Weasel Presents (16 page)

Helfer scratched his muzzle. “Are you a noble?”

The fox’s eyes met his. His body went very still. After a moment, he said, “I don’t really know anymore, Hef.”

“Sorry.” When they’d been cubs, sharing a tutor, they’d joked about it. It was clearly easier to joke about something you had than something you hadn’t.

Dewry broke the silence. “So, in the name of our friendship, can I trust you not to mention this little meeting to anyone?”

Helfer looked again at the knife, then up at the fox. “It really doesn’t seem quite weaselish enough for me,” he said. “I’m inclined just to let it be, on one condition.”

Dewry’s ears flicked, eyes narrowing. “What condition?”

Helfer tugged his tunic down again. “Can you please help me get some pants?”

The fox laughed. “Done. Just let me--”

He stumbled forward as the door swung open behind him. A familiar snout poked through. “Hey,” Dicker said, “what’s takin’ you...” He spotted Helfer. His mouth twisted into an ugly grimace as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “What’s he doing here?”

Helfer saw Dewry’s look of alarm. “I only just came in,” he said. “Through the window. I, uh, lost my pants.”

“So I see. Where’s your little friend?”

Dewry turned to the rat. “You know him?”

“Not, like, know him, but sure, we met. He promised me a brandy.”

“I haven’t really had time to deliver it,” Helfer pointed out.

Dicker looked down, fingers twitching as Dewry’s had, but toward the pocket of his trousers, not his knife sheath. Dewry looked from Helfer to Dicker, then back to the weasel. “You left out that part of your story.”

“You only asked what I’d been up to lately.” Helfer watched Dewry carefully, willing him to understand that he didn’t have any ulterior motive for not mentioning Dicker. “I didn’t really have time to mention everything I’ve been doing.”

“Story?” Dicker was looking a little more alert. “How long has he been ’ere? I only been gone a few minutes.”

“I don’t know,” Dewry said. His paw had closed around his knife handle. “He may have heard something. He told me he didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” Helfer said, trying to keep his voice steady. They were between him and the door, and the window was still closed. “Really, you would not believe the day I’ve had. No weasel should have to endure it. I just want to get my pants and go home.”

“We can’t really do anything to ’im,” Dicker said.

“What if he turns us in?” Dewry said.

Helfer folded his arms. “I don’t even know what you two are talking about!”

“Hold up,” Dicker said. “We could do somethin’ to his little friend, eh?”

“What, Vin?” Helfer said. “If you find him, you could get my pants back.”

“I thought you said Stark had your pants,” Dewry said.

“Vin was with him,” Helfer said.

Dicker shook his head. “I’m ’avin’ some trouble followin’ all this.”

The door swung open again, letting a short fox into the room. He was only a little taller than Helfer, dressed in a pale green vest over a tunic, carrying a large wooden bowl. “Oh,” he said, stopping in surprise as he saw the three already in the room. “Sorry. I just came up for some beans.”

“Go ’head,” Dicker said. The little fox walked across the room to one of the boxes and dipped the bowl into it, but all the while his eyes lingered on Helfer. Specifically, they lingered on the bottom of the weasel’s tunic. Helfer shifted uncomfortably, especially when the fox seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time to fill the bowl.

“All done there, Rikky?” Dewry asked.

“Oh! Sure.” Rikky hefted the bowl and started to walk back slowly. “Say, if your friend needs a place to stay tonight...”

“Not our friend,” Dicker said.

“...or for the next couple hours,” Rikky said, without hesitation, “y’know, I have a little room...”

“Out,” Dewry said. “You’re as bad as he is.” He ushered the little fox out and closed the door.

“I doubt he’s that bad,” Helfer said, trying to lighten the mood. “He’s only a fox.”

Dewry snorted. He leaned back against the door and took his knife out again. “Maybe you’d better tell us both why we should trust you.”

“For Weasel’s sake,” Helfer said. “Aren’t you listening? I don’t care what you two are doing. I don’t care why I keep running into you, or about anything else in this city except getting my pants and papers back and going home. I thought I would have a bit of fun with Vin and it’s turned into this whole tiresome scene.”

The fox and rat looked at each other. Dicker shrugged. “ ’Less we’re prepared to dump him in the river, I don’t see what choice we got. You trust him?”

