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T he total darkness was still a bit of a shock, but Natier recovered much quicker than last time. The adrenaline from last time was still there, however. It pulsed through his veins, making him shiver with anticipation. Natier took the steps two at a time, eager to get to the city and begin exploring.

Just as he was nearing the end of the crawlspace, Natier heard noises coming from the cellar. He slowed his crawl and peeked out cautiously.

A raccoon, whom he recognized as the barkeep, was standing at one of the casks with a pitcher. He was so busy trying to get the spigot open that Natier was able to sneak right by him and get up the stairs without being seen. He crouched down low, letting the bar counter keep him hidden from the pub's patrons as he made his way across the room.

"Hey, what're ya doin' back there?!" The barkeep had filled his pitcher with wine and had come back upstairs. He was standing at the cellar door with his arms folded, glaring at Natier.

"N-nothing," Natier stammered. He was no good at thinking on his paws. The right words always seemed to evade him when he needed them most. "I-I-I just wanted a drink, but you weren't around."

"If you want a drink," the raccoon put the pitcher down on the counter with a thud and approached him, "you better be ready to pay for it."

"Of-of course!" Natier fished through his purse and brought out a silver piece. "H-here!" He tossed it at the barkeep. "Is that enough?"

The raccoon examined the silver with all the curiosity of someone who had never seen one before. "Yeah, I guess it is." The dangerous glint faded from his eyes and his tone grew a bit more respectful. "What would you like?"

Natier nodded to the pitcher. "I'll have some of that wine, I guess." His heart was racing so fast, he was certain the raccoon would hear it.

"Yeah, just have a seat." The barkeep poured some of the wine into a cup and slid it across the bar.

Natier took it and drank. A sharp, burning sensation filled his muzzle and he did his best not to spit the contents all over the counter. The wine was simply awful; it was poorly aged and mixed with some sort of grain alcohol, making it taste like lamp-oil and smell even worse.

"How's the wine?" The raccoon had calmed down from before and was busy rinsing used cups in a large washtub behind the counter.

Natier forced the remaining dregs down his throat and forced a smile. "It's great."

He finished the wine and left the pub as quickly as his paws could carry him.

Once outside, the young fox picked a direction and blended into the crowd. The wine was beginning to take effect. It warmed him and gently abated his fears of getting lost. Natier walked down the street, enjoying the incredible sense of freedom and independence.

One street turned to another and then the next. Soon, Natier had no idea where he was. None of the landmarks were familiar and the palace spires were hidden from view by row upon row of decrepit houses. The crowd he was in changed as well, from acceptably dressed merchants and innkeepers to ragged, unwashed beggars. The smell was also quite different - rotting food mixed with perspiration and just a hint of mold. Things only seemed to worsen with every step he took. Even in his inebriated state, Natier realized that it was time to turn around and retrace his steps.

"Well, what's a well-dressed fox like you doin' in ma neck of tha woods?" The grizzled gray wolf seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

Natier spun around and took a few steps back. "I-I was just leaving."

"No, you weren't." The wolf lunged at him.

Natier jumped aside just in time, struggling to stay upright with his dwindling equilibrium. He steadied himself and ran as fast as he could down the street. He had no idea where he was going, but anywhere was better than where he was. His eyes darted around from house to house as he searched for even the slightest hints of familiarity.

"Where are ye goin', foxy?" The wolf was hot on his heels. "I've been gettin' very lonely. Would ya really deprive me of company?"

Natier continued to run. He dodged in and out of crowds, but the wolf was locked onto his scent and refused to give up chase. He shoved people aside as he ran while shouting obscenities in Natier's direction. None of the passers-by attempted to stop him, some even cheered him on.

Natier was tiring out; every step sent pain up through his body, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer. He ducked into one of the pubs and slammed the door shut.

The pub's patrons turned in unison to look at him.

"Hide me," Natier whispered. "Please."

Another wolf, much older than the one chasing him, walked over. "Who are you running from, cub?" His fur was a silvery gray and his golden eyes shone with a certain kindness that calmed the young fox's madly racing heart.

"I don't know," Natier panted. "Big, gray wolf. I think he wants to have his way with me."

"Ah, you must mean Tryard," the wolf chuckled. "His bark is worse than his bite, really. You just have rough him up a bit and he'll leave you alone." He patted Natier on the back. "Just let me handle it."

No sooner did he finish speaking than Tryard burst through the door. "Where's ma fox?!"

The old wolf drew his dirk. "I will cut off whatever you attempt to touch him with, Try, paws or otherwise. Savvy?"

Tryard stared at him for a few moments before lowering his eyes in defeat and tucking his tail between his legs. "Fine. I was just havin' a bit of sport, is all."

"Not with him, you aren't." The wolf sheathed his dirk, but his gaze remained fixed. His golden eyes bored into Tryard's skull, daring the other wolf to look up. "He's with me now."

When Tryard didn't return his gaze, the wolf growled menacingly. "Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah." Tryard gave Natier another glance before leaving the pub and angrily slamming the door shut behind him.

The wolf sat down at one of the tables and motioned for Natier to do the same. "Well, it's a good thing you ran in here," he said. "Any other place would probably have let him have you. They don't like confrontations. What is your name?"

"Ah- I'm-" He scanned the room for anything that could help him, but found only a large painting of a water mill with a river running through it. "River."

"Rivard?" The wolf cupped his ear. "I'm sorry; my hearing isn't the best anymore."

