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Chapter 7

Today is the last day of the month I'd been given to consider my answer to the Dalmatian. And yet, I distract myself with my daily routines. Occasionally I try to sneak some minor improvement into Kit's dish without him noticing, but I'm not making much headway. Every day I learn better what it means to be a part of a ship's crew, with the constant rocking of the boat, the constant banter of the sailors, the constant abuse I hear being thrown behind Kit's back. Every day I bring the dalmatian his meals, prepare the occasional spice-tea-without-tea for him, and tidy up his room and make his bed. Every day, he asks me if I have made any progress in my decision, and every day I am forced to admit that I have not. There is simply not enough room in my head or time in the day to consider such a vast option when all my mind has been occupied with Kit. Thinking about my own future in all this has become very difficult, because I keep inadvertently mixing him into my consideration. Without him, I'm not sure where I stand. I don't particularly want anything for myself. But I can't just be a passenger in my own head.

"So," I mumble out of the blue, as we're both preparing breakfast. "About the captain..."

The way Kit stiffens and stops chopping vegetables when I blurt the short sentence out tells me more than I care to know, but I still need to hear him say it.

"Do you mind explaining all of this to me?"

"Excuse me?" Kit's voice sounds somewhat unsteady, but he had far more practice than I do being confrontational, so I falter slightly.

"I just... I eh... I mean... I know you're not on the best of terms but I think there's something you're not telling me."

"Not everything needs to be known," Kit says shortly, and goes back to cutting vegetables.

"But you're free, right?"

"Free?" Kit asks, flicking his ears. "I'm free as any other sailor aboard this cesspit. Can't actually go anywhere while we're afloat, I suppose none of us are. Why do you ask?"

"Then... why don't you just step off in Dalmatia when we reach it?" I ask him. "Come with me. Take your pension, and shape a life for yourself over there. I'll help you if I can. You don't want to be here, so why stay?"

"Because if I stepped off in Dalmatia, I'd end up in prison."

I'm caught off guard by the suddenness of the reply. Not the answer I expect. After a few moments of involuntary silence on my part, Kit continues chopping, as if such a statement is as natural as answering blue when asked what the colour of the sky is.

"But... but you said... you said it was legal to... in Dalmatia, that you're allowed to be with-"

"Debtors prison."

Kit's ears droop, his tail goes limp and his whiskers follow.

"What's that?"

"It's where they put people who run away from their debts, Kieran."

"But surely, if you trade in your spice... and you could find work in Dalmatia. I'd help you pay-"

"Look, I like Dalmatia," Kit interrupts me. "Out of all the countries I can think of, it is the best place for me. But there are some laws Dalmatians care very strongly about which I do not agree with." Kit stops chopping the carrots and put his knife down. "It's my contract. The debt my father left behind has to be paid with my labour. If word of any breach of contract gets out, the Dalmatian authorities will not hesitate to deliver me to Castellania. Where I will be prosecuted as a criminal."

"Why?" I ask. "Money is money, why do they care where it comes from? You can find a job when we get there, and continue paying your debts, can't you?"

Kit doesn't look up at me, even when I give him my most insistent look.

"I lied." Kit finally meets my eyes, slightly defiant behind all the shame I can see in there.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't seek aboard a ship to pay my father's debts out of some kind of sense of duty or for lack of better work. I was... well... I was forced." There comes one of those dark chuckles from him, entirely humourless. "When word reached the Golden Bank that my father had passed away, they raised their interest. They said it was because I was stronger and more fit than him, and could work harder. I couldn't meet these interests and still pay for food and shelter. So, when I faulted on a few payments, the debts were put up for sale. Whoever bought them would have the right to my labour for the length of time it would take to pay them down, whatever that labour was worth. And it just so happened that our beloved captain was in port that day. I was sure my debts would be sold to some other landlord. My father wasn't without friends in his line of work. I enjoyed a favourable reputation. I could argue a reasonable pay rate for myself. But the captain had money, and was prepared to close the deal quickly... and I... I saw something in him.... so I didn't question it. I thought I might be made deck paw, or perhaps a navigator. Anything, really. Instead, I'm made a fresh, raw apprentice mess... cook. The position barely pays anything at all, only just enough to cover the interests. Those interests were set for a fully paid up, almost-out-of-apprenticeship valet. The reason I can't step off in Dalmatia is the same reason why I'm still aboard this hellhole of a ship. I'm bound by a contract. A contract Dalmatia has to, and is eager to, enforce the legality of. And if I'm ever caught and sent into a debtor's prison, I would never... ever... be let out."

