by Watts Martin
The priest, who looked like he was in shock, came over to Roulette and Lisha. “You two are the ones responsible for this?”
“We’re—she’s—responsible for saving your lives,” Lisha growled, setting the raccoon down gingerly. She kept her hand on Roulette’s shoulder.
“She’s telling the truth,” the human who’d gone after Roulette spoke up. “I saw the acid.”
Hesitant murmurs rippled through the crowd. The bells had stopped now, but people were running toward them. Protesters. Both Gregir and Tiran. And flashes of the Guard’s signature red uniform down the street.
The man who’d spoken said to Roulette, “You’re okay? You didn’t get any of that stuff splashed on you?”
“No,” she said hoarsely. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Thank you.” He gave the priest a very hard stare.
“Roulette!” Gregir called. “What in all the green—” He stopped, the connection he was making visible in his eyes. “It was here?”
Tiran’s brow furrowed, and he ran his hand through his headfur without saying anything.
The congregation burst into conversation, with themselves, with the priest, with anyone but Lisha and Roulette—at least at first. Over the course of a minute or so, several of them came over and murmured thank you, sounding acutely self-conscious as they did so. Roulette smiled stiffly to each of them, but looked past them. She didn’t want to meet their eyes.
“Excuse us,” several of the Guardsmen were saying, approaching quickly now.
The priest approached them again, taking a deep breath. “If what Bryan has said is correct”—the affronted man glared once more—“then we owe you both a grave apology and very deep thanks.”
“I’m sure anyone here would have done the same for us.”
Lisha snorted. Roulette elbowed her.
“I do truly hope you’re right. What’s your name?”
Roulette hesitated a moment. Even though it wasn’t her religion, she felt awkward giving him her nickname. “Alizabel.”
Lisha looked down in surprise, but didn’t say anything.
“Alizabel, I understand you made—you made a very serious accusation about who was behind this, and I confess it doesn’t make much sense to me.”
She looked up. “Father—uh, that’s the right term here, isn’t it?”
He smiled and gave her a nod. She became aware of one of the three Guardsmen, a Rilima, moving to stand by the priest; he gave her a nod as well. The other Guards started asking the congregation questions.
“Father, in the last two days I inadvertently found the man who produced that herani, someone named Jerald Grayson. And I—” She stumbled over the admission that she’d killed him, and where that would lead. “I was later kidnapped by two men trying to find out what I knew, and trying to silence me. I know they were with the Brothers of Atasos now, and I overheard them discussing this very plot with the Assistant Mayor.”
Shocked murmurs ran through the crowd.
“I can hardly believe that,” the priest said, raising his brows. “What would be gained by killing innocents sympathetic to his cause?”
“To make it look like we’d killed them.”
“We’ll need you to start at the beginning,” the Guardsman said, raising both hands.
“I can go over it with you, Denis,” Lisha said.
“Of course you can, Lisha,” the mouse said with a sigh. “Your presence always makes my job so much easier.”
“Here he comes now,” someone called. The crowd turned to see Massey in the street, walking toward them quickly with an oh-so-concerned expression. One of the men who’d kidnapped Roulette followed close behind.
“Dear Lord!” he said as he made his way through the crowd. “Father Stone, what’s happened…” He trailed off as he saw Roulette and Lisha.
“Surprised not to see everyone melted, Mr. Massey?” Roulette growled.
He turned to regard her. “Melted?”
“This little raccoon girl found acid up in the crawlspace of the church, connected to the fire sprinkler system, and managed to disconnect it just in time,” Father Stone said.
“That’s wonderful!” Massey’s tone was convincing, but his eyes had gone dull. “But you don’t—you don’t think I had something to do with it.”
“I know you did. And you know I know. You were with my kidnappers.”
“Kidnap, ma’am?” one of the other two Guards said. “We haven’t had a report of that.”
“She went to me,” Lisha said. Denis sighed again.
Massey raised his hands. “Father. Gentlemen. This is a wild and slanderous accusation. You’re my strongest supporters! Surely a moment’s thought will tell you that. I’ll do everything in my power to support the investigation here fully.” He looked back at Roulette. “I’m sorry for whatever you may have been through, my dear, but neither I nor anyone I would associate with would be involved in such a heinous crime.”
