Moonlight Brigade

by C. Alexander London

  He kept showing the Person that leash. This was their Bamboozle. They had believe it. Another Person came to the door, speaking, but they dropped into heavy silence the moment they saw Kit.

  “Please,” Kit said again, his tone so sad and desperate he almost believed his own lie. He brought tears to his eyes. They were “crocodile tears.”

  Crocodiles were lovers of fine food, and they only cried when they ate an especially delicious victim, so the saying had been born that fake tears were crocodile tears.

  Kit knew, if his victims were to take him inside, he had to cry twice as convincingly as any crocodile ever had.

  “I lost my People!” he wailed. “Look! They dropped my leash. This is my leash that my People put on me. Please help. Oh, woe is me! I am a lost Flealess house pet who needs your help! Pretty please let me in to safety! There are wild animals outside who will eat me up! Please, oh, pretty please!”

  Behind the People, the dog peered around, and when he saw Kit, he growled a deadly, gut-rumbling growl.

  “You!” said the dog in a gruff, booming voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hey, Titus. Been a long time,” said Kit to the dainty silver dog, a miniature greyhound who had been the leader of the Flealess when they’d tried to destroy Ankle Snap Alley. This was the dog who’d ordered Kit’s parents eliminated. This was the dog who’d sent an assassin after Eeni. This was the dog who’d happily see every last rat and raccoon in the wide world wiped away.

  This was the dog on whom Kit’s entire plan depended.

  Titus, enraged, charged at Kit, barking wildly. “I’ll rip you to shreds, you filthy gutter-guzzling grub grabber!”

  Kit flinched and dove sideways, nearly falling down the stairs back onto the street. He curled into a ball, covering his head with his paws and shaking with fright. He shook enough so the People saw him shake, and he braced himself for the feel of Titus’s teeth tearing his skin.

  But the bite never came. He glanced out from under his black paws and saw one of the People holding the dog back by the collar, scolding him.

  Kit hid his smile and then went back to pleading. “Oh, please protect me from your dog,” he cried. “I’m just a lost Flealess myself.”

  “Oh, quiet, Kit!” Titus barked. “Feeders don’t understand a word we animal folk say. What game are you playing here?”

  “Make them take me in,” Kit said. “And I’ll explain.”

  “I can’t make my Feeders do anything,” Titus said. “Except feed me . . . and groom me. And walk me and play with me and pick up my poo . . . and . . . well, I can’t make them take you inside! I won’t!”

  “I see.” Kit sighed. “I guess you Flealess really are as helpless as you look. No wonder we defeated you so easily the last time we met.”

  Titus snarled. “We were not defeated. The Flealess will never be defeated! We agreed to a truce. The Feeders—or People, like you call them—and their houses are ours and that filthy alleyway belongs to you. But now, you have come here! You are breaking our truce, and I will call the council together. We will declare war on every last one of you again. There won’t be a pigeon left to chew on your bones when we’re through!”

  “Those are big words for a puppy whose front paws can’t even touch the ground,” Kit replied. Titus noticed for the first time that his People were holding him back so hard that the front half of his body was off the ground and his paws were clawing at the air.

  He stopped struggling and allowed himself to be set back down. His People still held him by the collar, though. They were talking to each other, pointing down at Kit, and talking more. He still wasn’t sure they’d let him inside.

  “They think you have Foaming Mouth Fever,” said Titus.

  “You understand them?”

  “I know a few words of their language,” said Titus.

  “Can they understand you?”

  “Ha!” Titus laughed. “No animal folk can talk to them. They’ve learned not to understand us. But one thing they all know is the difference between a pet and a pest. And you, Kit, are a pest. Feeders don’t take in raccoons. I can’t wait to see them kick you to the—HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” He barked furiously at his People as one of them dragged him from the door and hauled him up the stairs, slamming the door to some upper room.

  The other Person grabbed Kit’s leash and tugged him into the house.

