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Chapter 8

Duck and I enter the captain's cabin around dinner time. As instructed, I remain standing behind Duck when the captain bids him sit by his table. Kit brings us the food, never once taking his eyes off the captain even when I try to catch his attention.

The dish smells far better than I'm used to from Kit's mess, mostly because it's visibly decked in spices none of the crew get on their portions. I wonder for whose benefit those have been added.

For the first time, I'm afforded a close-up view of the captain without that accompanying feeling of trepidation, so I can take my time to study him more thoroughly. Though he looks and smells like a wolf, his coat is striped like a tigers, with black and brown fur, relatively thin all over apart from around his neck where it stands out in a great big bushy cloud, overtopping his stiff collared shirt and coat. He really has quite a lot of gold jewellery in his ears, nose and on his fingers. He bedecks himself in it unlike any Castellanian would, with the intent of showing as much of it at once as possible. And then there's his grin; how he glances towards me whenever he isn't addressing Duck. I can't reproduce Duck's blank exterior completely, though I do my best. I resent the captain, and not for what Zeeke might have called his delinquency. I hate him for being an owner. For the way he's worked Kit into a corner like he has, with debts and coercion. I seethe where I stand, as privately as I can manage. For the first time in my life I have the freedom to resent people such as him without feeling actual fear for my life. But I have to repress that resentment even so, in this proper setting. The way he had spoken to me those few times was one thing. But the way I'd heard him speak to Kit had been unacceptable. Whenever I hear the captain's voice, I think of his possessive tone, his barked commands, his hungry eyes. But when the captain finally does speak, he does so with a submissiveness that catches me off guard.

"Sir is very kind to extend this offer of cooperation," he says, presumably picking up on some earlier conversation I've not been privy to. I snap back to reality, where I'm stood behind Duck with my paws behind my back. I ought to pay attention, this could be important. "Your observations as you outline them are broadly correct. Krish has become rather unruly as of late, and I fear a mutiny from his side."

"I wouldn't worry about a mutiny," Duck tells him confidently. "I know the tiger well, as I've kept a close eye on him lately. He's a follower. He follows strong leaders."

They're talking about the first mate. The first mate whom Duck claims to know well. All I can remember, when that thought strikes me, is the thin ruby ring, identical to the tiger's, which Duck had worn, and which is not on his finger now.

"Strong leaders, aye." The captain fidgets. "Since last year, he's grown restless. He spends a lot of time in his quarters, and snaps at the men more often and more violently than he used to."

"It's all for the better that he is in the crown's sphere of attention, then." Duck sips at a glass of wine placed before him. "His Majesty, the prince of Dalmatia desires this tiger brought to his justices. He is apparently the perpetrator of a grave crime against the state, the details of which I am not at liberty to discuss. I require your cooperation, and more importantly, your discretion in his arrest."

"Far too much gold on him for a regular sailor," the captain mutters while picking strands of loose fur from his sleeves. "I was always a bit suspicious of him, sir. I think it will be best if we get rid of him, most certainly."

Duck takes some time to answer as he samples the stew Kit had placed before him earlier. His powers of acting are startlingly good. I could've sworn he enjoyed the dish as if it had been sent him from the Raj's own kitchens.

"You seem to know a lot about the tiger's finances?"

"Not a lot." Captain Ajag shrugs. "But the tiger... I believe he carries quite a lot of wealth. I heard the way his luggage clinked... I just wonder... I wonder what will become of it, after he is arrested?"

I can tell from Ajag's tone alone that he's practically rubbing his paws in glee over confiscating whatever the tiger owns. He is unconcerned with selling out his own, regardless where they might end up. Even when I don't think I could hate him more, somehow, I manage to.

"The crown will have to decide what to do with that wealth. It is not a matter for you or I."

"I just figured," Ajag says, "Since you and I already have an understanding and all. Who's to say we should not be rewarded for having to deal with such a dangerous criminal, after all?"

"He's merely suspected, Captain, not convicted."

