Hots On For Nowhere

[Risk]

"Cor, this is steep. You climbed up all this with a hole in yer gut, Cookie? Ain't half imp-ressive. Ain't half mad, too."

"Hole was nothin', Gashy. Was the toad what was the worst of it."

They were wriggling down the slope, back to where Risk had first woken up and found Greenfleck. It had not been part of the initial plan, that being to investigate the tunnel Risk had found on a higher ledge, but they'd collectively agreed it was worth a try. He only wished he had remembered the ruddy thing earlier. It was too risky to leave Gashrock alone with the crows and who knew what else prowling above and below ground, and the rat was slowing them down.

"Greenfleck's not that bad," said Zevka.

"Ever fought a toad, Zevka?"

"No, I haven't. But I've read-"

"Ever been in a toad pit?"

"No... I take it that you have?"

"Not myself. I've hauled beasts out of 'em, though. You don't forget the stink. You just don't."

"I haven't noticed any smell."

"Nah, Greenflick don't stink. He's somehow civilized himself. Figured out what rain's for, maybe. But I can't look at him and not remember. Hold up- Gashy?"

The rat was labouring, rubbing at her leg every other step. "Ain't nothin', Cookie. Pay no mind. I'll be down there one way or another."

Risk nodded and, after having a bit of a breather himself, continued on. Sliding down was dangerous, and creating some kind of path to take on the way back up took some time. They preemptively cut branches and stuck them deep in the snow where things felt slippery.

Somewhere off to their right and above, they could hear the crows chanting in their feasting. He could only just see a few big black birds circling in the sky, perhaps keeping watch for their brethren. It had been rough getting past them without the Yew Captain- Risk hadn't needed to sneak past anything for some time. If only Gashrock weren't with them, it would feel just like old times...

Soon enough the chanting receded. Either the crows had decided to take their revenge up the mountain to the cave, or they had gone to a rest after their feast. Risk hoped it was the latter. He didn't trust the otters to watch over Poko and Nyika. The owl had your standard woodlander honour, even if Swirl-face didn't, but that wouldn't be enough to keep an entire flock out of the cave.

"There's your rat," said Zevka, as they slid onto level ground again. "What's left of him. Where's the cart?"

"It was here," said Risk, scooting forward on all fours. He stopped and coughed. No blood on the snow this time. Good.

The ledge looked different in the cold light of day. The blizzard had gone on long enough to cover up just about everything, save the rat. The crows had gotten to it before the snow could claim it. Risk could only assume they'd braved the weather to investigate the sound of the avalanche- perhaps knowing what kind of score it entailed. And what a prize he'd given them right from the start! Everything laid out like a picnic. All that remained now was scraps.

"Dig around," he said. "Made a hole in the cart before we left it, probably got filled in... Look for where snow's not as deep."

He began to shift through the rat's remains, remembering how near it had been to the fire. It was mostly just the bones now, the crows having nibbled them clean of flesh and gristle. Not bleached-white, but certainly not as messy as it could have been. Gashrock made a face at him. He shrugged.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'd've skinned you if you were dead," he said.

"Gee, thanks, Cookie. Yep, loads better now."

"Only fair. What's a tailor good for if not a new cloak once in a while." Snow piffed off the back of his head. "Hmph! I'm only havin' a lark."

"Aye, and I'll only be havin' a lark when I'm makin' a brand new pair o' ferret mocassins and matchin' mitts and owt."

"Ah, an' you've had practice with this? I thought Poko's hedgehog cloak was a might too real..."

"Cookie," said Zevka. "That can't possibly be your real name."

"Nah, it ain't," said Risk. "Always been embarrassed, but my real name's Biscuit. Promise not to tell the good ol' Captain."

The pine marten looked over to Gashrock. "Is he having a lark again?"

"Cookie's never not havin' a lark, I reckon."

"Comes with bein' a clown," said Risk, nodding. He whistled, having uncovered part of the wagon. The other two gathered around and they began to scoop at the snow covering it. Zevka paused for a moment to lean forward toward Risk, her eyes searching his face.

"A clown who pulls beasts out of toad pits and climbs a mountain with a hole in his stomach the size of a fist. There're more to you than jests, Cookie."

"Not really," said Gashrock. "Can't act, can't dance, can't sing, can't bleedin' well cook- ow! Well 's true, innit."

