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Chapter 10

"About your rude interjection the other day," Duck opens as I enter his cabin late one evening, more than a week hence. "The weasel is predictably hesitant to explain his opinions of the captain, and I would dearly like to avoid revealing what we know to him, or coerce him in any way. I believe you had something to offer on that subject?"

"The captain is evil." I can't hide my growl despite my best efforts. "He's a brutal, controlling... owner. That's what he is. An owner." I scratch at the scar under my collar. "He treats Kit badly. And he's... violent, too."

"And yet, Kit seems loyal to this captain?" Duck asks. "Why is that?"

"I've overheard enough between them to make a solid guess. I think they are... or were... mates."

"Mates?"

"P-partners? I don't know what it's called. It is not mutual. It's very... unhealthy. And not because it's two men. That's not unhealthy, I think. It's because the captain is dead to anything resembling morals and sense. I mean... I mean I used to think this was normal for such relationships, but I don't think so any longer-"

Duck holds up a paw before I can let my tongue run away from me.

"This is good to know," he says, his steely gaze completely unreadable, his tone showing no hint of shock or surprise. "You've been spending more time with Kit. He seems rather fond of you, in fact. Has he told you anything else?"

I flush deeply, my ears burning as a rush of blood surged up to my head. "He hasn't told me much."

There is nothing about Kit's private matters, which he's shared with me, that Duck needs to know. It is NOT pertinent to his business.

"Let me know if anything develops." Duck concludes casually, having studied me in silence for a while. "As for now, we'll stand back and see how this develops."

"Shouldn't we stop the captain?" I ask, somewhat shocked at how casually Duck can treat this matter. "Shouldn't we say something? We cannot allow that brute to keep-"

"Mine is not the duty of the lead in a dramatic play, Kieran. Neither is yours. If Kit has complaints about his captain, I will make sure he understands to whom he should address them. But I won't place restrictions upon his personal life, that is the surest and most effective way to have my wine spat in, and I like my wine better when it is served with a smile. I don't wish for you to go poking at Captain Ajag's private matters either. That's just the way to get yourself in trouble."

I nod wordlessly. So long as Duck understands what the captain is, that's all I can do for now. And seeing as Kit spends every night with me, and every waking moment under Duck's watchful eyes, I'll just have to trust that he's as safe as can be.

Kit enters just as I exit, squeezing past me with a small cask. As I pass him, he lets his stubby, white tail graze along my ankle, gently tousling the hem of my trousers. I reply in kind with my own, feeling another smile shape on my muzzle. I've grown fond of him, too. The seas, not so much.

The vast blue which had at first stunned me with it's relentless, unwavering presence now bores me as I look out across it. According to Zeeke, we're still more than a month off the horn, which everyone says will change things up.

That month goes by a lot quicker than I'm used to. Every day in between meals, when Kit is busy in Duck's service, I seek relief from my boredom by climbing the riggings and talking to whoever sits in the crow's nest that day. I practice telling them lies about my past, and seeing how much I can get away with before they grow annoyed or suss me out. Then I descend, looking for my next target. Every crewmember aboard knows a different fox, and all in all, they like me, because I make sure to embellish my stories the right amount farfetched and fanciful lies which I've spent ten years overhearing. And I'm their cook.

At the end of month number three, the _Tamarind_has finally ambled her way across the Long Summer Sea and rounded the Ram's Horn. I was on deck to witness it; the first sight of land since we set off. The curly promontory marks the southern point of the Golden continent, a whole continent owned by some rich Castellanian lord, according to Kit. The sea changes as the horn disappears out of sight behind us. Now we're sailing on what is called the grey sea, and I can see why. The calm, azure coastal waters have gone dark and grey, and a cooler breeze prevails here. The waves begin to seriously rock the ship, challenging my balance. More and more, I have to steady myself on the gunwale when up on deck. It becomes harder to keep my tail away from the stove or the dirty pots and pans, too, as it flicks back and forth whenever the ship pitches. I join Zeeke for his meal one day, to ask further about our journey.

