by Kyell Gold
“I know, I know. Let’s go.” Volle turned, reluctantly, and stepped forward onto the road. His legs were still unsteady, and he needed every ounce of the wolf’s support.
The palace’s turrets rose about half a mile away, dull grey stone that reflected only a little of the starlight. Only the very tops, gold-leafed, shone at all. The road leading there from the prison was narrow and winding, and Volle kept looking back and forth at the dark houses and shops on either side.
“Keep your head down,” Streak hissed nervously, and Volle tried to act drunk.
It took them forever to make it the half-mile. Volle had to stop and rest at one point, so he sat on a house’s front stoop while Streak paced nervously. Twice they heard someone coming and tensed, but the passerby gave them barely a second glance. Finally, they came to a stop at a metal gate.
“You gonna be okay?” Streak braced Volle against the wall, and Volle nodded. He flexed his legs gingerly. They were sore and still unsteady, but he thought he could go a little further.
“What, did you steal all the keys?” he asked as the wolf fitted a key to the keyhole in the gate.
Streak didn’t answer immediately, as he pushed the gate open. He put his arm around Volle and guided him in. “The guards have a master set,” he said, closing the gate behind them. “I just picked the ones I thought would be useful.” He jingled his pocket and flashed a brief grin, but he didn’t seem to be any less nervous now that they were in the palace.
They had walked into one of the gardens, but Volle had to spot the elaborate flowery design before he knew which one it was. The garden seemed eerie in the starlight, deserted except for the two of them, the flowers’ colors all muted and their scents faded for the night. It should be romantic, Volle thought, a nighttime garden, but the silence and the chill disturbed him.
“It’s this way, I think.” Streak was guiding him down one path.
“I remember. Down here and around that corner there’s a door that usually isn’t locked.” The shortcuts were coming back to him, weak as he was. “Then there’s a stair to the right. We can cut through the servants’ quarters to the west wing.”
“Okay.” They walked quickly down the path. Volle felt the crunch of the gravel under his paws, and it brought back other memories. He pushed them aside and concentrated on taking steps.
The door was just as he’d remembered it, decorated with the king’s crest in carved wood, not painted like the fancier doors in the main garden and out front. They pulled it open and stepped into the warm air and ancient smells of the palace.
Volle had barely had time to see the staircase when he heard footsteps coming down it. His eyes met Streak’s, and then the wolf pushed the door open, looking panicked.
Volle shook his head quickly, then collapsed to his knees with his head out the door. He made retching noises, and tried to shake appropriately.
“Bad night?” he heard behind him.
“A bit too much,” Streak said. Volle hoped the other didn’t hear the waver in his voice. “Just letting him get it out of his system.”
“Okay. Try to keep it down. And clean it up when you’re done.” The footsteps receded.
Volle braced himself against the door and levered himself upwards. Streak was at his side immediately, helping pull him upward. “You think fast.”
“Have to.” He gave the wolf a small grin. “Let’s go.”
They made it up the stairs and through the servants’ quarters without incident. On the other side, Volle looked up and down the opulent corridor and headed immediately to the right. He found an ornate door and nodded to Streak, who pushed it open gently. It opened onto a small foyer, with a padded bench and a small side door that Volle knew led to the valet’s room. He guided Streak past it and to the larger door on the other side of the foyer, which was made of polished wood, carved with Helfer’s family crest, and brushed with gold leaf.
Streak moved to open the door, but Volle stopped him. He raised a paw and knocked. After a few seconds, Streak knocked, louder. They waited, and after a short time they heard shuffling footsteps inside. The door cracked open.
“Do you know what time it is? What is it?” Volle recognized the weasel’s voice, which lost some of its sharp irritation when he spotted the guard’s uniform. He hadn’t seen Volle yet.
“Hi, Hef,” Volle said.
The door opened slightly wider, and Volle saw the ruddy fur of his friend’s muzzle. His black eyes widened.
“What the—Volle? What are you doing here?”
