Foxes And Boxes (Old VI Thread)

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

(Admiral Tanya Rainblade-Ryalor gets stuck in a crate with bosun Jeshal the Ironclaw. Brief cameo by Kiptooth Rowanheart. As usual for the old VI, thread was unfinished. We assume someone got them out.)


FOXES AND BOXES

First post Bugs 28, 1729

Tanya Rainblade-Ryalor/Kiptooth Rowanheart
"Yowch! Kip, will yeh be more bleedin' gentle wi' those bandages, please?"

"Oh hush, you big baby. Just hold onto the cloth ball tighter and keep still for once..."

Grumbling under her breath as she sat on one of the Infirmary beds, Tanya blew an impatient sigh and stared at the pattern on Kiptooth's blood red vest, unable to resist feeling a little foolish with her right arm extended above her head like an eager child. The marten surgeon busied himself wrapping a bandage around the vixen's delicate, clenched paw.

"There, 's done, now let me clean y' fur and you should be set for a few hours – just because of work, alright? Soon as you're done, you come back here for stitches."

"Yeh, yeh," the vixen lied, tilting her head upwards to frown at the lump of cloth on the end of her arm. It was a given that Tanya would only ever visit the infirmary once per injury unless drugged or threatened, and this had been little more than an accident when she made a grab for the blade of an overeager young recruit to stop him killing his sparring partner on-deck. Angling her head to Kiptooth as he reappeared with a cloth and wet rag to begin cleaning up the mess, she noted how strained the marten looked and frowned – work must be busy this time of year what with so many beasts using the rigging as a nice spot to get fresh air on a hot day.

"So..." Tox ventured after a brief pause for Kip to scrub at the blood on her forearm. "Yeh seem to be fairly busy up 'ere after tha' raid. 'Ows yeh supply stock 'oldin' up? Need any more bought?"

"No no, the stock is fine... however most of its belowdecks and I'm due to operate after this. I could do with some more preserved willow bark and a few of the bottles labelled 'Rudy's miracle burn salve' but it's all in the bottom of one of the old crates filled with other elixirs," he mused as he finished the job and nodded for Tanya to lower her arm. She did so slowly and flexed it, getting the blood back into it as she grinned.

"Oh, I kin get those for yeh, Kip – they still in th' 'old as usual?"

"Aye, though maybe I should go later..."

The little fox looked affronted. "Why? I'll be fine; 's only a paw wound."

"Well yes, but I doubt you can lift much with that paw of yours, because the crates all the bottles are in are quite heavy. You could do with a partner to fetch 'em with you – it really is a two beast job, after all."

This was digested for a few moments by the vixen. "So I need someone big an' strong ter wade wi' me knee-deep through all th' crew's filthy bilge at th' risk o' spoilin' their boots an' shiny fur to drag some bits an' pieces out wi' the chances o' gettin' squashed?" A dark grin flitted across her face. "I fink I know jes' the beast to 'elp..."

---

Back on deck, the diminutive vixen stretched like a cat and tilted her pointed nose to the clouded sky. Her tailbrush made a pleasant swishing sound to accompany the light breeze as her simple bark echoed across the deck.

"Master Ironclaw!"



Jeshal the Ironclaw
The beast in question looked up from where he stood, at the head of the stairs to the crew quarters, ensuring that no over-eager fencing enthusiasts took a fatal plummet below. Jeshal and his fellow officers had been instructed to oversee a class of warriors-in-training, namely the general rabble that sailed aboard the Hide. The result would hopefully reduce the amount of casualties suffered upon fences and foliage during raids, once their knowledge of balance was sufficient, and improve their chances in the occasional duel.

Now and then he had had to bark out a few warnings as hot-blooded individuals took their fights a step too far or simply required tips such as:

"Oi, you there! Don't draw yer sword like that, yer'll 'ave yer own eye out. Take a look at Master Jibsnout, 'e'll tell yer why!"

"I don' care if 'e's bigger'n you. D'yer think yer'd get ter choose in a real war? Now swipe at 'im or I'll come an' face yer meself, an' I don' fight fair as 'e does."

"Master Jeb, put that bloody bottle o' stink away an' watch what ye be doin', else – oh, nicely handled Master Ashpaw. No, no, jus' leave 'im lie. If 'e 'adn't been so busy eyein' up yer cousin 'e would've parried yer."