"Pah! I always knew what he was," Captain Ajag sneers. "I could see it on him, sir. Some men, they have the criminal look to them. I can see it from miles off. Best to strangle them in the crib-"

"And you said nothing of your suspicions before now?" Duck asks pointedly. "I sailed on this ship for a year or more. We've been to a dozen cities and outposts together, all with this tiger as your first mate. I heard nothing of this suspicion before. And now you tell me he's been a danger to us? Now he's suddenly some scoundrel to you, merely because I've been asked to apprehend him?"

"Any man has a right to his secrets," the captain complains. "I was not aware that he was a wanted tiger, naturally. He's an admirable first mate, when all is said and done. What more can I say?" The wolf shakes his head slowly and glance towards me in a moment when I don't pay attention to my ears or tail. And in my features, he sees something he clearly finds distasteful. "And if I might add, sir... Since I do have an eye for these things as I said... I would suggest you keep an extra close eye on that fox of yours. I don't like the look of him either, sir."

"I thank you to not judge the character of my fox, Ajag," Duck says warningly. Calm, but somehow, not very calm at all. I have to stand and take it, as normal, but this I have a lot of practice doing at least.

"My judgements will remain unspoken, as you wish."

"I suppose that's what you did when you took Krishnananda on board? Kept them to yourself?" Duck's eyes would penetrate the captain if they had been made from the same grey steel they reflect.

"I did exercise judgement." The wolf's ears flick, almost laying all the way back in trepidation, before he notices me, and presumably wills them up to their initial, not-so-obviously-submissive position. "When I took him aboard, he was the image of a sailor, true, gallant and brave. Lately he's grown more recalcitrant, and less liked by the crew. But a contract is a contract."

"Indeed. A contract is just that, after all. Just a few lines of ink on a sheet, as fleeting and flimsy as the fibres upon which it is written." Duck sips again, coldly staring at the wolf all the while. "But tearing up the tiger's contract would require more spine than I believe you capable of. Not to worry, I am in possession of one. You will unlock his personal chest now, I think. I wish to inspect his wealth for myself to see if I can learn more."

"I cannot do that," the captain blurts out, almost tripping over his tongue, outraged on the surface at least. "His contract states that he's a right to-"

"His rights be damned, Ajag. Do you, or do you not consider him criminal? Make up your bloody mind. Until then, by order of the crown, do as I say, or I will make your life very difficult if you ever want to travel through Dalmatian waters again."

"Sir," the wolf pleads, fear appearing ever so slightly around his features. "I cannot. I haven't got a spare key."

Duck scratches his chin, glancing back to me briefly before looking at the captain again, now visibly annoyed.

"I swear on my honour, sir." The wolf's eyes are widening with fear. "If I had the power to unlock his chest here and now, I would not waste another moment."

"I don't doubt that, at least." Duck nods finally. He has a fierce and disdainful scowl on his muzzle reserved entirely for the captain.

With my arms clasped behind my back, I have to take hold of my tail so that it doesn't twitch and wag, and I have to make a conscious effort not to let my own smile climb across my muzzle.

"I will forgive this lapse in judgement on your part," Duck tells the wolf sternly. "Once. For now, you will have to listen to me and follow my instructions. For the rest of the journey, Krishnananda will have the helm at night. You will inform him of this. You will not post a night watch below decks, because this is pirate waters, and we need him up top to keep an eye out. Understand?"

"Sir?" the captain asks. "These waters have always been peaceful, no?"

"Did you not hear me, Ajag?"

"No, I heard you well," The wolf scratches his long, bushy ears. "I heard you, I heard you. I just don't understand."

"Do you think I care at all for what you understand? It's almost as if you want to pay the fines for all the things you keep underneath the planks on the lower decks."

"Ah." The captain fidgets more now, looking uneasily across to me, his hungry smile nowhere to be seen underneath his worry and discomfort.

"Ajag!" Duck almost shouts. "You are not talking to my fox, you are talking to me!"

"I... I mean... You make a fair point, Sir." Ajag stumbles, but catches himself just as quickly. "I will tell the tiger that he has the night, and I'll take the current watch off his duty and put him in the crow's nest instead."

