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Chapter 16

Orrin returned to Trivus, who looked just as worried as he himself had been before the temporary excuse. "Did you find him?"

"I'm afraid not." Orrin shrugged, fighting the contagious worry. "But I haven't got him bound by anything. He is free to take personal time as he pleases, I suppose." He knew that was only half true. With his impeccable manners, the raccoon would doubtless have told him.

Still, Orrin chose to hope for the best. "Shall we head into the city, then?"

"Alright." Trivus presented his paw.

Orrin took it with a smile, feeling that pleasant tingle he'd grown to love. Together, he and the fox crossed the moat and set off along the main road. Around them, carts and carriages buzzed to and fro, their drivers caught in the thick of a busy day. Everyone had work to be done, it seemed. Further down, the merchant quarter began. These merchants catered strictly to the wealthy denizens of the town, some even employing guards to keep the poor far away from any perspective clients.

Many said merchants turned their eyes quickly upon the happy couple. They ran in their wake offering them gifts and any promises they had to give to get the two nobles close enough to their respective stalls.

"Hm, this is getting very annoying very quickly." Orrin pushed past the umpteenth gaggle of merchants. "Shall we try exploring deeper in town?"

"Yes, that might be a very good idea." Trivus narrowly avoided colliding with a tiny mouse trying to offer him a box of fine cigars.

Together, the pair forced their way out of the merchant quarter and deeper into the city.

Orrin took the utmost care to stay aware of his surroundings. "A few streets too far, and we may find ourselves ripe targets for a mugging."

"Oh, I've heard plenty of stories about that, don't you worry." Trivus grasped the hilt of his rapier tightly. "But do not fret. If it comes to that, I am well-prepared."

They walked further and further down the nameless street.

Orrin's stomach gave a low rumble of disapproval. The raccoon grinned sheepishly. "Looks like the decision to eat has been made for me. Let's start looking for- Oof!"

A rather familiar-looking ferret bumped straight into him and rushed past with a half-hearted "pardon."

Orrin made to go after the creature but stopped, feeling a weight in his waistcoat pocket. "What's-" he produced a heavy stone with a scrap of parchment wrapped around it and held in place by twine. "Well, that's one way to deliver a message. He unwrapped the parchment and read. "Your servant is in grave danger. You and your friend are perhaps the only ones who can save him. He is being held at the house across the street from the Weeping Crow."

Trivus stopped the raccoon with a friendly paw. "Hang on, you are not seriously planning to go after him yourself, are you? I've got the entire Royal Army at my disposal, if I needed them. We shall conduct a proper raid and really nail the scoundrels behind this." He smiled with glee. "Oh yes, teach them a lesson they won't soon forget - ever, in fact."

"But if we try something like that, it might scare them off." Orrin let the fox restrain him just enough to not run off with blood in his eyes. "A person I care deeply for is in trouble. I'll do whatever it takes to help, even if it means doing it alone."

"Orrin, this is a bad idea." Trivus's grip tightened. "Let's return to the palace and outfit ourselves with two score of soldiers. Please." His eyes turned from hardened to caring. "Let's not do anything stupid."

"Alright. But then we need to make haste." Orrin broke into a sprint in the direction of the palace, and all Trivus could do was stay on his tail.

They arrived at the gate in minutes.

Trivus stopped only long enough to catch his breath before issuing orders to the guard on duty. "Gather two score of your finest. We need to perform a raid. Hurry!"

The wolf saluted smartly and departed in the direction of the barracks. He returned with forty able-bodied soldiers, all kitted out, marching in his wake. "At your command, Sir!"

Trivus returned the salute. "Follow me, all of you. This is a raid."

He marched them close to the Weeping Crow, and then had the group split into two. "Come around the back and get anyone trying to escape. "The rest of you, with me."

Silently, the soldiers saluted and spread into their assigned groups. They encircled the small building and approached from all sides.

Trivus insisted that he and Orrin remain outside. "These are trained soldiers. Let them do their work."

Already, one of the wolves had emerged. "Easy one, sir. But we did find a dead body in there. Fresh, by the looks of him."

Orrin didn't hear the rest. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a fox and weasel climbing out of the raided house's window and onto the roof. "Meet me back at the palace."

The fox turned to him with suspicion strong in his eyes. "And what about you?"

"I've got some stragglers to catch." Orrin broke into a run and hopped atop a pile of boxes. From there, he made it to the first story window and then the roof. His targets were already several houses ahead. Neither was any good at climbing or navigating the rooftops, but fear, it seemed, had given them wings. Gap after gap, they jumped without the slightest inkling of fear. The fear of death they would have had was behind them. Making the jump carried only a risk of death, after all. Slowing down implied death with certainty.

But Orrin refused to fall behind. He made each jump not out of fear, but out of anger. He hasn't realized how much Werill meant to him until the raccoon was taken. Those responsible would pay for their mistake - and he would make sure of that.

A familiar adrenaline and a rather strange hunger for blood filled him as the gap closed ever more with every step. Some far-off thought of keeping at least one of the two he was chasing alive flashed by - for interrogation, perhaps. But Orrin was far beyond listening. He only put on another burst of speed and drew his dagger.

With just a few paces between them, one of the runners shoved the other back towards Orrin with a huff.

The unfortunate fox fell at the raccoon's feet. "Please, don't harm me, sire. I was only followin' orders. I-"

Orrin cut the pleas short by shoving a dagger through the white fur on the fox's throat. That white fur turned pink and then a deep crimson, as more and more blood gushed from the jagged wound.

The fox uttered one last strangled sob before his eyes misted over in death, and he collapsed into a bloodied heap upon the dark shingles.

Orrin removed the dagger, but the relief he had expected never came. Instead, came anger. "He got away."

Still fuming, the raccoon returned to the palace. But his anger melted immediately when he entered his quarters. "Werill! You're alive!"

Werill smiled, nursing a mug of hot tea. "Oh yes. Thanks to you and Count Trivus, there!"

The fox smiled modestly. "I could not have done anything less. Oh and Orrin, that corpse they found was of the boarding house's original owner. What boggles me is why they would ever kidnap you, Werill."

Werill shrugged. "A case of mistaken identity, I believe. They were trying to extract information about some sort of secret plans. I haven't the faintest idea what they were on about. Someone had probably given them only a loose description of their target - too loose, apparently. As for what they were after, I could not tell you for sure. Perhaps we will never know."

"Well, the interrogator will likely soon fix that." Trivus bore nothing but hatred in his voice.

Werill coughed delicately into his tea. "You are wasting your time, Your Excellency. The two in charge of the operation were the first to flee. If I am not mistaken, they were the ones whom Lord Orrin chased out onto the rooftops. The rest are merely hired paws. They did not appear to know much more than I do." He turned to Orrin. "Have you caught either of them?"

"No, they got away." An uncomfortable heat crept up Orrin's cheeks. He'd acted rashly and killed perhaps their best lead.

Trivus pecked Orrin on the nose. "I must go. Much to do. But I will call you tomorrow morning. I am sorry to cut our day together so short."

"I will be waiting." Orrin returned the kiss and showed the fox out. He closed the door and locked it. "Well, what were they really after?"

Werill took another sip of his steaming tea. "Information. Apparently, the Duke of Aarya and his family have fled to Llyra. Our friends were certain I knew something of their current whereabouts. They are scum, New Aaryan police." He spat. "But I have put in a special order with your assassin friends. They will not be around for long. Our operation cannot afford to have their kind also calling themselves Aaryans."

Still, Orrin refused to say a word about the Duke. He did, however, come clean about his crime of passion. "I'm sorry I did not bring him in alive."

Werill waved him off. "Do not worry, sir. It is a good thing he was of no use to us. And it looks like you will have little trouble finishing the job.

Orrin nodded. Being so cavalier about death felt alien, and the raccoon doubted the next kill would come as easily without grief to cloud his judgment, but there was little else to do but move forward. "Is there anything else I need to do for today?"

"No, no." Werill finished his tea and set the cup and saucer down onto the tea table. "Feel free to make whatever preparations you need before tonight."

"Oh, there is only one preparation I can think of making." Orrin gave a short chuckle and headed for the bedroom. "Wake me up an hour before dinner. Short of limbering up a bit, there is really nothing else I can think of."

Werill bowed, having recovered entirely from his ordeal, he returned wholly to his servantly manner. "Yes, Your Lordship. Is there anything specific you would like for dinner?"

"Something light." Orrin unbuttoned his shirt and ran a paw lazily through the fur on his chest. "I have a feeling that ample climbing will be involved in tonight's job."

"It will be done, sir." Werill collected his master's clothes and left the room.

Orrin climbed into bed without ceremony, checking only that the window was securely locked. He fell asleep for the second time that day, dreaming of nothing in particular and trying not to moralize on the job to come.

Werill awoke him as promised with a timid tap on the shoulder. "Your Lordship, there is an hour before dinner. Shall I prepare an unscented powder bath?"

"Yes." Orrin yawned, shaking off the last strands of sleep. "In fact, please put some scent muter in there. That'll kill two birds with a single stone."

"Fantastic idea, sir." The raccoon deposited his master's clothes neatly upon the bed and hurried out.

Orrin walked with far less speed or purpose towards the powder room, still swaying groggily from the sudden awakening.