Dewry tapped his knife against his claws. “No,” he said, “but I know where to find him if he does betray us. And trust
me
,” with that he looked down and smiled nastily, “if you do mention anything, I will find you before the Bashers find me.”

“I believe you,” Helfer said sincerely.

“Right. About those pants, then...”

Dicker inclined his muzzle. “What about pants?”

“I kinda need some,” Helfer pointed out.

“I don’t quite see ’ow that’s my problem,” Dicker said.

Dewry gestured with his knife toward the door. “I told him I’d help him. Go on, wait for me downstairs. Won’t be a moment.”

“Don’t be long this time,” Dicker said. He turned to Helfer. “Hope I don’t see you again. No offense.”

“I won’t forget the brandy,” Helfer said. Dicker grinned as he left, but Helfer thought from the scent that it wasn’t a nice grin.

“Now,” Dewry said, “I hope you don’t prove me a liar. So what can I do to get you some pants?”

13

Helfer considered the fox. He knew he should’ve told Dewry everything to start with, but who would’ve thought that Dicker would walk back in on them? That’s what he got for trying to keep things uncomplicated. “Why don’t we go next door and see if we can track down Vin?” he said. “I’d rather get my own pants back, with my papers and all.”

Dewry nodded. “I know Stark, and you’ve described Vin. Why don’t you just wait here and I’ll go over? Saves the trouble of explaining why you’re not wearing any pants.”

Helfer had to admit that sitting and relaxing sounded much more appealing than going back over to the brothel. “What if someone comes up here?”

Dewry shrugged. “Unless they’re a fox, you’re pretty good at hiding. And Blair doesn’t employ any foxes.”

“All right.” Helfer waved to the door. “But hurry up.”

Dewry waved and slipped out, so silently that if Helfer hadn’t been watching, he wouldn’t have known the fox had gone. He sighed and wandered over to the window, opening it.

Fresh air definitely helped. He leaned on the windowsill, watching the alley below and thinking about Dewry. He’d never wondered what had happened to the fox, a realization that made him feel vaguely guilty now. It wasn’t as if they’d been the best of friends, but they’d certainly spent a good deal of time together. When Dewry had left, it wasn’t so unusual; the cubs in royal tutoring often dropped out of classes or got taken back to their family seat for formal schooling. Helfer’d just assumed something like that had happened to Dewry and that he would hear eventually. When he hadn’t, well, there had been a lot going on around that time of his life, and the fox had slipped his mind.

Of all the people to run into, though, he certainly hadn’t expected to find him again here, in a seedy tavern in what Helfer was fairly sure was the least desirable neighborhood of Divalia. Though if Dewanne’s marriage had effectively cut off his illegitimate son from access to the palace, Helfer could see how it wouldn’t be a far reach to fall in with some unscrupulous people. If Helfer had been rudely deprived of all his comforts...

He stretched and grinned. He was a weasel, and he would’ve adapted to what was available or found something else to do. Dewry, though, he was a fox, and family was important to foxes. Title was intimately tied to family, though not all foxes viewed it that way (Volle was a case in point). The fact that he was dressed as a noble would indicate that he’d been in or around the palace recently, or at least using his knowledge of palace life to gain access to places or merchandise he normally wouldn’t have. And which others would pay for.

A mouse scurried down the alley, clutching something to his chest, and was gone. Helfer watched idly, and decided to let Dewry be. Whatever he was doing, he’d been mistreated enough in life, and he was smart enough not to do anything that would call undue attention to himself. As long as he got Helfer’s pants and papers back, Helfer would be content to forget all he’d seen.

Something came shuffling along the corridor, loudly, accompanied by occasional squeals. “...can’t imagine why you’d get me a bowl of peas when I specifically asked for beans,” a deep voice rumbled.

Helfer shot a look at the door, then slid through the window and hung from the sill, feet scrabbling to find a hold. He heard the door open, the deep voice getting louder. “Now, let me show you what I mean when I ask for beans.”

“I know!” Rikky’s voice came high and breathy. “I was just, Dicker and that fox were in here with a weasel and I got dis--mmf!”

His words were cut off by a muffled rustling. “
Those
are beans,” the deep voice said. A moment later, Helfer heard gasping and spitting.

“Yes, sir,” Rikky said.

“Good,” the bear said. “Now fetch a bowl and get back down before I do.”

