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Chapter Eight – Sultana

'Cause all my life

is wrapped up in today,

no past or future here.

If I find my name's no good,

I just fall out of line.

I still dream of you,

but there's no going home,

no, there's no going home

with a name like mine.

~ Radical Face – Ghost Towns

August 15, 1863

Cairo, Illinois

They'd known for weeks that this day was coming, but now that it was here it didn't seem real.

As they approached the riverbank at the very tip of the confluence of the two great American rivers, the reality was finally setting in for Flynn and Calvin that this portion of their journey was about to end. They were leaving behind the relative safety and security they had come to enjoy on the flatboat with their new friends and stepping off into the unknown, possibly into great danger.

The silhouettes of the ironclads at anchor a few miles upriver were just coming into focus as the first faint light of morning began to appear. Cletus worked the oar skillfully, quietly, crossing the Ohio River for the last time as the four passengers stood in silence on the deck.

Finally, the edge of the flatboat slid into the mud of the riverbank and came to a halt. It was time to go.

“Cletus," Calvin acknowledged, nodding his head at the heron.

“Calvin. Flynn. Good luck," the heron nodded back. It was as much of a farewell as either expected.

“Jonathan. Emily," Calvin nodded.

“Oh Calvin, Flynn… come here," Jonathan said, choking back tears, as he hugged Flynn. Emily also seemed to be on the verge of crying as she hugged Calvin.

“We may never see each other again," Jonathan said with a trill in his voice.

“Hey, don't say say that. We'll see you again. I know we will," Flynn said to try to reassure him, but in his heart he knew it was almost certain that they wouldn't.

“You're a good man and a true friend, Flynn. I'm sorry for the way I thought about you before I knew you. I just want you to know that. I'll never forget you or how you risked your life for me. I'll never forget," he said on the verge of tears.

“You and Emily be safe," was all Flynn could say. He was also trying to hold back tears. They broke their hug and looked at each other for a brief moment before letting go. As they did, Emily hugged Flynn from the side.

“If you're ever in New Orleans, find us. You'll always have a place to stay," she said to him.

Jonathan had walked to Calvin and also gave him a parting hug.

“Be careful, big guy. Take care of him," Jonathan said as he hugged Calvin.

“We will. I will," Calvin answered.

Calvin slung the burlap sack half filled with food over his shoulder after he hugged Jonathan. It was the only worldly possession the wolf and the deer had besides the clothes on their backs. Calvin hopped off the boat into the mud of the riverbank. He looked back up at Flynn, who was standing with his back to the shore.

“Flynn," Calvin said gently. “It's time to go."

After a final glance at the foxes Flynn sighed and turned to leave the flatboat. He crouched over the edge and eased himself off. During the past month his leg had healed remarkably quickly, even faster than he had hoped. He was able to walk now with only a slight limp betraying his injury. But it still wasn't totally healed. Hopping off the way Calvin did probably wasn't a good idea.

Calvin turned and, by himself, pushed the flatboat off the mud embankment back out into the river. He and Flynn stood on the sliver of land at the very confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers for some minutes, hand in hand, watching their home for the past month and a half drift slowly away. On the deck were their fellow deserters and friends Jonathan and Emily, looking back at them almost mournfully. After several minutes, with the light of morning growing brighter, Jonathan raised his hand and waved a final goodbye. Flynn and Calvin did the same before turning their backs and walking into town.

• -

Calvin had a plan.

From their conversations with Cletus and their experience in Chambersburg, both he and Flynn knew that one of the biggest tip-offs to their status as deserters was the clothes they were wearing. When they'd fled Pittsburgh he hadn't thought to buy any more clothes before they left. He was too anxious to get out of the city, so they'd both been wearing the same clothes for more than a month now. At this point they were in even worse condition than they had been when Cletus spotted them, almost in tatters. Before they booked passage on the steamer Sultana, they would need to stop at a tailor's shop.

Calvin's plan wasn't just to buy replacements and spares for the modest clothing they were wearing, though. His idea was that if they were both wearing fine clothes, custom tailored suits, then they could pass as wealthy travelers just long enough to escape. Even after the enormous sum Cletus had charged to get them this far and the food they'd bought along the way he still had more than two-hundred dollars – more than enough for this expense, the steamboat ticket, and passage west on a wagon train once they reached St. Louis.

But while thinking on the subject somewhere near Cincinnati, he took a hard look at the foxes they were traveling with and had an epiphany: what if they weren't two men traveling together? What if they were traveling like Jonathan and Emily were, as a man and his wife? The foxes made it across the battle lines on foot, and from their conversations Calvin knew they hadn't been half as careful as he and Flynn had been in avoiding people along the way.

“So… what color do you want your dress to be?" Calvin asked with a sly grin as they walked into town, the sun just beginning to rise.

“Blue maybe? Dark blue I mean, not light blue like my fur," Flynn replied playfully, lifting his arm to look at the color. When Calvin first went to Flynn with the idea he expected Flynn to roundly reject it. He was surprised when Flynn not only agreed to do it but seemed excited at the prospect.

Their playful mood ended when they saw the first Union soldiers. Cairo was the headquarters for the entire western campaign of the war, and as such it was humming with army activity. They ducked into an alley behind a cluster of stores when they saw the first patrol. This was a deadly serious game they were playing; they couldn't afford to keep their guard lowered like it had been for the past month.

They made their way across another alley to what, they presumed, was the main road through town. Calvin stuck his head around the side of a building to check for soldiers before walking out into the street, looking for a tailor's shop.

“I see one down the road! Come on!" he whispered to Flynn seeing the sign for the clothing shop in the distance. It was several hundred yards away straight down the main thoroughfare. Should they run? Absolutely not, it would draw too much attention. Would anyone see Flynn's limp, the state of their clothes? It was still early, so there weren't many people out and about yet.

They tried to just walk normally, casually down the road towards the tailor's shop, but they still ended up walking much more quickly than they otherwise would have. Flynn realized then that his leg had not healed as completely as he thought – he was limping noticeably by the time they reached the shop entrance.

“Wait behind the shop, I'll buy everything," Calvin said to Flynn as they approached the tailor's shop.

“Not a chance! I'm going in with you!" Flynn answered.

“It'll look suspicious!"

“Everything we do looks suspicious! We're suspicious folk here, there's no helping it. I'm going in. How will you know my dress size if I don't get measured?"

“Measured? Are you kidding? Do you know how that will look? You're…"

“A man? How did you find that out..." Flynn teased as they approached the shop's entrance.

