The Voyages of Cinrak the Dapper

by A. J. Fitzwater

  Mereg tilted their head, brow scrunched. Helet’s mouth pinched like she’d put too much lemon in her tea.

  “—no? I’m telling you I’m joining Captain Mereg’s crew as...as...”

  “My new cabin kit.” Mereg’s whiskers twitched as if the terrific thought had just transpired

  “I’m going to be a cabin kit.” Cinrak’s eyes glazed as the dream washed over her anew.

  A slosh of something passed from Mereg’s hip flask to her tea. “An’ the second rule o’ the ship.”

  Cinrak scratched her nose. Exhaustion was creeping in on mouse paws. “Loyalty to the crew. Captain, how long is a cabin kit’s apprenticeship?”

  “Three star-turns. Two if they be very good.”

  “But that’s so long!” Helet wailed, trying out the waterworks this time.

  “Pssht. We be back at dock every few tri-tides.”

  “Two star-turns. If it doesn’t work out, if I don’t like it...can’t imagine how I wouldn’t...I’ll come back to Ratholme in two star-turns and try something else.”

  “How will I ever cope with the orphanage without you?” Helet pressed a forepaw to her big chest.

  “Pssht.” Mereg snorted into their tea again. “The orphanage committee always be there for ye. That what it be designed for.”

  Helet sniffed.

  Cinrak ears twitched forward, silence her only argument.

  Helet sighed. “Fine. Two star-turns. But I want you back for next Aestivus solstice and the running of the stars. You know how much you love that race.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it fer me life,” Mereg said, knocking back the last of their tea. “It be a pirate’s favourite time o’ star-turn!”

  A suspicion tickled around the edge of Cinrak’s freshly born anticipation for the morning. Mereg knew how this would go all along, the scoundrel!

  The agreement was bound between captain and kit with a firm grip of wrists, though Helet insisted she shake social style, paw damp and limp.

  “Stay one more night in your home.” Helet didn’t plead. It wasn’t within the realm of the Great Capybara Mother’s teaching. “It’s late, and I don’t want you wandering the streets in the dark.”

  Cinrak tried to protest but the shake of Mereg’s head suggested she’d won enough fights for the night.

  “Alright.” A good night’s rest for her bruised back before she discovered the joys of a ship’s bunk sounded quite nice.

  “Good. And we can pack for you properly in the morning. That shirt and pants? Tsk. Not nearly good enough for pirate work.”

  Mereg’s voice floated back through the kitchen door, punctuated by the snap of their black boots and whip of long tail. Such stealth! Cinrak hadn’t seen them move. “Two star-turns. Ye got yer work cut out for ye, young ‘un!”

  As Cinrak slept, the oak conspired with the clouds to dapple her dark amber fur with starlight.

  Perfidy at the Felidae Isles

  Tail the Second:

  In Which Our Newly Minted Capybara Captain Must Deal With a Portentious Prophecy, Mean Schemes, and Cats

  * * *

  “Murrderrrr.”

  “Loqui. Yer talkin’ in yer sleep. Again.”

  “Foul murrrrderrrrrrrr.”

  “Not me. It you, Cinny.”

  A tap-tap-tap at Cinrak’s cabin window. With a curse worthy of the marmot diva of the Theatre Rat-oyal, Loquolchi fumbled for a wig pin, while the capybara captain fought with the quilt.

  Tap tappity. “Murrderrr—” A hacking cough. “Hurry it up, Cinny. I’m dyin’ out here. Lit’rlly.”

  Cinrak flung open the window and a bird with magnificent fire-russet plumage tumbled onto her desk. The scent of singed feathers filled the room. Cinrak batted the sparks curling the edges of her maps. Loquolchi tipped out a crate of assorted weapons and shoved it under the bird.

  “Muriel. What be all this about murder?” Cinrak hiss-whispered. Night still had a firm grip on the good pirate ship the Impolite Fortune.

  “Good to see ya too, Cinny ya scoundrel. A cap’n now, no less. Congrabumalations.” The phoenix’s claws left charcoal stains. “An’ Loquolchi too. Just as I saw.”

  “Me in a prophecy?” Loquolchi preened the black fur around her ears.

  Muriel swayed, black eyes hardening with the pressure of the oncoming prophecy. Her voice dropped low. “Yesss, there be murder a-comin’. Things torn apart. Watch the teeth ‘n fur. They comes from behin...oh bu—”

  The bird collapsed into a pile of steaming ashes.

