The Prisoner's Release and Other Stories (33 page)

He almost fell back into the wolf’s arms, still shivering. “Mmm,” Streak said into his ear. “
I
enjoyed
that
.”

“Oh…” was all Volle could manage. He felt himself drifting off into sleep, his weakened body’s reserves used up by the night’s activities.

Streak held him, and as he drifted off he heard the wolf say, “I think I can stay just a bit longer.”

He woke to inky darkness, alone, but his back was still warm. He heard the rustle of cloth on fur near him, and turned his head, the wolf’s smell strong in the cell. “Streak?” he whispered.

The noise stopped, and after a moment there was a soft chuckle. “Is that what you call me?”

Volle flicked his ears back in embarrassment. “Um. Yeah.”

“Why ‘Streak’?”

“Are you leaving?”

His whiskers and ears told him the wolf had moved. “In a minute. Don’t change the subject.” His voice came from lower down, closer to Volle’s muzzle.

“Oh, well, you have this cute black streak on your hip…and the first thing you did was take your clothes off.”

“My clothes? What does that have to do with it?”

“You never streaked as a kid?”

“Don’t know what that is.”

“It just means stripping and running out in public. You know, naked.” Volle chuckled. “It was a big thing at our school for about a year. I did it twice.”

“You city boys.” Streak sounded amused. “Well, I think it’s cute.”

Volle didn’t know why Streak assumed he was from the city. He had grown up in the city, but the background story he’d told at the palace was that he’d grown up on a farm. He was too tired and happy to maintain the lie now, so he let it go. After a pause, he said, “What do you call me?”

“Just ‘fox.’”

“You don’t know any other foxes?”

“Not right now. Listen, I don’t know how long I was asleep. I should get out of here before Gerrold comes in.”

“Yeah. Hurry. I’ll see you again soon.”

“Count on it.” The wolf’s muzzle moved tentatively towards his; they found each other quickly and shared a brief kiss. He saw Streak’s silhouette in the door’s frame as it opened. The wolf turned and looked at him, then closed the door, leaving him in darkness once again.

He lay awake for what might have been one hour or three, thinking about Streak, and about his situation. He tried to concentrate on the pleasant memories, but the thought of what he’d do if they took the wolf away from him kept intruding. They didn’t have much time left, he was sure of that. Maybe one or two more visits, and that would be it.

The door opened, and the skunk shuffled in with a plate of food. He set it down next to Volle, and in the dim light from the door, Volle thought he saw the skunk’s nose wrinkle at the musky scents in the cell.

“So,” he said impulsively, “what’s the name of that white wolf who comes in here sometimes? I’d like to report him. He’s been very abusive.”

The skunk stopped and stared at him, then shook his head and turned away without a word. He picked the torch out of the ceiling bracket but didn’t replace it with a new one.

“Hey! Where’s my light? You can’t just leave me here in—” The door slammed shut. Of course Limp Stripes could leave him in the dark.

This was different. And it didn’t look to be good.

Part 5

He ate the food slowly, sat against the wall, and waited.

In the darkness, he had no way of telling how much time had passed. He slept fitfully, lapped at the water when he was thirsty, and listened to the rumbling in his stomach. He hadn’t felt really full in months, but the meals usually appeared at the right time to take the edge off his hunger.

No longer. He licked the plate clean, and kept licking it even after the smell of food was gone from it. He had slept five, seven, ten times, but he didn’t know for how long. The ache in his stomach grew more and more acute, faded away, and returned with a vengeance. His sleep grew more restless, spotted with uneasy dreams.

Dereath was weakening him, he realized, starving him to batter down his resistance. He’d done it before. So this would be the end. Between physical weakness, and emotional, would he would give away his secrets?

He sat up, pulled one paw below his neck, and rested his head on the chain. With some difficulty, he lifted his paw around the other side of his head and then down, so the chain made a loop around his neck. The clinking of the links echoed around the cell. He lowered his body and felt the tension increase in the chain.

Could he do this? He lay down further and heard his breath start to wheeze as the chain tightened. The urge to sit up flooded through him, but his body was weak enough that he could fight it. He panicked as his breathing became more labored, and scrabbled briefly at the chain before pulling his paw away again. Spots appeared in front of his eyes and his body thrashed around, finally jerking forward.

