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Hey guys!

So, remember that free version of 'Spies' I had promised? Bing! Here it is! I'll keep posting 5-chapter chunks once per day until it's up. Enjoy!

What's a free version? Well, it doesn't have art by the very talented Quel, for one. Check out my book 'The Mystic Sands' to see what I mean. The other part is simple: The free version contains only Orrin's POV. It is a fully self-contained novel, and the lack of other character POVs does not impact the story arc.

_ However! _

For those of you interested in seeing how this novel ties into 'The Prince of Knaves,' 'Streets of His City' and 'Their Labors of Love,' reading the added content is a must! In short, if you're merely looking for a single novel, no strings attached, this will do you fine. If, however, you are interested in inter-novel continuity and seeing how the Llyran Wars unfold, you should absolutely get the print version when it comes out from Rabbit Valley. I will definitely be posting a journal about that when the time comes.

For now, enjoy!

Chapter 1

For the first time since the morning's leg of the journey began, Orrin lifted the window shade and looked outside. The Great Northern road had changed much since it began in Korimm. It had grown wider, and the stones used to pave this particular stretch of it were expensive and uniformly cut. The City of Llyra was close, no doubt. The raccoon stifled a huge yawn. The sun had barely climbed into its zenith, and he already felt drained. Orrin wiggled about, trying to find a decent sitting position. The carriage was either incredibly uncomfortable, or he had simply grown tired of the mercilessly-upright leather seats and the constant rattle.

Orrin opened the driver's window. "How much longer?" He'd resisted asking that question for long enough.

The driver, an all-too-cheerful marmot, gave him a brief backwards glance and a smile. "We are approaching the city walls right now, Your Lordship."

The news made Orrin just a smidgen less grumpy. He opened the carriage door and peeked out.

The city walls were indeed drawing closer. They reminded Orrin of home, somewhat, except much, much larger. It was as if someone had taken Vintaa's modest limestone fortifications and grown them to several times their original size.

Other carts and carriages started to appear along the way. Most belonged to merchants, but a few were definitely too dear for someone without a peerage to afford. Orrin shut the carriage door and took a seat once more. He removed a very familiar piece of parchment from his pocket and read it over. He'd lost count of just how many times he had done so since the letter arrived some eight days ago. Just as he had done all the other times, the raccoon attempted to solidify his feelings at the strange news. He was expected to feel sad; the letter's author had no doubt thought so. Unfortunately, Orrin simply could not bring himself to feel anything but confusion.

The letter made its way into Orrin's pocket once more, as the raccoon sat quietly by the window and watched the City of Llyra roll briskly by. There was little in his eyes that separated it from any other place he'd ever visited. The shops, stalls, pubs and inns - they all looked the same, there were just more of them here. Orrin knew this was not the attitude to have. He would soon be forced to call this city his home, and indefinitely so.

***

A quick drive down a broad cobblestone avenue landed his carriage at the gates of what the raccoon assumed to be Llyra's Royal Palace.

Two guards, both massive wolves, approached the carriage. Palace security was paramount, no doubt, because they looked the sort to tear out an assailant's throat and not think much about it in the aftermath.

One of the wolves knocked gently upon the window with a mailed paw.

Orrin guessed the impending request and dug through his pockets. He produced a set of arbitrarily-folded documents and pushed open the door. "Good afternoon."

"Papers, please." The wolf extended his paw mechanically.

Orrin obliged. He racked his brain for another polite topic of conversation to pass the awkward silence, but none came. These were not the sort of people one conversed with about the weather. So, the raccoon simply sat, paws on his lap, while the wolf combed through the stamped documents.

"Your papers appear to be in order. Welcome to Llyra, Your Lordship." He bowed, still somehow remaining taller than the carriage. "Please see our Secretary to get your palace papers made out. Those tend to make gate checks quicker."

"I will, thank you." Orrin folded the parchments and slipped them into his waistcoat pocket.

The guard, meanwhile, slammed the door closed and waved to his colleague who sat bored atop the portcullis. "Raise 'em!"

Some seconds later, the carriage lurched forward and cantered through the palace gates.

Orrin took these last few moments alone to straighten his cravat and button up his waistcoat. Reluctance for him did not translate to sloppiness. The Lord of Vintaa had to present himself well, whether he wanted to or not.

"Your Lordship!" The carriage had barely stopped, and already a servant had the door open with an elaborate bow. "Welcome to Llyra."

"Thank you." Orrin stepped down and petted the raccoon on the shoulder, as tradition dictated. "What is your name?"

"Werill." The raccoon beamed. "I was your father's servant, and now I shall be yours." He cleared his throat, his ears drooping with embarrassment. "That is, if you approve. You are more than welcome to elect someone else. My apologies for being presumptuous."

"Oh, of course I approve!" Orrin smiled far more genuinely than his current mood permitted. What sort of servants did his father keep? He sighed. 'Too late now.'

Werill, no doubt happy to have retained his employment, simply bowed and went about unpacking Orrin's luggage from atop the carriage. He summoned several more servants and armed each with a trunk. "Won't you follow me, Your Lordship? You will be taking up residence in your father's old quarters." The question was clearly rhetorical, and the raccoon did not stick around to hear a reply. He motioned the other servants to follow and then walked off through the palace's gargantuan front doors, his tail swaying rhythmically to and fro, just a hairsbreadth away from sweeping the marble steps.

Orrin followed. The palace was much larger than anything he was accustomed to in Vintaa. Everything in Llyra was bigger, it seemed. The raccoon tailed his new servant up the broad central staircase, his tired feet sinking pleasantly into the luxuriant red velvet. This staircase, in turn, forked into two.

"Right this way, sir." Werill took the left and ascended in a brisk jog.

Many of the palace's denizens passed them on the way up. They were of all different species, but not one approached the newcomer.

The first time a stranger neglected to return his 'hello,' Orrin felt a hot flush of disappointment, but he quickly reminded himself that this was the Capital City. Things were different here. After three attempts at a friendly greeting, the raccoon folded his ears and gave up altogether. He had known that things would be strange in this big city; he did not think they would also be lonely.

Werill led the way into a decadent, mahogany-paneled hallway and stopped by the second door on the right. "This way, sir - your quarters." He made an elaborate leg and opened the door.

The room Orrin saw did more to his constitution than he could ever have anticipated. The way certain things were arranged, the neatly-polished oaken writing desk, they all reminded him of the father he never truly knew. Even the scent was familiar.

Orrin lingered by the door, afraid to take the next step, his tail twitching. When he realized the others were staring, he steeled himself and crossed the threshold. "Yes, quite a nice room." He padded across the blue-carpeted floor but stopped dead somewhere near the room's center. "What's..."

Hung on the left wall was a lovingly-detailed portrait. Orrin recognized one of the subjects depicted, and he guessed the other quite quickly.

Werill stood respectfully several paces behind his new master. "Your father has had that portrait in his sitting room for as long as I've been with him. He never spoke much about it, but sometimes, I would catch him staring longingly in its direction." He fell silent, recalling perhaps certain servant-master boundaries that were not his to cross without permission.

"Thank you, Werill." Orrin gave his mother's smiling face another glance, and then what he could only presume to be his own from many years ago. "Which way to the bedroom?"

"Through here." Werill hurried over to a closed door near the corner of the room. He opened it with his usual flare.

Orrin padded inside and looked about. Fresh candles glimmered in their sconces along the walls, and a presently unlit chandelier hung from a thick chain embedded in the ceiling. There was far less familiarity here than in the other chamber. The air smelt of pine, and the bed linens were fresh. Orrin crossed the room to a plush and rather comfortable-looking armchair. "When is dinner?" He slumped down atop the soft cushions with a sigh, folding his tail into his lap.

Werill instructed the servants to unpack the lord's trunk. Once the orders were given, he bowed. "If Your Lordship is hungry, I shall inquire about a quick meal in the kitchens. The dinner tonight will commence around seven o'clock. His Majesty's birthday celebration is in three days, so tonight's spread won't be quite as voluminous as usual. For the time being, allow me to pour Your Lordship a glass of wine. You are no doubt quite thirsty from the road." He took a splendidly-painted ceramic carafe from the bedside table and poured some of its contents into a similarly decorated goblet. "There we are. It is a delicate red wine. One of your father's favorites."

Orrin accepted the goblet gratefully. "Oh yes, I am quite parched, thank you." He drank the fragrant wine with hardly a breath for pause. "Now, if you could bring me something to eat, I would greatly appreciate it." Orrin shut his weary eyes and sank further into the cushions. "Nothing too fancy, I am more hungry than picky at the moment." Dimly, he heard the pitter-patter of Werill's pawsteps before sleep took over.

"Lord Orrin." The voice reached through Orrin's dreams and yanked him roughly out.

The raccoon's eyes slitted open. He gasped, coming awake with a start. "Where am I?"

"Safe." His conversant, a lanky, brown-furred ferret, lit a pipe and gave it several long tokes. "Judging by your reaction, I would say you have not been informed of what is to come." He smiled. "Good."

Orrin took stock of his surroundings. They were in an attic, and judging by its shabby appearance, doubtless one that was not a part of the Royal Palace. More than that, he could not discern.

The ferret brushed aside his long black cloak, revealing a quilted doublet of Lincoln green and a set of brown breeches - a dress that could curiously befit both a noble and a commoner. "You may call me the Usual One. You are here because your father has passed, and we are now in need of another."

"Another what?" Confusion settled and annoyance took firm hold of the reins. "You kidnap me, you speak obliquely. Why would I ever wish to help you?"

"Because it is your familial duty."

That is what the letter had said as well, although in reference to taking up residence at the palace as Vintaa's representative. The leverage was just as weak then as it was when the ferret had used it. People, it seemed, had thought Orrin far more dedicated to his family and their legacy. They were wrong. The raccoon crossed his arms defiantly. "I have no family. My mother had passed several years ago, and my father left without so much as a farewell. I hold no loyalties."

"He left to protect you." The Usual One released the smoke he'd inhaled with a sigh. "Your father loved you very much, but he could not bear to see you hurt. So he left both you and your mother when he went to serve his country."

"What is so dangerous about serving Llyra?" Orrin recalled the painting in his father's study.