  The capybara captain and her marmot lover stared at the remains of the phoenix for a moment.

  “Menopause ain’t treating Muriel well.” Cinrak fetched the brush and pan.

  “How does a bird go through menopause anyway,” said Loquolchi, standing cross armed in her flannel nighty. “Not evolutionar-re-rarily possible.”

  “Phoenixes not be born from eggs, m’love. What came first? The phoenix or the flame?”

  Loquolchi gagged as she picked the last bit of ash from between floorboards. “This puts a dent in re-treating with the Felidae. Murder? Do you think she means an assassination at the treaty talks?”

  Cinrak’s stomach rumbled at the roast chicken scent. “We wait ‘til Muriel pulls herself together.”

  So much for their pleasant first cruise together. Her first major act as a captain had suddenly become a far harder job that she thought it would be.

  Everyone had warned her.

  Beware the cats.

  The Impolite Fortune sat at anchor just off the main Felidae archipelago isle. The sun polished the silver linings of the clouds as an emergency meeting convened over breakfast in Cinrak’s cabin.

  Captain Mereg the Sharp, they of the knife-like silver eye scar, long tail, and longer reach, had ferried over from their new ship, the Havoc’s Revenge. Preferring to work in secret as the head of the IRATE union, especially with the relationship between crown and pirates still tender, Mereg presented that morning as Cinrak’s friend and mentor.

  Queen Orvillia, a handsome rat with black and white fur, made a prim and furtive entrance. Columbia, the mer ambassador with red hair, beard, and scaled tail, swam in fast from the main Felidae lagoon.

  Loquolchi took it as her specific duty to guard Muriel’s ashes. She gave anyone outside the cabin the evil eye. Cinrak could almost see the thoughts wisping out her ears, like rage smoke: Are you the murderer? Are you? Cinrak had to softly remind her they were all her crew, and all her friends.

  Everyone kneeled to the queen as she entered.

  “Oh, get up you lot,” Orvillia said, making irritated circles with her forepaws. “You’re embarrassing me. Ohh, is that brie and figs? Don’t mind if I do. So, how long until Muriel reconstitutes?”

  “Anything a’tween a couple or a dozen turns of the sand glass.”

  More than a lack of stools kept Cinrak on her paws. Normally the Morning Waft of Warm Welcome from the wind this far north would be most enjoyable, but something sour kept drawing her towards the window. Her nostrils flared and hackles lifted. A strong twinge at her salty weather sense considering the calmness, pleasant heat shimmer, shot through with dancing dolphins, and plucked strings of sunlight.

  As he primly nibbled caramel toast, Columbia explained to the Queen that while Muriel’s prophecies were Mostly Accurate, they could be interpreted in many ways. Orvillia gave the mer the full force of her attention, large eyes blinking in careful acknowledgement, her tuxedo fur soft, shining, and well groomed even this early in the sun.

  A coruscation of concern competed for space in Cinrak’s mind. Sun Blasted Sand! She had never been this close to the queen. So handsome, with that long tail black as a good night.

  She did not need the extra complications of feelings. She’d only just found even keel with Loqui after a wild ride of a comedy of manners and stolen kisses behind the Theatre Rat-oyal.

  She needed to be the best captain she could be, needed all her attention for these treaty negotiations. Because
: cats.

  Cinrak had to push her annoying, squiddly feelings to the side and decide how much could she trust this new queen. A single head of state or an organization tended to have too many paws in too many power pies. That’s why piratry, and now the new IRATE union, always felt like home to Cinrak. Shared responsibility meant shared accountability.

  “These discussions with the Felidae are very delicate. It’s taken many star-turns to get all parties into a comfortable position. Queen Lyola’s ailurophobia, and non-rat rodentphobia in general, left relations between species in quite the messy state.” Orvillia sniffed the teapot and poured herself a cup. “The arrival of the phoenix mucks things up. My reign is young and I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

  Orvillia took whisker tests anew of all the treaty participants. “One of the Felidae ambassadors, perhaps? No, not the ogre mediators; they were early adopters of the idea, and they’ve shown nothing but kindness to rodentkind. What about IRATE pot stirrers, Captain Mereg? Does your union head have them under control?”