"We've made better speed than we anticipated," the scabby ferret explains over his bowl of the traditional Kadjar stew I've prepared. The ferret doesn't seem to mind that it's made from mutton and not pork, or that the vegetables are a bit stale. He eagerly cleans the last dregs out with his tongue before continuing. "s'gone well since Krish took t'helm at night. 'Dunno why he did, but he's put'er on a good wind. We're lookin' to arrive in Dalmatia in a month, give'r'take. But from here on, foxy, it's no longer smooth sailin'. Have you prepared yerself for the sea to come? Do you know the names of all yer Gods?"

"I figured I was just immune to this sea sickness you all talked about," I mumble, splaying my ears. "So, it gets worse than this?"

The ferret laughs. "Running the Summer sea is like sailing in a teapot. No matter how strong yer constitution, you'll not be strong enough to handle t'storms of t'Grey Sea, or's we like ta call'er, the Green Sick. If the waves 'n winds don't get 'ya, then there's th'rain. An' if ya manage t'keep fur rot out, count yerself lucky. That's until Krish puts yer' idle tail on bilge duty."

"I'll welcome the rains," I tell him. "I've just about had it with all this salt."

My fur has gone almost grey from all the sea spray, and I reek of fox musk and of my own cooking. Even though I bathe every other night, it no longer gets rid of the food smell. The only positive thing about my unhappy situation is that Kit doesn't mind.

He enters my kitchen timidly one night, later than he's accustomed to. I can tell at once that he didn't expect to find me awake, but he lights up when he sees me. We share a long hug, which has since become the preferred greeting for both of us. The weasel responds well to hugs, and I can barely go without his nearness for a whole day. It always feels the same, a rush of warmth and happiness as soon as we are close. But when I brush against Kit's muzzle with a paw, the weasel flinches away suddenly. When I look at him again, it's achingly obvious. How could I have missed the swollen lip and the very slight bulge around Kit's eye?

###

"He used to be fond of me," Kit tells me. His weak voice breaks the silence we've been immersed in, seated on the bed together while I try to remedy the damage the captain has done. Bruises like Kits are not new to me. But I've never felt half as much pain from them as I do now, seeing them on him.

"He understood me when nobody else did. We loved each other." The weasel sighs as he takes the cool wet cloth from my paws, pressing it over his eye.

"Why do you go back there?" I ask, resting a paw on his knee. "Whatever it is he feels for you, it can't be love. Nobody is allowed to treat you like this in the name of love."

"I don't know, fox," Kit mumbles, splaying his own ears so low they all but disappear behind his head. "I know he can be better than this. He's just in a difficult spot right now."

In the darkness which surround us tonight, I spy a small, black droplet running from a single nostril. I lick one of my fingers, and wipe it carefully from his pristine, beautiful fur.

Kit continues in an almost soundless voice. "He's just confused because I'm leaving, and he doesn't know how to deal with his emotions. He's been under a lot of pressure ever since he started dabbling with that poppied wine. He doesn't mean what he does, he-"

"He struck you." I lift Kit's muzzle to look into his downcast eyes. "He struck you because he can no longer control you. So instead, he uses violence. That's what they do. You shouldn't let yourself be treated as such. You're worth more than that. You are free to love whomsoever you choose, so chose someone else."

I don't usually bother to light the lantern in the mess when it grows dark. I can see well enough in the dark. I wish I couldn't right now. Because I see the pain in Kit's eyes. I see his opening and closing his muzzle wordlessly, but failing to find the words he wants. I see tears beading in his eyes in place of those words.

"I wish you'd stop going there," I tell him. "It is very... difficult for me to see you like this. I don't care if you say you can take it. I can't. So, stay away from him, please."

"It's not that easy," Kit mutters. "He has good days too... and then he's just what I need. There will come more good days. It'll become better."

"It won't get any better." I tell him. "Can't you see-"

"I'm a fool, I know," Kit sighs, burying his head in his paws. "He used to be... to be good all the time. I miss those times, Kieran. I can't help but... miss what I had."

"Listen, Kit. Even if he changed back tomorrow, he'd still have struck you. Hurt you... Raised his paw against you. That will always be between you two. All that love you feel for him didn't stop him then. It won't stop this from happening again. Only you can stop this. Please don't return to him. Please... stay with me."

"I just..." Kit draws a shaky breath, and turns away from me. "I really need a drink," he says at length.

"Are you sure you should-"

"I know what I'm doing, Kieran... You can come with, if you like... You want to see where the captain keeps his private stock?"

"Now?" I ask. "It's well past bedtime, we should be sleeping."