The shop door cracked open as they were about to try to open it, just wide enough for the weasel in the store to stick his snout through.

“No loitering, this isn't a place for vagrants. Move on," he said.

“Wait! I..." Calvin said before glancing over at Flynn, “we need to buy some clothes."

“Nice clothes!" Flynn chimed in.

Through the crack Calvin could see the weasel's dismissive expression. It was justified, given how they looked. He began to shut the door.

“Wait!" Calvin exclaimed again, “we have money!"

“Plenty of money!" Flynn interjected, waving his hands expressively to convey the plentiful nature of their money to the store owner.

Again the weasel eyed them and came to the same conclusion.

“Get lost, pal," he said, starting to close the door again.

“Wait!" Calvin said a third time. “Look!"

He pulled the cigar case out of his pocket and opened it, revealing its contents to the weasel. Two-hundred twelve dollars. A year and a half's wages in the army, a small fortune. The weasel's eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped slightly, only for a moment, before he regained his composure.

“Well! Gentlemen! Why didn't you say so! Come on in! I'm not officially open for another few hours, you see, but I think I can make an exception for a pair of distinguished gentlemen such as yourselves!"

The weasel unchained the door lock and opened the door fully, extending his hand.

“Arthur Sedgwick, but please, call me Arty," he said as he shook Calvin's hand.

“Calvin Riley," the wolf replied.

Flynn winced and pursed his lips; why did he have to use his real name?

“And this is Flynn Harrison," Calvin said without pause.

“Nice to meet you, Arty," Flynn said with clenched teeth, trying not to express his frustration with Calvin's carelessness as he shook the weasel's hand in turn.

“Likewise, likewise! So… what are you gentlemen looking for today?"

“Well!" Flynn said loudly to keep Calvin from revealing any more information. “I just need some work pants and shirts, but my business associate here will need a nice new suit, pants, tie, the whole shebang. Apologies for our disheveled look, but we…"

“Dropped our suitcases in the river!" Calvin interrupted. “Just… right overboard! Splash, disaster! All our clothes, can you believe it?"

“Well, that certainly is a stroke of bad luck, but we can take care of that here! Mr. Harrison, was it? Feel free to browse the laborer's clothing over there and I'll be happy to make any alterations. Mr. Riley, if you'd come this way I can get you measured and fitted for a suit. We'll have you fellows looking sharp and on your way in no time!"

Flynn felt relieved as he walked towards the shelves on the far wall with the work clothes as Calvin followed Arty to the fitting room. Maybe things would turn out all right after all. He'd browsed through them for a few minutes when Arty poked his head out of the fitting room and called to him.

“Mr. Harrison? Your business associate has… requested your assistance with a fitting. A... different fitting. My apologies."

Flynn set down the pair of trousers he was looking at, closed his eyes and bit his lip. Was Calvin really brazen enough to get him fitted for the dress? Flynn had been joking when he mentioned it earlier, but they'd already come this far.

He considered how Calvin was planning on spinning the story as he walked back to the fitting room, trying not to limp too noticeably. He was tempted to invent a story before Calvin had a chance to say anything more but he didn't know what Calvin had already told Arty. Best to play it dumb for now, he thought.

“Yes, Mr. Riley?" Flynn said pointedly as he entered the fitting room. Calvin was standing shirtless next to a mirror as Arty was picking up his measuring tape from the ground.

“Yes! So I told Arty that I was planning on picking up a gift while we're here. For my... wife."

“Lucky girl," Flynn answered coyly, crossing his arms as he ogled Calvin. “So did you call me back here just to tell me that?"

“No! I… well, I told Arty, you're about the same size as my wife, about the same dimensions… so I figured maybe he could just measure you and use those for alterations on the dress. Would you be okay with that – Mr. Harrison?"

“Sure, sure. So long as I don't have to put on a dress here in the fitting room. That would just be odd, wouldn't it Mr. Riley?" Flynn said, trying not to smile too broadly.

“That won't be necessary, Mr. Harrison," Arty said. “Just taking a few measurements will be more than sufficient!"

Arty finished measuring Calvin for his suit and measured Flynn for the dress. As he was finishing, his shop assistant arrived to work. Almost as soon as his assistant walked in the door they were both busily working on fabric – sewing, cutting, measuring, sewing again, measuring again.

After making the fabric selections Calvin spent the next few hours reading through one of the books Arty kept in the waiting area, but Flynn asked if he could stay and watch while they worked. Flynn had always had an interest in clothing, but growing up as poor as he did in the Blue Ridge Mountains he'd never had a chance to learn much about the craft of tailoring. He asked dozens of questions as Arty and his assistant worked, and Arty was happy to answer – it had been some time since anyone had showed this level of interest in his craft.

“And there we are!" Arty finally said after finishing the final hem on the dress. He put the dress, the suit, the work clothes and a few other items Flynn had selected into boxes, which he and his assistant carried to the front desk of the store.

“Thank you for your patience, gentlemen," Arty said as he punched numbers into the large register, pulling a handle on the side occasionally, sending gears inside the machine spinning noisily. After some time Arty pulled the handle a final time, a bell inside the machine rang, cha-ching.

“So your grand total comes to… seventy-three dollars and fifteen cents."

Calvin gulped. It was far more than he was expecting, but then again he did pick out some of the nicest materials available for the suit and dress. This was all so that they could play the part of a wealthy traveler and his wife and not be mistaken for who they actually were, he told himself. This city is full of Union soldiers and officers, and it would only take one of them to suspect he was a deserter for everything to fall apart. That was worth any price to prevent.

The fact that they were different species – a predator and a prey species, no less – would draw attention. That was certain. But it was a different kind of attention. It was whispers behind their backs and rude glances from old women, a snide comment at the worst, but that was all it would amount to. Opinions were changing rapidly on interspecies relationships. These are progressive times, Calvin told himself.

“Here you are," Calvin said as finished counting out the money and handed it to Arty.

• -

Flynn knew he'd made a big mistake, but it was too late to turn back now.

After they'd left the tailor's they'd found a secluded alleyway to change into their new clothes as quickly as possible. Calvin looked absolutely dapper and irresistibly charming in a suit, but Flynn knew he would. Flynn, for his part, looked passably feminine in the dark blue dress he was now wearing. It helped that Flynn had instructed Arty to add a substantial amount of “padding," explaining that Calvin's wife was self-conscious about the size of her breasts and that Calvin was embarrassed about mentioning it to the tailor.