"Not Llyra, lad... Aarya." The name escaped the ferret's muzzle in a ghostly whisper. "Your father was one of our spies - one of our very best, in fact - and now we wish for you to continue his work."

"So what, that's it?" Orrin couldn't resist a guffaw. "'We wish for you to continue his work'?" He rose. "No, thank you. I will have enough trouble participating in government and doing all of this other nonsense I've been forced into."

The Usual One stood with him, his tail flicking angrily from side to side. "That is your choice, of course, but let me warn you... if you are not with us, you are against us. Leave this room, and you will become our primary target. As someone who now both knows of this spy ring and the identity of her current leader, you are a danger and will be eliminated." He smiled a crooked smile at Orrin's dropped jaw. "Or you could reconsider and work for us. What do you say?"

With the threat of death, any plans to leave quickly evaporated. Orrin sighed. "I haven't got much of a choice, have I?"

"Speaking candidly, no. Your grandfather has made this choice many decades ago and effectively bound his family to the duty you are about to take on." The ferret offered his paw. "So, shall I welcome you into our fold?"

Try as he might, Orrin could think of no way out. He grasped the ferret's paw and shook. "What next?"

"We will contact you. Simply make your way back here and meet me, if there is need." His eyes hardened, and he squeezed the raccoon's paw until Orrin winced. "Do not bring authorities or try to double-cross us. Serve us well, and you will be rewarded."

Orrin wrenched his paw free from the ferret's grasp. "Don't worry. Who will facilitate contact?"

"Your servant." The Usual One took a final drag from his pipe and carefully emptied the tobacco into a nearby bronze bowl. "He is one of us. He shall be your direct line of communication, should you require assistance. Now go; prolonged meetings are risky. In fact, chances are good that you and I won't see each other again for many months. Your servant will assign most missions directly." He crossed the tiny room and pushed open a set of creaky window shutters.

Evening had fallen outside. Orrin gave his new employer one last glance and hopped over the ledge. He landed deftly on a lower rooftop. The one positive aspect of being in a large and labyrinthine city dawned upon him: He could climb. Orrin broke into a dead sprint across the shingled roof and then jumped to another, and a third, his bushy tail acting as balance to make each landing perfectly precise. His heart raced, and a euphoria he hadn't felt in days made him grin from ear to ear. The rooftops whizzed by as the raccoon navigated his new home far above its other denizens. He stopped when he saw the palace. The walls were still imposingly high, but not all of them were surrounded by a moat. Orrin drew as close as he could to that one connected wall by way of rooftops. He jumped down and hid in a row of hedges that grew alongside the barren stone. Even in the smooth wall, the raccoon's trained blue eyes found purchase. He limbered up and quickly scaled the thick limestone.

A passing guard stopped and sniffed about, looking to and fro but thankfully not down.

All Orrin could do was press his body against the wall, wrap his large ringed tail around his legs and wait.

Fortunately, the weasel's nose was not terribly sensitive. He shrugged and continued his patrol.

Orrin wasted no time. He hopped atop the wall and climbed down on the other side, thankful for the thick growth of vines that made the ordeal a great deal easier than he had expected.

A brief respite from his climb gave the raccoon a chance to look around. Tall hedges, all perfectly cut, grew in a maze all around him. Orrin attempted to climb one of them, but each time, the delicate intertwining twigs bent beneath his weight and sent the raccoon plummeting to the ground with a thwack. He did, however, manage to get a glimpse of the palace wall. "Well, at least there's a heading." With this heading in mind, the raccoon worked to navigate the hedge maze. Three dead ends later, impatience overcame him. Orrin picked up speed and attacked the hedge with his shoulder. As dense as the shrubbery was, the raccoon managed to pass through with only a few minor scrapes. He smiled at his accomplishment and headed straight for a small door embedded cleverly in the palace wall and painted to look like the surrounding stone. It bore a simple latch lock, which Orrin picked with ease. Another triumph came in the form of finding the corridor to which the door led entirely vacant. Orrin brushed a few stray leaves from his waistcoat and padded quietly down the hallway, hoping to eventually emerge in the great hall.

He walked silently through the empty palace and soon got his wish. A quick trek up the stairs landed the raccoon by the door to his quarters. He knocked.

Werill answered, looking quite relieved. "Ah, Your Lordship, I trust everything went well." His smile was broad, but he kept his ears far too still for someone with nothing to hide.

"That depends on your definition of the word." Orrin pushed bodily past the raccoon.

"Sir, I am terribly sorry to have had to drug you." Werill followed him to the bedroom but stood respectfully just outside the door, which Orrin had slammed right in front of his muzzle. "Unfortunately, security was paramount. There was really no other way for us to conduct the introduction."

Orrin pushed himself to be angry, but the wariness from his morning's journey and his evening's kidnapping turned anger to a desperate honesty. "So what, I am to spy now? I have no training, no experience, nothing."

"I shall help you in any way I can, Your Lordship. And as far as skills go, you've got far more than you claim. I saw you traverse that wall and get past the guards. Not only that, but the garden maze door is always locked. You would have had to pick the lock to get inside. You are a natural, much like your father. The other abilities will come in time. In Aarya, we believe spying to be an inherited vocation. A good deal of the skill involved in spycraft comes from training, certainly. But there are quite a number of aspects that one simply has to inherit at birth. Under normal circumstances, your father would have summoned you here at about this time in your life. He would have welcomed you into the fold and trained you." His voice brimmed with grief for someone he must have greatly admired. "Sadly, after his mysterious passing, that is not to be. But we refuse to let the Vintaa spy line be broken. Your family has been far too instrumental in our continued success."

Orrin inched the door open. Much like that morning, upon seeing a portrait of himself and his mother in the study of someone he was sure had abandoned them both, the raccoon could not figure out how to feel. "I climbed for fun when I was growing up. Found out that I was good at it and used that gift to escape the confines of our manor." He chuckled. "And picking locks certainly helped with getting in and out undetected. Never thought I would be using those skills to serve a country."

One thought he hadn't contemplated since the fateful letter had first arrived surfaced. "Werill, how did my father die?"

A prolonged and heavy silence followed, broken, at last, by Werill's sigh. "...Sir, I wish I had the answer for you. Your father was a kind person, an incredible spy and a true friend. He was found stabbed in an alleyway in one of the darker parts of the city. That is all we know. No weapon, no assailant, no motive, and nothing on his person to provide us with a single clue."

Orrin imagined what his father's last moments must have been like. "So, that's it, then? Forget and move on?" He sighed, letting the question hang in the air unanswered. Lingering in a single moment of deliberation felt right, but in truth, there was no way to go except forward. "Where do I start?"

Chapter 2

Werill's tired features blossomed with relief. "There is an assignment coming soon. For now, rest, relax and enjoy yourself. Try to meet as many people as you can to really get a feel for palace life." He stood in the doorway, paws clasped nervously together.

Orrin knew there was more. "Go on."

Caught, Werill coughed to clear his throat. "Err, there is one more thing. After your father had almost succeeded in stealing a set of very valuable royal documents, the King has decided to employ a professional to weed out the spy." He scratched his ear tentatively, refusing to meet Orrin's eyes. "I am truly sorry that the very beginning of your spying career would be marked with such a challenge, but I am confident that you will be more than a match for it."

"A 'professional.'" Orrin shuddered at the word. His adversary would clearly be someone trained and potentially quite deadly. "Has this 'professional' got a name?"

"I..." Werill's short grey ears folded back as he no doubt wished more than anything to have had the answer. Every word of his reply was heavy and laden with reluctance. "I do not know, sir. All we know is that he is due to arrive any day now."

"So we just keep an eye out for new arrivals, is that it?" The plan sounded gloriously simple on paper, but for one complication: Unwittingly or otherwise, he was the hunter's mark. "Let's hope I discover this professional's identity before he discovers mine."

"Essentially, yes." Werill laid a comforting paw on his master's shoulder. "Sir, I will not try to paint you a facade. This is an incredibly dangerous job. The only solace you have - and you've got your father's discretion to thank for that - is that your identity is currently and wholly safe. There is no connection between the Vintaa name and Aarya. As such, this spy hunter will have absolutely no possible way of exposing you until you make the first move."

"That's not much to work on." Orrin took a seat in the armchair. The cushions were soft, but the memory of being drugged in that very chair made sitting uncomfortable. "I will have to do some spying eventually, and that spy hunter will be waiting for me to do just that." The raccoon shook his head. "No, you know what, let's cross that bridge when we get to it." Putting off thinking about a potentially deadly altercation was certainly a divine prospect. Immediately, the very possibility of such a thing felt ages away. The pleasant disconnect brought with it warmth and a sense of false security. Orrin stood and straightened his outfit. "When is dinner?"

"Twenty minutes." Werill bowed. "I shall go and arrange your place setting, if I may." He turned to leave but only walked two paces before stopping. "Oh, might I suggest a change of outfit, sir?" The raccoon reached over and plucked a loose twig from Orrin's lapel. "This one is a bit... worn."

"Yes, you're right." Orrin unbuttoned his waistcoat. "What shall I do with this one?"

"Dispose of it." Werill crossed the room and opened the wardrobe door. "Just toss your discarded clothes in here. I will take care of everything. When you have changed, meet me downstairs at the entrance to the dining room."

Orrin nodded and finished undressing. He combed his matted fur as much as he could, wishing he'd had time to take a long water bath after his even longer trip. Sadly, some mint-scented powder and a new outfit was all twenty minutes would permit. Again, the raccoon chose to go with an all-blue velour ensemble. He swore for the umpteenth time that his next one would be of a different color.

Dressed and scented he made his way downstairs.

***

The dining room was substantially occupied when Orrin arrived. Nobles of all stations sat in small groups around a long table. They mingled in those groups, making no discernible effort at communication with anyone else. Orrin looked over the situation and felt its bleakness. These were not people to easily befriend, and yet he had to do just that. He knew little about spying, but blending in was probably a good start. When suspicion arose, people always pointed to the loners first. With that reasoning pushing him along, Orrin took a seat amidst a crowd of nobles.

As expected, a few greeted him with friendly hellos, while the others ignored him entirely and carried on with conversation. They knew who he was, no doubt, but a newcomer lordling was of little interest to anybody.

