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An Author's Note:

A short content-warning to the reader, so that you may be informed. Not all stories are happy ones; this is one such that is not. This story deals heavily with mature themes such as violence of varying natures (including implied sexual violence), as well as touching on topics that are otherwise very sensitive to debate or discuss, such as mysticism, religion, science and their intersections.

Those who have sensitivity to dark topics may wish to find other reading material; I encourage everyone to do what is best for themselves. Please remain civil to one another, should you decide to leave a comment.

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Read the first chapter here! https://www.furaffinity.net/view/45394107/

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Chapter Two: The House of Glamours and Gallows

Theodore trudged down the corridor, adjusting his vest in nervous fidgets. He nodded pleasantly to a few of the ladybeasts and their charges, arriving at his door before he realized it.

Theodore pressed his back against the wood. He hadn't had time to register he was inside of his room before he forced his palms forced against his forehead. He groaned loudly, sliding down the door until he sat. He knew why he was shaking like he was; but there was also a part of him that knew Sybil was right. He didn't need to have sex with anybody tonight--not if he didn't want to.

He reared his head hard enough to bounce it off the door and snarled at himself. Not a victim.

The gaslights were low. One of the worst parts about having the first available room down the hallway was the lack of windows, but at least Theodore got his own fireplace. He used the hearth more than the gaslights, when he could stand the heat of it. Something about the idea of a fireball living in a wooden wall was concerning, but it was Sybil's choice, not his.

His bed and the armoire shared a wall opposite the door, leaving the fireplace and the closet to face inwards to one another. One of the tin cans of food had fallen from a rickety shelf and rolled its way out floor like it had an announcement to make, having rolled from the closet to one of the legs of his bed.

"Dinner, yay." Theodore said to himself, trying to cheer up. The lowest shelf in his closet had food stashed for lonelier nights, as well as a bottle of gin and a change of clothes. Aside from that, there was only a trunk of old books he'd collected from his time on the seas with Captain Nathaniel as a sailor on the Amnesty. More often than not these days, he found his mind drifting back to those happier memories on board the ship that had all but raised him; his mind settling to comfortable numbness with the swashbuckling adventures and tales of horror that filled the books of his collection.

There were technical manuals in there as well to mark the remains of a time before in Theodore's life where he was more ambitious, before he'd been pressed to the wall by the world and offered the choice to either raise his tail or starve.

He'd decided he liked to eat, and now made a pleasant amount.

"You've sailed, worked molten steel, and fucked for a living," Theodore muttered to himself. "Sulking was never an option."

His confidence was shaky, but at it was enough to put him back on his feet.

Theodore's back gave a satisfying crack as he stretched. Taking a moment to right his vest, he swung open the door to his armoire, smiling at the squeal of the its lopsided hinges. "I saved your life; keep your opinion to yourself." Theodore shook his head, allowing his grin to ease his shoulders as well. He pressed at the decaying wood until the latch caught with another angry snap.

"Just one night." Theodore told himself. Before he left his room, he snatched a weathered copy of one of his favorite novels from his closet and tucked it into the inside pocket of his vest.

Descending to the main floor of the bordello, Theodore paused at the base of the staircase. His ears perked at the sounds that drifted around the corner. Straight forward was a door that lead to the restaurant and kitchens, but behind him and around another corner would be the party floor. He hadn't heard it from the downstairs bar. Drunken songs, jumping beasts of all kinds danced a wheel around a pair of lovers, who were quite deep in a kiss when Theodore managed to round the corner and catch sight of the hubbub.

He had no idea what was going on.

On the sea port, traditions mixed together. What was a wedding to somebeast was a birthday to another, or any other number of things. By his best guess, this was a wedding--strange thing to be had in a whorehouse, but Theodore did his best to not judge--

He yelped loudly, grabbing his side and recoiling away from the offending finger in his ribs. His glower in Patricia's direction was completed with a dark snort, his ears splaying down.

She giggled. "Did you hear me?" she asked, having to half-shout over the music, thumbing back around the corner to the stairs.

Theodore shook his head and followed her, so the pair didn't have to yell to be heard.

"This is Beatrice's last night with us! She's married off!" The Leopardess grinned. Theodore's features brightened and he peered back to catch a look at the happy pair in the midst of the dancing.