Helfer heard lumbering footsteps, and then the bear said, “Listen, you can’t use our storeroom to meet. We got perfectly good tables downstairs.”

Dewry’s voice replied. “We don’t plan to make a habit of it.”

“See you don’t.”

The bear’s heavy footsteps faded. Helfer listened while Rikky and Dewry said a couple words to each other. When the smaller fox departed, Dewry said, “Hef?” He was about to lift himself up through the window again when he saw a silhouette above him, a wolf’s muzzle, and Stark leered down at him.

“He’s out here, Dewry,” he said. One large paw reached down towards Helfer’s wrist.

Helfer jerked his paw away and teetered for a moment on the wall. Stark swiped further down and Helfer lost his balance completely. For a moment, air rushed around him as the lupine muzzle above him receded, and then the ground came up and met him.

The world exploded into stars. Stark’s muzzle disappeared with the rest of it, but didn’t return a moment later when his vision began to clear. He pushed himself off the ground painfully and looked up the wall to the empty window. It was really getting tiresome, he decided as he staggered down the alley without any sense of where to go, this life outside the palace.

“Helfer!”

He turned and saw in his still-shaky vision the small figure of Vin running toward him. He braced himself against the wall and waited.

“Listen,” the other weasel said, “’bout what happened...”

Helfer pointed. “If those are my pants,” he said, and Vin cut him off before he could finish.

“Yes, yes!” He thrust the bundle of cloth at Helfer excitedly, then grabbed at his wrist. “Can’t stay here,” he said. “It ain’t safe. C’mon, I know a place.”

“What do you mean, not safe?” Helfer really wanted to get his pants on, but he remembered Stark and eyed the kitchen door. “Right. Is this place better than the other ones you know?” he asked, following Vin down the alley and into a narrow space between two buildings.

“Sure, sure,” Vin said. “Friend o’ mine keeps a li’l fabric shop ’round ’ere. He’s a weasel like us. Got a back room.” He turned again, keeping Helfer behind him, and started counting doors.

Behind them, Helfer thought he heard Stark’s voice echoing along the alley. He pressed a bit closer to the wall.

“This ’un!” Vin said triumphantly. He took a small piece of metal from his tunic and jiggled it in the lock. With a click, the door swung open.

“I didn’t just see that,” Helfer said, following Vin inside.

“Oh, c’mon,” Vin said, “you seen worse, an’ you wouldn’t turn in ol’ Vin anyway, wouldja?”

“Depends on whether these are really my pants,” Helfer said as he sniffed around a room full of cotton and flax, bolts and scraps of dyed cloth, and some oiled wood. Vin closed the door and latched it, leaving them in semi-darkness.

“They are,” Vin said. “Wouldn’ta said so otherwise.”

Helfer thought he had never been so happy to put on pants, not since that time when he was sixteen and Lord Mikintine had walked in on him and Lord Mikintine the younger (a cute but dim mouse who had quickly been whisked off to the family seat to be buried in attractive female mice). He fastened the trousers around his waist, basking in the warmth around his sheath and balls, which had been feeling decidedly chilly since the wolf had appeared at the window. Pulling the trousers tight, he found a lump in one pocket and pulled it out.

“You got my papers, too.”

“Not your purse, though.” Vin’s ears flattened. “Look, I’d no idear Stark was fixin’ to do that. I ain’t never had much t’do with him, jus’ know his name, y’know, everyone knows his name.”

“It’s okay,” Helfer said. “It’s only money.” He unfolded the pieces of parchment, but the light in the storeroom wasn’t good enough for him to make out more than the title “Right Of Passage” and his name and title on the first one. On the second, he could read his name and title again, but the smaller, crabbed text that described him for the guards’ benefit was illegible. The King’s seal appeared to be genuine on both, but again, in the dim light, he couldn’t verify it for sure. Apart from the text, though, the documents felt real, the weight and texture familiar as he held them, so he put them away, satisfied.

“Stark didn’t want the papers,” Vin said. “I dunno why. Must be plenty val’ble.”

“I think I do,” Helfer said. Of course Dewry must already have papers to access the palace. Stark wouldn’t need another set, especially if he didn’t know and trust any weasel close enough in description to take Helfer’s place. Not to mention that he would have to get rid of Helfer if he did that.

“Oh?” Vin’s eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Helfer shook his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I got them back, I can get back to the palace now.”