Some time passed and a shout rang out from the other side of the deck near the steps to the officers' quarters. There was no mistaking the quirky, gruff purr of the admiral's voice. Jeshal clenched his good paw to rein in the shiver that threatened to undermine his composure. He had rarely ever had the chance to speak directly to the vixen that had been his secret reason for joining the Navy, let alone have a one-to-one with her. The guilty pleasure of imagining the terrible fates he had in store for her were all well and good in the privacy of his bunk, but it had got to the point where a part of him never believed he would get the opportunity. She had become a mere fantasy and he had slipped into the role of a sailor.

Today that boundary was crashing down.

The Ironclaw nodded to a beast to take over his post and approached Tanya.

"Yer summoned me, marm?" His unnervingly hypnotic gaze glided over the bandages on her arm before moving up to meet her own, the hint of a smirk dancing in his irises. Had she still been a captain, he might have dared to remark upon the condition she had achieved earlier on deck, but he resolved merely to leave it unsaid. The air was thick with his patronising aura. "How may I be o' service?"


Tanya Rainblade-Ryalor
As Jeshal approached her summons with his own brand of enthusiasm, Tanya could already feel her hackles prickle upright with discomfort at his stare; something about that gaze always made her feel...Watched, like she was being constantly assessed and evaluated for a task she had no clue about, like a lab rat. Being sure to fix her own empty sights on a space between the todd's eyes lest she show her emotion, the vixen regained composure and tilted her head as he spoke, glossing over his nuance of voice and instead focusing on answering his question.

"Yer can start by doin' some liftin' work for me," she smirked, using her uninjured paw to motion belowdecks, "an' 'elp me fetch some medical supplies fer Kip in th' old – you can then carry 'em up to 'im and stack 'em away." Giving a glittering smile, the fox held up her bandaged paw and winked. "I'd do it meself, yer see, 'cept Kip thinks you'd be better suited to such 'eavy tasks... Oh, an' you can lead th' way – Griss migh' be a liddle bit grumpy after so long wi'out a visitor."


Jeshal the Ironclaw
Not being an overly strong beast himself, Jeshal was immediately sceptical of the admiral's motives for getting him to attend to her sudden logistics requirements. Why hadn't she called for one of the crew? Urel for example? Or small but strong Larks? Or even her pride and joy, Captain Freedom? Any beast who wasn't as lean and... frankly, handicapped, as the Ironclaw. But an order was an order, and considering that it came from her, well, it was worth the aggravation.

Jeshal made a humble bow to honour Tanya's request.

"Aye, aye, marm."

He spun on his sandalled heels and made for the steps below, his smirking superior following. Down through the decks he went, the admiral in tow, until at last he reached the level of the hold that was the dingiest and murkiest of them all – the bilge. The very bottom of the Hide, far below the earshot of the crew and within the bounds of the discomforting pressure of the ocean.

The Ironclaw stepped onto the slimy boards and frowned at the shadowy surroundings.

"Marm, if yer don't mind me askin', who be this Griss ye mentioned?"


Tanya Rainblade-Ryalor
Keeping herself close behind Jeshal as they sloshed through the hold, Tanya sighed slightly. Well that was a certain sign of the times – back when she was Second Mate, everybeast aboard knew of the reclusive beast who terrorised new recruits as a means of crew induction; now he had faded into obscurity. Had she been here for so long?

"'Es a mad ol' rat that don' ever leave 'ere" she whispered, eyes darting hither and yon in the gloom to try and spot the unusually quiet rodent. "Wotever yeh do, jes' don' make eye contac'. It makes 'im more likely to hit yeh wiv is carvin's."

Ducking behind the copper fox again at the sound of a dim scratch of wood, Tox sucked in a quick breath and ventured to call out quietly in a forced singsong from behind her barrier.

"Griss? Oh Grizzlewhiskers me old mate, you in 'ere? Sorry fer not visitin', bu' bein' admiral kin make fings rather busy"

Nothing for a few eerie moments, then a harsh cackling seemed to emanate from the inky blackness of the far reaches of the Hold.

"Toxy Toxy me dear liddle foxy! Where've you been? Gotten bored of Griss like everybeast else? Grizzlewhiskers? Impudent snip, I sh'd 'ave yeh tail fer that!"

"Yeh yeh, gran'pa, so yeh say," she called out in a mocking sneer. "You'd need ter catch me first wi' those old legs of yours!"