"Lord Orrin?"

Or so he thought.

"Uhh, yes." Orrin turned to see a rather jubilant squirrel walking in his direction. He recovered from his confusion and stood. "Good evening." In the present case, standing was merely a formality, of course. Even sitting, he was almost as tall as the squirrel.

"Good evening indeed!" The chap wore an outfit of bright orange that clashed mercilessly with his auburn fur. But his toothy grin made it quite apparent that he thought absolutely nothing wrong of this strange ensemble. "I am Lord Timmin of Septimine."

Orrin shook paws hesitantly with the new arrival. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise. Shall we find a roomier place to sit?" Without waiting for a response, Timmin led the way to another, more sparsely occupied, section of the table. "I see you've met some of the Peers."

Orrin looked back at the group he'd unsuccessfully attempted to infiltrate. "Well, I'm assuming you're using the term 'met' quite loosely. They are not very keen on making new friends." He sat down next to the squirrel and helped himself to some nearby fish and potatoes.

Timmin did the same. "Such are Llyran politics - lots of little clusters but no true unity, despite an appearance of such whenever the King comes around. You are merely experiencing it all on a smaller scale here."

"So, what about you?" Orrin bit into his fish with glee, savoring its soft texture and the delicate spice of the sauce in which it had been marinaded. "You seem quite friendly."

Timmin sniggered into his bowl of potatoes. "I've got no choice, really. Septimine is as far north in the Kingdom as it gets. Some think us more Tilmarii than Llyran; and to an extent, they're right. Many of the people up there speak Tilmarii fluently for trade reasons, and much of our custom originates in Tilmar as well." He sighed. "Sadly, being a border province makes us a black sheep of sorts. We are called unpatriotic and people look for all the reasons in the world to overturn any of my votes on the Council - even the ones they normally would have supported." A veil of sadness fell over his features. His short ears drooped. "I am telling you this because you stand to lose a lot by being friends with me. This is your warning."

Orrin laughed and patted the squirrel on the shoulder. "You are the only one here who has been friendly to me. At this point, yours is the only friendship I care about."

At that, Timmin beamed far more broadly than Orrin thought he could with such a narrow muzzle. "Thank you, Lord Orrin. This truly means a lot to me."

"My pleasure." Orrin also smiled. "And thank you for being so amicable. I'd almost lost hope at finding friends in this place."

"Never lose hope." Timmin winked and forked the last of his fish. "When you lose hope, that's when things become truly miserable." With the last of his food gone, the squirrel wiped his muzzle on a napkin and stood. "Now, if you would excuse me, Lord Orrin, I've got some late-night business to attend to. However, if you are free tomorrow, I should very much like to spend the day with you - maybe show you around the palace a little bit."

"That would be wonderful!" Orrin shook paws with his new friend. "And please, just Orrin. I hate titles."

"Fantastic!" Timmin beamed. "And you may call me Tim." With a wink and a wave, he departed, his bushy red tail bobbing merrily in his wake.

Orrin couldn't help but smile as he watched the squirrel disappear behind the dining room's oaken doors. He'd probably befriended the strangest person in the palace, but he could not have been happier. A few more spoonfuls of potatoes later, the raccoon pronounced his meal complete. He took an ungainly swig of wine and wiped his muzzle on a silk napkin. "Time to turn in."

The wine had slowly begun to take its effect, and Orrin was all too happy to find his quarters on the first try.

Werill met him at the door. "Good evening, Your Lordship."

"Good night, Werill." Orrin unbuttoned his waistcoat and tossed it onto the sitting room sofa. "It has been a long day, and I think I will call it a night."

Werill followed him inside and across the room. His shuffling step made it quite clear that more would soon be said.

Orrin stopped. "Yes?"

"Sir, I regret to say that your first assignment has come in." He cleared his throat. "Well, it isn't the first official assignment, but the powers that be want you to tail Lord Timmin. I saw him walking towards his room about ten minutes ago, and he has yet to emerge. If you hurry, you can exit the palace the same way you'd entered this afternoon and intercept him."

Orrin's demeanor quickly grew guarded of his new friend. "And of what interest is he to us?"

Werill made sure the door was shut and locked before continuing. "This is a special wood that makes the room almost entirely soundproof. We may speak freely here. To answer your question, we believe he may be a Tilmarii spy."

Orrin could think of little else more potentially obvious. But an important question rose to the surface, one which would decide their friendship or its impossibility. "Is that a good or bad thing?"

"Potentially, quite good." Werill opened the door and peeked out. "If we can confirm his identity, we may very well strike up a relationship. An alliance of sorts." He closed the door abruptly and without a sound. "Lord Timmin has just left the room. Wait a few moments and follow him out. Best of luck to you, sir. Oh, and I would suggest taking this time to mute your scent a tad. Lord Timmin's identity is not yet confirmed, and you do not want to be too rash."

"What's this?" Orrin accepted a strange vial of clear liquid from his servant.

"Dab it around your neck and groin area." Werill turned politely away. "It will mute your scent so you won't be quite so vulnerable when hiding."

Orrin applied the muter around his fur, returned the vial to Werill and slipped out into the hallway. He trekked briskly down the stairs, passing more unfamiliar nobles on the way. The palace was slowly emptying for the night as its denizens holed themselves up in locked rooms until morning. Orrin turned into the first floor corridor. From a well-placed window, he saw Timmin walking across the palace moat. Time was running out.

With renewed energy, Orrin sprinted out into the hedge maze, crashed his way through it and scaled the vine-ridden wall. The guard on patrol finished up his rounds just as the raccoon made it to the top.

The bear gave things one more look-over and departed.

Orrin didn't dally. He climbed down the other side of the wall and scaled up to the roof of a nearby house. He squinted towards the moat and saw Timmin walking in his direction.

The squirrel wore an air of innocence about himself to such a great extent that of all the people in the Capital City, Orrin would have pinned him last as a potential spy. With that realization, the raccoon marveled at the cleverness of such a disguise. Timmin was born near enough to Tilmar to walk there in an hour's time, and yet he presented himself as such a queer ball of eccentricity that picturing him as a cunning and devious spy was all but impossible.

Timmin passed him, whistling all the while, and headed deeper into the city.

Orrin followed, skipping nimbly from one rooftop to the other, sometimes clinging to bare walls and waiting, and other times hanging from window-sills as his mark sauntered through the darkening streets at his own curious pace.

Twenty minutes of pursuit later, Lord Timmin stopped in front of a handsomely-kept building. A sign hung over the door that read, 'The Silk Peony.' Below the flourishing script, a delicate flower was painted.

For the first time since he began his walk, Timmin showed some sign of wariness - a quick glance up and down the street. Satisfied that he hadn't been followed, the squirrel opened the door and stepped inside.

Once the door had slammed shut, Orrin began looking for an alternate way inside. Unlike most of the Llyran buildings he'd seen, that one in particular bore a curiously small number of windows. Orrin clambered halfway down the two-story structure and peeked into a small ventilation window.

Inside, was a scene of decadence and crimson velour. Ten gorgeous males lay languidly on a row of divans, their trim, well-muscled bodies entirely exposed or occasionally draped with flowing red silk.

The sight made Orrin forget all about where he was, and the intense smell of arousal wafting through the partially-ajar window even made him forget his own name. The bulge in his breeches pressed against the stone wall and the raccoon's grasp around the wooden windowsill loosened. With a muffled cry, Orrin lost his hold completely and plummeted to the ground. He stopped himself just short of the cobblestone alley by digging his claws into a jutting stone. The claws found their purchase painfully in a set of small grooves. The raccoon's tail touched the ground below, its tip curling gently against the stone. Orrin shut his eyes tightly and took a long sigh of relief. He clambered back up to the window, ready this time for the beautiful males that sat within. But it wasn't the nude harlots who caught his attention. Orrin's gaze sat squarely upon Timmin.

The squirrel approached the only other clothed person in the room, a short female mouse Orrin took to be the madam. They spoke for a few moments in a hushed whisper, after which the mouse signaled one of the concubines with her paw. "Milton."

"Yes, Mistress." The cougar stood and stretched, showing off all the sculpted musculature underneath his closely-cropped fur. He smiled alluringly, looking over the squirrel with his piercing green eyes.

Orrin was only able to catch small snatches of the conversation, but there wasn't much to hear.

Timmin ran his claws through the cougar's back-fur. "Would you mind awfully if we used room twenty-four again? It is starting to feel like home."

"Of course, Your Excellence." Milton bowed and took Timmin's paw.

The squirrel gave his much taller conquest's rump a good squeeze and allowed himself to be led from the main room.

Orrin watched until the happy couple disappeared behind a set of crimson curtains. He climbed down into the alley. There had to be a rear entrance somewhere. The young raccoon padded around the perimeter until he found it. "Now, let's see." From his sleeve, he produced a set of lock picks. They were old and worn, a purchase Orrin had made many years ago, in secret, and they had served him well. This time was no different. The latch-lock gave with just a few expert flicks from the twirl. Orrin pushed the door open slowly, wincing at the agonizing squeak its unoiled hinges emitted.

He sneaked through the gloom without a sound, placing his weight on each successive floorboard only after he was entirely sure it wouldn't creak. The door at the opposite end of the room led to a long hallway lit by scented lanterns. Orrin did his best to take shallow breaths, but the aroma still made his head spin. One by one, he checked the rooms until he came upon one with the number twenty-four stenciled upon it in brass. The faint sounds of pleasure he'd heard behind nearly every other door were conspicuously absent.

Orrin pressed his ear against the polished wood only seconds before the lock clicked. Panicked, the raccoon broke into a sprint and disappeared behind the door from which he had emerged some moments prior. He peeked out into the dimly-lit hallway and waited.

Timmin came out with Milton padding in his wake. "I had a wonderful time. Thank you, dear." He pressed a gold coin against the cougar's broad chest and slid it down towards his taut stomach. "I shall be back on Wednesday."

Milton had nowhere to put the coin. He cupped it in his paw and bowed. "I will most certainly be waiting, Your Grace."

Timmin gave his conquest one last look-over and headed back down the hall. He disappeared behind the crimson curtains, and Milton retreated into the room.

