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R ivard watched the only other patron in the bar, a very drunk bobcat, snoring loudly in his seat with his muzzle in a tankard of ale.

"Gonna have to drag him outside, just like yesterday, I reckon." The barkeep, who was also watching the bobcat, sighed and walked over to the drunkard's table. "Up on your paws, mate."

The bobcat swatted at the raccoon with his paw, made some sort of unintelligible reply and continued snoring.

"Alright, then." The barkeep grabbed him from behind and dragged him out of his chair. "At least you don't weight much." He laughed dryly, struggling with the unwieldy body. He managed to get the drunkard all the way to the door when the bobcat started coming around.

"One more drink," he moaned, slurring so badly that Rivard could hardly discern what was being said.

The barkeep turned to Rivard and smiled curtly. "I'll be right back." He grabbed the bobcat by his paws and pulled him outside.

Rivard was up even before the front door closed. He bolted across the pub and hopped over the counter. He tugged on the cellar door, but it was locked. His heart was beating so fast, he felt like it was about to burst. Rivard searched frantically for any means to get the door open.

His eyes came to rest on a key ring that hung from a nail underneath the bar counter. Knowing that time was short, Rivard grabbed the key ring and stuffed the first key he saw into the lock; it didn't turn. He tried another and then a third. Finally, he found the right one. The lock opened with a satisfying 'snick,' and Rivard threw open the door. He returned the key ring to its place and ran into the cellar just in time, slamming the door behind him. He descended the steps three and sometimes four at a time, convinced that the raccoon would come after him at any moment. His luck held and the cellar door stayed shut. Rivard dove into the secret passage and crawled as fast as he could. Halfway through the crawl, he remembered that he'd forgotten to barricade the secret entrance. Rivard ignored the heavy feeling in his paws and his drooping eyelids. He turned around, crawled back and fixed his mistake before anyone of importance discovered it.

Finally, Natier made it back to his room. He was exhausted and his clothes were filthy. He took just enough time to get undressed and hide his outfit before climbing into bed and closing his eyes with a blissful sigh.

This would be the best sleep of his l-

"Natier!" The king's voice sent a sharp flash of pain through the young fox's skull.

Natier put his paws over his eyes, anticipating the bright light from the doorway. "Yes?"

"Son, I have decided to help you with your melancholy state." The door opened and Rasdill walked in. "You just need to keep busy with something. It will go a long way towards helping deal with the pain. I've arranged for fencing lessons with the sword-master."

"What, now?" Natier tried his best not to whine, but in his current state of exhaustion it was impossible.

"Yes, now!" Rasdill grabbed the bed sheets and tugged. "Come on, Natty, it'll only be worse if you spend your days pining in bed." He backed away slightly and wrinkled his nose. "Oh my heavens, what is that awful smell?"

"I-I haven't bathed since I got back last night," Natier lied. "I was too tired from the road."

That seemed to do the trick. Natier made a very sharp mental note to bathe thoroughly after every excursion to the city.

Rasdill nodded and walked out of the bedroom. "I'll tell the sword-master to meet you in the practice room in one hour," he said, peeking back inside briefly before closing the door.

Natier wanted, badly, to get back under the sheets and fall asleep, but this was not the time. His father was already getting suspicious, and being tired after a night of restful sleep was no way to assuage those suspicions. He crawled out of bed and found something to wear in his closet. Ignoring his body's protests, he headed to the dining room in search of breakfast.

He ate in silence, ignoring his father and the secretary. He wasn't angry at them, but he feared that in his current state, he might end up saying something he'd later regret. Once the plate of porridge was empty, Natier drank his tea and stood up.

"I'll be in the practice room," he said, turning around and walking out of the dining room before either of the other two had a chance to reply.

The walk to the practice room gave him sufficient time to shake off some of the tiredness.

By the time he arrived at his destination, Natier felt considerably more awake. His eyelids no longer sagged on their own account, and walking didn't feel like he was pulling a cartload of bricks up a steep hill.

"Ah, Your Highness." The sword-master, a tall, stately cougar with perfect carriage, was waiting for him. He picked one of the wooden practice swords up from the rack. "Right or left paw, Your Highness?"

"Err...left." Natier could only guess. He'd taken some fencing lessons in the past, but he wasn't sure if the sword-paw was the one he wrote with or the opposite.

"Ah, very good." The sword-master replaced the sword on the rack and selected another one. "This should do fine." He gave the sword to Natier. "Give it a try."

Natier took the sword, feeling the balance in his paw. He shrugged. "It feels fine." More than that he could not discern.

The sword-master nodded and picked out a sword for himself. "Good. Now, let's begin with the basic 'En-garde' position."

Natier trained for three hours before claiming he was too tired to continue. This time, there was no need to lie. If before he felt like he could sleep for hours, now he felt like he could sleep for days. He wanted to take a water bath, but the fear of drowning in his sleep made the idea far less appealing than it had originally seemed. Natier walked upstairs to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed not even bothering to disrobe.

He awoke in total darkness. All of the candles were out and the sun had long since set.