"Another one!?" Theodore called back under the notes. "That's the third since last Solstice!" He tapped his foot along with the beat, and even clapped once or twice, which was out of place in the quieter part of the hallway.

"Staying here's not the point, Theodore," Patricia responded.

She didn't look at him, but Theodore knew the comment was directed at him. Madame Sybil prided herself that her workers didn't stay whoring for long. Theodore knew that gents stayed on longer than lasses, typically, but even now he was approaching the previous records. He'd shrugged off the thought of settling down with a ladybeast long ago; he couldn't wait to get back to the seas where he'd grown up.

"Well, I am happy for her!" He leaned over to address Patricia. "However; you need help passing out drinks?" He asked, his eyes flicking down the hallway toward a cart of beer that trundled its way to the closest entrance. Theodore knew the answer before she tilted her head.

"Fuck you for not asking sooner!" she grinned at him.

"Taking after me is bad for your health," he warned her. "Quoting me is how it all starts."

***

"Damnit Victor, what did you get me into?" Professor Kendall Whitaker paused to look over the sealed letter once more. He turned it to and fro, looking at the wax seal on the back of the letter and the scrawled address on the front.

The Silver Ladle

Madame Sybil

Urgent

Victor had shoved the letter into his cousin's paws yesterday morning and shooed Kendall out the door with no explanation beyond 'Take this to the Madame Sybil, it's urgent,' as LaRauxe accosted the chemist. The Otter scoffed down at the letter in his paws and shook his head at it once again.

His fingers scratched through the graying fur on his muzzle, then underneath the bridge of his glasses to an old scar that ran across his features. He gave the letter another squeeze--rolling what was obviously a key between the folds, without damaging too much of the letter.

Rather than give into the demands of his overbearing relative, Kendall had ensured that every one of his duties as professor was fulfilled before leaving the college out of spite. Papers were graded, ghoulish Ophthalmology props were put up, sorted, and even dusted today for the first time in a decade. If Victor was so pressed to have this key and this letter delivered he could have done it him-damned-self, so far as Kendall was concerned.

"You've read too many spy novels, Victor." he muttered to himself, shoving the letter into his satchel before disembarking onto the street.

The carriage behind him bobbled down the cobblestone to leave the Professor to the mercy of whatever else was on the street. There was a high number of drunken beasts spilling out of a wrought iron gate. Kendall twitched his whiskers in disgust at the yowling; he half-expected the Canines among them to start howling at the moon.

His eyes traveled the lengths of the buildings that lined the street. He could see the docks directly south of him; the delicious scents of fish wafted upwind mixing in with oils, spices and other odors that by themselves would have been pleasant, but were overwhelming in force.

Kendall knew of the Silver Ladle by reputation only. Several of his colleagues swore by it for the quality of the food and the escorting. They'd described the wrought iron gates and high privacy hedges in detail; a lovely little compound dedicated to debauchery and vice. Kendall had never been whoring, or to such a place even for a bachelor's party.

No matter. he thought to himself, adjusting his satchel.

The professor made a point to dress to his station; a green silken vest, golden pocket watch and white shirt, with black slacks to add more color to his chestnut fur and tan chin. He'd left any sort of coat at home as he didn't intend to stay long.

The only company Whitaker had after a few moments was an angry clock face, centered above the entrance of the docks, informing him that the hour was too early for any sane beast to be out.

Go in, give the letter, get out, he resolved, his back straightening as he marched through the gate and up the winding path. Shame you had to study eyes, not plants. the professor sighed to himself as he passed an artful array of bursting blooms and shrubs.

Somehow, everything was up hill from the main street. A zigzagging path turned into a switchback to break line of sight, opening up into the courtyard that he'd heard so much about.

A house reminiscent of a cathedral stood at the center of the property, with a smaller one just off to its side. A maze of a garden wound its way around the property, curated and maintained by one of the old faith druids (a Hyena, if Kendall recalled). Scores of nooks and crannies existed for beasts who wanted to rut outside, as well as a host of balconies to view such things from.

Beneath a trio of arches were the gaudy love seats, romantic candles burnt to stubs, and half-finished drinks that Kendall could only assume were typical of a bordello. It was lifted straight out of cliché, and he didn't want to touch anything for fear of what had been slathered over it.