"Believe me, young'n, they're strong enough to kick manners out've a rag like you!" Griss cackled again and there was the distinct splashing sound of him leaving his crate, but no more. After a little while of straining her tattered ears, the vixen nudged Jeshal with her good paw and pointed to a crate with the dim letters 'infmree' painted upon it.

"I fink he'll be quiet fer a bit... Best 'ead over an' grab wot we can sharpish."

Skittering over to the crate as quietly as she could in the water, the little fox waved for Jeshal to follow and began to try and pry the lid open in the meantime.



Jeshal the Ironclaw
Masked plenty by the low light of the bilge, Jeshal did not bother to hide his surprise at the cackling that erupted from somewhere in the vicinity. Quietly, he listened to the banter that bounced between Tox's flutey yapping and the unseen elderly creature, keeping only a few steps behind the admiral.

Now he was beginning to remember. Hadn't Griss been that irritating old fool that had caused them to discover the concealed Tanya all those months ago when she had abused her position as captain to dye everybeast's fur in their sleep? It had taken at least a week's hard scrubbing to get the last of the purple out. The Ironclaw's teeth bared momentarily at the thought. His musings drifted into dyeing the admiral's fur in return, perhaps thickly enough for her to suffocate slowly? The idea of painting her head to toe in gold came from seemingly nowhere, barked that it had been used before in some other universe and then shrieked out of his mind once again. If not dyeing her, maybe just holding her under in a barrel of dye...

Jeshal hissed sharply as Tanya nudged him into attention. She indicated the crate that they had been sent to raid. The copper todd obeyed and sloshed over to assist her, trying not to wince as the cold water soaked his sandals. Holding one side of the crate with his furred paw, the metal claws of his left dug under the lid and heaved. With their combined efforts, the top broke away from the open crate.

Unable to help himself, the Ironclaw gave a triumphant chuckle and leaned over to glimpse what was inside.


Tanya Rainblade-Ryalor
(Teeny-weeney auto)

As the lid of the crate was finally removed with a satisfying pop, Tanya couldn't resist a small snicker herself and she clapped her paws carefully, mentally transported to times in the holds of woodlander vessels, where she'd spend days prising apart precious cargoes with malicious glee; somehow, the routine medicine retrieval became that little bit more exciting, almost dangerous.


"Ladies firs',” the vixen grinned as she whispered, not waiting for the inevitable offensive response from Jeshal as she instead slipped under his still-raised arm and leant right over the crate before he had a chance to get much further. After a few moments of scrabbling filled the air, she sneezed explosively and shuddered as dust settled again.

"Mmmph," she grumbled, so far into the crate as to have her footpaws several inches off of the ground and her paws touching the base of the box she was poking about in, unconscious of her precarious position as she investigated. "There don't seem to be much at all in this'n – per'aps Kippy meant fer us to open one of the newer crates... Yeh, 'e must, thi'ns pract'lly spent...."

From the dank shadows of the Hold, Griss' tatty ears twitched with the damp rustle of wet fur as he nigh-soundlessly scaled the high set of crates stacked on the other side of the narrow 'alleyway' between all of the various items. His dark eyes flicked over the sight, not able to catch much past Jeshal's back and Tanya's tailbrush as they muttered about something. Well, not only were they invading his hold, but they had neither attempted to make peace or so much as considered that what they were partaking in was theft. How dare they!

Well, he would soon see to that.

With the silence of a natural beast of the shadows, the old, mangy vermin slowly pulled his weapon of choice out from the thin rope belt about his waist: Old Ma Griss' trusty, heavy wooden spoon – he certainly knew from experience just what kinds of damage it could do, and this opportunity called for these... Extreme measures. Taking aim at the back of the copper todd's head, the rat let out a gleeful, high-pitched cackle only moments before casting his weapon.



Jeshal the Ironclaw
(Auto approved)

Jeshal had been unprepared for the admiral's sudden close proximity as she popped up in between him and the open box. The lack of control he held over the situation distressed him, despite being an avid spectator of chaos when it came to others. He had waited to get this close, to finally wreak havoc upon her for her part in his permanent injury, but to do so in a place where he could not get away with harming her, and with something so trivial as rooting through murky boxes? Ugh. The scent of her fur made him dizzy. Nothing made sense.

