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Cannibalism

You wouldn't be here, Fritz, if you hadn't already heard far too many stories of this sort. It's a dark night, for there is nomoon, but it's clear and you can see a bit by the stars. You can see a little more in the pools of light below the windows of the inn up ahead. If you take a look through that one, no, let's just go inside and have a good look around.

It isn't an old inn; on the other hand, it isn't a new one. The walls are solid, but they are wood. The panelling is the usual dark wood, might be oak, but one really can't tell and you'll note it only goes half way up the wall. Above that, forest green wallpaper -- not exactly what you'd expect in a drinking establishment. Nor would you expect the vast numbers of books which make it difficult to see much of the panelling or the wallpaper, for that matter. It's so closed in with books, it's like a den, a lion's den, if you count the bartender as a lion, judging by that mane of hair. Step up to the bar -- he'll pull you a pint and we'll find a booth and eavesdrop a bit. Hungry? The grub's okay; they'll bring it to our table.

Here we are. Nice night, isn't it? Yes, I know you can't really see out. It's too dark without and too light within. Nasty place to sit if you're worried about assassins and windows. No, no, no; sit down. There's nothing to be afraid of. The innkeeper disapproves of murder in his domain so it rarely happens. Not above once a week, anyway.

Besides, you have to keep your voice down. Did you see the three characters in the next booth down? Shhh. Yes -- two women and a man. Yes, a man. You only saw the back of his head, but if you saw his face, there'd be no doubt in your mind, even with that lovely hair. No breasts on him, either. But never mind that. Can you hear what they're saying? Lean back a bit.

Mostly sorting out old adventures, yes? Dull stuff. I mean, what fun is it hearing about who killed who and how and how high the bridge was they had to jump off of when you've done it all yourself, right? You had to be there, really. Of course, they haven't seen each other for a year or more, so doubtless it's fresh for them again. That's not what we're here for tho; we're here to find out what they do next. They've all been invited to, well, you know. Shouldn't talk about it here, I expect; it's asking for trouble. But they're all to show up and none of them are happy about it and some people are wondering how they're going to get out of this one. And we're going to find out.

Take a look in your glass; can you see the young man walking towards their booth? Do you know who he is? Well, I shouldn't say his name now, it would be rude -- he's slumming -- but keep an eye on him. He's still downy, but that could change any time.

* * * *

I don't know what I'm doing here. It's not like I've never heard this kind of wild tale before. In particular, Maim's tales almost never have happy endings. You might think I'd have learned by now. You'd be wrong. Somehow my aunt always manages to involve me in whatever disaster is about to occur.

Like a young -- which I'm not -- fool, I followed Aunt Maim down the narrow footpath to the inn's entrance. It was a moonless night, but we could see a bit by the stars, and more within the lighted windows. But the path was rocky, and it was hard not to stumble.

The tavern -- for such it clearly was, altaho it had its pretensions -- was neither new nor old. The walls were panelled and papered, rather than painted, where they weren't concealed by cabinetry, that is. I've seen that many books before, but not all in one place. They gave the room a closed in feeling, like the hiding place of some pack of animals. The sounds within supported the image.

Maim was babbling about the bartender's hair as we found an empty booth. I keep hoping she'll start behaving with the decorum suited to her age. I'm always disappointed. I ordered a pitcher and some of the featured grub -- the usual fried stuff. I drummed my fingers on the heavy oak table, impatiently awaiting my ale. Nothing else was going to reconcile me to Aunt's gabbling -- something ridiculous about the local crime rate.

My attention was drawn to a neighboring booth, where three characters were intently debating some shared history. More long hair on this man, as well as both women. Maim kept interrupting, which made it impossible to keep track of what were clearly some entertaining tales. Why would anyone jump off a perfectly good bridge? Even with a rope around one's ankles, it sounded painful, not to say dangerous. I took another gulp of the brown brew I'd been served and started in on the basket of fried bits. A shocking number of which were, believe it or not, vegetables. One wonders what the world is coming to. Surely meat isn't that hard to get here?

I nearly choked on a fried root when X--- walked past and bent over theneighboring booth. What was He doing here? I'd never live it down if he saw me here. I grabbed my pint glass and tried to cover my fact with it, an action which made my companion grin for some obscure reason.

X--- left after a few minutes. Our neighbor either didn't recognize him or weren't impressed. They summoned the bartender, one LeRoi, who herded X--- back out the door, suggesting, at volume, that he'd had enough to drink already and was bothering the bar's best so please move along. I thought X--- was going to blow a blood vessel, but he left peacefully enough. The way the bartender grinned, I half suspected he knew who he'd just thrown out the door.

But X---'s appearance, brief as it was, had put a damper on our neighbors spirits. They started making noises about it being time to sleep. It got quiet, so I leaned back, hoping to hear where they were planning on heading in the morning. X---'s precipitous departure, combined with Aunt Maim's extremely excited state, suggested a very improbable identity for our neighbors.

It abruptly occurred to me that if I was right, and they suspected me of eavesdropping. . .

But I was too wise, too late, once again. The better part of a pint of the bar's best bitter dripping from my face, my direst suspicions were confirmed. All I wanted to do now was go home, soak in a hot bath, and read a good book. I hate adventures. Maim could deal with this one all by herself and if she created yet another family scandal I just wouldn't feel guilty this time as there was nothing I could do about it. Maybe I could find some poetry. * * * *

"I really should get some sleep tonight," said Bet.

"Why?" asked Deneb.

"Because you two have kept me up three nights running, and we're starting to tell the same stories over again. It's not that it's boring, or anything, but I could use the sleep," Bet replied.

"That's what they all say," commented Allan.

"Good night," said Bet, emphatically.

"Good night," responded Deneb. Fritz heard sounds of rustling clothes, a pleased squeal or two, which turned into stumbling sounds and a round of laughter. The end result, a group hug by the table, wasn't a particular surpise to either of the eavesdroppers. They watches Bet walk across the room and start up the stairs. So did most of the rest of the crowd in the bar.

"You need to sleep?" asked Allan.

"You know perfectly well I've been napping through all your stories.

You have a positively soporific delivery."

There was a long pause, and Fritz strained for sounds of brawling, or kissing, or anything, really.

"Well, then. What are we still down here for?"

After the two got up, Allan reached back to their table and picked up his beer. He then splattered it all over Fritz. Deneb looked at him, and said, "Dull night? That's so sad. Plenty of books to read. Have you tried Paarfi?"

I watched them head up the stairs. I must say Fritz was no longer properly in the spirit of the adventure.

* * * *

"Psst. Bitsy!" Xavier was trying to be subtle, but Elizabeth had persisted in ignoring the twigs and pebbles thrown at her window. He was reduced to using annoying nicknames in an effort to get her attention before he lost his grip or (please, no) the window ledge broke.

"Bitsy", however, had her limits. She slammed the window open the rest of the way, grabbed him by the wrist, and jerked him into the room. He'd just steadied himself on his feet and was attempting to asssess whether his wrist was sprained or not, when "Bitsy" back-handed him across the face.

"We've discussed this, Xavier."

Xavier grunted in shock. Before he had time to check for loose teeth, she hit him again.

"You are not allowed to call me that."

Xavier, dazed, blurted, "But -- " just about the same time "Bitsy" got the third slap in. She had a nice rhythm going, but Xavier spoiled it. Without any further throught, he collapsed in a faint.By the time he woke up, Elizabeth had finished packing. "I'm sorry," said Xavier.

"That's very sensible of you, Xavier, to say that first. Why are you wearing those dirty clothes?"

"I'm in disguise."

"Only to yourself, Xavier. Everyone else recognized you."

"The bartender didn't."

"Don't contradict me. You know I don't like that."

"But he threw me out!"

"Of course he did. He's not stupid. You couldn't very well stop him and when else will he get such a chance."

"Oh."

"You didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

"Ordinarily, I would slap you for that, but you seem a bit woozy still, so I will make an exception. Why are you wearing those dirty clothes?"

"I had to find the three of you. Didn't you get your invitation? Did Allan and Deneb?"

"Of course we haven't received them. If we had, obviously we wouldn't be traveling in this direction, now, would we?"

"Uh---"

"If you can't collect yourself enough to produce at least one word, Xavier, shut up. Grunting is almost always inappropriate."

Xavier closed his eyes. He had suspected this conversation would go poorly, but his imagination had failed to allow for so spectacular a disaster as this was shaping up to be. One of his back teeth was definitely loose, and he could taste blood next to it.

Elizabeth had grasped his shoulders and was now shaking him with her customer enthusaiasm and unconcern for his health.

"Elizabeth, if all three of you fail to appear, I will be in a lot of trouble."

"Why?" For once, she actually looked surprised.

"Because I told you what was up, before you recieved the summ-- invivation."

"Summons is more accurate. Xavier, if we go, we're dead. We'd be sitting ducks. We can't go. Besides, you didn't tell us. We found out earlier, and were only confirming the news when we pried it out of you. If your sister wants us to attend her wedding, she can wait a few months. We'll have all our troubles dealt with by then."

"That's what you always say."

"And it's usually true. We'll just make a point of not creating new ones this time. It'll be dull, but we could manage."

"My sister won't delay any longer."

"More fool her."

"She's afraid she'd lose him."

"Which would be for the best. Better a dead fiance than an heir apparent with indiscriminant homicidal tendencies."

"Probably. But that doesn't solve my problem."

"Xav, no one's looking to kill you. What are you worried about?"

He settled for a bleak look, since he couldn't think of any words, and grunting was out. Bet slapped him on the shoulder, which was only jarring, so it must have been intended as a friendly pat. "There, there. It'll all work out just fun. I mean fine. I've had an idea!"

Xavier could not contain a groan. For some reason, this encouraged Elizabeth. "We'll just have to kidnap one another."

* * * *

"What's that noise?" asked Allan.

"Don't stop." Deneb's comment was only verbally a non-sequitur.

"Listen."

Deneb produced a very annoyed sound from the back of her throat. "What sound?"

"That sound."

It being clear, even to Deneb, that she wasn't going to get what she wanted until Allan's curiosity was satisfied, she sat up and listened.

A few minutes later, she heard a window open. Violently. "That sound?"

"No. Ssssh!"

The next sound from that direction was a sort of scuffling, and then the window slammed again.

"I thought I heard a rock on a window," explained Allan.

"Well, I bet you did. And whoever was throwing the rocks has apparently been dealt with."

"I don't know. . ."

"Allan -- that's Bet's room. Whoever it is, or was -- probably that idiot Vir -- isn't going to be doing much of anything for a while."

"How do you know?"

"Listen."

A moment later, they both heard a thump. The thump a body makes as it slumps bonelessly to the floor. A sound familiar to all long-time compatriots of Bet.

"Oh."

"Bet doesn't like to be disturbed. For that matter, neither do I."

"Hey, that feels really nice."

"That would be the general idea. Assuming you're done worrying about pebbles and things of that nature."

"What pebbles?"

* * * *

"Allan, we have a slight problem."

"What do you mean, we? I am at peace with the world and quite pleased with it."

"Not all of it."

"All the important parts. You, for instance."

"Appropriately expressed gratitude is always appreciated. However, to return to the point, you are not pleased with Bet."

"I'm not? Why not?"

"She's gone. And she didn't pay. And Vir's gone, too."

"I'm never at peace with Vir, and he could best please me by dying in some useful endeavor."

"A reasonable stance. A note was left. Two, according to LeRoi. Two incompatible notes."

Allan held out his hand.

"I haven't got them."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"They weren't addressed to me or to you. And LeRoi decided they ought to be brought to official attention first."

Allan started muttering.

"Naughty words will not help, besides, you're already repeating yourself. And the same word in ten different languages isn't really as impressive as a genuine show of creativity would be. Wouldn't you like to know what they said?" Allan eyed Deneb warily, but continued muttering.

"One note was in Vir's pathetic excuse for handwriting. With all that money, you'd think his family could hire better tutors. Then again, look at their life expectancy. That being neither here nor there, the gist of the note was that Bet had gone made and made off with him."

"First reasonable piece of information you've turned up. What did the other one say?"

"Would you care to speculate?"

Allan considered this. "Oh . . .in Bet's writing, saying Vir had nabbed her?"

"Got it in one. The reason give was, if I recall correctly, 'insatiable desire aroused in him by close association over a long period of time'".

Allan sniggered. "In hopes that he'll never be allowed near her again? I wonder whose idea that phrase was?"

"They can't possible get away with this." Deneb paused. Allan seemed unduly pleased by this turn of events. "Can they?" It doesn't make any sense!"

"Who cares? It's scandalous, so no one's going to get the story straight anyway. One wonders if the gossips can fiugre out any way to make this worse." Deneb glared at him. The notion had a certain amount of appeal, viewed from that perspective. A social experiment, so to speak. "Look on the bright side: we get to rescue them. Or at least try. Impeccable explanation for the direction of our travels."