The chain loosened, and he gulped down deep lungfuls of air, half sobbing as he did so. He felt dizzy; spots still danced in front of his eyes. Frantically, he tried to lift his arm over his head again as he felt consciousness slipping from him, but the darkness stole in before he could tell whether he’d succeeded.

“Fox! Oh gods, wake up!” He was being shaken. A grey shape with white edges was hovering over him.

“Stop…shaking…” He panted through a haze of dizziness.

“Are you okay?” The smell, the voice—he recognized Streak now.

He put a paw to his throat. “I…think so.” Something was different. He held up his paw and looked at it. The shackles were gone. “What…”

Streak was unlocking the shackles on his legs. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”

Volle paused to digest that. He moved his arms around experimentally. They felt oddly detached. “Why?”

“They’re going to kill you. Starve you to death. How long has it been since they brought food? Three days? Four? Five?”

“Don’t know. Since you came.” Volle’s head was clearing, slowly, but now he was becoming aware of the gnawing emptiness in his stomach and the weakness in his limbs. “How did…?”

“I stole the key.” Streak picked up something from the floor and shook it out. “Here, put these on.” Volle stared at the pants, and Streak sighed. “You poor…okay, here.” He slid them over Volle’s feet.

“Okay, okay.” The fabric rubbed his fur the wrong way, and the sensation pulled him at least partly into awareness. Volle pulled them up and fastened them. They were extremely loose on him, and felt odd after so long without clothes. “Where did you get all this?”

“This is my spare uniform. It’ll be loose but it’ll fit. I can’t carry you naked through the prison.” He handed Volle the shirt.

With some difficulty, Volle slid it on. His fingers fumbled as he fastened it around the front, and at the lowest button, his muscles protested. He hadn’t stretched his arms that far in months.

“All set?” Streak’s ears were back and he looked grim. He set his arms beneath Volle and lifted. Volle felt the muscles in his arms tighten. “You’re so light.”

Volle put a paw on the wolf’s chest. “I think I can walk.”

“Later.” Streak smiled, a tight nervous smile, and kissed his nose quickly. “When we get to the top.”

He pulled the fox to his chest and stood up. Volle tried putting his arms around Streak’s neck, but the tension was too uncomfortable and he dropped them to his own chest. The wolf turned and walked toward the open door and the light beyond, and as he turned Volle to walk through it, the fox caught a glimpse of his empty shackles, lying beside the gutter in the floor, water glistening on the wall beyond. Then they were through the door, and out.

He remembered the hallways, dead grey stone with torch sconces placed regularly. Compared to the blackness he’d lived in for the past few days, the light was almost blinding. Volle squinted as Streak hurried through the corridors.

“Do you know anyone in the palace who can hide you? I don’t know anyone in the city and you’re not strong enough to get out yet.”

The name he’d made himself forget floated tantalizingly out of reach. He knew he couldn’t go there anyway, though. But Helfer would be okay. Hef would help him. “Yes. West wing, second floor.”

“I can get you there.”

They hadn’t met any other guards, and Volle thought this was strange, but perhaps he was the only prisoner down here. “Where are the other guards?”

“Other wings. You were pretty isolated. There’s a back stair we can use. Then you’ll have to walk to the palace from there. It’s the middle of the night, though. We should be okay.”

Volle nodded. Streak was walking quickly but not running, and the motion was pleasant, almost lulling the fox back to sleep. He forced himself to stay awake as they passed scores of open cells, walked up a dimly lit staircase, and passed slowly through a more open series of cells, with windows in the doors.

“Oops.” Streak muttered it under his breath as he stopped and turned quickly, and Volle caught a whiff of rat scent. Then it was gone; the wolf marched down another hallway and to a staircase. At the top, behind a closed door, he set Volle down gently.

“We have to walk from here. I’ll support you. If anyone stops us, you’re my drunk friend, I’m walking you back to the barracks.”

“They’re not in this direction.” He was surprised that the map of the city remained so strong in his head.

“It’s the best I could come up with. It’ll explain away part of the smell, too.”

