He couldn't get his cigarette lighted. Despite shielding it with his paw, the marten was unable to transfer the flame from his flint lighter to the thin cigarette clenched in his lips. Giving a growl, he stuffed the lighter back in his pocket and threw the cigarette into the trees, where it landed in a clump of bushy grass.
The marten was nearly soaked through, but he didn't seem to care. He stomped into his platform tent, shaking the rain from his jacket and grabbing a glass from his dresser. This he filled with bitter tonic water and downed in seconds, a few rivulets running from the corner of his mouth to his chin. When he slammed the glass back down on his dresser, the tent became quiet, and through the sound of the rain Auley was aware of a low chattering noise coming through the trees. He growled again.
"So then this otter here takes a dive into the ocean, and I have to reach in and pull his soggy bottom out onto the raft!" Sidhe roared, laughing, as he raised a glass of whisky into the air as emphasis.
Lucien Blair chuckled. The pine marten was also holding a glass of whisky, although he wasn't consuming it at nearly the same rate as the squirrel. Banagher was regarding his own whisky like it could possibly bite him.
"It's not like I didn't fall in for a good reason," the otter mumbled to no one in particular.
"It's alright, mate," Lucien said, patting Banagher on the shoulder. "I understand why you did it." He gave the otter a kind smile, which put Banagher at ease tremendously. He took a cautious sip of whisky.
"I'll admit, it was good to have an otter around when we were paddling the raft, though," the squirrel mused between gulps of whisky. He was sitting in a canvas chair, his footpaws propped up on a large chest, his precious sweater laying across his lap. Outside the rain fell heavily against the tent, but the inside, where the three beasts were passing time, was dry as a bone.
"There should be a cargo ship heading for the South Seas some time next week," the marten interrupted, rubbing his chin in thought. "I can get you a place on it, and from there you can probably find a ship to take you around the Cape back home." He took a slow sip of whisky, sucking it in through his teeth, then swallowed. "There won't be a ship going back the other way for months," he added.
"Well, I'll take it," the squirrel answered quickly. "I have no intention of heading back to Madagascar. The lemurs there are less than trustworthy." He stared into his whisky, deep in thought.
"What about you?" Lucien asked Banagher, who was wearing a thin, sweat-stained cotton shirt and gray pants borrowed from an otter in the regiment.
"Sure. As long as I get back home eventually. It's not like a little more time on a ship won't be anything new." He completed this sentence with a wry smile, although he wasn't really joking. Lucien nodded, and the squirrel regarded him with a hard gaze.
"What exactly are your regiments in charge of?" Sidhe asked abruptly, changing the subject.
"Shah Parikh is the emperor of Malabar, which is the region we're in. He maintains a local monopoly on cotton, and our regiments are in charge of protecting shipments, controlling the labor population, and guarding against smugglers and anyone else who might be trying to cheat the system."
"I take it the laborers aren't volunteers," the squirrel remarked coolly, rotating his wrist so that the whisky washed up onto the insides of the glass. The marten turned his sharp brown eyes on the squirrel for a moment before responding.
"No. This land has operated the same way for hundreds of years. The emperors change, but the system remains the same." He spoke decisively, confidently, with no fear of being challenged. Banagher's gaze shifted between the marten and the squirrel as he ventured another sip of whisky. The squirrel shrugged.
"And the dock is near here?" Sidhe asked, pursing his lips at his now-empty glass.
"About a quarter mile north-east. Another regiment is directly in charge of it, but I'll introduce you to that commander tomorrow."
"Actually, do you mind if I go up there now? I want to stretch my legs, and docks are sort of my area of expertise." The squirrel stood up as he spoke and pulled the sweater on over his head.
"That's no problem. If anyone asks, tell him you're a guest of Major Lucien Blair. You shouldn't have any trouble."
"Oh, I don't know, I'm sure trouble will find me anyway," the squirrel said with a gruff noise that sounded like a laugh. He straightened his sweater and peered out the tent door at the pouring rain. "You coming otter? I know you don't mind getting wet." Banagher frowned but stood up.
"Sure. But don't call me otter," he grumbled. Sidhe shrugged again.
"Whatever you say," Sidhe replied, stepping out off the tent platform.
"Take the path to the right out the tent door. It'll take you directly to the dock lands." Lucien called. "When you get bored, you can head back and sleep in the empty tent out there across the way." The otter nodded as he ducked out the door to catch up to the squirrel in the rain.
Auley Fein sat at his desk, a quill in one paw and a half-empty glass of tonic to his right. His paw hovered over a piece of parchment covered in a few lines of neat script. After a moment's consideration, the marten dipped his quill into an ink well and scratched his signature at the bottom of the page. He folded the letter into thirds, then used his lighter to melt a lump of blood-red wax onto the flap. Into the wax he pressed his ring, leaving an imprint of the Fein seal - a picture of a marten holding a sword over his head and the words "Malo mori quam foedari - Death Rather than Dishonor."
The marten stepped outside of his tent and whistled. Moments later a young ferret came running up.
"Yessir!"
"Deliver this to Commander Haghe," Auley ordered, handing the letter over.
"Yessir!" the ferret returned with a sharp salute before sprinting off into the pouring rain.
Auley remained by the door for a few minutes, his gaze unfocused. Rather abruptly, he turned and walked to his cot, where he lay down, lacing his paws behind his head, his eyes pinned on the tent ceiling.
To: Commander Alain Haghe
From: Captain Auley Fein
Dear Sir,
I feel it my duty to bring to your attention that Major Lucien Blair is hosting foreign travelers within the camp. The history of these travelers, a rough-looking squirrel and otter, is unverified and, as there is no one to vouch for their story, I felt it best that the beasts were kept in custody, but Major Blair seemed to think it unnecessary. As a result, these beasts are free to go where they please, compromising the security and integrity of the imperial regiments. I am sure that you would want to be informed of this, in the event that any trouble arises from the situation.
With Highest Regards,
Captain Auley Fein, Third Regiment, Emperor's Fusiliers