He undressed fully, far too used to being seen by Werill in the nude, and stepped into the shallow copper tub. The utter absence of scent struck him most. The raccoon sniffed until the powder gathered in his nostrils and forced him to sneeze. "Yes, marvelous invention, that." He wiped his face on a napkin, which Werill had thoughtfully given him.

"It is our experimental version." The raccoon took back the napkin and folded it deftly. "It is far superior to any other muter out there. The Usual One has decided that since the enemy has already made liberal use of it, it would only be fair to allow our own to partake."

"Only fair, I suppose." Orrin chuckled. "You know, it was the Usual One who passed me the note of your whereabouts today."

"Yes, I figured." Werill helped his master out of the tub. "We just do not have the numbers necessary for a proper raid. But he knew Count Trivus did."

"That, he did." Orrin allowed himself to be carefully brushed. "By the way, Trivus will be assembling the whereabouts of everyone on the night of the Secretary's murder. We were all in Tim's quarters playing cards. Pass that alibi on to Tim's servant, please."

"Yes, sir." Werill brushed the last tangle out of his master's fur and pronounced the job complete. "I shall bring dinner momentarily." He departed with a bow.

Orrin sat sleepily on the bench, enjoying the momentary relapse into silence. But there was no time to dally. The raccoon pulled himself out of an oncoming dream and stood. He returned to his bedroom, dressed and waited for Werill.

The servant arrived bearing a tray of black tea, quail eggs and thin wafers of unleavened bread. "Something light for you, Sir." He set the tray down onto the side table and poured out the tea. "Sir, may I ask something?"

"Of course." Orrin took a sip of tea and prepared to lie about the Aaryan Duke once more.

"That fox you chased down. What exactly drove you to kill him?"

"Oh." Orrin blew into his tea with a sigh. "When they said they'd found a corpse in that house, I assumed it was you. And... I'm not sure what happened. But at that point, I just wanted to make them pay for what they had done." He shook his head. "I know I was supposed to think of the job first. Take them alive, but... I just couldn't. You could say I've grown attached to you, Werill. Honestly, I was expecting you to chide me in accordance with some protocol or another."

The raccoon met his master's gaze. "Sod the protocols. What you did was rash and impulsive, but it was out of love for someone. I never thought anyone would care enough about me to avenge my even hypothetical death."

"Well, there's at least one person." Orrin put down his teacup and stood. He pulled Werill into a brief embrace and then sat back down. "So, tonight's job, anything I should know?"

"Not particularly, no." Werill peeled the quail eggs one at a time and placed them back down into the bowl. "And do not think of this as anything personal. I certainly have no love for those scumbags, but their deaths are necessary to keep the Aaryan spy ring out of the public eye. They lack discretion. We hope that their deaths will be a sign to the temporary Aaryan government to stay away from Llyra."

"Let's hope." Orrin ate the eggs and bread mechanically, his mind already on the mission. He polished off the food and buckled on his daggers. "Alright, time to go get Tim."

The squirrel had eaten a similar dinner. He waited in his sitting room with quiet contemplation. "Well, someone has very clearly been busy." He held back the giggles but not for long. "But oh my, using the King's own soldiers to conduct the affairs of spies, that was certainly a never-before-attempted move."

Orrin helped himself to a leftover wafer. "They had Werill. Besides, Trivus was the one who offered."

"All the better." Tim patted the crumbs out if his breeches. "And I hear tonight's assignment will actually be an assist to the Aaryan spies."

"It is that." Orrin adjusted his belt, prudently straightening out the daggers that hung there. "Shall we?"

Tim looked towards the window. "Well, the sun is down. I'd say we are already late."

The two friends laughed heartily at the squirrel's joke and headed out of the palace.

As they passed the night guard, Orrin couldn't help but voice his lingering question. "I wonder how they don't get suspicious of us sneaking out every night."

"Oh, that one is simple." Tim flashed a raunchy smile. "I'm well known for frequenting brothels. They assume I have found a partner for my nightly activities. After all, anything fun in a pair is all the more fun in a group."

The explanation was cunning, but still Orrin sighed. "I hope Triv doesn't get wind of this."

"I doubt he will, unless he spends an exorbitant amount of time with the guards."

"I suppose he doesn't." At least, Orrin hoped he didn't. But there was little to be done. The rumors had spread and no doubt seeded themselves far too deeply to be eradicated. Free of that burden, the raccoon's mind drifted elsewhere. "I feel horrible, but I seem to have forgotten all about Milton."

"Aye, but Milton has most definitely not forgotten about you." Tim giggled, stealing a quick feel of the raccoon's ample sheath. "Don't worry, I told him work has kept you busy. He has taken absolutely no offense, but I'm sure he'd be very happy to see you. We can go tomorrow, if you want."

"Maybe." Orrin thought back to Trivus. What did he really feel for the fox? Those feelings went from murky to clear with the frequency of the tide.

Tim stayed silent until they were far out of earshot of any of the palace denizens. "Do you want me to take the kill again tonight?"

"No, I'll do this one. We'll be even, then. Besides, I can't say I mind this one quite as much." Orrin wondered silently just how much he truly would mind when the moment came, but there was no way of knowing in advance. "Yes, don't worry. This one should be somewhat of a harder target, though. If you get the chance to go for the kill and I do not, don't hesitate."

"I won't." Tim didn't smile. In fact, his entire jovial nature had deserted him, and perhaps for good reason, when their upcoming ordeal came to mind. "I just wonder who our last target will be."

Orrin shuddered. "I really don't want to think about that. I pray he is just as devoid of innocence as the other two."

Tim said nothing. He merely nodded and continued the trek.

This time, Sara answered the door. "Upstairs. Hurry up. Time is being wasted."

Tim and Orrin followed her to Milarn's quarters, where the rat sat, motionless as usual. "You performed the last assignment without hesitation. The payment has been deposited to your bank accounts. Two hundred gold is more than you want to have upon your person at any one time." He did not wait for a reply. "Your next assignment is Proris. He is the member - at this point, the only member - of the new Aaryan spy ring. Certain people do not wish him around, as he is very disruptive. You are to find him and kill him. He was last seen at a dockside gambling establishment - warehouse number seven." His narrow muzzle broke into a thin smile. "And do be careful. At the docks, you may find yourselves targets for a healthy spot of mugging."

Tim shrugged. "I've had the pleasure of dealing with some of that scum. Need to put some fear into them, that's the trick." He jabbed Orrin's shoulder. "We'll be fine, don't worry. Anything else we need to know? A description would be nice."

Milarn nodded towards Orrin. "This one knows. He has seen him."

Orrin shrugged. "Not very well, but I'll pick him out from a crowd, I think."

"Then you're done here." Milarn rose. "Come back when you're finished." He ushered them towards the door and locked it when the pair had departed.

Orrin let the squirrel lead the way. "So, the docks. How bad are they, really?"

Tim squinted into the darkness of the alley by which they were passing. "Fairly bad. During the day, the docks are nearly harmless. But when night falls, they become the home of every vile bit of filth this city has to offer. Muggers, rapists. Even thieves do not associate with that lot. Fortunately, they are easy to kill and even easier to scare."

Orrin checked his daggers just to be sure. Werill's incredibly brief advice came to mind, and the raccoon wished he'd brought a rapier.

"Hey, don't worry." Tim twirled his daggers expertly before sheathing each with a swipe of his waist. "This is far from the worst you and I will be through."

"Ah, but you can't even lie and say we have been through worse." Orrin chuckled dryly. "That is reassuring."

"I do not sugarcoat." Tim threw an arm around the raccoon as they walked. "But look at the positives. I still said we'd make it, didn't I?"

"There was that." Orrin calmed the butterflies in his stomach and put on a brave smile. "Let's get it done, then!"

Tim halted just outside of the broad dock gates. "Daggers out, eyes sharp. Walk with confidence, and you deter nine out of ten potential muggers. A quick dagger to the throat solves the remaining issues."

Together, the two spies journeyed onwards, their only light coming from a lonely silver moon somewhere far above their heads. They passed numerous oil lamps, but no creature was desperate enough for work to volunteer lighting them.

A maze of wooden buildings loomed in the distance.

Tim pointed in that direction. "And there are the warehouses. Most of them are abandoned. If you are going to have a seedy gambling den anywhere, this is the place."

"Good enough for me." Orrin kept an eye on a shadow cast by two large crates on his left.

The shadow moved.

The raccoon tapped his friend on the shoulder. "Get ready."

The squirrel merely nodded, his stare cool.

By the time their assailant, a disheveled weasel, dressed in rags and armed with a makeshift spear, made his appearance, Tim had already thrown one of his daggers.

It flew true, spinning and whirring through the air like a mad hornet.

The creature let out a yelp of surprise as the weapon lodged itself in his throat. He fell to his knees, vomited blood, and then collapsed muzzle-first into the crimson puddle.

Tim padded over and kicked the fresh corpse. "And that is how you deal with that. He extracted the dagger from the creature's throat with no more emotion than if he'd pulled it off a shelf. "Good thing I brought a 'kerchief." He walked and whistled a jaunty tune, gently cleaning the soiled blade.

Orrin giggled. If that weren't display enough to frighten off all potential assailants, he had trouble thinking of any one better.

As the warehouses grew nearer and then surrounded them, the crate and box shadows from before began to look quite demure and harmless. Here, among the mass of dilapidated buildings, the tiny slivers of silvery moonlight were a scarcity.