"You will indeed." Duck's tone is so commanding I feel a strong urge to turn my ears down as well. But I'm playing the role of a proper servant, and a proper servant, according to Kit, retains full control of his ears and tail. Duck's voice changes from a commanding bark to an insistent, conspiratorial tone. "If I deem your efforts satisfactory, you will hear no more from the harbour master or tax inspector, and you will not hear from me or the fox. In fact, you won't even remember us being aboard. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir, clear as day, sir. Is there ought else I can assist with?"

Duck turns to me with a glance which still bears some of his frustration on it, and suddenly the last thing on my mind is the smile I tried to suppress. My ears flick momentarily, but I keep them in check.

"The cook," Duck turns back to the captain, pushing his plate away, which I notice has been nearly emptied already. "This food is quite insufficient, and my patience has long since eroded. I want him replaced with my fox for the remainder of the voyage."

"A fox to cook?" Captain Ajag looks to me quickly, but he doesn't dare to let his gaze linger anymore. Duck is commanding all of his attention now. "Are you quite sure? My-"

Duck glares at him so insistent and forceful that the captain stops talking. "I understand this weasel is bound by some kind of debt, is this correct?"

"By decree of Lord Golden himself, no less," Captain Ajag explains hurriedly. "I purchased his debts fair and square, I have the papers here, somewhere."

The captain gets up quickly, and makes his way over to the shelves he keeps in one corner of the room, flitting nervously through some documents and books in it.

"Do you have a current list payments, too? And the state of his debts?" Duck asks, "as you're legally required to keep?"

"N-naturally," Captain Ajag stammers. "I can't... find it right now, but I will bring it to you, if you so wish-"

"And his contract, in which is specified his pay and apprenticeship duration?"

"Y-yes, I have it here... somewhere, just... just please give me some time to sort through my papers. I have quite a few contracts here, I'll have to read... read through them all."

Duck's eyebrows arch only slightly, before they settle back to a point not very far above his eyes.

"When is the weasel expected to have paid his debts? This you must know, surely. You're good with numbers and coins, after all."

There isn't even a sliver of good intentions in that statement.

"The number of months is too high for me to work out without papers and abacus." The captain splays his ears apologetically. "It's the crown who decides, and they have set his interest rate quite high for some reason. I have nothing to do with that, as you surely-"

"I see," Duck says, interrupting the captain again as if he hadn't spoken at all, "and the sum of money remaining?"

"A hundred and fifty pounds, and as of last year, it has been increasing with three or four shillings every month, last time I checked with the ledgers."

"A most unfortunate situation. Why has his pay not climbed to meet this increase in debts? A few shillings is not much."

"You have tasted his food, sir," Captain Ajag mutters. "He's not due the pay of a true cook. I understand he had some more lucrative profession before he came here," the captain explains. "Shouldn't have squandered his money like that I suppose. Only himself to blame."

"You will sell me his debts." Duck commands. "I wish to try him as my valet."

"Sir?" Captain Ajag blinks in confusion for a few moments before he catches on. "He's mine... I mean his debts... they're mine. I bought them."

"Did I not make myself clear?"

"N-no, of course, sir. Naturally, sir. I will just have to find his papers first, sir. I will... I will see to it, sir."

"Good," Duck tells him. "I believe I'm quite done here. Kieran, with me."

Captain Ajag lowers his head as we exit, and doesn't look up for as long as I can see him, his ears folded flat against his head. This is power. I have no recourse but to follow the Dalmatian, ears tucked all the way back and it's not just out of politeness. In all my ten years in a slave city, I've never seen such a display of utter, unquestionable dominance.

"Will you help him?" I ask when we return to the dalmatian's private quarters. "A hundred and fifty pounds is a lot of money, I know, but I will work all my life to repay you, I swear, I-"

"A hundred and fifty pounds is some orders of magnitude less than what the captain is smuggling for every landfall. It's quite a lot less than I expect you to earn. It is more like three years of amassed income for you, before taxes and expenses. In most cases, debts like these are paid down in a matter of years, or maybe a decade depending on the sum." Duck mutters to himself "Can't in good conscience pay more... pah."