And again the Ironclaw's thought patterns were disrupted as Tox upset a colony of dust. With her sneezing, the cloud mushroomed out of the box and sent the todd coughing and gagging. This solved his problem of feeling awkwardly close for he stepped away to choke. When he turned back, he almost got a face full of the vixen's tail as she leaned precariously into the crate. Her muffled voice came from within.

Jeshal rolled his eyes and, in order to hear her mutterings, stepped alongside her and peered in to see for himself.

"...per'aps Kippy meant fer us to open one of the newer crates...yeh, 'e must, thi'ns pract'lly spent..."

"Flatterin' as 'tis ter see yore backend raised topside fer the gen'ral good o' the crew, marm, per'aps ye should let a lesser beast 'ave a looksee? Yer paws be most likely dry from all the paperpushin'. With all due respect, o' course, marm." Jeshal squeezed himself further above the large crate, unaware of the menace that crept up behind him.

The cackle pierced through his senses. He started, but before he could do anything more – CRACK went the wooden spoon on the back of the Ironclaw's head, making a round dent in his cavalier. He toppled soundlessly forward, his dead weight jolting into the teetering Tox. With a surprised yelp, she fell into the crate, Jeshal's unconscious form pinning her to the bottom.

Somewhere above them came the awful cackling once more. There was a scraping as the great lid was placed back on top of the box and was slid over, blotting out all but a sliver of light through the top. Griss's rasping breath was heard as he hefted something heavy. That something was deposited upon the lid of the crate.

The last stream of light went out.



Tanya Rainblade-Ryalor
(Another little auto)

Given half the chance, Tanya would have heaved herself back out of hanging over the crate to give Jeshal a withering look and retort to his cheeky comment with something no doubt intelligent and cutting as it ever could be around the quick-witted fox. Of course, she didn't have such an opportunity; before she could react, something tipped the todd off balance and he pitched forwards into the large box, dragging the lighter vixen in with him and squashing her against the base. She cracked her head painfully on contact, and was momentarily stunned as the light was smoothly extinguished and the crate shut.

Nothing happened for a moment or two; too surprised to vent her outrage or express the little spark of fear that began to twist a knot in the pit of her stomach, she numbly identified the culprit as Griss and wondered briefly if he'd remember which crate he'd shoved them in by the time the crew arrived down here.

Eventually, the dust kicked up from the chaos resettled and started Tox sneezing again – immediately, her lungs struggled to recompense for the air lost as the dead weight of the unconscious fox above began to press more heavily on her lighter body.

"Jesh! Jesh, move it!" she gasped, suddenly squirming as she became more aware of the situation – Jeshal in himself wasn't a particularly muscular or large specimen, but his dead weight on her particularly scrawny frame could spell disaster if he was out for much longer. Wondering just what on earth Griss had done to the todd, she used her left paw and right shoulder to force him up against the side of the crate. That done, Tanya twisted and writhed until she managed to squeeze her slender frame past the other fox in the dark and reversed the position. Clumsily, she found his face and patted the side of his muzzle.

"...'eshy? Yeh awight..? I don't got nobeast to blame elsewise."

After a brief pause in which she waited for a reply, Tox extended a paw upwards and felt it meet resistance at a much closer rate than she'd hoped. A shaky whine pierced the darkness.

"...Buggerit."


Jeshal the Ironclaw
About ten minutes later, the world in all its painful glory was restored to Jeshal's senses. It did not return gently. In quick succession, the copper todd sprang awake, smacked his head on the underside of the crate's lid, dodged away in surprise, bumped his nose against one side, smacked a foot on another one and fell flat with an unmasculine yelp. Shaking his muzzle, he dragged himself to all fours and allowed his eyes to settle on his fellow prisoner.

The question was halfway to his throat, but he thought better of it. He gave the lid an experimental shove, even punched it with his iron gauntlet. This rained a small shower of sawdust onto his hat but did nothing more.

The Ironclaw gave a quiet growl and turned his attention back to the admiral, feeling her eyes boring into him. It shouldn't have bothered him, but the desire to wreak his awaited revenge was agony to rein in.

"I 'ate ter state the obvious, marm, but we be pretty well stuck in 'ere. I don' suppose yer 'ave any strikin'ly simple solutions?"


Tanya Rainblade-Ryalor
"No, not jus' yet. Yellin' ent worked."