Orrin's eyes adjusted quickly, however, and the raccoon pushed on without fear. "Any ideas on how we find this warehouse?"

"Easy; head towards the one with light and noise." Tim pointed to one possible contender, a rotting old shack with yellow flickering candlelight pouring out through the many gaps and crevices in its walls.

Orrin tightened his grip on the daggers. "Alright, let's move." He approached the building slowly, with only an occasional click of claws upon stone to disrupt the silence.

As the pair drew closer, the raucous noise coming from inside of the warehouse became more and more apparent. A hundred voices rang, yelled and buzzed in conversation.

"Let's hope you really do remember what our friend looks like, Orrin." Tim twirled his daggers and pushed open the creaky, old door with his foot.

In a trice, the talking and drunken ballads ceased. All eyes turned to look upon the newcomers. Some reached slowly for their weapons, while others merely stared.

Orrin surveyed the scene, both daggers drawn and ready. "We are looking for someone. A certain weasel. He owes us his life, and we are here to collect." A loud creak drew his attention.

The weasel in question had made his move. Spotted, he broke into a sprint for the door, bowling into a nearby rabbit and knocking him flat.

Said rabbit, a muscular brute with closely cropped fur and a motley array of tattoos decorating his body, did not take kindly to being pushed around. He hopped to his feet and ran in pursuit. "Oh, ain't nobody killin' him but me!"

Tim shrugged. "If he wants to do it, he is more than welcome to." He and Orrin followed the chase, keeping their cautious distance.

The rabbit was naturally quick, and soon had the gap closed to a pace. He reached out and yanked the weasel off his feet by the scruff of his neck. "Well, well. Ain't ya gonna apologize for that, mate?"

The weasel struggled in the viselike grip. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry! Just please let me go!"

The rabbit turned to Orrin and Tim. "Should I let him go, mates?"

Tim threw his dagger up and caught it expertly by the blade. "If you do, we'll kill him anyway. Might as well do it yourself."

The rabbit bared his yellow teeth in a wicked grin. "You heard the squirrel. Bad day." Without pause or ceremony, he snapped the weasel's neck, dropping the lifeless form to the ground with a thud. "That's that, then." He turned to the other two. "Now, you lot look like you're dear enough to yourselves to part with some coin." He stepped towards them. "Might be a good idea, 'nless you wanna end up like your friend."

Tim shook his head mournfully. "I was hoping to let you go. This is your last chance. Go back to your little festivities."

The rabbit laughed, his voice cracking at every cackle. "I don't think so." He lunged, and Tim let his daggers fly.

Miraculously, the rabbit managed to catch one. "Is that all you-" the second dagger lodged itself firmly in his chest. Eyes wide, the creature did his best to remove the blade, but that only made the blood flow stronger. "Not... Fair." He collapsed to the ground. "Why not fight with yer paws like an honorable creature?"

"Because you're bigger than I am." Tim picked up his daggers, overstepping the dying brute. "I won't kill you. If you survive this, you survive."

The rabbit's bloodshot eyes locked to Tim's. "If I survive this, I won't stop lookin' 'til I find ya. And when I find ya, you'll wish I'd just snapped your neck and been done with it."

"Wrong answer." Tim thrust the dagger, burying it deep within the rabbit's neck. "I was really hoping to avoid that." He twisted the blade, making the creature cry out with his last breath. "But it looks like scum will always be scum." He withdrew the blade and watched the rabbit cough up a river of blood before falling to the ground wholly still.

Orrin felt a strange awe for the squirrel. Tim was not a murderer, but if he had to, the squirrel was ruthless - just as a true spy ought to be. "Let's go home." He dabbed his 'kerchief in the rabbit's blood and pocketed it. "I doubt they will be able to tell this blood from a weasel's."

"Probably not." Tim cleaned off his daggers and gingerly sheathed them. "Yes, that is quite enough killing for the night, I think."

Unsurprisingly, the docks remained entirely vacant on their trek back. Anyone with ideas to mug the pair had no doubt seen the carnage and gotten second thoughts.

The city itself was much more animated, as the nocturnals emerged for their nightly wanderings, and the others headed slowly to bed. Everything was abuzz with a certain excitement, and the two friends allowed themselves to get lost in the crowd.

Still, they eventually made it to the gates of the Royal Palace. Tim and Orrin passed their papers to the guard on duty. This one was clearly new. He read over each document carefully and squinted at the royal seal. "Looks alright. Go on through."

Just like the night before, the two friends shared a brief embrace and went their separate ways.

Werill was awake and writing yet another note when Orrin came in. "How was your evening, sir."

"It's done." Orrin tossed the bloodied 'kerchief onto the writing desk. "Looks like the new Aaryan spies are no more."

"For now." Werill folded the 'kerchief fastidiously and slid it into the open desk drawer. "Any guesses on what your last assignment will be?"

"None." Orrin threw open his bedroom door. "And until tomorrow, I would really rather not think about it." He shut the door and headed promptly for bed. As he worked to undress himself, one of the gilded buttons on his waistcoat popped off and rolled beneath the bed. Orrin shut his eyes with a weary growl. "Wonderful." He got down on all-fours and crawled underneath the oaken four-poster.

The button hadn't rolled far. It lay still upon the hardwood floor, but Orrin paid it little mind. A scrap of yellow parchment drew the young raccoon's attention.

Orrin swiped it up and hurried to unfold it.

Two brief lines, scribbled in an unfamiliar and messy paw, graced the parchment: Meet me behind the Tottering Mount an hour after midnight. You are a visionary, I can see. We've much to discuss.

Button forgotten, the raccoon stood, parchment still clutched in his paw. Dazed, he returned to the sitting room. "Werill..." In his mind's eye, Orrin saw his father read the note and hurry to his nameless rendezvous. "They found my father behind the Tottering Mount, didn't they?"

Werill had been tidying up the divan. He stopped. "I believe so. How did you know?"

"He'd received a letter." Orrin passed the note to his servant and watched the raccoon peruse each line with utmost care.

"Whoever wrote this has gone through great lengths to disguise his paw." Werill traced a claw along the curves that proceeded each 'E.'

"But why?" The answer came in a flash. "Unless this was someone my father knew."

"Your lordship," Werill smiled wanly, his eyes full of warmth and wisdom. "I have seen countless notes like this during my career. Whoever wrote this has done so masterfully. It is highly unlikely that we shall ever discover this letter's author. Perhaps other clues to your father's murder will emerge. But I would suggest not losing much sleep over this one in particular. Sooner or later, the truth will out. I believe firmly in that."

Orrin stood and stared at the note until the letters began to slowly blur. "You're right. Another dead end." He crumpled the parchment, tossed it into the wastepaper basket and retired for the night.

Chapter 17

The mercilessly bright sunlight shone freely between the curtains Orrin had forgotten to draw, and the raccoon knew he would have to relent eventually. With a sigh and then a yawn, he clambered out of bed. It was well before noon, and there was little else to do but head to fencing practice. Orrin found his fencing outfit in the closet and dressed with a slowness characteristic of most mornings. He met Werill on the way out. "Weapons practice. Have a bath drawn for me." His stomach rumbled in reminder, but the raccoon paid it no mind.

"Of course, sir." Werill bowed, unable to fully conceal surprise at seeing his master awake and cognizant so early. "Will you require breakfast afterward as well?"

"Yes, something heavy." Orrin patted his stomach in a silent compromise. "I don't wish to eat before practice."

"Smart choice, Your Lordship." Werill showed him out and locked the door.

Orrin took up a slow but steady gait in the direction of the practice room, yawning broadly all the while. He passed a pawful of others on the way, but most of the palace was still soundly asleep.

The sword master nearly dropped his foil when he saw the raccoon. "Oh my, Lord Orrin, you are certainly awake quite early. Couldn't sleep?"

"Something like that." Orrin picked out a rapier from the wall of weapons. "Shall we?"

The cougar happily obliged. "En garde, then."

This time, it was Orrin who kept the pace. Every time he stopped, a certain dread filled his being. Time and time again, the raccoon worked to identify the root of the strange feeling, but nothing seemed to fit. Killing the weasel was by no means traumatizing, and neither was the fox beforehand. And yet something still irked him. Fortunately, pushing himself harder in practice made the dread recede into the background.

Four hours later, their practice finally concluded at the sword master's behest. "Alright, Lord Orrin. Fantastic work today. I wish to see the same out of you every day from now on!"

Orrin merely shrugged. "Can do." He hung the rapier up nearly and padded for the baths. Every muscle in his body buzzed and pulsated with ache, and the raccoon focused happily upon that pain. It was something to think about, and that kept the dread away.

Werill stood by the nearest bath to the door. "All ready, Your Lordship."

Orrin stripped down, quite heedless of the eyes of a pair of nobles two baths down. "Has Trivus called?"

"No, he has not." Werill helped his master into the water and then took a seat upon the adjacent bench. "But I assume he is in his quarters still. Maybe he took the day to sleep in."

"Maybe." Orrin shut his eyes and sank beneath the water's still surface. But the queer feeling of foreboding returned and the raccoon came up for air. He hurried to wash himself, taking only what time was necessary before hopping quickly out. "Alright, I'm ready."

"Eager to see your friend, eh?" Werill opened a cupboard cleverly hidden in the base of his bench. He produced a kit of powders and brushes. "Lavender?"