"The captain is cheating Kit in some way?"

"Though it's probably legal, there's no reason to keep the weasel on apprentice pay like that. Regardless of the food, which might very well be the fault of an overly miserly quartermaster, for all I care. Suspicious."

"Suspicious?" I ask. "Obvious, if you'll allow me, sir."

"Tell me what you believe is so obvious," Duck says.

"The captain wants Kit around," I conclude, without quite wanting to think about why he does. "The captain... I know his like. He probably would like nothing better than to have a slave. But since that isn't legal, then that means he has to settle for the nearest thing."

"Indeed." Duck wags a finger at me, speaking low and ominous. "This is what happens when debts and interests controlled by some Castellanian lord's private bank. There's no oversight. It's not the contentment of the masses which motivate them, it's their own greed. In Dalmatia, the interest rates are controlled by the crown, to fit the average worker's income so that anyone can pay back a loan. This way, the populous is happy and healthy."

"And yet, Dalmatia is more than happy to uphold her duty to deliver those who escape these Castellanian bankers back to the people they escape from?" I turn my ears towards him confrontationally, but I'm not sure I could withstand the sort of force he showed Captain Ajag. Thankfully, he doesn't turn the full force of his eyes on me at any point.

"That is one side of the coin," Duck admits. "Castellania is the mightiest empire history has ever seen, after all, with colonies in all four corners of the world. And due to our differences in politics, we are not the best of friends with her."

"But right here and right now, you're enjoying food cooked by a slave."

"Kit is only in his unhappy situation due to a very peculiar and random quirk, falling in between two legal codes, and a rather unpleasant employer. Had he not been from Castellania, had he not served on this particular ship as a debt worker, with his very specific background, then things would've been very different and this situation would likely never arise. This is not Dalmatia's fault, Kieran." Duck shakes his head, as if he's just reminded himself of something he'd rather not have remembered at all. "But... I will concede that should he chose to seek asylum in Dalmatia... as it stands we would be unable to accept him, since we generally cannot help Castellanian citizens racked with debts they cannot pay... and in this very specific case, that does not look favourable... considering my stated intent. I have heard your argument Kieran. I don't disagree with you."

"Would I have been able to seek this asylum you speak off?" I ask Duck. "If I somehow managed to escape my bonds on my own?"

"Naturally," he tells me. "If you'd had the good fortune to reach our shores or come across one of our traders, there would be help in store for you."

"And yet, I belonged in a Castellanian colony, didn't I? So why would it be so much easier to go against them in that case? What separates his and my slavery? Isn't he due Dalmatia's protection?"

"Unlike a slave, Kit hasn't his very existence held in someone else's paws," Duck explains, his voice both level and calm. "You were a slave because of corruption and greed in the town where you lived. Castellania looks the other way when it comes to you, so she won't go looking for you. Because you don't, technically, exist, in her eyes. Kit owes Castellania money, and that is something she cannot overlook." Duck scoffs. "You've been a good fox, Kieran. I don't believe I would've noticed this issue without your help. We have very different perspectives, I suppose. But I'm glad you spoke up."

"Thanks, sir, I-"

"I believe I will pay the weasel's debts," Duck continues. "As a sign of my gratitude, and partly from a sense of shame, I will sponsor half the debts from my own pockets."

I feel my jaw slacken before I remember myself and bow deeply. "T-thank you, sir. I am deeply grateful and indebted to you."

"Indeed you are, but not forever." Duck lets out a slight woof which might almost be described as a chuckle. A strange sound I've not heard from him before and I suspected I'll probably not hear again anytime soon. "Seventy-five pounds, Castellanian. We'll see that one paid down quite quickly, so don't you worry about that. Now." Duck straightens the lapels of his shirt, as if he's just undertaken some labour of greater intensity than discussing legal matters with a clueless fox for the better part of half an hour. "I have followed through on my promise, and now I expect you to follow through with the word you gave me. So, when I order you to do something for me, I don't want you to consider it in terms of the money you owe me. I want you to first think about the respect we share. I believe we agree on a lot of things, and I want you to trust that I have those same goals in mind as you do, to some extent."

