The Chennault Error

[Noonahootin]

?The local patrol comes by every evening at seven o'clock,? Noonahootin's voice, normally loud and commanding, was hushed as he looked around the table. The dim light of the candles scattered about the inn's common room was barely bright enough to cast a reflection in the glass panes of the smokey windows, the shadows of beasts on the other side hurrying to get home before the cold evening became night. Marten, ferret, and wildcat were all looking at him with varying degrees of faith, Zevka in particular clutching hard at her left over soup spoon to stop her paws from fidgeting, her knuckles white beneath her fur.

?How did you find that out?? Zevka's brow furrowed deeply on her face, and Noonahootin noticed for the first time the stray grey hairs around her cheeks. Worry had been plaguing him, too, since they had arrived in Carrigul, and with the disappearance of his Yew Guard otters, it showed no signs of easing. They needed answers, and were so close yet still empty-pawed for all their efforts. Sending Nyika into the pike pond required immense planning and tactical precision. The wildcat showed no signs of anxiety as she sat with rare calmness, her gaze never faltering from the grey owl's.

?Hmph. I'm a scout, Miss Blackbriar. I observe. It's my job,? he answered, waving a wing dismissively. ?Now, at seven o'clock, Miss Nyika and I shall be on opposite ends of the square. We shall begin walking towards each other and, as she passes by, she will bump into me. I will cause a marvellous commotion. Miss Blackbriar will then loudly realize she is a hooded, scarred wildcat, just like the one word around town describes regarding the, ah, incident of a previous evening...?

When the seer winced painfully, the owl cleared his throat, quickly changing the focus. ?And then I shall call the Carrigul Guard over to arrest Miss Nyika.?

He said it so casually and with such nonchalance he could barely force the nervous smile onto his beak.  Awkwardly perched  on the back of the bar chair, the owl curled and uncurled his talons around the single piece of wood holding him up, his cracked toe aching without its splint. He'd already lost two of their number since they had entered the city, and he was risking a third to chance and uncertainty. Nyika was far too young to have been caught up in the espionage and nefarious tactics of war, and yet she stood with such a straight spine and her chin up that Noonahootin found courage in her confidence. She wanted this. Together, they were laying their bets.

?I wish we had more time,? Zevka's voice was so quiet in the busy dining room of the inn. Her face tilted down sadly and she bit her bottom lip, her frown still firmly in place. ?To plan, to come up with something different, something safer. I can't help but feel we're putting all our eggs in one basket. Pardon the expression.?

?The basket is the only promising place we have for answers, Miss Blackbriar,? Noonahootin pushed, ?It will be the most beneficial in the end. On top of being a stranger to the city, Miss Nyika has a talent, a strange and powerful gift. She can use it for our benefit, and it's our best card to play. With her, we stand a chance to find our friends, and a damn good chance at that.? Noonahootin gave the marten a very serious look, tapping a talon against the wooden chair. ?I will do whatever it takes to bring Guard-Miss Fern, and Reverend Istvan home. Mister Mayvery must be found, and I sincerely hope he is safe, Zevka. All of them.?

Three beasts raised a glass collectively, although Nyika tossed the contents of hers over her shoulder. When no strawberry-fizz was raised, the owl blinked heavy lids and looked to the empty chair at the table, a plate of half-eaten breaded bat wings and potato wedges abandoned before it. Swivelling his head about his neck to look throughout the entire room, he failed to spot the sprite and delicately asked, ?Where's Miss Poko? Did she run off??

Zevka shrugged and Nyika barely moved, obviously thinking about her ruined relations with the masked performer.

She probably got upset and buried her head in her pillow. Young girls, haha. Such thespians, just like my Wyoot used to be at that age.

He made a note to find a more comfortable perch and have a talk with the ferret, thinking perhaps an adult's voice would puncture deeper than Nyika's groaning explanation.

?One last round then before we head off to honour and duty, ladies?? Noonahootin offered. The marteness and molly smiled with sharp teeth as Noonahootin snapped his head around so fast it caused his chair to wobble unsteadily beneath him. Then, with a grand flourish of his wings, he hooted very loudly. The bartender, a skinny rat with a row of warts beneath his eyes, shrieked and dove beneath the counter top. Poor fellow had a crippling fear of birds, as it turned out.