"Then why'd Dewhurst make you cook?"

"I could lift the stew pot," said Risk. He tore another floorboard off the cart, and grinned, pointing at the hole. "Ladies first."

Zevka poked her head into the gap. Half her body slid after it. Risk tilted his head and admired the half that remained with them. Gashrock grimaced and pantomimed shoving a claw down her throat. Still grinning, Risk reached out a paw to see just how soft the marten's tail was, further away from the poofy tip. Zevka squeaked, and vanished fully into the hole. Her head popped out a second later, here eyes glaring daggers with the fangs to match.

Risk, with a wistful expression and his golden head haloed against the sun, was the very picture of chivalry. He pointed at Gashrock.

"He's got tailfur envy."

Zevka opened her mouth to say something, but paused, frowning. "He? Gashrock's wearing a female's robe."

"Yeah... always thought that was odd. You want a breeze, a kilt's got better movement."

Gashrock had shoved her face into the snow to keep from laughing.

"Don't either of you touch me there again," said Zevka, glowering.

She ducked back into the cart, mumbling under her breath. Risk chortled to himself. She didn't mean it, he knew. He worked on pulling off another piece, more for firewood than accessibility. Gashrock pulled her head out of the snow and peered into the hole.

"I am female," she informed Zevka. "Cookie sez all rats look alike and owt. Wot's in there?"

Zevka tossed up a roll of fine lavender silk. Risk rubbed it against his cheeks.

"Well, this ain't gonna help naught. It's bloody well see-through!"

Gashrock grabbed it from him. "Gimme. Ooh, soft. No, I can use this. Not everythin's gotta be fer warmth."

"Guess so," said Risk. "Somethin' light may be useful."

"Now you're thinkin' with pockets!"

"Sure am," said Risk, tilting his head back and staring at the sky. A vague smile wandered across his muzzle. Pockets, yes, and scarves and streamers and wind-rippled skirts. Poko would like that- would Zevka? Vanessa? Perhaps he could convince them to audition for a revival of Dewhurst's Players. If Zevka could dance, and the otter could do something interesting with her big tail, and Nyika, with her ghost-whispering... He could be manager, Poko and Gashrock could do what Poko and Gashrock did best. A new start, again.

But his imagination kept coming back to Zevka and Vanessa dancing with the silk, and then less and less of it. The mountain felt less cold, for a few blissful seconds.

"Anythin' else?" said Gashrock.

"A lot of snow," said Zevka. "Stop crowding the light! Here- there's a chest full of herbs and spices. A lockbox... sounds like jewelry."

"Pass it up," said Risk, snapping out of his fantasies. "All of it. Herbs an' spices don't weigh much, an' we'll need somethin' to get us back on our feet in Carrigul."

"We actually goin' to Carrigul, Cookie?"

Risk pointed behind him. "You seen that cliff side? I ain't that desperate to get back to Yew. Sooner try to find the road halfway round the mountain than try my luck on that mess. Ain't gonna... ah... risk it. Not with Poko an' Nnn... an' you."

He worked on bashing the jewelry box open with the dead rat's skull, using the teeth to dig away at the wood around the lock. It was thick oak, not something he wanted to blunt his knife on. Gashrock scowled at his methods nonetheless.

"You really care for that kit, don't you?" said Zevka. "Isn't it a little strange?"

The pine marten's voice carried a light hint of malice. She was prying at something. Risk knew the tone well. It belonged in the shadows behind a throne. It suddenly clicked. He decided to play along.

"Don't think so," he said. "Pyracantha didn't just run a business. She ran a family. You don't become a Dewhurst Player without gettin' a bit of that in you. Why, Gashy here's like a brother-"

"Still female."

"-sister to me."

"And I suppose Poko's mother was... a cousin? Perhaps twice removed?"

Risk's fur bristled. "Aye... maybe a cousin. An' that makes Poko my... ah... niece. Is that right?" he whispered at Gashrock. The rat shrugged.

"'Cookie's got his ladle in more'n one pot.'" Zevka's voice lilted like a kit's rhyme. "Care to explain what that means? Or should I recite the rest of what those two stoats pulling the cart were whispering and giggling about?"