Buried in the balcony was an oak doorway made more for privacy than security, and even then there wasn't much for privacy. An oval pane of frosted stained glass sat in the center of the door, overlooking an over designed brass knob. Kendall wasn't sure if a bouncer would open the door or if he was intended to walk in by himself.

He knocked.

Several moments passed and Kendall squinted at the glass enough to see shadowy figures moving around inside. One of them approached the doorway and Kendall took a small step back as it was swung open for him.

"Welcome to the Silver Ladle, sir!" A lass poured out of the doorway to greet him. She wore a flourish of colors that Kendall couldn't register before he was shooed inside, dragged forward by his lapels.

"I'm... I'm here to see Madame Sybil!" He squeaked as he was dragged inside.

The atmosphere wasn't what he'd been expecting, though in hindsight Kendall didn't know what he had expected. A waiting room that was reminiscent of a high-end doctor's office. Straight forward was a large arch in the wall that lead down to the main area. Gambling tables were centered, a stage was on the left and high rises with seating and more private tables were on the right. To his left and right there were individual doors, and--

"If you've got an appointment, your escort will be with your shortly!" Beamed the obsequious face of the chestnut brown Canine who'd dragged him inside. "If not, I can check to see if we've anyone available!"

"I'm here to--!" Kendall began, only for the lass to cut him off once more.

"It does appear that all of our evening folk are booked for the evening. Unless you're here for an appointment!" she ducked around a podium to flip through several tomes of registry. "They're all checked in, so if you're here for an appointment, you must be Victor..." she mused over what Kendall could only assume was a guest registry. "Guthery's name's scribbled out...?" she trailed off.

Kendall was no longer sure if she was talking to him directly, or if she was content to speak to herself.

"That ain't Victor, love," a hard-accented lass' voice cut through the confusion. Kendall jumped and turned to see a second ladybeast, a fellow Otter, staring him over with her paws on her hips from the left door of the foyer. "Y'been here afore?" She demanded of Kendall, but didn't let him speak before she nodded toward the door opposite of her. "If'n y'haven', get ya' balls checked afore you come t'the main floor. Bands go on y'wrist; left if ya wanty stick y'dick in someone, right if y'want them t'stick their dick in you."

"You are very abrasive," Kendall said matter-of-factly, digging around in his satchel before producing the letter from Victor. "I'm here in place of my cousin; I am intended to see Madame Sybil."

The lasses exchanged glances, and the abrasive one tutted her tongue. "Y'not Victor. Y're Kendall," she continued to tut. One of the Professor's eyebrows raised at the escort. "Thought y'd be uglier."

"Begging your pardon!?" Kendall's voice cracked.

"Theo!" The Otter shrilled over her shoulder.

There was a moment of silence and a sigh came from behind her. "It's Theodore, Melanie. I don't like having my name shortened."

"It ain't Victor, and you ain't Guthery, but it was Victor's appointment so y're up." Melanie barked over her shoulder at the unknown gent. Another sigh came from the interior of the doorway, and Kendall tried to mask his displeasure at the cantankerous demeanor of the Otter.

"Please excuse Mistress Melanie," Theodore's voice drifted forward as he stepped around the lass. "She's our stage manager, and likes things just-so."

"Dreadful sorry 'bout m' salty 'ello," Melanie curtsied with far too much of her chest. Her face lit up with a fraud grin that turned to glare at Theodore. "That 'ne ruined m'show earlier t'night."

"She's upset by what I wouldn't do on a stage." Theodore explained blandly, offering an arm to Kendall. "At a wedding."

"'E also fucked up 'is lines durin' a romance play few month's back," she sneered before disappearing. "Got'im special silks an'everythin' for the part! An' he fucked it up!"

Theodore, Kendall and the final lass all flinched as Melanie slammed the door behind the Wolf. Theodore's face was scrunched in displeasure, and he tried his best to smile before cracking open his golden eyes. His hopeful grimace was met with an incredulous smile from Kendall.

"I... don't know how to respond to that." The professor admitted. Theodore watched as one of the gent's shoulders dropped low, a paw protectively clutching at the clasp of his satchel.

Theodore pointed to the door across the hallway. "If you intend on a band, you need a physical first--"

"I don't intend to sleep with you, Mr...?" Kendall inquired, taking note of the escort's obvious relief. There was a small pang in the professor's gut by how relieved Theodore seemed.