Kit fidgets, looking down. "I... I made some new poems. We can exercise with them. Together. It'll be nice."

"I don't know, I have to get up early tomorrow for my exercises and-"

"Please."

There's a pleading in his voice which tells of some kind of deeper ache. This is more than a simple request. His tone suggests something more important than the Captain, than Duck, than this whole bloody enterprise. Something monumental which needs out.

We head out of the mess and behind the staircase, where a trapdoor along the hull lets us slip down into the locked compartment of the half-height storage room below. Kit brings a lamp along, which casts an uneasy flickering light across our surroundings. I spot a rack of casks standing against the back wall of the low ceiling room, a few locked chests and sealed crates with what I presume is personal effects. Against the back wall, underneath where I presume the mess is, a few boxes are stacked so as to serve us as benches, framed by barrels upon barrels with strong spice smells to them. There, we press close together in order to share the lantern's light.

The wine Kit gives me is undiluted, rich and very tasty. As I feel it's tendrils of sedation snake through my system, something strange happens before my eyes. The letters on Kit's papers which he's showing me, even the curled ones, stay in place like they've never done before. They don't run around on the page. They don't uncoil and elude my efforts to read them. They stay in place. And I can draw on the knowledge I've gained about the various letters, and put it all together without much difficulty. My ears perk slowly, and my breath catches in my throat as I realise what I'm doing.

"I can... I can understand it!" I exclaim. The boundless excitement at my breakthrough is indescribable, and almost distracts from Kit's strange, melancholic mood. "The wine... I can read!"

"Then read," Kit encourages, giving me a frail, uncertain smile, but a smile all the same.

Slowly but surely, I read out the contents of the paper Kit has brought with him. I spell out each word, and let it linger on my tongue, mouthing it quietly to myself before reading on. It grows easier still with Kit's soft-spoken encouragement, and his arm around my waist. Soon, I get a feel for the rhythm the sounds of the words create, which helps me understand quicker the next word in the sequence.

But I don't forget, in the midst of it all, what Duck told me. Look behind the words and find the meaning. I can do this with writing too. I'm reading Kit's deepest thoughts and feelings. I'm very close to him but this feels like something not even close friends would see. All my reasoning sort of falls flat when I read the last poem on the page.

Kit leans up against me, even closer now. I can feel his heartbeats, pattering rapidly under his coat. He's scared, or worried, or worked up, too.

"Kit," I say, halfway through the poem. "This isn't just any poem, is it?"

The weasel shakes his head.

"Is this... the poem wanted to show me?"

He nods, and swallows what sounds like a big lump before sniffling.

"It took me some time to understand... and Ajag didn't make it easier for me... But you remind me what it really means to be... to be kind and caring. If you don't feel the same... well... at least I tried. And at least you know. You'll always be dear to me, Kieran. And if you don't feel the same... I hope we can still keep what we have already."

"I see," I say slowly, chewing on every word that I might say next, and coming up with none. I can't deny it. It was not just friendship that I felt for him. I was just too blind to see. Relief spreads through me like a wave, and a warmth, so wild and overpowering, heats and reinvigorates parts of me which have been cold and lifeless for ever so long.

Why does it feel so painful in my heart? Maybe because my heart is unused to the activity, like how one might pull a muscle if one went to pick up something too heavy? This is so infinitely heavier than I can bear.

"Kieran, please say something," Kit pleads. "Just let me know. If it's about Ajag... If I'm wrong about-"

"I feel good, Kit," I manage to whisper out in a strained tone.

Kit's sigh of relief almost blows the lamp out. The tension releasing from him comes from more than just the last few months. It comes from years and years of worry, confusion and frustration.

He takes my paw in his own, our snouts no more than an inch apart. I can smell the dried blood from his nose, wondering if it's still sore. How will it feel to lay my heart bare so utterly? I've come so far already. It's ever so easy to just cross that final inch and lay all doubts to rest.

So, I do.

It's not much of a kiss compared to what I've seen sailors do to the girls in Nawesh. But it's my first, which makes it monumental. A peck on Kit's bruised lips, which makes his nose rub up against my own. It's strangely warmer than mine. Self-consciously, I wonder if mine is too wet or too cold for him. I wonder if he likes it. Experimentally, I give his snout a parting lick. It tickles, apparently, judging from Kit's giggles. They make me smile. Everything about this weasel tonight makes me smile. How on earth could I have not seen it before now; when he's already brought me so much joy? I want this to never end.

