Helfer's Busy Day, Chapter 10
#10 of Helfer's Busy Day
"Well," Helfer said aloud, to nobody in particular, "events certainly seem to be conspiring to make it difficult for a bright-eyed weasel to maintain his sunny disposition." He tried the door again and then kicked it ineffectively. The lack of any activity at either side of the alley brought the growing suspicion that Stark had concocted the whole scheme as a ploy to relieve Helfer of his purse. He doubted Vin had been in on it, but for all that, he wasn't feeling too well-disposed toward his fellow weasel at present. After all, he was still likely enjoying the effects of a large wolf member sliding up under his tail, if not still enjoying the sliding itself. Somehow, Helfer doubted that Stark had just ended his little play session once he'd gotten rid of the mark.
Toward the front of the building, Helfer could see people walking back and forth in the street. He pulled his tunic down again. Luckily, none of them had noticed him yet, nor come strolling down the alley for any other reason.
There was far less activity at the back of the alley. He didn't feel quite up to swinging his privates around in public just yet, but he also didn't feel like waiting like a fool at the back door. He imagined Stark inside, peering out through a peephole and having a silent laugh. While still buried to the hilt in Vin's backside. Then he imagined that Vin's backside possessed supernatural powers of contraction, and that image set him smiling as he strolled toward the quiet end of the alley, at the back of the building. If there might be another way in too small for a wolf, but suitable for a weasel, he would find it and then he would set about making a different series of images in his head come true. Robbing a noble was not an offense looked upon lightly.
The ground grew progressively filthier as he walked, the smell of garbage leaving no doubt what he would find when he rounded the corner. Indeed, behind the brothel and the inn, a small street with a trough down the middle delivered garbage from them and the neighboring buildings to the river, half a mile or so downslope. Helfer waved a paw in front of his nose and stepped around the piles, looking up at the stone rears of the buildings.
No doors led off from the rear of the brothel. A window on the second story hung open, a trail of waste down the stone below showing its main use. For a moment, Helfer debated climbing up to it. The rough stone would afford enough fingerholds, and if he fell, well, there was a soft pile of...something. But while he considered it, the breeze kicked up around his sac and sheath again, reminding him that not only would he be rubbing his tender bits against the rough stone (the thoughts of abrasions there made him wince), but they would be unprotected from the filth below if he did fall. He looked at the spatterings from chamber pots and the less identifiable messes, and shuddered.
Picking his way around to the back of the Four Vines, he found both a door and a window just above it. Helfer had set his paw to the door handle when it occurred to him that just because there was a door didn't mean there was nothing on the other side. He set his ear against the wood and heard atonal humming, shuffling footsteps, and a subdued clanking of metal that, in conjunction with the smells that wormed their way through the cracks and past the odor of refuse, told him the Four Vines' kitchen lay beyond the door. Had he not been standing in a filthy alley, his mouth might have watered. At the very least, his stomach rumbled, reminding him that wherever he went, lunch should probably be one of his top priorities--at least, now that his sheath wasn't demanding his full attention.
He doubted very much that a pantsless, penniless weasel strolling in from the garbage street would stand much of a chance of getting lunch, so he stepped back from the door and looked up. The window appeared to be open from what he could see, though the angle made it difficult to be sure. Even when he took another step back, he couldn't quite tell. Well, he thought, Weasel smiles on those who take chances, and really, I've little else to lose save my tunic.
He did pause for a moment, because the tunic was all that was standing between him and complete nakedness, but then set forth resolutely toward the door and the wall to its left. Gaps where the mortar had been offered his small paws easy purchase, but Helfer wasn't used to climbing. Years of running helped his legs push him up and stabilize him when he needed to rest, but once he was above the lintel, he was still some feet away from the window sill and the ground seemed quite a distance away. He wasn't so much worried about falling, but the mortar was more solid up here and the closest handhold he could find took him a bit too far to the left of the window. He rested one hind paw on the top of the door frame and examined the wall more closely, looking for some other crack he could slip a finger into.
Below him, the door creaked open. Helfer froze against the wall, pressing as close as he could manage. He couldn't turn his head, so all he could do was listen to shuffling footsteps and a splash of something into the alley. Sour milk smell floated up to his nostrils. He was very aware of the spread of his legs, his balls dangling down between them. If it was a bear in the kitchen, as it sounded like, he would be able to reach up...
He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to banish the image of a fruit tree. Seconds ticked by. He felt he would never forget the intricate pattern of colors and lines in the stone right next to his eyes. He hadn't taken a breath in minutes, his muscles were starting to cramp, and he was itching in three different places for no reason. Trust in Weasel, he thought, and as if in response, a moment later the footsteps shuffled back into the building and the door closed.
Helfer closed his eyes for a moment and murmured a prayer of thanks. The handhold to the left looked a lot more inviting now, so he pulled himself up to it and saw, just above, another crack from which he might be able to drop to the window sill. With a little luck and a lot of balance, he could catch himself before falling to the street.
When the moment came to make the drop, he hesitated, gauging the leap one more time. Eyes on the narrow ledge, he let go and felt his feet hit the sun-warmed wood a moment later. Muscles bunched as he bent quickly to a crouch, grasping at the window frame to steady himself. In a moment, he was inside the dark room, on a hot, dusty floor, panting for breath.
"Weasel'd be proud of me," he murmured into the quiet, giving his eyes a moment to adjust. Regular shapes resolved out of the darkness, short stacks of wooden crates. A dry goods storeroom, no doubt. He could now smell spilled grains over the dust, and feel rice beneath his paws as he moved away from the window.
"No chance of any of these boxes having pants, I suppose," he said under his breath, walking around to sniff at them. Weasel, it seemed, either did not care that much, or liked seeing His faithful servant walking around pantsless. It was a tossup, really.
Helfer was just crossing to the other side of the room when, for the second time in the last few minutes, the squeak of a door opening froze him where he stood. The door opposite the window was opening slowly, light spilling in from the hallway around a tall shadow.
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