"Fine by me." Orrin sat as still as he could while his servant brushed and dusted his fur. Twice, he bit his tongue to stop from asking Werill how much longer the brushing would take.

Finally, the servant pronounced the job complete and returned the brushes to their cupboard. "Would you still like some breakfast, sir?"

"Not yet." Orrin pulled on his shirt and breeches, draping the waistcoat over his shoulder. "I should be back soon, hopefully." Once clear of the slippery marble floor, he broke into a run.

Werill's guess had been correct. Count Trivus was indeed seated in his study. He had busied himself with writing some letter or another and gasped when Orrin entered. "Ah, Lord Orrin. I was just planning to call you. Have a seat." He tried to straighten out the papers, but his paws shook far too much to accomplish even that simple task.

Orrin sat across from the fox. "Anything the matter?"

Trivus avoided the raccoon's eyes. His paws trembled, and the very distinct scent of fear hung in the air. "Where were you on the night of The Lord Secretary's death?"

Orrin's smile fell. His blood grew cold. "Are you accusing me of-"

"Oh, heavens no." Trivus tried to smile valiantly but failed. "I wouldn't suspect you for a second, Lord Orrin. However, some witnesses have claimed they saw you walking to the brothel with Lord Timmin."

"I-" any lie would damn him, and the truth would get him hanged. Orrin swallowed. "I did, yes." He lowered his eyes, trying to remember what he had felt for the fox back then. "We had just started seeing each other, and I was not sure how things were going to go."

Trivus nodded, tears slowly welling in his once trusting green eyes. "And what about last night and the night before?"

"I-" Orrin froze. "I didn't. I was merely helping Lord Timmin with an errand."

"Lord Orrin, I may not be entirely cut out for this job, but I know you are lying." Trivus blinked away a tear. "Just please be honest with me."

The only way to lie to someone who expects lies is to go with the truth they think they know. Orrin drew a deep breath and reminded himself of the job and lives at stake. "I did." Immediately, his mind raced for a way to soften the blow. "But it isn't what you think, I-" he knew what needed to be said. "I love you, Trivus."

The fox froze. The tears were gone. The trust was gone. Even the love that had felt so palpable was gone. "Stop." He rose, as did his voice. "Just stop lying and get out!"

There was little else to do. The lies hurt, but the truth would kill. And so, Orrin stood, turned heel and walked out of the study. The tears did not take long to come. Guilt tore at him. He promised he'd fight. He promised he'd do anything, and when the chance came, he ran. Orrin cursed everyone in turn - his father for being a spy, Werill for dragging him into the whole mess, Tim for being so cavalier about it all. But then he realized. "It's all my fault." He sobbed bitterly as the truth sank in. "It's all my fault." He had a chance to run. Being a spy, as mandatory as it seemed - it could all have been avoided.

Werill rushed immediately to Orrin's side when the raccoon entered the room, disheveled and weeping brokenly. "Your Lordship, are you alright?"

"No. No, I am not, Werill." Orrin collapsed into an armchair and let the tears come. "I lost him."

"Lord Timmin?" Werill's eyes widened. "Did something happen to him?"

"Tim's fine." Orrin held his breath to stop sobbing. "It's Trivus." He recounted the conversation in as much detail as he cared to provide. "So, it was either tell a different lie and get caught, or tell him the lie he was expecting to hear and lose him forever."

Werill listened without a sound. Finally, he sighed. "You let him get to you, Your Lordship. You must have known how dangerous and impossible such a relationship was." He threw an arm around Orrin and drew him close. "You may not think so now, Lord Orrin, but you have done the right thing. Your career as a spy, your life, and the entire Aaryan spy operation was at stake. Not many will thank you for what you did, but I do. Thank you, Lord Orrin."

Orrin pushed desperately to force this logical side of himself to the foreground. He'd done the right thing. He'd saved lives. It should all have felt good. "I know I should feel relieved, Werill. I really do." He let out a long sob. The emotions kept fighting back. "But I don't. I fell in love with that fox. I had all but made plans to run away with him - run somewhere far, where no one knows who we are. I know you'll chide me for it all, but I was going to tell him everything. Tell him everything and beg for him to run away with me."

"Well, it is a good thing you didn't." Werill squeezed the raccoon's shoulder gently. "Even if he accepted, it would be a life of peril - probably quite a short one." He stood and patted the dust out of his breeches. "But regardless of what you would have done at one point or another, it is now too late. There isn't much to do but move on."

That was the truth, Orrin knew it. Trivus was unlikely to believe anything else he ever said again. It truly was over. "One day. One day, I'll move on. For now, I can't help but grieve. I'm sorry, Werill."

"I understand, Your Lordship." The raccoon gave his master's shoulder another encouraging squeeze. "I cannot find it in me to scold you, if only because it would make me a hypocrite." He pulled up a chair and sat across from Orrin. "I've already told you I have a cub. His name is Sirius. His mother is someone I should never have fallen in love with - A Friian spy. In Friia, relationship with foreigners is forbidden by law, even for spies no longer on Friian soil. When her superiors found out, they had her put to death. I lost her in a flash, and I cost us an alliance with Friia." He looked up, his eyes full of wisdom. "There may not seem much to be happy about, Lord Orrin, but at least Trivus still lives. If you can't be happy with him, at least you can be happy for him."

"Everything you say makes marvelous sense." Orrin let another sob emerge. "But I am not like Tim. I cannot just shut my emotions off when I don't need them."

Werill cleared his throat. "I cannot say Lord Timmin is capable of that. He is merely good at hiding those emotions. Incredibly good, apparently. But no, the emotions are still there; look hard enough, and you will see them. Besides, having no emotions is far from healthy. It is better to lose and grieve than it is to feel nothing. An emotional void is a terrifying thing."

Orrin shrugged. The sobs had ceased, but the tears were still fresh, and the memory of pushing away someone who loved him so unconditionally still burned. "Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to just not feel any of this."

"But if you cannot feel pain, you cannot feel joy, either." Werill passed him a fresh 'kerchief. "And what's life without joy?"

Orrin wiped his eyes upon the delicate silk. "I doubt I'll be feeling joy anytime soon." He stood. "But that's my problem. Anything else I must do before tonight's assignment?"

"No, you are free to sleep." Werill collected the soiled 'kerchief and bowed. "If you need me, I shall be in my room."

"Thank you, Werill." Orrin padded to his room. He knew sleep would be tough, and his dreams were likely to be quite torturous. But it was either that or mope around the palace with no one to console him.

As the raccoon slipped into bed, he thought about all of the scolding he would receive from Tim for his mistake. Or perhaps the squirrel would understand and chide him for being a terrible liar. "Oh, I just cannot wait for tonight." The raccoon pulled the covers over his head and did his best to empty his thoughts entirely.

For what felt like an eternity, he tossed and turned. Sleep refused to come. In the end, Orrin settled for lying with his eyes shut until Werill arrived.

The raccoon drew back hastily when his master spoke seconds before being touched.

"I know, I know, Werill. Almost time for dinner." Orrin got out of bed with no ceremony. "I may not have slept, but at least I don't feel groggy. Not bad."

He followed Werill into the sitting room, where a light dinner sat waiting.

The servant bowed and introduced the meal. "Salad with chicken and Vintaa dressing. And some very light wine."

Drinking excessively had not occurred to Orrin. But as tempting as the idea seemed, he pushed it away and focused on the meal.

Outside, the sun hovered over the horizon for a few minutes more and then sank beneath it in a beautiful display of pinks and crimson.

Werill closed the curtains. "Last one."

"Last one." Orrin swished the last dregs of wine around his glass. "I wish the previous one had been."

"Don't worry, Your Lordship." Werill cleared the plates with masterful efficiency. "I am sure it is nothing terribly worse than what you'd had to do already."

"I'll drink to that." Orrin raised the glass and emptied it in one swig. "Time to go to work."

He left Werill with the dishes, pausing only to apply scent muter and arm himself with daggers. "Wish me luck."

"Fairest of fortune." Werill waved a plate over his head. We can celebrate when you return."

"Yes, lots to celebrate." Orrin pushed the door gently closed without waiting for a reply. He walked without a real sense of urgency to Tim's room, again imagining all of the things the squirrel would say upon his arrival.

Tim answered the door. "Ah, there you are. No need to come in. I am ready to head out." He locked the door and walked timidly by Orrin's side. "I heard about what happened with you and Trivus. It is a shame to lose such a valuable tool in our arsenal."

"A tool, yes." No surprises. Orrin knew the squirrel's entire stand. There was no sense in coming clean. "Moving on."

"Too right." Tim dug through the inner pocket of his waistcoat until he found the palace papers. "Good, I did not want to forget those."

"Yeah, they're important." Orrin let the conversation slack until silence fell entirely. For once, he didn't mind at all.

The shabby neighborhood where the assassins resided had begun to feel like home. It had only been twice, but receiving targets from Milarn already felt entirely prosaic.

Again, Orrin knocked upon the decrepit wooden door, and again Sara answered it. "Upstairs."

"Why don't you say something to actually surprise me?" Orrin managed a sideways smile and padded up the rickety stairs for what he hoped was the final time.

For once, Milarn wasn't seated on his rush mat. He met the pair by the door. "For your last assignment, you shall be accompanied by both Sara and Oss. There are multiple targets."

"Whatever it takes to finish this and get that name you promised us." Orrin reached out his paw. "Let's see those descriptions."