Orrin pushed the door closed and sighed. "Looks like you were just going out for a bit of fun. So much for spying." He crossed the room, his sheath reminding him all the while just how long it had been since his own last encounter. "Tomorrow, perhaps." Orrin looked back at the curious establishment as he jogged out of the alleyway. With just a few gold, he could have any one of those luscious males. The thought made him smile.

Back on the street, the raccoon reminded himself of his task and took to Timmin's heels once more; but the squirrel, it seemed, had no more stops on his outing. He took a strange and winding path, but ultimately ended up back at the palace gates.

Once he'd handed his papers to the guard and walked inside, Orrin knew his trail was done. He scaled the familiar wall, made it through the hedgemaze and back up to his room.

Werill answered the door again. "How was your outing, sir?"

"Not very informative." Orrin closed the door and turned the key in its lock. "He went to a brothel."

Werill elevated an eyebrow in a gallant manner that befitted a trained servant. "A brothel? And that's it?"

"That's it." Orrin stripped out of his ensemble and down to his silk undershorts. "He had a spot of fun and left."

"Strange." Werill folded his master's clothes and produced a set of silk pajamas. "Your orders are to tail him for two more days. If nothing truly comes up, we will have to say it was a fluke and move on." He sighed. "Pity. From what I heard, befriending a Tilmarii would have been quite a useful alliance."

"Well, I won't say no just yet, but nothing of consequence happened tonight." Orrin slipped into the pajamas and headed for his bedroom. "We are actually due to meet up tomorrow for breakfast and spend most of the day together. I will see what I can learn from him."

"That would be most wise, Your Lordship." Werill smiled. "You have the infiltration techniques of a master spy, but your verbal cunning still need some work." He winked. "I heard you at dinner. But that ability will come to you in time, you needn't worry."

"I hope it will." Orrin climbed beneath the cozy down blankets and settled into the soft mattress. "But certainly not tonight. I will be sleeping like a dead one tonight, that's for sure."

"Good night, Your Lordship." Werill bowed low and shut the bedroom door.

Orrin snuggled up against the soft pillows and let his eyelids fall peacefully. As worked up as he'd gotten during his brief visit to the brothel, sleep was even more welcome than sex that night.

A scratch of claws against stone brought him rudely out of a peaceful slumber. Orrin slitted one eye and looked about. The room was silent and still, and even his keen night-vision picked up nothing of interest. But then he saw it.

Sitting crouched on the windowsill was a shadowy figure. It watched him through glowing eyes for a few moments more and then jumped nimbly up.

Once the stranger had vanished from sight, Orrin hopped quickly out of bed and opened the window. Whoever it was, they were quite the climber, that much was certain.

A shower of masonry and then a few loose shingles informed the raccoon that his voyeur had successfully made it up to the roof.

Against his better instincts, and still clad in only his undershorts, Orrin followed. He slid out onto the windowsill and assessed the situation. There was one more floor to climb to get to the roof, and doing so would require a bit of hanging. He stifled a yawn. "Well, it's my job now, I guess."

With a mighty leap, Orrin grabbed on to the decorative border above the window. His feet had no purchase, and the raccoon had to rely strictly on the strength in his paws. One by one, he scaled up the barely-protruding stones until he was able to use his feet. There was no time to rest. Orrin pushed forward and scaled the remainder of the wall up to the roof. He stopped at the parapet and peeked over.

Short of a small attic window, conveniently ajar, the roof was empty. Whoever it was, they had gone through a lot of trouble climbing just to get into the palace. "Very interesting." Orrin climbed back down and into his room. He made sure to shut the window, lock it and draw the thick curtains into place. "Werill!"

It took several such summons, but the servant finally arrived. "Yes, Your Lordship?"

Orrin sat down at the edge of his bed and brushed some loose rubble from his paws. "I have had a rather uninvited visitor some minutes back."

Werill took a guarded tone. "What sort?"

"The sort who sits masked upon my windowsill and watches me sleep. A rat of some kind, by the looks of him." Orrin glanced towards the window. "He made no attempt to enter, however, so I suspect he was merely on reconnaissance."

Werill nodded. "I shall contact my superiors at once. Did you get a good look at him?"

"No, but he's probably in the palace right at this very moment." Orrin clambered underneath the covers and closed his eyes, finally intending to get some rest. "I followed him up the wall. He went in through the attic window. If it were someone from the outside, they could have made a much easier two-story climb down and escaped through the hedge maze. Whoever it was, he wanted to stay in the palace." Sleep washed slowly over his tired body. "Let's take care of this tomorrow." Orrin dimly heard Werill voice agreement and the slamming of his bedroom door.

Chapter 3

Morning came far too soon. Orrin had no plans of getting up, but hunger quickly overwhelmed him. All the energy and exertion from the night before had taken their toll. The raccoon stayed under the warm down blankets until his stomach growled for the umpteenth time. He rolled out of bed and headed for the sitting room. "Werill?"

His servant was already waiting with a tray of freshly-baked rolls and a pot of tea. "A light snack for you, sir. Lord Timmin had called and reminded you that he expects to have breakfast together."

"Yes, that's right." Orrin helped himself to a steaming roll and chewed the soft, delicate pastry with glee. "But please tell him I wish to first take a bath." He put off any other requests he'd been mincing over and hurried to grab another roll, lest his stomach complain again.

"As you wish, sir. Enjoy your food. I shall return and show you to the bath." Werill poured his master a cup of tea, bowed and left.

He returned just as Orrin was finishing off the last of the rolls. "Lord Timmin has expressed a desire to accompany you to the baths, sir."

Orrin hadn't seen much of the squirrel's physique underneath his elaborate outfit, but it was a safe bet that Timmin was quite good-looking. The raccoon had to cross his legs to hide his growing member. "Err, yes. Tell Lord Timmin that I would be happy to accompany him." He waited for his erection to subside and then stood. "Lead the way."

Werill bowed. "Follow me, sir." He showed Orrin out into the hallway, where he made sure to lock the door.

Another door towards the end of the corridor opened, and Timmin emerged. "Ah, good morning, Orrin!" He wore a lemon-yellow outfit this time, which did absolutely nothing to redeem his sense of style. "Don't worry, Werill, I will show my friend to the baths."

Orrin shrugged and followed the squirrel down a set of stairs. "Is this a back way of some sort?"

Timmin beamed. "Of course! Taking the grand staircase to go bathing is a tad much, don't you think?"

"Fair enough." Orrin giggled. It was time to practice a sly interrogation. "I slept like a cub last night. Long day. Did your business take long?"

Timmin met his new friend's eyes with a sly grin. "Long enough."

Orrin smiled back. "That's an awfully mischievous smile. Timmin, what were you up to?"

"Let's just say I have certain needs that needed taking care of." The squirrel patted his groin.

Orrin nodded. "Ah, understandable." He'd had those very same needs as well, but they weren't what occupied his current thoughts. The squirrel hadn't even attempted to lie about where he'd gone that night. Maybe he really didn't have anything to hide, after all.

Their conversation turned to the random all the way down to the water baths.

Timmin opened a wooden door, carved lovingly with a mural of bathing foxes, and gestured inside. "Here we are. Head all the way down to the end. That bath behind the curtain is the best one." He winked. "Normally, it's reserved for the King, but His Majesty is away on business, so the bath is reserved for whomever gets there first." With that, he broke into a jog, his tail bobbing left and right behind him.

Orrin followed but at his own pace. He parted the curtain that hung over the doorway and stripped off his night-shirt. "Not bad." The bath was much larger than the ones he'd passed, and the seclusion certainly helped. Next, the raccoon turned his attention to Timmin.

The squirrel had seated himself on the bench and busied with slowly unbuttoning his waistcoat. He didn't pay Orrin much attention, but the raccoon could smell the arousal strong inside the stuffy room, carried even more than usual by the water's evaporating moisture. Timmin folded the waistcoat neatly on the marble bench and began unbuttoning his frilly shirt. One by one his deft fingers undid the ivory buttons, exposing more and more of his well-muscled chest. He folded the shirt as well and stood up.

Orrin realized only then that he was openly staring. Thankfully, Timmin didn't comment. He slipped out of his pants and bent over next to the bench exposing his taut rump.

Orrin threw his clothes hastily onto the floor and hopped into the pool, hiding his throbbing erection with his tail and blushing furiously from embarrassment.

When Timmin turned around, his member was also fully up and throbbing. It wasn't large, but its curve made Orrin salivate.

The squirrel winked. "Well, at least I don't have to feel embarrassed. I knew nigh-for-certain that you preferred males." He gave his shaft a teasing squeeze and lowered himself gently into the warm water.

Orrin's bravery returned. He slid close to the squirrel. "Well, you had your relief yesterday. I, meanwhile, haven't done anything fun in quite some time."

Timmin's teasing green eyes twinkled. He reached into a bowl conveniently placed by the poolside, his paw re-emerging slick with oil. "Oh, how awful! That simply won't do." The scent of arousal grew stronger as the squirrel carefully rubbed the raccoon's member with his greased paws and straddled his new friend. "Oh, you're certainly quite big. I will definitely enjoy you." He pressed his rump against Orrin's erection.

"Not as much as I will enjoy this." Orrin grasped the squirrel's hips. His heart beat faster, his member quivered in anticipation several inches below the water's surface. Timmin's well-groomed fur pressed tightly against his, and the raccoon had to concentrate every bit of willpower to resist orgasm.

Timmin bit Orrin's ear and gnawed gently, his large front teeth grazing the fur and sending bolts of pleasure up the raccoon's spine.

It was time. Orrin placed his member against the fleshy opening under the squirrel's tail and pressed his hips forward.

"Master Timmin!" The curtains parted, and an elderly wolf ran in. He gasped when he saw the two friends and turned respectfully around. "You are wanted."

Timmin whined. "Just let me finish this."

"I am sorry, sir." The wolf coughed delicately into his paw. "You are wanted immediately. This is incredibly urgent business. We have no time to spare."

"Rowann, you are horrible, do you know that?" With another disappointed whine, Tim pushed Orrin's shaft out and stood. "We will have to pick this up later."

The passion was gone. Orrin sighed as his maleness slid back into its sheath. "Very well. I'm guessing we won't be breakfasting together then."