Volle nodded. “Okay.” He stood gingerly, and his knees buckled almost immediately. He grabbed at Streak for support. The wolf had his arms around him in an instant, holding him upright. Volle looked into the warm blue eyes.

“Thank you,” he said softly. He nuzzled Streak and braced himself on the wolf’s powerful frame.

Streak looked embarrassed. His ears flicked and he nuzzled only briefly before looking away. “Let’s get going before it gets light.”

He pushed the door open, and Volle staggered at the cold, fresh air. The scents were clear and sharp, the air not musty with memories and pain. As he stepped out, he glanced up and stopped dead, transfixed by the glittering patterns of stars in the sky. The cold air seared his lungs, but he drank it in gratefully.

“Come on,” Streak started to say, but trailed off when he saw the glistening in Volle’s eyes. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Volle swallowed. “I really…forgot how beautiful they are.” He lowered his gaze to Streak’s white muzzle, looking at the blue eyes shining in the starlight. Slowly he lifted his muzzle, and the wolf hesitated, then met it, tightening his hold around Volle.

Volle closed his eyes and let himself be washed away on the sensations: the cold air ruffling his fur, the tight press of Streak’s muscles against him, and the warm lupine muzzle locked with his. Their tongues caressed, and then separated.

“We should go,” Streak said again, but Volle just looked at him with a slight smile. “What?”

“I never knew…how beautiful
you
are.”

Streak swallowed, and Volle saw him fight back tears of his own. “Fox…”

“I know, I know. Let’s go.” Volle turned, reluctantly, and stepped forward onto the road. His legs were still unsteady, and he needed every ounce of the wolf’s support.

The palace’s turrets rose about half a mile away, dull grey stone that reflected only a little of the starlight. Only the very tops, gold-leafed, shone at all. The road leading there from the prison was narrow and winding, and Volle kept looking back and forth at the dark houses and shops on either side.

“Keep your head down,” Streak hissed nervously, and Volle tried to act drunk.

It took them forever to make it the half-mile. Volle had to stop and rest at one point, so he sat on a house’s front stoop while Streak paced nervously. Twice they heard someone coming and tensed, but the passerby gave them barely a second glance. Finally, they came to a stop at a metal gate.

“You gonna be okay?” Streak braced Volle against the wall, and Volle nodded. He flexed his legs gingerly. They were sore and still unsteady, but he thought he could go a little further.

“What, did you steal all the keys?” he asked as the wolf fitted a key to the keyhole in the gate.

Streak didn’t answer immediately, as he pushed the gate open. He put his arm around Volle and guided him in. “The guards have a master set,” he said, closing the gate behind them. “I just picked the ones I thought would be useful.” He jingled his pocket and flashed a brief grin, but he didn’t seem to be any less nervous now that they were in the palace.

They had walked into one of the gardens, but Volle had to spot the elaborate flowery design before he knew which one it was. The garden seemed eerie in the starlight, deserted except for the two of them, the flowers’ colors all muted and their scents faded for the night. It should be romantic, Volle thought, a nighttime garden, but the silence and the chill disturbed him.

“It’s this way, I think.” Streak was guiding him down one path.

“I remember. Down here and around that corner there’s a door that usually isn’t locked.” The shortcuts were coming back to him, weak as he was. “Then there’s a stair to the right. We can cut through the servants’ quarters to the west wing.”

“Okay.” They walked quickly down the path. Volle felt the crunch of the gravel under his paws, and it brought back other memories. He pushed them aside and concentrated on taking steps.

The door was just as he’d remembered it, decorated with the king’s crest in carved wood, not painted like the fancier doors in the main garden and out front. They pulled it open and stepped into the warm air and ancient smells of the palace.

Volle had barely had time to see the staircase when he heard footsteps coming down it. His eyes met Streak’s, and then the wolf pushed the door open, looking panicked.

Volle shook his head quickly, then collapsed to his knees with his head out the door. He made retching noises, and tried to shake appropriately.

“Bad night?” he heard behind him.

“A bit too much,” Streak said. Volle hoped the other didn’t hear the waver in his voice. “Just letting him get it out of his system.”

“Okay. Try to keep it down. And clean it up when you’re done.” The footsteps receded.