Flynn also thought it would look out of place for Calvin to lug around the burlap sack he'd brought from the flatboat, so Calvin transferred some food and a few other key items into the box Arty had put their clothes in. They had no real luggage, which looked odd, but with the nice gift box under his arm Calvin didn't seem out of place.

The other thing Flynn worried about was his antler. Calvin assured him that even out here people knew both male and female blue deer had antlers, but with only one on his head he couldn't help but feel like he stood out. Then again, he supposed he'd be feeling that way the rest of his life.

But the big mistake Flynn made was not with the clothing, the box or his antler. It was choosing the steamboat Sultana for their passage north to St. Louis.

The largest of the steamboats – which the Sultana certainly could classify itself as – were also the fastest. Booking passage on one of these meant that they would be in St. Louis in only three days, leaving that afternoon and spending just two night aboard the steamer.

What Flynn didn't realize was that their size and speed also made them a valuable asset for the Union army. They'd already bought their tickets and were walking to board the ship when they realized at least half the passengers were Union soldiers.

Cat calls and wolf whistles from the soldiers followed Flynn as he walked the gangway up from the docks to the Sultana, hand in hand with Calvin. It was reassuring insofar as it signaled to Flynn that his disguise was working. With his short height and slight frame, no one seemed to think twice that the blue deer in the bluer dress was a woman. With the massive, immaculately-dressed wolf holding the deer's hand, no one seemed eager to investigate.

Seeing the other civilian passengers Flynn knew there was no way they would have gotten this far dressed as they had been. This just might work, Flynn thought, as they neared the top of the gangway and prepared to hand their tickets to the captain. He could tell it was the captain by his coat and his hat. But then he asked himself: why is the captain of the steamboat checking tickets?

“Good afternoon sir, ma'am… traveling together?" the captain asked as he took their tickets.

• -

Captain James Cass Mason of the Sultana looked at his pocket watch again to see that only five minutes had passed since the last time he'd checked. Quarter to five. He was supposed to embark at five o'clock sharp, but by his experience he could pick up a few desperate stragglers willing to pay a premium to not wait in Cairo another day, making up lost time by dangerously overheating and overpressurizing the steamboat's boilers to squeeze every bit of steam and power he could out of them. It was one of the many tricks he played to make a little extra money here, there, everywhere and in every way he could, leveraging and abusing his authority as captain.

There was the import and export racket he ran, illegally hiding liquor, tobacco, opium and other luxury goods in stowage to sell at a large profit to clandestine Confederate contacts in Memphis, Vicksburg, Natchez or New Orleans. There was the “lost luggage" scheme he operated, where porters would rifle through passengers' suitcases and travel cases, “losing" the ones that contained valuables and forcing them to wait for days before they were miraculously “found." If they were obstinate or difficult or belligerent their luggage would be “found" and returned promptly, but most people weren't. Most people, he'd found, just gave up and continued on their way if the contents weren't too valuable – it wasn't worth changing all your travel plans over.

But by far the most lucrative of his schemes was the bounty operation.

During the course of the war Captain Mason had discovered, reported, and collected bounties on nearly a hundred deserters trying to flee from the war aboard his ship. He'd watched gleefully as many of them were shackled and manacled right on the deck of his ship or in their staterooms. Some fought, some cursed, some cried, some just silently hung their heads, defeated and ruined. Whether they were sent back to the war or to prison or the gallows, Captain Mason cared not one bit. He'd received his bounty, his pieces of silver. That was all that mattered.

The first measure he had for discovering deserters came from his contact at the ticket office in Cairo who, for a kickback, would alert him any time any passengers of the right age bought tickets. The contact would also assess their wealth; sometimes it was worth shaking down potential deserters before reporting them, since anything they owned would be confiscated by the government once they were apprehended. Better for him to confiscate it first, Mason thought. Yet another trick, another scheme.

The second part of this process was to personally greet everyone that came on the ship. Once passengers were aboard they could effectively hide in their staterooms for the entire passage if they chose to do so, but actually boarding the vessel was the great chokepoint. It was Mason's one guaranteed opportunity to assess them captively.

Captain James Cass Mason looked at his pocket watch again. Another five minutes had passed. He was screening passengers, but he was waiting specifically for a couple the ticket office had alerted him about. A large gray wolf dressed in an expensive suit traveling with his wife or mistress or eloper, a petite blue deer with only one antler wearing an equally expensive, fancy blue dress. The ticket master had informed Captain Mason that the wolf had paid in cash out of a cigar case filled with money. He had no luggage, only a gift box under his arm. None of this meant that this wolf was a deserter but taken together it was all very odd, painting a portrait of suspicion. It was exactly was Captain Mason looked for.

He was about to pull his watch out of his pocket again when he saw them walking, hand in hand, towards the gangway. Captain Mason should have been focusing on the wolf, but his eye was drawn to the beautiful blue deer his target was traveling with. Captain Mason was an elk, and a proud one at that. Standing more than seven feet tall he was a strong and noble physical representation of his species, and it bothered him inordinately that a cervine woman so beautiful as the one he was looking at allowed herself to be taken – to be defiled, he thought – by a goddamned wolf.

If I had one night with her I'd show her that a cervine can be more man than she'd ever find in some predator species Captain Mason thought, undressing her in his mind as they walked up the gangway towards the Sultana. I'd teach her. I'd teach her the errors of her ways, show her how wrong and sinful it is to be a traitor to your species. She just hasn't been with a real cervine man yet. Someone like me.

Maybe she will before we reach St. Louis, Captain Mason thought, a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. That wolf is big, but I'm bigger. He looks strong, but he's not stronger than half a dozen soldiers putting shackles on him. Maybe he's a deserter, and when he is in chains I can convince her that I'll let him go if she gives herself to me, trick her into taking off that pretty blue dress. She'll be begging for it before sun up tomorrow. That just might work. I think I'll try it, once I get that cigar case full of money. Once I find out for sure if he's a deserter. Let's rile him up, get under his skin, see his colors. See those colors run.

“Good afternoon sir, ma'am… traveling together?" Captain Mason asked as he took the tickets from the wolf and the blue deer woman he was traveling with.

Something seemed off and Flynn felt his fur tingle for just a moment. They were holding hands, why the captain would ask that question? Why is he even here?

“Yes. We are," Calvin answered firmly. Flynn was glad he did, as he'd been tempted to answer. He hadn't even thought of practicing a woman's voice, and he wasn't even sure he'd have remembered to fake one in that moment. Another close call.