Milarn obliged silently.

As Orrin's gaze fell upon the first drawing, a rush of fear crept up his spine. Rendered in painstaking detail upon the parchment, was Dardell, the Duke of Aarya. "W- who is that?"

Milarn's expression remained unmoving. "Some shop keeper who has seen too much. That is all we have been told, and it is all you need to know. He owns a small shop in the city." Milarn nodded towards Oss, who'd just walked in. "My son will show you the way. Do this, and I shall reveal the name you have been after. But when I do, remember: You did not hear it from me. I shall not be part of your revenge schemes, or whatever it is you've got planned."

"Fine by me." Orrin crossed his arms, all senses focused on keeping emotions in check.

Oss nodded in agreement. "Come. We are wasting time." He hardly finished the sentence before running off down the rickety staircase with nary a backwards glance.

Before, Orrin would have been jogging right beside him. Before, he just wanted the job to end. Now, all he could think about was stalling for as long as he could. "Wait, I was thinking. Do we have some sort of plan for how we will approach this? There are quite a few of them. We can't just barge in there, right?"

Sara drew her weapon, a wicked-looking curved dirk. "What's the problem? We've seen enough of them to know they are not fighters. We get in, lock the door and make short work of them. Just two otters and a cub. That's easy."

Orrin managed to finally catch Tim's gaze. He shook his head demurely.

The squirrel narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in puzzlement.

Orrin wished, then, that he'd told him about the otters before. But it was simply not his secret to reveal. Orrin merely sighed and shot a glance at their new company, who were walking side by side just a few steps ahead.

But Orrin knew he could not let this assassination take place. He slowed his gait by a tiny bit at a time until the rats had a good five paces on them. Then, he leaned close to Tim. "I know these otters. We can't let them be killed. I'll explain everything later. For now, we must not let the rats have them."

Tim's perplexed expression remained, but he nodded. Together, the pair caught up with the other assassins and walked with them, as if nothing had happened. They were playing a dangerous game, Orrin knew. Every step they took brought the Otters' deaths closer and closer to fruition. The thought of stabbing the rats had occurred, but who only knew how prepared they truly were for such an attack. And yet, as house after house passed them by, this option appeared to be the only viable one. Orrin made a show to Tim of drawing his dagger partway from its sheath. He glared towards the rats.

Tim mimicked his motion and nodded. Things were almost in place. All that remained was finding a quiet location. Orrin fell into step with Sara. "So, that's it? We just walk in there and do it? Seems a little barbaric, don't you think?"

"No, we won't just walk in." Sara spoke through gritted teeth. "Not through the front door, anyway. There is a nice and quiet back alley. We get in through the rear door, and the rest is easy. There are two adults and one cub. I honestly don't see why Master had insisted for you two to come along. This is all a waste of time." She rolled her eyes. "Just don't get in our way. Stay outside, if you wish. Yes, that's a better plan. Stay outside and don't get in the way. I will tell Master that you helped, you will get your precious information, and finally leave us in peace." She turned abruptly into a back alley and headed straight for the door.

The moment had come. Orrin drew his dagger and prepared to strike.

Chapter 18

But Oss beat him to it. Quick as a flash, the rat unsheathed his blade and stabbed his sister neatly through the neck. There was no smile or gesture of satisfaction. Tears welled in his eyes.

Sara's eyes, meanwhile, grew wide. She turned to her brother in astonishment, entirely heedless of the gaping wound and the crimson blood slowly seeping from it. "Oss? But... why?" She staggered and yet remained standing, her eyes locked to his, as the last breaths of life left her body. In one final, convulsive shutter, she fell to the ground and lay still.

Oss got down on one knee and passed a paw over his sister's eyes to close them. "Because, Sara, you were far too devoted to Father. You would never have gone along with any of this." He looked up at Orrin and Tim. "Now listen you two. I shall strike a bargain with you. I wish to start a new life. I have grown tired of the endless killing and crooked dealings. I'd had inklings of escaping before, but there was always a certain bit of loyalty that kept me from doing so." He picked up his sister's corpse and stuffed it into an open crate. "But after I overheard Father say that they only rescued me because they couldn't afford to lose an extra assassin, I knew I had to leave."

Orrin kept his dagger drawn and trained upon the rat. "And what is this deal you are proposing?"

"Return to my father and kill him." Oss sealed the crate shut. "He did something to us as cubs - some sort of strange conditioning. None of us can raise a dagger to him. But you can. Kill him and meet me in the alley two buildings south from my former home."

Tim eyed the rat with open contempt. "And how can we trust you?"

"Trusting me is entirely up to you." Oss returned the stare. "But you have no other choice. That weasel you killed yesterday placed a hit on the otters. In turn, someone else has placed a hit on the two of you. Had we returned successful, you two would have been killed on the spot. Father was never planning to tell you any secrets. You were never and will never have truly become members of the Fold. And outsiders, deals or no deals, are not privy to our secrets."

Orrin struggled to pick apart the truth and the lies, but the rat's explanation made enough sense for him to flush with embarrassment. He had believed Milarn's ruse, and he would have paid with his life. "What about the other assassins?"

"There was only one other." Oss smiled wistfully. "He is the only one who shares my dream of a new life. We shall flee together."

"Alright, you've got yourself a deal." In the second-story window, Orrin saw the Duke cradling his son and smiling broadly as the cub wiggled in his arms. Orrin took Tim's paw and hurried out of the alleyway. "Let's get this done."

The squirrel waited until they were well out of Oss's earshot. "Now, which story do we believe?"

Orrin refused to let his mind be changed again. "Well, he killed his sister in cold blood. Don't the assassins punish that by death? This is at least worth a try. We can force Milarn to tell us. If he resists, we kill him." The thought of killing felt strangely natural. Orrin shivered but still, he kept going. There was no time to waste.

With a few wrong turns, the pair found their way back to the assassins' hideout.

Out of the corner of his eye, Orrin watched Oss disappear into the alleyway two houses down, as promised. "So far, so good, I suppose. Shall we?" He pushed open the door. A thousand doubts rushed through his mind. Maybe Oss had some grudge against them and wanted to frame the two spies for the death of his sister. Maybe he wanted to make sure Milarn took the promised secret to his grave. But a decision needed to be made, and Orrin made it. He climbed the staircase, pushed open the door and faced the rat.

Milarn eyed him impassively. "Finished already?"

"Not yet." Tim threw his dagger up and caught it by the blade. "We've decided to make you talk first. Tell us who the client was, or you won't live to see the sun come up."

"No." Milarn remained motionless. "If you kill me, you will never know."

Orrin drew closer. "Does your son know?"

"Of course." Milarn smiled. It was the smile of someone who'd won. "But he would never tell you. He is entirely loyal to me." ...Or perhaps the smile of someone who thought he'd won.

Orrin returned the smile. "That's all I needed to know." He nodded to Tim, who threw the dagger.

Milarn tried to dodge, but the blade still lodged itself in his stomach. He doubled over. "My son. Do you mean to say he has turned?"

"Oh yes." Orrin circled around the rat and stood guard, in case the stomach wound wasn't enough.

Milarn uttered a pitiful sob. "But. But, he's my son. He would never..."

Tim drew his second dagger. "He sent us here to kill you. He is done being in your service."

The rat collapsed, and Orrin lowered his dagger. With a few last breaths, the leader of the Llyran assassins lay dead.

The raccoon checked his pulse to make sure. "I wonder if it was the wound or his son's betrayal that finished him. It's strange, but I actually felt sorry for him, then."

Tim nodded. "To be betrayed like that by someone you think you trust. That must indeed hurt."

Orrin thought back to Trivus and winced. How the fox must have felt after he left the study. All the tears he must have shed to have given himself so willingly and then been taken such cruel advantage of. Before any more haunting thoughts reared their ugly heads, Orrin shook off the daze and concentrated on the job ahead. He covered the rat's body with the rush mat and stood. "Time to go get our reward."

They left the house, closing each door guardedly. It was probably the last time anyone would enter for a very long while.

Oss met them in the alleyway as promised. "All done, I see. Wonderful." He looked first at Orrin and then at Tim. "So, you really want to know who it was that did this?"

The pair nodded.

"So be it." Oss chuckled. "It was your boss, Finn. He has convinced himself that Tilmar's only path to greatness is to go to war with Llyra. So, when I came to clean up Sefir's body, he requested my services; but his little plan has failed, it seems. Whoever had provided him with the keys I was carrying that night was a bit of a double-crosser. As my father found out, Finn was under full impression that all of the keys were correct. When Father told him of what had happened, that squirrel all but howled in anger. He is truly a mad one, bent on carrying this through for the glory of his Kingdom. In fact, he had no plans of interrogating me. He wanted me dead or gone. None of his comrades could know about his plans. So, he made a deal with my father. They stage a kidnapping, and he would stand back and let it happen. In return, no one finds out about his involvement. But you two got in the way and reached me first." He shrugged. "Looks like things won't be so peaceful for him, after all. Best of luck to you." He took off in a run and scaled the wall at the end of the alley with a mighty leap.

Orrin processed the information slowly and sighed. "So, it was Finn. Who would have guessed."

"Wait, you're saying you believe him?" Tim stepped back. "Come on, Orr. I've known that squirrel for most of my life.

He would never do something like that."

Orrin breathed calmly, watching his friend's fists clench. "He may be your friend, but he is not past or above treason."