Snots and Earstain- no, what were their names? Korteg and Garrick. Risk growled and banged the skull harder against the jewelry box. Those two yokels... How in Hellgates did they figure it out? No- it wasn't the how, it was the why. Why in Hellgates would they have been anywhere near the river? They were allergic to soap! They never helped with the washing. They pulled the cart, he did the lifting. That was the arrangement. And usually nobeast cared how long it took anyone to do the washing. Unless somebeast had been impatient to get something back and sent them to figure out why it was taking so long...

Risk turned his glare onto Gashrock, who was glaring right back at him. So this was the first he- she'd learned of it, too.

Zevka, having no immediate reply, hefted herself up out of the cart. Now on even ground with him, she cocked her head to the side and continued.

"Does the name Desdemoana ring a bell?"

Risk sputtered and threw the skull away. "Have some- have some bloody respect-"

"Because she's dead? But the living, they don't get any, do they?"

"Not if'n they didn't do piddle-all to deserve any!"

Gashrock had stood up and was looking out over the cliff, arms folded, tail snapping back and forth.

"How many other 'cousin's pots' were there, Cookie?"

"What's it matter? None! What's your game, Zevka? This ain't a warlord's court, don't bother with your fancy Academy mind tricks here. So what's it matter?"

Zevka's eyes downright smouldered. In any other situation, Risk would have grabbed her by the hips right then and there, let the fire lash out and scorch the whole mountainside black. It was all he could do not to lash out himself. His fists shook, knuckles burning white.

"It matters that someone is looking out for that kit who is doing it for the right reasons."

"Reasons bein' that somebeast ought to!"

"She's got seven more somebeasts right now, and none of them tried to tear her family apart."

"Des came to me," hissed Risk. "Get this straight, an' get it straight now: I ain't some desperate lout droolin' after every skirt. I take what comes my way, everybeast does, but I don't widdle in my grog, an' I know where to take my coin. Des had her reasons- I gave her what she needed, what Raul wasn't givin' no more. It weren't love, just business. She had the plan, she was careful, so was I. Not for our sake, but hers, Poko's. Look- if Gashy didn't know, ain't nobeast knew but those stoats. So what... what was there is buried now. It's dead. Des is dead. Now you can tell everybeast, but what good will it do? Go on, tell Poko. Her mother's not been stiff half a day, so go on! Tell her her family was a lie. But I ain't."

Zevka stared at him coolly, then lurched forward, their noses almost touching. Risk could see his reflection in her eyes, and nearly recoiled.

"You swear you're looking out for her for her sake, not your own?"

"I bloody well swear."

He backed down, coughing again, holding his paw to his mouth. He didn't want her to see if there was blood or not. There was. He wiped it off on his rat-skin cloak. 

"Then that's good enough for me. And you're right about how it doesn't help anybeast to talk about you and Desdemona. I'm not going to say anything about it, and contrary to what you might think of a beast like me, I'm not going to hold it over your head or try to manipulate you with it. If I ever have to talk about it, it'll be because I have to, not because I want something out of you. But I'm going to find out who you are, Cookie. You're not just some common hordebeast- you can't be, if you've been in a warlord's court. And if you're somebeast who has no right to be around Poko..."

"My name's Risk."

Zevka's mouth did not close for some time.

"Is there any food or ain't there," said Gashrock, easing herself into the cart. Risk got back down on all fours to help pull things out.

The top of the cart had gone- further digging in the snow that was inside revealed no canvas roof. Only a chest and a small crate had remained inside when it had settled in this position. There was food, but barely. Along with the fine silks, spices, and jewelry, there were strips of smoked fish and small jars of candy and preserves. Risk eyed the candy hungrily. It had been sixteen years since he'd last had anything like it. Gashrock was already sampling the fish.

"Want some, Cookie?"

"Ain't hungry." He caught her look. "I didn't eat the rat! I just ain't hungry is all. Gashy... you ain't mad at me, are you?"

"Haven't decided yet, have I?"

"The Risk?" came Zevka's voice from above. "Risk the Cutter?"

Risk's ears flattened. "Shout it why don't you? Maybe Swirl-face will hear, then."

"Is it true? About the badger prince?"

"Aye. He was four. A blind, crippled weasel could've done it."

"And the, and the, and the- the Battle of New Marshank?"

"'Battle' is a funny word for it. More like 'Massacre'."