"Debts... That means," I hesitate, looking for the Castellanian word I've heard used before. "You're an indentured servant?"

I've met a few of them myself. It's thinly veiled slavery. The indentured servants I had known of were often racked with gambling or drinking debts; a few more coins than they had. With their cast iron collars, they were the very lowest of the low in the colonial hierarchy, only really used for well digging or road building, or scraping the hulls of ships. The sort of tasks people don't want to waste pricy, purchased slaves on. But to think Dalmatia would support this, when Duck sat there for more than an hour and proclaimed her virtues?

"For how long are you indentured?"

"Forever." Kit winces as he strains the word from his teeth. "Or as near as make no difference. The interests are so high that even when I pay forward all I earn every round, I can't always cover them. I've not been able to pay down anything for the last two years because of some disturbances in the trade. And I'm probably never going to have my wages raised, regardless of how prosperous this route might be. Ajag sets my wages. He probably suspects I'd run off the moment I'm free, and he'd not want that."

"You're a prisoner then?"

"It's so much more complete than that." Kit slumps, drops his knife on the chopping board and turns to me, hugging himself. "Every sailor is a prisoner for a few months, every time the ship casts off. I'm allowed to go ashore, but there's nothing much I can do there when I barely have enough money to buy a cup of wine. It wasn't for lack of desire I never touched those boys in the brothel, either. I simply couldn't afford it." He looks more unhappy now than I've ever seen him. "Not that I would, of course... If I had known their circumstances... I should've seen it. We were kin, in a strange way, I should've allowed myself to open my eyes..."

"Don't feel bad about that," I tell him. "I know how you feel. The captain sounds like my former owner, in some way. I understand how it's like."

"Your former owner," Kit mumbles, "who tried to... to sell you to-"

"Yeah." I fold my ears down, as much in sympathy for the weasel as for the anger I have at my own past. And the building anger I feel towards this captain. What an utter wretch to keep Kit in servitude against his will like that.

"You're forced to be up there with the captain, aren't you?"

Kit's eyes meet mine briefly, before he looks away.

"Maybe you understand parts of how I feel... but it's more complicated... I don't think you'd understand this." He turns away from me, probably to hide the frustration he can't keep out of his voice. For a long while, he fidgets with his tail with his eyes fixed on the table in between us, before slowly returning to preparing the meal in silence.

"Sorry," I hurry to add. "I'm sorry that things are this way, Kit. If you don't want to say-"

"Please don't say anything about this to the crew," Kit interrupts me. "I don't want anyone to know I'm some fucking debtor, least of all the captain's..." He mouths the word slave, but doesn't say it out loud.

"I promise I won't tell the crew."

That is not a lie, really. Duck isn't part of the crew. Though I don't understand his shame of being indentured, I can well understand the feeling of being subject to someone or something beyond your control. Nobody should have to feel that.

Kit is in hell already, like I had been. He has nothing to cling to, nobody to help him out of the pit he's in, nothing to look towards for hope. It has been written, completely legally, that this captain can do with Kit as he pleases. I had plans of ending my own life, at the very least. And then I received the unexpected blessing of Duck and his schemes, if you can call it that. I don't think Kit has it in him to end his existence, with all those hopes and dreams in his head. He's not allowed to leave the ship to chase them, however. Not allowed to love whomsoever he might fall in love with. Forced to endure the company of that brute. But something is still not right. All these coppers don't make a crown.

I'm sure I was free in my past, too. I probably had hopes and dreams, even if I was a young cub at the time. I wonder what they were. Then someone snatched that from me, just like some magistrate or banker, or indeed this captain, snatched Kit's hopes and dreams from him and held them prisoner behind words on a paper and money he'd never have. The world is cruel and unfair. But this time, for this weasel, something will change. I will not stand idly by and let the world happen around me. I am not a castaway, I'm the captain of the ship that is my own destiny, and I will take on board this shipwrecked soul.

###

"I've given your offer all the consideration I can," I announce the next morning in Duck's cabin, before breakfast. I've brought him two spice-teas-which-aren't-teas, for two equals.

"I'm glad to hear that, Kieran," Duck says.

I splay my ears. "Sorry about the time it took. I'm... willing to discuss this... this service you offer me. Can we?"

"We may go over the details again, if you require. The terms of the position itself is fixed. I cannot pay you more than what I pay the others, it wouldn't be fair. You realise this?"