“So I see. Stateroom Three. That's near the front of the ship, just forward of the port-side paddle. You'll like the view," Captain Mason said. “Sad to say though, only one bed in that room. I can see about switching you to a double if you'd like. Don't want people to get the wrong idea about a wolf and a deer, sorry for the mix-up, mister…?"

He could see the anger growing in the wolf's eyes. It was exactly the reaction he wanted.

“Riley. Calvin Riley. And there's no 'wrong idea' to get. This is my wife, captain," Calvin snapped.

God damn it Calvin, Flynn thought. Again? He's baiting you, he has to be. This is just like back in Dr. Russell's house when I was laying on the cot and Sgt. Will Thayer began his line of questions. This is an interrogation, can't you see it? Except this captain seems to be more skilled at it – and you told him your real name. How many times are you going to let that happen?

“Ah, so I see. My apologies, Mr. Riley, Mrs. Riley. But where are my manners? James Cass Mason, captain of the Sultana."

The captain extended his hand – his left hand – to Flynn. Flynn raised his in the most ladylike way he could, allowing the captain to kiss it.

“You seem to have captured the heart of a true cervine beauty, Mr. Riley. My fur hasn't turned from brown to green with envy, has it?"

Flynn forced a smile, but he noticed that the captain was not looking him in the face. Captain Mason was instead looking at his hand.

“I'm sorry for being impolite. What did you say your name was, Mrs. Riley?" Captain Mason said, his gaze trailing up Flynn's body before looking him in the eyes.

“It's..." Flynn started, faking a woman's voice as best as he could, though he felt it came out wrong. And although he'd mentally chided Calvin for it, he hadn't thought of a fake name for himself.

“Lynn. Her name is Lynn," Calvin interjected.

“Beautiful name. It matches your beautiful face," Captain Mason said. “What a shame it is for such a beauty to be taken by a – predator."

He looked at Calvin and scowled when he said the word, puffing his chest slightly to reinforce the fact that he was bigger than the wolf he was looking down at. Calvin didn't respond except with a look of contempt. By this point Calvin had figured out what game the captain was playing and knew what danger he and Flynn were in, though in truth he didn't fully grasp the situation. The captain was trying to provoke a violent response from Calvin, and if he'd succeeded the soldiers standing nearby would have arrested Calvin on the spot.

“My apologies if I've offended you, Mr. Riley. Just my traditional upbringing I suppose; I was always taught that interspecies relationships were a sin, you know. And when I see a deer with a wolf, well, the first thing I think is how long it will be before that wolf's predatory instinct kicks in," Captain Mason said.

He let it sit for a moment, seeing if it was enough to provoke Calvin. When he saw it wasn't, he pushed further.

“He didn't take that left antler off or give you that limp in a fit of rage, did he Lynn? And what kind of a man doesn't give his dear wife a wedding ring, or wear one himself..."

“You've seen our tickets. We'll be leaving for our room now, captain," Calvin said, taking Flynn by the hand and starting briskly forward into the ship. Turning back was no option; there were several soldiers behind them on the gangway.

“Hold it there," Captain Mason said. Calvin and Flynn continued walking without turning back, onto the ship, trying to escape from the situation they found themselves in.

“I said hold it!" the captain yelled, anger apparent in his booming voice. Several sailors moved to block Calvin and Flynn, who stopped and turned back to the captain.

“I was rude. I apologize," Captain Mason said, though his tone made it blatantly patronizing. “How about I make it up to you. Join me for dinner tonight in the crew's lounge. Seven o'clock sharp."

“Really, we couldn't captain," Calvin said.

“Oh, but you could. And you will, Mr. Riley. I absolutely insist."

Flynn was staring up at Calvin now, focused on what he would say, what they would do. What could they do? Just like that, they were caught in another snare.

In the end Calvin said nothing. He adjusted the gift box, tucking it tightly under one arm and protectively holding Flynn with his other before they turned their back once again on the captain to head to their stateroom. The soldiers and sailors did not block their path this time, instead only leering at them as they brushed past. Captain Mason watched as they walked through the door into the passenger deck and disappeared into the interior of the ship.

“Catch the name?" Captain Mason asked his first mate, a bobcat who had been standing behind him listening to the exchange.

“Aye sir," the feline responded.

“I think it's his real name. Send an inquiry."

The sailor saluted and sprinted down the gangway and into the ticketing office.

Captain Mason checked his watch. For the next thirty minutes he took more tickets and greeted more passengers. None caught his eye as he waited eagerly for the response from his first mate. He checked his watch again, wondering what was taking so long. He had a bribed contact at the War Department in Washington, DC. It was expensive, but when he had a promising lead he could telegraph his contact and be sure of a swift response.

Finally, Captain Mason saw the bobcat running out of the ticketing office. In his hand was a strip of paper.

“Here... you are… Cap'n!" The bobcat said with a huff as he caught his breath, handing the slip of paper to the captain, who instantly read it.

_ ~~~CALVIN RILEY G WOLF PENN 27 MIA PD GOOD WORK MASON~~~ _

James Cass Mason clenched the paper slip tightly in his fist and grinned triumphantly. The telegraph confirmed everything – the gray wolf in the expensive suit was actually a soldier from the Pennsylvania 27th, missing in action and presumed dead. But he was not dead – he was here, boarding a steamboat in Cairo, Illinois, trying to escape the war. A confirmed deserter.

Mason could send soldiers and sailors to the wolf's room and capture him now. He considered it, but the cigar case full of money he'd been told about was too great a prize to abandon, too alluring a bonus to give up without at least trying for it. So was Lynn. He wanted it all, and he would have it. His prey was now on board now and had nowhere to go. Trapped. He could capture Calvin at his leisure and deliver him for the bounty in St. Louis.

Captain James Cass Mason ordered the gangway lifted and for his crew to prepare to cast off. He looked at his watch again. Quarter to six. It'd be six-thirty by the time they started, an hour and a half late, but he could just overheat and overpressurize the boilers to make up lost time.

He always did.

• -

“What are we gonna do now?"

“I don't know... I don't know! I'm sorry Flynn, I'm not good at this pretending. I wasn't thinking about fake names and I just got so mad when he said..."

“Don't, Calvin. Don't apologize. I messed up too. I forgot about the rings, I almost forgot about my voice… don't say sorry for anything. He saw through us, we can't change it. We just have to figure out what to do next, that's all we can do now."

“Okay," Calvin exhaled. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath.

“Okay. Okay," he repeated, consoling himself and trying to calm down. “You're right. Let's figure out our options here. We made it to the room, but he knows we're here. He still thinks you're a woman, but he knows I'm a deserter, or will very soon. So why did he let us leave? Why not arrest me there before we got underway?"