"Locke. Theodore Locke, at as much of your service as you'd like," he said with a bow. Kendall tilted his head and lifted to his toes, peering down the Wolf's vest with a small sound of intrigue. "Hm?" Theodore mimicked.

"You've a book in there; what read?"

"I..." Theodore blinked, then pulled it out. "An older one; The Photonicist's Lure, by Calliope."

"One of the Captain Jezebel novels?" The professor's eyebrows raised as he looked over the escort. "Seafaring fancy, then?"

"A good swashbuckling never hurt anyone I cared about," Theodore said with a wink. This time he offered direction to Kendall, rather than just an arm. "Couldn't find its sequels though. Never really looked for them, either."

"I'm sure you can find them somewhere." Kendall assured.

His escort nodded, parting a curtain to lead the way passed the now abandoned gambling tables, down a lowered pathway that felt like a canyon between the high rises and the stage. "I overheard you're supposed to be seeing Madame Sybil?" Theodore asked.

"Yes, I have a letter to her from my cousin, I don't intend on staying long," Kendall reiterated. "I was delayed in my errand but I do need to get back to work at the Colleges."

"All due respect, I am not going to be the one to explain it to her if you are any kind of tardy." Theodore nodded over his shoulder, leading the way upstairs.

They rounded the corner to a door that looked like it was ready to eat them, and Kendall paused at the sight. Theodore stopped when he realized the professor had been frozen in place. "Look... if you think you're late, the door isn't the thing you should worry about." he instructed.

Kendall's chin bobbed up and down in a nod, and he strode forward once more.

***

Self preservation was why Theodore had never considered waking Madame Sybil at an unholy hour of the morning. After last call was served and before breakfast were the few hours of the day that he tried to not leave his room; much less go knocking on the Panther's door.

After the Professor knocked, Theodore took up post behind him to prove that he was doing his job and taking the appointment. Several silent moments passed before a weary-looking Sybil answered.

Kendall's demeanor deflated, the poor beast was under the assumption Madame Sybil was a piece of Hell. The blast of dry heat smacked both Theodore and the Otter in the face served to reinforce that. She growled something at the pair of them that Theodore tried to translate into 'what do you want?', but he wasn't sure that's what she'd said.

"My appointment, Madame," Theodore spoke from behind Kendall. "He says he's got a letter for you from his brother--"

"My cousin, written to you, and he asked I deliver this, rather than send by courier," Whitaker corrected. He offered the envelope to Sybil without so much as another word, and he waited for her to take it. "Professor Kendall Whitaker, at your service. I was only asked to deliver that letter there. But with that done, I believe I should--"

"Does your cousin have reason to send me a door key?" Sybil asked, stepping into the brighter lights of the hallway. She opened the letter to survey its contents, and Theodore's gaze locked onto her.

The professor was babbling about obligations to his students, but it became clearer with each word the Arbiter read that she was ready to order Theodore to bounce the little bastard down the stairs. Shock covered her face, then horror, then rage.

"What in the name of all of the gods, were you thinking in delaying this message?" Sybil demanded. Theodore took a step back.

"Begging your pardon?" Kendall asked, his head tilting in confusion.

The Panther retreated a step into the room. Any worries that Kendall had about Hell were being realized. "Inside, now." her voice was quiet and cutting. Theodore blinked, then guided the Otter forward.

The Professor gave a small yip in protest but he stepped forward at Theodore's ungentle shove.

"What's gotten into you? You were being so pleasant." Kendall scowled.

"For both your safety and mine, fucking move." Theodore ordered. There was no playful edge to his voice; he'd only ever seen Sybil this angry twice in his life. Neither time had been directed at him, which was it's own blessing. The atmosphere twisted about her, guided by the agitated flicking of her tail.

"What caused you to be late with this?" The Arbiter bit out.

Her voice made Theodore shiver, despite the roaring of the fire Isolde stoked. Theodore gave a polite nod to the Hyena, who rose and wrapped her cloak around herself in spite of the oppressive heat. Her muzzle dipped, returning the greeting before the ladybeast slid into the chair Sybil had occupied hours before. Theodore's mouth opened to offer her a more formal greeting, but the Madame's words interjected and he fell silent.

"You are aware that I am an Arbiter of Charinthosse, are you not?" Sybil demanded.