"It's not what I wish to ask," I tell him. "Can you pay me less?"

Duck's eyebrows arch. An actual expression of surprise creeps over his face before it stills to the same steely indifferent look.

"Less?"

"That's my question." I try to still my ears and tail from flicking with uncertainty. I feel bold, haggling with this royal, this man who holds all the power. Even when my proposal doesn't overstep my position, even if it doesn't come to anything, I will still have challenged him. But he did specifically ask me to be honest with him. "If I asked you a favour which might cost you money, would you consent to pay me less in return?"

"What is it you propose, exactly?"

Duck's eyes glitter like diamonds. Cold and grey and calculating. Holding my entire future in place as they pin me to my seat.

"Kit... He's an indentured servant aboard this ship. I want to pay for him to be released from his debts, if that's at all possible."

"The mess boy?" Duck asks. "To what end?"

"The cook," I specify, "Because... I think he deserves it, that's all."

"I see." Duck doesn't betray anything through his expression. "How much is this debt, then?"

"I don't know," I tell him, "but it's interests are higher than what Captain Ajag pays him."

"That might mean a hundred pounds or it might mean one. The interest rate determines that. Are you sure he's telling you the truth?"

"Am I sure?" I find myself genuinely shocked by the implication. "I know a thing or two about these things, if I dare say. I'm certain he isn't lying about this." I let my ears raise up, and I straighten my back to match. "I don't care if he owes a thousand pounds. I want to pay it, if it is within your power to arrange something like that."

"You don't know what wages I propose to offer."

"I don't care what I earn." I can't yield. I can't show weakness. "My freedom doesn't hinge on how much money I have. But his freedom does. Freedom which your city would deny him, actually." I swallow down bravely, and level a finger at the duke. "If he tried to disembark to seek employ that would give him the income he would need, Dalmatia would arrest him and send him a Castellanian prison instead of helping him. How can you allow this, your Grace?" I add the honorific in an effort to appeal to his sense of duty to his peoples, before remembering that Kit is nobody to him, and that he's not even from Dalmatia.

"You don't say." Duck's tone changes slightly, and I can't make out what it means. "My city, hmm?"

"Are you aware that your laws allow this? You told me Dalmatia was a free city full of free people."

"Kieran-"

"Are you aware that, though you freed me and said a lot of pretty things about wanting to put an end to slavery, that this is also that? At least I understood what I was when they put the collar around my neck."

"Kieran..." Duck says finally, having considered for a long time. "This is most unexpected."

I hold my muzzle shut, defiantly waiting for him to explain himself.

"I'm aware of the laws you speak of. But I've not had the occasion to look too closely at them. I shall certainly do that, before attempting to explain them to you in a way you'd understand. Because to make you understand the finer political machinations and details of law requires quite more time and quite a few books which are at this stage not available to me. But I didn't expect this." Duck waves a paw offhandedly. "This... altruism."

He raises himself from the chair he's seated in, and comes over to me with deliberately languid a gait. "You must understand, Kieran, I do not make these laws. But I do take some responsibility in the enforcement of them. Some laws are necessary, though they might feel unfair. Some laws are needed, but are not set down for the same reason. Some laws are written and not practiced, and some laws are practiced in ways that aren't strictly written. There are a thousand different laws in Dalmatia, and every now and then, lawyers and barristers discover two which are at odds with one another or, indeed, enable the unhappy circumstances you describe. That can certainly be looked into further, as this is a very peculiar situation of Castellanian making. But you are correct in appealing to me, and I agree. There's room for improvement in the laws which concerns the contract of this cabin boy."

"The cook," I correct him, but I don't put any force into my voice.

"It is decent agents I seek to employ. Agents with good convictions, who still know right from wrong. The law is by no means the final decider in what that is."

"So, you will help me, sir?"

"If you want any income at all to dispose of, you will be accepting my service under the terms previously stated. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." I say. "If such a thing is possible, and can be done, I will accept your terms."

"We will soon find out if it is." Duck returns to his chair with the amusement-flavoured turn-up to his lips still plastered on his face. "I will take the evening meal with the captain today. I'd like you to attend me, watch and learn what it is I do. I believe we will be discussing something pertinent to your... potential... future service."

"What is it you'd want me to do exactly?"

"Simple. Listen to what is said and remember it. You might like to consider it a test of how well you pay attention to details. I will ask you about certain things afterwards, so keep your ears open for anything out of the ordinary."