There's no need for words, only gestures. We hold each other until the lamp burns out, enjoying each other's nearness, sharing kisses and gentle, loving caresses enough to make up for the years we've gone without them.

Eventually, dawn comes for us both, and we have to climb back up to the lower deck, tired and contented. Kit gives me another kiss, a good and proper one on my lips, and tells me that he loves me with his own words, before he heads off to resume his service. The rest of that day might as well not have happened, for how aware I am of it.

###

The first day of rain comes a week later. I'm finally done shedding, in preparation for what would be the last half of a warm and lazy dry season. But there will be no more dry seasons, Kit informs me, as they reckon the year in different terms in Dalmatia. Apparently, they call this "late autumn".

When the first drops patter down on the mess roof, the shout goes out across the deck, and all the sailors are called topside to roll out empty barrels. It comes first in a drizzle, then in a steady downpour, until sheets of rain fall so thick that I have to keep my ears down lest they fill up with water. I snatch a few empty casks for myself and place them where the water comes through the roof, in the hopes of catching myself some proper bathwater.

Up topside, bolts of canvas are stretched across the decks and propped up with poles like large tents. The men place the rain catching barrels underneath where the water pools, collecting the runoff through small holes. Utilizing this technique, barrels are filled at an astonishing pace, and after just a short afternoon, we have all the water we could ask for.

Initially, my plan had been to soak a bit in the rain, and then go down below to wash and brush the salt out of my fur before starting the meal. But the rains here are nothing like the rainy seasons I remember. It's much colder than back in Nawesh. And it's starting to blow a stinging gale, too. And to cap it all off, when I finally make my way down below, cold and shivering, I recognize how futile my attempts of drying of will be.

The parts of my roof not covered by the captain's cabin above leak like a colander, but the floor is almost completely watertight. The water splashes from side to side, shifting around anything that isn't nailed down. Scraps of food and cuttings which have been hiding under the benches and tables are now pooling around my toes. My old trousers are floating around in there. Half the firewood has been compromised already, and the other half is not far behind. There might as well not have been any roof planks at all.

The fire in my stove, which I'd lit at the crack of dawn, struggles heroically, but eventually, the rains snuff it out in a great puff of steam and smoke which stings my nose.

After a while, I've managed to make for myself a dry spot at the very back of the mess, where I have repositioned the chairs and table, and some scant few scraps of firewood which haven't been completely soaked yet. But I have no hopes of drying out my mattress, clothes or fur without the stove. And though the water pooling on the floor eventually drips away into the bilge, it doesn't happen quickly. It's going to be a long day, or week, or month, or however long these rains linger for.

Kit comes down below that evening while the rains are still falling heavily, huddled under a borrowed oilcloth cloak. The sound from the weather is so loud that we have to raise our voices to hear each other. Though we share an all too brief moment together, he regretfully informs me that he isn't willing to sleep on my wet mattress if he can help it. Duck's quarters are both warm and dry. I, on the other paw, don't wish to share a bed with him in the Dalmatian's presence. I shouldn't have to explain why that's off the table. I don't want to spend the night in there either. I just can't imagine how wrong it'll feel with those cold grey eyes looming over me. Duck might be capable of kindness, and generosity at a pinch. But I would rather not invite him any closer into my personal life than he's already gotten.

###

A few days later, the rains die down, but by no means go away. But just as I'm starting to feel optimistic, the storms hit. They bring with them even rougher seas, and treacherous winds. Even the simplest task becomes a challenge to my balance and sense of space. That is, whenever I'm not hanging over the gunwale or have my muzzle buried in a bucket. I have since learned the meaning of seasickness.

My mess, once a nice and secluded little spot where I could enjoy some solitude, becomes over the next few days a confined cell in which I am loathed to spend more time than I have to. I'm always fatigued, always hungry, and never able to keep my food down. Everything has become a chore, nothing is done for pleasure or enjoyment. I barely even see Kit, who has moved his preferred writing space to inside Duck's cabin. Curse the dalmatian and his cushy privilege. The food decreases in complexity along with my general health. I have been mostly serving cold meat and hard bread rations, with whatever vegetables can be prepared without being heated. The sailors aren't partial to the half-rotted carrots, but I give them few other options, as they need to maintain their health and get us out of this dreadful weather. Unfortunately, no amount of healthy eating does it for me.

