Weasel Presents (29 page)

He’d probably just gone to get breakfast or something. Coryn’s stomach growled at the thought. He got to his feet and checked his clothes. Still wet. He rubbed his muzzle, and then his ears perked at the sound of voices. So it hadn’t all been just in his dream.

The door to the room was still closed. Coryn hesitated. He should stay here, he knew. But out there, out there was the Great Cathedral. This might be his only chance to see it. He eased it open and peeked out.

Beyond was a hallway lit very faintly from above. He stepped out into it, glancing at the other doors off the hall, his paws on cold stone rather than carpet. On wooden shelves, at the height of his chest, small books were stacked, old and identical. The voices he heard weren’t coming from any of the closed doors, though; they came from a door to his left which stood ajar, light visible through the crack. Coryn padded toward it and, after listening to make sure the voices were too faint to be immediately on the other side, peeked through.

An open room, empty, but much brighter. He couldn’t see off to the right, where the light was coming from, so he stuck his nose through the door and pushed it a little further open, keeping his nakedness well behind it, just in case.

This room, too, was empty, but the murmur of voices had grown much louder. The light came from the main space of the Cathedral, which this room overlooked, separated from it only by a waist-high wall. Coryn could not resist; he stepped up to the wall and peered over.

It was the largest building he’d ever been inside. Its walls might have bounded any one of his father’s smaller fields. Where his church had one place for the congregation to sit, this Cathedral had six sets of pews, all three times the size of the church in Doubleford, each with its own altar, and shrines off to the side. The section devoted to Canis was just below him; he could tell by the silver star within a silver circle. And that was where the voices were coming from.

Of course, today was Caniday, and there would be services for Canis. He searched for the cantor, and saw a slender fox at the altar, his paws gesturing. It was his voice Coryn was hearing, mostly, and the crowd when they murmured in response. But he couldn’t make out the words.

He turned his eyes to the splendor around him, the sun streaming in through the stained glass, illuminating the portraits of Canis, of Fox and Coyote and Wolf, of Felis next to them, and Mother Gaia in the glass of the domed roof. His eyes drank in the beauty of it all, the golden circle suspended from the ceiling, the ornate decorations and tapestries hung all ’round, the air of sanctity and peace they filled him with.

He wanted to close his eyes as he listened to the murmur of worship, but then he wouldn’t be able to see the beauty all around him. Everywhere he looked, another beautiful ornament caught his eye: a gilded statue over in the Herbivora area, a stag in robes; a pink marble sarcophagus in the Mustela section; a glittering tapestry that he realized after staring at it for minutes must be inlaid with jewels.

And then the service ended, and the congregation lifted their voices in a howl, and then Coryn had to close his eyes. It took a great effort to restrain himself from joining in. He settled for howling in his throat, keeping his muzzle closed, and though it wasn’t the same, he could still feel the joy of Canis in his heart. Especially here, in this sacred place, it seemed magnified, as though Canis himself, with Gaia looking over his shoulder, were staring down through the roof at him and smiling.

When the howl ended, he didn’t open his eyes right away. There was murmuring from below, but nothing different from the usual talking at the end of services. At least, he didn’t think it was different, until his stomach rumbled and he thought he should get back to the room, to wait for Two-Claws. Then he opened his eyes for one last look around, and saw the upturned muzzles of foxes, wolves, and coyotes staring at him, and the cantor in his white robes walking briskly across the floor.

Coryn darted for the door, closing it behind him and then running back to the room with the loose window. He shut that door behind him as well, pressing his back to it. He realized that his back, down to his rear and legs and shrinking sheath, were all exposed to the air. Even though his fur was almost dry, he ran to the pile of clothes and started to pull them on. He could maybe get out the window, move along the ledge at least to the statue, wait until Two-Claws came back to help him down.

His paws fumbled with the damp laces, trying to do up his trousers. One of the doors outside opened. He tied them hastily and grabbed at his tunic and cloak, tucking them in a dripping bundle under his arm. Another door opened outside, then closed. He fumbled at the window, pushing it harder, but the cloak and tunic kept slipping from his arms. Panting now, he levered himself up to the window ledge and got half of his torso out. The metal dug into his bare chest, but he kept pushing.

