by Watts Martin
“No, it’s just torn, and your toe pad—pad’s the right word, isn’t it?—has a cut. I’ll get a bandage.” He stood up and walked over to a cabinet. “What’s your name?”
“Yes, that’s the right word.” She looked at her foot more closely, and saw only a bloody mess. “I’m—” She paused; if she hadn’t been so trusting, particularly of humans, she would never have been in this mess. But if he was with the Brothers she was already screwed anyway. “Roulette.”
“Like the game in Orinthe, hmm? I’m Indre.” He returned with a wet cloth and gauze, and started to wipe her foot clean. “You were really kidnapped?”
“I really was.”
“What happened?”
She shook her head. “I had to climb up a wooden wall and climb out a window. Quickly.”
Indre grunted, and set the cloth aside. “I think your foot will be fine in no time.” He slowly wrapped the gauze around her toes. “I know the Pan-Species Aid Society is controversial around here, with the politics these days. But they do have a lot of friends. I give them leftover bread twice a week.”
As he finished, a bell rang from the front area, and the remaining assistant walked out. Both Roulette and the older baker looked up.
“We’re looking for an animal woman,” a voice came—that of the second man who’d been holding her. “A raccoon. Did you see her?”
“No,” the assistant said.
“That’s them,” she hissed in a whisper.
The older man silently stood and offered his hand to her, motioning her under a steel work table. The floor underneath was dusted with flour, but there was room for her to crouch there.
“She just robbed us. We’re from the warehouse just next door on Smithfield. You know how fast those animals are—we couldn’t catch her. We can just take a look around, though.”
Indre was walking toward the front now. “We can’t let customers in the back,” he said, sounding sincerely apologetic. “Tell me about what happened.”
“Her footprints end at your back door,” the first man’s voice came angrily. “We know she came in here.”
“The back door’s been locked,” the baker said. He didn’t add and I don’t appreciate your tone of voice, but it came through clearly. “You’re clearly mistaken. Just calm down. I can get you something to drink if you’d like.”
He was trying to stall them, but that wouldn’t work for long, and she didn’t know when—or if—Alfon would be returning with reinforcements. She glanced around, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. A rolling pin, maybe.
“Look, that’s nice, but we don’t have time for it. She’s a thief and she’s getting away.”
“There’s a Guard station just two blocks from here. Why don’t we give them a visit about your robber?”
“We can handle it ourselves,” the second man’s voice came, less angry than just tired. “Look, we’ll just take a minute to see if she’s hiding somewhere, all right?”
“No, I’m afraid it is not all right. No customers in the back. Period. If you’ve been the victim of a crime, let’s report it.”
Roulette could hear everyone’s breathing in the silence that ensued for several long seconds. Then footsteps came toward the kitchen.
“I said ‘no.’ You’re not behaving like victims. Perhaps you’d better leave now,” Indre’s voice came, sounding firm. She could tell by the next noises—the solid thump, the pained wheeze, another footstep—that they’d just shoved him aside.
More noises. A fight between both of them and the assistant? She crawled out as quickly as she could do while still moving silently, and risked a peek around the corner. Yes. Keeping herself hidden but straightening up, she looked around quickly and found her weapon of choice. She grabbed a rolling pin and brandished it like a club, then winced as too much weight settled on her injured foot.
The second man disengaged from the fight and started to enter the kitchen, then stopped momentarily at the sight of the raccoon. “Let’s not make this hard,” he said, keeping an eye on the rolling pin.
“Let’s make it as hard as possible,” Roulette growled.
He tried to move toward her; she kept the rolling pin raised threateningly. When he made a grab for her she spun out of the way—on her good foot—and slammed the pin into his shoulder in the same movement. He cursed sharply, staggering.
She grinned, breathing a little hard. Maybe dance moves would work in a fight.
The man stepped back, then darted to the side away from her, turning back around with a chef’s knife in his hand now. Roulette’s ears folded back.
The bell on the door jangled again. Gregir and Lisha both burst in, Alfon close on their heels. The first man looked up and backed away from the assistant baker, putting up his fists and facing the wolf. Lisha started to circle around toward the kitchen.
When she entered, the man spun around to face her. Roulette moved forward with the rolling pin, and he pivoted, trying to hold them both at bay with the blade.
Lisha motioned for Roulette to step back, and she stepped forward.
“Stay back,” he said. “You’re unarmed and I will stab you.”
She stepped forward again, eyes locked on his.
He took a breath, then charged at her with a yell, holding the blade in front of him.
Roulette started to move forward, but Lisha pivoted gracefully to the side, her hands grabbing his arm and adding the force of her throw to his charge. He flew into the baker’s table behind her, dropping the knife and staggering.
Lisha moved forward again, but he limped out of the kitchen. His companion was doubled over against a wall, wheezing, while Gregir looked at him impassively.
They both edged toward the door, while their six foes closed ranks. “You’re going to be very sorry about this,” one muttered, and they both darted outside.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” one of the baker’s assistants said to Lisha, sounding admiring.
“Guard training.”
Roulette dropped the rolling pin and sagged against the closest counter.