  “The agreement a’tween court an’ union be paws off, yer majesty.” Mereg’s forepaw strayed towards their sword hip. They satisfied the itch-tell by shoving it in their pocket. “An’ aye, Sterickus would know. All union ships are regularly thoroughly vetted.”

  “And what about the avowed non-union ships?” Orvillia asked, too sweetly.

  “Our ears are to the reefs. Nothing gets past my scouts,” Columbia assured the queen. He wound one end of his long curly mustache about a finger. She didn’t bend that way, but Columbia was the prettiest mer Cinrak knew. He always made Cinrak want to aspire to greater dapper heights. “It’s all under control, darling. We’ve had the Felidae isles staked out for weeks, taking especial care with the undeclared ships. We won’t miss a thing with the local dolphins being such chatterboxes!”

  The argument went around the table. Loquolchi defended the intel that came through her dressing room from court. Columbia defended the integrity of the Felidae intermediary Rozozau and the grand Clowder; things had changed in the last one hundred star-turns, the cats were proving they could choose nurture over base nature.

  All the while, the soft warm breeze made Cinrak’s long front teeth ache like a hurricane was blowing.

  “An’ then there’s you,” Cinrak levelled her amygdaliform gaze at the queen.

  “Cinny!” Loquolchi whisper-hissed. “I’m sorry, my queen. The captain does not mean that. She knows how beloved you are, that you and I have been friends for a long time.”

  Orvillia held Cinrak’s stare longer than was comfortable.

  Her mouth curved into a smile as blunt as her front teeth. “I knew I’d like you, Captain. You embody the best of the first rule of piratry.”

  “But, your majesty—” Loquolchi protested.

  “Whatever happened to your calling me Orvy? And beloved? Pfft. Please. I’m not so enamoured with nice robes and fairy attendants to forget I’ll always have enemies. Lyola did not give up her throne gracefully. Captain Cinrak is right to question me. We have to stay sharp.”

  Mereg chuckle-coughed into a closed fist. Columbia wiggled his bushy eyebrows.

  The pressure in Cinrak’s broad chest and skull eased only a little. “Thank you, yer maj...Orvy. I be glad ye understand me concerns. The rat and mouse population had the most to fear from the Felidae in the past, an’ I’m sure ye—”

  A pop, a puff of ash.

  “—gger. Murrr...oh, good sun Orvy. Fancy seeing you here.”

  Hopping on the edge of the crate, Muriel shook her plumage to its full glory of sizzling red, sunset orange, and hot blue-green.

  “Muriel.” Orvillia bobbed a nod. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Oof. That was a hard ‘un. Came on fast. The Change is unpredictable. Never know when a hot flash gonna trigger me off.”

  “Funny, coming from a phoenix,” Loquolchi said.

  “Nothin’ funny about it, young ‘un.” Muriel tilted her head, the gesture the version of a phoenix’s grin. “You’ll be comin’ to me for advice. I know.”

  Loquolchi choked on a swallow of tea. Her first personal prophecy!

  “Apologies for being so forward, but time is short.” Orvillia looked poised and regal even in plain blouse and pants. “Negotiations begin tomorrow. The welcoming party is tonight. What do you see?”

  “Fur,” Muriel intoned, onyx eyes glazing. “Lots of fur flying. Flames. And blood. Water all around.”

  “Well that be helpful considerin’ we be on an ocean.” Mereg pulled a blade from one of the many only Cinrak knew they secreted upon their body and began sharpening it.

  Muriel continued, “Four will enter, but only three will leave.”

  “Leave where?” Cinrak prompted.

  “A place full of dark and ash,” Muriel moaned. “A place under their paws. But the light will come from within and below. And then...warrrrrrr.”

  “Charming,” sighed Loquolchi. “People have no taste during war. It’s all boring fabrics and ridiculous pantomimes.”

  “Simple ideas like fear, anger, hate are easy to control.” Orvillia knitted her claws together, shrewdness sharpening her expression to match Mereg’s knife. “Someone wants to keep status quo, hide the idea that our history with the cats is far more complicated than eat-or-be-eaten.”

  Cinrak watched emotions cascade across Loquolchi’s sweet marmoty face. Her love was doing the best she could not to let her own history with the Felidae interfere. Her parents had left her an orphan as she’d entered her theatre apprenticeship, venturing on a careless voyage into Felidae lands without a permission or an escort.