  At first, he resisted. A raccoon does not like to be pulled, but then he remembered he was supposed to be a Flealess raccoon, so he let himself be dragged. Before he knew what was happening, the People had taken him into a room that smelled like more foods than Kit had ever smelled in his life. They had fruits and vegetables in a bowl on a table, sitting out, a leap and swipe of the paw away.

  But Kit didn’t have the chance to swipe any of it. They had a cage on the floor of this room, and they shoved him into it, unclipping the leash and closing the latch. Inside, he had a cushion and some toys that smelled like Titus, along with a bowl of water. He looked up at the People and one of them shoved a bone-shaped snack into the cage. It had a peanut butter scent. Kit took it from the Person with his paws, and the Person laughed.

  They watched him wash his treat in the water bowl. The other one came back, and they talked in their weird words. What would they do to him? They could let him stay or toss him out. Or they could bring over the Bagman, the one who collected animal folk from the traps and vanished them into his sack, never to be seen again.

  The People had lots of choices on how to handle Kit if they didn’t believe he was a lost Flealess house pet.

  Kit realized, perhaps too late, that there were far too many ways for his plan to go wrong. It was like walking across a thin branch over a deep ravine: a thousand ways to fall but only one narrow way to climb.

  He needed a miracle, and he spoke an old raccoon plea to his ancestor:

  “First Raccoon, oh First Raccoon,

  please aid your friend beneath the moon.

  Although my claws are small and grasping,

  grant this hope that I am asking:

  If I should meet with any foes,

  confound their sight and trip their toes,

  and if I should need to speak a lie,

  please give it wings that it may fly.

  As mischief is your sacred game,

  I do my mischief in your name.”

  The People stared at him. Although they could not have known his words, there are three things all creatures understand in whatever language they are spoken: the sound of a broken heart, a joyful laugh, and a desperate prayer.

  Kit had stirred their sympathy. The People murmured quietly to each other and left the room, bathing it in lovely darkness by touching a switch on the wall. He didn’t know what would come next, but it appeared he’d won the People’s trust and would get to stay in the house for the night.

  Or at least until he escaped.

  He peered up from the cage and through the rear window, which looked out on Ankle Snap Alley. He knew the cold night was coming on, but he was warm inside. In the dark of the alley outside, he could make out three shapes, three shadows perched atop the fence that blocked the People’s yard from Ankle Snap Alley. Six yellow eyes blinked down upon him.

  He did his best to look comfortable in the cage. He knew the owls could see him inside the Flealess house. He needed them to see him inside the Flealess house, so he did what he imagined Eeni would do in his place. Probably something insouciant.

  He winked at them.

  The owls swiveled their heads to look at one another. Then one of them flapped her wings, launched from her perch, and flew away, no doubt to tell the coyote that Kit was inside a Flealess house.

  So far, everything was going as Kit had planned. He said his silent thanks to the First Raccoon, and he settled in to wait for the People to go to sleep. Once they slept,
the house would belong to him, and he had some unfinished business with the dog upstairs.

  Chapter Twenty

  PAW-TO-PAW COMBAT

  TIME passed slowly while Kit waited to make his move. Something hanging on the wall clicked over and over again, the same beat endlessly.

  Ticktock ticktock ticktock ticktock.

  How very dull People music was, thought Kit. And strange they let it play while they slept.

  A tall metal box beside the cage hummed, and cool air seeped from its door. There was a hiss of hot air from a vent in the floor. The People’s house was filled with all sorts of devices that made all sorts of strange noises.

  Kit could imagine how much his uncle Rik would enjoy being in here, investigating the objects and encouraging Kit to dismantle them. Kit was good at taking things apart, springing open traps, using his quick mind and nimble fingers to solve tricky problems. But what if he’d talked his way into a problem he couldn’t solve? What if this wasn’t a story about him being a hero, but about him getting his uncle hurt, making his best friend mad, and failing, in the end, to save anyone?