“I don't know," Flynn said pensively as he walked to the stateroom window, still wearing the vibrant blue dress. The room was impressively furnished with a bed, a dresser, a desk with a chair, a table with a water pitcher and a bowl, lamps, paintings, mirrors, a bookcase filled with books… everything, it seemed to him. Flynn couldn't believe a room this nice – much nicer than anything he'd even imagined just a few years ago in the valley – was just one of seventy floating on a boat in the middle of the river. It seemed like magic.

Flynn opened the large-paned square window, which looked more like it belonged on a house than a ship. As soon as he did the noise of the port-side paddlewheel loudly filled the room – Chush-Chush-Chush-Chush-Chush – as the paddles plunged into the water.

“I don't know if we can jump!" Flynn yelled back into the room at Calvin.

“What?" Calvin yelled back.

“I said! I don't know! If we can jump!" Flynn yelled more loudly. He closed the window to deaden the noise. “I don't think we could jump far enough to clear the paddles. They'd tear us up."

Calvin didn't respond, and Flynn could see he was terrified of the prospect of jumping into the river regardless of the paddlewheels. Floating in a stream or in the shallows with Flynn right there if he lost his nerve was one thing, but the middle of the river? He'd panic, he was almost certain. He'd fight. He would surely drown.

“There might be a dinghy or a little rowboat or something on the back end of the boat," Flynn said, trying to think of an option that got them off the Sultana as quickly as possible without putting Calvin in the river.

“There isn't one. I got a good look at it when we were walking up and I was looking for something like that in case… something like this happened," Calvin said.

“What if," Calvin started again after a brief silence, both of their minds racing for ways to escape, “what if we could steal some of these soldiers clothes and ditch this room and pretend to be one of them?"

Flynn frowned and looked down at the plush carpet. Calvin knew why; it was a terrible idea, and he knew it before he even said it. Half the passengers on the boat had been watching when they boarded, it seemed. There was zero chance they'd be able to steal two sets of uniforms the right size and successfully impersonate Unions soldiers for almost three days. Captain Mason would be looking for them the whole time anyway.

“No… bad idea. Forget that one," Calvin said, also lowering his eyes to the ground. “God damn it, what are we gonna do..."

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door. Calvin looked up again at Flynn. The expression he saw on Flynn's face was one he hoped he'd never see again. It was the same one he saw on Flynn's face in that field in Pennsylvania, right before he was about to drive the bayonet into him. It was the one he saw on the badger's face when he turned around and saw the Union soldier creeping up behind it. It was the one he saw all those years ago when he and Lizzie found the deer in the forest trapped in the hunter's snare.

“Captain Mason's requesting your presence for dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Riley. He doesn't like to be kept waiting," a deep voice on the other side of the stateroom door commanded.

Neither Calvin or Flynn moved. Maybe they could pretend they weren't in the room.

“Mr. and Mrs. Riley? Hello?"

Calvin and Flynn remained motionless for some time, the seconds feeling like minutes, before they heard a jingling of keys outside. They could hear one being inserted into the lock on the door.

“That won't be necessary!" Flynn said in his best feminine voice loudly enough for whoever was outside to hear.

The key kept turning regardless; whoever was outside was coming into the room, one way or another. A second later the lock was turned and the door cracked open. The large snout of an immense grizzly bear peaked through, nearly at the top of the door. Through the partially opened door Flynn and Calvin could see that he was dressed in a Union Army officer's coat.

“Captain's waiting," he said again.

“We're coming, give us a minute! Some privacy, please!" Flynn replied in the most indignant voice he was comfortable using while impersonating a woman.

The bear paused, considering his next move.

“You have one minute. I'll be outside," he said before closing the door again.

“What do we do now?!" Flynn whispered, the panic and dread evident on his face. They were out of options and they both knew it.

“I don't know. We have to go. We'll think of something. We have to," Calvin said. Flynn's expression didn't change. He looked almost on the verge of tears. “Whatever happens, we have to stay together. We can't get separated, no matter what. You're all I have."

Calvin took a step toward Flynn. It was enough to prompt Flynn to run into his arms.

“I won't let them hurt you. I won't let them take you from me. I won't let them tear us apart," Calvin said as he held onto Flynn.

A tear rolled down the blue fur on Flynn's cheek as he nodded, then broke their embrace. Their minute was almost up. The bear would come back into the room any second.

“How do I look," Flynn said, trying to retain his composure.

“You look like a mess," Calvin replied with a smile.

Flynn laughed, choking up slightly on the tears he was trying to suppress and Calvin's unexpected joke. He rubbed a tear from off of his cheek.

“I love you, Calvin," he said, returning his eyes to the wolf's.

Calvin kissed Flynn then, desperately, wanting to hold onto the moment. But it couldn't last. Nothing does.

The door opened, but when the bear saw Calvin and Flynn kissing he closed it again. He knew what his orders were, but invading the couple's privacy like he was felt wrong to him. Luring them out so that the captain could send in one of his crewman to steal their money while they were gone felt even more wrong, but he had his orders and he couldn't disobey.

“Hurry it up in there. I mean it," was all he managed to say from outside the room.

“What I meant was," Flynn whispered to Calvin, “do I look like a woman?"

Calvin was about to answer, but then Flynn remembered there was a standing floor mirror in the corner of the room. He walked to it to make sure everything looked right on the dress, to make sure nothing looked out of place. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, but he thought it would be a good idea anyway.

As Flynn examined himself in the mirror, Calvin opened the box that contained their extra clothes, food, a cigar case full of money and a nearly empty bottle of olive oil. But he was looking for something else – something he hadn't told Flynn about. He'd been carrying it a long time, buried under all the other supplies in the burlap sack for most of their journey until he'd transferred it to the box. He hoped he'd never have to use it. But now they were out of options, out of ideas. Trapped.

Calvin wrapped his hand around the grip and felt the weight of it as he lifted it out of the box – three pounds of cold blued steel. He tucked Sgt. William Thayer's revolver into the back of his pants and covered it with his coattail a second before the grizzly opened the door for the last time.

• -

Including Captain Mason, there were five in the large room waiting for them when the grizzly bear led Calvin and Flynn into the crew's lounge. They were all gigantic men.

Captain Mason sat at the head of one of the tables with two men flanking each side. On the captain's immediate left was an ox, to his right was a lion. Two draft horses filled out the rest of the table. They were all wearing Union army blues. Not one of them could possibly be an inch under seven feet tall standing.