“Need to stay here for a bit.”
“By the gods, you look awful. And smell worse.” The weasel hesitated. “I’ve been hearing things…”
Volle managed a weak smile. “What are they saying about me?”
“That you were taken ill and had to go back to Vinton. That you’re a spy, and a traitor. That you ran back to Ferrenis. That was just Dereath, of course.”
“Oh, that.”
“ ‘Oh, that’? Volle, if that’s true…”
“I haven’t been to Ferrenis. I’ve been in prison.” At that, the weasel’s ears shot up. “Relax, Hef. You’re in no danger.”
“I am now! Prison? You’ve been in prison? You’ve…escaped, haven’t you? What if someone finds you here?”
“That seems a lot more likely the longer we stand out here in your foyer.”
The weasel didn’t move. Finally, he said, “Oh, all right. Come on in.”
Streak helped Volle into the rooms, and Helfer shut the door quickly behind them.
Helfer’s parlor, elaborately decorated with yellow velvet curtains and small tapestries lining the walls, showed signs of what the weasel had been up to the previous night. The curtains were closed over the elaborate double window, the door to the large wine cabinet hung partly open, and the loveseat had been moved to sit in front of the now-cold fireplace. On the floor to one side, a half-empty bottle of wine and two empty glasses stood forgotten, and Volle saw more than one article of clothing nearby them, almost forming a trail to the curtained doorway that led further into the apartment.
He often wondered why Helfer bothered to keep a desk in this room at all. Alone of all the furnishings, the desk showed no signs of recent use, and its simple wooden style didn’t seem to fit in with the reddish-orange patterned loveseat, or the matching chairs and various small rugs that lay scattered over the floor.
Helfer looked Volle up and down as they stepped in, and now there was concern in his eyes. “You really do look awful. What in the name of Weasel happened to you?”
“He needs food,” Streak said. “They starved him for the last three days.”
“Mm.” Helfer turned to Streak and gave him an appraising look. “At least your tastes haven’t changed much. He looks as good as you look terrible.”
Streak’s ears flicked back. He started to say something, and Helfer raised a small paw. “I know. I’ll get food sent up right away. And please, Volle, put something on besides that horrid uniform. It really doesn’t suit you.”
“Later,” the fox coughed. “I was hoping to use your private bath.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Phew.” The weasel waved a paw in front of his nose. “Worse than the time you drank too much and fell into the gutter.”
“Which time?” Volle cracked a small grin.
Helfer flashed a quick grin back, then bit his lip worriedly. “Stay here. Sit down.” He gestured towards a richly upholstered chair, and then slipped out the front door.
Streak helped Volle over to the chair, and the fox collapsed into it. “You feeling okay?” Streak asked, bending over him.
“Apart from the hole in my stomach, the dizziness, and the feeling that I couldn’t walk another step, I feel great.” Volle looked up. “I owe you a lot.”
The wolf nuzzled him, and looked away bashfully. “Not so much. I mean, I only did what I had to.”
Helfer slipped back in. “He’s going to get some food from the kitchens.”
“
Caresh?”
“Yes. Not even a question. Volle, what is going on?”
“Excuse me,” Streak said, “I need to get back and put these keys back before Gerrold comes on duty.”
Volle lifted a paw and Streak took it, holding it tightly. “Thank you again,” the fox said, and lifted his muzzle.
Streak met it in a soft, quick kiss. “Bye, fox—Volle. I’ll be back when I get off duty today. Be careful when you eat. Remember what happened last time.”
Volle smiled at the use of his name, and at the wolf’s concern. “I will. Be careful.”
Streak let his paw go slowly, and walked to the door. Helfer was still standing there, watching them. As Streak approached, he opened the door a crack.
Streak extended a paw. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Far as I’m concerned, you were never here.” Helfer shook his paw with a smile, and shut the door behind him after he slipped out. He turned, looked at Volle, then padded over to the chair opposite him and sat down. “Volle?”
