FSE

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"Duck" Kieran repeated to himself.

"Learn your letters, learn your numbers" he mumbled, studying the coin which had become the centrepiece of his little collection of trinkets.

His dreams that night was not as glittering as the gold in his chest. Inside his head, the battle was repeated but the only one who's blood was spilled was Kieran. He woke up in a cry of panic. He didn't want to go back to sleep. His days were terrifying enough, he didn't need all this blood and guts and gore. He could see the cold eyes of Duck, the stranger in his dream. The wild raging tiger, the flash of steel. He recalled with clarity how the same blade emerged from the Ox' chest with so little effort and how the tiger's head bent back as the blade pushed up through the tiger's chin. Kieran spent the rest of his waking moments reliving all the parts of that night that he didn't dream about, and when Matron called him to his duties, his eyes were raw and his head was pounding.

Matron was a large, voluminous jackal dressed in linen and brass arm rings. She told Kieran everything he had to do and smacked him if he did something wrong. But she was the only one who cared enough to give him a home. She was much taller, and much better fed than him, and sometimes her clouts to his head would send him flying, and leave a large bruise that would ache for days.

Kieran had learned some numbers from her, but he could not make them dance together on a page, or tell them to become greater than the numbers who were already there. He knew how to put together money, and make more money, and the numbers could do that for him. Whenever Kieran stared at a ledger for a longer while, his head would spin and the numbers would get up and dance around on the page, and he had to drink some wine to make them go back to their places again.

Matron had tried to beat numbers into Kieran but they wouldn't stay in there. He had never learned letters, but recognized the shape of some words Matron wrote out in her flowing hand. Despite his struggles, Kieran could speak the languages of the patrons. Castellani. He didn't understand why they were here, but here they were and they had coin.

Kieran scrambled out of his little room, taking great care to hide away his box of trinkets, before pulling on the nice pair of pants his Matron gave him for work. The many careless and wine-slopping customers meant that Kieran's clothes were always stained with wine. He didn't wear a shirt or jacket, nor could he have afforded one, if he wanted to. Until recently, that is. His slender, undernourished chest, his lithe swaying hips and his long bushy tail was sometimes a treat to watch for other patrons, those of the desperate and perverted persuasion, as Kieran thought of it.

Girls? They never came to this bar, so Kieran had never had their attention, but he wouldn't so much mind if a gentle, young man gave him a smile for his service. For the most part however, it was smelly, uncouth old codgers. "Guardsmen and guildsmen, sailors from the docks, in the Manor of the Many, taking drinks from a dusky fox." They sometimes sang, there were sailors shanties about his colleague Kisha too, but they started up much later in the evening, and rang just as true as the one about himself.

Kieran almost felt sorry for his colleague, Kisha, the painted dog. She had more than her work cut out fending off the many curious paws, but occasionally Kieran would see money change hands and Kisha would follow someone upstairs. He hated when she did that, because he had to watch the bar, and make sure everyone had the wine they ordered. Kieran was sure she took some of the coin for herself while he had his hands full at the bar, and received no pay for his service. Food and wine, that was all he was entitled to for working from noon till midnight.

One night, some days later, he was serving the bar alone. Kisha had disappeared into the room of a guardsman. The bar was nearly empty but for a table in the corner, it was the very same table that only a week ago, there had been a mysterious stranger. Kieran had a cautious wag going when he approached the table. The smell of alcohol was strong in the air, even drowning out the regular concoctions of smells and smokes, but Kieran figured even a great fighter like that spotty dog needs to hang his scholarly hat on a peg, and take in some of life's pleasures.

The figure at the table hove into view from underneath the smoke, and Kieran's ears drooped, his tail stopped wagging. The character was not a dappled white dog with a blue and yellow cloak. It was a sly looking river otter, with a long slender neck and a big toothy grin. His coat was short and brown, and he had long whiskers emerging from his wide stubby muzzle. He looked slippery and wet, even in the dry air of this desert city.

"Hey there, sweet cheeks" The otter hissed in the castellanian tongue.

Kieran bristled, it was not the first time he'd heard remarks like that, and he did not like being addressed like a girl. "My name is Kieran" he said with all the pride and bravery he could muster. "And I am the bartender. I think you have had plenty."