"I will do my best, sir," I tell him firmly. "And if possible, I would like this captain to pay for what he's done."

Duck's hint of a smile stiffens on his lips. His eyes lose what little friendliness they have, and his tone levels.

"What is it you wish to accuse him of, specifically?"

"He deserves to pay for his mistreatment of Kit. If it's true what you say-"

"I just explained this to you. There are no legal grounds to move forward with this folly. I cannot change a law, and then accuse someone of a crime that amendment created." Duck waves a finger at me. "Do not misinterpret my generosity as an invitation to demand more. I will not be this kind the next time. If you have issues with him, you are free to discuss them with me. But it is my word which decides the captain's fate, and not yours."

"I understand sir," I tell him, and lower my muzzle. My anger is not forgotten, but doused by the dalmatian's cold eyes.

"Good. Now tell me. Who was I?"

"Pardon?"

"Who did the captain think I was in our meeting back there? Explain my role as you saw it."

I have to chew on the question for a moment, just to gather my thoughts. I focused so much on the captain that I almost forgot what words had been exchanged.

"You're his superior, clearly. Someone he reports to."

Duck shakes his head. "Not quite, but close."

"You're someone he seeks favour from, then?" I try instead.

"What sort of favour is that?"

I splay my ears. "I'm not sure. I think it's something to do with politics or law, but I'm not very caught up with the laws of your kingdom. I presume he wanted you to make it so that he could get away with... smuggling? At least that was what it sounded like."

"Almost," Duck tells me with a clever glint in his eyes. "He wants to continue with it. Poppied wine, a speciality of the empire of Xigou but popular all across the east where the poppy flowers grow. He keeps it under the lower decks' floorboards, in weighted casks under the bilge water. It's a practiced operation he's been running for a good while. I've known about it for a long time before I came aboard, naturally, but he doesn't need to know that. He thinks I am a corrupt functionary with powerful contacts in the harbourmaster's office. Which I technically am. Smuggling is a capital offense, you know, and the trade of poppy is heavily regulated by Castellania. Every trip he makes, my toll officers log and make notes of. We have paperwork on every single cask he's brought into the city, and at any point, I could prosecute him without difficulty."

"But you allow this to happen?"

Duck smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "After the wine has reached shore, I have some of my city watch track it, and hunt down the people Ajag supplies. There are new ones every time, whom I am quite happy to make acquaintances with. It always serves to have a few disreputable fellows in the palm of my paw. Their lives are also mine, and they tell me a great many secrets in order to keep the heads on their shoulders. The wine itself rarely makes it into the paws of the public, naturally. It's a poison I'd rather not have swilling around in our city. But that's neither here nor there. The point is that Ajag is mine, and I know how to make use of him."

"Is it safe, sir?" I ask. "What if he decides he'd rather not live under such a yoke? What if he rebels?"

"You probably understand what I mean when I tell you that I am confident he will not." Duck's smile dies away completely, and his glare darkens. "Ajag treasures his own hide over anything else, and will eschew friendship, alliances, colleagues and gold if he has to. He is entirely reliant on me for his continued existence, and I can revoke my protection of him any time. Only then will he consider revolting, and I will know far in advance of it actually happening."

Can I revolt, if I'm put in a place where I have no other choice? Will I be put in such a place? Can I trust him? He's been kind to me, in his own way, but those questions will probably always hang over me. Maybe he is right? Maybe I have interpreted my freedom a little hastily?

"Tell me why I gave Ajag my commands." Duck rises from his table, and seats himself in his comfortable chair, crossing his legs and leaning forward. "Why does it matter to me where and when the first mate and night watcher perform their duties?"

"The first mate..." I pause to gather my thoughts back up. "I think he would be an able navigator at night-"

"That is not the reason," Duck says immediately. "The ship has several able navigators. The first mate is generally not the one who guides the ship, and especially not during night. This will make most of his waking duty pointless, because he serves as the conduit between the men and the captain. So why do I want him to guide the ship instead of doing his job?"