There came, in that simple statement, the slightest waver in Tanya's normally gruff tones. An undercurrent of a different voice – something high pitched and childish and genuinely terrified – cracked through the words ever so slightly, like a knifeblade running underneath paper waiting to slice through. The reason for Tanya's failing ability to maintain her faux voice?

Claustrophobia.

She hadn't been idle these last few minutes; in fact, Tanya had just about exhausted herself slamming the box, clawing, biting, yelling and thumping to try and get herself out of the darned space until her paws hurt, gums bled and nose became clogged with sawdust. Crouched miserably in the corner in the dark, tugging painfully at her ears, the ragged little fox stared balefully at the copper todd that had finally decided to reawaken. Barely biting back the whine that she wanted so desperately to emit, but was restraining due to her mistrust of Jeshal, Tox snorted.

"Seein' as sleepin' beauty's up, why don' you think?" and again the voice wobbled slightly.


Jeshal the Ironclaw
With the hint of Tanya's difference in tone, Jeshal's ears flicked momentarily, much like a horse when a fly accidentally brushes past. It was an unsettling sensation that prickled his fur... on the underside. With her next comment he was beginning to feel trapped in more ways than the mere obvious. His rank was trapping him from going too far with his retorts and his proximity to rescue prevented him from exacting his revenge in this too-perfect situation.

"Seein' as sleepin' beauty's up, why don' you think?"

The Ironclaw narrowed his eyes and sneered. "Fer me ter be Sleepin' Beauty', there'd 'ave ter 'ave been a kiss ter wake me. If there be no beast about but yerself, marm, I be seein' no reason why ye'd tarnish yer saintly lips on a ruffian like meself." It was a wonder the acidic vibes didn't melt the box around them.

Jeshal sniffed the musty air and took in the scent of blood. Before Tanya could shrink back, he had reached out with his good paw and brought back the wet residue from her muzzle, snatching it back sooner than she could snap at it.

"Yer should be more careful, Adm'ral. I wonder, does bashin' yer face in put blame on the box, or be it mutiny against yerself? We'll be out of 'ere soon enough, so why all the self-mutilation, says I?"


Tanya Rainblade-
"Oh shut yeh gob," the vixen opposite Jeshal snapped sourly, paws hardly having moved from where they latched onto her tattered ears, wavering voice biting back at the venomous statement. "I ent no saint, an' yeh know it." Of all the beasts she could have gotten stuck in a crate with, why this one? He confused her judgement severely with his loyal service and snarky attitude in constant competition to make her trust him, and right now what she felt she required was a beast she could wholeheartedly trust to both endure and never speak a word of what would undoubtedly happen if she was kept in this box any longer.

The sudden appearance of the copper todd's paw by her face made the vixen inadvertently flinch back in surprise, and she didn't answer him right away when he quizzed her on why she had hurt herself. He had brought the conversation back to this bloody situation, just as she was starting to regain some control. Feeling her tired muscles begin to regain the energy enough to start another fit of sheer terror, Tox ran her tongue along the serrated, bloody fangs of hers and squeezed her eyes shut, finally releasing her ears and digging the claws into her knees, now tucked up against her chest.

Taking a deep breath, the admiral shrunk back further into her corner and finally realised that regardless of how much she trusted Jeshal, it was inevitable: she whined the whine she'd been wanting to release since his wakening, dropping all pretence and muttering in her real voice – one so far removed from the gruff growls and stinging hisses of her 'Navy' accent that it almost didn't sound like the same beast – and kept her eyes closed to avoid the anticipated scorn she would receive.

"I don' do well in small spaces. It makes me scared, awight? I panicked."


Jeshal the Ironclaw
The Ironclaw's brow raised at the admiral's admittance. What stunned him the most was the complete shift of Tanya's voice. He had grown accustomed to her gruff, commanding – and slightly meandering – chitchat of a patter. These vocals threw him. They were soft, with the sense of something distant and whispery. Jeshal did not know why but somehow this more vulnerable voice made him angry. It stabbed him to the core and his emotional reaction was automatically defensive.

"Scared," he repeated. He was not mocking. "I serpose it be understandable," he said slowly, holding back the rage from his speech. "Dark, cramped space when ye be accustomed ter the open pan o' the seas, no easy way out, air becomin' thin an' gradually so muggy it be hard ter breathe..." Guilt did not stop him, but the concept of a mad vixen trying to claw his eyes out may have been a contributing factor. His gauntlet gave a quiet screech as he flexed the claws.

