Coming Up Easy

[Sly Speakeasy]

He did it. He pulled it off.

Sly had watched the entire fight from the servant section. It was nerve-wracking, but Mac managed, with more than a little help from the rat Sly knew nothing about. As the match was called, Sly felt, for the first time in a long time, a genuine smile creep across his muzzle.

?I?m?.rich,? he whispered to himself. Though an annoying voice in the back of his head snorted, saying ?richer than before, you mean?, Sly was still grinning ear to ear. He couldn?t wait to snatch the bag of coin waiting for him right out of Copper?s paws.

By the time the vole collected his winnings and finished celebrating with his two new favorite beasts, the next match was already underway. Everybeast had already forgotten about MacRaff the Wrathful and his exploits. Sly felt a twinge of irritation. He had just made his fortune, his life was about to turn around, and he was the only one who seemed to notice.

Well, I can certainly let one beast in particular know. The vole made a beeline for the Podium. There weren?t many beasts to get in his way, all of them focused on the next match which, from the bloodcurdling cries, could only be very entertainingly bloody. Sly grimaced, and approached the somewhat secret pathway to the back of the Podium. Sneaking in behind some pudgy hedgehog and a bizarrely dressed stoat, Sly spotted Nire himself in his very important chair. The vole had somehow managed to forget the lynx would be here as well, but immediately forgot all about him again when he saw the massive beast sitting next to him. It was Blasio, complete with a hand and mouthful of aspen twigs.

The vole sidled his way through the crowd, his small stature keeping it easy to do until finally, he found himself next to the beaver. Unnoticed, Sly put his paws behind his back, stood upright, and smiled.

?Told you, Buck. I?m very familiar with the Podium.?

For a moment, Blasio looked confused and glanced around until finally laying eyes on the vole. Sly had expected his usual arrogant grin, but was shocked to finally find a look of irritation on the beast. He spoke absently, in between chews.

?I must say, Mr. Speaky, I?m beginning to find your interest in impressing me bothersome. Unless, you?re here because you did manage to earn that promotion we spoke of? In which case yes, color me impressed, that was quick.?

?No, Buck, not at all. I just felt I should inform you that yes, I did make it big. And I was wondering, how much did you lose on those backwater brothers??

Blasio stopped chewing his twigs. ?Is that why you?re here? To brag about that stroke of luck??

?To brag? Most definitely. But about luck? Not a chance. Winning and a good call, that?s what I have to brag about.?

Blasio?s grin came creeping back. ?I see. Then yes, I did lose because of them. One small, insignificant gold piece. I wasn?t expecting much from those two, and they did not disappoint.?

?So, what I?m hearing is?? Sly began, mustering as much snark as he possibly could and looked Blasio dead in the eyes. ?I beat you??

?If that?s what your little heart needs to hear before it?s drowned in the liquor of celebration, then yes, Mr. Speaky. You beat me. Congratulations. And, if you keep this up, you may get lucky and beat me again. But,? the beaver said, and then his voice dropped, losing all playfulness. ?for a beast like you, that?s all it is. Luck. Every fight won, every good tip you hear, every copper piece you find on the floors you scrub, it?s all luck. It?s life giving you a friendly little reminder not to worry, it?s looking out for you. But I?ll let you in on a secret, my little industrial nuisance. It isn?t. And it never will. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you?ll know your place is the feet of beasts like me. The ones who make their own luck.?

With that, Blasio turned his attention back to the beasts in the arena.

?You know, deep, deep down, I knew I sort of respected you. But not anymore. I?ve figured out what you are. An incredibly stupid beast.?

Before Blasio could have a reaction other than a dumb look of surprise, Sly stood tall and continued. ?Of course life?s unfair. That?s a ?secret? to you? Well then, it?s a badly kept one, because everybeast knows. I learned it when I was eight seasons old, and I?m reminded every season since. Do you really think so little of me you felt the need to tell me the ancient, sagely wisdom that 'sorry, life?s a real villain sometimes'??

?Yes, Mr. Speaky, I do think that little of you. You haven?t seemed to figure out that you?re not special, that all you are is amusing talk and nothing else. A little joke. A joke that has stopped being funny, and has gone on long enough. Now if you?ll excuse me I have an important match to??

?That?s why you?re not very smart, Buck,? Sly interrupted. ?You?re an awful judge of character. You don?t know me. You don?t know me at all. And the real joke is that you don?t think I?m a threat."

"And what makes you such a threat, little vole?"

"The fact that I am a good judge of character.?

?Are you now?? Blasio asked, without a trace of humor. Suddenly, Nire reminded Sly and Blasio of his presence and shouted for the audience.

"Lovely ladies, gentlebeasts. I give you the dreaded... Monster of Mossflower Woods!?

The arena elevator opened, and out came an ottermaid. Or, from what Sly could tell, possibly?

?An otterwife?? Blasio snorted, and a gleam came to his eyes. ?Alright, Mr. Speaky. Show me how good a judge of character you are. Will this otterwife live or die??

Sly took a glance at the beasts in the arena. The champion Hammerpaw was jeering at his opponent, who simply stared him down as she carried her weapons with a fearsome look in her eyes. Sly nodded.

?She?s going to kill him.?

Blasio laughed, then suddenly laughed harder, spilling his twigs and slapping his knee. ?You?re right, I am a terrible judge of character. You?re still very, very funny.?