The door to the room opened. “Ho there,” said a light voice, firmly, but free of malice.

Coryn froze, then tried desperately to push himself out. A paw grasped his arm and pulled him back in, and though it was a slender paw, it had more leverage than he did. He half-tumbled back into the room and looked up into the concerned russet muzzle of a fox in white robes. “Were you thinking to dash your head on the flagstones below?” the fox said. “Canis does not look kindly on those who would so casually dispose of their good health.”

“No, I...” He couldn’t think of a way to explain the ledge without admitting how he’d gotten in.

“What are you doing here? There are services for tradesmen down at the South End church, and there’s little of value to steal up here.” The fox folded his arms, looking down and then up as Coryn straightened to his full height.

“I was...I’m from Deverin. I wanted to see the cathedral.” He paused, awkwardly. “It really is great.”

“Indeed.” The fox seemed amused, and then his nose twitched and his expression changed. Coryn became acutely aware of his matted stomach fur, the smell of sex still musky in the air, and dropped his cloak in his haste to throw his tunic on. When the fox spoke again, his voice was colder. “I will show you to a less perilous exit.”

“Sorry,” Coryn mumbled, following the fox out of the room. They walked without a word down the hallway to a tight spiral stair. The fox’s tail swung back and forth in front of Coryn as he set his paws carefully on the worn stone. The ancient stones smelled even stronger here, more than the fox’s musk, more than Coryn’s musk, but instead of filling him with peace, it made him ashamed now. He’d broken into a church--the Great Cathedral!--and defiled it. And yet he still worried about Two-Claws, what would happen if he came back and found Coryn gone.

Two coyotes from the congregation, dressed in brilliant blue finery with gold trim, stared at him as he followed the fox across the floor of the Cathedral. His shame kept his ears down, but couldn’t keep his head down; there was too much to look at. The pews were polished dark wood, almost black, and on the back of each was a silver star in a circle. When they got to the open double doors of the church, an elderly vixen in a thick maroon dress was waiting there. The lace trim on her sleeves shook as she pointed at Coryn.

“I called the guard,” she said, glaring. “I called them right away. They’re waiting outside.”

“Thank you, Madame Calari,” the cantor said. “I am not sure there is any need of that.”

“They’ll take care of him,” she growled, moving aside to let Coryn and the cantor exit.

Coryn hesitated, seeing the bright red uniforms of a bear, who was just stifling a yawn, and a porcupine, whose eyes were drooping. The cantor pushed him in the back. “Go on,” he said. “Worst that happens is you get to spend a night in a warm, comfortable jail.”

At that, the bear gave a snort of laughter. The porcupine didn’t seem to have woken at all.

When Coryn stumbled out into the light, his paws splashing in the still-wet street, he felt as though the entire city were staring at him. His ears folded back and his tail tucked down, he stammered, “I’m sorry. I’m new in t-town. I’ll go b-back to my father.”

And perhaps, had he simply walked off then, they would not have followed him. The cantor had already turned and walked back into the Cathedral, leaving the elderly vixen to stare at him. The guards did not seem particularly animated, but Coryn waited for their permission. The bear had even raised his paw, and the porcupine looked up to the spire of the Cathedral, then back over his shoulder.

Then the bear looked at Coryn again, and paused. “Young wolf,” he rumbled, and stepped forward, taking Coryn by the wrist. “Why don’t you come with us?”

“Huh?” The porcupine squinted, then said, “Oh.” He reached to his belt and took out a length of rope. Before Coryn could do anything, the porcupine had looped the rope around one wrist and pulled the other into the same loop.

“Hey,” Coryn said as the porcupine tied the rope tight. “What...”

“Had a complaint,” the bear rumbled. “Wolf scent at the scene of a burglary. Just taking you to the guard station to check you out.”