"He is not my friend - he is my father." Tim's eyes bored into his. "I trust him with my life."

"Father?" Orrin's anger gave way to confusion. "But I thought your parents were dead."

"My mother fell in love with a Tilmarii squirrel behind her husband's back." Tim sighed. "But Finn came to me when I became Lord. He taught me everything I know, and I am certain he would never betray his country like this."

"Don't let your relationship cloud your professional judgment." Orrin spoke calmly, hoping to deescalate the situation before it got much worse. "Trust me, Tim."

Tim guffawed. "Look at you, talking about clouding judgment. You bloody hypocrite!"

Orrin's heart beat faster. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on." Tim threw up his paws in agitation. "You and your fox friend. Do you think I didn't know? Oh, I wasn't sure at first. But after the way you took breaking up with him, I knew he had you. I'm happy I saved you from that. Who knows how deep you would have fallen."

"You?" One by one, each piece fell into place, and Orrin stopped just short of tackling the squirrel down and stabbing him. "You did this?"

"Yes. At first, I was merely concerned with establishing an alibi for you, but then I began to suspect." He sighed. "I killed two birds with one stone, Orrin. I have saved you from the noose twice. And I'm happy you made the choice to go along with it."

"I certainly did." Orrin had given up all attempts to control his rising voice and temper. "But now that I can't be with him, do you really think I would ever love you, you selfish son of a bitch? I thought you were my friend, but you have always wanted more, I see it now. Even enough to ruin the best thing I had in my life."

Tim backed away, as if the raccoon had struck him. "Is this what you think it is? Do you think I'm really so green with envy that I would stand between you two for my personal gain? I have all the feelings in the world for you, Orrin. Maybe I even love you. But if it were someone else with you - someone you could be safe with, I'd never get in the way. I know you don't feel the same way for me. I'm not stupid." The anger vanished. Tears formed in his eyes as they gazed deep into Orrin's one last time. "I just wanted to protect you." With a broken sob, he turned and ran, disappearing over the wall.

Orrin stood in the alleyway alone, trying to piece together what was left of his life. In one short day, the two people he cared for most in life had vanished. And for all this, the raccoon had no one to blame but himself. Just as with Trivus, he could not even picture ever looking Tim in the eye again without the guilt eating him alive.

The night around him grew cold, but Orrin hardly noticed. He stood in the alleyway, unsure of what to do next. His assignment was done, and Tim would never ask him for help again.

"Hey you, get outta here!" An ancient ferret emerged from the rear entrance a few feet away, brandishing a wooden cane. "Loiterin' around me rubbish!" She stopped when she saw the raccoon's fine dress. "Err, forgive me, Yer Excellence. Would you like to come inside me inn for a bite of supper? You seem lost. This ain't the sort of neighborhood for yer refined self."

"I know." Orrin banked away with a short bow. "Thank you. I must go home." There was one person who had yet to abandon him. He'd either have to make do or live in misery.

The raccoon took up a steady gait and headed for the palace. On the way, he passed by what he'd thought would become an incredibly familiar establishment. "Well, there's one place where I can pay them not to judge me." He lingered by the door, his paw upon the brass knob, before finally steeling himself enough. Perhaps that was just what he needed. "I'm single again, after all. Can't even feel guilty."

Inside, the intoxicating scent of arousal assaulted his nose and almost succeeded in making the raccoon forget all that had transpired. He breathed in deeply, trying to stay in that one moment for just a tiny bit longer. But that moment was just as fleeting as the rest. The memories returned, and Orrin knew the only way was forward. He walked through the parlor, remembering his first time at the establishment. Precious little had changed. The rows of divans were still occupied by countless gorgeous males of every variety, and D'arcy still lingered just out of the picture before approaching. "Ah, it has been quite some time, Your Lordship. Welcome!"

Of all of the males, Milton's smile was the most genuine. Orrin ignored the squirrel he'd met at Hotel Delate. The creature looked far too much like Tim.

Orrin pointed to the cougar. "If I might have him again, please." He produced payment and passed it into D'arcy's waiting paws.

Milton stood. "I missed you." He gave the raccoon's ear a teasing lick. "Hope everything has been alright."

"More or less." Orrin had always had trouble gauging the genuine interest of such questions. But Milton was beyond those problems either way.

Milton took Orrin's paw in his and pulled him gently along towards the corridor. "I'm guessing you aren't here for You-know-whom."

"Not this time, no." Orrin watched the cougar's muscular rump flex as he walked, which slowly piqued his arousal, although far behind schedule.

"Very well, then. This room should be perfect for your needs, sir." The cougar stopped by an arbitrary door and held it open. "After you."

"Thanks." Orrin padded into the room, decorated exactly like all of the others at the brothel. But the bed was all he needed.

Milton locked the door and approached him from behind. "Oh my, you are certainly quite tense, Your Lordship. But with your line of work, I completely understand." He reached around and rested both paws on the raccoon's well-muscled chest, letting the claws graze the exposed fur. "Shall I help you undress?"

"Yes, please do." Orrin shut his eyes and worked to focus upon the sensations. He needed a release, he knew. After the release came, at least a momentary feeling of relaxation would follow.

Milton obliged. His soft paws worked their way, button by button until both the raccoon's waistcoat and shirt were open. The cougar slid both off expertly, caressing Orrin's muscular arms with the tips of his fingers. "I don't know if you missed me, sir, but I certainly did miss you. His fingers slid gently down the white fur of the raccoon's stomach, stopping at the breeches and the bulge that they concealed. Milton purred with excitement, his own maleness already well out of its sheath and throbbing. He unbuckled the breeches and slid them laboriously down, finally freeing the raccoon's member. He gripped it softly in one paw and let the breeches drop to the floor. "Not as active today. I seem to recall you quite energetic and assertive last time. Tired?"

"Yes, it has been quite a long day. And a long night." Orrin leaned into the cougar's soft fur and caressed the creature's neck idly with his paw.

"Understood. I shall help relax you, then." Milton guided the raccoon onto the bed, gently kneading Orrin's shoulders with his velvety paws. "Better?"

A soft haze crept slowly into Orrin's vision. Every object in the room grew a pleasant fuzzy border. "Much, thank you." He breathed deeply, feeling the cougar's paws work their way down his back. The knots and stress loosened.

Milton finished with the raccoon's back and moved on to the legs, lingering around the rump for perhaps longer than a simple massage called for. He worked slowly and deliberately until every muscle had loosened and relaxed. "There we are." He turned Orrin over gingerly, his paws immediately finding the raccoon's swollen member. "Just one more thing to take care of. Shall I sit on you?"

'Yes' had almost slipped out, but Orrin hesitated. Something about it all felt wrong. His logical side tried to convince him that he definitely was not cheating on Trivus. They were finished, after all. He was a bachelor once more. And yet, things were simply not that easy. "If it's alright, I would rather you just paw me." He settled for that strange compromise and closed his eyes.

"Happily." Milton's paw wrapped itself around the lengthy shaft and began the age-old motion, sending bursts of pleasure through the raccoon's body.

Orrin moaned like he knew he should, but he just could not get his mind off the fox. Time and again, he tried before finally giving in to the fantasy. The scent made it difficult, but with enough self-convincing, Trivus really was there, lovingly stroking him, his paw working faster and faster along the turgid shaft.

The fact that such a thing would never happen again was left conveniently out. It was a fantasy, after all.

The pleasure and lightning sensation built to a crescendo, until Orrin could hold it back no more. With a throaty growl, the raccoon arched his back and let the climax come. His maleness throbbed time and time again, coating his stomach in a milky seed.

Milton stroked some more, trying to coax every last drop of the fluid out. He finished up and licked his paws clean. "Well, you've certainly been building for a while."

"I have, yeah." Orrin teetered on the edge of sleep. He was about to fall, but Milton's voice brought him back to full wakefulness.

"Now that that's done, I have some very important news." The voice was but a hiss. Milton climbed atop the raccoon, his member pressing into Orrin's. he dropped his voice even lower. "I overheard something frightful. Finn was speaking with someone in that room across the hall. He was angry at how his plan to send assassins after the King had failed. He made the decision to strike once more in one week's time. That was yesterday, so there's only six days left."

Orrin breathed a small sigh of relief at having his suspicions prove entirely correct. "Why not go to someone with this?"

Milton wrapped his paws around the raccoon's waist. "I have no other details besides that. And anyway, Finn does not seem to like me. He has taken quite a few steps to ensure that almost no one would trust me. But you, I hoped you'd be different."

"I am." Orrin glanced at the gap beneath the door, watching for eavesdroppers. "You've confirmed a piece of news I had gotten earlier."

"I'm happy you trust me." Milton smiled and licked the raccoon's nose with his coarse tongue. "As I said, that's all the details I have, but Finn promised to meet whoever he was speaking with tomorrow at noon, at the Burning Tree. It's a pub some eight blocks down the street from here."

"Then I shall have to go and spy on him." Orrin watched as a shadow passed over the gap beneath the door. "I had a wonderful time, Milton. Thank you so much!" He rolled the cougar off and stood. "Better head home and hit the hay. I certainly won't be awake before lunch, that's for sure." He winked, slipping deftly back into his outfit. "And here is a little something else for you." A quick search of the waistcoat pockets produced three gold coins. Orrin passed them all to the cougar.