As the raucous laughter at the bar-fellow?s expense reached its peak, Zevka caught her breath long enough to playfully smack Noonahootin's wing. ?That's rather cruel, Duke!?

The owl huffed in an affronted manner while staring hard at the bartender. ?HRMPH! I am ein Duke, I can do vhateffer I vant! If I like to play vith mein food before eating et, den I shall play vith mein food.? He ducked his head low and winked at his table mates. ?Besides, it makes you-HOO two laugh every time.?

The last round passed all too quickly. While Zevka intentionally took her time with her drink, striving for one last drop of cunning to leak from her spongy mind and save the wildcat from her elected fate, Noonahootin downed his gin in but a single swallow. He sighed in an immensely satisfied manner before slamming the glass down onto the table and clapped Nyika on the back.

?Right! We may not be the Dewhurst players, but at least we shall be punctual!?

?You've hidden some weapons in your clothing, Nyika?? Zevka asked, standing too quickly as the seer rose and knocking her chair back. ?And I do mean hidden, now.?

?My knife.?

?And you?? Zevka turned to Noonahootin, reaching out to straighten the brooch that held his cloak to him.

?I am as lethal as any blade,? the grey owl told her with a quiet confidence, his talons pointedly clacking on the stone floor. ?I do wish Poko hadn't retired so early. I'd like her to wish me luck!?

?I think it's best we leave her be for now,? Zevka said, giving Nyika a sidelong look.

The marten gestured for the bill, and threw a few coins down onto the table. When they rose, Zevka took Nyika's paws into her own and squeezed. ?Be safe,? she sternly told the cat. ?Get out as soon as you can. Remember, when you do find an escape, get to that apothecary shop. We'll check for you there daily.? 

?I know, Zevka.? Nyika spoke with a deep sense of purpose, and as she patted the marten's paws and then dropped her own to her side, she smiled. ?This is going to work.?

?No one will see us coming,? Noonahootin soothed the marten, smiling broadly and opening the heavy inn door for her with his talons.

The sun had faded beyond the horizon of the mountains two hours ago, the dark winter sky cold and infinite above them. Ignorant of time, the city did not sleep; pubs and social halls remained open, lanterns lighting up a happy invitation to those walking the streets while a fiddler pandered to passing pockets. Restaurants catered to their evening dinner guests and an evening prayer was taking place in the orbicular granite church attached to a great bell tower. Situated across the busy square, the tower stood as the tallest building in the city next to the great temple in the richer southern quarter.

?So many beasts,? Nyika breathed, her whiskers stiff and jaw slightly ajar.

?Indeed.?

Looking at the clock face that had been plated onto the bell tower's front, Noonahootin continued walking, pointedly ignoring first Zevka and then Nyika as they  intentionally veered off to walk by themselves. The wildcat busied herself pretending to inspect the posted menu at a restaurant as Noonahootin made his way across the square, while Zevka took up listening to the musician. He stopped only when he had reached the bottom of the bell tower, and stood quietly as he listened to the low, melodic hymns sung by the worshippers inside the church.

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The sound sent Noonahootin's heart pounding, and he instinctively raised his wings to fly to safety, but instinct also stayed his flight. His neck snapped up towards the origin of the terrifying noise; a gush of white, hot steam billowed powerfully from the centre of the clock face and, as it coursed out, the minute and hour hands slid to the side just enough to settle upon a new hour.

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More steam, and a very distinct clanking noise preceding an even more distinct cranking sound. The series of metallic scrapings repeated itself six more times before the bell finally gave its first toll. It was deep and rolling, and Noonahootin felt his very bones shake with the steady moans of the bell.

The bells stopped. Noonahootin waited, staring up at the bell tower until his attention was stolen by the first of a seven-strong guard that came into view. Barely on time, they moved quickly along a practised path in a well-rehearsed march.