* * * *

Allan and Deneb set out along the main road, stopping at the shops and pubs they passed along the way, snacking and asking for anyone answering a description of Bet or Vir. They were moderately successful, up to a point. Or rather, an intersection. It was clear Bet had gone one way. It was equally clear she'd spent a lot to ensure followers were told something else. Allan and Deneb were reasonably certain they knew which way she'd gone. They were unsure of other things. Like, what did the misdirection lead to, and did they really want to find Bet anyway?

The answer to the second, they eventually concluded, was no. It took two pitchers of beer to reach this conclusion. It was very good beer, which encouraged them to deliberate carefully. The afternoon was well along when they decided to find an answer to the other question. They were, not tipsy, precisely, but perhaps overly amiable.

Which is to say that when they were confronted by seven armed men at a curve in the road Bet had not taken, their immediate response was, "Are you friends of Bet's?"

Several (five, to be precise) of the men hunched their shoulders (spoiling their aim), trying to look tougher. It mostly made them look a little shoulder, and somewhat sulky. One of the men looked bewildered. Deneb concluded that if that one knew Bet, the acquaintance was of short standing. He must be second in command. The last of the men, however, showed no reaction other than a certain slackening around his jaw.

He didn't roll his eyes or frown or anything. Deneb was impressed. She didn't think she could have done it. Maybe if she were completely sober.

"Please stand very still and hold your armas away from your body. My men will search you for weapons."

Deneb and Allan glanced at each other. The apparent leader of the armed men was disconcerted to note that they grinned simultaneously, but they did as he asked, so, with a sigh, he directed his lieutenant to search them.

The search took longer than intended. In addition to the expected difficulty (finding weapons, or items which had some other function, but might be used as a weapon), the lieutenant encountered another, unexpected difficulty. In the manner of many classic (or cliched, depending on one's perspective) tales, he couldn't seem to stop finding weapons. Why didn't they clank when they walked?

After a while, he quit anyway, knowing full well the high boots and layered clothing (not to mention all that hair) still contained lethal possibilities. Short of stripping them, shaving them and replacing their clothes (they'd neither the time nor forethought to provide extra clothes), he had no confidence he'd ever find them all, and the depth of the piles were already demoralizing the rest of the group.

The leader asked, "Will you give me your word not to try to escape?"

Deneb laughed. "You do know who we are, don't you?"

"Deneb and Allan whose Houses refuse to honor them with their Names, and who will suitably punish those who speak them."

Allan and Deneb looked at each other again, and their mouths formed identical, mocking O's. "He knows the drill," commented Allan. "Surely you know our 'honorary' surname?"

The leader thought they looked a lot less amiable, now. Surly was an adjective which leaped to mind. "Oh."

"No. That's the initial. The Name you're unwilling to speak is 'Oathbreaker'. Would you believe us if we gave you our word?" Deneb's tone was bitter.

"Point taken. Or perhaps I should say, you will take point, where we will find it convenient to watch you."

As the pair shared another enigmatic glance, the leader considered splitting them up. But Bet had specifically told him not to do that, so he shrugged, and went about getting the crowd going. The next time he accepted a job from Bet, he was going to make a point of factoring in medical expenses and psychic damage.

* * * *

When I get up in the morning, I expect certain things. Food. Drink. The continued presence of people who were there when I fell asleep. You see, I'm an old woman. You know, the kind that doesn't need much sleep, and seems to know everything about everyone. I find it upsetting when someone slips by me.

Nevertheless, my expectations aside, young Xavier had gotten past me in the night. Also, past LeRoi, the barkeep and owner of the inn. Elizabeth had disappeared as well, but I have resigned myself to the impossibility of keeping up with someone the size, shape and age of Elizabeth. Rumor had it notes had been found, altho no money had been left, which explained, in part, why LeRoi was permitting the particularly vicious gossip which was circulating. LeRoi had too much sense to let anyone see the notes (that might be actionable) but many of the rumors were to consistent to be wholly invention. Also, they were too improbable to be the result of common gossip.

I settled in to see what Allan and Deneb would do with the news. And I wanted to make absolutely certain Fritz went home bored, disheartened and safe. He'd been too much trouble already, and while I don't mind embarrassing the family, I'd feel bad if they started dropping in the course of protecting their reputation from me, a pointless exercise, if an understandable one.

I managed to keep Fritz from catching wind of the news, primarily by dint of babbling non-stop about a series of thefts which had (not, of course) occurred in the middle of the night.

Allan and Deneb showed up some hours later, completely unaware of any crisis at all. They didn't seem happy about the disappearance of their friend, but they paid her bill and inquired whether any of the guests had seen the two leave. I don't know what they turned up; I do know they left soon after, grumbling about how they must follow her north and see what had become of her, when by rights they should be traveling south, but they supposed (loudly) that nothing could be done about it and if they were late or absent, well, they hoped to be forgiven. They didn't say late or absent for what, so I suppose I mustn't, either.

My companion of the night before complained of headache, hangover and general disillusionsment, so I followed discreetly after our travellers, having specific instructions, and a generous expense account.

* * * *

Allan and Deneb's travels with the armed party were largely without event. The group went to some effort to avoid other travellers and the more inhabited roads. Where unavoidable, they clumped together, trying to conceal their weapons, Allan, and Deneb. They weren't very successful. Deneb in particular was forced to call off a variety of attempted rescues. She managed to do so without attracting the suspicion of their guards, altho several of the men were convinced she'd lost her wits, between the facial expressions and gestures. That was all to the best.

During one of their meals, Allan asked her if she thought it was worth the bother.

"Bet went to some effort to set this up, Allan. She can't possibly intend any harm to us -- not at the hands of these incompetents. So presumably something worthwhile awaits us. I'd hate to quit now and never find out."

"I just hope it's worth it."

"If it isn't, we'll just have to make our own entertainment."

"It's just not fair."

"No one ever said ---"

"---life is fair. Shut up, Deneb. I don't think much of that brand of philosophy."

"There's an overly qualified truth."

Allan looked at her, expecting worse. But Deneb stopped there, as their fearful leader was hastening his pathetic crew on their way again.

"What's your name?" asked Deneb.

"Roberts."

"Roberts? Perhaps 'The Fearless Roberts'? 'The Dread Roberts'? The --".

"Just Roberts."

Deneb considered this. Allan whispered, "Eugene." Deneb glanced as 'Roberts' and arched an eyebrow. 'Roberts' wouldn't meet her eyes. "Eugene who?" she murmured. 'Roberts' blushed, and waved a weapon futilely. "Shut up, you two!"

"Eugene Frances Percival Lovejoy."

"That'd be enough to turn me to a life of crime."

"It took less than that."

"True."

"I said, shut up!"

* * * *

Xavier was surprised to find he was not depressed. For the third time in as many hours, Bet had stashed him in the forest by the side of the road like so much luggage -- with the luggage, in point of fact -- and ordered him to stay put and stay quiet.

In fact, he felt, well, happy. It was so unfamiliar a sensation he had to think about it for a while before he recognized the emotion. Yes, he definitely felt happy. Not even his sister could blame him for this series of events, and, with any luck, or, rather, if Bet continued in her own inimitable fashion, he might not see any of his innumerable insufferable family for a long, long time. He wanted to sing, to jump up and down -- but Bet had been very clear. Stay put and stay quiet.

He curled up on the luggage and fell asleep. Nearly anyone would have been shocked to see the smile on his face as he began to snore. Anyone but himself. He snored very quietly. Almost like a cat, purring.

* * * *

Bet was arguing with yet another shopkeeper. For some reason which she'd never been able to understand, it was always easier to establish that someone could be bribed, than it was to find their actual price. Part of Deneb's charm -- and Allan's, for that matter -- was that she clearly told you what it would take to get her to do something. The down side was that the price was almost always too high, and it was never negotiable.

They eventually settled on a price, and Bet left to find some old acquaintances in the region. It wasn't hard -- they were sleeping off last night's binge in the town lockup. Since it was only Eugene and Morris, she bailed them out, dragged them to a pub (not the one they'd been in the night before, at their request) and ordered them breakfast and hair of the dog. Once they'd recovered enough to start asking questions, she presented her proposal.

They were skeptical. Nearly everyone was skeptical of Bet's proposals. It bothered Bet, sometimes. Her proposals were almost always the simplest means to a given end.

"Where are we going to get more men?"

"That's your problem. It's enough money."

"Not enough time!"

"They may show up this afternoon. Then again, they may be later still."

"I don't believe you -- how could they be so slow?"

"Believe it."

"How do you know Angel will take them?"

"Give him this letter. Angel will take them."

"What about money? Heaven's expensive?"

"They're not going to Heaven. They're going to Hell, and Hell owes me more than it's going to cost."

Eugene shook his head. Morris looked thoughtful. Bet wondered if Morris perhaps knew what Hell's pricing schedule looked like.

"Won't they recognize where they are?" asked Morris.

"Blindfold them. It'll add to the charm. Or not. It doesn't matter one way or the other."

"If they're going to Hell, why are we taking them to Angel?"

"Ask a lot of questions, don't you? Well, you might need to know. Devil is unreliable in any matter involving me. I need Angel to make sure Devil doesn't take advantage."

This apparently satisfied Eugene, altho Morris still had some doubts and said as much. Bet shoved more money at him until his eyes got that glazed look that characterized the critical loss of judgment often necessary for Bet to get what she needed. She paid for the food and went to retrieve Xavier.

* * * *

When Bet returned to where she had left Xavier, she was confronted with a charming tableau: a bit, furry kitty cat purring in its sleep, twitching its tail atop the luggage.

Bet rubbed her eyes.

It was still there. It was a man-sized kitty, but it was definitely more kittenish than cat.

Bet was never at a loss for long, however. The disappearnce of Xav was likely attributable to this furry monster -- either it ate him or, more likely, frightened him off. No real loss either way. Bet raised her weapon, but doing so much had made a noise, for the kitty awoke, and with what could only be called a shocked look, leaped off the luggage and ran away. It hadn't looked offended, which one might expect. It had looked frightened, too frightened for a predator that size.

Oh well. Bet collected the luggage, leaving Xav's bags in case he returned, and departed.

* * * *

Ordinarily, the trip to Angel's would have taken a day. Under the circumstances, it was over two before they arrived. Even Deneb was looking doubtful about the merits of not killing their escort. But the sight of the green hills of Heaven raised her flagging spirits -- and the portcullis at the entry to Devil's lair made her downright cheerful. Security was lax, clearly, but the place had style. Enough for any dozen black castles.

'Roberts' sent the letter in to Angel, who came out himself. He seemed somewhat annoyed, an expression that sat comfortably on his fat face. He walked with them through the portcullis, and insisted upon Devil meeting them in person. When the short man in a silly outfit standing guard balked, Angel produced a trumpet from his robes and blew it in the guard's ear.

Devil eventually appeared, a tall, skeletal figure with improbable breasts and narrow hips, dressed, predictably, all in black, and carrying a whip. She had a wart, er, beauty spot on her chin. It looked pasted on. Her brows might have been drawn on with dark colored chalk. The five idiots in the party started drooling, and even 'Roberts' looked a bit forlorn. Allan and Morris, however, were both frowning, and alternately looking at Devil's jaw, hands, neck and crotch. They appeared unconvinced.

After some debate, Devil agreed to whatever it was the letter said, and money changed hands between Angel and Devil, and again between Angel and Roberts, Roberts and Morris and the five idiots. The five idiots departed in unseemly haste, and Devil escorted Allan and Deneb into the building.

Devil led them through a long and complex, not to say tortuous series of passages. She didn't seem concerned about Allan and Deneb escaping. Deneb considered what that might mean. For one, they might no longer be, even nominally, prisoners. Then again, it seemed difficult to find one's way out, and Devil might be relying on that to slow escape until they could be recaptured. The walls may appear to be stone, but Deneb had clumsily run into a couple of corners and was fairly certain they were plaster. Any amount of observers could be concealed, and instantly appear. Devil might be more formidable than appearances suggested.

None of the above explained the expression of unholy glee which Allan had been unsuccessfully attempting to conceal, and had finally given himself over to.

"Allan!" Deneb whispered.

"You are not to speak in the passages," Devil said peremptorily. "The letter which got you in stated as much and I consider it a sensible precaution."

That was something to think about. It wasn't a request, but there was an explanation, not generally what a guard offers a prisoner.

Eventually (after Deneb noted they had traverrsed the same stair the same way a second time) they reached their destination. Devil used the large ring of keys (which had gently marked each of her mincing steps) to open a thick door. "You will receive what you deserve." It had a formulaic sound to it. Not unlike "Have a nice day" or "May you have many sons". After they entered, Devil closed and locked the door behind them. Deneb noticed a series of bars on the inside of the door.