Above decks, it's cold, windy, and wet, and the constant lack of a warm fire to huddle up against soon makes my nose stuffy and runny, and saps my strength even further. I spend every day regretting having wished for rain, as if this is somehow my doing. If I can help it, once we reach Dalmatia, I'll never set foot on a ship again.

One day, probably a week later, the rains stop. The blessing of silence is met with a distant cheer from topside. I'd join them, if I wasn't so worn out. As I try to wring out my mattress, I feel two paws close around my chest from behind, and the warmth of a weasel, which helps put some heat back in me.

"God, you smell wet," Kit mumbles into the long, and indeed wet fur on my shoulders, giggling as he draws in another deep breath. "Well... you don't smell of salt at least. Finally got your way, eh?"

"It's not funny," I complain. "There's nowhere to dry my sheets, or the towel I had, or my old clothes. Duck won't let me use his room for that, because he says the moisture will damage his books. How did you manage it all?"

"Aw, my poor fox," Kit murmurs in what I can't help but interpret as a slightly mocking tone. "I just made due, that's the secret. And I... eh... slept in the captain's cabin. I've done this for five years, don't mind if I enjoy my break from it, okay? You're more than strong enough to handle it, I know you are."

One of Kit's paws slips up to my arm, where it squeezes a muscle, followed by a cooing, play-impressed voice.

"Leave off, Kit," I grumble, but my grumble turns into a rather unintimidating giggle when Kit squeezes my stomach, where it turns out I'm ticklish.

"My fox has become quite the Adonis," Kit murmurs appreciatively. "All you need now is a good brush and a trim, and we can send you straight off to the statue carver, hmm?"

I'm not sure what an Adonis is, but I guess it means Kit likes how I've shaped up. For all my life, I've looked like a lanky, stick-thin cub. Under-fed and un-exercised. But with two reasonably healthy meals a day and the physical exercises Duck has outlined for me, I've quickly grown to fill out my shirts.

"I miss sharing a bed with you," I confide, rubbing my wet muzzle against Kit's meticulously groomed, dry one. "You smell nice."

"Seeing as we don't have a lack of fresh water." Kit shrugs. "And the Dalmatian does insist. Cleanliness is next to godliness, they say." Kit licks my muzzle in return. "Hence why I worship you, fox... despite how you smell right now."

"What's been occupying you so much anyway?" I ask, trying to lever the subject away from my own cleanliness, acutely aware of how bad my fur smells.

"My job," Kit tells me as he fluffs up the fur around my neck and muzzle so that it might dry quicker. "It's a job containing lots of smaller jobs, which always have to be done correctly."

"But-"

"And all of those jobs have a reason behind them which informs of the dog who asked them of me. I take my time to learn these reasons, so that I can better guess and assess what he wants of me. I have learned quite a lot from him. And I believe he's learned a lot about us, too."

"Something tells me that's more than he asked of you," I say slowly, ears flicking down.

"Of course, it is," Kit snickers. "It's my job to do more than I'm asked. That's what this job is all about. He told me that if I keep this up, he is planning to take me on as his personal valet, actually. Can you believe that? Just like my father. And to a real-life duke, too!"

"That's wonderful!" I exclaim. "So, he told you who he was?"

"As secrets go, it wouldn't have lasted long to his very own servant." Kit snickers. "I found a lineage book in his personal luggage, where his line is detailed, and his facial pattern is recorded. And since he needs all the focus he can get to deal with you, I have to make sure he's not distracted with menial tasks like trying to maintain some kind of disguise."

"Very funny." But it isn't actually very funny. "There's something I haven't explained yet. I figured... since we've come so far together, it's probably time."

"Yes?" Kit let slip his hold of me, and seats himself on a dry chair by the table. He sits noticeably different now. Straight backed, and with his legs together, and with his tail curled behind him instead of it hanging out the back of the chair and brushing the floor.

"Did he ever tell you why I have come here?" I ask him straight out. "I mean. Did he tell you exactly what my work entails?"

Kit meets my eyes for a moment, but that moment is enough. I let my shoulders sag, and go to sit beside him, drawing up the other stool.