After the long day he'd had, Natier didn't think it possible, but he was no longer tired. A new, brisk energy permeated him. He got out of bed, locked his bedroom door and went to his closet to pick out something to wear. He selected another commoner's outfit and put it on. Somehow, he seemed to inhabit it more this time. He no longer felt strange wearing it; in fact, he felt a certain sense of belonging.

Natier finished admiring himself in the mirror and took the rapier that the sword-master had given him. He was terrible at fencing, but the sight of a weapon would drastically cut down on the number of potential assailants. Natier buckled the rapier to his belt and walked over to the bookcase.

Despite only having opened the secret passage twice, the thing already felt routine. He pulled the lever, opened the bookcase and stepped inside.

This time, there was no fear at all. Rivard descended the staircase, looking forward to another night of adventure. He got to the end of the passage, checked the cellar for any signs of life and crawled out. The only thing that worried him was finding the cellar door locked; fortunately, the barkeep had either forgotten to lock it or hadn't been down in the cellar since the night before. Natier edged the door open and peeked out.

The barkeep was standing by one of the tables, chatting with a patron. His back was turned to the counter and he seemed quite absorbed in the conversation. Rivard made use of the opportunity and tip-pawed out of the cellar. He stayed crouched down and padded across to the other end of the bar, hopping nimbly over the counter before anyone saw him. He sat on one of the stools for a while, acting as nonchalant as possible before getting up and walking out of the pub.

This time, he took notice of his surroundings, just as Saaron had suggested. The pub was located several streets down from the palace, right at the edge of the High Market. Now, if he got lost, he could easily ask for directions.

Rivard wanted to find his way to the Veiled Menagerie, to see Jarris and Saaron again, but he didn't know the way. He tried racking his brain first, but came up empty. Then, he attempted to ask for directions. Everyone he approached looked at him like he had three tails and four heads and claimed that they had no idea what he was talking about. After the fifth person he'd asked hurried away in the opposite direction, Rivard decided to try and find the pub himself. He walked aimlessly along the street, taking care to observe the sort of crowd and neighborhood he was in. After almost an hour of wandering, he decided to turn back. The streets were beginning to look samey again, and getting lost was just above getting raped on his list of priorities.

Serendipity struck when he turned the corner and saw Saaron, Jarris and a lithe, shifty-looking weasel standing just outside of one of the buildings. Rivard walked closer squinting to get a better look at the sign that hung above the door: 'National Bank of Llyra.'

"Hi Saaron, hi Jarris!" Rivard waved his paw at the two wolves and ran towards them.

"D'you know him?" The weasel's paw strayed to a dagger he was carrying.

Jarris watched Rivard for a long time before replying. "Yes, yes we do."

Rivard walked over to Saaron. "Making a transaction?"

Saaron nodded. "You could say that." He looked at his father. "Might as well ask him to help us out, eh? Perin doesn't look like he'll show."

Jarris sighed. "So be it." He turned to Rivard. "You're going to go in there and make a transaction. Stall for as long as you can; we'll let you know when we're all finished."

"Finished wha-" He stopped mid-word. The phrase 'property acquisition' took on a wholly different meaning. "You're going to rob that bank?"

"Shh! Not so loud!" the weasel hissed. "Yes, we're going to rob that bank. Now, either you're in, or you better keep that muzzle closed."

"I-" Now was a chance for him to really experience life in the streets. "Alright, I'm in."

Jarris sighed and smiled broadly, looking quite relieved. "Good! We'll pay you well for this, Rivard, I promise."

"So, I just go in there and attempt to make a transaction. That's it?" The butterflies in his stomach were dancing up a storm. Rivard couldn't tell whether he was excited or terrified.

Saaron nodded. "That's it. There's only one teller on duty tonight. We'll sneak around him, crack the vault, get the money, and escape. Simple."

"Don't worry." Jarris threw his arm around Rivard, making the young fox realize just how much he was trembling. "You'll do fine. I had some butterflies on my first job too; hell, I've got some right now. You just have to focus and do what you're told."

"Let's do it, then." Rivard took a deep breath, held it and exhaled. This was his chance to do something exciting. He wasn't letting it slip by.

"That's the spirit!" Saaron clapped him on the back. "It's a nice and easy pull, this one. We can go to the Menagerie afterward to celebrate."

"Can we muzzlewag when we're back at the pub, please?" the weasel said. "People will get suspicious if we stand around here much longer."

"Vrill's right." Jarris adjusted the dirk on his belt. "Let's get this done."

The bank lobby was spacious and well-lit. Rivard didn't see any way for Jarris and his crew to sneak around the bank-teller. Jarris, it seemed, had other concerns.

"There's an extra guard on duty," he whispered. "We're going to have to pull out."

"No, I can distract him." Rivard was determined to prove himself a useful asset. This was his chance. "Just do what you were going to do and leave the guard to me."

"Please don't get arrested," Saaron said.

"I won't." The thought of his father coming down to the city prison to bail him out was even more frightening than the robbery itself. If his father found out about his night-time activities, the consequences could be severe; he could even lose his inheritance. On the other paw, something about the adrenaline rush that came with being a thief felt simply indescribable. Rivard took another deep breath and approached the ledger.

---

What happens next?

Find out in Streets of His City and Other Stories - Available now from Rabbit Valley!

Get your copy HERE!