“Our guests have arrived! Please, sit!" Captain Mason said as he stood, his own enormous size apparent as he rose.

The grizzly bear closed the door behind Calvin and Flynn, remaining standing in front of it as he motioned for the guests to sit. Calvin felt Flynn squeezing his hand before he let it go to sit on one side of the table. He could also feel the weight of the hidden revolver pulling down on his belt as he sat next to Flynn rather than across from him.

“So how are you finding my ship, Mrs. Riley?" the elk said as he sat back down. “Furnishings in the room up to standard? I pride myself on keeping the staterooms at a certain level of elegance."

“Yes, everything is very nice," Flynn said in his best feminine voice. He was deathly afraid that he'd be found out at this exact moment, not at all confident that his impersonation was convincing. His voice had fluttered nervously on the last word.

“I'm glad to hear it. If there's anything you need, anything at all, you run straight to me, yes Lynn? I'll set it right," the captain said. He waited for a moment, seeing if Calvin would respond in any way, but he did not.

The ox scratched his nose, breaking the tension somewhat before the captain continued. “So I have to apologize, sincerely I do. Our dinner was supposed to be out of the galley by now, but it seems our chef has had a bit of a mishap. The food is delayed."

“We're not eating?! You told me–" The ox said angrily before one of the horses poked him in the ribs. “Oww! Whatcha did that for?!" he yelled at the horse, who scowled at him. “Oh yeah… sorry," the ox finished, seeming to understand what the horse was trying to convey.

The exchange was not lost on Calvin and Flynn. The look the horse had given the ox, that 'are you kidding me, we've been over this' look, was unmistakable. There was never any food. This was all a ruse, a charade. And they had to figure out exactly what the charade was before they were trapped in it.

“I should also like to take the opportunity to apologize for some of our… less than couth guests," Captain Mason said without taking his eyes off Flynn. The ox flattened his ears and looked away.

Captain Mason seemed to be waiting again for a reply from either Calvin or the deer he thought was his wife, but neither said a word.

“It shouldn't be too long before dinner is served, but I though in the meantime we could occupy ourselves with some music? Perhaps some dancing? Lieutenant Granger, you've got a fiddle and can play it, haven't you?" the captain said as he turned to the grizzly bear still standing in front of the door.

“It's a violin, not a fiddle. But yes I can play it, have played it for some time. I know a few tunes," the bear replied in a deep baritone.

“More than adequate, we only have time for a few. Fetch your fiddle."

“Aye, captain," the bear said before he left the room. He opened the door again less than ten seconds later, violin in hand, as if he had it stored nearby expecting such a request from the captain.

“Okay. I'm not sure what kind of music you like on the violin…"

“It's fine, Granger. Play what you know."

“Okay, yes sir captain. Well, here's one I learned when I was a cub. It's part of Bach's violin concerto in A minor, the Allegro Assai. I can't do it justice by myself, it's meant for more players, but I hope you like it, all the same," the grizzly said. He pulled the violin to his chin and dropped bow to strings.

Flynn had heard of the composer Bach before, heard the name, but he'd never actually heard any of the composer's music in his life. He'd never heard music from any composer, for that matter. The only music Flynn had ever heard was the rough tunes from fiddles and belted notes from horns during celebrations in the valley, or percussion-heavy marching music in the army, or off-tune and discordant hymnals from the congregation in church. What the grizzly was doing with the violin, the delicate but emotionally powerful music he was coercing from the simple instrument, music that was mournful and triumphant and intimate and exultant all at the same time – Flynn had no idea it was possible.

There was so much he'd experienced for the first time in the past several months, so many things out in the big wide world beyond the valley in Tennessee that he'd never known. Some of it was awful – the war and everything about it was horrific. But there were so many things of beauty that he didn't even know existed. He felt as though he'd lived his whole life in a hole, convinced the entire world was down, sunken down in the dirt with him because he'd never been able to climb out. But he'd seen out of it now. By this experience and so many others like it he'd seen clear to the horizon.

With a flourish the grizzly finished the piece. It had lasted only minutes, but everyone in the room had been enraptured by his performance. Everyone, that is, except Captain Mason, who seemed bored and aloof.

“That was… incredible. I've never heard anything so beautiful in my life," Flynn said in his feminine voice. He meant it.

“Thank you Mrs. Riley, that's very kind of you," the bear replied.

“You're too modest, Lieutenant," the lion interjected. “I had no idea we were in the presence of such a musical talent. You're a fine officer, and don't take it wrongly, but plainly your real skills are wasted in the army, truly."

“Thank you sir, that means a lot coming from you," the bear said with a shy smile, looking to the lion.

Calvin caught something in the way the bear looked at the lion when he replied, a look he'd seen before and seemed to be specially attuned to see. Most would miss it, but for Calvin there was no mistaking it. It was adoration. It was desire. The bear's heart was cut from the same cloth as his and Flynn's were, Calvin was sure of it.

“Come now, enough modesty. You said you learned that when you were a cub? A piece of that complexity, can that be true? You're a virtuoso if it be so," the lion continued, intrigued.

“Well, the violin has been my great passion since I was a cub, that's true. I've been playing my whole life. I was actually just preparing to begin with the Philharmonic Society of New York before… before the war."

“A professional violinist? And you never told me? Astounding, Lieutenant Granger! Astonishing! You never cease to be full of delightful surprises!" the lion said enthusiastically.

The bear smiled and blushed under his fur before the exchange was interrupted.

“Yes, yes, that's all very well and good," said Captain Mason, “but do you know anything a little more… contemporary?"

“I dunno cap'n, I liked that one," the ox protested brusquely. “What was it called? A legger also?"

“Allegro assai, from Bach's violin concerto in A minor, yes," the bear answered.

“Well I thought it was a real pretty tune, real pretty. I wouldn't mind hearing another like that," the ox said. Both horses nodded their heads in agreement.

“Be that as it may," Captain Mason said, clearly irritated, “I was hoping Mrs. Riley would extend me the courtesy of a dance, and we can't very well dance to Bach, now can we? If it's all right with Mr. Riley, of course."

Lieutenant Granger's performance has caused Flynn to almost forget where he was, the danger he and Calvin were in. It came back to him in a flood. Calvin squeezed his hand tightly under the table, then opened his mouth to speak, but the boisterous ox spoke first.

“I think you could dance to Bach, cap'n. What he played, anyhow. It was lively. I reckon we'd all like to hear another, and you can have your dance all at the same time. What do you say, Major?" the ox said, turning to the lion.