“We’ve confirmed the presence of the acid, sir,” one of the human Guardsmen said, although he addressed Denis rather than Massey. “We’ve recovered six perfume bottles containing herani from the attic, confirming that part of the Procya’s story.”
“Perfume bottles?” Massey said, turning to look at Tiran in convincing shock.
The cat’s eyes widened and he looked pole-axed. The murmurs in the crowd grew more suspicious again.
“I can’t imagine Tiran would have anything to do with something so terrible, of course,” Massey went on, voice smooth. “Surely it’s a coincidence, and the bottles aren’t from his company.”
“What was it you said?” Roulette asked.
He turned to give her a raised-brow expression. “When?”
“When I was locked up in a place you thought I was out of earshot. ‘To show the lengths they’ll go to.’”
Massey’s expression froze.
“That’s a very serious charge you’re making with very little apparent evidence, miss,” Denis said to Roulette, although he was looking at Lisha with an almost expectant expression.
“See what you think of this, Denis.” Lisha reached into her pocket, then knelt down and set the recording orb on the ground. “And, Father Stone, I’m sure you and your congregation will enjoy this too.” She held her finger to it. “Show.”
As the images started to flicker, Massey went very pale.
Roulette and Lisha sat side by side at one of the Society’s cafeteria tables. They’d missed dinner hours, but had cups of coffee. Tiran and Gregir had just left the group, to the raccoon’s secret relief; she usually enjoyed being the center of attention, but not this time. The tension between Lisha and Tiran was unbearable, while the tension between Lisha and Gregir was uncomfortable.
As ungrateful as it might be, Roulette didn’t want the mayor’s warm personal thanks conveyed to her earlier by Denis, the Guard who’d questioned her and promised to look for her strongbox. She didn’t want to think about the questions she’d already been warned would come at the trial challenging everything from her character to the trustworthiness of the recording. She just wanted one full day of doing nothing.
She was glad Lisha had stayed, though.
“You know,” Lisha said, breaking the companionable silence, “Alizabel is a pretty name.”
“Thank you.”
“Where’d ‘Roulette’ come from?”
“It’s a game of chance. People used to say I had wild luck—really good or really bad.”
Lisha took a sip of coffee and leaned back. “I like that name, too, but what I’ve seen over the last few days hasn’t been your luck. It’s all you. You’re amazing.”
The raccoon smiled self-consciously.
Lisha smiled back, then looked down at the table. “I don’t want to give you unwanted advice.”
“I think saying that means you do,” Roulette said with a grin.
She laughed uneasily. “It just…” She took a deep breath, then looked directly at Roulette. “Have y
ou thought about staying here?”
The raccoon met Lisha’s eyes just briefly, then looked away. That gaze was still dismayingly intense. “I’d never thought about staying here. I’d expected to be working down in Bergin Valley for a few years at most.” She shook her head. “I was making more money here dancing than I would have working there at the vineyard, but all I’ve been thinking of the last day is just going on to Raneadhros and getting all this behind me.”
“Raneadhros is a beautiful city. There’s so much to do there. And I miss simple things. The Seaboard Market. The linea trees at sunset.” She gestured toward the cup she held. “Better coffee.” She smiled, and sighed faintly. “I’ve thought about going back. More than once.”
“Why don’t you?”
Lisha set down the cup and crossed her arms, leaning back with a thoughtful frown. “I don’t feel like I have anything there, other than memories. I know here all I have is this work. The drive. But it’s something.”
“Would you move back if you had something there?”
She nodded. “Maybe.”
Roulette smiled a little. “So what’s your advice, then?”
The vixen uncrossed her arms, picking up her cup once more. “I don’t know. I don’t think I have any. Instead of giving you a good reason to stay, I’m starting to wonder if I have one myself.”
“Hmm. If I were you, trying to talk me into staying, what would I say? ‘Roulette, your plan to go off and find a rich prince to sweep you off your feet is stupid.’”