"Yes, yes, that's right." Natier masked a sigh of relief with a small cough. "Rivard."

"I'm Jarris." The wolf extended his paw. "Pleased to meet you."

Rivard shook paws with him, feeling the callused pads and the unkempt fur. "Likewise. Thank you for your help."

"Oh, it was nothing," Jarris said. "You should know never to wander to that part of town unprotected. Are you new here?"

"I'm not 'new,' per se," Rivard said. "I've just been abroad for a very long time."

"Ah, well, welcome home." Jarris cupped both paws around his muzzle. "Barkeep, get this fox some ale."

"Oh, I couldn't, I-" Rivard had enough to drink for one night. The wine he got at the palace was better tasting, but also much weaker than what they served at pubs. He still needed to get home by morning.

"Oh, nonsense, it's only a few coppers." Jarris seemed to think it was all a matter of coin. He looked at another wolf, who'd just entered the pub. "Oy, Saar, come over here and meet my new friend."

Saar, who didn't look much older than Rivard, made his way around the other patrons and took a seat across from the fox. "Saaron. This old frog here's my dad." He extended his paw.

"Oh, R-Rivard." Rivard shook paws with the wolf, admiring Saaron's lean physique and piercing blue eyes.

"Pleasure." Saaron tipped his cavalier hat and turned to the waiter who'd just brought Rivard and Jarris their ale. "One for me as well," he said.

The skunk nodded silently and departed.

Jarris picked up his mug. "A toast! To Rivard. May his return to the city go smoother than it has thus far."

Saaron raised an eyebrow. "Why, what happened?"

"Oh, Rivard here met Try." Jarris took a swig of his ale and exchanged a knowing look with his son.

"Oh." Saaron cringed comically. "Didn't take his offer, did ya?"

"No, I ran," Rivard said. He tried swigging his ale like Jarris had, but the taste was so sharp that couldn't even swallow his first sip without coughing.

"It ain't your grape wine," Jarris smacked Rivard on the back several times, only making the coughing worse. "It takes a bit to get used to it."

Rivard finished coughing. He took another sip of his ale, a much smaller one this time. He didn't want to drink, but offending Jarris was probably not a good idea so he kept sipping.

"So, what brings you back to Llyra, eh, Rivard?" Saaron asked. He took a small sip from his mug and wrinkled his nose. He didn't cringe as visibly as Rivard had, but it was clear that he wasn't very fond of his ale either.

"Well," now was as good a time as any to practice lying, "my mother died, so I decided to leave the outer provinces and move back here. As it turned out, my father, whom I was looking for when I came here, also died. Now, I'm just trying to find a job before I spend my inheritance." He was rather proud of the story he'd concocted. An elegant lie with just enough truth to it, to give it realism.

"Well, I'd offer you a job, Riv, but my line of work isn't the most preferred one," Jarris said.

"What's your line of work?" Rivard was by no means looking for a job, but the wolf's vagueness served to pique his curiosity.

"Oh, property acquisition of sorts." Jarris waved his paw idly through the air. "I wouldn't want to bore you with it. Where are you staying?"

"Oh, um, I'm not sure what the place is called, actually," Rivard said. If Jarris knew the city as well as he thought, this was his chance to get back to that pub. "It's a pub of some sort. I just don't remember the name. It's fairly close to the palace, though." It had to be, he couldn't have gone more than half a mile underground.

"Do you remember the barkeep at all?" Saaron asked.

"Yeah, he's a raccoon; umm...he has a very deep voice. That's all I can remember." He racked his brains for more information, but between the panic and the wine, there wasn't much to be found.

"He's probably talking about Fang's," Jarris said. "That's the only raccoon barkeep I know on that side of town."

"I think you're right." Saaron stood up. "Come on, I'll show you the way. Wouldn't want you wandering into the wrong part of town again, would we?"

"Thanks." Rivard tossed a few coppers on the table. "Drinks are on me."

"Good luck to you, Rivard," Jarris said.

"Thank you, sir." Rivard shook paws with the wolf and followed Saaron outside.

He looked up at the sign that hung over the front door. "Veiled Menagerie. Any significance?"

"The hardest thing to see is what's right before your eyes." Saaron winked. "Come on, let's get going."

He led the way down the street, on to another street and then another. Rivard tried to remember the route, but gave up several turns in. Saaron seemed to know his way perfectly, however, and they were soon standing at the entrance to Fang's. It was marked by a large sign with a scowling cat of some sort painted on it.

"This is the place," Rivard said. He never thought he'd be this happy to get home.

"Easy enough," Saaron said. "But in the future, you should really be more observant of your surroundings."

"I will be." Rivard smiled. "Thanks."

"So long, then." The wolf tipped his hat and disappeared into the crowd.

Rivard pushed open the pub door and walked inside.

"I would like a room, please," he said to the barkeep.

The raccoon nodded. "How long are ye stayin'?"

Rivard shrugged. "A few months, I guess. I'll pay ahead."

"Ten silver," the barkeep said. "That includes room and board."

Rivard paid for the room. "Oh, and I'd also like some wine, please." He reached into his purse again.

"That's on the house, don't worry." The raccoon pocketed the coins and put the pitcher of wine next to Rivard. "Help yourself."

"Thanks." Rivard poured himself a glass and went to one of the tables in the back of the room. He was within shouting distance of the secret passage, but with the raccoon at the bar counter, he had no way of getting to it. Taking care not to drink too much, Rivard watched the cellar door, trying to come up with a way to sneak through it without being seen.