  He sat back on his tail and wanted to cry. He wanted to howl. He wanted to shake his cage and scream at the moon that it was all so unfair!

  But screaming wouldn’t help him. Only he could help himself now.

  His fingers went to work, stretching through the wire of the cage, grabbing the latch, and slipping the lock. The People must not have known much about raccoons to put him in such a flimsy cage.

  He pushed the door open and stepped into the big room, taking a deep breath of freedom. He smiled. He was a raccoon at large in a Flealess house, and he hadn’t even needed to break in. He’d been invited.

  “You were safer in the cage,” Titus’s voice rumbled from behind an island of cabinets. He stepped around into a streak of moonlight. “But I knew you’d be out as soon as my Feeders went to bed. And once you were out, I knew I could rip you to shreds.”

  “Now, Titus.” Kit held up his paws. “If you attack me, won’t your People be angry at you? I’m under their protection now.”

  “Ha!” said Titus. “My Feeders couldn’t care less about you. They’ve already called for the Bagman to come get you in the morning.”

  Kit gulped, and Titus laughed.

  “Oh yes, you know what the Bagman is. Do you know what happens when he gets you? He sends you down for the long nap, the last snore, and it’s good-bye, Kit. None of my kind will shed a single tear and none of yours will ever know what became of you.”

  “But . . . but your People took me in?” Kit sounded frightened now. “They can’t just turn me over to the Bagman.”

  Titus shrugged. “They won’t get a chance. I’m going to finish you off first!”

  The dog leaped at Kit, and nothing held him back this time. His tough teeth snapped on empty air as Kit jumped from the floor to the top of the cabinets, sliding across the smooth stone surface. He nearly sent the bowl of delicious-smelling fruit clattering to the floor, but he caught it before it fell. He didn’t want to wake the People. They might come to his rescue, but they’d ruin his plans.

  Titus tried to jump onto the countertop after Kit, but couldn’t reach. Kit noticed that he wasn’t barking. He didn’t want his People to come to Kit’s rescue either.

  “Get down here,” Titus whispered. “Get down here and fight me properly!”

  “Fight you?” Kit whispered. “I’m just a kid, and you’re a trained dog. I could never dream of fighting you. I need your help. Aren’t we all animals of the city? Friend or foe, don’t we want to protect our home from invasion by fearsome predators from the Big Sky country?”

  “Ha!” said Titus. “You came from the Big Sky country!”

  “But I’m hardly fearsome,” Kit said.

  “You’ve got that right,” Titus said, laughing. “You were brave coming to me to try to save your alley, but there is a whisker-thin line between bravery and foolishness. I fear that you, Kit, are more foolish than brave coming here alone. You’ve put yourself in terrible danger.”

  Kit smirked and thought of Eeni. “I chew the toes off danger,” he said.

  Titus cocked his head. “Danger has toes?”

  “It’s a famous saying,” Kit told him. “Listen, Titus, I know I risked my life coming here. I don’t want to fight.”

  “What do you want, then?” the dog asked, still circling him with fangs bared.

  “Simple,” said Kit. “I want your food.”

  “My food?” Titus stopped circling. “I don’t understand.”

  “I want the cans of food your People feed you,” Kit said.

  “You’ve been hanging out with bats, haven’t you?” Titus asked. “It seems you’re becoming a comedian.”

  “This is no joke,” said Kit. “Give me your food, and I’ll owe you a big favor.”

  “I don’t want your favors,” Titus told him.

  Time for another Bamboozle, Kit thought. He’d never expected Titus to help him, but he knew a thing or two about dogs now, thanks to Uncle Rik’s books, and he knew exactly what he could get this dog to do. “I demand you apologize for the insults you have hurled against the Wild Ones,” he told Titus. “I demand you face justice for the murder of my parents!”

  “I didn’t murder your parents,” said Titus.

  “But you are responsible for it,” said Kit. “If you won’t apologize, then I demand you face me in a Dog’s Duel.”

  “You’re not a dog,” Titus objected.