Coryn felt colder than he had out in the wind and rain. They were going to match his scent and then he would go to jail. The enormity of what he’d done throbbed in his chest; he could feel the pressure of it against his nose and eyes. Heads turned toward him as he marched behind the guards, too many eyes for him to avoid. He looked down at his feet, at the wet flagstones, and then realized that if Two-Claws were to pass by coming back, he might not see the rat. So he had to look back into the faces of the crowd, to see the pity, the scorn, the disgust on their faces as they met his eyes and then went on about their day.

“What’s your name, son?” the porcupine said, holding the other end of the rope that bound his wrists.

“Legs,” he said after a moment.

He immediately regretted it. “Ooh hoo hoo,” the porcupine said. “Good thing we got him tied up here, eh, Morrow? Otherwise he might take out those legs and leave us behind.”

The bear snorted a laugh and kept walking. “What’s your real name, son?” the porcupine asked.

When Coryn remained silent, the porcupine shrugged so that his quills rattled. “All right, you don’t have to say. But it looks worse if you don’t.”

“Who but a thief would hide his name?” the bear said over his shoulder.

A cub hoping he can get back before his father finds out about this, Coryn thought. By now his absence from the stall would have been discovered for certain, but if only he could get away from the guard station soon, he could run back and make up some story, any story. If the worst he got for this was a beating, he’d count himself lucky.

The walk to the station seemed to go on forever. By day, the city looked much different than it had at night, dingier and less romantic. He could see the dirt on the flagstones and on the walls of the buildings, smell the thick smells of garbage and waste that had been hidden by the rain, and hear the bustling crowds hurrying by, all of them part of this city. He no longer had it to himself and the rat, and in fact the whole night was taking on the quality of a dream.

Part of him hoped it was a dream, that when they brought him to the station, they would find that the wolf scent was a coincidence, and he would be free to go. But part of him wanted desperately for it to be real, for his rat to be a real thief who had seen something in him and taken him out of the market to a new life. If it were, he swore, he’d show Two-Claws that he was someone reliable.

The guards had started taking him along a large road, and then entered into a discussion about whether they should go directly to the smaller station that was nearer the scene of the burglary, or whether they should check in with someone named Feric first. “Come on,” the bear said finally, “I want to get my breakfast.” He led them off the main road, down a smaller street. Busy looking at the crowd, although he was beginning to realize that for the rat to find him here would be a miracle, he didn’t notice right away that the street they were walking on paralleled the main market street, and intersected the street where his father’s stall was located.

The temptation to look down the street as they approached the corner tore at him. Perhaps his father could help him. But then he’d be facing the consequences of his desertion, and for a fleeting moment he thought longingly of the safety of a locked jail cell. And yet, the reassurance of the stall, knowing it hadn’t been stolen even though he’d abandoned his post, would boost his spirits just a little.

And so, as they walked along past the corner, he slowed and turned his head just slightly, enough to see his father’s stall. It was four down, along this side of the street, and it was definitely still there, although there didn’t seem to be anyone behind it. The oilskin had been moved, but he definitely saw sheaves of barley and loaves of bread, so everything was still there. He exhaled, turned his head again, and stopped dead.

His father stood there staring at him, a length of rope in his arms. Neither of them spoke until the rope binding Coryn’s wrists pulled taut, jerking Coryn forward. He took two stumbling steps, almost lurching into the porcupine’s quills, as his father said, “Coryn?”

The porcupine stopped, turning, and then called over his shoulder to the bear to stop. The guards watched Coryn’s father approach him slowly. “Dad,” Coryn said, but couldn’t think of what to say next.

His father’s eyes fell to the ropes holding Coryn’s wrists, then to the guards. “What’s he been doing?”

“Found sleeping in the Cathedral,” the bear said.

Coryn’s father’s eyebrows raised. “He did want to see the Cathedral. I hadn’t realized vagrancy laws were so strict here.”

“Well.” The bear scratched his muzzle. “Er, there was a report of a theft...wolf scent at the scene...but it was much earlier. Middle of the night. If he was with you...if he just went off this morning, then we’ll be happy to release him.”

The older wolf’ stared at Coryn. “What kind of theft?”

“Burglary,” the porcupine chimed in.

“Surely there are many wolves in the city.”

“Oh, aye,” the porcupine said. “But not so many working as thieves.”