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Chapter 9

I awake with Kit's smell all over me, as has been routine for quite a while now. What on earth did I get up to last night? I've never been so drunk before in my life and I can't remember a thing after the third cup. But I don't feel worried. Because I trust Kit too much to even entertain a bad thought. I trust him. I trust that he'd never hurt me or make me uncomfortable, and that thought is so relieving that I can only lie back on the mattress and smile at the scant light penetrating the roof planks. To trust someone is a deliriously pleasurable experience for me; another thing I wasn't aware I'd ever be capable of.

When I finish grooming and dress myself, I begin preparing the food for the sailors. Properly, this time. Here's something I can do for him, that doesn't require anyone else's help. I can tidy up his reputation onboard. I wash the salt from the meat and simmer it in oil, before pouring chopped onions, washed of their brine, into the pot. When they're soft and brown, the onions are joined by the carrots and the potatoes. Then comes the spices and just a little dash of the wine I didn't quite finish yesterday. Then I leave it to simmer while I tidy up the little kitchen and sweep the floors.

I'm somewhat proud of the end result, given what I had available. This is the first meal I've made for someone I care about. I hope they notice.

As Kit comes down to fetch the Dalmatian's breakfast, he catches onto the different smell in the air, and peeks over my shoulder into the simmering pot.

"What's that?" he asks. "It looks burned."

"It's not," I say, calming my facial expression like Duck might have done, preparing another, albeit very white lie. "I... eh... I couldn't recall your exact recipe, so I improvised."

Kit nods, somewhat confused from the look of it. "You improvise... very... creatively, fox. There's clearly a poetic string in you. But I'd ready myself for a hiding, if I were you. I don't think the men are going to appreciate your creativity."

But I know a thing or two about feeding sailors myself. When I dish out the new meal, they are quick to notice the difference. For once during the morning meal, the gathered mass of men are silent but for the sound of spoons scraping wooden bowls. I take a seat for a few moments to brush some spatters of cooking oil from my coat, or rather, into it, while Kit leans against the doorway, looking at the sailors with a suspicious frown. Then, the first sailor, a squirrel whom I've seen in the riggings every now and then, pushes him aside to request seconds. Following him, Zeeke. Then all the others. They shower me with compliments, well wishes, pats on my back and the occasional rub of my head fur. Kit's expression transforms to disbelief, one that is still glued to his face when he returns later that morning with Duck's empty bowl before sitting down for his own.

"How... How did you? What the devil did you do to it?"

"I cooked." I shrug, unsure how better to phrase it. I'm not made to deal with all the praise I've received already.

"You cooked." Kit slumps in his chair, staring at his bowl. "But I... You... I could never do that... I thought it was just something they said to get on my nerves... Is my cooking really that horrid?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself," I tell him. "You never trained as a cook, as you said. I've done this since I was ten. I can teach you, like how you teach me to read and write."

"Why didn't I listen... I've cooked for five years on this ship-"

"There was so much else in your head, Kit. It's not something to lament. For five years, you just went through that routine in the hopes of one day being done with it. You didn't feel like improving, because it wouldn't have changed your circumstances anyways. You didn't focus on the now, because you were too fixed on the future."

"Well," Kit mumbles. "You didn't have a future at all, did you?"

"Things could always have gotten worse for me if I didn't make myself useful," I tell him. "So, I had to learn."

"It's not like I didn't try," Kit mutters with his last sliver of defiance. "I spent less than a third of the time you spent. I could make it so quickly..."

"But why rush?" I ask, gesturing to the few sailors who still linger with their meals. "Look at them. They don't care that it took three times as long, so why should you? Why not relax a little and try to enjoy your time here? The little moments?" I sit down beside Kit, already feeling more comfortable being near this weasel, and feeling bad for causing him this turmoil. "I know it's not easy when you've been forced to be here... but I was also forced to be here, in a way. I had absolutely no future, as you say. So I put as much care and attention into the now as I could. In the kitchen, I was at least not bothered. And I was determined not to lose hope. I guess I must have known that all it would take to change my destiny was a little push." Like killing myself. Maybe I shouldn't be giving advice on this. I place a paw on his shoulder, as that gesture had certainly helped me. "What I'm trying to say is... This dish is a result of that hope I clung to. I want to share and enjoy it with you, like how you shared your poetry with me. There is hope in your poetry too, Kit. I've gathered that much, even if I haven't learned to read them yet. However skilled you might think me at cooking, I would gladly trade it all if I could've met you a month or even a week sooner, and enjoyed your company for that much longer. You've helped me realise so many things about myself. I want to be of help. To you, and to others who deserve it too."