Calvin surmised that the lion was the highest ranking officer in the room, and the ox thought he would have the final say. But he didn't speak. Captain Mason didn't give him the chance. He clenched his fists and slammed one on the table, then rose slowly to his feet while staring down the ox.

“Now you listen here, cow," James Cass Mason said, standing his full measure and looming over the table, “the Major may be your ranking officer on dry land, but in this room, on this ship, my word is _ law! _ The Sultana is my own personal Empire, the pilothouse my Palatine Hill, and I am Emperor. The fiddler will play what I goddamn tell him to play!"

The ox seemed genuinely stunned by the captain's reaction – an extreme overreaction, he thought. Everyone else in the room was silent, uneasy and unsure how they themselves should react. In a flash the captain had turned the mood of the room on its head – tense, strained, overpressurized like the steam boilers glowing red hot six decks below them.

“Captain Mason I'm… sir, I meant no disrespect, I'm sorry if I caused offense. We can listen to whatever music you'd like," the ox said, looking at the table rather than the captain.

The edges of the elk's lips curled up into a smug smile from being able to assert his dominance and force the ox to obedience. To everyone else it was a bizarre and unnecessary outburst, but in James Cass Mason's mind a victory was achieved.

“Good. Right then. Now, Lynn," Captain Mason said, turning to Flynn, “shall we dance?"

Calvin squeezed Flynn's hand again. They both remained silent, unsure of what to do or what so say.

“By your husband's leave, of course," the captain added, walking from his spot at the end of the table to where Flynn and Calvin were seated.

“She doesn't need my permission for anything, captain. She can make her own decisions," Calvin said, less to be noble and more because he didn't know what to do and thought Flynn might have thought of something. He hadn't.

“How very progressive of you, Mr. Riley. Though I suppose I should expect as much from a mixed couple. Lynn? Will you honor me with a dance?"

“I'm sorry captain, I'm afraid I couldn't..."

“Oh, my dear, but you could. And you will. For your husband's sake," the captain interrupted, a tone of menace evident in his voice and the threat unmistakable. “You will. I insist."

Calvin squeezed Flynn's hand a third time as the captain extended his own to the deer in the dress that he thought was a woman. Flynn turned to Calvin, the look of dread and terror written on his face. Calvin nodded so slightly as to barely be perceptible. Flynn gulped as he let go of Calvin's hand, turned to Captain Mason and stood up. The captain took Flynn's hand and led him to the open space in the middle of the room.

“Fiddle us something we can dance to, Lieutenant Granger. Something newer," Captain Mason commanded.

The bear, himself clearly rattled from the captain's behavior, snapped to attention.

“Yes sir, captain. Well, here's one I'm sure everyone is familiar with. Sing with me for the captain and Mrs. Riley if you know the words, please. I can play but I'm not much for singing," he said.

“Captain, I'm not very good at dancing, I..." Flynn started.

“Don't worry, my lovely. You just let me lead, I'll take care of everything for you. You won't even have to think," Captain Mason interrupted.

As Lieutenant Granger put his bow to the violin's strings, James Cass Mason put his arm around Flynn, sliding it down the pristine blue fabric of his dress to the small of his back, eagerly feeling the supple lines of the blue deer he now had in his arms. When the bear played the first few notes of the song, the captain dipped Flynn and began guiding him in his dance.

Calvin recognized the song immediately. It brought back memories of a cold, bittersweet Christmas Eve many years ago.

The ox, the lion and the two horses recognized it too, joining in with the Lieutenant in song.

The years creep slowly by, Lorena,

The snow is on the ground again.

The sun's low down in the sky, Lorena,

The frost gleams where the flowers have been.

Captain Mason pulled Flynn in closer. Flynn was powerless to object; the captain towered over him by almost two feet and had to outweigh him by at least two-hundred pounds. Captain Mason awkwardly leaned down so that his head was next to Flynn's, nearly cheek to cheek on Flynn's left side. Flynn's missing antler allowed him to get closer than the elk's own antlers would have otherwise allowed.

Flynn was startled when the captain pressed his nose closer still and began whispering in his ear as he led the dance.

“You can't hide it from me, Lynn. I know your dirty secret," he whispered.

Flynn's heart sank and his mind raced. He had many secrets, and they were all dangerous. Which secret did the captain mean? Calvin being a deserter? Him being a former Confederate? Him… did the captain realize he wasn't a woman? Did he know about their relationship, that he and Calvin were in love? Of course he knew that… that was only a dangerous secret if he figured out that he was actually dancing with a man in a dress.

“I feel you tensing up, you know it too," the captain whispered. “I know what you are. You're a filthy, cock-hungry whore."

Flynn felt like laughing in the captain's face. That was it? That's what he thought his big secret was?

“Clearly you are, for a deer like you to fuck a wolf? Let him slide his disgusting predator cock into your tight little snatch? Filthy and depraved beyond description. But that's how you like it, isn't it, you little slut? The filthier and more depraved the better."

His whispers were too quiet for anyone but Flynn to hear with the violin playing and the soldiers singing, but they could all see that the captain has slid his hand down to the deer's ass and was squeezing it, exploring, openly groping.

Calvin clenched his teeth. A rage was forming inside him. He tried to tell himself it was the same trick the captain had pulled on the deck, had been pulling since they met – he was trying to bait him into violence. But seeing the captain grope Flynn the way he was, whispering in his ear, it was too much. Calvin slowly, deliberately dropped his hand to his side and began easing it towards the revolver tucked into his waistband.

We loved each other then, Lorena,

Far more than we ever dared to tell;

And what we might have been, Lorena,

Had but our loving prospered well.

“Do you let him knot you? Do you let the bad wolf cum inside your tight little deer pussy? I bet you do, filthy whore. Every night, I bet you do. I bet you love it when he does. He doesn't even give you a ring to wear and you still give it up for him, let him knot you like no deer should ever let a nasty predator like him do. Cock-hungry strumpet, dirty, naughty girl. Filthy species traitor."

Flynn had no idea what to make of anything the captain was doing or saying. He'd never heard anyone talk the way he was talking, say the things he was saying. But from the way he was groping him and the growing bulge in the captain's pants, he knew he had to be getting some perverse pleasure from degrading and insulting Flynn in the disgusting way he was.

“You're not the only traitor, either, that's your other dirty secret. I know who your dear husband is. Pennsylvania 27th, ran off like the coward he is. Deserter,"

Flynn's heart sank again, this time down to his stomach. He felt light-headed like he was going to pass out. Captain Mason knew their real secret, their most mortally dangerous secret. Flynn was frozen in fear as the captain continued groping his ass and whispering in his ear under the pretense of dancing.