"I meant to tell you, but-"

"You were sworn to secrecy." Kit looks up, meeting my eyes again. "He told me everything. I understand. I guess. But... I'm not going to lie... It's a strange thing to know about someone... someone you love. It's a bit scary, too. This is dangerous."

"It'll be okay, I swear, I'll do whatever I can to make it so." I put my paw over his.

"I'm sure, Kieran," Kit agrees. "I won't let that change anything that we share... I loved Ajag once, and he's not got clean sleeves, that's for sure, so it wouldn't be so-"

"I am not him," I snap, a bit more forcefully than I intended. "I will never be him. I will never hurt you. I'll be everything he isn't."

"It's okay, Kieran," Kit says quickly. "Ajag isn't a part of all this. He's in the past. You are in my future, now that I know you are the fox I hoped you might be. I will love you, no matter what."

I will make sure I earn that love, but I'm not relegating that wolf to the past quite so easily. I'm not going to change my mind on him one bit.

"And you're a free fox now," Kit continues. "That changes everything."

I'm about to agree, but I have sworn my entire life to the duke. Sworn to a life of service, on the strength of my own oath, on my word to him, and I don't think that's something you can go back on. I'm as much a prisoner of my own word as I am bound by this brotherhood. So true freedom might be a bit far-fetched to hope for.

"It's not ideal, but it's far better than any alternative I can think of. At least now, I can do something useful, something... I don't know, something good."

"What good is it you want to do?"

"Duck told me I'd work to protect Dalmatia," I explain to him, "That's already a good thing. And I want to do to others what Duck did for me, to give them a chance where none might exist. Use what money and influence I earn to make a better world. I'll strive for that, no matter what."

"I guess that's noble," Kit says, and it sounds like he has more on his mind, but I'm not done speaking yet.

"And I want to get back at those who enslaved me. At anyone who would keep slaves. At the whole damn system. If I can. And if not... I'll... I'll do something good, I'll make a difference. Like dealing with Captain Ajag. What he did to you. I can't just ignore that."

"You sweet fool, Kieran," Kit mumbles, but the words sting less when the weasel also wraps me in his arms. "I know you hate him. But I can't ignore what I once shared with him. I would like those memories to lie undisturbed. Leave the old coot be, and enjoy what we share, instead."

"I can't leave him be. I'll make sure he pays in full for what you're owed."

"A sweet fool indeed," Kit mumbles, but lets me hug him back all the same. "I don't care about the money-"

"He can hang then. What he did was slavery. Simple as that. He used you."

"Kieran, don't go there." Kit's voice is muffled by the arms I hold around him, but his tone is changing to a more warning, less warm one. "If you want to have your revenge on your former owner, then I understand that. She was cruel to you. But don't take your anger on him. He isn't her. His punishment will be to lose me. That'll wound him more than anything you could do. Just trust me on this, fox."

It's not enough. It isn't nearly enough. The captain can't possibly care about love. He doesn't understand what he will be losing, because he never loved Kit like I love him. He deserves to lose so much more than just his former plaything. I don't think Kit truly understand what I feel. It's not just about the pain I've endured. It's about the whole system which allowed it to happen. It's the unfairness of it all, which despite his own history, he can't understand. He hasn't got the scars of a collar around his neck, which will mark him for the rest of his life, and reminds him every day that he was once someone's possession. He cannot understand how it feels to know that all of this is normal. How it feels when the entire world around him tells him that he deserves this. That everyone who is responsible for this are in the right, and that he is always wrong.

"I'm not convinced," I mutter. "As long as he lives, he is a danger to everything I believe in."

"Stop this line of thinking," Kit pushes away from me with an annoyed look. "Perhaps it's best just focus on yourself for the time being. Be happy with what you have. We have had so little time together, are you really going to waste that by letting him occupy your mind?" Kit folds his arms decisively. "Just leave him alone, Kieran."

"He only values his own life. And he wasn't above buying your debts, knowing you'd be stuck with them forever, so what's the chance he doesn't replace you with an actual slave? He would if he could. For that, he deserves to die."

Kit sighs. "This is conjecture, Kieran. This is all inside your head. We can put all of this behind us when we come to land, and nobody has to die. Please?"

"Would he, if given half a chance, buy a slave?" I persist. "If it was considered legal, but as heinous as we know it is. Tell me that. And if he did, would he even for a moment treat that slave as if they were a living, thinking and feeling creature?"