The otter nodded; his eyes half focused. He had a scar over one of his small ears, and Kieran could see that one of his sharp little teeth were missing. He smelled of the ocean, but it was almost indistinct underneath all that alcohol.

"I think it's time for you to leave, mister" Kieran said, his authority wilting slightly as he took in the threatening appearance of this slippery creature. He put a paw on the otter's shoulder gently, making as to politely lead him outside, but the otter twisted in his grasp, and slipped neatly off the bench. Kieran felt a sharp pain in his shoulders as his arms were grabbed roughly, and twisted around behind his back in a move that seemed practiced and calculated.

"Ow! That hurts. Mister. Let go!" Kieran protested. Matron was nowhere to be seen, and Kisha was still in that guardsman's room. He tried to struggle but the otter's grasp was very tight. Forceful. The otter held both of Kieran's slim paws with one hand, clenching so hard that Kieran winced. The other hand came up to stroke his cheek. Kieran tried to pull away from the hand, it smelled of fish.

"Mister, please. Don't hurt me!" He whined, but the otter neither listened to him nor said a thing, he only pushed Kieran ahead of him. They were heading around the tables, for the stairs. The otter had Kieran's scruff in his other hand and held him tight so that he could only gasp for air. He was strong, for such a little creature. Kieran wished more than ever that he had that sword that Duck had used. He thought of himself slashing the otter, cutting him into pieces with it. He wished he could fight like that dog. Kieran couldn't fight and was too scrawny to do much good with his short claws, even if they weren't pinned behind his back.

"Please. Mister. I will pay you, don't do this" Kieran tried, he'd give the otter his coins and trinkets, and the ruby ring with the writing on it, and even the big gold coin.

"Shut up, you're only making it worse for yourself" He growled low into my ears. "Find an empty room. If you scream, or the room is occupied, I will break your arms, and I will still fuck you." The otter breathed into his ears, and the smell of alcohol came through so thick it made Kieran's eyes water.

He felt helpless. Not helpless like he had when he was attacked in the beggar's district. More like how helpless he felt the last time this had happened. He brought shame on his family, and they had to disown him. Then he ended up here, where he thought life couldn't get more worthless. This otter endeavoured to prove him wrong.

Kieran found some bravery, enough to make a rash decision. Just before they reached the top of the stairs, as his feet touched the top step, he pushed back with his legs, toppling them both over and sending the otter off his feet. He pushed with all his strength and speed, and his feet left the top of the stairs and grasped the air for a second.

The otter, taken aback by this unforeseen event, clutched Kieran's arms and ruff so tight in the moment that they were locked together. Kieran and the sea otter flew backwards down the stone steps. He tried to crane upwards, to bend his head forwards, but despite all his effort, his head still hit the floor with full force, wrapping a sheet of stars across his vision, and suddenly the world didn't make sense at all.

Kieran had no recollection of how he got there, but he was crawling around on the floor, clutching his head with one paw. He was shakily crawling over to the hatch behind the bar which lead to the cellar stairs, only a few feet from the staircase, but it felt like he'd crawled across the whole room. He couldn't see straight, it felt like his head was spinning from alcohol. He couldn't tell what had happened to the otter, and his paws were wet with a warm liquid.

The disoriented fox pounded on the heavy wooden trapdoor, and leaned back against the far wall trying to take stock of his surroundings. The otter, or what looked to Kieran like several otters spinning around, was still lying at the bottom of the stairs, not moving.

Matron came up from the cellar a few moments later.

"Kieran, why are you sitting there. There's a patron asleep on the stairs!" Her voice was powerful and sharp, and caused pain in his head.

"He attacked me!" Kieran clutched his ears and sobbed

Matron looked from Kieran to the otter at the bottom of the stairs, and then back to Kieran, his hands wet with blood.

"He was going to... To... But then we fell down the stairs and... and..." He cried, stuttering out his words in wracks of sobbing. His paws were dark and glistening. Matron walked over to the otter and picked him up in her strong arms while Kieran sobbed.

"Go to sleep Kieran. I will get Kisha to clean up after you" There was no warmth in her voice. Matron had lost a customer and he hadn't paid for his last drink.