"Because," I draw out the word until I realise. Duck mentioned something about leaving the lower decks unguarded. "You need him somewhere you are certain he'll remain. So that his room will be empty. His room which is below decks, at the prow of the ship. The chest which you wanted unlocked must be in his room then?"

The dalmatian nods.

"And you need," I continue, cautiously, and fruitlessly, fishing for clues in the dalmatian's expression. "You need the night watch in the crow's nest instead of below decks. With him up in the mast, nobody keeps a watch below. Which means the tiger's room is ripe for... for what, exactly?"

"We will get to that in a moment." Duck smooths out one of his sleeves with a casual gesture. "You require more practice at this, clearly. But you're not hopeless, at least. At some later stage, you might take part in a conversation where I play a role you're not aware of. It will benefit you to understand as soon as possible where the land lies, so to speak. Your powers of observation are your most critical skillsets; Look and see and listen closely to what those around you are saying, and think carefully about what it means. Do this everywhere, and for everything, even around people you think you trust. Look past their words. See what they're trying to hide. The truth isn't blankly refused, or opposite of the lie. Often, the real truth is shaded in excuses and rationalisations obliquely referencing it, in half-truths and lies and sometimes in other truths or lies which are told to distract you. It takes experience and skill to see through these, and you better start learning now."

I'm not as green as he might assume. For years, I've learned to read the inebriated, half focused stare of any stranger, so that I can know at a glance if they are a dangerous, an affectionate, or a sleepy drunk. It often saved me from a bruised lip, a yanked tail, or a shirt wet with someone's sick. It's an interpretive art however. I can't read them like some men read letters. Like Duck sometimes reads me. Now there is a skill to keep one alive.

"Some men will shade entire books worth of implications into a single word or deed," Duck explains. "As indeed our Captain did just now. Did you notice it?"

"Notice what, sir?" I ask, because I'm genuinely not sure what, out of all of Captain Ajags strange behavioural quirks he refers to.

"It was lucky you wanted me to bring up the weasel, otherwise I wouldn't have seen his reaction. Ajag guards something very secret when it comes to this weasel, and he desperately wanted to keep that fact hidden from me. Even when he has shared his illegal operations with me. What is it he doesn't want me to know? I'd like you to find out, Kieran. It should serve as good exercise for your future. You've grown close to the mess... cook.... very quickly, so I think you're in a good position to get to the bottom of this."

I know, loosely, what goes on between Kit and the Captain. But I can't understand it, and I suppose that's what he asks of me. Kit doesn't want to talk about it, and I'm loathe to dig deeper for fear of what I might find.

"That's... quite a tall order," I tell him, hoping my features do not reveal anything more than I'm prepared to tell.

"You have already asked a lot of me," Duck counters. "This is a part of your training, to which you agreed, so I'm not going to change my mind on it. If you want to prosper, by which I mean survive in this line of work, I require you to practice and exercise as I outline. More than just this little assignment, mind you. You need to use that tongue of yours much more, going forward. You need to practice making it do what you require of it, rather than what you want. Lying and deception isn't natural to you. This must be practiced. This mess boy is the best one for you to practice on."

"Alright, sir," I promise him. "I'll find out what it is the captain is hiding. If I may ask... what will you do about him now? Kit, I mean... Now that he's... not needed in the kitchen."

"I suppose I will have to speak with him. Let's see what he knows about the profession he presumes to claim. I'm just saying this now. I'm very particular about my servants, so don't be surprised if he doesn't make the cut."

"He'd be delighted to serve you. He'll do what you require of him, I just know it, sir."

"And in the future, will you please refrain from stewarding my household, fox?" Duck mumbles some wordless sounds of exasperation. "If he's a tenth as diligent as you make him out to be... Lord deliver me."

I bow deeply again, feeling an uncommon smile drape across my muzzle and straining at my cheek muscles. "Thank you so much for this. I'll fetch him."

"Kieran." His voice grows stern as he addresses me, and my tail stills for a moment. "This... all of this... is highly irregular. I certainly don't intend to make it anything less than that. I'm not in the habit of this kind of charity, and I expect you to realise what this means. Are we clear?"