"Tomorrow, I swear." Tim winked. "And we will most certainly pick this up when I return." A teasing squeeze of Orrin's sheath later, he hopped deftly out of the pool and shook himself dry. "I will return soon."

Rowann helped him dress, and the two disappeared behind the velvet curtain.

Orrin sat around for a little while longer as the last bit of arousal left him. He picked up a soapstone and scrubbed his fur until every inch of it was clean and begging to be brushed.

"All ready, Your Lordship?" Werill walked in carrying a towel draped over one paw and a blue outfit over the other.

"Almost." Orrin picked up a bucket of clean water that stood at the poolside and rinsed his fur. "Alright. You may brush me." He emerged from the pool and sat upon a nearby bench.

Werill produced a set of brushes and powders from a cupboard beneath the bench. He spoke as he gently untangled Orrin's fur. "Looks like Lord Timmin had some urgent business."

"He did, yes." Orrin winced as the comb caught a particularly knotted clump of fur. "But he was entirely honest about his excursion last night."

Werill shrugged. "It is possible, of course, that he really did go to the brothel. But that does not rule out certain things." He cleared his throat. "He took a carriage out of the city, according to our sources. When he does return, the Powers That Be want you to continue following him." In a turn uncharacteristic to such a stoic servant, he giggled. "Although you two appear to be getting along quite handsomely. But I needn't advise you, I'm sure, to keep this friendship of yours no more than that. Being romantically involved with another spy is dangerous work."

"Oh, of course." Orrin grinned sheepishly. "Just taking care of some 'needs,' as it were."

Werill finished brushing and placed the powders back into their cupboard. "That is entirely understandable, sir. However, might I suggest taking a cue from your friend, perhaps, and paying that brothel a visit. They have some fine specimens, from what I have heard. A few gold coins, and all of your needs are sure to be well-met."

Orrin mulled the idea over in his head. He thought back to the previous night. All those gorgeous males, his for the taking. The thought was a fantastic one. In fact, the only downside Orrin could think of was having to choose just one concubine. "Very well, I suppose I might as well do so. I shall go tonight."

***

After a day of aimless wanderings around the palace, night finally came, and Orrin's excitement returned with it. The raccoon choked down a quick dinner, his stomach far too abuzz with butterflies to hold down anything significant, and changed into a new outfit. He was entirely determined to impress his lay. Again, he chose all blue. "Werill, I am heading out. Do not wait up for me."

"Very good, sir." Werill handed his master a bronze latch-key. "This is for the door. And do stay safe, Your Lordship. This establishment may be first class, but the rest of the city is not."

"Don't worry, I'll be careful." Orrin adjusted his cravat. The city couldn't possibly be all that dangerous.

"I hope so, sir." Werill helped Orrin into a waistcoat. "What is the extent of your weapons training, now that we are on the subject?"

Orrin shrugged. "I know some paw-to-paw combat. Mostly, I prefer to run. Once I'm on the roofs, there is little chance anyone will catch me."

Werill nodded but not approvingly. "We shall have to remedy that. I will see about lessons with the palace sword master."

"Sure, sure." Orrin's mind was entirely elsewhere by that point. He may still have been at the palace physically, but mentally, he was already at the brothel, picking out his conquest for the night. The raccoon's mind backtracked to be level with his body, and he shook off the daze. "Er, so I'm off." He hurried out of the room and down the stairs. Twice, he considered taking the secret way out, but there was really no point. Prostitution was entirely legal, and young bachelors were nigh-expected to require such services.

Once clear of the palace, Orrin did his best to retrace the route Timmin had taken the previous night. The change of vantage point made it fairly difficult, and it was quite clear that the squirrel had taken a very winding and roundabout path, but twenty or so minutes later, Orrin found himself in front of the neatly-painted building. He stood at the door and breathed deep as the butterflies inside his belly danced up a storm. "Alright." Orrin opened the door and stepped inside.

The smell of arousal was enough to get him out of his sheath in an instant. By the time the raccoon had made it through the parlor and into the main room, his shaft was leaking with giddy anticipation of what was to come.

The madam approached him. "Good afternoon." Her voice was uncharacteristically deep for such a small mouse. "I believe this is your first time at the Silk Peony, is it not? My name is D'arcy."

"Pleasure to meet you." Orrin's attention sat squarely upon the cougar Timmin had picked out. "I'm- uhh... here for- uhh... y'know."

The cougar's green eyes met Orrin's blue. "I would be happy to assist with that, Your Excellence. My name is Milton." The pink tip of his member peeked just a smidgen from its plump sheath.

"That would be fantastic!" Orrin swallowed. "How much?"

"Two gold." D'arcy extended her paw.

Orrin hurried to pay her. His erection pressed hard against his breeches.

Once the gold had exchanged paws, Milton approached the raccoon and gave his ear a teasing lick. "Shall we?"

"Yes." Another thought came to mind. "Might we use room twenty-four? A very good friend of mine recommended it to me."

D'arcy nodded. "Of course, sir. Room twenty-four is yours."

Orrin ran his paw along the soft fur on the cougar's rump. "Very well. Lead the way."

Milton took his paw and walked just a few paces in front of the raccoon, intent on showing off his perky rump and muscular legs.

Orrin grinned like a buffoon the whole way down.

They stopped at room twenty-four, and Milton unlocked the door. "Right inside, Your Grace."

Orrin stepped in, and the door shut immediately behind him.

"Don't move, don't scream." A candle flickered on, and the raccoon came muzzle to muzzle with two black wolves and a grey squirrel. All three were armed with crossbows, and Orrin instantly regretted having chosen to do his job.

The squirrel placed his crossbow onto the bed and searched him. "Alright, Lord Orrin, how did you know about room twenty-four? You had better have a very good explanation. One does not attempt to infiltrate the Tilmarii spy network and live long thereafter." He drew a dagger and pressed it against Orrin's throat. "We're spies, after all. Can't have news of our presence spreading." He chuckled mirthlessly. "And don't think me a bad spy because I speak of my craft so eagerly. If I hadn't, my superiors might have had some qualms about your death. But now that you know our secret, I am at full liberty to do as I please. Nothing personal, of course. I simply do not enjoy leaving any loose ends. For argument's sake, though, let's hear your side of it. I am feeling rather generous tonight."

"I..." As counter-intuitive as it seemed, the truth was actually far better an answer than lies. "I am an Aaryan spy. I followed Lord Timmin to this brothel in an attempt to confirm his identity. We wish to strike up an alliance." He spoke so quickly the words blended together into one.

The squirrel's green eyes bored deep into Orrin's. "Hmm... you don't look like a very good liar. What interest might you have in this alliance?"

Orrin hadn't the faintest, so he took a guess. "Well, Aarya and Tilmar bear no grudges against one another. Meanwhile, we are both on less-than-friendly terms with Llyra. Why not combine our forces and help each other?"

The squirrel didn't answer at first.

Orrin could see the many proverbial gears in his head turning and clicking. "Hmm... alright, I suppose you have got a point. Llyra is a volatile country at the moment, and its state affects both your country and my own. Perhaps we can work together." He extended his paw. "My name is Finn. I am the leader of the Tilmarii spy ring in Llyra. Our forces here are small, and we are far from home, but we shall do our best to aid you if you do the same." As Orrin grasped to shake, Finn's grip tightened. "But if you should double-cross us in any way - although Aaryans are not known for such things - neither you nor the people you serve will get away unscathed; that is an oath I swear to you now. We may not have known you are a spy, but we do know how to find you should you betray us."

"Completely understood." Orrin gritted his teeth, determined to not show weakness. "You have my word that you shall not be double-crossed."

Finally, Finn smiled. "Good. I shall direct Lord Timmin to meet with you and discuss certain matters. For you see, we are on the brink of something very deadly. Something that Llyra is too blind to see and Tilmar wants no part in. But that is all I will say for now. Good day, Lord Orrin."

The door behind him opened, and Milton ushered the raccoon out. "Bold move, sir. Glad you are one of us now."

As the cougar turned to walk away, Orrin gave his tail a good tug. "Hold on, there." All the excitement only served to get him more worked up than before, something he didn't think possible. "I paid for my hour with you, and I intend to collect."

Milton purred. "Oh, yes sir!" He saluted, his pink, curiously-shaped member already well out of its sheath. "Let's do this in another room, though." He showed Orrin into the room across the hall and shut the door. "Well, I'm all yours."

Orrin gave his conquest another long appraisal and grabbed the cougar by the hips. He was smaller than Milton, but his arousal gave him the added strength needed to push the cougar and pin him against the bed. "Yes, you are definitely all mine." Orrin hurried to undo his breeches and shirt. He shed the clothes carelessly onto the floor and wrapped a free paw around his erection.

Milton stayed down obediently. "The oil is on the dresser, Your Excellence."

Orrin grasped the vial in his trembling paw and spilled some of the slick, rose-scented fluid all over his shaft. He rubbed it up and down with both paws and then positioned the tip against Milton's tight pucker. "I'm guessing you aren't on the receiving end often, are you?"

The cougar giggled. "No, sir. But I will definitely make the exception for you. I-" He moaned and relaxed as Orrin's entire length slid in without pause.

The sexual energy he'd felt that morning in the King's Bath returned to Orrin as if it had never left. The raccoon grasped his partner's hips, grazing the cougar's short fur with his claws. His last such encounter was a dim memory to which he'd wistfully held on; that was no longer necessary. Orrin drank his fill of the cougar's beautifully-sculpted back and shoulders. A soft moan escaped his parted lips. He closed his eyes and began the age-old motion, thrusting in and out of the fleshy opening with a building gusto. But the raccoon would not let instinct consume him; not yet. Instead, with every push, he listened to the cougar.

At first, Milton's moans and shivers bore a note of strained formality. He knew how to please. Too well, in fact. But such well-rehearsed play did not last long.

As Orrin's thrusts gained power, the cougar's moans grew more sudden and improvised. Soon, he'd given himself up completely to the overwhelming rush of feelings.

Orrin did the same. Bodily, he flipped his conquest over and climbed atop the fresh bed linens. Milton was his, and they both knew it.

The cougar lay staring blissfully at the ceiling, his tongue lolling out from the side of his muzzle as the raccoon penetrated him once more.