Kieran half stumbled; half crawled down to his little room under the staircase. He tore a strip off a pair of old pants and tied it around his bleeding wound. Down here nobody could get him, nothing could touch him. He hugged his knees and buried his eyes in his arms, sobbing and cursing and clutching his battered head, ears flat and tail curled around his feet.

When his eyes dried up, he took the little chest out from underneath his Mattress, and fingered the coins. He wanted to be strong like the man with the slender blade and the cold eyes. He wished he could roam free and wild and fear nothing from the unknown.

"Where can I learn letters, Matron?" Kieran asked, the next morning. He had just found Matron counting stocks in the cellar, while Kisha were serving the few customers they had upstairs. He was washing the blood out of his fur, but it was caked, and his head was tender and sore to the touch.

"Why would a runt like you want to learn letters?" Matron scoffed disinterestedly. "You don't need letters. You only need know how to read a coin."

"I want to learn letters. Where can I learn letters?" Kieran had said to her back, clawing at his new scab at the back of his head. Matron just smiled and shook her head. But Kieran was still there when she turned around.

"Your duties are about to start, Kieran. Do you really want to know?"

"I want to know, Matron, I really want to." Kieran pleaded.

"The only men of letters in this city are the men at the university, but they will not teach a scruffy runt like you. The others are the sailors. But they won't teach you for free, and you don't have any money, is there any more useless information you need, or are you ready to start your day?"

Kieran knew that nothing came free in this world, and that was why Kieran owned nothing. Except he did, a little chest under his mattress, full of coins, and a valuable one too, and a ring with writing on it. But nobody knew about any of those things, especially not Matron, or she'd just take them all. His day was spent ferrying the wine to the customers, and taking the coin to Matron's pockets. Last time he had asked for a payment for his work he had received a clout on the ear.

"Where can I learn numbers?" He asked Matron

"You want to learn Letters and numbers? Are you trying to take over my business?" Matron shook her head and gestured for him to get to work with a raised paw. Kieran found his feet and scurried upstairs to begin his day.

Sailors, Kieran thought. Sailors could teach him letters and he could pay them with some coins from his chest. Kieran spent all day looking for sailors at the bar, but the pickings were thin. The last great sail ship had left the port and there were only fishermen in their row boats and skiffs to be seen from the windows of the bar. Just a few streets away, the docks were quiet.

Kieran could spot from the corner of his eyes, a familiar looking otter. He had come back. how dare he? Had he no shame when sober too? Kieran wanted to go over and give him a piece of his mind. Or fetch a guard from the table and tell them to arrest him. Or tell Matron to throw him out, but Kieran had no power here. There were too many people in the bar for a repeat of the events from that night, but he knew instinctively that the guards would laugh at him, and that Matron would smack his sore head and tell him to sell the otter more wine.

The world was always so unfair. Kieran tried to avoid the table for the longest time as he danced nimbly around the crowded bar. The otter kept trying to get his attention. After a while, and while both Matron and Kisha was looking at him, he couldn't ignore the otter any longer. He had a big lump in his throat, and his tail was between his legs as he swept between the tables heading for the one in the far corner.

"Your order mister" Kieran spat coldly, not looking the otter in his eyes. He smelled of fish and the sea. But since Kieran hadn't been serving him, he didn't smell of alcohol this time. The otter looked from Kieran up and down, from his bandaged head to his flaring hips and tucked tail.

"Hey sweet cheeks, a mug of wine for me, and you on my lap, I'd be happy!"

Kieran's neck fur rose, and his teeth came out, but he could feel the eyes of Matron inspecting him through the dim haze of smoke, and he restrained himself with all his might, ears clutched firmly to his skull.

"I could turn the mug over your head... mister..." Kieran said with forced calmness, struggling with his indignation.

"Now, now, let's all be civil here." The otter grinned with that annoying toothy smile, his whiskers flicking the air as he spoke. "You will serve me, because I have the coin. So, put up like a man or whine like a bitch, I always get my way."

Kieran turned on his heels and got a mug of wine from the counter of the bar. He pleaded with Kisha for her to serve the otter instead, but she was busy with several other customers, and told Kieran to take care of his business, himself. Kieran placed the bottle of wine down on the table before the otter with a smack, and snatched his paws back before the otter could grasp them.

"I'm only playing, fox." The otter said. "I'll only be here for another few weeks, then my ship comes back for me, let's make the most of it"

"Never!" Kieran hissed between his teeth, and left the otter in a huff.