When the time was right, Noonahootin began to pace across the square, carefully placing one foot in front of the other as posh noble birds often forced themselves to do for the sake of appearing graceful on the ground. He could see Nyika begin to move towards him, and the guards were getting closer. The sounds from the taverns were drowned out by the blood rushing past his ears, still ringing sharply from the bell. Zevka was approaching from the side, her paws in her pockets as she absently whistled the fiddler's last tune, her eyes stuck forward. Nyika's hood was up and he could barely see her face in the light from the oil-lit lamps that dotted the square. The fiddler snapped a string, and the guards were almost in place when Nyika suddenly tripped and stumbled right into Noonahootin. The owl huffed, loudly, and thoroughly brushed himself off, his face twisted in disgust.

?How dare you!? he hooted indignantly, and Nyika bowed in apology, pulling her hood low over her downcast eyes. Zevka, passing by as innocently as possible, pretended to stoop low to see Nyika's suddenly very interesting face, and rose up again quickly.

?GUA-oh, never mind.? Zevka smiled as brightly as she could, her paws still in her new second-paw jacket's warm pockets.

The guards were already there, surrounding the owl, marten, and wildcat. Their paws were on their swords and spears, and they were all looking at Noonahootin. The square had gone silent, the tavern doors suddenly closing and the fiddler long gone.

?Duke Sigurd von Metzger.? A weasel dressed in tailored clothes shuffled forth from behind the guards and bowed shallowly, his eyes fixated on Noonahootin's talons. The jack was thin but tall, with the all-too familiar priestly tattoos painted in red across his face so that the markings were almost lost against the rusty shade of his fur. ?I am Rikkareed, Stewart of the High Priestess and Voice of the All-Mother in Carrigul, Tikora. Her most revered holiness cordially extends her paw to you in hospitality and peace, and wishes to host you tonight for dinner. Please allow us to escort you to the Palace of the All-Mother.?

Noonahootin blinked, barely remembering his accent. ?Vhat??

The weasel's face remained completely neutral. ?Your Grace, my lady High Priestess Tikora is very insistent on meeting foreign nobility. She believes in widespread friendship between nations throughout the land. Please, allow us to escort you to the Palace of the All-Mother.

Noonahootin squinted very thinly at the weasel. No doubt the inn keepers they had visited while they bunked in the city had noticed a large owl staying under a low roof, heard his accent, taken note of his false back story. It still was surprising for the grey owl to be then recognized as his false identity. He had not thought that anyone important in Carrigul would be impressed by a Duke from a far-away land; Carrigul had always acted in a very seclusive manner.

Yet here was a way to keep Nyika safe and still delve into the dark secrets of the city. He could use this unexpected boon to become a second spy and still keep an eye on the seer. If it all went south, he could at least give the ladies a fighting chance. The bird and beast stared each other down for a solid minute before the owl reared up and flourished his cloak.

?Very vell.? The owl grandiosely gestured to Nyika then, startling the wildcat who had remained positively frozen beside him, confused and waiting for the older beast to take the lead. ?But mein cultural adviser und translator must accompany me.? A beat. Noonahootin quickly pointed a talon at Zevka in her modest, well-worn clothes, the gesture a distinct afterthought. ?Und my valet.?

Rikkareed looked sharply at Nyika, raising a brow as though unimpressed. ?Cultural adviser??

?Yes,? Nyika said, finding her voice and stepping forward with easy confidence. She casually lowered her hood and Noonahootin watched with satisfaction as the cravat-wearing jack cringed before doing a double-take. ?Cultural adviser and naturally His Grace's religious councillor.?

?Forgive me, Priestess. I did not see you were a missionary.? Rikkareed's stiff posture relaxed a little bit, and he offered Nyika his arm respectfully. ?Of course. Please, allow me to escort you to the Palace of the All-Mother.?

When Nyika took his wing and openly snubbed Rikkareed with her nose in the air, Noonahootin couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and tilted his beak skyward as he strutted after the scowling weasel.

As the guards led Noonahootin and the ladies down the streets, there was a distinct change in the way the city looked as they got closer to the palace. The frozen dirt roads suddenly changed to cobblestones. The shabby buildings with crumbling mortar and missing windows became stone or brightly painted homes and businesses. The streets even began to smell better as the parishes became noticeably wealthier, for the sewers were all capped instead of left open.