Volle gave him a measured look. “Thank you for all your help, Hef. This would be a very nice time of year to visit your Vellenland estate, wouldn’t it?”
“Is it that bad?”
“It could be. I don’t know yet, but it might. I’ll probably be okay. But it would certainly be safer for you not to be here.”
The weasel tapped his paw against the floor. “If you say so, I’m not inclined to argue. But Volle, are you really…” He stopped, tilted his muzzle and smiled. “No, don’t bother answering. You know I never like to get mixed up in anything serious at the palace.”
“I know.” Volle smiled, and couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting shut. He hadn’t had time to make up a plausible explanation for why he’d been arrested, but he trusted himself to be able to later. “It’s not true, Hef. Dereath caught me in what he thought was a compromising position. They’ve been interrogating me…some plans disappeared.”
“Compromising position, eh? Probably not the kind I’m thinking of. No, no—I told you not to bother. So who’s the wolf? He seems quite devoted.”
“He saved my life.” Volle opened his eyes again. “We were set up to fall in love, though.”
“Why should that make a difference?” Helfer grinned at him. “Does it matter how it came about?”
“It was engineered by Dereath.”
Helfer’s nose wrinkled. “He kept asking if I’d ever seen you passing messages or doing anything suspicious. I said the only messages I’d seen you passing were to the cute guys down at the Jackal’s Staff. He’s not changed a bit. But still, your wolf is innocent, right? So does it matter if a rat pushed you together?”
“I guess not.” Volle rested his muzzle on his paws. “But this rescue all seems a bit too convenient.”
Helfer looked pensive, but before he could reply, there was a rustle from behind the curtain and it was drawn aside. A small brown rabbit poked his head around the curtain. “Lord Ikling? Oh, I’m sorry.” He looked at Volle and then back at Helfer.
The weasel smiled. “It’s okay, Georgie. Go back to bed; I’ll be there in a moment. Wait!” The rabbit had pulled back, and now his head reappeared. Volle saw a bit of his naked hip around the edge of the curtain. “How would you like to be my guest up at my estate in Vellenland?”
The rabbit’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Go ahead and pack, and we’ll leave at first light.”
Georgie disappeared without another word. Volle watched him go and then smiled at Helfer. “I see your tastes haven’t changed either.”
Helfer grinned and shrugged. “He’s a fantastic lay. He can almost keep up with me. I keep telling you about rabbits.”
Volle closed his eyes again. “I’m not going to argue with you, Hef. I’m too weak.”
“How long were you in prison? All this time?”
“All this time. They really didn’t tell anyone?”
Helfer shook his head. “I couldn’t believe you’d just left. Your rooms were left intact, nothing packed. Caresh heard you were running away. The other lords think there was an emergency with Ilyana. But we never heard anything about prison.”
There was a discreet knock at the door. Volle opened his eyes in time to see Helfer glance at him on his way to the door. “That’ll be Caresh,” he said softly, but asked at the door to be sure.
Volle couldn’t hear the reply, but obviously it was the valet, because Helfer opened the door. Caresh was a fox, about half a foot shorter than Volle and stocky, but always perfectly groomed. Even woken in the middle of the night, he had somehow managed to arrange his fur meticulously, and the jacket and pants he was wearing looked freshly pressed. He set down a tray on the sideboard with four platters and a small loaf of bread on it.
Helfer shut the door. “Caresh, nobody is to know that Lord Vinton is here.”
“Of course, sir.” The valet said it as though Helfer had asked for nothing more than a glass of water. He cleared off the small table, moved it over to Volle’s left hand side, and put the tray down on it.
“I do apologize for the quality of the food, sir. The kitchen is closed and I was forced to find what I could without the help of the staff.”
“I think that’s best,” Volle said. His muzzle was already watering at the smells coming from the tray.