Prisoners get to lock themselves in?

"Allan, what do I not know that I should know and you clearly do know?"

"That is an unfairly open ended question."

"Where the hell are we, then?"

"Precisely."

"What?"

"We are in Hell. How Bet can afford this, I hesitate to speculate. Altho rumors about the rates suggest her skill with a whip may explain all."

"Could you please enlighten a poor sheltered, innocent child, to wit, myself?"

"Certainly. Remember your Uncle Vincent?"

"Yes. He tried to rape me when I was thirteen, so I'm hardly likely to forget. I got in a lot of trouble with Aunt Majin -- she claimed he was unable to perform for a year and a half, and he never could use his right hand again."

"I still think crushing his hand in the door when he was trying to run away was probably unnecessarily cruel."

"It was an accident. Besides, he deserved it."

"And remember how when you came of age you found those extremely large chunks taken from your trust fund by that same Aunt?"

"Ye-es."

"How she wasn't going to pay it back until you started court proceedings and then she caved immediately on condition you never bring it up again?"

"Yes. I got a great interest rate out of her for the years the money wasn't in the fund. I never did understand that."

"You do not have the soul of a blackmailer, my dear, unlike your Aunt. When she said she went through Hell to get her husband back up, so to speak, she meant it literally. Also, when she said she made you pay for it."

"In words of one syllable, please."

"You are in Hell. Bet paid for us to stay here. If you can think of a thing and it is 'bad', you can have it done to you here. If it's 'good', you have to go to the good place."

"Heaven."

"Yes."

"I didn't mean one syllable quite so literally. I suppose the obvious remaining question is why all the rigmarole up top with that fat man named Angel, if this was to be our ultimate destination."

"Isn't that a fascinating question? I think researching that could tell us quite a lot about our friend Elizabeth that might at some point prove rewarding."

"You, too, have the soul of a blackmailer."

"Not a bit. In any event, I see no rush. I think we ought to take advantage of the facilities, don't you think?"

* * * *

"Why me? Why now? Why me? Why now?" The words in Xavier's mind kept rhythm to his padded footfalls. Every once in a while, he also wondered, "Why a cat?"

He covered over two miles before it occurred to him to slow down andthink. Once he started thinking, he stopped running entirely, hunched down on the ground and started picking the burrs, twigs and other bits of forest flora and fauna out of his fur.

"Why me?" There hadn't been any shapeshifters in the family in a long time, and the lycanthropy was mostly weeded out as well. Had someone enchanted him as he slept? Perhaps it had been done earlier, and there was some sort of time release or trigger.

"Why now?" And why had Bet threatened him? Bet threatening him was nothing new, but pointing a weapon at him! Usually she slapped him or shook him. Occasionally she picked him up bodily and threw him.

Perhaps she was afraid of him now. What a cheering thought! No one -- certainly not Bet -- had ever been afraid of him before. Of course, he'd never had claws before. His teeth seemed different, now, too. He stretched his jaws in a yawn and tried to peer down at the same time. It didn't work. He needed a mirror. He'd worked his way down his right side mostly successfully. There was some pitch that wouldn't come off. He fretted at it some more, and then decided a drink of water would be heavenly about now. He sniffed and padded a few yards through the trees. Sure enough -- a stream.

Yum.

How was he going to change back? Would it happen automatically? If it was lycanthropy, presumably some time in the next month, he'd change back. Would it be in time for his sister's wedding? He hoped not. He wondered if he could get in to the wedding in his current form. Perhaps he could sneak in. He whiled away the time it took to clean his left side by entertaining fantasies of batting his future brother-in-law between his front paws, occasionally nipping at his shoulders.

When he finished, he turned his mind to the problem of food. As if on cue, a rabbit popped its head up behind a log which extended across the stream. His swipe missed, and the bunny disappeared. He looked around and spotted small fish in the stream. Not much, but they might do until another bunny appeared. He got the third he swiped at, and popped it into his mouth whole. This proved to be a mistake. He spat it out again and sucked at the hole poked in his mouth by the bones. He picked the fish apart by the side of the stream, and managed to eat about half of the flesh. The rest disintegrated into the mud as he poked it apart.

It was almost more trouble than it was worth.

He took a swipe at another, meatier fish, and connected. With a yowl, he yanked his paw out of the stream and padded away, limping on three legs. That was more trouble than it was worth. A squirrel crossed his path, and he swatted at it vengefully, and a little too successfully. It was a pasty mess on the path when he lifted his paw. At this rate, he was going to starve. He licked at the mess on his own paw, and grimaced. It tasted disgusting.

He returned to the stream, looking carefully around for the meatier kind of fish. When he was sure there weren't any, he dipped his paw in the stream, to get the worst of the squirrel gunk off. Then he continued along the path, not certain where he was headed, and reasonably certain he didn't care.

* * * *

Maim considered her situation as she sipped her beer. Xavier was no longer with Bet. Bet had checked in without Xavier's luggage and had done nothing to perpetuate her cover story. Or stories. Maim had a hard time imagining what goal that might be in service of. One had to consider the actor. Bet was notoriously hard to explain, and impossible to predict. Despite this, Maim was inclined to believe the disappearancewas not something Bet had planned.

In her abstraction over the problem, Maim had been staring at Bet, across the dining room. This had not escaped Bet's notice. She stood up, summoned a waiter, and indicated he should move her and her substantial array of food and drink to Maim's table.

"Good evening, Aunt M."

"I'm not your Aunt, Beth."

"You know I prefer Bet."

"And you know my preferences."

Bet stared at her, sat down and poured another glass from the pitcher the waiter had moved. "Why are you following me?"

"How do you know I'm following you?"

"If you were following Xav, you wouldn't be here now."

"Where would I be?"

"There's a fascinating question."

"I'm following any of several people, whoever I can manage to keep track of at any given moment. You're what's left. Put me on to Xav and I'll drop you like the bad penny you are."

"Wish I could. How about some of the others? I know where Deneb and Allan are." "So do I. They seem to have settled in for the duration."

"Ah. Then, I'm afraid we're stuck with each other."

Maim considered this. Bet was hardly likely to be loyally covering Xavier's disappearance. "Are you saying you don't know where Xavier is?"

"I know where I left him. His luggage is still there. When I went to get him, he was gone."

"Where'd he go?"

"Thin air, for all the traces I could find."

Maim was stunned. She suspected it showed, which was poor tactics, but couldn't be helped. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Xavier isn't subtle. Did someone really grab him?"

"What I did wasn't real? I would have found some indication."

"What are you going to do?"

"Wait a few days. If he doesn't retrieve his luggage, there's a big predator in the area I might hunt. Give me something to do waiting for him or his bones to turn up."

"What kind of predator?" Maim had a horrible suspicion.

"Big cat. Huge, actually. I've never seen anything like it."

"Was it with the luggage when you went to find Xavier?"

"Yes. Why? I don't think it ate him -- there was nothing left, and the cat didn't look that full. And there would have been traces if it had chased him away."

Maim moved her plate to the side and lowered her brow to the table. She started gently beating it against the wood. Bet frowned for a moment, then grasped some hair on the top of Maim's head and pulled her up. "Why? What did I miss?"

"How big of a cat? Man-sized? Xavier-sized? How old of a cat? Late adolescent? Still kind of kittenish?"

Bet still looked blank.

Maim took a napkin and folded it into a ring. "Still a napkin, right?"

"Shapehifter."

"An obvious possibility, I'm sorry to say. His family is going to be furious."

"It's not his fault."

"Oh, not at him, precisely. But they hired those priests five generations back and bred by their whims to prevent exactly this from occurring again."

"Why? It ought to make them that much more effective. Maim, when I saw that cat on the luggage, I, _I_, was a little bit concerned. "

"Bet, you think far too directly. They don't like effective individuals. That eventually ends in a much smaller family."

"Oh. Xavier wouldn't --" Even Bet couldn't finish that sentence. Once it occurred to him, Bet suspected there wasn't much he wouldn't. "Does this mean I should or shouldn't hunt that cat?"

"Shouldn't try to kill it, that's for sure. It wouldn't work and you wouldn't like it if you did succeed. But we should probably find him and try to help him develop some degree of control. For our own sakes, if no one else's."

"He might be stuck!"

"That's the least of my concerns. You know how little he plans under the best of circumstances. And his morals are appalling."

"Oh, dear."

* * * *

"What do you mean, you gave up?" Lisandra was furious. Like her brother Xavier, she was not very competent and very spoiled. Unlike Xavier, she was not passive. "I didn't hire you to give up!"

"Your pardon, for contradicting, ma'am, but if you recall our initial conversation, you didn't hire me. I agreed to do you a favor."

"Well, you didn't do it, did you? That's what you said, right?"

Fritz heaved a sigh and tried again. "I came back because matters were clearly more complex than anticipated."

"You mean this kidnapping tale?"

"Yes."

"How could anyone be expected to believe such a pack of lunatic lies? It was all a ploy to distract you. Which it did. And, I might note, it did not distract Edamame."

"She was not aware of the details and I went to some trouble to make sure she did not become aware."

Lisandra rolled her eyes. "No point in going over that again. Edamame sent a report of Xavier's presence outside Piph. It's a few days old, but probably not too late to find out what's going on. Allan and Deneb have completely disappeared; we'll only know about that what they choose to tell us."

"No."

Lisandra's eyes bulged and her face turned a ruddy red. Fritz could not help thinking of some babboons he'd seen in a menagerie. It was not elegant.

"I'm going home, Lisandra. Find yourself another fool to run your errands. I'm done." He turned on his heel and stalked towards the door.

Lisandra crossed her arms. Then she screamed for the guards and ordered Fritz locked up. Mama would throw a fit when she found out, but Lisandra just didn't care right now.

When Mama found out, she didn't stop with throwing a fit. She started throwing her weight around. The first thing to happen was the release of Fritz. Fritz could never be relied on to keep his mouth shut around a story like La Lisandra locking him up, and as word got around, Alex took an interest as well. When Lisandra saw Alex closeted with Mama, she started to worry a little. However, Mama came out not obviously the worse for wear. Alex and Mama, said Alex, had reached an agreement. The wedding was going to be postponed. The humiliation of having prominent guests like Edamame, Bet and, for that matter, Xavier absent at the happy event was not to be considered. Also, it set a bad example for what people could get away with. Announcements were made, and runners were sent to let the country at large know that until Edamame, Bet, Xavier, Allan and Deneb reappeared, dead or alive, the wedding was postponed. While no specific punishments were mentioned, a generally dire feeling was associated with harboring them. Lisandra was not particularly happy about this, and when she found out that, further, Alex had convinced Mama to name him Regent before he married Lisandra, she started to feel actual alarm. It would take at least a week to confirm him as Regent, and Alex was content to wait until after his appointment before applying direct pressure for the reappearance of those absent. Lisandra wondered what direct pressure might be, given the nature of the promulgation. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

On the whole, however, Lisandra was content. Fritz had been sent out by Alex to find Edamame and encourage her to return for the wedding. Lisandra made a point of not listening to other people's boring stories about themselves and their troubles, but she'd absorbed enough of Fritz's complaints to realized that Edamame was a source of rancor in his life.

* * * *

Bet and Maim considered the ground around the luggage. Someone had been here since Bet had last returned and chased away the shaggy version of Xavier. That someone had rifled the luggage, then followed the cat's tracks.

The cat -- and the someone -- were easy to track. The cat had left hair in the branches and bushes. The human had left broken twigs and some muddy footprints by the stream. The cat had come and gone from the stream at least twice. The human had only been once, it appeared. They followed the fresher paw prints which were accompanied by more evidence of a human tracker.

They lost the cat several times, but their unknown predecessor had had a fresher trail and perhaps even been a bit better at tracking. Eventually, the traces gave onto a small road and were thoroughly lost in the tracks of later travellers. The road was aproblem. Neither direction was an obvious choice for Xavier, Xavier-as-cat (whatever its motives might be), or the unknown tracker.

"What's that way?" asked Bet.

"I'm not sure, but I think there's a pub about a mile away."

"And that way?"

"Piph after a couple miles. Some farms; mostly forest."

"Do you think he'd go to a town?"

"I think he'd avoid the road."

They crossed the road, and started checking the other side. Maim picked up cat hair a few yards beyond the road, but neither could find any indication that the other human had made it this far.

"You'd think anyone that good would have found this," Bet commented.

Maim replied, "For all we know, Xavier chased the tracker down the road and returned and continued. Or the tracker may have had to give up for other reasons."

Bet frowned. They continued their slow and tedious sweep.