When the palace stood before them, the three spies marvelled at its impressive visage. The palace had been constructed out of the same dark grey, rosy-spotted granite that the church in the social district had been, but unlike the inner-city hall the Palace of the All-Mother was protected behind cast-iron fences that rose above Noonahootin and stretched around the great fields and gardens, barren from the winter. Stone encased ponds with white marble statues of leaping fish decorated the winter-ravaged gardens, their spouts stopped for the cold season. Statues in black ebony and glittering bronze dotted the terraces that had been cut into the large, blue mountain the palace had been backed into, and angry gargoyles of sneering demon skulls and screeching birds jutted from the parapets that flanked the sloping gables.

Zevka whistled. ?Impressive.?

?Indeed,? Noonahootin agreed. Beside him, Nyika nodded once and gripped harder onto Noonahootin's wing. He hooted softly in reassurance, pulling her gently forward as Rikkareed opened the main gate and ushered them into the grounds.

It took them a good ten minutes to walk to the front doors, great wooden behemoths with a raised iron gate perching above them, ready to slam down at a moment's notice.

?I apologize you simply could not fly here, Your Grace,? Rikkareed mentioned as the guards heaved the doors open. ?The kingdom of Carrigul is comprised of mostly ground-walking beasts. Propriety. I'm sure you understand.?

?I thought it vas just ein city,? Noonahootin sharply replied, impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to the other as though unimpressed with the weasel's excuse.

?Would Your Grace like to wash up before dinner?? Rikkareed bit out through clenched teeth.

?Nein,? Noonahootin answered with a bored tone as he pushed by the weasel into the entrance hall, but then quickly snapped, ?But mein priestess does not eat unless she has cleansed herself. Bring her to pure water so that she may observe zee ritual. Take my valet vit you, mein priestess.? 

Nyika let her paw trail down Noonahootin's wing slowly as he let her go, and her fingertips lingered longer than what would have been considered appropriate. The beguiling touch left the grey owl with a pleasant shiver down the length of his spine. Nyika had become her role with the ease of a well accomplished player. She was no longer an ingenue from a small tribe of gypsy foxes, but a proud priestess to a powerful Duke.

Zevka coughed without covering her mouth, grinning toothily as she leaned close to Rikkareed and told him, ?She's very traditional. Likes to pray by herself.?

Rikkareed backed away from the 'valet', his lips pursed in displeasure as he gestured for a waiting servant. ?Bring the priestess to the guest quarters, have a bath prepared.? He began to whisper, and Noonahootin strained with his hunter's ears to hear the weasel. ?Be quick, though. Tikora hates waiting.? Rikkareed then turned back to Noonahootin, shooing the servant away.

?This way, please, Your Grace.?

Noonahootin stayed still, however, watching as Nyika and Zevka were led down a hallway with an arched ceiling and tall glass windows.

Good luck, ladies.

?Your Grace??

?I am here, ja,? Noonahootin barked, turning sharply and following after the tattooed weasel, who was eyeing the owl's talons again.

?My lady Tikora has not told me which kingdom you are from, nor of your duchy, Your Grace.? Spoken like a question, the weasel's words came out haughty and contemptuous. Noonahootin glared heatedly at the arrogant jack, losing himself in his character for a moment. So Rikkareed thought he was some important city boy, better than a country lord?

?I am Duke of Kinnick, the second largest duchy of The Kingdom of the Northern Skies,? Noonahootin said while sneering disdainfully at the tattooed weasel, knowing full well that any majordomo, steward, or equerry worth their salt would know of the great bird kingdom in the land of mountains and dark forests. The reaction was as expected; Rikkareed's eyes went wide for but a split second before his back became ever straighter until Noonahootin thought the weasel might snap himself in half.

?A lovely place, I'm sure.?

?Indeed.?

The palace was full of scurrying servants and paunch-bellied priests. The priests each bore coloured tattoos of similar, dribbling patterns and while some were hurriedly attempting to leave for the night, a small number conversed quietly in eel leather chairs by roaring fires. They glanced up at the owl, leaning to each other and speaking in curious, hushed tones.

Rikkareed lead Noonahootin up a curved, grand staircase adorned with red carpet, the balusters decorated and carved to look like the figures of dancing mustelids. As they passed through yet another arching hallway, its chandeliers aglow with tall, coloured candlesticks, Noonahootin's gaze was drawn to the dozens of paintings hung upon every inch of wall space. The place was almost gaudy, crammed with so much art, ebony and golden baubles that the beauty of the architecture was almost lost.