It wasn't before the afternoon that Kieran realised what the otter had said. He was a sailor. The only one that had come into the bar that day. He could never stoop so low as to presume to ask favours or services of this disgusting creature who had forced himself on him only the other night. His head still swam with images of what might have been.

At the designated time, he had to beg Matron go over and show the otter the door, because he didn't want to go near him. The otter had his eyes on the fox as he left the bar. Kieran felt only the tiniest nagging of regret that he didn't bring the issue before this beast. But his resolve was not strong enough to warrant a second thought, as the otter was escorted out of the front door, and the door latched behind him.

"Get cleaning, Fox, and get yourself cleaned up as well. The custom is slow and we don't want your stink scaring away our customers." Matron sighs. "By god, sometime I wish you were more like Kisha. She knows how to make money from customers. But you are just you, and I guess that's all I can ask."

Kieran sighed and started to scrub the floor. He didn't want to think about the many things Kisha did for the establishment. Was it not good enough that he made money serving drinks and cleaned after? Would he need to become like Kisha as well? Kieran only ever had nightmares about what went on between the sheets. He had never had a nice experience. He'd been too busy with work to have a girl, and he'd been too scarred by the past to be with another boy. He didn't know whether he liked girls or boys less, but right then, he knew he didn't like that otter at all.

The otter returned the next day, sober and ready to drink his money away again. What a pathetic creature, Kieran thought. The otter kept beckoning him over, and the fox kept ignoring him. Until Matron again had to clout Kieran across his ears, and force him over with the wine. No happier than yesterday, Kieran served the otter with coldness and succinctness. Once he had gotten his wine, Kieran noticed him pulling out some parchment and a pen, and some ink. He knew his letters, this otter.

The briefest glimpse of an opportunity showed itself to the fox, who was stroking his chin in concentration. It was unthinkable, but this otter was the only sailor he had seen the last days, and the fox was too fearful to venture all the way to the university, even if he could find a way to go in the middle of the day.

The fox stopped ignoring the otter, and served him wine again the next day without ignoring him. The otter was still his old self. He still reached over whenever Kieran wasn't looking to grab at his behind or touch his tail. He'd still try to yank his wrists whenever Kieran placed the wine before him. Later that night, the otter, having taken on both types of wine, initiated the fox in a different tone altogether

"I see that look in your eyes fox." He said shortly, his mind slurred by the dreamlike renderings of the poppy's caress, as Matron called it. "You want to say something but you can't say it."

Kieran was clearing a table with his back turned, his tail down so that the otter did not get any ideas. He stunk of the sea and the alcohol again, and his pen and parchments were spread out over the table, soiled with spots of black ink and red wine.

"And what do you know about that, Sailor?" Kieran growled quietly, as to not illicit any reactions from his Matron

"I saw how you kept looking at me while I was writing." The otter said shortly "Your eyes were wide and there was no hate in them."

"So what?"

"You want to learn the craft, too." He smiled

Kieran sighed

"Otter, I would dearly like to learn letters, but wish to find another teacher. One who will accept coin and not... favours"

"You naïve fox, you couldn't ever find a teacher willing to take as little as you're able to pay. You are a poor wine-seller, you couldn't afford the services of anyone who takes coin" The otter almost sang with his mocking tone.

Kieran's ears folded back and he turned to the otter to stare the wretched drunkard in those beady black eyes.

"I can afford it, if you accept coin. If you only take other payments, then I cannot."

The otter eyed Kieran up and down. He clearly thought Kieran could afford other types of payments.

"I'll think about it, fox" The otter said after a while. "Talk to me tomorrow night"

That night the fox inspected his hoard of coins. The regular coins, of copper and brass and silver, made up a small pile on his mattress. He put the gold coin aside. When the morning came, he found a guard, visiting the bar on his rounds and asked to purchase his pocket knife. A slender, bone handled sharp and short blade which the guard used to cut his smoke leaf and peel oranges. Kieran might not have been the most perceptive merchant in the city, but he knew how to haggle wine, and it wasn't difficult to talk the guard down to a price he could afford. It would come in handy if the otter ever tried anything, Kieran thought.