"You know I can't deny that, but Kieran-"

"Then it's simple."

"It's foolish," Kit growls, raising his voice.

"What's so foolish about it?" I asked. "I want to rid the world of scum like him. I don't feel safe sharing a world with him. What if he finds you again, and hurts you?"

"It's well and good that you want that. But you have to be realistic... You've never killed anyone. You don't know what it's like. I don't know what it's like, and I don't like the thought of it. But I know one thing. Your work is bound to involve a lot of death in the future. Why rush there? What's the hurry?"

"It doesn't have to take long. He's poisoning the people of Dalmatia with his smuggling. I could poison him right back. Slip some of that poppied wine into his stew and cover his muzzle with a pillow when he sleeps? It would be for everyone's best interests. You can help-"

"Absolutely not," Kit says sharply. "I will tell His Grace if you don't listen to me. I don't think he'd agree with you. I don't agree with you, Kieran. For heaven's sake, just listen to me! Do you not care what I feel about all this?!"

"Damn it, Kit" I growl, but my resolve can't match his stern expression, and I have to relent, softening my voice. "I can't let him live. I won't."

"You have to trust me," Kit says, taking my paw in his and looking into my eyes intently, "He will suffer for the pain he's caused. You won't have to cause that suffering, but it will happen because of something you did. Something you did out of the goodness in your heart."

"I can't, I just can't. Not again. It's not that I want to kill... I just want him to not exist." I sigh heavily. "A million others might have the same dream I have. That's not just a boon, it's a duty to all those who never could, to all those who died hoping one day for what I've been granted. To all those who might come after. I won't just pass Ajag by, and hope his comeuppance comes another day. Whatever harm he causes until then will be partly my fault for not stopping him when I had the chance. If I have to suffer some hardships and nightmares so that others might not... then... I will."

The enormity of my future suddenly pushes down on me with a weight that I can't stand firm against. I feel alone. I'm sure Kit means well in his own way. But I don't want to have to justify my anger. My frustration and conflict weigh on me as if the collar around my neck was made from lead, and the lump in my throat doesn't help either.

"Hey now," Kits voice softens considerably. "I didn't mean to... Look, come on fox, put those ears back up. I'll be there for you, after all. We will get through this together."

I sniffle. "You're right. I don't know how it'll be like. But I can't just... just let this happen anymore. I just can't, even if I wanted to. I'd never forgive myself."

"You'll have to deal with it, fox." Kit strokes my cheek affectionately. "Please just listen to me, okay? We'll be alright. There's nothing to fear."

"I'm not sure what I'm the most afraid of," I admit, choking on the words. "Will it be hard, or will it be... too easy? If it becomes easy to kill then... would it also be easy to leave someone like him alive? What will I become?"

"Don't worry about it, fox," Kit tells me with his gentle, soothing voice. "It won't matter at all for a while yet. If you can make it this far as a slave, then you can survive and you can prosper as a free fox. His Grace told me about the others who serve his brotherhood. They are good people, with families and friends, who enjoy comfortable lives. We could be a part of that; a family of our own."

My ears perk momentarily, turning towards the weasel. "You didn't tell him about us?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Kit asks, genuinely confused. "It's not like it came as a surprise to him, or anything."

"Why-" I double take, shocked enough that I momentarily forget my sadness. "What if he hadn't... approved?"

"Of course, he approves," Kit says with confident smile about his lips "He's Dalmatian. Don't you remember anything I told you? And anyways, he is placing a lot of trust in you, and it's only fair that you trust him back."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now, aren't I?" Kit counters. "So, there you are. You may thank me later."

"For revealing my secrets?"

"Our secret," Kit responds with a firm smile. "If he'd not known that you were mine, he'd probably have matched you with some nobleman's daughter or something, to keep you close and strengthen some alliance or other. Trust me. I know nobles."

"You know nobles?" I'm not entirely convinced. In the grand scheme of things, I wouldn't be worthy to marry a nobleman's horse, let alone his daughter.

"I read about them in books from time to time." Kit hoists his muzzle high in mock superiority. "You should try it too, someday. Books make you cleverer."

"You read about them? What kind of books?"

"Books about noblemen and noblemen things, and..."

"And?"

