, and when he returns, he's always in a poor mood. He hasn't gotten around to explaining why, but I guess it has something to do with his duties on board. It can't be for lamp oil, as we always have that in plenty supply for our daily reading lessons. Kit's tongue can be abrasive at times, so maybe he's just earned himself some kind of punishment for speaking out of turn.

But in the quiet hours during Kit's absence, my mind sets to work. There's one conclusion, based on what Kit confessed to me, which is uncomfortably easy to reach. The captain is definitely the sort of sailor I've been right to despise. I'm sure of it. Kit is clever, he'd know better. I can't think about my friend like that. Not when I'm sharing his bed.

And it goes well enough for the next nights. But tonight, after almost a month at sea, I'm sharing the bed with only his scent again. I can't drop off to sleep. I can't shake those unwarranted thoughts, which have been bothering me every time Kit goes up to the captain's cabin, when I ought to have been more bothered about my own future. I need to clear my head of questions.

But for the night watcher in the crow's nest, and the navigator at the helm, the deck is empty, bathed in the comfortable blackness only nights at sea can bring with them. No torches or lanterns burn anywhere on deck. I'm guessing the night watcher has the night eyes, which means lantern light only disturbs his vision, as it does mine own.

I'm surprised at how quietly I can move, when it all comes down to it. Years of practice on creaky stairs and hard tile floors has given me a soft step, and has made claw trimming a part of my daily grooming.

Cautiously, I edge closer to the staircase leading to the aft top deck, staying out of sight of the helm. To my left, the door to the captain's cabin, and to my right, down the side of the ship, I spot an open porthole. I have to lean from the staircase and over the gunwale, and though I can't see inside, I can hear voices very faintly.

"...The fox, I mean, he's very kind -"

A soft splash of waves against the side of the ship drowns the rest of the words out. Kit's words, spoken ever so softly.

"I don't care," another voice comes through, gruffer and coarser than the weasel's. "I don't like him so close. He's going to get under your skin. C'mere you."

"Could we not-"

Another splash. If only Kit spoke as loud as the captain, whose words I have no trouble hearing.

"What's the matter?" the captain raises his voice. "Thought you liked it like this?"

Kit's voice is not raising alongside it.

"I'm still not in shape after the other night. You ought to have-."

The waves drown out what Kit might have said, but not the Captain's response.

"If you're going to be such a fuckin' difficult little bitch about it... might as well put that muzzle to better use."

"I didn't mean... I merely suggested that perhaps we could just... you know... Gentle, this time. I still want to, it's just... well..."

I wish I could see Kit, but I can't. From the tone of his voice, what little I can hear, it sounds like he's using a lot more body language than verbal.

"Fuck it, you know what. I'm not in the mood to listen to you complaining. Come back when you're prepared to actually do anything. I got enough to worry about. That stinking Dalmatian... and I don't trust that black spot of a fox either. Something's not right about that one, I can feel it in my bones. Stay away from that fox, you hear me."

That makes my ears perk. The captain's tone, and it's awfully familiar turns of phrase, sends tingles of uneasiness down my spine. I'm taken back to the pillow house I visited long ago. The boys with their polished silver collars, and scant clothing which hid nothing. The awful, constricting scents of expensive incense. The scattered shouts of the patrons, teamed with the desire in their eyes. The knowledge that they could do whatever they pleased, if they only paid for it. The captain used that same sort of tone they had. He has the desire which they had. The same desire Kit has. But unlike the weasel, his desire sounds completely stripped of empathy. And Kit, regardless of the laws of land or sea, is subject to that desire. Whether it's consensual or not, I can't say. I can only draw what conclusions I've already drawn. Kit and the captain have far more history than the weasel lets on. If I'm mistaken in this, then my collar is nothing but an ugly necklace.

Shortly after those words have been exchanged, I hear a slam behind me which makes me pull away from the railing and huddle closer to the staircase. Not a second later, I catch the sight of Kit in my peripheral vision. Clearly visible against the blackness all around, and more so because he's carrying a flickering lantern. He can't see me. He wouldn't want me to see him like this, I'm sure. I have heard everything I need to hear, and I wish I hadn't, because my mind creates vivid imagery for everything I couldn't see in there. Scenes that it shames me to imagine Kit featuring in. As he disappears down below, I am left with a bitter taste in my muzzle, an aching guilt in my throat, and a need to do something about it.