"Thanks," Kit mumbles, but his words are distant and soft, as if he hasn't really heard me. "I've been thinking about everything that's happened lately... and I don't... I don't know if I'm ready to... come with you."

"Why not?" I can't help but to splay my ears, fearing the worst. "What's the matter? Did I say something wrong? I thought you wanted this. Dalmatia, remember. You told me-"

"There are things I want, then there are things I want, Kieran. It's going to be difficult to decide on this. There's a lot of stuff I need to work out." Kit lowers his muzzle and pushes the bowl away, as if he doesn't deserve it. "Thank you, again. I should be going. I ought to fetch the captain's laundry."

"I can do that for you," I tell him, putting a paw on his wrist to stop him. "I've taken over your duties now, that means you won't have to wash his clothes anymore."

"I don't want you near him." Kit pulls his wrist away, rather abruptly. "Stay here and do the dishes. Don't try to speak to the captain. I'll go."

I'm not having that. I don't need to be protected from that wolf. I don't fear him. I have a very bad feeling about this.

It is the easiest thing in the world, during the chaotic morning rush of sailors going to and fro', to seat myself outside the captain's cabin. Bringing a knife and a small piece of wood, I begin whittling mindlessly so that I might look occupied, while my ears are squarely focused on the porthole from the other night, which has thankfully been left open.

"-you'll tell me because I say so," Ajag growls. His bark is far less fierce to my ears, when I've seen him in his true colours under Duck's iron heel. He is a pathetic creature. A weak and morally bankrupt creature. But the voice he employs still makes my hackles rise.

"But... but... He's... My debts-"

"Your debts? Do you think I give a fig's leaf about your debts? You're mine, weasel. Mine! Debts or no. Tell him that."

"Please don't say it like that," Kit pleads. "I care for you, Ajag, that's true, but I'm free to follow the Dalmatian and his fox now. It's a better life for me."

"Fucking traitor," the captain responds, with his most contemptuous voice yet. "It's almost like you don't give a shit about me. After all I did for you? I gave you a place, when I could've turned you out on the streets. And now you want to leave? Just dump your wolf like that?"

"That's not what I mean." Kit's voice is so soft and frail that I can barely hear it. "I'll... I'll miss you. It's hard for me too. It really is."

"I'll tell you what's hard for you," The captain growls.

"Ajag, please, not now. I don't-"

"I am your captain, god damn it. What is between us don't change that, and no dalmatian, nor any fucking slave can change that. You don't speak against me, weasel."

"I beg you, don't begrudge me for it. There had to come a time when we had to part, surely you knew that. I mean, the fox paid for my-."

"Like hell," the captain returns. His voice thick with a throaty growl. "I was forced to sell your debts, more like. I wasn't given any choice. Let's see what the lawyers have to say about that, yeah... And I bet they'd just love to hear about that corrupt dalmatian prick too... I'll take them all to court... And I'll get to you too, don't you worry. I bet you stuck your tongue into that dirty slave's ear."

"I didn't, I swear."

"You talked him into it because you knew he had the ear of that official. I'm not about to let you go, no matter how shit your cooking is. No chance. Not a chance in hell. You're mine."

"My cooking?" Kit's voice turns even more frail. "But... but.... You always said you liked the way I made-"

"Listen to me boy," the captain growls, ignoring the weasel's pleas, "I'll teach you... how to follow... orders. You will tell me... what... I want to hear." The words are grunted out as if the captain is straining and pulling at something while he speaks.