“I could turn him in now, you know. I could say the word to the Major and these soldiers would take him away in seconds. He'd be hanged within the week. But I'm not cruel, filthy whore. You can save him. It's my gift to you,"

Calvin's hand reached the revolver tucked into his pants. He wrapped his hand around the handle and put his thumb on the hammer. There's six of them, he thought. Five soldiers and the captain. One bullet for each. I can't miss a single shot.

“But to receive that gift, you have to accept my other gift. You let that coward wolf knot you, filthy whore, but his seed can never give you what you need. What you were meant for. A wolf and a deer, two species that are just too far apart. Not compatible. He can't give you a fawn, no matter how hard he tries. Pathetic. But I can. I will."

The thought flashed though Flynn's mind: is he really saying what I think he's saying?

“I won't tell the Major about your coward traitor of a husband, but in return, you're going to let me fuck you. You're going to let me slide my fat elk cock into that tight little blue deer pussy, breed you like the whore you are, cum deep inside you."

Flynn felt the captain ripping some of the fabric of the beautiful new dress, forcing wider the expertly tailored hole in it from which his tail protruded. Captain Mason slid three of his fingers into the widened, ripped hole underneath Flynn's tail, feeling the bare fur on his ass, sliding his fingers as far underneath the dress and between Flynn's cheeks as he could.

“Your husband's going to let me. He's going to watch me fuck you. He's going to beg me to breed you like the slut you are, beg me to fill your little cunt. And when he watches me fill you up and sees my cum oozing out of you he'll thank me. Every day when he sees you belly swelling larger and larger with my fawn, he'll thank me. He'll want to kiss my hooves when you give birth to our beautiful blue-furred elk fawn, because he'll know his whore wife bore the son of the man who spared his life."

Captain Mason was lying, of course. He was planning to turn in Calvin and collect the bounty no matter what. But if he could humiliate him first, take his money, take his dignity, rape and possibly impregnate his wife while he watched only to for him to realize that he let it happen for nothing – if he could break him and ruin him so completely before he was hanged so that he would die knowing he'd been completely dominated and humiliated – that would be so much sweeter, Captain Mason thought. So much sweeter.

He spun Flynn around in his profane pantomime of a dance, openly displaying for Calvin what he was doing to the deer he thought was his wife. Mason's eyes met Calvin's, taunting him as he worked his fingers in and out of the hole he'd ripped in the dress.

The song was almost over and Calvin was nearly at his breaking point. His sharp canine teeth were clenched, muscles tensed and blood boiling at what James Cass Mason was doing to Flynn right in front of him. I'll kill him, Calvin thought. I'll kill him. He doesn't know I'm a murderer, that I've done it before – maybe that's my nature after all. Who I am.

Calvin's grip tightened around the handle of the revolver, preparing for what he was about to do.

Calvin thought none of the singing soldiers saw him reach, but one of them did. Despite his pleasant and friendly demeanor the lion – the Major – was a career soldier. While all eyes had been on the Captain and Flynn, his were on Calvin. What the captain was doing to the wolf's wife in front of him was unconscionable – enough to make any husband lash out violently, the Major knew. I wouldn't blame him if he jumped over this table and socked the captain right in the jaw, he thought. I wouldn't stop him. The captain deserves it for what he's doing. But he's not looking to punch the captain, he's looking to shoot him. He's reaching. Captain Mason is a despicable man, but it's my duty to protect him on this ship, and if this wolf pulls on the captain it's my duty as a soldier to shoot him dead. I hate that I'll have to, but all the same, I'll have to.

The Major slid his own hand to the holstered revolver on his hip, unbuttoned the clasp and wrapped his hand around the pearled handle. His eyes never left Calvin.

It matters little now, Lorena,

The past is in the eternal past;

Our heads will soon lie low, Lorena,

Life's tide is ebbing out so fast.

Captain Mason pulled his mouth away from Flynn's ear. It went straight toward Flynn's mouth as he tried to kiss the deer he thought was a woman.

Calvin and the Major began standing at almost the same instant, both had their hands gripped tightly on their revolvers. Calvin was an instant away from pulling out his gun and shooting the Captain dead, and the Major was an instant away from doing the same to Calvin, when...

“ Fresh! You Brute!"

With all the strength he had Flynn pushed the captain away from him as he screamed the words. He draw back his hand and, in a scene none present would ever forget, slapped Captain James Cass Mason so hard his head spun. Captain Mason staggered backwards and tripped over his own hoof, falling to the floor with a thud.

“ How dare you! I'm not that kind of doe!"

For a brief moment the captain looked up from the floor at the deer he knew as 'Lynn,' shocked, eyes wide, jaw slacked and sore. He'd been slapped by more than his fair share of women, but nothing like that, nothing close to the kind of power behind the blow he'd just received. What kind of a woman was this?

But before the captain could make sense of it the ox and both horses burst into uncontrollable, hysterical laughter. The horses stomped their hooves and the ox slapped his knee before falling out of his chair, holding his wide belly as he howled on the floor laughing.

Calvin shoved the gun back into his pants and hopped over the table. He couldn't wait for the ox or the horses to stop laughing, he couldn't wait for the captain to regain his composure – this was the only chance they were going to get to leave this room together and alive. Flynn's eyes caught his and in a quick motion he scooped the deer into his arms; they had to run, really run, and Flynn's leg still wasn't healed enough for that.

Lieutenant Granger didn't try to stop them as Calvin rushed past him and out the door with Flynn in his arms. He was too stunned by what he'd just seen, still holding his violin in one hand and the bow in the other. But while he may have been stunned, seeing the captain put in his place had put a smirk on his face without him even realizing it. It felt like he'd gotten what he deserved for treating that poor deer the way he did.

The Major, likewise, had no intention of preventing Calvin from leaving. He was relieved, extremely relieved – that wolf would never know how close he had been to getting himself killed. As he pushed his own revolver back down into the leather holster on his hip his eyes caught Lieutenant Granger's. The bear had a sly grin on his face, and the Major knew why. Captain Mason deserved that slap. It was cathartic for everyone.

He returned the grin at Lieutenant Granger, and they both seemed to hold their gaze on each other longer than either expected. That Lieutenant Granger, the Major found himself thinking, he really is full of delightful surprises. A professional violinist before the war, and he never told me! Perhaps I should get to know him better.