Lisha shook her head solemnly. “No, I’d never say that.”
Roulette looked back at the vixen and they met each other’s eyes, until they both started laughing. After they stopped, Lisha leaned forward across the table. “We could really use you here. The Society, I mean.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but it’s not true. I thought about that.” The raccoon shook her head. “You don’t need a dancer. I’m not a good organizer. I could play heroine for a few months until people forget, and then what?”
“What about Gregir? It seems like you and he are…getting close.”
Roulette ran a hand through her hair. “Gregir,” she murmured. “No. I like Gregir, but not that way.” She began to wonder if she’d been misreading things to an embarrassing degree over the past few days.
“Oh.” Lisha’s gaze grew unfocused.
The raccoon finished her coffee and set the mug down. Dammit, give me a reason. She felt her ears start to flush.
Lisha finished her own coffee, then picked up both mugs and headed to the kitchen to drop them off. Roulette stood up, too, moving carefully. The front of her foot had been wrapped in gauze; it didn’t hurt much after the nurse had taken care of the wound, although it would be weeks, if not months, before the claw grew back. “So…” she said.
“I’ll get you money within a week or two, or three,” Lisha said. “I know you said I don’t have to, but I want to.”
Roulette hesitated, then simply nodded. “Thank you.”
“Although if you want to leave earlier, I understand.”
She nodded again, silently.
The vixen walked back up to her, and they stood facing one another for several long seconds, breathing in one another’s scents. Lisha finally said softly, “But I want you to stay.”
Roulette reached up to put her hands on Lisha’s shoulders, and they looked into one another’s eyes, moving closer, the vixen’s muzzle tilted down and the raccoon’s tilted up, still closer, until they touched noses. The motion became a light kiss. Then the light kiss became a deeper one. Her pains and aches faded away for as long as they held it, and when they released each other she felt suffused with a different, deeper, happier ache.
“I hope that’s a yes,” Lisha murmured, breathing shallowly.
“It’s a yes.” She took Lisha’s hand in both of hers. “Or—if you want to—an invitation to come to Raneadhros with me.”
She squeezed Roulette’s hand gently, then led her out of the cafeteria. “Maybe. But I don’t think I’ll pass for a rich prince.”
“That’s fine.” She leaned against the vixen, putting her arm around the taller woman’s waist. ”You’ve swept me off my feet once already.”
Lisha laughed, tail wagging as she walked with the raccoon back toward her room.
Watts Martin is a writer and web developer whose fiction has appeared in New Fables, Yarf!, Mythagoras (which he also edited) and anthologies including Alone in the Dark and Best in Show, as well as his own collection Why Coyotes Howl. He was a Guest of Honor at EuroFurence 14 and the very first Anthrocon, and has been involved with furry fandom since the late 1980s. He lives near San Jose, California.
http://ranea.org/
Sabretoothed Ermine is a Canadian artist who has been doing “furry art” full-time since 2009 and, despite what people may say about turning a hobby into a career, still loves it. She has been drawing since she could hold a pencil, and anthropomorphic animals have always been her subject of choice. You may see her at a convention now and again but like most weasels she’s generally pretty reclusive and happy to stay with her husband in their beautiful forested homeland of British Columbia.
Gallery & Commission Info:
http://furaffinity.net/users/sabretoothedermine/
About Cupcakes
Cupcakes are novellas with more substance than short stories but not as long as novels. The Cupcakes line was developed for FurPlanet by foozzzball, Kyell Gold, and Rikoshi as a reaction to their desire to tell novella-length stories and the lack of publishing venues for novellas. Previous Cupcakes have been nominated twice for Ursa Major awards, winning once. Indigo Rain is the sixth in the line.
FurPlanet publishes Cupcakes and many other original works of furry fiction. Explore their selection at http://www.furplanet.com/.
Scene List
Roulette
Mr. Blue
The Dance
The Vixen
Aid Society
Playing Chess
Better Than a Pen
Dinner With Lisha
Doughnuts
Boarding House
Nice Afternoon
Interrogation
Blood Money
The Night Before
Indigo Rain
I Want You to Stay