"It was the fox's idea," Kit protests. "I didn't tell him to- Don't... Please put that away. I promise I'll-"

"That spotted bastard wants to take my first mate, and now he's taking you too?" The captains voice grows more and more furious. "Why has Krish gone and made himself the enemy of the crown all of the sudden? Tell me that! Why have you become so interesting to them? Tell me!"

"That's not my- OW!"

I hear the smack so loud that I wince. A thick leathery one, not unlike the sound of a heavy belt smacking against soft fur.

"Y-you hit me!" Kit's voice is full of shock and disbelief. And pain. All kinds of pain.

"Listen to me! I asked you a question. Answer it!"

"Ajag... dear... y-you hit-"

Smack!

"Listen, find out what that dappled fuck is up to. Any means necessary. Do that, or I'll lose my temper for real, mark my words."

The room beyond the porthole falls into a long silence, followed by a very, very quiet sniffle.

"I... I will," Kit relents. "I will... I will."

"Good. Now come here, boy. I'm not done with you yet."

"Just... No more, please... I'll come, just ask."

I am shocked. I wait for Kit to speak up, to lose his temper and say what he wants to say. Say what he truly means, fly off his handle. Anything but what I'm hearing now. But for some reason, he does nothing to indicate a struggle, and meekly accepts whatever comes after. I don't need to be privy to those sounds however, because I have ten years of memories to fall back on.

The captain hurt Kit, and that's not even the worst part. He's damaged the weasel in some way, has broken his spirit down. Kit isn't acting like himself. Because Kit responds, if anything, like a beaten child... or like a scorned lover. The last pieces of the puzzle slowly fall into place.

My resentment reaches a peak, I want to hurt the wolf. I want to kill him. More than I want to mete out justice to Matron. I want him dead more than I want my next breath.

I pull myself to my feet, tossing my piece of wood overboard. My legs shake, so I rest both elbows on the gunwale. I need all my strength to not cry out in frustration. I've come so far, and yet here I stand, right outside the very hellhole I thought I escaped, nearer now than it ever was. All my joy from that morning seeps out and leaves a black, dense blanket over my mood. Slowly, I make my way to the very bow of the ship, where there is a small deck in front of Duck's cabin, rarely visited by the sailors. Here, I can sit by myself, and gaze at the endless horizon ahead; a safe place to let my thoughts wander.

I've heard countless of the girls in the pillow house being treated roughly by their customers; it's as common as it is unpleasant to listen to. I've heard men plead for their lives in their cups or during brawls. I've even pleaded for my own life once or twice. But I have never heard anything which hurt me so much. The ache is very real.

But why do I feel so rotten? It's not my fault. Or maybe it is? Maybe if I'd been a bit bolder, I could've stopped Kit from going back to the captain. If I'd been more forceful in demanding I take over his duties. I should've told him to stay with me. The ache doesn't go away. It just gets worse, shifting to my throat, and forcing tears out. Tears. Their presence almost stops my breath, as I bring a shaky paw up to wipe them away. I thought I'd long since cried my last drop, but my damp cheek proves just how wrong I've been. The sadness is rooted deep in my heart, far deeper than Matron or any sailor could ever disturb. The salt spray hides my tears well where they fall, as ineffectual as all the other tears I've cried.

When I feel strong enough to gather my thoughts again, the sun is much lower on the horizon. I don't know how many hours I've been seated there contemplating what my feelings mean, but I know I've spent more time than I have. I have duties to attend to, and difficult thoughts to push aside with much needed mundanity. But I ought to report back to the Dalmatian as I swore I'd do. As I'm about to knock on Duck's door, I hear a familiar voice behind me.

"Are you seeing him too?" Kit asks. His tone is so light and careless that if feels for a moment as if nothing had happened earlier today. "Shouldn't you get to grips with the food now? We're well overdue for the meal, and well... I'm quite excited, to be honest. I don't know if I told you, fox, but I really enjoyed it."

"N-no!" I almost shout, then shrink back from my own voice and fold my ears back. I take a few deep breaths, and steel my will to speak as normally as I can, turning to face him. "Sorry, you just startled me. I have to see the Dalmatian. I have to speak to him urgently, its... eh... it's private."