  “There’s no rule that I have to be,” said Kit. “I read every rule there is. I’ve challenged you by the rules set forth in the days of Brutus, Duke of Dogs, and I demand you answer my challenge!”

  Titus panted in thought. “Very well, Kit. I accept. It’s a duel.”

  Suddenly, a large gray parrot seized Kit from behind. Two hamsters burst from hiding places beneath the sink and bound his paws with the laces from People’s shoes, and two Siamese cats slid like twin ghosts from the shadows, two sets of razor-sharp teeth shining side by side.

  “Oh, I forgot to mention I’d invited some friends over,” said Titus.

  Kit struggled against the parrot’s grip, but its talons dug deeper into his shoulders. “Let me go, you big dumb bird!”

  “You shouldn’t insult Byron,” Titus said. “He doesn’t say much when his Feeders aren’t around. He lets his talons do the talking, if you know what I mean.”

  Kit stopped struggling. He glanced at the window and saw the outline of the remaining two owls watching his struggles through the window.

  As he was hauled down to his belly in front of Titus, one of the owls flew from her perch to carry the message to the coyote that Kit was now a prisoner.

  Good, thought Kit. Everything’s going just like I thought it would.

  All he had to do now was defeat a dog in a Dog’s Duel.

  As far as Kit’s book said, no raccoon since Azban ever had.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  DOG’S DUEL

  A Dog’s Duel, like a Raccoon’s Trick, has three parts.

  The first is the Growl of Challenge, where one dog (or raccoon), feeling himself wronged in some way, demands justice. When justice is denied, the duel is declared.

  This begins the second part, the Barking of Oaths. Each dog, having accepted the duel, vows an oath to honor the results of the duel, burying their quarrel when the duel is done, whatever the results.

  And the third part, the final part, is the Pull.

  The dogs face each other at ten strides, gripping opposite ends of a tough rope in their jaws. In the center between them sits the Skunk Puddle, a puddle filled with sticky tar, skunk spray, and chili powders. The Flealess trade with all kinds of creatures to assemble their supplies, which is how the crows came to have so many Flealess prizes in their booths.

  Any
unfortunate creature who set even a single paw in the Skunk Puddle becomes so terribly trapped and so impossibly stinky, not even the foulest garbage-dwelling worm would want to get close him. The only way to get free from the sticky trap is to beg the winner to shave off all the loser’s fur and let him go. The chili powder makes the whole process hurt worse than a wasp’s sting.

  If a duelist lets go of the rope to avoid falling into the puddle, however, he forfeits instantly, and the audience rolls him in the puddle themselves. The winner doesn’t even have to set him free, no matter how much he begs. He’s left to lie there until the ants pick his bones dry.

  To put it plainly, Kit did not want to lose this duel.

  “I, Titus, vow before this audience of Flealess that I will respect the results of this duel,” Titus said.

  They had slipped out of the People’s house single file through the doggy door and gathered in the yard. The other house pets stood in a circle around the dueling field to block any chance of Kit’s escape.

  “When our duel is done”—Titus couldn’t hide a smile from his face—“I will shave this garbage-grubbing raccoon and set him free only if he leaves his beloved Ankle Snap Alley forever. I am tired of seeing him every evening through my window.”

  Kit bit his lip. If he lost, he’d not just lose his fur. He’d lose his home.

  Then again, if he lost, he’d lose his home to Coyote before he could ever go into the exile Titus was demanding.

  “Very well,” said Mr. Peebles, a hamster and the master of the duel. He bowed to Titus. He turned to Kit at the other end of the rope, which lay in front of him in the grass like a snake braced to bite. “What say you?”

  “I, Kit, uh, vow . . .” He didn’t really know what he was supposed to say. Everything he knew about the Dog’s Duel, he’d learned from his uncle’s book that very day, and the author hadn’t been very specific on this point. Why couldn’t authors put in everything their readers might need to know? Didn’t they realize some folks might come to rely on their books for survival?