?Then bet all you?ve won today on Hammerpaw. Prove you think I?m wrong.?

Blasio?s toothy grin faltered and faded into a frown. He tapped a weasel sitting next to him, who Sly assumed was a scribe of some sort, and handed him a bag of gold. The weasel rushed off, and before the beaver could speak, Sly did instead.

?Only one thing you said is true. That there are beasts who make their own luck. It?s true because there is no such thing as luck. We only get what we give. I?ve given a lot of beasts hell, and that?s why I have so much hell to pay. You, though? While you've been making your own luck, you've been giving beasts so much worse than hell that you?ll be paying for it in spades. And I?ll be there to watch. Because the next time you see me, I?ll be sitting in your seat right there.?

?Did I offend you?? Blasio asked. ?Because if so, you must know there is nothing personal between us. Once I win this bet with you, I?ll have you removed and forget all about you come dinner.?

?Oh don?t worry, I have no reason to watch a fight I already know the outcome of. Besides, I?ve already got a champion, and plenty more matches to prepare him for. But here, you can have this to buy your drink tonight.?

Sly flipped a copper piece to the beaver, then he made his exit. He knew he meant it, too. No more need to impress Toothy. He?d already done it, and was about to do it again.

I?ve got a champion, and I?ve got wealth. I?m on my way to end you, Buck. And after that walk in the park is finished, I?ll take on this whole damn crater. Nothing?s in my way.

"" "" "" "" ""

Then the crazy hare went and got himself killed.

It at first seemed like Sly's drunken friend was having one of his moments, only a little more violent than usual. It wasn't until the blade was drawn that reality hit. One of them wasn't going to see the morning.

Sly handled it the way he handled bad news best: he went to the pub. One champ he could trust down, and the other a pacifist, who understandably didn't wish to return to the Crater Lake. Life was looking grim, but at least it was when booze was affordable. As the vole would ask Gunder for the drinks, he suddenly realized how...different it was drinking now. Mac may have been crazy, but he was a good drinking buddy. And that, in Sly's opinion, is worth something.

It was around the second day of drowning his sorrows in mead that he remembered something, something somehow forgotten. He had already found a new champion. A monster, in fact. As the realization struck, the vole picked his head up from the countertop and smiled.

After a time carefully maneuvering the tunnels (though he had money now, Sly was still keen on not giving it to the beasts who he ?owed?), the vole eventually found the area he had come for. It was mostly a closet hidden a little ways off from the Drag. It was storage for the many scribes working in the Crater. In it were piles and walls full of scrolls, and cabinets stuffed full of quills. Sly knew there was ink somewhere inside the mess, but he didn?t care enough to look for it. Why write when you could speak?

And now, the hard part. After closing the door, Sly walked to the middle of the closet, moved aside a strange pile of shredded parchment, and sat down for the wait ahead. The incredibly long, boring wait. So long, Sly began to hear the tavern calling to him, which was strange because the pub rarely spoke to him anymore?.

Then the door suddenly opened, thank the fates, and Sly leaped to his feet to greet?a hideous freak. After the initial shock, Sly managed to recover himself before saying something rude to the poor volemaid who had entered and wrecking any chance of information. So instead, he raised his paw in a still wave and grinned.

?Ahoy, madame scrivener! I was wondering, since you have a moment, if you?d like to speak with good ol? Speakeasy about??

?Not particularly,? the volemaid said calmly, not even looking Sly in the eyes as she grabbed a roll of parchment and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

?Oh.? Sly said, then rushed after the wench.

She hadn?t gotten far, and so the vole ran up behind her, tapped her shoulder, then ran in front to keep pace with the female.

?I?m sorry if I intimidate you, no need to be ashamed of your disfigured features! It hasn?t scared me away from having a lovely conversation with you.?

?Then clearly my face isn?t doing its job right,? the volemaid said. And for the first time in a long time?Sly felt a stupid look on his own face. And he laughed.

?Not at all! But believe me when I say it takes a lot to scare me away from talking. And that brings me to my introduction. The name?s Sly Speakeasy, ?cause speaking to me is easy.? He winked.

?I doubt that,? the volemaid replied without pause, and without stopping her determined walk.

?A wise belief to hold, miss??? Sly asked, rather eagerly.

?Adeen.?

?Miss Adeen! What a lovely name,? Sly said, and smiled. And?kept smiling.

?Do you need something, or are you trying to play off me catching you sleeping in the storage cabinet??

?Sleeping? I never sleep, not once. A blessing and a curse, to be sure. But no, Miss Adeen, I do have a question,? Sly replied, then immediately tripped backwards over something. A mop bucket, full of water. As the vole sat in the puddle, dejectedly flicking the water off his paws, he caught a glimpse of the volemaid. A glimpse of a tiny, small smile. Sly grinned back.

?I was wondering what you knew about the Monster of Mossflower.?

"Quite a bit," Adeen answered. Sly's heart skipped a bit, but then she continued. "And that's all I'm going to say about that."

"Well, that's a shame," he replied. "Then how about this instead? You come by the Crater Lake Pub sometime, and I'll buy us some drinks. You could tell me something I don't know and maybe I'll tell you a few things you don't know. Or neither!"

The volemaid was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Fine." And she walked away. But not too quickly, Sly noticed. Not too quickly at all.