"Oh?" Kit tilts his head. "I'll just wait here then. Will you be long?"

How can he be so... normal? What if what happened isn't out of the ordinary to him?

"I won't be long. This will take no time at all. No time. Actually, let me just... I'll make it quick. I'll just-"

I hurry to open Duck's door without even knocking. I'm not sure I can maintain my composure any longer. When I close the door, I hear the soft cough of the dalmatian and a soft splash of water.

"Do not turn around," Duck says slowly, ominously and threateningly. "Do you not knock where you come from? What's the matter with you?"

"Sir?"

I dare not turn, the force of his command makes me want to sink through the floor and vanish. I can smell the bath water and soap thick in the otherwise well aired room.

"What is so important?" he demands sourly. "Where is the fire? Where are the armies?"

"I... it is important," I insist, speaking into the woodwork of his door. "I'm sorry to disturb, but this is very important. Please forgive me. It's about the captain... and Kit."

I hear a soft rustle of cloth, then the sound of two wet footsteps, and an unmistakably annoyed sigh.

"You may turn," The dalmatian commands. "But be quick. I do not take guests in this state and I don't intend to start doing so either."

"S-sorry." I splay my ears submissively and turn. As I see him, I lose what little resolve I have for a moment. The duke's body is not at all what I expected to find. Lean, thick calves disappearing under a towel the Dalmatian has draped around his waist, and a toned, broad chest and dotted with scars, and black spots, all over. With his already thin fur wet and glistening, nothing is hidden. I've never seen anyone quite so... revealed. His acres of exposed fur, which is usually covered up by is coat and stiff collared shirt, is rather confronting all told. Even when I have seen hundreds of naked people in my life, this is different, somehow. Imposing in a way that makes me fumble for my words. For some reason, my ears feel like they're about to drop off completely from the embarrassment.

"Well? Get on with it."

"It-it-s Kit," I manage to stammer out eventually. "I th-think he's... he's in trouble... with the captain."

"Be quick about it." Duck barks impatiently.

"H-he reports..."

"He reports to the captain? About me, I presume. Very well."

"D-don't be mad at him... Its because he's forced to."

"I wasn't planning to, but alright. Anything else?"

There's a lot of things else. But my tongue is tied. When looking at the duke's black and white coat, draped over his statuesque frame, all I can think of is Kit, but with black spots. Like how he looked the first time I saw him, with tufts of darker fur in his coat. Like how I looked once I've slept in his bed, with strands of white, shed fur in mine. How does Kit look when wet with soapy water? That'd get rid of all that shedding fur and no mistake. I wonder if he'll let me give him a bath. I wonder what his coat feels like when it's not full of salt and cooking oil.

The confusing, conflicting thoughts have selected the absolute worst time to show up. I'm tired and emotionally worn out, and stressed out of my mind.

"The captain," I manage to strain from my muzzle. "I know his secret. I know the thing he's hiding."

My confusion turns to guilt in an instant.

"Very good," Duck softens his voice only slightly. "We'll discuss your findings later. Is that all?"

"Y-yes." I stammer at length. "Pa-pardon my intrusion."

"Where is the weasel, anyways?" Duck asks. "He was supposed to bring fresh soap. Fetch him for me."

"He's just outside, I'll send him in."

Forgetting all my other courtesies, I hurry back outside, nearly colliding with Kit. So many thoughts run rampant in my head that I don't even stop to talk to him. Instead, I run down into the mess. In the hope of trying to turn my mind onto other paths, I set about cleaning the rest of the bowls which I'd neglected all day, and start cooking the evening meal. But I have no means of quelling my thoughts.

I have intruded gravely on Kit's secret. But it can't remain secret. Whatever it means to him, it's not a good thing, it isn't healthy. Just like I needed to tell him about my feelings, and open up about my fear in order to overcome it, he too has to overcome this. And he has to overcome this before I step off in Dalmatia, because I want him with me. I want to keep him safe, and I can't do that if he doesn't realise that he needs help. I have to do something; I have to make something happen. I want to be the pillar against which he can lean when he needs it. Will that be enough? Probably not. What else can I do?