"Since we be stuck 'ere fer now, no 'arm in us passin' the time with a repartee, says I. Ye've always been plentiful busy ter 'ave a one-to-one wi' any ol' crewbeast. Well, now that I be as much as Freedom's first-in-line, per'aps ye'll indulge me? 'Ow, then, did ye come ter be in the Imperium?"


Tanya Rainblade-Ryalor
The grating of iron as Jeshal flexed his paw and stopped talking drew short the building whimper of panic that had been bubbling in Tanya's chest, and the little vixen swallowed it down with a muted growl this time, knees still tucked up to her chest and brush wrapped around her scrawny frame for comfort. His words had been of no help whatsoever, and indeed, if he had deigned to proceed much further with his description of their entrapment, the little vixen believed herself to be held unaccountable for her desperate actions in trying to escape this nightmare.

Then he asked for information about her life prior to the Imperium, apparently to pass the time. It wasn't something many beasts asked her nowadays; if one was desperate enough, they could find all the basic information about her Imperium life in the public records, but rarely did a beast dare ask about what winding path had led her here, and most likely if they did, she lied about it. One eye cracked open and stared at the blurry silhouette opposite dispassionately, suspiciously. Part of her wanted to ask what his game was, as vulnerable as she was, but she lacked both the intent and desire to shield much in this situation. What harm could he do with it, anyway?

Well, it would come at a price nevertheless. Suppressing a shudder, Tanya tipped her head back, eyes shut, and banged it rhythmically upon the wall of the crate for a few silent moments to bring her mind into focus. When she spoke, all pretences in speech had been dropped, leaving the soft, well-spoken tones she had been brought up to use, punctuated only by the short, sharp gasps of one trying to avoid hyperventilation.

"That depends" she muttered "How much detail do you want and how much of a fantastic tale do I get in return?"


Jeshal the Ironclaw
The discomfort of the confined space and the nervousness that came with being so close to both superior officer and secret quarry was gradually diminishing with the increasing flow of powerplay that channelled into Jeshal's senses. The sound of Tanya's quiet growls and the scent of, not so much fear but, dread, was addictive, to say nothing of her interspersed snatches for air.

But the Ironclaw refused to let the smugness and the pleasure show. He crafted it adoringly into half-feigned empathy and entirely manufactured compassion. Fighting the shivers that the admiral's truly natural voice produced in him, he dampened his own tones to emit in a silky, spine-tingling fashion.

"I'll take as much detail as ye dare ter give me, marm. It don't look as if we be goin' anywhere anytime in the near future. Much as ye may not care fer it, ye be stuck wi' me a while longer. Should it be of int'rest ter ye, I will recount a little o' me own past in return. Much of it escapes me, but I be sure I have a fair amount ter trade."

Hoping to provoke Ryalor into being stubborn enough to talk more, Jeshal slowly crept across the crate and lay leisurely before her feet, propping his head upon his one good paw.

"If yer please, go ahead, adm'ral."


Tanya Rainblade-Ryalor
(Little auto on Jesh’s nose)

"Ge' away!"

She had seen the imposing shadow of Jeshal moving closer through the cramped darkness with nothing but dread and panic clouding her frayed senses, and as he decided to try and rest himself close to her person, she reacted purely by instinct and stretched a footpaw out without warning, catching the copper todd on the nose sharply. Snorting a high-pitched breath through her nose, Tanya immediately retreated against the side of the crate and cringed, hugging her tail close and wringing it between her paws, not in sympathy for striking the todd so much as in self-pity for her own condition.

"Look, I don' like this enough; getting any closer is givin' me less airspace. Please, stay 'way..."

She said nothing for quite some time then; cuddled with her thick tailbrush in the corner of the crate, nothing passed between the vulpines until the whimpering Tox gathered herself together enough to carry on and start with the story. Eventually she decided to start speaking again, and this time with a little more coherency despite the shortness of breath and pauses for snatching a gasp here and there. The classical abbreviations and mannerisms in her speech were also dropped now, for the proper English she was bred with.

"I'm the youngest of three. I got a big brother, Valdrisk, who captained this ship before me and committed suicide at the same place, and a big sister called Dusk who almost killed me twice and tried to take my husband away from me when we were courting. We came from a sugar plantation in the East, but I only know that because of Valdrisk. Apparently the plantation was ransacked, our parents were killed and we dispersed – Vald was sold into slavery, Dusk went missing and some other foxes took me.