Orrin lay atop the creature's well-muscled chest and let the surging swell in his groin build and rise higher through his body. All thoughts of pacing and technique had long since left his mind. In their place, raw instinct reigned, and only one goal dominated his vision. The raccoon opened his muzzle and clasped his jaws gently around Milton's neck.

The cougar gasped, his eyelids hooded, his muzzle curved up in a blissful smile. "I- I-" With a shudder, he released himself, gasping again and again at each of his member's convulsions.

A strong, musky odor filled the air. It accosted Orrin's sensitive nose and sent a final bolt of pleasure through his body. With a thrust, Orrin emptied himself into the warm tightness that had so welcomingly engulfed his shaft. He embraced the cougar and held on through an orgasm that no amount of good pawing could have provided. As the spike of pleasure wound down to a warm glow, it took along the weariness he'd been feeling ever since he arrived in Llyra.

Orrin pulled out slowly and slumped back against the bed. "That was fantastic. Thank you, Milton."

The cougar wiped his client's shrinking erection with a black silk cloth, squeezing in just the right places to make the raccoon moan with pleasure. "I enjoyed it quite a bit myself, sir. You're probably the biggest thing I've taken in years." He met Orrin's gaze. "And believe me, if I hadn't, I would have simply said it was my pleasure and left it at that."

"Well, I'm glad we both enjoyed it." Orrin rolled over atop his bedmate and snuggled into the cougar's short back fur. "I will most certainly return." He pushed his sheath gently between the cougar's thighs. "And very soon, at that." Orrin could only hope that Timmin would provide some sort of a sexual outlet, otherwise he saw himself blowing his entire savings on this cougar.

The hour was up, and it was time to go. Orrin stood and slipped his clothes on how he could, taking little time to straighten up. "It's been amazing, Milton, but I must go. Expect me around the same time next week."

The cougar saw him to the door, where Orrin slipped him another gold coin. "If you would like, Your Excellence, I would be happy to save myself just for you." He patted his rump. "Well, certain parts, anyway."

"I'd like that." With another squeeze of the cougar's rear, Orrin showed himself out and took a quick pace down the dark city streets.

***

This time, he navigated by the palace spires and found a route that was a good deal shorter than the one he'd used before. As he approached the gates and dug through his pockets, Orrin realized that he'd forgotten his papers back at the palace. He turned to take his private entrance, when a friendly paw stopped him.

"And what are you doing out so late?" Tim was wearing his familiar grin, his eyes watching for the slightest hint of untruth.

Orrin blushed. "I- I- went to take care of certain... needs. I wasn't sure when you'd be back."

"I worked you up that much, did I?" Tim guffawed. "That is certainly nice to hear. I am assuming someone pointed you to the Peony, then?" He gasped theatrically. "Oh no, you didn't go to the Tawny Owl, did you? Oh, the service is terrible there, and the sheets have holes in them."

"No, no. I went to the Peony." Orrin turned out one of his pockets. "Unfortunately, I forgot my documents in my room."

"Easily mendable!" Tim led him over to the gate and presented his papers. "This one's with me. Lord Orrin. He lives here."

Still, the bear had both Orrin and Tim sign an oath form before waving them through.

Orrin walked slightly behind the squirrel, unsure of how to break the news. "Listen, Tim. I think we need to talk."

Tim turned to look at him but continued his steady pace. "Oh?"

"Yes, it's uh- a sensitive matter. Best discuss it in my room."

Tim's friendly expression turned just a bit more guarded, his eyes narrowed. "Alright, sure."

Orrin nodded and jogged up the stairs. He let himself into the room and closed the door behind the squirrel. "Let me go see if Werill is up first. Just make yourself at home."

With Tim seated nervously at the head of the dining table, Orrin knocked on Werill's bedroom door.

The servant answered several knocks later. "Good evening, Your Lordship. How was your night?"

"That's what we need to talk about." Orrin slunk past and shut the door. He explained to Werill everything that had happened at the brothel. "So, yes. After all that, we did end up in an alliance of sorts."

Werill shrugged. "Your methods are quite unorthodox, sir. The procedure would have been to deliver this news to the superiors and get their approval. However, you did get the job done, I suppose, and nobody's identity but yours was revealed. I will relay this news to the Usual One tomorrow. And now I am guessing you wish to inform Lord Timmin of all this."

"Yes, I planned to." Orrin looked back towards the door. "He will find out tomorrow, anyway."

"Yes, I suppose that much is true." Werill sat back down on the bed. "But do not tell him too much. Say simply that you found Finn and formed an alliance - do not explicitly mention being a spy. Just in case." He chuckled. "Then again, you are not yet privy to any secrets, so there isn't much you could say. No offense, of course."

"None taken." Orrin wished Werill a good night and met up with Timmin in the sitting room. "So, tonight at the brothel, I met Finn."

The squirrel's face blanked. "Who?"

"Your boss." Orrin rolled his eyes. "Come on; if I know who he is, I obviously know who you are as well."

Before Tim could stand, Orrin finished. "I am of a similar occupation."

Timmin froze. "You mean, a-"

"Yes." Orrin cut him off, remembering Werill's advice. The walls had ears. "You may go confirm this all with him if you wish, but it looks like you and I will be helping each other out from now on."

Tim smiled. "I'd like that. And I trust you, Orrin. But since we aren't exactly working together on a novel or something harmless like that, I will need to speak with my superiors to figure out how much I should share with you."

"And I will do the same, of course." Orrin stood up and shook paws with his new partner. "Let's meet up again tomorrow at noon and talk everything over."

"Sounds good to me." Timmin's smile broadened. "And there is a certain something else you and I will need to do." He placed a paw against Orrin's stomach and trailed it down to the raccoon's sheath. "We were rudely interrupted, after all."

Orrin closed his eyes and nodded. "Noon can not come soon enough."

They parted at this, and Orrin headed to bed. He fell asleep much more easily than he had the previous night. His dreams were simple and pointless.

Chapter 4

When the morning came, it did so very quietly. Everything around him felt so right and soft that Orrin bore little intention to actually rise from bed and begin his day. The meeting with Timmin wasn't until noon, and there was absolutely nothing else on the roster. So, the raccoon turned over, shut his eyes and fell asleep once more.

Werill awakened him with a gentle prod to the shoulder. "Your Lordship, you are due to meet with Lord Timmin in less than an hour. If you would like to bathe or at least powder, I would suggest getting up."

"Very well." Orrin stifled a broad yawn with the back of his paw and sat up in bed. "Did you speak with the Usual One?"

"I did, yes." The raccoon walked into Orrin's closet and emerged with a perfectly-folded outfit. "He chastised your methods but said that what's done is done. He has also made contact with Finn to confirm that the people you wandered into were indeed the Tilmarii spy network." He eyed his master impassively. "They could very well have been impostors. Fortunately, they are very much the real thing, and you will be helping Lord Timmin and vice versa from now on, as the situation should call for it."

"Sounds good to me." Orrin stripped nude and walked into the powder room adjacent to his own bedroom. It felt great to have someone there just in case. He deplored the thought of working alone, or perhaps he was simply nervous. Orrin allowed Werill to meticulously brush and powder his fur. "So, what exactly do you do, Werill? Are you a spy as well?"

"Not quite." The raccoon brushed the excess powder from his master's shoulders. "I merely relay messages and ensure that everything is running smoothly. Think of me as a facilitator."

Orrin knew not to ask further questions. He enrobed into yet another outfit of blue velour and adjusted his white cravat. "Alright then. Please call on Lord Timmin. I think we shall take lunch in my quarters."

"Very good, Your Lordship." Werill put away the brushes and left.

Orrin, meanwhile, retired to the sitting room and waited with a goblet of wine in paw.

Werill soon returned with Tim in tow. "Lord Timmin is here." He bowed. "If you will excuse me, I shall go fetch some lunch."

Timmin waited until the door was shut and then sat down across from his friend. "Alright. Looks like we're partners of a sort."

"Looks like it." Orrin offered him the pitcher of wine.

"I don't drink, thank you." Timmin produced a flask and twisted off the cap. "I prefer juice whenever possible and tea whenever not." He took a sip. "Now, to business. Since Aarya currently hasn't got much in the way of assignments, Tilmar would like to ask for your help in something quite important."

"You've got my fullest attention." Orrin leaned forward - for the first time, more giddy than frightened of his new assignment.

"In a nutshell, the problem is this." Tim took a sip from his flask. "Someone right here in Llyra has been funneling goodly amounts of gold to an anti-Llyran group in Septimine. These people are of a very firm belief that Septimine and the surrounding area belong to Tilmar. They are pushing for a full secession from Llyra."

Orrin shrugged. "Wouldn't Tilmar want that? More land."

"Hardly." Timmin chuckled. "But it certainly does appear that way, doesn't it. And that's the entire problem. If these people succeed, Tilmar will not only end up with land we do not want but also a war we could never win. We are a small country, Orrin. We have never picked fights."

Orrin finished off his wine and poured another gobletful. "Alright, so who in Llyra would possibly want this; and more importantly, why?"

Timmin clasped his paws together. "And those are the big questions we need to answer." His smile vanished. "If we do not do so in time, Tilmar could become wrapped up in a war that will destroy the country and drain its resources. But many Llyran lives will also be lost."

"Yes, that is certainly serious." Orrin put down the goblet and steepled his fingers. "How far along have you gotten? I mean, you have quite a good spy network." He chuckled. "I almost didn't notice one of you spying on me two nights ago."

Timmin furrowed his eyebrows. "Us? No, I'm pretty sure we had nothing to do with it. I told Finn of your arrival, but that's about it."

Orrin closed his eyes with a sigh. "So someone at the palace is spying on me. That is not good. Not good at all." He minced the events over in his mind. "We need to catch him. I have a sneaking suspicion that my voyeur and the situation at present are at least tangentially connected."

Tim lit up. "Yeah! That's a fantastic idea. But how?"

"A secret meeting." Orrin grinned. "Whoever this is, they would never pass up such a chance. We just have to find some way to announce it loudly enough but without making it obvious."

"We'll think of something, I'm sure." Tim tipped his flask upside down and drank the last of his juice. "In the mean time, we also have to watch out for that spy hunter, I assume you've been warned about him."