"Thank you, Your Lordship. Enjoy your night." Milton slipped the coins into a pouch that hung next to the bed.

"Oh, I've already enjoyed it quite a bit." Orrin blew the cougar a kiss and headed for the door.

The shadow and whoever had been casting it were long since gone. There was little else left to do but head to the palace.

Orrin showed himself out of the Peony and found his way home.

He greeted the gate guard with a smile and passed the wolf his papers. "Took a bit longer than Lord Timmin."

The wolf chuckled. "Did you? Lord Timmin has not yet returned. I was getting worried, in fact. You two are usually back by then."

"Yeah, lost track of time." Orrin tittered to mask his worry. "I guess Lord Timmin has decided to find another pub."

"Maybe." The wolf returned to his duty with a polite nod.

There were a thousand reasons for why Tim had yet to return. So, Orrin pushed the worries to the back of his mind and padded up the stairs.

He found Werill dozing at the writing table. The raccoon came awake with a start. "Your Lordship! I was on the verge of sending out a search party. Is everything alright?"

"That is not the yes or no question you think it is." Orrin plopped into the chair across from his servant and heaved a sigh. "Where to begin..." He recounted the story from the assassination onwards, leaving out the lewd details of his brief stint at the Peony. "That's really it. So now, Tim hates my guts, but we did find out who was behind it all."

"Indeed." Werill scribbled himself a quick note and looked up, his eyes grave. "As of now, we are temporarily halting our relationship with Tilmar. We do not know if it is only Finn, or if he has accomplices. Who knows, Lord Timmin might even be one of them, as unlikely as it may seem."

"I understand." Perhaps, Tim wasn't hurt at all. Perhaps he'd simply run off to inform Finn of his inability to convince the raccoon of yet another lie. "Looks like I've got a spy mission ahead of me tomorrow."

"No, we shall send someone else." Werill folded his parchment and hid it in his breast pocket. "Finn already knows who you are. We shall send someone who will blend in entirely, don't you worry. The Usual One himself, perhaps. With the information collected, we will decide our next course of action."

"Well, we do have six days." Orrin yawned with all of the weariness that had gathered throughout the course of the day. He pushed off the armrests and rose from the chair. "Not much left for me to do tonight. If you don't mind, I shall go pass out in or near my bed." Not hearing any objections, the raccoon walked to his room and promptly fell asleep atop his covers, not bothering to undress.

Chapter 19

In full accordance with the promise he had faked to Milton, Orrin awoke sometime in the mid afternoon. Again, he could not recall what he had dreamt about, but the tear stains on his pillow made him happy those dreams had been forgotten. The sadness, however, was not long at bay. The grogginess from the night before was not there to dull it. The tears came back in full force, and Orrin let them. He sat in his bed, fully dressed, and wept. If he hadn't made so many stupid assumptions, Tim would still be with him. He'd pushed away a friend who only did what he did out of genuine kindness. The possibility that Tim had been working with Finn the whole time quickly evaporated. It was an easy way to forget the squirrel, but Orrin knew better.

And then there was Trivus. Coming clean would perhaps mend the fox's broken heart, but it would also mean almost certain death for Orrin. Did the fox love him enough to keep such a dire secret?

Orrin shook his head. No, there was truly nothing to be done.

With a timid knock to announce himself, Werill entered the bedroom. "Your Lordship, our spy mission has been successful. Finn's conversant was not a person we could identify, but their conversation was quite informative. The plan is to get into the palace at midnight in five days' time, and you shall be there to catch them. I will be on lookout. I would find you a partner, but our numbers are tragically thin."

"Why not simply report this news to Trivus?" The thought of going up against the master spy alone sent a small shiver up Orrin's spine.

"We cannot risk it." Werill shut the door and sat at the foot of Orrin's bed. "We suspect that someone within the palace is involved. It could be anyone. If we alert Trivus, we risk spooking Finn. This is our one chance to catch him in the act. If we try to take him before, he will no doubt make up some lie about us working against the Tilmarii. We cannot risk that, either. You must take him only when he has made his move. Any sooner, and we fail. Any later, and His Majesty will be dead. If Finn is found dead in the King's chambers, however, the Tilmarii will have no choice but to believe us."

The weight of responsibility fell heavily upon Orrin's shoulders, but he did not buckle. Like with so many recent happenings, there was simply no other way out. "And what do we do while we wait?"

"Prepare a plan." Werill stood, walked behind his chair and pushed it neatly beneath the writing desk. "Or as much of a plan as we can create. I will be honest with you, Your Lordship. There is not much strategy involved. You are the only person we can expend for this, so partnering is out." He sighed. "It is cowardly of me to say so, but I cannot afford to be involved. If I am caught, the entire line of communication for our operation will crumble. It will take years to recover; decades, maybe. As such, all I can do is provide lookout. As for you..." he padded closer to Orrin. "You cannot do much beyond getting into the King's chambers and lying in wait until Finn shows up. Then, as he is about to act, you shall have to intercept him. The best outcome would be a quiet kill. If Finn is caught by the royal guards and comes clean as being a Tilmaari revolutionary, the war we had been trying to prevent may just occur. Mind, they may contact the Tilmaari and verify his involvement, but we cannot depend on that." He straightened his cravat, refusing to meet Orrin's gaze. "This entire operation is brutally risky, but there is just no way around it."

Orrin clenched both fists to keep his paws from shaking. "I don't even know if I'm ready for this."

"I shall do my best to prepare you in the upcoming few days." Werill pulled a lock pick from his sleeve. "I have not been able to obtain copies of the new keys to the Royal Chambers, but I have become acquainted with how those locks function. To a casual thief, they are nearly impossible to crack, but spend enough time studying them, and you will find certain weaknesses." He threw an arm around Orrin and pulled him close. "Do not worry, by the time we are through, you shall be as prepared as you can be."

"I suppose so." All Orrin could wonder was whether that promised preparedness would actually be enough. But life, it seemed, did not like to provide him with choices. So, the raccoon shrugged, rolled up his sleeves and began his training.

Through and through, he wished that Werill was going instead of him. It wasn't cowardice. The seemingly meek servant was truly a master spy. He shared with Orrin every ounce of information he'd learned about the King's new locks. He demonstrated the techniques with the ease of turning a key while Orrin struggled more and more with each one. But the young raccoon persisted. He knew well that the only other option was to surrender and go into the assignment an utter failure.

At times, when the umpteenth betty snapped in his shaking paws, Orrin saw nothing but hopelessness ahead. But for every few failures, the warm feeling of triumph would also make an appearance. With each success, Orrin's confidence grew like a young sapling. It was by no means fully grown, and the raccoon was not sure if it ever would be, but he began to see something very important - the possibility of success. A life after that fateful event seemed possible. Without Trivus or Tim by his side to share it, that life felt pointless at first, but the more he thought about it, the more Orrin realized a certain strange truth. If he could get through such a tightrope walk of a scenario alive, then perhaps moving on from the tragedies of the past few days was also possible.

The raccoon contemplated with a dry chuckle as he picked his toughest lock yet how finding new love seemed more difficult than apprehending a dangerous spy and not being caught by a dozen Royal guards in the process. But at least he knew the emotional scars would not kill him.

He pondered also how strange life had been in the Capital City of Llyra - a life he was certain would be boring and lonely. Orrin had imagined monotonous days blending into a grey blur with nothing to distinguish them. Instead, he became a spy. It was an interesting life, to be sure; and the fateful choice Orrin had once upon a time regretted, he was glad he'd made. The raccoon only wished Tim and Trivus were there to share the realization with him. "If I make it through this, I swear I'll apologize to both of them and try to make things right." Orrin made the promise to no one but himself and sealed it with a small nod. Truly, if he had what it took to apprehend a dangerous spy, begging the two people closest to him for forgiveness couldn't be so hard.

On the eve of the fifth day, Orrin sat behind the dinner table, forking his chicken with a casual disinterest. Werill had insisted that he try and eat something, and Orrin agreed. But between trying and doing lay a nervous tension. That same nervous tension got Orrin up at dawn each morning and spending the entire day practicing for the job. He stared at the fibers of the tenderly-cooked meat, but his mind was entirely elsewhere.

Several times, Werill cleared his throat without much success until Orrin finally snapped out of his daze. "How are you faring, Your Lordship?"

"As well as I can be." Orrin popped the meat into his muzzle and chewed, hardly tasting the food. "You have done a fantastic job of preparing me, Werill. The rest is entirely in my paws now. Well, mine and Lady Luck's. If she can be generous and I can be smart, I might be dining here tomorrow night and stuffing my face like a famine survivor to make up for my lack of eating." He sighed. "And if not, I'll be eating bread and water, so this could really be my last real meal for a while, and I should be enjoying instead of ignoring it."

Werill pulled up a chair and sat across from his master. "I shall ensure a grand feast for you tomorrow night, and you'd better be there!" He smiled. "Consider it an order."

Finally, Orrin knew the indecision had to end. "I will be. Better make that feast an incredible one, y'hear?"

"The greatest in the world." Werill extended his paw. "Best of luck to you, sir. Just like we practiced, enter through the side passageway and wait in the parlor, right before the King's room. Those bars on his windows are as strong as ever. The only way in is through that door."

"In?" Orrin looked up from his food. "What about out?"