"... Aaaand romantic poetry. But they're written by people who would know! Trust me on this. You don't want to be open for business, or the girls will throw themselves at you from all sides. Especially someone as handsome as you."

I can't quite suppress a giggle, which comes out as a sniffly, wet sob between my teeth. "Oh, Kit. What if I wanted us to be secret lovers? Your poems make them sound so much more exciting."

"You ought to start reading other authors too," Kit tells me, letting out a giggle of his own. "Secret love never lasts in reality. Forbidden love even less so. Never mind noblemen's daughters, you've got something far better here." He gestures to his own body in an obscene way, which makes us both giggle again.

"What if the Duke sets me up with some nobleman's son then? What if these Dalmatian laws which you speak of eventually work out in my favour? Did your books ever tell you about that?"

"In your favour, eh?" Kit snickered. "Well, I told him you were mine, so he can just try." The statement comes out bold, loud and possessive. But for the first time in my life, I don't mind being someone else's. "And anyways, for all their virtues, Dalmatia doesn't allow men to marry each other properly. The church put its foot down at that. But I don't care. I'm not going to let some trifling little worry like death or the church and state get in between us."

"On that we can agree," I concede. "Thanks, Kit. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that."

Before he realises, I've got him in my arms, pushing him backwards so that we both squelch down on my still damp mattress. He gasps as the cool water pushes through his dry clothes, but I silence him with my muzzle.

Without consciously making an effort, I've got my paws under Kit's once nicely laundered shirt, rubbing at the soft fur until it is as damp as mine. Kit has always stopped me from going further, because of his duties and concerns for his cleanliness, but this time those concerns are far from his mind. I kiss his neck hungrily when I realise he's egging me on. He lets out a soft moan, urging caution, but his body and scent begs me to continue. With no small amount of effort, I get his shirt off, but beyond that, I'm uncertain what is expected of me and what is the right way to go about it. I know what men do together in bed. But I'm not sure how Kit wants me to do it. I just know I want it. Thankfully, Kit understands these things, and guides my paws.

Before long, the small mess is dominated by Kit's unadulterated smell, competing with my own. We're panting on the wet, but slightly warmer mattress. I can feel him next to me, and his breathing and movement takes me back to reality. I open my eyes, blinking the stars away and focusing on the white blur.

"How was that?" Kit asks. He's naked, laying on his stomach, with his tail draped over his hip.

"It was... It was amazing," I tell him. "Are you okay? Was I... too... Uhm... You sounded like you-"

"You did fine, fox." Kit rolls over, leaning his head on my chest, a paw gently caressing the short fur right above my sheath. "I'm sure you'll get better as you get more practice at it." He snickers. "Maybe it'll last longer, too."

My ears splay, but I can't help but smile back at him.

"Well, I didn't know how much quicker it'd be than... when I did it for myself in the past."

"It was nicer than... than I've been used to," Kit tells me, nuzzling my chest fur. "I've never seen... a fox's... you know."

"I've not... Well... I've not seen a weasel's... a weasel... this close. I guess."

"I really think yours is... interesting. It's just the right size, I think."

"We fit together very snugly. Do you think it's a sign?" We share a giggle, basking in the utterly relaxed atmosphere.

I have caught most of Kit's "affection" on my wrist. I sniff at it. The smell of him has taken on another texture when mixed with the rains, but there it is, salty like the sea, and unmistakeably weasel-like. It's definitely different from my own; a smell which has followed me all my adult life. But before I can contemplate more, I feel Kit grasp at my wrist, and bring it to his own muzzle. With a playful grin, he licks the stains away until only the smell remains.

"Did that even taste good?" I cock an eyebrow at the weasel and smirk.

"I just wondered what it'd taste like with some fox in the mix." Kit sniffs at me. "Unless you want the whole ship to know, you'd probably do well to get into a bath. I'll find something dry to fire up the stove with, if you scoop the old ashes out."

The thought of a nice fire is definitely more pleasant than lingering on this mattress. And sharing the fire with him after a nice bath is a thought which stirs all kinds of dormant emotions within me. It makes me more excited than I care to contemplate, an excitement stemming from deep within where all my good memories lie. Two months ago, having the salty weasel touching my fur would've been unthinkable. Two months ago, I thought I'd never feel clean again. Two months ago, I'd never imagine my cheeks could ache from smiling too much.