"Matron" he said, as midnight was creeping near, and the bar started to empty. The pace of sales and servings slowed to a slumber. "I thought about what you said about Kisha and her customers. Would you allow me to take some time with a customer too, one night?"

Matron looked at him disbelieving, but with a warmer look to her eyes than she'd had all day. "You get some coin out of that customer, and you can have the time you need to do your thing. When is this? I must make sure Kisha is available to serve the guests." She smiled at Kieran, and he shuddered slightly at the thought. The otter was most certainly not going to be given the chance to do his thing.

"The otter at the table in the corner. He desired company, maybe he would like a room here" Kieran answered cautiously, hoping that he wasn't doing something wrong, or taking too many liberties, even though the gleam of gold were in the Jackals eyes. She'd whore him out for a copper penny, if she could have that penny for herself.

"Very well, take the time you need, we will write up his debts on credit until you can get all the money from him that he is good for" Matron smiled and pinched Kieran's butt through his cloth pants.

Kieran brought his knife and his gold coin in his pocket. He knew what value it held, in terms of its weight. He had studied from every angle, and tried it with every technique he knew. He had weighed it in Matron's gold weight, and it was as real as his own eyes. He did not know if the otters price was greater than its value though. He served the otter at his table, and sat down across from him.

"Have a cup of sweet wine, I'm sure you could use it." The otter said with a velvety voice, tempting and teasing, pouring out a measure of the red liquid into a stubby clay cup.

"I do not plan to become light headed with drink, Otter. I came to discuss business. I want to learn letters."

"And I want to bed you" The otter grinned, and his eyes moved across the fox' slender black torso.

"Please stay serious, mister. There will be no bedding." Kieran could feel his fur bristle on his neck and his tail.

"Then I want gold." The otter said. "One Castellanian pound coin for a week of studies."

The fox knew the Castellanian coins but he'd never held any pound coin for long enough to get the feel of the weight.

"What is the weight of a Castellanian Pound?" He ventured,

"I believe the weight is roughly one and two fifths of an ounce, why?" The sailor scratched his head at the question

Kieran realised he didn't know his numbers well enough to calculate with fifths and thirds and halves, a concept he'd always struggled with. He knew that his gold coin weighed three ounces, so it was more than one and two fifths, but he didn't know if it was twice as much or three times as much.

A week of studies for a coin as large as this? It felt insufficient somehow. The coin was warm to his touch now, he had been feeling it in his pockets since he sat down. The wine was also warming him up. It had a most marked effect on his thin frame, though he swore to himself to take it slow. Inside his head the numbers were dancing around and wouldn't stay still.

"How about three weeks for two of your Castellanian pounds?" Kieran said before thinking

"That's a deal" The otter said, rather quick for Kieran's liking. "Now how will you solve this? Your Matron clearly keeps an eye on you, and that slut of a painted dog over there is not going to cover for you every night. I doubt we can use this table as the school bench, unless you want to read stains and blotches instead of words and sentences."

"You can take a room here on credit" Kieran told him, pulling the gold coin out discretely and showing it to the sailor, before stuffing it into his pockets again.

And so, the otter found himself a room, where he regularly took in Kisha while Kieran was working. In the nights when all the customers of the bar had been shown their rooms or the streets, and Kieran had gone down to his little chest and found his little pocket knife, the lessons could begin.

The otter diligently kept his hands to himself, teaching Kieran about the art of letters and words. Kieran took to the writing quite fast, but the reading was a difficult matter for him. His letters danced around on the page after he had written them and he had to drink wine in order to make them stay in one place. He made sure to only have a small glass each night before he went into the otter's lessons.

When the three weeks were up, Kieran could feel his grasp of letters begin to stick. The ceremonial coin was handed over to the otter. The otter held the coin for the first time, his greedy smile faded from his muzzle as he balanced it in his hand against a few coins from his purse, and his accusatory eyes landed on Kieran

"This coin is not equal to the price we agreed on" he said shortly. His beady eyes on Kieran

"It is, surely. It weighs three ounces, maybe even more!" Kieran protested

"It is not of enough value, Fox. What are you going to give me for that which you owe me?"

Kieran racked his brain in panic, he couldn't make the numbers come to him. He thought it was enough, but the otter must have had the right of it. Cold sweat began to form on his brow. He was thinking about the only things of value he owned.