* * * *

Allan was patting down the bed. Deneb watched him. She scratched the back of her neck and then stretched her arms behind her. She rotated her shoulders and arched her back. By the time Allan finished investigating the bed frame, mattress, head and foot boards, posts and legs, Deneb had managed to stretch about half the muscles in her body and was slowly working her way through the rest, cracking a variety of joints along the way.

"Well, I'm satisfied," Allan said.

"With the bed?"

"In general, but yes, specifically with the bed."

"Do you know, I don't think I've ever heard you say that before." Deneb's face had assumed the appearance of awe. It did not survive the next minute. Allan picked her up and threw her onto the bed. He didn't lift her and set her down. He didn't even drop her. He hurled her. She bounced.

"It's nice and firm," she commented.

Allan started a series of stretches not unlike what Deneb had just completed. His was punctuated by even more popping and cracking. "Also, it didn't make a sound when you landed. No creaks. No banging. Nothing."

Deneb was kneeling on the mattresses, inspecting the sides of the bed frame. They were bolted to the wall. The bolts were not small, and they protruded a ways from the frame. The tops had eyes. She scrambled over to the other side of the bed, and opened one of the drawers in the side table. It contained a variety of ropes. Several had quick release knots loosely tied in them. She closed the drawer and opened the next drawer down. This one contained a variety of rings, balls, strings of beads, clips, feathers and cylinders. Also a leather bag full of sheats, and several jars containing lotions.

"All the comforts of home," Deneb noted.

"Not all."

"True," Deneb agreed, wistfully. "We'll just have to make do."

Allan walked around the bed and took one of the feathers out of the open drawer. He sat down next to Deneb and started tickling her ear with the feather. Deneb scratched under his chin, against the grain of the stubble on his chin. He worked the feather down the side of her neck and started opening her shirt with his other hand. She started kneading his shoulders. He leaned forward with a sigh, dropping the feather. She slid out from under, and he lay down. She straddled him, and started working his shirt up, massaging the muscles in his lower back. After a few minutes, he pulled the shirt off and she grabbed the feather. Putting it between her teeth, and leaning forward, it followed her hands across his back.

Deneb had tried similar things in the past. The same problem always arose. She neglected to tie him down and there wasn't a lot she could do to stop him from rolling over. He relieved her of the feather and put it on the side table. "That tickles!"

"It's supposed to!"

His response consisted of an assault on the opening of her shirt, ending by removing it entirely. He picked up the feather again and started looking for sensitive bits with it. He found several across her belly and breasts, eventually causing her to roll off him and retreat to the far corner of the bed.

"Enough!"

He menaced her with the feather, growling. She cowered unconvincingly, then slid past him. She reached into the top drawer, grabbed a rope and, as he lunged towards her, looped one end around his wrist. She pulled it closed and pulled the other end through one of the eye bolts. Unfortunately, this left one of his arms and both of his legs free. She did not have time to knot the rope to the eye bolt before he'd pinned her on her back.

"I thought you said you'd had enough," he said. He put the feather between his teeth and leered at her.

"You know, I could have sworn I just tied you up. Why is it I'm the one who can't move?"

"Thuperior tactith, m'dear," he said, nuzzling her. She giggled. Between the tickling and the lisping, she couldn't help it. She had grabbed a second rope and was debating the best way to get it round his other wrist. One of her hands was occupied holding the end of the one rope, and he had pinned her legs with his, making it difficult to change positions. She lifted her head and starting licking his neck and breathing on it. As she had hoped, he lifted his as yet free hand to reach for the back of her neck, and she got the other rope around that wrist. With an undigified and unromantic squawk, he dropped his full weight on her.

"Hey," she said, with difficulty.

"Let it go."

"Nuh," she mumbled. It was hard to breathe.

"Now, now. Let it go."

To her annoyance, it was nearly impossible to inhale. This was not how she'd planned it. It had seemed such a golden opportunity. What had gone wrong?

She let go.

"And the other one."

"Griddy." She couldn't enunciate what she could say.

"Yes, I'm greedy. Let the other one go."

She did, and he knelt, pulling the knot loose from his wrist. He unlooped both, and dangled them in front of her. She was still trying to inhale. He tossed the ropes back in the drawer.

[More here, as yet unwritten.]

* * * *

Working for Alex rankled. He might be nobility. He might even be engaged to La Lisandra, but it still rankled. He was an animal.

In fact, as Tom knew to his misfortune, a lot of the time Alex was an animal. Specifically, a boar. Not even a decent, self-respecting animal, like a wolf or a jaguar. No -- a wild pig with a vicious sense of humor.

Alex' talent, if such it could be called, had manifested at the tender age of six. His younger siblings had lasted 1, 3 and 8 days, respectively. One older sibling held out for six months -- the other two years. Then the change hit her, and Alex ripped her throat out before she'd gotten the hang of a chimpanzee body. So to speak.

His parents had been bred to avoid any such embarrassments, and so of course hadn't worried about it in their own children. They'd married for love (understandable enough) but reproduced under the same principles (not as good an idea, at least from a life expectancy perspective). They had fled, and survived in exile for three years, two months, one week, two days and nine hours. They'd kept careful track and their (otherwise boring) journals had been published posthumously.

A lot of people outside the family knew the details, even though the journals, publishers and many customers had been bloodily suppressed almost immediately. Those in the know had attempted to warn Lisandra, who was not receptive. In addition to being stupid, stubborn and spoiled, rumors circulated that her will had been further suborned. The details were vague. Tom could have supplied them, but, so far, he preferred living and working for Alex to being a dead, dubious hero. Some day, that calculation might change. In the mean time, he amused himself by speculating on which of Lisandra's immediate family would die first. Literally. He had substantial bets placed on order and date after the wedding. Until today, he'd been convinced Xavier, 12 hours was the one sure thing. He should have realized LeRoi must know something to accept bets at those odds.

The cat tracks Tom had been following gave onto a road. This would ordinarily hadve made things very difficult, altho not impossible. As it was, the cat was crouched not twenty yards down the road.

It yawned suggestively. Tom, however, was not going to step right in and ask to be swalled. He started running full speed up the road. The cat easily caught up with him and paced him. Tom kept at it for another half mile, then slowed, leaned over, and panted for a while. Xavier -- or, the big cat, at any rate, did not attacked. It appeared to be trying to say something. It just looked like it was yawning -- or perhaps, hungry.

It belatedly occurred to Tom that Xavier might be stuck. That made communication hard, but not impossible. Tom asked, "Can you write with your paw in the dust?" Sometimes Alex got so stuck he couldn't even manage that much. When that happened, it was a good idea not to be within a ten mile radius.

The cat looked surprised, and scratched "Yes," in the dirt of the road.

"Are you Xavier?" Tom asked.

The cat underlined the previous yes.

"Do you know how to change back?"

The cat just peered at him.

"Xavier, you aren't normally a cat. Do you remember being a pers--a human?"

The cat doubled the underline.

"Do you want to be human again?" Tom asked.

This time, Xavier scratched out the yes, and the two lines beneath it, with a swipe of his paw. He didn't write anything more -- just stared at Tom enigmatically.

* * * *

"What've you got left?" Allan asked.

Deneb shuffled through her pack. "Mostly rice, dried beans and spices, but I still have some flour, and lots of salt. I still have some of that leathery fruit that never seems to go bad. I wish it would, honestly."

"Well, we've got this patch of berry bushes. That swamp up there ought to have cattails. Have you seen any fruit trees? You're better at spotting those than I am."

"Ummm, no, but if we look around where the trees thin out there might be some. That way, I think."

"No meat?"

"No meat. We had the last jerky at lunch. You've been gathering mushrooms?"

"Yes. And I have some carrots and potatoes extracted from that abandoned farmyard."

"I still don't think it was abandoned. I think they'd just gone visiting."

"No livestock, shutters flying in the wind, and empty rooms means abandoned to me. Altho I admit the cellar was comprehensively stocked and reasonably up-to-date. So we have pickles and honey also."

"But no meat. Looks like we'll be hunting. Seen any sign?"

Allan shushed Deneb. She hadn't heard anything, or seen anything, but Allan clearly had. She raised two fingers, then four fingers, and looked a question at him. He raised two fingers and kept looking around. Deneb raised her eyebrows, and made a fist, then slowly extended the fingers and thumb, one at a time. Allan shook his head, and raised a single finger. So Allan thought there was only one person. That shouldn't be too tough to deal with, altho it was distracting. Deneb never liked to have to worry about food, camp, hunting and being hunted, all in one day. It was a pity so many of her days made her unhappy in this particular way. Ultimately, she preferred civilized living. It was easier to stock up, for one thing, and also easier to establish passive defenses. Of course, staying in one place did tend to make one a target, which was unfortunate.

Allan saw the moving leaves seconds before Deneb noticed, but an actual visible target presented itselves to them simultaneously. His arrow and her throwing knife both made contact. Neither finished the man, who was now screaming, and running at them with a sword. Allan dropped his bow and pulled out his sword, but the stranger had a knife in each eye socket by the time he toppled over in front of them. Since he was still screaming, Allan decapitated him. Never good to attract attention in an unfriendly forest.

"Thank you, Allan. A nice clean kill."

"It seemed the least I could do. Did you recognize him?"

"He seemed vaguely familiar. Did you?"

"I am sorry to say that I do."

"Not very forthcoming about it, are you? Did we perhaps err by finishing him off? Did I err by blinding him without asking any questions?"

"Oh, no. No mistakes were made here. No bounty, unfortunately, because three years ago, a bounty hunter showed up with his ear and right hand and claimed he was dead."

Deneb stared at the body. Sure enough, his left ear and his right hand were missing. His sword had been in his left hand. "Collusion?"

"Hideous to think, but the possibility does occur to one. At any rate, no one's going to worry about us killing him."

Deneb poked at the body with her toe. She looked around to reassure herself that no one else was going to pop out of the bushes with a sword and an unpleasant expression, and started retrieving her knives. Methodically cleaning them, she asked Allan, "What did he do?"

"It seems that on some campaign or other, he and his mates ran a bit short on meat. Not unlike our dilemma, in fact. They acquired a taste for humans, in particular, the parties on the opposite side of the skirmish. While this caused a degree of scandal, since it complicated the matter of identifying the fallen, and also some suspicion that they were finishing off the wounded to ensure a supply of fresh meat rather than returning them during prisoner exchange forced him and some of the other officers out of the army."

"Nasty. Not unheard of, however." Deneb removed the pack from the body, and some of the outer clothing and started going through pockets. Coins she split evenly between Allan and herself. She sneered at the daggers, and experimentally tossed one at a nearby fallen log. It shattered. She bent the next one. It broke. "Amazing he was at all successful as a soldier, given the shoddy quality of his tools." She bent the sword, and it returned to true. Checking its balanced, she sniggered. "Maybe we can get something for this, but one can't imagine much." She poked at the hilt, noting that it had flashing bits of stone. Further scrutiny suggested they might even be real. "Then again. . ."

"Oh, that wasn't why the bounty was put out on him. No, when he got home, it turned out he had a real taste for human flesh, and he took to nibbling on his neighbors. Not liking gamy meat any more than the next man, and being somewhat lazy to boot, he'd taken to preying in particular on young females."

Deneb looked down at the body, speculatively. "I realize that in some ways my next remark is going to be viewed as being in poor taste, but the phrase an eye for an eye does spring to mind."

Allan stared at her. "No eyes left, babe. They're done. You just scraped them off your knives with that maple leaf."

"No, I mean figuratively. Not very figuratively. I mean, we were going to have to hunt anyway, and we have this nice, fresh kill. I think we should hang it up and drain it, eviscerate it, clean it up a bit, and start thinking about dinner."

Allan looked at her, the body, and then up into the canopy of branches and leaves above. He walked over to the packs, pulled out a length of rope, made a noose and looped it around the cannibal's ankles. Tossing the other end over a convenient branch, he indicated that Deneb should help hoist the body. Once secured, they contemplated their surroundings again, as the blood dribbled out of the stump of his neck. They cleared everything away from the general splatter zone, belatedly. Deneb dug through the pack in search of additional food. He was carrying rice, and appeared to have recently been to a market (or possibly another abandoned farmyard), as he was carrying quite a lot of relatively fresh vegetables. He was carrying no meat, however he had several very sharp knives, one clearly for gutting and another for skinning. She also found a block of yellow cheese.

"Looks like our dinner here was in search of dinner as well."

"It does indeed."

"Do you remember what his name was?"

Allan thought for a moment, then started laughing. Deneb urged him to share. He said, "Justin Case."

"What the hell were his parents thinking?"

"It's far from clear that they were."

Deneb considered this wise remark, and concluded there was little more to say on that topic. She contemplated Justin Case, and considered their stock of food. "We have enough flour to make quesadillas, and dinner here was carrying cheese."