"Certainly have." Orrin sighed. "We don't know who it is or when he's coming. But now that you and I are working together, our chances of keeping him occupied and out of the way are much better."

Werill returned with the food, and their meeting unofficially adjourned.

Having not eaten breakfast, Orrin attacked his veal cutlet and rice with a fervor.

Timmin ate his potato casserole with only a smidgen less enthusiasm. He looked up after an umpteenth forkful. "Are you going to the King's birthday ball tonight?"

Orrin chewed over the delicate veal and swallowed. "Probably, yes. Good food, good wine. Maybe I'll overhear something useful. Are you?"

"Oh, absolutely not." Timmin guffawed. "I don't enjoy these big feasts. With how popular Septimine is among the peers, I'm sure you can guess why. Let me know if you discover anything interesting. I will do a spot of digging of my own, meanwhile." He pushed up his shirtsleeve, exposing a leather vembrance stuffed with all sorts of different lock picks.

Orrin examined the curious item. "I've been picking locks my whole life, and I don't even know where to use half of these."

"Most of them are quite useless, actually." Timmin turned his arm, showing off all the many assorted betties. "But this is the way I'd purchased it. Which reminds me, I need to take you shopping. Tomorrow night, maybe." He stood. "For now, I bid you adieu. Keep an eye out for anything interesting at the ball."

Orrin was left alone to finish lunch and contemplate the rest of his day.

Before the raccoon could think up any plans or indeed none at all and head back to bed, Werill emerged from his room. "Your Lordship, I believe it is almost time for your weapons training. The sword master will meet you in the practice room." He brought forth his paws from around his back producing a light blue fencing outfit. "I have taken the liberty of procuring a suitable set of clothes for you."

"Uhh, thanks." Orrin had dimly recalled the raccoon mentioning something about weapons training, although he did not think Werill serious at the time. He accepted the outfit and stripped down to his undershorts. "Pick me out something nice for the feast." He tried to think of a color other than blue, and again he failed. "Something in blue would be great."

Werill bowed. "Yes sir. And I shall also prepare a powder bath for you."

"Make it lavender." Orrin tied the sash around his pants and headed for the door. He stopped. "Where's the fencing room?"

Werill had busied himself with folding his master's clothes. "All the way down the stairs to your left. It's in the same hallway you entered after your walk through the hedgemaze." Not even a wink. The raccoon effortlessly maintained a deadpan expression as he straightened out creases in the expensive fabric with his deft paws.

Orrin nodded thanks and jogged down the stairs. He found the practice room easily enough. The door was unlocked and a powerful aroma of musk wafted out. This wasn't quite the sort of musk he'd smelt back at the Silk Peony - it was one of hard work and sweat rather than arousal, but Orrin didn't like it any less.

A tall, stately cougar met him by the door, again recalling events of the previous night. "Good afternoon, sir. My name is Ferris. And you, I assume, are Lord Orrin, my newest pupil."

"That's right." Orrin shook paws with him. The cat's grip was certainly quite powerful.

"Very well." Ferris motioned the raccoon towards a rack of wooden practice swords. "Let's pick you out a weapon and begin, shall we."

***

Orrin had expected many things from the fencing practice, but he did not expect it to last well past two hours. By the time Ferris was done with him, the raccoon was about ready for bed again. The fatigue wasn't physical, he was more than used to that thanks to his constant climbing excursions; but figuring out where to step, when, how to hold his blade - it was all new and made the young raccoon's head spin as he worked his hardest to keep up.

Orrin made it up to his room and collapsed in a chair. "Werill; water, please."

His servant entered obediently several moments later. "Here you are, sir." He poured some water into a goblet from a carved crystal pitcher. "Imported straight from Korimm. The Capital City itself isn't much for clean water. Even the infants around here go straight from a mother's milk to a light mead."

"Good to know." Orrin gulped down the water and shut his eyes wearily. "How much time have I got to just... not do anything at all?"

Werill collected the goblet from Orrin's paws. "About an hour, Your Lordship. I shall wake you."

"Thank you." Orrin let sleep wash over him, not even bothering to change or climb into bed.

Werill nudged him awake before long. "It is time, sir. Yours should be among the first names called." He ushered the dozy Orrin into another room and carefully groomed his fur. "Remember: Keep both eyes out for anything unusual."

"Yeah, yeah." By the time his fur had been immaculately groomed, Orrin finally felt wakeful enough to dress himself. He dismissed Werill and took his time with each layer of his outfit. Something about going to a formal dinner put a twinkle in his eye. He didn't care for making many friends, but that certainly did not mean he couldn't show off.

Orrin buttoned up his vest, sprayed some mint extract into his muzzle and sauntered down to the grand ballroom.

Werill was already there, keeping his master's place in line. "There you are, sir. Once you're called, greet His and Her Majesties and head downstairs." He spoke the last few words, and the line began to move.

The list-keeper, an overly-enthusiastic young mouse, called out each name in a high-pitched squeak doing his best to make it sound authoritative. Orrin's name came at last. "Lord Orreen of Vintaaaa!"

The raccoon stifled a giggle and stepped through the enormous doorway. He descended the elaborate marble staircase and then walked gallantly up another, smaller, sat of steps.

There, the King and Queen sat in a matching pair of golden thrones.

Orrin bowed. "Your Majesties. The Land of Vintaa is at your humblest service."

King Rasdill, a fox in his middle years and a bright amber coat, smiled amicably and nodded. "It is good to have you here, Lord Orrin. Your father's death was a most unfortunate thing. I am glad the seat of Vintaa did not stay empty for long. I firmly believe and hope that you will be as useful and instrumental to leading your peerage as your father had been in his time."

"My father's legacy will be tough to match, but I will do my best." Orrin kissed the queen's paw and headed back towards the ballroom's center. He'd been told back in Vintaa that most royal conversations happen according to a very precise script, but he didn't believe that particular bit of trivia until he'd witnessed it for himself.

He took up post by the Lintaas table and helped himself to a gorgeously-decorated flute full of the sparkling liquid.

The other honored guests filtered slowly in. Most were simply high-up lords and there were even a few ambassadors mixed in, but one was new. "Count Trivus of Rywer!"

The fox attached to the name was quite a sight, and certainly more than enough to occupy Orrin's gaze for a good while. He wore an outfit of Lincoln green cut perfectly to his well-muscled body.

Orrin realized he was staring and made to look away when the fox's eyes met his.

This time they both stared, and Count Trivus looked as reluctant to look away as Orrin had been.

"Ambassador Primth of Mindarn!" The mouse continued through the list in his high-pitched squeak, and Trivus came to his senses.

He gave Orrin a brief and very embarrassed nod before jogging hastily down the stairs towards the King.

Orrin watched the portly otter ambassador waddle ungainly down the stairs but he couldn't keep his attention there for long. He turned back towards Trivus. The room was mostly silent, and the raccoon managed to catch several snatches of Trivus's conversation with the King.

"I am honored to be here, Your Majesty."

Rasdill patted the count's paw. "We appreciate you coming here in such haste, Count Trivus."

"Has anything been stolen?"

"No, not yet." Rasdill leaned closer. "In fact, our spy has been rather quiet of late, but that only makes me more worried. They could be planning something big."

Orrin retreated to a safe distance and downed his glass of Lintaas. He'd heard everything he needed to, and in the present moment, he no longer wished to think about it. Trivus was the spy hunter, and he was prepared to work harder than before, thanks to the King's delusions of a big hit from the Aaryan spies.

Another flute of wine found its way into his paws. "Cheers, mate." Orrin closed his eyes and tipped the elaborate glass into his muzzle. The facts of the night were a headache for another time. The raccoon opened his eyes to Trivus standing nervously several paces away.

The fox rocked precariously on the balls of his feet. "Uhm, hello there." He met Orrin's gaze briefly and looked away.

"Hello." Being this close to the person who could potentially have him arrested and hanged did Orrin's confidence no favors. "W-welcome to Llyra."

"Likewise." Trivus took a timid step towards the wine table and picked up a glass. "I visited the palace about six months back. I don't recall having seen you then."

A whiff brought with it just the slightest hint of arousal mingling with the mint powder.

Orrin had to bite his tongue hard to stifle a giggle. "Yes, I just came in a few days ago. I will be taking over my father's place as Lord of Vintaa."

"Of course, of course." Trivus swished the Lintaas around its glass. "Well, if you would perhaps like to share a meal together at one point, or- um..." He coughed into his paw. "I mean, I don't really know that many people around here, and-"

"Yes, absolutely!" Orrin found the lumbering awkwardness increasingly adorable, although he had far from let his guard down. Regardless of how awkward and attractive the fox appeared, he was still the enemy. But logic forced its way in. Other than being on opposite sides of the proverbial fence - a fact Trivus was at all costs to not find out - there was no reason for Orrin to feel awkward. And so, the raccoon put on his most alluring smile and returned to their conversation as if nothing were amiss.

They spoke about the little things, mostly - Orrin too guarded and Trivus too dumbfounded for much more, but the conversation lasted over an hour. The feast went on around them, but the two paid it little mind.

Orrin had been told to look out for interesting things, and a private chat with the enemy was as interesting as it got, he reasoned; so he was all too keen to continue conversation. For the first twenty or so minutes, the raccoon kept expecting his conversant to run off and begin his work, but Trivus remained with no sign of leaving.

The feast wound slowly down, and the day's weariness settled over Orrin in a warm heavy mantle. "I had a great time, Count. I do hope we can chat again soon."

"Oh, I do hope so!" Over the course of their conversation, Trivus had grown markedly less awkward. "How about tomorrow? Maybe we can have dinner."

"Sounds like a wonderful idea." Orrin shook paws with him. "Tomorrow, then." He bade a quick good night to the King and Queen and headed for bed.

Another surprise was waiting for him when he arrived. This one came in the form of Timmin, stark naked and very aroused, lying in his bed. "How was the ball?"

"Quite informative." Orrin's arousal followed suit and he hurried to disrobe. "In fact, I have a bit of intel we could both use."