Lisha ran over to the raccoon, then stopped just short, arms partially out as if she were either going to hug Roulette or throw her hands up into the air. “You’re hurt. What did they do to you? Where are you hurt?”
“Everywhere,” Roulette said wryly.
“I shouldn’t have let you storm off like that. Gregir said you needed time alone and, and I wanted to give you that, but then you didn’t come back after two hours and—” She caught her breath. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
“As am I,” Gregir rumbled. He seemed to be very pointedly looking away from Lisha.
Roulette pushed herself upright again, then walked to Indre, giving him a gentle hug. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” he said, returning her hug. “Nothing broken.”
“Thank you so much. You saved my life.”
“I just did what was right.”
“We need more of that these days,” said Gregir.
None of the three spoke much as they walked back to the Aid Society. After Roulette turned down Gregir’s offer to let him carry her to keep the weight off her injured foot, he trudged forward with his hands in his pockets. Lisha spent most of the time glancing back and forth, alternately putting her hand out in front of the raccoon to signal a stop and walking a little too fast. Both her scent and body language spoke of her agitation.
“They’re not going to come after us at the Society,” Roulette said.
“We can’t be too careful.”
“I know. But they’re busy with…with something.”
Lisha was looking off to the left and motioning Roulette forward as she responded. “With what?”
“Something involving water connections in a building. I couldn’t see it.”
Even at the slow pace, it was less than ten minutes’ walk back. “Their secret headquarters is this close?” Roulette asked.
“It’s not their headquarters. Just a warehouse
one of the Brothers owns. One of many in this district, I’m sure.” Her words were casual but her tone had a we’re deep in enemy territory edge to it.
Gregir held the door open for both of them, revealing Tiran pacing in the reception area. He hurried over to put his arm around Roulette and start to guide her to a chair. “Lords. What did they do to you?”
“Not as much as they wanted, I think,” she said. “But Lisha is right.”
“About what?”
“About everything,” she sighed. Temperamentally she was inclined to Tiran’s nuanced diplomacy, but right now she felt far more sympathetic to Lisha’s start-breaking-heads air. “It was Massey’s group. The Brothers of…whatever.”
Tiran furrowed his brow. “Atasos. Are you absolutely sure?”
“He was there, Tiran. Massey was there. With the ones who kidnapped me.”
Tiran’s ears folded back. Lisha balled her hands into fists.
“You can’t be sure it was him,” he said weakly. “You’ve never met him.”
Roulette reached into her pocket, then limped over to the receptionist’s desk, pulled out the recording orb and set it down, leaving a finger on it until after she said, “Show.”
The image was at an odd angle, but it showed Massey and the two men standing by the wall in front of the drawings. “The best connection point we’ve determined is here,” Massey’s image said tinnily.
“Those are the people who were at the bakery,” Lisha said tightly.
Roulette nodded.
Tiran opened his mouth, then closed it wordlessly. He listened to Massey describe the crawlspace, the water junction, the timer; listened to the argument between his men; watched the last few moments when they pointed at Roulette’s cell and the recording cut off abruptly.
After the playback ended, he swallowed, staring at the desk with a blank expression for several seconds. Then he reached for the recording orb.
Before his hand got there, Lisha slapped both of hers down—one on top of his wrist, one on top of the orb. She held his hand in place while she pocketed it.
He looked up at her in shock. “What do you—”
“You’ve been taking that bastard’s blood money for two years, denying everything I’ve been telling you about him.” Lisha’s quiet, tight tone radiated more menace than Roulette had yet heard from her. “Don’t expect me to trust you with the proof.”
“Proof?” He gave her an incredulous, almost pitying look. “Lisha. Please. We don’t have any idea what they’re talking about. Connection point to what? The lengths who will go to?”
“It’s proof of Massey’s direct involvement with a fucking kidnapping, a threat against Roulette’s life, and a plot that sounds like it involves injecting acid into water lines. We don’t have to know exactly what they’re talking about to know that it’s got something to do with the rally tomorrow.”
His voice grew warning. “Lisha—”
The vixen’s voice grew hotter. “It fits with everything I’ve been tracking. Secret meetings. More activity in their underground network. The herani. That they have to do whatever they’re going to do tonight.”
Tiran had rolled his eyes at underground network and didn’t look any more patient as she finished. “And what do you propose to do if that’s true? Cancel it?”
“If we have to, yes.”
“It’s not your call. It’s not my call. It’s less than a day away.” He sounded almost pleading. “If you must, turn this over to the Guard.”
“They won’t do anything.”
His tail lashed. “And why is that, do you think? Are they part of the grand conspiracy, or could it be because you don’t have enough evidence?”
Roulette closed her eyes. She felt like knocking both their heads together, but right now she was having trouble keeping her balance. “Excuse me,” she muttered softly.
“I’m—” Lisha stopped in mid-sentence. “Roulette?”
The raccoon guessed that the vixen had turned toward her, but she couldn’t tell. Her eyes wouldn’t quite open again. “I think I need to lie down,” she murmured woozily.
“I have got you,” Gregir’s voice came. Someone lifted her up into their arms, and everything went dark.
When Roulette’s eyes opened again she was staring up at the ceiling…where? In her room.