Allan groaned. "Justin Quesadillas?"

"That's what I had in mind."

"More of an appetizer than an entree, that. What else were you thinking?"

"Not that this subject comes up all that often, but perhaps you've heard this kind of meat referred to as long pig?"

Allan nodded warily.

"We've got honey, flour and a reasonable array of spices. Sweet and sour pork?" "What'll you do for the sour?"

"Some of the pickles look like they've been put up in pure vinegar."

"Won't that give it an odd taste?"

"No harm in trying, right?"

"Makes sense. We've got a lot of rice, and vegetables. Pork fried rice?"

"That's the spirit!" Deneb said, clapping him on the shoulder affectionately. "If we wanted to put some effort into making noodles, which I am by no means suggesting, we could have pork chow mein, or pork noodles in broth."

"Barbecued pork?"

"Sure. "

"You said you still had dried beans left?"

"Yup. Were you thinking stew?"

"Why not go all the way? How about some chili?"

Deneb grinned. "What are we waiting for?" She gestured at the body. "We've got our work cut out for us."

Allan grinned, a toothy expression, which froze ominously. Deneb started looking around, but she also froze as she heard what had clearly gotten Allan's attention: the unmistakable roar of a very large, very annoyed, and probably very hungry feline. Allan picked up his bow and notched an arrow. Deneb pulled out a sword and a throwing knife. She looked at the throwing knife, put it back, and pulled out her dagger instead. She didn't look very happy about it, and Allan knew why. When Deneb put the throwing knives away, it was because she was reasonably sure they wouldn't penetrate whatever the proposed victim had in the way of protective hide. At least, wouldn't penetrate far enough. Worse, that she questioned her ability to spot and hit a less armored spot -- say, an eye -- in the time she anticipated having.

Deneb with sword and dagger was a woman who was expecting to take some damage herself. Allan pointed at the hanging meat, and whispered, "Should we hack some off in the interests of promoting peace and friendship between the species?"

Deneb nodded. They eyed the meat, considering which cut to give the beast, which was making a surprising amount of racket for a cat, only some of which was coming out of its mouth. It seemed it was still a ways away, and having some difficulting navigating the underbrush. Allan suggested a forelimb.

"Do you think that will be enough? It might still be hungry, "commented Deneb.

"We'd have to bring it back down to give it a rear limb. I suppose we could give it both forelimbs and the torso. That'd be enough for it and a mate, right?"

"One would think so, altho I suppose it depends on how long it has been since it's eaten. Do you want to go get the hatchet or shall I?"

"Um, let's go together. That way if the beast shows up here, it'll just go for the meat. And if it comes to us, at least we'll be together."

"Better lower the body. That sounds like one incompetent feline," Deneb said with disgust, tucking the dagger back into its belt loop. Together, they lowered the meat, collected the pack and headed over to their camp. They found the hatchet attached to Allan's pack, and cautiously returned to the body.

"Can you still hear it?" asked Allan quietly.

Deneb shook her head, looking around carefully as they entered the clearing. The body was still there, apparently untouched. Allan notched his bow, and Deneb started hacking at the bottom of the torso. Or top, given the way it was hanging. After about fifteen minutes of grousing about the gore, the torso, complete with forelimbs, but missing its head, dropped to the ground with a meaty, not to say squishy, thud. "How come I got stuck with the scut work, hunh? You get to cut the rest of the meat off, is all I can say. And we have got to find me a big enough stream to bathe in."

Allan said, "Absolutely," continuing to scan the forest, and listening. "I think it finally found a path."

"Is that why we don't hear all that rustling any more?"

"I think so. Let's raise the limbs up further, and get back to camp."

"Certainly, fearless leader." Together, they hoisted the remains of the meat, and left the clearing.

Back at their camp, Allan put his bow down and pulled a map out of his pack. They hunched over it together, Allan trying to avoid touching Deneb, and Deneb attempting not to drop bits of gore on the map. "How about that one?" Allan pointed at a stream.

"I think that's fairly low this time of year and it's been dry, too. It might just be so much mud, which would be better than this, but not what I had in mind."

"This is another mile away, but I suppose that's not entirely a bad thing. It'd give poor pussy a good chance to grab a bite without having to deal with the pesky humans."

"All right. You have to carry the packs, tho, unless you think it's safe to leave them. I don't want to get mine all over blood. Not to mention other unmentionables."

"You don't need to mention them. I can smell them."

"Look on the bright side. If all we eat is the rear limbs, we don't need to worry about gutting it or anything."

"Good point."

Allan grabbed both packs, and they headed towards the river.

After about fifteen minutes, they stopped. "I don't really feel like carrying these any further. One pack, fine. Two packs, each partly empty, whatever. Three packs, however, is really more than I'm interested in dealing with."

Deneb looked up and around. She gestured off the path to the right. "Let's try over here. There are some good trees for climbing. We can probably figure out a way to get them off the ground and out of sight, and that should limit the poaching to rodents of one sort or another, and the odd bug."

After scouting around for several minutes, they spotted a tree both distinctive in appearance, and suited for climbing. Deneb offered Allan a leg up, which he declined with wrinkled nose. He ran a length of rope through the straps of the three packs, tied it to his belt, and started up the trunk. About where the rope went taut, he found a pair of wide branches. Sitting on one, he pulled the packs up, and tied them onto the other branch. Removing the rope from his belt, he further wrapped it around the trunk. Before descending, he opened one of the packs, and removed a pouch. He checked the contents, then rummaged further in the packs until he found a few rags, which he stuffed into the pouch. He then climbed down the tree.

"You remembered to get the soap. You're so sweet."

"Indeed I am. Sweet and thoughtful and highly motivated to have you clean. Don't thank me properly until after you are clean, please."

Deneb grinned evilly, and leaned towards him. Allan took a quick two steps back. She turned on her heel and headed back to the path, with him following.

They reached the river with no further untoward incidents. Upon arrival, they noted that this river, also, was down, and scouted downstream in search of a wider spot. About a quarter mile downstream, they found a slow moving, deep pool of water, ideal for bathing. Because the area, while sparsely populated, did contain a few ponds, they took a few minutes to ensure they had privacy before stripping and entering the pool.

Allan, having to remove only ordinary road grime and the accumlated twigs and tree sap of a couple days hiking, was done considerably before Deneb. Deneb had not only mineral and vegetable to remove, but a disgusting amount of animal, as well. The blood (and worse) had had an opportunity to dry in the hour or more it had taken them to clear out of camp, hide their gear, get to the river and check for company. The rags were extremely helpful, but Deneb was beginning to think something stronger than soap might be needed to get some bits off.

Allan, having cleaned himself, was wandering along the edges of the pool, looking intently at the banks and the bed. After working his way most of the way around the pool, he emitted a triumphant, "a ha!", and returned to Deneb, demanding one of the rags. She turned it over with a puzzled look, but no questions, assuming the answer would be forthcoming shortly. Allan went back to the spot he'd left, and started scooping mud into the rag. When he had about a double handful, he wrapped it up, squeezed it out somewhat, and carried it over to Deneb. "Here, try scrubbing with this." He opened the rag back up, and she poked at the mud gingerly. It was very homogenous, an even mixture of fine and medium grained sand, with no large particles or rocks in it at all. She thought she recognized it from pottery shops, but was not entirely certain. Taking one of the other rags, she grabbed a small amount from what Allan had brought over, and tackled one of the more disgusting patches that had dried on her neck. Her skin tingled from the abrasion, but the gore came off. Allan snagged a third rag, and started working on her back. They managed to get it all off her skin, and started working on the clothes. About two hours later, they were working on getting the sand out of the clothes (and, as Deneb did not hesitate to point out, out of the crevices in her, as well).

While Deneb and Allen were getting their gear up into a tree, the lion had managed to track down the blood scent which had aggravated his already rampaging appetite. Surely anything with that much blood in it had a lot more meat on its bones than a lousy squirrel or even a rabbit. And surely anything with that much blood no longer in it had to be, if not actually dead, then too weakened to run away. Maybe, thought Xavier, just maybe his luck had turned.

He arrived at the clearing, and looked around. He spotted a head, which didn't look particularly appetizing. Flies were crawling around in the eye sockets, which no longer appeared to have eyes in them. Xavier was hungry, but not that hungry. A few feet away from the head was a torso, and forelimbs. That looked better. Lots of meat, and very, very dead. But fresh. And fewer flies than the head. Xavier wondered briefly what had happened to the rest of the body, but dismissed that as his hunger got the better at him. He started mid arm on one side and worked his way toward the middle.

This meat was held together better than the squirrel, he noticed. In fact, it was downright difficult getting at the good bits between the ribs. He kept at it, tho, and most of the body was gone by the time he felt sated. Anyone other than Xavier would have expected the next development, however Xavier wasn't the sort to plan ahead, certainly not when consuming a delectable piece of flesh after a couple of days with nothing more sustaining than fish. It was such a relief not to have to deal with bones sticking between the teeth. Some tiny bit of self-preservation caused him to amble out of the clearing, and about a quarter mile away, to a very dark part of the forest, before lying down next to a fallen log, and going promptly to sleep.

When Allan and Deneb had gotten the last bits of disgusting flesh and gore off of their clothing and selves, they soaked for a while in the warm water, discussing their plans for the immediate future. Allan complained that they really should have brought the meat with them, since they were going to need water to cook it and clean it. Deneb considered this a silly idea, since bringing the meat with them would have made them that much more of a target for whatever incompetent predator they had heard in the woods.

"That reminds me. What is a lion doing in this area? There are no lions around here. There never have been."

"Wasn't there talk of allowing traveling menageries again?"

"Yes, but they decided to keep the law in place, at least for a while."

"Why were they outlawed in the first place?" asked Deneb.

Allan thought about that for a moment, then slapped his hand to his brow.

"What?" asked Deneb.

"Shapeshifters. They outlawed traveling menageries when it became impossible to ignore the fact that they were being accused of killings shapeshifters were responsible for and for being havens for shapeshifters as well. Deneb, we've got a shifter wandering around, and one who just found out what they are."

"Oh."

"That's a weak response, even for you, Deneb."

"Hysterics seem inappropriate, and I haven't seen anything worth killing since dinner showed up."

"Valid point."

Deneb and Allan got up out of the water and started sluicing water off with their hands, then got dressed.

"Do you think it found the meat?" asked Deneb.

Allan nodded.

"It's probably had enough time to finish eating, don't you think?" she persisted.

Allan nodded again.

"Just what are you thinking about."

"Who proposed rescinding the law about the traveling menageries?"

Deneb thought for a moment. "Tom. Tomasandro Lladro. Most ridiculous name I've heard in a long, long time, and that's saying something."

"That's what I thought but I wasn't sure, and it seems so incredible that Alexander would be that careless."

"What do you mean?"

"Tom works for Alexander. Everyone knows that Tom does all of Alex's dirty work, and that some of that work is dirty indeed. Tom proposes rescinding a law which was created to limit the damage caused by shapeshifters, and to ensure that crimes were punished, rather than being blamed on wild animals. You tell me what the conclusion is."

"Alex is working for shapeshifters?"

"Oh, come on, Deneb. Alex works for one person only and that's himself."

"Alex is a shapeshifter." As soon as she said it, Deneb ducked her head down and started looking around, as if to see if anyone else might possibly have heard what she had just said.

"Yes, being cautious about saying that out loud is probably a good idea."

"Do you think Alex is...that thing we heard?"

"Really, Deneb."

"Alex isn't that incompetent. Right. Oh, no."

"What? Oh."

"More than one shapeshifter, and one of them in the noble clans. Maybe the other one is too. Maybe the blood didn't get cleaned up as thoroughly as everyone insisted."

"That would certainly explain a lot of the recent deaths."

Deneb's skin was white. "We're going to die, Allan. They're going to kill us because we figured this out. We've finally gone too far. They aren't going to laugh it off and let us hide in the woods any more and call us names. They're going to hunt us down and kill us, and they'll do it as the animals they are. They're going to rend us. They're going to leave us to bleed to death and then gnaw on--"

Allan put an arm around her and covered her mouth. "It's okay." He uncovered her mouth.

"It is not okay."

"It is okay. No one heard us except possibly an incompetent, newly changed shapeshifter, which may or may not have noble blood in its veins. No one knows we know. We don't need to tell anyone we know. If we hunt them down and kill them in animal form, we can take them all out and no one will ever know. Besides, it will be fun."

Deneb considered this. Color crept back into her cheeks, and she smiled at Allan. It was not a pleasant smile.

"Can we eat them, too?"

Allan smiled back at her. "Absolutely. Maybe in a nice wine sauce. Or stuffed in cabbage."