I nod vigorously, and aim my snout at the stairs leading below.

###

"Kit," I call as I head below, "Duck... I mean... err... the Dalmatian wishes to speak to you. Personally."

"Speak to me?" Kit asks, preoccupied with his writing. "If he's upset with the food, he can keep it to himself, frankly."

"He's not." Upset isn't the word I'd chose. "It's not about your cooking, Kit. Go on."

"Is... is he..." Kit begins, but falters as soon as his eyes lift from his poetry. His confused expression deepens several degrees as our eyes meet. I shake my head at whatever it was he was about to ask.

"Just go up there and listen to what he has to say."

"What is it he has to say?" Kit asks, a smile breaking out on his lips slowly; I guess my excitement is contagious. He steps over to me, inquisitively looking into my eyes as he repeats his question. "Come on, Kieran, you know what he's going to say, don't you?"

"You'll find out when he tells you." Kit's nearness makes my heart beat faster, even when so much trust has built up between us. It's pounding in my chest, like it sometimes does right before we go to sleep. I'd have called it fear but it's not that. It's exhilarating, in a nice way.

"Why can't you tell me?"

"It's not for me to tell," I answer. "Trust me, you'll like it, I swear you will."

"Why would I like it?" Kit does a double take. "Wait, what did you tell him?"

"Not much," I admit. "Just that you were a valet once."

"You did?" Kit's ears flick, but his smile stays firm. "I... I guess I'll have to go and talk to him then, don't I? Can't deny the express wishes of an actual true Dalmatian, can I? What can you tell me about him? Do you know him well? Is he very important? Should I watch out for something? How should I tend myself?"

"You probably know better than I do," I tell him with a smile. "He might be a bit scary at first. But I think he means well." At least I sure hope he does, I add under my breath. "He's not given me much to complain about, that's for sure." Now there's a lie if ever I told one. I better not push it too far. "Just go up there, I know you'll do well, I'm sure of it. He's better at explaining things than I am."

Kit's earnest enthusiasm makes me happy and his eyes look livelier than I've ever seen them. I did this. I caused this. Or... I helped bring this out, at least. That's a new feeling, which shocks me with its power. I catch myself just staring at those magical green eyes, so full of hope and excitement. Now this is how a recently freed slave should look. I wish there was a way for me to share in what he feels.

Kit returns later that evening with an even wider smile on his muzzle than when he departed. His steps are almost weightless, as he bounces towards me on his pads. I am preoccupied planning the next morning's meal, deep in concentration. But even then, I can't help but notice him. He takes up all the extra space in the mess with his unspoken words and upbeat attitude. Then suddenly, I feel his arms around me, and I flinch. His hug is tight and warm. I'm too shocked to struggle against him, and when I come to my senses, too touched to resist him.

"I can't believe you, Kieran!" Kit whines as he releases his grip on me. My heart has already worked up a rapid pace. Kit heads over to his table, picks up his writing again, all the while talking constantly. I'm still stuck on the first step where he hugged me, and I can't get over the feel of his arms around me. I'm only snapped out of the shock when he stops talking.

"Why, though," he asks, tilting his head. "Why spend all that money on someone you've known for such a short while? Why me, why not someone who truly deserved it? You must know some worthy soul from your days in Nawesh, surely?"

"You are a worthy soul," I tell him, for lack of a better way to explain the emotions I'm chewing on. The emotions of great friendliness and affection which I've never tasted before. "I have never met anyone as kind as you. Without you, I'd never have found my place here on this ship. You've made me feel like I belong. You're the first friend I've ever had. This is what friends do, right? We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yeah, but this..." Kit waves as if to gesture to everything I've just done. "This is so much more. I gave you some hints and tips, and helped you with some minor things. Whereas you... you gave me... a... a new lease on life. I don't know how I can repay you."

"Just do your best," I explain emphatically. "If you impress him, he'll take you on. How nice wouldn't that be? You can come to Dalmatia with me! I think we should stick together."