The foxes I was with... I don' remember their names. They broke off from the tribe who ransacked the plantation and posed as gypsies when they ran away from them. 'O I thought was my mum was a sweet sort, I s'pose; doted on me lots, tried to teach me different skills like dancing and speaking another language. Made me a right prissy little whatnot, she did. Told me I was a princess. Dad... Dad was a drinker. Violent." She paused there, made a nervous kind of shuffling sound and a noise halfway between whimper and snarl, "We got along, I suppose. They got bored of me, though. Sold me off when I was six to a slaveline for an extra pawful o' coins. Tha's where I got the brand.

“The line was what changed things. I foun' out that the world ain't all rosy as mum said. I learned some choice curses there, I can tell you. I managed to break loose with a few other older slaves one night an’ ran straight back into the forest.

“I got lost. I met a wildcat about my age after a few months and we grew to be close friends, so he took me to his tribe. They were all cats, some odd sect I was too young to understand. They took me in because the younger cat was the son of their chief of priest of whatever it was.

“I owe most things I know about being heartless to those cats. They taught me the rules of thievery, throat-slitting, torture, emotional blackmail, how to nail a beast's intestines to a tree an' make 'em dance. I was something like thirteen.

“Soon after I learned their basics and managed to hold my own with them, I became a runner between them and a nomadic Juska tribe that lived on the shores. I eventually joined them over the cats and got more formal archery training there. Did a few stupid things. Pretended I was a Taggerung, actually. Oh, that was a lie I didn't think I'd ever have survived. Jealous beasts cornered me one night and took my ear, made me run and never look back. I s'pose the threat still exists if I ever went back there, but I ent dared.

“I went around for a bit, stowed away on a few ships, got stranded on an island and beaten ten ways to death by this... this badger." The terror was palpable this time and she paused properly for a while. "Then I ended up actually following the map they gave me and arrived at the Imperium. I took up drinking and made myself look tough to make sure nobeast tried to hurt me again. I got a lot of knocks since, though, but all of that's readable in the records, fr'm Deadeye to Terri to Vald and Falun."

There she'd done it, and amazingly, had some breath left. Swallowing air instead of saliva, Tanya flicked her ears, feeling somewhat relieved for spilling to much information to another after years of keeping herself introverted, and opened her eyes slowly to fix them upon the copper fox. Her expression was unreadable.

"What about you, Jeshal?"


Jeshal the Ironclaw
The strike came out of nowhere. It was fortunate that Tanya had not been wearing boots for Jeshal would almost certainly have been nursing a broken nose. He let out a curt sniff of shock and rolled back against the other side of the crate, but afterwards he said nothing, only watched her with a sudden coldness. His eyes glinted from the dark, displaying the fact that his attention rested entirely upon her.

"Look, I don' like this enough; getting any closer is givin' me less airspace. Please, stay 'way..."

She fell silent again and he continued to stare expectantly, waiting for the answer to his question. What he received he had not quite been prepared for. Ryalor’s voice freed itself completely into a speech he had never heard, and the information that spilled out was far less guarded than he had anticipated. Had the Ironclaw’s heart not developed the steel casing that came with years of pirating, he might have wept at the troubles she poured. A brother lost to suicide; a sister out for her blood; murdered parents; abuse; slavery... she had experienced beneath the bottom of the barrel.

“...I owe most things I know about being heartless to those cats. They taught me the rules of thievery, throat-slitting, torture, emotional blackmail, how to nail a beast's intestines to a tree an' make 'em dance. I was something like thirteen...”

Jeshal felt his fur ripple with a chill. This vixen was warped by so many terrible memories. It explained a lot about the way she reacted to the world. She seemed to be made of myriad layers of varying textures, woven together with a fine glass that could shatter at any moment and bring them all crashing into a volatile mesh. Despite the teetering feeling she was giving him, the todd refused to avert his gaze and did not soften it. He wanted to listen intently and he would go to ‘Gates before he hoped to stop her speaking. If anything, the revelations of her sufferings nurtured a secret delight and fuelled his excuses for all that he had planned for her.