Deneb continued along the path. "You know, I had an idea. We could put some chunks of the pork on kebobs and toast them up while we slow cook the rest in the pit with some sweet and spicy barbecue sauce. It'll be ready to munch around noon tomorrow. What do you think?"

"Sounds grand."

They'd reached the tree with the packs. This time, clean, and only slightly damp, Deneb clambered up the trunk, and lowered the three packs to Allan. Unwinding the rope, and tossing it down to Allan, she descended. Allan distributed the contents of the third pack among their two, and folded the pack into his own. "Should have done this before."

"We were busy."

"Still."

"We were really busy, and there was a genuine risk of being still busier if we didn't leave. We did fine, Allan."

"True."

By the time they reached camp, the sky was dimming. They lowered the back limbs, and Allan removed a pound of flesh from one. While Deneb built a fire, Allan chopped it up into cubes, and skewered them with some vegetables on the metal pins they'd found in the pack. Allan shuffled around, locating spices, and honey and salt.. Mixing them in a small clay pot, he took a relatively clean, large leaf, and slathered the sauce on the meat and vegetables, then tilted the pins over the fire Deneb had built. He put a few tubers around the edges of the fire. They both grabbed small shovels, and started excavating a trench a few feet away from the fire. As the sun set, they filled the trench with dry branches, needles and leaves, and set the two limbs into the pit. Allan basted the limbs, and then they covered it all with more leaves, needles and branches, and lit it. As their dinner cooked, and later as they ate it, they added more to the pit. Once it had achieved a steady state of smoldering ash, they dumped the remains of their cooking fire on top, and then banked the lot. Making sure the area above and around the pit did not contain any remaining flammables, they set up their blankets several yards away, and settled in for the night.

"Do you want to take first watch or shall I?" asked Allan.

"I don't care."

"I'll take it."

"Okay." Deneb snuggled into the blankets. "Do you think bugs will get into the meat?"

"Bugs will not get into the meat. It's too hot. It's cooking."

"They might crawl in and then die before they realized how hot it was."

"More protein, Deneb. Don't worry about it."

"What about dirt? Ashes? Is it going to get all ashy and dirty? It'll stick to the sauce, won't it?"

"We'll brush it off. No big deal."

"Don't you think the sweet will attract more bugs? What if it's all coated with beetles or something?"

Allen growled at her. "Either you take watch or you sleep. I don't care which. But you can only do one."

"I'll sleep. Really. I can stop any time."

Deneb did eventually sleep, and Allan woke her up after a few hours. "Your turn."

"Any excitement?"

"We had a possum come around and snuffle around the pit for a minute or two."

"Ooooh. Big scary possum."

"Small, boring possum, terrified when it realized the pit was warm. Scurried away."

"That it?"

"A couple bats. An owl. A few mice that I heard but didn't see. An unpleasant number of mosquitos. That's about it."

"No stupid cats?"

"No stupid cats."

"All right. Good night."

"Good night."

Deneb's shift was even less exciting, as even the owl and bats had called it a night or at least gone looking in other areas. The possum came back with a couple other, smaller possums, and snuffled around the pit again, which suggested to Deneb that maybe the possums thought the warmth was more interesting, not to say exciting, than terrifying. After they showed a desire to stay, Deneb shooed them away. Nothing else of any interest occured in the last hours before dawn. At sunrise, she woke Allan up, and she napped a few more hours, then covered for him again. A couple hours before noon, they decided to start unpacking the pit. The top had settled, which they had expected, but it still felt warm, which was mildly surprising. They would not have been surprised if, upon opening it, they had found the legs charred to a crisp.

They were not, however. They were dusty with ash, and a pebble or two adhered here and there. Deneb triumphantly displayed a dead spider to Allan with a knowing look on her face. The meat was falling off the bone, and while the coating had to be mostly removed to get rid of the ash and so on, the meat had absorbed the flavor.

Nibbling on it, Deneb and Allan agreed that it was tasty, firm but not gamy, and that the slow-cooking method had been a good choice. As they were munching on slow-roasted tubers they had tucked into the pit with it, they heard footsteps on the path. They did not sound like the cat. They sounded human, altho human without shoes. Each grabbed weapons, and they waited expectantly for their visitor to materialize.

He didn't, exactly. Hiding behind a large, bushy tree, he asked if he could borrow some clothes.

"Xavier?"

"Hi Allan, Hi Deneb. Please? Could I borrow some clothes?"

"Sure!" Allan grabbed the pants they'd snagged off their attacker of the previous day before. Unlike the shirt, they hadn't gotten very bloody. He'd fallen over before he'd really had a chance to drip gore all over himself. Deneb donated a tunic to the cause, and Xavier backed up a ways to put them on. They tossed the boots his way, also. Once dressed, he came out in full view, and looked longingly at the food.

"Want some?" asked Deneb.

"Only if you have enough," said Xavier.

"More than enough. Take all you like."

"Thanks!" Xavier dug in, and oohed and ahed over the texture of the meat, and the excellence of its preparation.

"What brings you out here without any clothes, Xav?" asked Allan.

"Uh. I got lost."

"What happened to your clothes, Xavier?" asked Deneb.

"Uh, I lost them."

"You lost your clothes?" she asked again.

"Uh, they, uh, I had to leave in a hurry," Xavier improvised in a hurry. In a way, it was even true, he thought. Bet had pointed a weapon at him. Of course he had to leave in a hurry.

"Sure you did," reassured Deneb, only slightly sarcastically.

"Seen a lion around, Xav?" asked Allan.

Startled, Deneb looked at Allan, who winked at her.

Xavier blushed bright red. "Lions? In these woods? There aren't any lions in these woods. This is the wrong area for lions."

"That's what we were thinking, but we're sure we heard one roaring the other day."

"Surely you must have imagined that, Allan. No lions around here."

"That's what I thought. But I can't imagine what else it might have been."

"Probably some trick echo. Lots of odd land formations around here, with the river and all."

"That's true. But that does not explain where half of our kill went."

Xavier stopped himself before taking another bite.

"Half of your kill?"

"Yup. When we heard the roar, we decided to leave half the kill where it could be easily taken. Better a full and sleepy lion than a hungry and aggressive one, don't you think? We took off down to the river to clean up, and be damned if the bones were licked clean by the time we got back."

Xavier's memory of yesterday -- of his entire time as a lion -- was a little hazy, partly because of shock, partly because of denial, but mostly because of sheer hunger. He could, however, with difficulty, remember eating yesterday. Eating yesterday had been the first time he'd been happy since he'd changed. And sleeping after eating had been the first decent sleep he'd gotten since before he'd changed. What had he eaten? Obviously Deneb and Allan's kill. They would be so angry if they found out. But how could they ever find out. They wouldn't ever imagine. After all, it had been raw, and humans don't eat raw food.

Xavier had a flash of memory then, of the head that he had not been interested in because the body of the animal the head went with was in immediate sniffing distance and had so much yummy meat on it, and far fewer insects.

Deneb noted the look of horror crossing Xavier's face, and looked at Allan. Allan's hand was on the hilt of his sword, but he didn't look too concerned. She could see why. Xavier was obviously involved in some sequence of events in his own head which was far more involving than anything going on outside him. She wondered what it might be.

Xavier was busy justifying to himself having eaten raw human flesh. He was a lion. Lions ate people. You heard about it. Lions and tigers and bears. They ate people, and that's why peopled killed them. He was a lion yesterday and he ate a person. He hadn't even killed the person. And no one knew he was a lion-- except Tom, and he hardly counted -- so there was no way he could be held responsible for that. About to take another bite, he stopped again. "Was that the kill that this meat is from?" he asked Allan, hesitantly. Deneb knew, in a flash, what must be going through Xavier's head, and why that lion had been so hopelessly incompetent. Fully involved in not spewing food all over her companions, and mostly successful in suppressing the hysterical laughter trying to get out, she missed Allan's response.

"Of course. Dried meat is one thing, but cooked meat has to be fresh or it isn't safe."

Xavier processed this, and it did not make him feel any better. He felt his stomach protest. Without a word, he scrambled up, and running into the woods, threw up everything he'd just eaten, and, to judge by the sound, something from the day before as well.

Deneb looked at Allan in disgust. "Can you believe he just did that?"

Allan frowned at her reprovingly. "You know nobles have finer sensibilities than we do. When he realized he'd eaten human flesh -- and enjoyed it -- of course he threw up."

"He ate human flesh raw yesterday and that just put him to sleep."

"I never said they were consistent."

Deneb rolled her eyes and continued with breakfast. Xavier did not return, in either form. They spent the remainder of the day smoking the rest of the meat in strips, with a side trip to the river for another round of laundry and baths. Late that evening, upon returning from the last of their washing, Deneb and Xavier discovered a couple of strangers investigating their campsite, kneeling by the filled in cooking pit.

"Ahem." Deneb cleared her throat emphatically.

The man and woman straightened, and nodded their heads in greeting.

"Hello Deneb, Allan," she said.

"You have the advantage of us," commented Deneb.

"Not likely," replied the man. "My name is Francis."

"And mine is Frances."

They both grinned. The family resemblance was unmistakable.

"Just what the world needs. More parents with sick sense of humor," remarked Allan.

"Actually," said Frances, "there was a will involved. A bachelor uncle's will, to be specific."

Allan suddenly got a very wary look on his face. Deneb, watching the two Franks instead, did not notice immediately, but looked when she saw the answering grins. Looking did not clarify anything.

"As your compatriot seems to have realized, we are here looking for a relative. Deneb, our last name is Case. We're looking for our loathesome cousin Justin."

Deneb risked another glance at Allan. He still looked wary. Deneb asked, "Was the same uncle involved in naming Justin?"

The two responded simultaneously, "Yes."

"You have my sympathies, assuming you do not find them offensive."

"We're used to it. At least you didn't laugh," added Francis. "Now, about Justin. . ."

Allan asked, "What about Justin? I thought Justin was dead?"

"We think Justin is dead, but we think that that is a very recent development."

"Didn't a mercenary kill him years ago?"

"We thought that for a long time, too, but he was spotted a month ago, and we've been tracking him since. We saw him three days ago, and we think he was following you. We lost track of him around here, and we spotted your campsite. Since you seem to be alive and well, we figure you won the round and can fill us in on the details. Optimally, if you have any recognizable pieces left, we'd like them to bring home as proof he really is dead, altho after this, people are going to be expecting to see him rise again no matter what we bring home."

Allan and Deneb exchanged a glance. "Oh, I don't think you need to worry about that," said Deneb. "Follow me." With that, she headed towards the clearing where they had killed Justin, and left half his body for the shape-shifted Xavier to eat. Francis and Frances followed, with Allan bringing up the rear. Upon arriving, Deneb noticed that while the head had been pushed aside, the rest of the torso had been reduced to a few broken bones. She pointed to the head, which had been reduced by the local vermin, and gestured at the few remaining bones. "That's most of what's left. There are some leg bones, if you're interested. We buried them with the rest of our trash."

Francis and Frances grimaced, and Frances went over to the head and kicked it over with the toe of her boot. It wasn't recognizable, altho it was clearly human. Francis squatted by the scattered bones and poked at them with his knife. "What ate this?"

Frances squatted beside him and looked. "Shapeshifter. Looks like a feline form."

"Not a boar," said Francis.

"Not a boar," confirmed Frances.

Deneb asked, "Why a boar?"

Francis and Frances stood up, and headed back to the campsite. When they arrived, they arranged themselves around the campfire, which Allan started.

Francis started to explain. "We don't like Justin, which you've probably realized. When the family found out he might still be alive, we were sent to locate him, and eliminate him, hopefully before anyone else noticed he was still alive. Unfortunately, in the process of tracking Justin, we've been hampered by a disturbing chain of accidents and murders, which are uniformly attributed to wild boars. At first, we thought it had to be Justin, covering up his kills. However, after we actually saw one of the freshly dead, we realized, from the bones, that something very powerful had been chewing on them, and sucking out the marrow. Justin never did that before, so we knew something else had to be going on."

Frances continued, "Because of the close connection between sightings of Justin and the boar kills, we got to thinking that maybe the boar wasn't just a boar. Mind you, it's always a little hard to imagine a boar being called just a boar, but that's neither here nor there."

Francis and Frances looked at each other. Francis said, "We've been forthcoming with you. We'd like you to return the favor."

Deneb poked at the fire with a branch. "You were correct. Justin was following us. Allan knew him -- recognized him -- and knew what he had done, or at any rate some of what he had done, and had thought him dead. He came at us in a big hurry, didn't stop to talk, and we killed him. To make sure he was dead, we decapitated him. That's why the head was separate. We strung him up by the legs, and later cut him in half and left...the top half on the ground. We had heard a lion in the woods nearby and figured if we left part of the body for the lion, it would eat it, go away, leave us alone."