“Are you all right?” Lisha’s voice came.
“Yes,” Roulette said, rubbing her eyes. “I feel a lot better.” She sat up gingerly. “Did I fall asleep?”
“The word you’re looking for is ‘fainting.’” She shook her head. “I should have taken you right back here. You’ve been through so much today.”
Roulette nodded. “Was it Gregir who carried me here?”
“Yes.” She held up a bag. “He got some extra food at dinner for you, too.”
“Thank you. Thank him.” Roulette took the bag gingerly. “Not doughnuts, I hope.”
“No,” Lisha said, without cracking a smile. “Cold chicken.”
Roulette smiled a little. “I’m sure it’ll be good. Is it late enough that he went on to bed?”
“Yes, I think so. It’s nearly midnight.” The vixen stood up, started to walk to the door, then turned around. “Earlier today, when we fought…” She swallowed. “You were right. I shouldn’t have rushed you out of your room. I’m sorry.”
Roulette looked up at the vixen, startled by the sudden change in topic. She wanted to say damn right you shouldn’t, but remained silent.
“I was afraid for you. Especially after you told me what Grayson tried to do to you.” Lisha’s voice had a slight shake to it now.
The raccoon sighed, and patted the bed beside her. “Sit down.”
Lisha did so, moving stiffly, hands in her lap, as if expecting to be disciplined by her commanding officer.
“I won’t lie,” Roulette said. “I’m still upset. But if you hadn’t dragged me out, those men would still have found me. And even if I’d been able to get away, I wouldn’t have had anywhere to go.” She shook her head. “I can make more money, but I can’t come back from the dead.”
Lisha nodded, a slight movement, otherwise remaining still.
“So.” She touched Lisha’s leg, lightly for a moment, then simply rested her hand on the cloth of the vixen’s slacks. “I forgive you. As infuriating as you’ve been, you’ve rescued me twice now. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be around to be angry with you.”
The vixen took a deep breath and smiled, again just a slight movement, almost timid.
Roulette smiled back and lifted her hand away. No, she hadn’t lifted it yet, had she? She kept thinking it—you should really move your hand now—but it kept staying there, pressed gently against Lisha’s leg. After several slow breaths had passed, the vixen’s tail wagged slowly against the bed. Roulette caught herself wondering if she could make it wag faster.
“I should let you eat,” Lisha said at length. “And sleep myself. I’ll be at the rally site early. I want to know what the hell they’re planning.” She bit her lip. “I’ll try to get you some money in a few days. To help get you to Raneadhros.”
“Oh—oh, you don’t have to do that.” Part of her wanted to take whatever Lisha would give her, but she suspected the vixen didn’t have much to spare.
“I do. I cost you a lot.” She sighed. “And I imagine you want to get the hell away from here as fast as you can.”
“I’d try to put it more diplomatically than that, but yes.” Roulette laughed, then furrowed her brow. “But I want to know about the rally. About all these issues. Everything—everything you’re involved with.”
“Really?” Lisha sounded startled. “You haven’t even lived here long enough to vote.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not interested in the politics.”
Lisha smiled again, now fully. It was just as beautiful as it had been last night. “You didn’t have much interest as late as yesterday.”
The raccoon smiled in a more rueful way. “I’ve had a
few eye-opening experiences since then.”
Lisha grimaced, then put her hand on top of Roulette’s, her pads warm and soft against the raccoon’s fur. “Get some rest.” She moved the raccoon’s hand away, and stood up. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait. Where is the rally? In—in case I want to show up.”
The vixen laughed at that. “Dixon Square. Where you were dancing.”
Roulette ate a single piece of chicken after Lisha left. Gregir had thoughtfully included a napkin in the bag, although it was smeared with grease, and there were neither side dishes nor any condiments. It was just cold baked chicken. Truthfully, though, she wasn’t that hungry.
Setting the bag in a corner, she headed to the washroom to clean up before bed, becoming more mindful of not only the pains in her foot but the aches from where she’d been hit, fallen and dragged. When she returned to the room she hooked the door, took off her skirt and blouse, hung them up, and stretched out on top of the bed without pulling back the covers, staring up at the ceiling.
She knew she really should leave as soon as she could. There was nothing here for her. What would she do if she stayed? Work here, at the Aid Society?
With Lisha.
“You’ve only known her two days, and you’ve spent most of that time either being afraid of her or furious with her,” she said aloud.
Another few seconds passed. “And other than that one night in trade school, when did you favor the flowers over the bees?”
She fell silent, but the argument kept going in her head. Roulette, you’re more sensible than this.
You mean your oh-so-sensible plan to go chase rich people?
With another sigh, she closed her eyes, starting to drift asleep. She wished the warehouse was darker at night; the windows let in just enough light to give the whole place a dim glow, broken up by odd shadows from the pipework.
Abruptly her eyes snapped open.
She bolted upright, scanning the ceiling. No crawlspace. A warehouse had no crawlspace, did it? All the pipes above were exposed; it would be hard to sabotage something here without being spotted.
Hard, but not impossible.
She sat back down, then lay down again very slowly, staring mistrustfully at the closest sprinkler head until sleep overtook her.