"They sent assassins after you..."

Risk just grunted and passed up a jar of jam.

"You killed them all! And then you came after the fox who hired them... I had a figurine of you-"

"Ah...? What's a figurine?"

"Like a doll, innit," said Gashrock.

"Champion," said Risk, unsure if he should be pleased or not. He'd met a strange monitor lizard, once, and sometimes had unsettling dreams about it. Dolls were just things he didn't want to think about anymore.

"Er, not of you, I just used it for you, to represent... in the battles that... I used it for other beasts, too... anyway... But then you just vanished!"

"Can't imagine why I'd want to do that, now..."

"But how in Hellgates did you end up a clown?"

Risk looked up at her. Her expression was inscrutable to him. He couldn't quite call it awe, and it certainly wasn't lust. He wondered if, perhaps, this was what respect looked like. Very confused respect, if so.

"Honestly, Zevka? I ain't got a bloody idea."

Zevka looked at Gashrock. "You knew? About him?"

"Aye. We all did. 'Cept the bit about the badger. I thought 'e was big! Ballad o' The Cutter kinda loses its charm now, don't it..."

"Never liked the melody, myself," said Risk. "Couldn't stand up to any of Gonff's classics."

Further discussion was cut short by a disturbing creaking, like the sound of a frozen lake beginning to thaw. Zevka grabbed what immediately fit in her paws and started running back to the treeline. Gashrock was out of the cart in a trice, but took a moment longer to wrap her goodies in a sling of silk before limping off after the marten. Risk, not wanting to leave the crate of candy jars behind, got flat on his stomach to try to pull them up. The edges of the crate kept catching on the cart's torn planks, and jars began to spill. Holding the crate up in one paw he began to unload the jars by gently tossing them over his shoulder into the snow.

The creaking grew in intensity- Risk felt the ledge drop a few inches, and his insides began to rise of their own accord. Zevka was shouting. Gashrock was shouting. His footpaws kicked up a flurry as he tried to pull back from the cart. Too much of his body was over the edge. He roared and twisted around to grab at the wood to haul himself up. He could see Gashrock and Zevka waving to him before vanishing behind some trees, but ignored them. He took off his rat-skin cloak and laid it out to begin piling the jars inside it. He closed it like a bindle and started toward them.

His going was slower than it should have been, he could barely breathe- lying on his stomach had done him no favours, and the pain was reaching up through his spine to the back of his neck, like somebeast was trying to choke him from behind. The ledge dropped another foot, and he fell, cracking his chin on his cargo.

"Leave it!" Zevka was screaming, along with a few choice obscenities and opinions regarding his intelligence. Risk couldn't see Gashrock anymore. He got back up and continued, trying to ignore what was happening behind him. He could hear trees snapping and rocks scraping against the cliff side. The entire ledge was giving way, like a plate balanced on the edge of the table. For a second or two he felt the ground rise instead of fall.

Something dark in the shifting snow caught his eye, and he shoved the rat-skin bindle at Zevka, who was holding her arms out to him.

"Cookie- Risk, what are you doing?"

Risk didn't have time to explain. He kicked at the snow, flailing at it with all four paws, snapping at it with his teeth, coughing blood at it all the while. Where, where- there! His paw closed around the rat's tail, and he gripped it with all his might, tugging the rest of the rodent out of the snow.

He turned back to the treeline, but it was gone. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see. There was nothing under his footpaws but air. But there was something in his left paw, something soft and smooth- silk! His claws dug in. His descent halted. His arms strained and he couldn't squeak out barely more than a whimper.

There was a final explosion of debris and ice below him, and then the mountain was quiet save for a distant booming echo across the valleys. He swung and spun lazily, facing a wall of sheer rock, then the charred, clouded skies, then rock again. He could have sworn there was a hole below him, but when he blinked his eyes, trying to free them of grit, it was gone.

"Cookie... Risk... let go of the rat." Zevka's voice floated down to him from above- a dark-muzzled angel, his savior. How embarrassing.

"Ain't... lettin' Gashy..."

"Cookie, ye bloody idjit, let go of the rat!" Risk squinted up. There were two shapes up there, but... no, were there? That one was just a tree, wasn't it? He squinted down, still blinking to clear his vision. One eye was mostly free. He had to chuckle at what he saw.

"See, Gashy... knew you were male!"