"I can do that," I tell him. "And you'll ask the captain if I can take over Kit's debts?"

"If they be within reason, I will." Duck levels a finger at me, hovering it right in front of my eyes. "But know this. I'm doing you a great favour by humouring your wishes this early on in our work relationship. I'll let you run a little slack for now, since I know freedom tastes nice, and I need you to come to terms with your newfound freedom and all that entails. But heed me, fox. Do not get drunk on its ambrosia. When time comes, I need you to accept and follow my instructions to the word, and without hesitation."

"That shouldn't be difficult," I tell him. I hope it is the truth.

"It shouldn't be," Duck confirms.

"I will not forget this, sir. Thank you."

I won't forget anything you do for me. Or to me. I will remember, Your Grace. An insistent little devil of a voice crops up in my head at that thought.

"Like you remember Sanjay?" it says. "Like you remember how he used to bother and bully you? You hated that tiger, don't pretend otherwise. Get off your high horse, fox. The world became slightly better a place after Duck killed him. He'd have hurt you, like he hurt all those boys you heard about. His death was been a blessing to every slave in the colony.

I didn't want him to die, though, I tell the other fox in my head. I hated seeing it, and I hate knowing now that he won't be the only one. But the fox in my head doesn't respond.

I know this is what I've agreed to. I will see much more before I'm done with this life. And though his death shook me, it's the dalmatian who drives home the true horror of it. His eyes never flickered. I don't think he even blinked. How many has he killed, that death no longer faze him? Will I too become like that? Will I be a cold, merciless killer of men? Or will I go the other route? Will I crack under the burden of guilt? Do these questions even require answers? How can I survive it all? There's one question I don't feel so insecure about; I believe there's an answer for it.

"Kit" I blurt out, and realising I've said his name out loud, I press on. "He's a valet. A proper one. And he could attend your daily chores instead of me. He knows how to read and write, and he's done this work before. I think he deserves a chance. I-"

"One thing at a time, fox," Duck interrupts me somewhat sternly.

"I can do his work in the kitchen!" I hurry to add. "I know how to cook properly."

I swear, Duck pauses for just a moment, before he says, "we will talk to the captain first and hear what he has to say. You will stand back and observe, and listen, and not speak out of turn."

###

I've been instructed to groom and brush thoroughly, so my day is already off to a good start. It gets even better, as Kit lets me borrow his cleanest shirt and trousers, which look almost new, and fit me rather well. I look like a proper official, save for my vulpine features, which Kit offhandedly mentions look out of place for that role. He does tell me he likes how they go with the clothes, however, and I feel better about myself. And it occurs to me that I do appreciate his opinion, not just because he understands these things, but also because his compliments have a way of working themselves under my coat and making me feel warm and tingly.

"Almost there, fox," Kit murmurs, scratching the underside of his muzzle after a while of looking me up and down. "There's something not quite right."

He straightens my shirt collar and brushes some stray hairs off my shoulders, where his fingers graze the copper collar. Out here at sea, it's possible for me to forget about it occasionally.

"What's the matter?" I ask. "Has it started to rust? Should I polish it?"

"I rather think... hold on a second." Kit dives into his chest again, digging around for something which must've been well hidden down at the bottom. He emerges with a shimmering piece of fabric, deeply red in colour. It's the finest silk I've ever laid my paws on.

"If you have to be in there with the Dalmatian, then at least keep this out of Ajag's sight." Kit drapes the silk fabric around my neck, and ties it loosely around the front, so that it covers my collar. The ends, he tucks down the front of my shirt, then he hands me a clean metal spoon in which my reflection can be gleamed.

"I like it," I mumble. "But what is it? I've seen these things before; officers sometimes wore them. Is it a holy garment?"

"To those who worship wealth and status," Kit says with a smile. "It's just a cravat to round off the discerning fox's lovely, lush neckline, and keep those parts where his fur doesn't grow better hidden."

"That's very nice," I mumble, unconsciously enjoying the sense of his fussing with my coat slightly more than the silk around my neck.

"This is the one I wore to work before I came aboard," he says as he straightens it. "As a general rule, silk is always preferable to fur. Well... Almost always." The weasel's wink isn't lost on me, nor is his touching gesture. When they placed this collar around my neck, they had not even attempted to cool it after shaping it. The burn scar it had left was meant to teach me my place. It only taught me that there are people out there to whom I am worthless. This gift, bestowed upon me by the one person in this world I trust, is such a contrast that it feels almost obscene.