Kit returns to help me clean up the evening meal once his duties with Duck has finished for the night. How can I explain that I want the weasel not to go back to the captain? How can I explain to him I want him to spend his nights in the bed we've shared, where he's safe? Where we're both safe. How can I say all that, and not make it sound... sound all wrong in head? I don't know if there's a right way to say all that.

"Kit?" I ask as the weasel rummages through the chest for his papers. "Could you bring that box to me?"

I seat myself on the old cot, which smell so strongly of us. Kit looks up from the chest and straight at me with a curious expression.

"Bring it over, do you mind?" I pat the bedside next to me, heart pounding fiercely. "There's something I want to tell you."

"What's the matter, Kieran?"

"Just come here and sit with me, Kit."

The weasel brings the box over, and seats himself next to me, respectfully distanced. I shuffle closer to him, placing the box on my lap.

"Look here." I brush the lid with my claws, letting the lantern light shine across the carving of the three foxes. "I stole some ink from Matron to do this. You can see it still, if you look closely. The middle fox, the black one, that's indeed meant to be me. This is the only thing that's only mine." I touch the foxes either side of my carved likeness gently. "They're my parents... Or... meant to look like them, I guess. I'm not so sure anymore, though. Maybe it's just some figment of my imagination. I cannot remember anything. Not about where I came from, or who I was before the collar... or anything about them. So, I guess... I guess they may as well not exist. Everything that's happened to me lately has been a product of my own decisions. They haven't had a say in it."

"You remember nothing?"

"Nothing at all." I take a deep breath. "Well, I felt something strange the other day. Something I can't account for. I think, where ever they are, my parents are watching over me. I miss them, in a sense. Or..." I sigh, because the things I want to say are rather complicated and difficult to parse. "It's not that I miss them per say... I guess I just want to feel that I belong somewhere, and I always believed my parents were the key to that. That they'd give me a place in this world that I could call home, and someone whom I could rely on... That's why I held on to this box. But I realised something... I don't need the foxes on the lid to be foxes... I don't need them to be my parents. It wasn't my parents who helped me chose my path, and see what is before me... I don't know how to explain-"

"Try to explain," Kit says, putting a paw over my own as my voice dies away. "It sounds like you need to say this."

"My parents." I tap my head. "I had a sort of glimpse of a memory a while back. As if someone, deep inside my mind, wants to tell me something. And there are more glimpses to be had... but they'll always be with me, so long as I keep my head on my shoulders... so I don't feel like I have to find out, right away. Does that make any sense? They're not what I need. What I need is... is difficult to explain."

I swallow and clutch my box closer.

"I've never considered my future in real serious terms," I tell him, looking into his eyes meaningfully. "That was just a far-fetched dream which I couldn't grasp, like the moon. But then... suddenly... there I was with the moon in my paws. What do I do with all that?"

"If it's too much to hold, you could always share the load."

Kit leans up against me, closer than he's ever been before. My heart starts beating so powerfully that I'm convinced he can hear it.

"About that," I mumble slowly. It's from here I have to pick my words extra carefully. "I feel I'm doing something right at this very moment... because this... this here... feels right. It feels right when I talk to you. It feels right when you are near. It's not my parents, or this box that keeps my hope going. It's you. I wondered... if... if you'd just... stay here for a while. With me." I swallow, trying not to betray what I know, while still remaining truthful. "Stay here instead of going up there... to... the dalmatian, I mean. I don't know if he's offered you a place to sleep up there, but if it's okay, I'd still like to continue... to share the bed with you. I mean, It gets fierce lonely down here, doesn't it?"

"I... it... it does, doesn't it?" Kit chuckles uncertainly. "You're sure about this?"

"Yeah, I think I need this," I whisper softly, and taste the truth of those words. I've never felt surer. I lean across to the table and put my box away. My heart pounds, but I'm not afraid. "You can hold around me if you want to. If that's something you'd feel more comfortable doing." I chuckle uncertainly, but it comes out as a half-choked sigh. "I never told you, but you are an unruly sleeper sometimes. I just figured... maybe it'd help?"