"I have a ring. Wait here, I will find it for you!" He said quickly, the otter's fierce eyes glaring at him as he hurried out of the room. He scurried down the stairs, and found his little chest of valuables underneath the mattress. He dug out the ring, and a few of the remaining coins. For a second, he drew his little knife, and clutched it in his fist. But all he could think of was the blood, and the sickening thud that the tiger made as he hit the ground, his head spiked with a sharp, narrow blade. Kieran swore at his cowardice, and sheathed the knife before running up to the otter with the remainder of his valuables.

"This ring has no value to me." The otter said when he returned and proffered the offering of his entire wealth in this mortal world. "It is a cheap trinket, I do not want it, you can have it"

Kieran's ears folded back, his eyes wide, staring at the ring on the table before him. He had not thought to check the gold, and the stone looked real enough to him. A sense of dread washed over him as the otter fixed his eyes on the fox again, and he felt as if he was a young cub, and he'd just let a patron go without paying for a whole round of wine. The beating he had received was nothing compared to the trepidation he felt as the otter slowly, and calmly considered his options for him

"You don't have anything to pay me with?" The otter concluded, a hint of a smile stretching across his muzzle

"What... What about this?"

Kieran handed the otter the small pocket knife. The otter simply shook his head. "The knife might be the cheapest trinket I've seen as of yet, Fox. You mean to tell me you have nothing else?"

Kieran could only shake his head, staring at the floor with tears beading in his eyes.

"You're still short" he said. "But I know how you can make it up to me."

Kieran knew the answer. He dreaded the answer. He wanted to pull the knife on the otter, but didn't have the courage to resist. His shoulders slumped, his tail and ears, and even whiskers drooped.

"Come to my bed willingly, and do as I say for one night" The otter said, putting a hand on his knee, "and I will forget your debt."

Kieran could see the otters grin widen, his eyes boring through the small fox' tattered, wine stained pants. His short frame climbing onto the bed, relaxing on the feather mattress, and spreading itself out on the sheets. Kieran took a deep shuddering breath and swallowed a lump in his throat.

"If you don't want to come to my bed, I will call the guards. I have written the transaction down, and you have put your mark on the paper, remember. Would you rather be in my bed, or in the guard house?"

"I'll... I'll come willingly" Kieran choked out, every word sticking in his throat.

Kieran had spent worse nights in his life. He'd never been with another man willingly. The otter was gentle with him, not at all like their first encounter. He wasn't drunk for once, but Kieran didn't fool himself into thinking it was good.

When the otter kissed him, he tasted the fish on his tongue, and when the otter made Kieran service him with his muzzle, he tasted foul, and he kept complaining about Kieran's teeth. When the time came for the otter to climb over Kieran - the little fox laying on his stomach clutching the pillow - he did so without care and tenderness.

It hurt. Last time Kieran had experienced another man in this fashion, it was a fearful, painful and shameful experience. That was a violation of the fox. This didn't feel like that, the otter had made it feel like repentance. It was painful, but the pain subsided, and was replaced with a not entirely uncomfortable feeling. Kieran felt the otter against him, musky and smelly like a salty old sea dog. The experience was, after a while, starting to hurt less, but the enjoyment was not there. The passion was all within the otter, and none of it was afforded Kieran.

The otter shuddered and swore a quick blasphemy. before pulling out of the fox' rear. He wiped it off on the sheets, but Kieran hurried to his feet and clutched his clothes, not daring to look the otter in the eyes as he left the room dripping and sore.

His ears burned with shame, he felt weak and ineffectual. He'd given himself up willingly, and for coin, like Kisha. He was no better. He'd given away the most precious possession he owned, and yet, he felt cheated, wronged and swindled. He punched his thin mattress in his rage and frustration. He threw his ragged clothes into a corner, and a tiny tinkling metallic sound came from underneath the rag pile

The tiny ring had rolled out from underneath the clothes. He had forgotten all about that ring, in his rush to learn his letters. He picked the ring up and inspected the writing closely, but the darkness was all encompassing, and he could barely even see that there was a ring in his hands to begin with. He put it back in his box of trinkets, which now only contained the ring. Just then Kieran realised that no coin in the world would have covered the otter's asking price. He was a fool for trusting that slippery villain.