"Out is a little bit easier." Werill cleared the plates off the table and piled them upon a silver tray to be collected by the kitchen servants. "Well, there is supposedly a secret exit of some sort. We are not sure where it is, but reports have stated that it does, in fact, exist. I am sure you can locate it."

"Alright, so there will be other ways to sneak out... or run in an emergency." Orrin twirled the fork deftly between his fingers. "How much time left?"

"Two hours until midnight." Werill collected the fork when his master finally dropped it. "In an hour, I would suggest you begin your infiltration. Work as slowly as you need to. You will have plenty of time to get into place."

"Time always feels like a luxury until it runs out." Orrin smiled through the building tears. "I may not have said this often, but thank you, Werill. Thank you for everything. In the very unlikely event that I don't make it, I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate everything you've done for me."

"It was a pleasure to serve you, sir." Werill bowed low, cleverly hiding his own tear-filled eyes. "And it will be a pleasure to continue serving you. Having said all that, are there any messages you would like for me to pass along?"

"No." Orrin wiped his muzzle on a napkin and stood. "I should much prefer to relay those messages myself."

"That's the spirit." Werill reached into his waistcoat pocket and produced a set of lock picks neatly folded into silk cloth. "These are your father's betties, the highest quality I've ever seen. You've snapped a few in your training, but I guarantee you will not snap these." He held the thinnest pick of the lot in both paws and struggled to bend it. Whatever miraculous material it was made from, the pick did not give.

"Impressive." Orrin collected the picks and slipped them into his pocket.

Next, Werill placed a silk rag onto the table. "Use this to silence Finn if you can. Remember, they must not only find Finn dead, they must also not find you. There is a chance that they may believe your story, if you are caught, but one never knows. Spies are known to double-cross one another. They may assume you've quarreled and hang you just to be safe."

"Indeed." Orrin collected the rag and folded it into his breast pocket. "Anything else?"

"That's it." Werill counted the steps off on his fingers. "Infiltrate the King's chambers, wait for Finn, kill him before he can kill the King, leave his body behind. Do that, and not only will Finn be unable to cause any more harm, but the Tilmarii will know that he has acted against their orders. They will disavow all knowledge of him, and the impending war will be prevented. You will be a hero, Your Lordship."

"A living hero or a dead traitor." Orrin laughed dryly.

Werill shook his head. "No, Orrin. You will be a hero either way. Heroes are not just the ones who succeed, but the ones who give it their all against all odds." He padded around the table and embraced the raccoon with a strength Orrin did not know he had. "Now go and do what we both know you are more than capable of." He held the embrace, and Orrin felt the seedlings of doubt there.

Orrin rested his muzzle in the crook of his servant's neck. "I will make you proud."

"You already have." Werill held him at arm's length. "Now, go."

And Orrin did. After a final check of his equipment, he applied a liberal dose of scent muter and headed out of the sitting room for what might have been his last time.

The clock neared eleven, and the palace corridors were entirely vacant. Orrin walked with a slow and steady confidence. There was no need to rush. For the moment, time was on his side. Finn was doubtless also making his way slowly towards the Royal Chambers. Was he afraid? Did he even expect anything to go wrong? Or was he so blinded by his goal that everything else ceased to matter?

Orrin approached the King's chambers from the north corridor. As usual, no guards were posted. The King's habits died hard, it seemed, even if they caused his own death in the process. The raccoon bent down near the lock and examined it scrupulously in the flickering torchlight. The frame around the keyhole and the locks within were freshly replaced, without a scratch on them. Either Finn was an incredible screwsman, or he had yet to pay the lock a visit. Out of Orrin's toolkit came a pick of just the right size. The raccoon held it gingerly in his left paw and pushed it slowly into the keyhole.

The sound of pawsteps behind him disrupted the lock picking. Orrin swiped the betty from the keyhole and hid behind the nearest column.

A pair of guards wandered by, looking to and fro. They passed by the column entirely unaware of the raccoon it concealed and disappeared around the corner, their torches flickering and then fading from sight.

Orrin resumed his work immediately. All of the practice had paid off, and the lock gave way in seconds. The door clicked and swung open freely. Orrin slunk through it and locked it on the other side. With the door shut, he was in darkness once more. All sense of passing time was lost, and Orrin hurried to make his way into the inner chambers. Paranoia nipped at his heels. Every few seconds, the raccoon peeked over his shoulder, expecting the door to open and reveal Finn, armed and looking for blood.

Door after door he passed, and the squirrel had yet to make an appearance. But Orrin knew he would show eventually. He had to. A night of waiting for nothing and then another endless bout of reconnaissance felt more unbearable than capture. It had to end tonight.

Silently, the raccoon entered the main parlor. Not long ago, he and Tim had passed through there, on the hunt for another killer. Now, he was all alone. Orrin hid behind a large, overstuffed armchair and waited. Minutes crept by at their own strange pace, quickly enough to pass but slowly enough for the butterflies in the raccoon's stomach to dance up a storm. Another thousand doubts and questions appeared. But Orrin pushed them back. In another hour, all of those questions would either be answered or cease to matter entirely.

His legs cramped up from the uncomfortable crouch, and Orrin stood to stretch them, but a movement on the other side of the door made the pain entirely irrelevant. The raccoon dove back behind the chair and waited.

The lock opened with a barely-audible snick, and the door swung in without a sound on its well-oiled hinges.

From his vantage point behind the chair, all Orrin could see were a pair of russet-furred paws, but that was sufficient. He watched with baited breath as Finn crossed the room and slipped his pick into the final lock. Seconds remained.

Orrin wrapped a paw tightly around the hilt of his dagger and drew it, careful to not make a sound and disturb the perfect silence. He steadied the blade and prepared to pounce.

The last lock proved tricky, and Finn struggled with it for almost a full minute, murmuring curses under his breath.

Orrin counted down the seconds, wishing for once that the squirrel were more capable than he was.

But Finn was not deterred. He wiggled and adjusted the betty until the lock finally gave. "Fantastic." He slotted the pick back into his pocket and turned the doorknob.

In an instant, Orrin pounced. He was within a hairsbreadth of the traitorous squirrel, when the door burst open.

"Royal Guard! Surrender yourselves!" A score of heavily-armed soldiers headed by Trivus marched out and surrounded the pair.

Finn looked nervously about and then locked his eyes on Orrin. "They've got us, mate. Drop your blade."

"Us?" Everything became marvelously clear. Finn knew he was caught, and taking Orrin down was a fitting vengeance.

Finn placed his dagger upon the floor. "We will come quietly."

Outnumbered ten to one, Orrin knew the fight was over. He threw down his dagger. One particular individual in the crowd drew his attention.

Trivus stood stock still and watched the raccoon through wide and fearful eyes. Perhaps he finally understood why Orrin had been so secretive. Perhaps he regretted having been so rash. Or perhaps he was just shocked that the person he loved would be hanged by his order. The soldiers kept their weapons trained on the newly-captured prisoners. One turned to Trivus. "What are your orders, sir?"

Trivus's voice was weak, robbed of all command and authority. "T- take them away and lock them up. I shall deal with them in the morning."

Two soldiers parted from the circle and locked the spies' paws in thick fetters. They saluted the fox and marched the prisoners away.

Orrin craned his neck and stared at Trivus to the last. The fox did not meet his gaze again. He stood alone in the darkened room, as if lost in a thick fog, his face expressionless and devoid of feeling.

At that moment, the raccoon would have given however many hours of life he had left for just a few minutes alone with the fox. All he wanted to do was come clean - to tell Trivus everything before the fox's assumptions were all that remained of his memory. He was perfectly content with dying a traitor, but he did not want to die a villain.

Sadly, such a bargain was not to be had. Trivus soon disappeared from view, and a painful welling at the pit of Orrin's stomach told the raccoon that he would probably never see him again.

Once clear of the royal quarters, the guards marched Orrin and Finn down a side staircase, away from the prying eyes of any nobles who might still have been awake at the odd hour.

Orrin knew the assumption was foolish. No self-respecting peer would be up so late, but servants were, and the raccoon looked for one in particular. He prayed to the gods in whom he never truly believed for just one chance to see Werill.

For once, the gods heard him. The convoy passed by Werill on their way down the stairs. The raccoon glanced only briefly at his master before hurrying in the other direction with a hasty apology. He had seen all that he needed to, no doubt; and losing composure would have led to his capture. Orrin sighed. 'I suppose that will have to do for a final goodbye.'

He knew he had lucked out on too much already. Seeing Tim was far from a possibility. But to the last, Orrin held some shred of hope for bumping into the squirrel. He would never be able to apologize or make even the slightest sign of affection towards him, but at least Tim would be able to see Finn for what he was.

But wherever the squirrel was, he was too far for any of it to matter. By the time the convoy reached the dungeons, Orrin knew all hope was lost.

The guards locked him and Finn in two separate cells. Orrin's half of the guards removed his manacles and attached the raccoon to a thick ankle chain near the wall. Their leader, a tall and particularly muscular wolf, pulled a parchment from his uniform pocket and read from it. "You shall await here until further notice. His Majesty may order to have you tortured for information, or he may simply order to have you hanged. In either case, may the Gods have mercy upon you for what you have done." He gave Orrin one last pitying glance and walked out with the others.

The door slammed shut, the keys turned, and Orrin knew it would be a very long time before he would see daylight. And the chances were good that he would see it last from the gallows.

Sorry, but I HAD to slip one of my patented cliffhangers in there somewhere ;)