The squirrel nodded in a businesslike manner. "Of course, of course." He folded back the blankets revealing the rest of his nude form and patted the sheets with a free paw. "But we can do two things at once, right? We both seem to have forgotten about our afternoon engagement."

"I see no reason why we can't nor why we shouldn't." Orrin made a show of pulling his shorts down slowly, letting his member catch onto the waistband and spring back up. He walked casually over to the bed and slipped beneath the covers. "So, other than conducting business, what sort of activity did you have in mind?"

To answer, Tim produced a jar of slick oil and smothered the raccoon's erection. "I'm sure you can guess the rest. You're a smart one."

Orrin turned his friend around and pressed the tip of his shaft against the squirrel's pucker.

Tim heaved a deep sigh and relaxed. "Go on. No need to stretch."

With a soft moan, Orrin pushed his entire erection inside the warm tightness. "Onto business?" He slid out several inches and pushed back in.

"Yes. I-" Tim moaned in ecstasy and then relaxed again. "Let's hear about your discovery."

Orrin wrapped his arms tightly around the squirrel's toned body and continued his even and forceful thrusts. "Well, I met a certain fox at the ball. Quite the charmer, and incredibly well-built. More importantly, I found out that he is the very spy hunter we are supposed to fear."

Tim rested his head in the crook of the raccoon's neck and pushed rhythmically back against each thrust. "But I gather that this is not all you've found."

"Very observant, Lord Timmin." Orrin threw the covers out of the way and flipped the squirrel onto his back. He pushed Tim's supple legs against his chest and resumed thrusting. Watching the squirrel's muscular stomach contract with each push, he quickly lost his train of thought.

Timmin used the time to pull his partner into a passionate kiss and give the raccoon's rump a good squeeze. He pushed his tongue hard against Orrin's and moaned. His strokes grew quicker to match Orrin's pace. "You were saying, Lord Orrin?"

"Yes, that's right." Orrin rested his paws on the squirrel's creamy chest fur. "I think he's smitten by me. And I mean incredibly so. He could hardly speak at first, and then-" He didn't get to finish. The orgasm hit even harder than it had with Milton. Orrin's eyes snapped shut, and the raccoon emptied himself deep inside his partner with a throaty growl.

"Well, how about that." Tim sniggered. "We could certainly use this." He squeaked and released all over his belly and Orrin's paws. For such a small member, there was certainly a lot of seed.

Orrin had long since stopped and watched in fascination as spoonful after spoonful of the white liquid splashed against the squirrel's white fur.

After nearly a half-minute of moans and bucking, Tim finished and relaxed his body. "There we are. Oh, you are a find, Lord Orrin, truly." He contracted his tailhole one last time and giggled. "I haven't climaxed like that... ever, I think. Not for a while, anyway. Certainly, not a single one of the boys at the Peony has the, uhm, shall I say 'reach' that you have."

"Well, thank you." Orrin pulled out of the squirrel with a soft pop and ran the soiled sheet along his wilting erection to clean it off. "And you're quite gifted yourself, sir. Being on the receiving end is about far more than just sitting still." The conversation from earlier slowly returned. "What was it you said about using Count Trivus?"

"Ah, yes." Timmin sat up and wiped his own sticky sheath with the used bedsheet. "You're saying he's smitten with you. What if we were to take it further? What if you could get him completely in love with you? You said yourself he was immensely attractive, so a bit of lovemaking wouldn't be objectionable, and if you can earn his affection..." He beamed. "Well, just imagine. You could keep him properly and duly occupied whenever there is work to be done. I'd even be happy to carry out Aaryan assignments if it means being in the clear like this."

Orrin thought things over. The proposition was indeed a sound one, although something about taking advantage of Trivus's kindly innocence made it all feel wrong. At that, the raccoon quickly reminded himself of a very important fact - he was a spy. Getting one's paws dirty and partaking in morally-questionable acts was part of the job. "Fair enough. I'm game."

Timmin collapsed against the soft pillows with a blissful sigh. "Trust me, Orrin, I would much rather be in your place. Romancing a gorgeous, attractive fox is probably the most desirable spying assignment I can think up." His paw found Orrin's sheath and teased the opening. "Don't worry, though, you and I will be getting intimate quite a bit, too. I should be a fool to not insist upon it."

In return, Orrin ran his paw along the smooth fur on the squirrel's rump. "Yes, I doubt that fox has quite such a lovely behind, anyway."

"Probably not. I-" Tim paused and met Orrin's gaze. "Don't be alarmed, but I think we have ourselves a voyeur. Probably the same one who paid you a visit last night. Get your trousers on. I have a feeling that we'll want to go after him."

Orrin nodded. "Alright, but won't that compromise our identity?"

"Not really." Tim also rolled out of bed and reached for his clothes. "For all he knows, we are two lords who just happen to be in great enough shape to give our unwelcome voyeur a good shakedown for putting his nose where he doesn't belong. Are you any good at climbing?"

"Sure am." Orrin rose slowly from bed and slipped into his breeches. It took the last of his willpower to look away from the window. "Is he still there?"

Tim bent down to pick up his trousers and gave the window another cursory glance. "Oh yes. Oh no! He's on the move!"

Orrin dropped his shirt and tore after their voyeur. He threw open the window and looked out.

Silent as a shadow, the culprit was once again climbing the masonry up to the roof. Orrin rubbed his paws together and followed. The lovemaking had taken a good deal of his energy, but the raccoon forced himself to push past the weariness and find a second wind. Stone after jutting stone, he climbed in pursuit of the stranger. With the roof just a few paces away, he risked a look down.

Timmin was hot on their trail. The squirrel gave Orrin a quick nod and sped up. In his haste, Tim paid less attention a good climber always should; one of the stones he latched onto cracked, crumbled and fell away. The squirrel hung by one paw and quickly regained his bearings. Unfortunately, the sound of his mistake was just loud enough for their target to hear.

The voyeur looked down, gasped and hopped nimbly onto a nearby balcony. He took a running leap and dove headfirst into the moat.

Tim watched the dive in awe. "Oh corks! I hope you can swim, Orrin."

"I can." The last thing Orrin wanted to do was swim in the palace moat, but there was no time to pine over the situation. "Head out to the city and keep watch. I'm sure that's where our target's headed." He stayed just long enough to hear the squirrel's agreement before hopping onto the balcony and diving off just as the stranger had.

Chapter 5

The cold night air whistled past his ears and the frigid moat water followed suit. Orrin entered without a splash, keeping his tail perfectly parallel with the rest of his body, and followed his target towards the moat's far side.

Whoever this stranger was, he was quite suited for his job. Tireless, he hopped out of the moat and dashed towards a cluster of buildings.

Orrin pushed hard to find the constitution to follow. He sped after the spy and chased him onto the rooftop of the nearest house, where Tim joined back up with him. "I'll circle around and see if I can cut him off." The squirrel whispered his tactic and took off in a different direction.

Orrin pressed on after the spy. As he ran and hopped from rooftop to rooftop, the raccoon tried his best to catch the creature's scent. He had a gifted nose, but there wasn't even a hint of an odor. Orrin forgot his confusion for the moment when he saw Tim appear in the distance and cut off the voyeur's escape.

The squirrel drew his dagger and crouched into a fighting stance. "There's no way out. Just stop."

Unsurprisingly, the spy was not so easily deterred. He changed course, but the only means of freedom appeared to be the building all the way across a wide avenue.

Tim joined his friend on the rooftop as the two watched their target take a mighty running leap.

Escape seemed certain.

The creature extended his arms, ready to catch the next ledge, but all of his power and form weren't enough. The ledge was too far away when flight turned to fall. With a cry of dismay, the spy plummeted towards the ground. He did his best to land in a crouch, but surprise had robbed him of grace. He hit the ground hard.

Orrin winced when he heard the loud crunch. He scaled the wall down to the cobblestone street and padded cautiously towards the motionless shape.

In the light of a nearby oil lamp, the raccoon finally saw his adversary in full.

It was some strange mix of mouse and rat, clad head to tail in an outfit of dark silk.

Orrin removed the creature's mask, but the face beneath it told him nothing.

The narrow muzzle broke into a smile. "T'was a good chase. You climb well for a lordling." As the muzzle smiled, the paw strayed towards a small dagger strapped to one of the creature's mangled legs. "Good bye, Lord Orrin. Where I fall, others of my kind will not." The rat winked and drove the dagger deep into his throat. He died without a sound.

Tim sheathed his blade, his eyes wide. "Whoever it was, he was quite dedicated. To take your own life in such a gruesome manner..." He looked away. "Well, I suppose that's as far as we are going to get with him. Let's go."

Orrin helped himself to the fallen spy's dagger. "What about him?"

Tim shrugged. "Not our problem. Come." He took a few brisk steps and hopped up onto the wall.

Orrin gave the dead rat one more glance and followed the squirrel's example.

Tim didn't speak until they were back in Orrin's quarters. "I don't know if you noticed it, but Finn was watching. I will no doubt get a stern lecture for what happened tonight, but we did accomplish one thing."

"What's that?" Orrin dried himself with a towel and dabbed scented powder all over his body.

Tim helped powder the raccoon's back and rump. "Quite simple. Whoever hired our spy will no doubt come by to clean up his body, and Finn will be watching." He sniffed. "Yes, you certainly need a bath. Powder won't do much to help."

"Yeah." Orrin sighed. "I wish I had more scent muter. That might help."

"Not really." Tim stroked the raccoon's legs absentmindedly. "Even the top-shelf muters only hide your scent to make it look like it's several days old. Totally removing a scent is next to impossible."

"That can't be right." Orrin found a fresh pair of undershorts in the closet and slipped into them. "Our recently-deceased friend was entirely without scent. I even smelled him up close."

Timmin's narrow muzzle broke into a smile. "Was he now?"

"He was." Orrin pushed the squirrel back into bed and pinned him down. "Would you like to tell me why?"

Tim sighed with an overly-dramatic gravitas. "Oh... oh very well, I suppose I could. Whatever scent muter our friend was using, it's got to be quite rare. And if we find out where he got it..."

"... we'll be that much closer to figuring out whom he works for!" Orrin collapsed atop the squirrel. "Well-played, sir."

All the weariness he'd pushed back in pursuit of the strange rat returned, and the raccoon fell asleep before much longer.