"And the rest of the body? Why did you leave the legs strung up? And, for that matter, where are they now? Just out of intellectual curiosity, you know," added Francis.

Deneb poked at the fire some more. "You know that saying, an eye for an eye?"

The two Franks, Deneb and Allan surveyed each other over the crackling flames. Allan pulled out a pouch containing some of the smoked and dried meat. "Hungry?"

Frances accepted the pouch. She opened it, and pulled out a strip. She sniffed it, broke it in half, and offered half to Francis, who did the same. They each nibbled. "Flavor's not bad," noted Francis. "Good smoking job, you two. Mind if we keep the rest?"

"No problem," said Deneb. "You've told us yours, we've told you ours -- how about we get down to the real business."

"What real business?" asked Frances, innocently.

"Don't be an ass, Frances," said Allan, "What do you know about a shape-shifted boar?"

"I don't see why we should start," complained Francis. "Why not fess up about that shape-shifted lion you're covering for? And for that matter, where are Justin's clothes? I see his pack, but he must have been wearing something."

Deneb answered, "That I can answer. The tunic was really, really bloody. We burned it, because it just wouldn't come clean. The leggings, well, when the shape-shifted lion stopped being a lion, he was buck naked and asking for clothes. He's got Justin's trousers. For that matter, I think we left Justin's travelling purse in his trousers, so he's probably got that, too. Along with one of Allan's shirts. He left in a bit of a hurry, when he found out what we'd fed him for dinner."

"What?" asked Frances. "I thought this was the lion that munched the other half of Justin?"

"It was. Let's just say that X--- has a complicated system of morality probably not even known entirely to himself."

"Ah," said Francis. "Then let me just note that we suspect the boar of being X's brother-in-law-to-be."

Deneb and Allan considered this statement for a moment. "What do you mean--" said Allan, simultaneous with Deneb's, "--to-be?!"

"Didn't you hear?" asked Frances. "The wedding has been delayed until Allan, Deneb, Bet, Maim, Xavier and Thomas reappear. Dead or alive, Alex does not appear to care which."

Deneb and Allan grimaced. Francis noticed the expression was identical on both faces. "I suppose we'd better be getting back then," said Deneb.

Frances said, "Before we make any rash decisions, why don't be have a little chat on the subject of boar hunting."

All four sat or squatted around the fire, staring morbidly into the flames. The prospect of hunting a boar was never a pleasant or cheerful one, altho at times it could be very exciting to contemplate. Frances, for example, was considering the last time she'd hunted boar. She'd recently broken up with someone who had turned out to be every bit as sleazy as her friends and Francis had insisted, but who she'd seen through more optimistic eyes. Hunting boar that time had been a life-affirming exercise. Right at this moment, thinking about hunting boar struck her more as an expression of a death wish.

Francis, too, was thinking of that last boar hunt. He remembered things a little differently, as one might expect. At the time, Frances had seemed more alive than he'd recalled in a long time, alert and feral, dangerously attractive. He'd had no intention of going along with the idea, until she'd turned her eyes on him and somehow, he'd caught the desire to kill from her and together, they'd sucked in a dozen other fools. The boar got one; they got the boar. On the whole, it was regarded as a heroic deed, not to be ever repeated.

Allan had hunted boar on two past occasions. He had not been involved in the hunt with the Frances and Francis. Both of his hunts had been undertaken as a matter of necessity. During his teenage years, a village near his home had lost three small children to a boar, and his father had finally organized a hunt to put a stop to the deaths before everyone left the area. Some years later, he'd been awoken while on campaign for his uncle to hear snuffling near his tent. Both patrols were dead, and two other men in the party. The remaining four had managed to kill the boar, primarily because one of the victims had managed to plant a knife in the boar's belly as he was being trampled to death. Allan didn't like boar hunts, but he did perceive the need to kill pigs on occasion.

Deneb had been in the party with Allan on that second encounter. Properly speaking, she'd never hunted boar, only killed one in self-defense. She was the one who'd spotted the knife in the boar's belly, and she was the one to plant a spear in the eye of the boar and, during a second pass, to club it further into the boar's miniscule brain. She'd insisted all along that waiting for the boar to bleed to death was not a viable option, and persisted in believing that if she hadn't nailed the boar, it would have killed them all before it died. She was also the one who'd insisted on sledging the carcass back to the main army camp to be spitted and roasted whole. After that kill, Deneb had become obsessive about being able to plant pointed objects in the eyes of running antagonists with enough force to enter the braincase. She'd cultivated every marksman she encountered, in that army and every other she could weasel her way near, and simultaneously awed and annoyed each of them in turn with her single-minded focus on what was regarded as a frivolous specialty.

Allan figured that if boar hunting were a more widely practised hobby, Deneb would be in great demand, ostracised tho they both generally were. Alas, boar hunting was not popular. If it were, maybe there would be fewer boars. Allan devoted a moment or two to thinking of ways to popularize it. Most of them involved extensive lying about the risks, which was not a long term strategy. The rest of them seemed to be designed to attract the attention of Alex.

"Do we have to go boar hunting?" asked Deneb.

"Not as such," responded Francis. "We could just pretend nothing was going on and hope we weren't anywhere near the top of the To Be Killed list."

The four considered this alternative for a moment, and then, as a group, sniggered. Deneb clarified her original comment. "No, I mean, wouldn't it be easier to go after the boar in its...other form?"

Allan pointed out, "That would be widely regarded as extremely illegal. I think the term treason would apply. Potentially regicide, also. Could even start a war."

"Even if we could prove what he was?"

"Being a shapeshifter is not against the law," noted Francis. "It's just considered poor taste, and makes people suspicious of one's eating habits. Not that any of us have any chance at the moral high ground on that particular issue."

"Hey, Justin started it," protested Deneb.

"I don't think there's a self-defense plea for cannibalism," said Allan, dryly.

"I think that the amount of time involved in convincing others of the True Nature of the Beast, and I don't mean shapeshifting, would allow the boar to come pick us off individually, and we'd be stuck hunting boar anyway, without the benefit of surprise." Frances' summary received no argument. "Since no one objects to this conclusion, I suggest, once again, that we take up the topic of boar hunting. I realize no one's happy about this, but we've all done it, successfully. Deneb here in particular has been honing her skills at this particular chore for over a decade now. I think we can do this."

"Those weren't shapeshifted boars. Shapeshifted animals are harder to kill," said Allan, dogmatically.

"It's difficult to imagine anything being harder to kill than a boar," noted Francis.

"Yeah, well, doesn't make it any less true," said Allan.

"Allan, d'you think Xav would help?" asked Deneb.

Francis and Frances stared at each other, and Deneb, alternating three times before bursting out in uncontrollable laughter. After several minutes, Deneb snidely said, "Wet your trousers why don't you."

Allan pointed out that it did sound a little outrageous on the surface.

Wiping the tears from their faces, Francis and Frances ascertained that Deneb was indeed referring to Xavier, sibling to La Lisandra.

"You may recall there was a lion wandering the area?"

"Yes," responded Frances cautiously. Then she got it, and her eyes widened. "is the whole family shifted?"

"Let's just say I wouldn't bet anything significant against it," replied Allan.

"A lion would help. But I thought you said it couldn't take care of itself," said Francis.

Deneb added, "I don't think there's anything wrong with Xavier that can't be attributed to poor upbringing and an unusually bad case of adolescent gawkiness combined with a terrible crush on Bet. I figure, we let Maim have at Xavier for a few days, and Xavier will be a New Man. Get Bet to provide some sort of incentive, instead of beating him up all the time, and then all of us go after the little piggie that thinks it's getting married."

Evil grins broke out on the faces of the four, and unpleasant laughter wafted up on the night air with the smoke from the embers of the campfire.

The following morning, they decided to start tracking down Maim and Bet, prior to returning for the wedding. They travelled the few miles to the village Peth, and located the local witch. Fortunately, as Francis had hazily remembered, this one did indeed include among her skills map-dowsing, and was willing to give individuals a try, provided they had something that had been in the possession of the person they were searching for. Deneb always carried tokens from Maim, Bet and Allan for exactly this reason. She dumped the contents of the pouch out onto the table, and poked around in the small heap of coins, trinkets and pieces of cloth. She selected a small blade, and a tiny corked jar, and handed them to the witch. "Anyone got anything for Xav?" asked Deneb. No one did, which wasn't unexpected. Deneb shrugged, and said, "Just the two, then. The blade's a little old, so that one will be a little tricky, but the jar is recent."

"Two different people?"

"Yes."

The witch pulled out an area map with the village slightly off-center. She sniffed at the blade, and made a face. "Nice friend, you've got."

Deneb blushed. "Bet's not as bad as she seems."

The witch looked up at her, and rolled her eyes. "You keep telling yourself that," and then hunched over the map and started sniffing around on it. After a few moments, she straightened up and glared at Deneb. "Old token and she travels a lot."

Deneb hung her head. "Sorry."

The witch returned to sniffing, focussing on one edge of the map. After a bit, she pulled another map out, and started at one edge of it, working her way around one corner. Eventually, she straightened, and pointed at the town of Icthys. "You should be able to get news of your friend there. She stayed a while, recently, but I'm by no means convinced she's still there. And when you find her, get a fresher token, and encourage her to find a compatible priest and start working through some of that karma. That woman is headed for trouble." The witch then picked up the jar, and sniffed at it. She looked very surprised, and said, "Maim? After that bloodthirsty disaster, you hand me one of Maim's tokens?"

"Maim and Bet like each other!" Deneb protested.

"Ha! Well, I can tell you where Maim is, but I'll check, first." The witch checked an apparently lonely spot on the map, near Peth, looked confused, and shuffled around the map, eventually winding up on the other map, in Icthys once again. "Like or not like, I have to say they probably are together. Tell Maim I'm disgusted with her taste in companions. That won't surprise her much."

Deneb nodded, and handed the witch four gold coins. "Those are for Bet," she said, and then handed the witch two more, "and those are for Maim. Sorry about the old token, and for asking you to find one so incompatible with yourself. I appreciate your efforts."

The witch pocketed the coins, and thanked her. "Anything else?"

Deneb shook her head, but Allan had found some bottles he was interested in. Deneb walked over to the shelf he was investigating. "Love potions, Allan? You are a never-ending source of amusement."

Allan replied, "Glad to be of service. Madame, is this love potion what it claims to be?"

The witch reached into her gown, and hauled out a golden apple on a chain. Holding it up in her left hand, she said, "I swear and aver that is indeed potion manufactured and bottled by Lemuel Abelson." She returned the symbol and said, "And I ought to know."

Allan raised an eyebrow.

"That bastard fed some to me years ago. We were lovers for over a year before I realized what was up, and forced him to make me up the antidote. You'll see I carry the antidote, inoculant and general purpose counteract, as well. I don't even like men."

Frances snickered. The witch glared at her, and Frances and Francis fled the store, to wait outside for Allan and Deneb.

"What's the difference between antidote and counteract?" asked Deneb.

"Doesn't anyone teach kids anything useful these days? Antidote undoes the effects of love potion, if complications like natural love haven't ensued. Counteract is more powerful. It'll undo love, whether natural or induced via potion, but it's a lot trickier to use. Dosage is difficult to calculate, and if you overdo, you can get bleedover into the ability to love at all. Wind up sociopathic, if you don't watch out."

"Is the inoculant general purpose or potion specific?"

"Again, dosage matters, but unless you go whole hog, it's basically specific to potion induced love."

Allan considered the bottles. "Do you sell potion to take-away, or do you administer here?"

The witch looked Allan up and down. "You seem to be a man with principles. I'll sell you potion to take-away."

"Dose limit?"

The witch thought about that a moment, and said, "None for you."

"All right. If I'm reading this right, it looks like about a dozen doses in each bottle of inoculant and antidote, the large potion bottle has maybe 100, and the counteract I can't tell."

"Generally, it's a half bottle, unless it's a bad case, in which case the whole bottle is indicated."

"I'd like two bottles of counteract, three of the large potion, and one each of the others, then."

The witch grinned. "I knew you were a man after my own heart. That'll be 30 gold."

Allan handed her the money, and tipped her two more coins. They packed the bottles in cloth bags, and stashed them in Allan's pack. They bid the witch good bye, but before they walked out to find Frances and Francis, the witch stopped them, and said quietly to them, "I'd say La Lisandra is a whole bottle of counteract case, and unless they've bought new punch bowls, figure about one eighth of the large bottles per bowl." Deneb's eyes went wide. Allan nodded, saying, "That's about what I was figuring." Deneb and Allan walked out the door.

"Got what you were looking for?" asked Francis.

"And a little extra," affirmed Allan.