"Of Southern District, yes. And you've got a bloodthirsty reputation to boot," Professor Whitaker crossed his arms. "I fail to see how having me act as a courier would have any consequence to your job. You don't allow a proper investigation to be done, hanging beasts mere hours after you assume their guilt."

"Here in my paws, I have two things," Sybil's voice adopted a condescending edge, ignoring the jab at her profession. Theodore wanted to laugh as she began lecturing the professor like he was a nipper, but he knew better than to draw attention to himself.

"First is the key to a front door, and second is instructions on what to do with it," she enunciated. "This key is to a very specific door in the Northern Wards: It belongs to someone who works for me, Guthery Faulkner. However it bears open more truths and admissions alongside of it."

Theodore's ears perked at the name.

Isolde shifted.

"And?" Professor Whitaker was unimpressed.

The Madame's back straightened as she cleared her throat. "Madame Sybil, I beg of you to contact your counterparts in Northern District at once. I apologize I cannot see this letter to you myself, but I trust it will find it's way into your paws; I trust my cousin with my all. Guthery has given his Word to the Crows of the Northern District that he didn't open a letter addressed to him and was found a liar. I know that he did not open that letter because I did by mistake; I am unsure if you know, he and I now live together and are Greenwood-intended. I am meeting with the Arbitership and other colleagues whom I believe have sway so proper justice may be meted and Guthery does not pay for an honest mistake. Signed and ever grateful to you, Victor DuGall," she dictated. Her arm fell, and she crumpled the note in her paw before lifting the key. "For you Northern folk, someone sending a door key is a totem of trust," Sybil informed. "It means his house is locked and he cannot re-enter it honestly. I'll spare you the narrower details of how it swears somebeast to honesty."

Theodore's eyes darted to the professor. Even though he stood behind him, he watched Kendall's whiskers droop in horror.

"When did this letter come into your possession, Professor?" Sybil's voice was barely above a whisper. Despite her quiet tone, her emerald eyes bored into him with predatory intention.

Whitaker responded after a moment. "Yesterday morning, m'lady,"

"And what was so important that a missive should be delayed, to an Arbiter, Professor?" Sybil's voice raised. Whitaker flinched away.

"Victor didn't tell me he was greenwooding one of your escorts, or I would have been here that much sooner! I am finding out alongside you just how serious this is!" Kendall protested.

Theodore's eyebrows raised in surprise. The professor's tone caught him off guard; rare was the beast damn fool enough to raise their voice to an Arbiter. Much less to Madame Sybil.

"You cousin sends you with a letter that clearly contains a key; you're from this city, you know what that means. Why delay?" She demanded again. She stepped forward to loom over the Otter as he stood in silence. "You may have cost a beast his life with your ridiculousness. Your cousin of all folk, no less!" Theodore saw the enraged shake in Sybil's frame.

Whitaker's jaw dropped. "I... I'm sorry," he stammered. "Had--"

"If you had done what you ought, instead of what you chose..." Her voice cracked. Theodore hadn't heard one way or the other of Guthery's fate, but the despair that crossed the Madame's features told him everything he needed to fear. "You will tell me everything you know of this." She commanded as she flung the letter into Whitaker's face.

Theodore flinched but the Otter leapt backward, nearly into Theodore's arms. "M'lady, I don't know anything, I swear to you!" He yelped. "Isn't there something to be said about not hanging the messenger?"

"Theodore, he is your charge until his cousin comes to collect him; I will send word to Mr. DuGall's address to invite him," Sybil said. "I don't care what you do with him, but if he attempts to escape, you are to find myself or the nearest Magistrate. I will give you a missive to confirm a hunt of Crows to deliver him to me."

"How dare--!" The professor began, only for the Panther to silence him with a glare of absolute authority.

"You will stay with Theodore," she instructed. "You will stay where I can reach you within a half-hour. You will respond to me when I call. If you fail, you will be left to hang."

Whitaker's features scrunched in a mixture of terror and anger. "You'd have me hang until the carrion birds picked my bones clean? Over not delivering a letter?"

"An innocent beast faces a justice that is as undeserved as your family's good name," she ignored his accusation as well as his whinging. Theodore almost commented on it, but the motion of his muzzle drew Sybil's attention. "Theodore. You will wait in your room with the professor until I have prepared your instructions and a formal seal to authorize justice in the face of Professor Whitaker's failures."