The next day, the otter had vanished. He'd left his room, and left an insufficient amount of coin to pay for it. Matron threatened to beat Kieran for that, and set him to scrub out the room the sailor had lived in. The room that he had soiled.

"You couldn't even bring in coin from that dirty sailor!" She chided him "What whore can't bring coin from a bloody sailor?"

His ears twitched with frustration. If she only knew, that he had paid the otter, she'd kill him there on the spot. Kieran was forced to scrub the entire floor of the bar after, and every room upstairs before she would even let him go back to bed. When he finally staggered back to his room after a long day on his knees, his paws raw from the lye and warm water, it took him several moments to notice something strange with his room.

His mattress was gone. His clothes, other than those he wore on his back, were gone. His little chest of trinkets, gone. There was no use in searching, because everything had been cleared out. There was nowhere to search for those things. Speechless and in utter despair, he sat down on the cold stone floor and cried out, long painful sobs. Clutching his scuffed, sore knees, he let out long howls of despair and anguish. His place in the world had descended even further, and he found himself envying the prisoners chained to the walls in the dungeons. They didn't have to suffer like he did.

Why was he even here anymore? What was the point of struggling along in this meaningless life, carrying wine for this cruel Matron, and Kisha, the thoughtless, uncaring slut. What was the meaning of giving up his innocence to an inconsiderate sailor, with no more than some knowledge about letters to show for it? If he died tonight, it would all go away, and nobody would care. Things had to change. They must change. He would change things.

Kieran got up, and hauled himself out of the cold, empty cell in which he'd lived for the last ten years. He had the knife in his pocket still. He snuck up and into the pitch-black bar. There was a strong box underneath the counter, the keys to which were in Matron's bedroom drawer whenever she slept. Kieran was no stranger to sneaking around, his charcoal fur allowed him to merge with the shadows in an enviable way. Wearing only his pants and nothing else, his movement was muffled completely as he snuck around the bar and climbed the stone stairs to the upper floor.

Matron's room was in the far end of the hall. Kieran could hear noises coming from one of the rooms, presumably the one in which Kisha was entertaining a guest. The room was locked but Kieran's slender pocket knife would happily slide into the lock and pull the latch from the doorframe. It made a slight clacking sound but Matron did not hear. She probably did not expect her beaten down and bullied slave to turn to burglary.

Standing there in her room with his knife in his paws, Kieran felt strong. He wanted to end it. He wanted her to never wake up again. This cruel jackal who had pestered, bullied and insulted him for as long as he could remember, was sleeping here, throat exposed. It would only take a small jab, like the blade poking through her jaw and up into her skull. He felt the bile in his stomach rising. Maybe just take the keys and steal from the strongbox. It would probably wound her more than death anyways. The keys were right there. Right inside the little cupboard next to her bed.

Kieran carefully edged the drawer out. It was thankfully well oiled and made no more than a whisper as it emerged, and he lifted the key out from underneath Matron's softly breathing muzzle. He hurried as quietly as he could down to the strongbox, and unlocked it with a clack. Its hinges creaked but nobody was there to hear its complaints.

The only figure in the streets, visible from the windows was a dejected beggar. A filthy half sleeping wretch, shrouded in shadow wearing a thick, tattered cloak, probably drunk on wine and poppies.

Kieran ignored him, and peered into the large steel box. It might as well have shimmered. Inside it were more money than he'd seen in his entire life. What was she doing with it all? There was also the small wooden box inside Matron's strongbox. He fished it out, put as many of the large golden coins as he could find in the pile of money, before filling the rest of the space with small silver coins. The box felt weighty in his paws now, as he carried it close to his chest, the only thing of value that he owned. He threaded the ruby ring onto his brass necklace and hung it around his neck, keeping the ring as a memento of the otter who betrayed him, and Duck, the one who gave him more than that dog would ever know.

He stole a winter coat from a crate in the basement. The nights had begun to pick at his whiskers with their cold touch. He filled his pockets from the barrels of salted meat, and he took cheeses and some wine in a wineskin, and stuffed it all inside his bulging coat. He made a final weary sigh, before closing the strong box again and leaving the key on the counter along with a clumsily written, but succinct note. "Goodbye" written in a clumsy but legible Castellanian hand.