  The group pressed Muriel for details, and she did her best to describe shape, shadows, the depth of the dark, smells. It could be any ship in the fleet, any basement in the Felidae main island. It could be any four participants, though one had a ‘spiky, warm’ feel to them. A porcupine assassin? A breakaway from the Ferret Corp?

  Cinrak frowned at the warm morning breeze that brought the fragrances of palm and tropical flowers across the lagoon. Mereg squinted their single eye at her, a wealth of worry in their scarred visage. Cinrak gave a little head shake. Later.

  “Whatever happens, they don’t know we have the jump on them,” Orvillia said.

  Muriel held out a wing, and they slapped paw-feathers.

  Warm breeze, fluttering flags, kits of all species splashing in the surf. Muriel’s bucket dangling from a paw, Cinrak stared down the main Felidae beach, dreaming of a soak in one of hot pools being dug in the sand near old volcanic outflow.

  “Wind got your tail?” purred a voice from behind.

  Cinrak spun, peering into the thick vegetation, heart pounding. “Peeing Sea Cucumbers! Rozo! What have I told ye ‘bout sneakin ‘up on me?”

  The ginger-pelt cat that oozed out of the bushes only came up to Cinrak’s shoulder but he seemed to fill the whole world with his toothy, whiskery grin. “Apologies, still working on breaking that habit.”

  “Work harder,” Cinrak grumbled.

  Finding a comfortable bench, Cinrak carefully put down the fancy bucket full of warm ash. Cinrak loved the shady greenery around the Felidae Clowder building. It helped hide how badly she was doing her job.

  “Muriel taking another ash nap?” Rozo nodded at the bucket. Fastidious as the dapper captain, Rozo straightened his black vest. Mutual love of well-tailored suits had ensured a firm friendship from the start.

  “Good chance for some fresh air an’ a spin round the compound.” Cinrak scratched her nose and sneezed. The seductively draped humidity did nothing to alleviate the whine in her salty blood.

  “You pirates are as jumpy as the Ferret Corp and meticulous as the mer.” Rozo put a gentle forepaw on Cinrak’s shoulder, claws sheathed. “Relax, Captain. It’s under control. No one has ever managed to breach the Clowder, not even in war.”

  His smile, a dropping of the jaw rather than the spread of lips, was meant to be reassuring, but to a rodent eye it only ma
de him look dangerous. Now who had habits to break?

  A yell from the beach. Cinrak fell into a crouch, pulling her hip knife. Rozo’s claws flicked out as he sniffed the air.

  A combination of pirate and cat crews struggled with a tall tent pole for that night’s beach party. Breathing a sigh of relief, Cinrak sheathed her hip knife, Rozo his claws.

  “Breathe, captain.” Rozo’s green gold eyes glowed in the shade. “We have something the would-be assassins don’t.”

  Whiff-pop.

  “Me.” Muriel clutched the edge of the bucket and cocked her head at a right angle, her biggest, quirkiest ‘smile.’ She groomed her tail in Cinrak’s general direction. “Did I miss anything’?”

  “Loquolchi charmin’ concessions out o’ the Clowder arts council. She an’ Queen Orvillia are quite the power team.”

  Muriel chuckled. “She be a diva a’ight, cap’n. That fuzzy head she put on in polite company be nothin’ but tricksy. Mark my words, her dressin’ room will be the one everyone flocks to for information and court gossip in the star-turns to come.”

  “That be a prophecy?” Cinrak pocketed a discarded phoenix feather. Didn’t want something of substantial magical properties falling into the wrong paws.

  “Nay. Long observational experience.”

  With Muriel perched on Cinrak’s shoulder, the three wandered through the shaded labyrinthian paths around the Clowder. The island was a carefully curated conservatory of tall trees, colourful foliage, waterfalls, pools, and shady nooks. The buildings merged with the greenery, brick caressed by vines, archways of light and tree limb, flowers filtering colour through windows.

  Cats, rodents of all species, and ogres wandered the pathways, nodding greetings and tipping hats as they passed. Mer waved from waterfall lounging or temporary beach dugouts surrounded by ferns and palms.

  Cinrak was having trouble untangling the cascade of water. Fat drops on waxy green leaves. The tympanic shuffle across rock and pool. The ooze through dirt and trunk, pipes and waste disposal.