Theodore nodded, his ears folding back against his head. "Yes, Madame Sybil." he confirmed. He glanced her way, but Sybil's eyes didn't meet his. They were too busy burying daggers into Whitaker's frame.

"Barbaric," Whitaker grunted, taking a step toward the door with a dark scowl. "Facing death, over not doing someone else's job."

"Continue to bury yourself, Kendall," the Madame said, her tone as heavy as stone. "You are Theodore's responsibility; his company is all that spares you from a noose."

"I've not given or broken my Word to anyone." Kendall's eyes narrowed.

"The full breadth of our law was broken all the same. 'Thy Word, Thy Bond. Thy Bond, Thy Brother. Thy Brother, Thy Life.'," Sybil recited, her tone heavier with each statement. "Tell me; in the context of our laws and their old honors, are we not to consider that your duties to your family are both your Word, and to your Brother? You've spurned both, and pissed on whatever leniency I may have given to you." The Arbiter's voice simmered.

"Stretching it just enough to justify what you want, I see," Kendall remarked through gritted teeth. "Yet another problem with the Arbitration; it changes with the whim of opinion."

Theodore cleared his throat in a desperate attempt to save Kendall from an immediate death; Isolde was a step ahead of him, the Hyena stepping from the forgotten darkness of the room to put a paw on her wife's arm. "Waiting in my room; is there a time I should expect--" he began.

"Both of you, out." Sybil's voice cut through the darkness.

Theodore's eyes glanced to Isolde, who said nothing. The Hyena shook her head at the Wolf, and he nodded in return. He didn't say another word until he and Whitaker were both out of Sybil's room, the door closed behind them.

"Your room?" Whitaker asked, his voice fatigued.

"Down the hall, take a right. First door you come to on the left," Theodore instructed. "Bed's got space for two if you want to get nice and cozy."

Whitaker glared at Theodore, then shook his head. "We like the same books, that doesn't mean I want to have sex with you."

"Didn't say we'd fuck; you'd need a band for that anyway. House rules!" Theodore tried to add some levity to the atmosphere with a chipper tone. It didn't work.

"Knowing my luck today, I'd fear their news. I'd rather hang than get more bad." Whitaker groused.

Theodore shrugged, then nudged the Professor. "Madame Sybil may not mean that you'd actually hang. It is just a letter, and she is grumpy when she first wakes up. Doubly and triply so at the corners of 'fuck off o clock' and 'fuck off harder with your bullshit'."

"She seemed very in sorts when we spoke with her just now." Kendall snorted, shaking his head at all of it. He slid through Theodore's door and made a direct line for the bed.

Theodore tugged the book from his vest once more. "Shall I get the lights for you? And would you like to wear something more comfortable to sleep in?" He offered. Kendall shook his head, reconsidered, then looked over at Theodore and gave a weary nod.

"Is there anything that isn't bared down to the pelt?" Whitaker inquired. Theodore nodded and turned toward the door.

"Bathrobes. And don't worry about the mattress; It was just cleaned yesterday." Theodore assured him.

Kendall nodded then took a heavy seat on the edge of the bed, tugging at his vest to clear it from his chest. It took a moment for Theodore's words to catch up with the professor, who eased himself back to his feet in realization. "And when did you change the sheets last?"

"This morning. They're switched daily because no one likes anything particularly crunchy," Theodore responded with a shrug. Whitaker's whiskers twitched. "Have you nippers, Professor?" Quizzed the escort as he took a step to the doorway. Kendall nodded.

"A son... About your age, I think. Mid-twenties?" Theodore nodded. "He's been committed for tragic reasons, but... yes." Whitaker exhaled, pinching the bridge of his muzzle. "Why do you ask?"

"Have you steamed your mattress clean, or replaced it?" Kendall's eyebrow raised at the bizarre line of questioning from the deadpanned Wolf.

"Why?"

"Because if you haven't, you've slept in your own stains for years. You don't have to worry about that in my bed!" Theodore replied with an impish grin. The door closed on Kendall's face of horror, and Theodore paused outside, his ears perked as he heard Kendall speak to himself.

"I'm not worried about sleeping in my own... It's somebeast else's I'm concerned with!"

Theodore snickered the entire way to the bath house.