The silk began tearing and peeling away under his claws. He tried to wrap it around his wrist by pulling himself up twisting his arm. It didn't work. Gashrock was too heavy.

"I'm up here, ye beige buffoon!"

"Risk," said Zevka, "you're clinging onto a dead rat. It is not Gashrock!"

"You sure?"

"We're sure!" They both cried. Gashrock added, "and owt." Yes, that was definitely not her whose tail he was holding on to. He then recalled that there had been two rats. Somehow, the crows had missed the second.

"Ah."

Risk let go of the rat's tail. It vanished from his sight before it struck the wreckage below. He grabbed onto the silk and climbed up. Zevka and Gashrock grabbed each of his arms as he reached the top, wheezing from exertion. Now he could see the silk was wrapped around a tree further up the slope. He winced. That must have been where Gashrock had vanished to.

Zevka shoved a jar of candy at him, along with his rat-skin.

"That's wicked dumb luck, Risk. What in Hellgates were you thinking?"

He rolled his tongue around in his mouth. It felt like his teeth were loose. His whole chin felt numb from the impact on the jars earlier. Zevka repeated her question, and he blinked dozily, trying to fixate on her. His angel! His grimace momentarily morphed into a grin, just for her.

"Was thinkin' I'd rather it've been your tail, so I could give it the tuggin' it deserves!"

Zevka sighed and shook her head.

"Graaah... you are just impossible, Risk." She seemed unsure whether to scowl or smile. She settled for an alluring combination of the two, which cracked away into a simple frown as her eyes swept over their much diminished stockpile of loot. "We nearly lost everything, grabbing you. Gashrock has some of the food, that roll of silk... I've got these bloody spices- useless! All those stupid jars you risked your life for rolled away. Let's get away from here before this entire slope goes after them."

She slunk away to gather her things. Gashrock began to roll up the silk.

"Really did a number on this with your claws, Cookie."

"Sorry, Gash. Only tryin' to save your life."

"Yeah, I know. Just maybe next time make sure it's mine and that it is still a life."

"Aye." He hugged the jar of candy and smiled like a kit. Blood dribbled from between his front teeth. "Worth it, though."

Gashrock snorted, and then they broke out into fits of giggling. They had to laugh. Nobeast had died. That they knew of.

"Shame about the jewelry, though, innit."

"Aye..."

Gashrock stuck a paw into her robe and drew out an emerald and pearl necklace. "Aye, it hasn't got a box no more!"

Risk howled with further laughter, and they split the loot between them for better safe keeping. Zevka barked at them both to stop acting like clowns.

"But we are!"

"I ain't! I'm a prof-fesh-in-ill actor, me."

They took their time getting back, just to give their nerves a rest. Risk shared a few candies with them, then squirreled them away in his own pockets to save for later- the jar was kept, now empty. He only bothered to give one a few tentative licks, and found the taste of peppermint to be too much. He shoved a pawful of snow in his mouth and let it melt and trickle down his throat. Gashrock cut away the claw-shredded silk and Zevka helped Risk wrap around his stomach- he had torn his stitches.

"Sorry," he said, as he held his tunic up to display his stomach. "Ain't much to look at these days, gettin' a bit chubby from all the cheap grog. But if you're good, maybe tonight I can show you the rest. See how it matches up to your figurine, eh?"

"Maybe." Zevka flicked his nose and snorted. "If you're good."

"Please, please be bad," whispered Gashrock, shutting her eyes with a shiver.

The main ledge was mostly untouched by the calamity below, though some snow had shifted off the trees. Risk made sure to check the grave. It was still intact, though the marker had become lopsided. He pushed it in a little deeper, and they carried on.

The crows were still gone. They stopped to investigate the tunnel under the other cart. It, too, was gone.

"Either the second avalanche made it crumble..." said Zevka.

"...or whoever dug it decided they didn't need it no more," said Risk. "Well, I ain't diggin' at anythin' no more on this mountain. An' no one really liked Greenflick. Just bein' a survivor don't make him one of us, aye? One less mouth to feed. Think about it this way- more for Poko."

"More for Poko," echoed Zevka. "And Nyika."

"An' Nyika..."

He almost didn't want to return to the cave. It would mean having to face her again. Getting to see her again.

With that in mind, he was first to return.