"Do you think she was telling the truth?" asked Deneb.

Allan shrugged. "It's always a little hard to tell with the followers of Eris, especially when they decide to rub your nose in it. In this particular case, I'm not too concerned. If the potions don't act as advertised, whatever ensues is likely to be even more entertaining than what we had in mind."

Deneb considered that, then asked, "Why does she have that much elixir on hand?"

Allan smirked. "Imagine what it would take for a nymphomanic lesbian witch to get laid regularly around here."

Deneb surveyed the tiny town. "Don't they notice?"

Allan shrugged. "For all I know, they're having just as much fun as she is. And for all you know, she's self-dosing as often as not."

Frances was gaping at them, so they halted the conversation, and headed out of town in the general direction of Icthys.

* * * *

With his shoulders hunched in on himself, shivering even on a warm summer day, Xavier hardly looked like royalty. His clothes were dusty, and torn in spots. Only the most casual of inspections would dismiss his appearance as the result of travel alone. Clearly something much more unpleasant had happened. Just what that might have been was unclear. If he'd had a black eye, it would have looked like he'd been in a brawl. If he were bloodstained, maybe a duel, or perhaps even set upon by bandits. If the clothes weren't so clearly expensive and comparatively new, he might just have been a bum who picked up a set of castoff clothes from one of his betters. His eyes looked more vacant than haunted, but he didn't have that faraway look that suggested a shattered mind from birth, shock or mind-altering substances. He often looked behind him, clearly expecting whatever had happened to follow him wherever he went, which also suggested an external threat. Also, his clothes were burned.

Even Xavier knew how hard this was going to be to explain. Did he really want to mention that he'd stamped out a campfire in a fit of rage? Could he really explain why he didn't have severe burns himself if he did so? All those little rips from running through the forest in human form, in human clothes, when he was thinking a little too much like a cat to realize that this wasn't going to work very well? Those slices through his trousers which Bet had made when she was interrogating him.

His troubles were too much for him. He didn't understand what he'd done to deserve this, but he was beginning to suspect that maybe, just maybe, this time it wasn't entirely his own fault. It even occurred to him, that if he could figure out why this was happening, he might also begin to understand his sister's poor taste in fiance's, and the suspicious death of both of his (albeit unpleasant) parents. He was beginning to think that compared to much of his family, he was kind of a nice guy.

Of course, compared to his family (and his soon to be family), Xavier is a sweetheart. This is saying very little. Xavier is also, shall we say, a pushover.

A small rodent with a bushy tail crossed the path in front of him, startling Xavier. The rodent correctly perceived Xavier as much less of a threat than whatever was chasing it, and dived into the fields on the other side. Curious, and awakened from his self-pity, Xavier stopped, and watched to see what would follow. A medium-sized dragon loped into the path and crashed into Xavier's leg. Xavier jumped back. The dragon shook its head a few times, as if to clear it, spat a fist-sized burst of flame onto Xavier's boots and continued after the rodent. Cursing, Xavier batted the flames off his boots, and sat down in the middle of the path. An idea was lurking in the corner of his brain, and he wanted to give it plenty of time to work its way to the forefront where it might actually prove to be useful. He usually ignored ideas that occurred to him, and he was beginning to think that might be one of his problems.

A dragon had attacked him! That would explain everything. It would explain the rips without bloodstains, because everyone knew that dragons avoided actual harm to humans they attacked, knowing how ugly that could get. It would explain the burns from the fire (and also now the additional flames on the uppers of his boots). It would explain the lack of any major bruises that one might expect from fisticuffs, and would further explain why he was still in possession of his purse. Of course, to do all this, and to not make him look an utter fool, it would have to be a bigger dragon. And since a lot of f the damage to his clothing was to his coat and tunic, it might be best if the dragon were flying. Dragons only flew when they mated, but then it could be two dragons, and Xavier maybe just happened to stumble into the way. True, it makes me sound a little silly, but the alternatives, Xavier thought, were all worse. Especially the truth.

He got up, attempted to dust off his behind, gave it up as a lost cause, and continued down the path. Things were looking up already, he thought to himself. A simple explanation. He could buy new clothes. He could get a room at a local inn. He could wash up a bit, change, maybe have a bite to eat and some small beer. By the time he left, he'd never have to tell the story again. No one would be the wiser and he could take up his life with only minor worries, like could he make himself look different enough to permanently escape Bet, and maybe his family while he was at it.

About a mile down the road, Xavier came to an inn, a few stores with apartments above, and a scattering of houses. Walking towards the inn, a yokel loitering in front of a shop stared unabashedly, looking him up, down, up, down -- down further, and up once again. After all this, the local said, "Hello". Xavier said, "Hello" and continued on to the inn. The local watched him go inside, and followed.

"What can we do for you, sir?" asked a woman from the dining room, to the right of the entrance, where she was clearing tables.

"I'd like to get a room, some food and drink, and as my clothes are worn", Xavier said, gesturing at his trousers, "directions to the tailor".

"Tailor?", laughed the woman. "No tailor in this town. Tailors are in cities. You might be able to find something at the store across the way, however, if you aren't too picky, which you look like you might have been, recently even. We've got the room under the stairs, take it or leave it, all of the rest are spoken for. Dinner's been and gone," she waved at the dishes, "but you're welcome to bread and we've always got soup and there may be some pie left. Which would you like first?"

Xavier blinked. Maybe he wouldn't have to explain himself at all. "Uh, I'll step across the way for the clothes first, then freshen up."

"You'll have to wait. The store's closed for lunch for a half hour yet."

"Oh. Then I suppose food first."

"All right. Just let me clear the dishes and I'll get you some. You'll have to pay for the room in advance."

Xavier looked at her in shock. He'd never had to pay for anything in advance before, and about half the time, he never had to pay at all.

"Don't look at me like that. You may have been -- and might still be for all I know -- rich as they come, but the inn's full and going to get more so with the dance tonight, and you must admit you like scruffy. For all I know, the bandits got all your money and you've got nothing."

Xavier hauled out two gold coins and tossed -- threw would be more accurate -- them at her. "Will that be adequate?"

The woman checked the edges, and, weighing them in her hand, nodded to him. "That'll do for the room. You can pay for the food after we bring it out and you decide what you like." She went back to the kitchen, and came back with a tray. She unloaded a bowl of soup, a half-round of bread and a slice of pie in front of Xavier. In the minutes she'd been gone, Xavier had cooled down enough to realize that antagonizing the only innkeeper in town -- and a full inn at that -- wasn't exactly wise. He smiled at her, and thanked her for the food. She nodded and disappeared again.

Xavier finished the soup, which thankfully contained nothing recognizable as meat. It was spicy, but the bread cut it, and when the bread was gone, the sweetness of the fruit pie cut through the spice. As he was polishing off the last of the pie, the innkeeper returned, asking, "Was that enough for you, sir?"

Xavier, feeling considerably better with a full belly, said yes, and asked the price. "One silver will do." He dug around in the purse he'd found in the pocket of the trousers, and pulled out a silver and a few copper pieces and gave them to her. The half hour having passed, and a little more, he left the room, and crossed the street to the store. A shelf held several tunics, none of which were up to his standards, but none of which were burned or ripped, either. He found a black shirt which looked about the right size, and found a pair of grey leggings on the shelf below. Pulling his purse out, he surveyed the remains of his cash, and decided there was enough to pick up a pack and some supplies. He found a pack large enough for a blanket. It was warm enough still to not need much more than that at night. A little rummaging around at the back of the store turned up a wool blanket, and some socks. The store appeared to carry a little of everything, so after dropping the pack, blanket and socks on the counter, he started collecting some food -- rice, dried fruit and meat, flour meal, a few carrots, dried beans and a loaf of bread. He also found two waterproof flasks, and added them to the stack. About the time he was getting beans out of the barrel, the shopkeeper materialized, and started looking through the items he'd stacked on the counter. They dickered for a while, and eventually settled on a price. Xavier managed to avoid annoying the shopkeeper, and put everything into the pack except the flasks, which he slung over his shoulder. He was hoping he could fill one with beer at the inn before departing, and was planning on filling the other at the village's fountain, which the shopkeeper directed him to. As an afterthought, Xavier bought soap. Returning to the inn after detouring to the fountain, Xavier asked the innkeeper for directions to his room, and inquired after bathing facilities. She directed him around the stairs and along the side for the former, and waved to the back hallway for the latter. Xavier opened the door to his room. He was shocked. He didn't know rooms like this existed, and they certainly weren't worth two gold pieces for a night! This was outrageous. He would have been better off camping outside of town. He considered demanding the money back from the innkeeper, but upon consideration, he realized it wasn't his money anyway, and he really did need a bath. Might as well try out the bathing facilities, first. He dumped the contents of the pack, and reloaded with just the soap and clothes, stacking the food in the blanket and tying it into a makeshift bundle. He went in search of the baths.

Xavier's idea of bathing was very sophisticated. While it might occur to Xavier to sleep outdoors on the ground with a blanket to keep warm, and a pack for a pillow, since he'd done that for kicks as a child, streams, ponds and lakes did not occur to him as places to wash. If anyone had asked Xavier where he thought more primitive people might bathe, he would likely have innocently answered that he never thought they did, and so the lack of proper facilities wasn't the problem it might otherwise seem. This was a town, or at any rate a village. People in villages bathed, so presumably they had bathing facilities. Xavier was in for a small shock when he exited the inn through the back hallway to find a leanto containing a trough and water ducts which clearly led back to the town fountain. More accurately, Xavier was in for a big shock, because the innkeeper was currently using the bath. She was attempting to scrub her back, but lacking a brush with a handle, she was making do with a rag, and wasn't happy about it. Spotting Xavier, she called out to him, "Hey, you! You're the one staying under the stairs, right?"

Xavier nodded, numb.

"Be a sport, hey? Give my back a scrub." She tossed the wet rag at him, which Xavier managed to catch. He stepped forward, still dazed, and proceeded to scrub her back. She was insistent about where and how hard, but eventually decided enough was enough, retrieved her rag, and shooed him back into the inn with directions to return in ten minutes, which she'd be done. "You can reuse the water if you'd like. It's not too dirty and it's gotten pretty warm." Xavier shuddered and retreated to his room.

It took him a quarter hour to get up his nerve to return to the bathing shack out back. The innkeeper was gone, and had left the trough full. Disgusted by the prospect of bathing in dirty water, he uncorked the hole at one end of the trough, and waited for it to empty. He wondered in passing where the water went, but only in passing. When the trough was empty, he recorked the hole, and uncorked the hole at the other end, and fresh water from the village fountain flowed in. He allowed it to half fill, and then recorked the hole, blocking further inlet. It was not until that moment that he understood what the innkeeper had meant when she said the water had gotten pretty warm. The fountain water, which had been refreshingly cool to drink when he'd filled his flask, was startlingly cold now. He looked around frantically for something to heat the trough or the shack or a bucket of water on to warm up the tub, but it was too late now. For the first time in his young life, it occurred to Xavier to curse his own lack of foresight. He'd never had to deal with the consequences of his own assumptions before, and it was not a pleasant experience.

Stripping, he hopped into the tub, and started scrubbing with the soap, hoping the friction would warm him up some. It was a desperate, and ultimely hopeless thought, and as he scrubbed he could feel himself shriveling. He managed to stick it out long enough to get thoroughly clean, for the first time in about a week. Running around as a large cat had not given him the training a cat receives in grooming, and his own ineptitude in the woods had given him a greater than average amount of burrs and grime. He'd gotten most off fairly easily upon return to human form, but a lot of the grime remained and was a struggle to remove, even with the rags left in a pile on the bench by the trough.

Finally, frozen by finished, he hopped back out of the tub, and immediately felt warmer. He swiped water off his body with his hands, and looked around for yet another item he'd forgotten: something to dry himself with. He eventually settled for using a not particularly disgusting portion of his clothes, and then dressed himself. The clothes were now distinctly damp, and hadn't gotten appreciably cleaner, so he washed them out in the trough. Uncertain about protocol, but remembering the trough had been full when he'd arrived, he left it full. He wrung out his clothes, and went in search of the innkeeper to find out if there was a place to put them for drying, since he didn't have a window in his room. "Washed them in the trough, did you?" Xavier nodded, wondering if he'd broken yet another rule. "Make sure you empty it, then. Don't like to surprise guests with water that filthy. You can hang your clothes on the main line, just back of the shack. Can't miss it." Xavier followed her instructions, and then went to his room for a nap. At least on the bed, wrapped in his blanket (which he was relieved he'd bought, because apparently the bed was supplied but bedclothes were not), he was warm.

Home | Fiction

Copyright Rebecca Allen, 2013.
Created: 2003?
Updated:July 17, 2013