Caresh lifted the covers from each platter. “Two quails left over from tonight’s supper. I believe the sauce is a honey-citrus glaze. Potatoes cooked in the southern Vellenland style with onions and shallots. Beef cubes with gravy. Miss Taffen’s celebrated soft rice cake with cinnamon topping. I am sorry, sir, but they were very popular. This was the only one left.”
Helfer patted Volle on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it. Oh, and Volle? Do get out of that outfit. Help yourself to anything in my wardrobe.”
Volle nodded, and smiled. “I remember, Hef. Thanks.”
Helfer was almost to the curtain when Volle said, “Hef.” The weasel turned around.
“I’ll stay out of sight when you leave. And I won’t be here when you get back. So…good bye, and good luck. Thank you for being a friend.”
Helfer walked back over to him and leaned over, giving him a hug. “You too, Volle,” he said quietly. “Whatever you’re doing, stay safe.”
“Can’t promise that.” Volle grinned weakly. “But I’ll try. And maybe someday I will be able to return this very great favor.”
Helfer waved a paw. “Don’t be silly. Six years of friendship is more than enough. Just keep yourself out of politics from now on. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, it’s dull at best and dangerous at worst.”
“I’ll remember that, Hef. If I get out of here, I’ll take your words to heart.”
Helfer smiled. “See that you do.” He disappeared behind the curtain.
“Will that be all, sir?” Caresh asked.
The platters had given Volle an idea. He lifted the rice cake delicately from the platter it was on and set it on the edge of the potato platter, then handed the empty platter to the valet. “Actually, Caresh, if you would be so kind, there is one small errand I would like you to run. And when that is done, I would be very much obliged if you could draw me a water bath.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Caresh had left, Volle attacked the platters hungrily. He tried to moderate his eating, but both quails and half the potatoes were gone almost before he knew it. The ache in his belly reduced to a grumble, he slowed down and wiped the juices from his muzzle. He’d barely tasted the quail as he bolted it down, but he took more time with the potatoes and bread. Nothing was warm, and the bread was slightly stale, but he thought it was the best meal he’d ever eaten in the palace.
When he’d eaten most of it, he picked up the rice cake and attempted to stand. After a moment steadying his legs, he made it to the desk, chewing slowly on the rice cake. Helfer had a cherry-wood writing chair that was nicely carved, and comfortable enough. Volle sat down in it gratefu
lly, and began searching through the desk.
He found pen and paper easily, but had to search for the ink, and finally located it in a small side drawer. Still chewing on the rice cake (which was delicious), he sat down and began to compose two short letters.
Caresh returned while he was writing. He placed the covered platter on the sideboard beside the desk, and waited for Volle to turn around.
“Everything go smoothly, Caresh?”
“Indeed, sir. May I draw your bath now?”
“In a moment.” Volle finished one of the notes and folded it over itself twice. “Do you know what happened to my old valet, Welcis?”
“I believe, sir, that Welcis easily found employment with Lord Castor’s staff. He was not implicated in your unfortunate predicament.”
“I’m very glad to hear that. Would you be so good as to convey this note to him? Not today, but when you return from Vellenland.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Thank you, Caresh. You are a credit both to your species and to your profession.”
“One does one’s best, sir. May I draw your bath now?”
“Please.”
Caresh disappeared behind the curtain, and Volle heard him fire up the small stove. It would take about twenty minutes to get the water bath ready, he estimated, which was plenty of time. He finished the second note, and then made his way over to the window and opened one side. For a moment he just stood there, letting the cold air wash over his muzzle, then he leaned carefully out the window.
It was not yet light outside, but there was considerable activity. He looked down onto the street, checking carefully for palace guards in either direction, then hailed a young mouse who was running by.
“Ho! Mouse!”
The mouse looked up. “Sir?”
“Can you read?”
“No, sir.”
Volle waved the second note. “Would you like to earn a silver piece for ten minutes’ work?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Take this to the house at…” He gave the mouse an address. “You know where that is?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Give it to the person who answers the door. Once they read it, they’ll give you a silver piece. Can I count on you?”