When Tanya detailed her encounter with the badger, Jeshal’s ears flicked with curiosity. He had never met one of these beasts at close quarters and would not have relished the idea a bit. He could almost taste the vixen’s fear now and it was making him giddier than ever. He continued to hear her story, how she acquired a need for liquor and then glided through a selection of names. Jeshal had caught old hearsay about Deadeye but had heard nothing of ‘Terri’. Vald was her brother, and Falun was a given. The mentions of both the first and the last set his teeth on edge although he did not know why. They were out of the picture. They would not be around to protect her.

And then it was done. Now she was looking at him, had thrown the question back.

Jeshal allowed the silence to fester for a minute or two. He was not sure how he could follow her story without sounding dull. He was a few seasons older than her and it seemed like she had lived three lifetimes more than he. It was custom for pirates to exaggerate their tales for entertainment and by and by it sometimes became hard to tell the truth from the lie even to the one with the memory. He knew Tanya had refrained from frivolous bragging and it would have been despicable of him to be anything but honest.

She would have to be prepared to loathe him.

The Ironclaw sat up with his back to the opposite wall. His smirking grin shone now and again in the blackness. “I be not familiar wi’ the ‘appenings o’ me kit seasons, at least not me parents. All a mite blurry, ye might say. Far as I be rememberin’ I war most likely thrown aboard somebeast else’s vessel or left at a dockside somewheres afore I got meself workin’ aboard ships. Ye probably wouldn’ believe me if I told ye I got ter be cap’n at the age of eight, an’ I don’ mean I were playin’ at boats on a pond, nay adm’ral, a real ship an’ ‘twas intellect an’ me tactics won it for me. I led that crew, so I did, an’ preyed ‘pon the coastal towns an’ merchant ships in me native waters. Ah we had ourselves fine times indeed, took us a pretty gilder and were mighty fond o’ ransomin’ any maids we’d be findin’ collectin’ shells on the beaches. Even took ourselves a few slaves, though in me own reign we were fair beasts. None o’ that lashin’ nonsense, waste o’ good workin’ flesh if yer ask me. Lady guests most often were ter be takin’ a likin’ ter me after a while o’ bein’ aboard. O’ course that be when I’d come of age. They feared me in the beginning but it were short-lived. Aye that they were fine days.”

Jeshal paused to consider what he would move onto next. All of what he had said so far had been a lie. Or at least lies jumbled with truth. He had been aboard slaver ships working as one of the crew, and he had taken part in raids but he had not led them. In the course of his life he had only been captain once, and that had been because every last one of the crew had been killed but for him. The ship did not last much longer. The Ironclaw had only been captain for all of twelve minutes.

“I be not regretful of me time playin’ at pirate. ‘Tis in me blood an’ it be what I grew up with. By an’ by me nineteenth season come along an’ I’d got meself in an’ out of a few scrapes up until then. A mutiny spoiled me fun. Some o’ me crew banded up with a bunch o’ woodlanders – of all the nerve – and set up a secret ambush o’ ships. Set afire to me vessel, slayed the rest o’ me crew what chose not ter join, an’ set me adrift alone with a pair o’ bloodwrathed badgers. I used me wits ter evade ‘em. Got one of ‘em trapped an’ consumed by flame. The last went down fightin’, took my paw ter ‘Gates but by luck I got away an’ found a longboat ter carry me ashore. Found a clever beast ter fashion me namesake and wandered the coast ‘til I came across the Imperium. Since they be less than pleasant toward pirates I chose ter join up with ‘em eventually. It were fun pokin’ the Navy for a time, but you beasts turned out ter be more’n I could ‘andle. It were a good wage at any rate. I spent much o’ me time searchin’ abouts for that beast what were the ringleader o’ me mutiny. A vixen, as it ‘appens. If I ever get my claws on that beast, not even your orders’d be enough ter dissuade me from takin’ vengeance. I’d drop me career for it, says I.”

The Ironclaw shrugged. “But ‘til then I be happy ter serve our eminent Emperor and beasts such as yerself. My apologies that me tale be far inferior compared ter yours, Adm’ral, but, on me honour, ‘twould be a shame ter attempt making up me past for the shameful cause o’ matching yours.”

He fell quiet again. Had there been an ounce of fact in the history? He had tailored the lot to be enviously simple. The time would come when he would be able to tell her the real story, every last bit of it, but it was not here. He wondered if she would know how much he had been lying and how much she would despise him for it, if at all. Would she have expected it? Would she even care? Jeshal’s thoughts ran riot and they were entirely selfish. The air was thick with his farcical ideal of control.​