"Are you sure this is okay?" Kit whispers, as he puts his paw around my waist. The touch tickles, and sends a slight shiver through my belly. "If you're not comfortable, I mean, I understand-"

"Trust me, I'm fine," I tell him. "I just want you to know that... that I'm here for you."

"Thanks," he mumbles distantly, experimentally dragging his fingers through the coat on the side of my chest, while leaning his forehead against the underside of my jaw. "Kieran, can you do me a favour? Just tell me everything is going to be alright."

"It will," I whisper, draping my arm around Kit's shoulder and squeezing him softly. "You'll have a good life in Dalmatia. I'll be there too. Everything will be alright."

The weasel sighs, mumbles something unintelligible, and closes his eyes, his head resting on my shoulder. I lean back on the bed, putting a pillow under the weasel's back so that he lies comfortably. Then, completely without warning, that strange, ethereal woman's voice appears in my head again, clearer now more than ever.

Words come to my muzzle just like she'd sung them, all those years ago, and I repeat them as best as I can, mimicking her tone, cadence and accent. Like I had done, long ago. My accent is barely noticeable, but I doubt Kit has enough grasp of Naweshi to understand the difference. Hers had been broad and rural. I can't remember ever having heard the song after I had my collar fitted, but that doesn't stop the words from flowing as freely as if I've sung it every night.

Kit's breathing almost stops. He's not as asleep as he gave the impression of, as he perks his ears to listen. My voice is so soft, or weak, that it barely registers, but I sing all the same. When there are no more words, I hum the rest of the song, barely able to keep my voice steady, or even hear myself over the roaring in my ears.

I have no notion of how long I remain like that with the weasel in my arms, humming and stroking the soft white fur. Eventually, he falls asleep for real. Carefully, I lay him down and tuck him in. The days of being but a single fox are over. The days of being forced to stand on the outside and accept the cruelty that goes on within are numbered. I just hope it'll be enough to keep him safe.

###

I accept his debts formally the next day, by signing a paper Duck has prepared. It already holds the spiky signature of the captain, along with his seal. And now it holds mine too, a shaky, barely legible thing Kit has had me practice beforehand.

The money is irrelevant to me. But the contract I sign after that one signifies my enrolment into Duck's brotherhood. My sworn oath, and that is apparently for life. The burden of it isn't lost on me. I'll at least have a future now in which to consider it.

As a sworn brother, I'm granted the rank of a squire; a better innings than most other foxes, I'm told. I enjoy several benefits as a result of this. The right to own land and carry weapons for one. The right to take a last name if I want one, and should I please, the right to invoke duels. I'm to be given private apartments in an actual castle in Dalmatia, an enviable education at a school for nobles, and a payment of thirty silver denarii a week. Half of which will be paid forward to Duck every week in exchange for Kit's debts. I offer to pay more, but Duck informs me that I need the rest of the money to feed and clothe myself, and travel as the job might require.

Kit takes his new duties very seriously, in the days following this. Whenever I see him running around or standing by Duck's side, he has an unmistakeable, pleased perk to his ears, and a proud stature. Nothing shows of the treatment he got from Captain Ajag that night. Nothing even hints that he has any troubles in his life. That's probably partly my doing. My efforts to allow him closer does wonders for him over the course of the next week, and I'll admit they help me too, to a degree. I barely see him however, and when I do, it's either late at night or early in the mornings. The late evenings we share are sometimes spent catching up on my exercise with reading and writing, but for the most part he takes that time to explain to me, in rapturous detail, everything he's learned that day. He's been learning to mend clothes, he tells me, and do sums, and archiving, in between the hours he spends learning the names of various noble families from all around the world. Duck even gives him books that he has to read, in order to study some lineage or whatever. He's tired most nights, but I don't mind, because he spends them lingering in my arms before dropping off to sleep. I think we both understand that we need this closeness without having to say it out loud.