"Stick together, huh?" Kit asks, slowly putting his pen down and blinking a few times, rapidly as if he's just gotten a strand of fur in his eyes. He swallows before speaking, and I feel he's about to say something momentous. But instead, he says, "I think a cup of wine to celebrate the occasion would be prudent."

"Wine?" I ask. "I didn't know they had wine for the sailors here."

"I know where the captain keeps his private wine," Kit tells me. "He would never know if a cup or two went missing."

"Have you drunk this wine before?"

"Oh, yes. It's very good."

"Has it..." I scratch at my collar uneasily, searching for the words. "Does it make you very drowsy?"

"No more than usual," Kit shrugs. "Will you take some with me?"

"But it's not poppied, right?" I blurt out, slightly more pressing than I intended. "It's normal wine, right? You've not developed that habit, right? Right?"

"No?" Kit draws the word out while confusion creeps over his expression. "Hold on a second. You know about the secret wine? How?"

"I served the stuff in the pillow house long enough," I tell him. I'm pretty sure if I tell him the honest reason, I'll let slip something Duck would rather I didn't spread around. "I can smell it from here."

"Truly?" Kit asks, "The custom's officers don't seem to smell anything, and in Dalmatia, they have this bloodhound which they say can smell sweat on a fish-"

"I can smell it," I tell him, trying to keep my face straight as I tap my nose. "Foxes can smell things not every hound can."

It's not untrue, strictly speaking; I remember someone remarking on it back in the pillow house. But I am not particularly well practiced with my snout.

"I haven't ever seen a fox customs officer, I guess. Why haven't you mentioned it?"

"How do you know about it?" I ask, deflecting his question. "I mean... if you can't smell it... I'd imagine that's something the captain would be very secretive about, right?"

Kit is caught off guard by my turning the conversation around, and I can tell he's not comfortable with where I've taken it.

"I have the captain's ear," he says slowly, "or rather, he... has mine."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. Some other day, perhaps." He places a paw on my shoulder, squeezing it softly. "Will you take some wine with me?"

The touch sets me just slightly off balance, mentally, and I hesitate for just a little bit too long for Kit's liking.

"It's just wine," he insists. "It's very good, very regular wine, and I want to share it with you, Kieran."

"I'd be glad to join you, then," I reply, unconsciously leaning into the touch, though I pull away before Kit notices. The years of easy labour with lots of cooking oil has made Kit's paws supple and soft like velvet. And so warm.

I don't know what to make of his gestures. Kind though they are, they've been coming pretty thick and fast lately, and I'm not always sure what to feel. I've just been responding in kind as best as I can, because it feels like the right thing to do. Maybe my grand gesture of paying his debt was a result of those many small things building up? Maybe Kit even planned for me to do this, unlikely as that sounds. But why does it feel so right, though? Why does every single thing I do for him make me feel warm and fuzzy inside? We must be very good friends, I guess.

Kit dives out of the kitchen, and reappears balancing an overfilled cup in his paw. It holds a nice and heady tasting wine, with a sublimely sweet aftertaste. The wine settles in my mostly empty stomach, going to work immediately. Kit enthusiastically tells me about the work he once had. All the things which he used to cling to all these years; his most treasured memories. I share his enthusiasm. I feel I've been given a new lease on life as well. We share our dreams for our futures, like we share our cup. We talk about our plans of what to do once we arrive in Dalmatia and promise each other that we'll always stay true, which only rings a bit hollow for me since I know he's hiding something from me even now, and I'm hiding something from him. But the drink devalues that matter into obscurity.

Before I know it, we're slumped on the bed. Kit has settled in the crook of my arm, resting his head softly on my shoulder where he spends a long time reminiscing about his father. I wish I could be a better conversation partner to him, but I'm barely awake, and far too drunk to pay attention. I can have him tell me another time. Because having him near, feeling him near, knowing he is near has been something of a revelation to me. I don't feel helpless or weak. My heart is beating slightly faster, but not because of fear. For some reason beyond my understanding, his nearness and his gentle, warm breath on the naked spot under my collar isn't horrible at all.