?Vhere does ze wealth uv Carrigul come from? Not all trade, I assume. Too secluded.?

?The kingdom of Carrigul maintains open lines of diplomacy and trade with outside kingdoms. Our wise councillors have always welcomed and invited outsiders and local citizens to start and operate their businesses within the safety of our walls,? Rikkareed announced, his words spoken without any expression.

Said that line a few too many ties, eh, old boy? Noonahootin thought, eyeing the weasel with a scrutinizing glare.

Another turn, another hallway, and another set of doors stood before Noonahootin. Rikkareed gestured to the guards standing at attention by the doorway, who in turn moved to allow the servants to push the doors open. Peeking beyond the threshold, Noonahootin had to suppress a gasp. The mural-covered ceilings were incredibly high, thick bauxite columns holding them up. The All-Mother was depicted as a generic mustelid type of beast, her eyes closed as the blood of her numerous earthly children rushed towards her from their outstretched clawtips. Hundreds of different patterned carpets were spread across the floor to make the room seem cozier, while banners, tapestries and paintings covered the walls, all lit up by heavy cast iron chandeliers. Black glass coiled and snaked throughout the entire room, decorating even the baseboards and all in same wavy patterns the priests bore their ink.

Rikkareed cleared his throat before his voice punctured the quiet din of the dining hall with surprising power. ?His Grace the Duke of Kinnick, Sigurd von Metzger of the Kingdom of the Northern Skies.?

There was only a pawful of guests in attendance, each one standing at the end of the long oak table that ran a generous portion of the room. Most of them were servants, all bowing respectfully as Noonahootin walked by. It was not the room's beauty that captivated the false royalty, however, but rather the presence of four other owls. Two of them were young little things, barely out of their chick down and probably only a season or two old, hopping about excitedly and giving their slender, soft-eyed mother a spot of trouble as she tried to settle them down. Her head kept turning around on her neck as she addressed a round-faced grey male, who laughed as one of the children slipped through his mate's manicured talons to hide in her rose coloured shawl. At Rikkareed's announcement, the male owl turned to look at the newest guest, and his familiar amber eyes met with Noonahootin's own identical stare.

?Oh my,? Noonahootin wheezed.

?Indeed,? the long eared owl across the room murmured, cocking a brow.

?I assume you are familiar with Lord Cleite of the Court of the Seven Winds, your grace,? Rikkareed said as he brought Noonahootin to a chair by the head of the table. His steady, expressionless voice was eerily reminiscent of Istvan, and his logical observation brought no reassurance. ?Your sovereign's court having such close ties to Lord Cleite's.?

?Ja,? Noonahootin choked out, his mind racing as he held eye contact with his son.

?Indeed!? Cleite casually interjected, nodding his head respectfully to the 'Duke' who returned the gesture. ?My sister, Queen Wyoot, married King Deiter of the Kingdom of the Northern Skies. Duke Mertzgar-?

?Metzger, darling,? the female owl corrected her mate, smiling politely at Noonahootin and gently folding her son's wings with her talons at the same time. ?Now, now, sweet pea, we don't do that indoors. Because it's rude, sweet pea, and it makes the ground walkers nervous.?

?Yes, that's what I said, dear,? Cleite said, swallowing and giving his father an apologetic look. ?Duke Metzger was at the wedding. As I recall, he buffeted the king's father in the beak when he called for a bedding ceremony at the reception.?

?Dreadful ground valker tradition, hmph,? Noonahootin barked defensively, scowling indignantly and very hastily turning to Cleite's mate.

?Mein Lady Breda,? he addressed her, bowing low and spreading his wings over the ground before him in a very traditional fashion. Breda peered at the old owl and paused, her smile wavering for a moment before falling slowly, her face becoming unreadable. 

?Your Grace,? Breda finally said, her voice sweet but noticeably reluctant. She had recognized her father-in-law, not by appearance but rather from the peculiar bridal tale, and her searching gaze kept looking for something in Noonahotin's face to prove her wrong. ?So good to see you after so long,? she said slowly.

?Vhat are you doing here en Carrigul?? Noonahootin asked, flourishing his cloak as he glanced at Rikkareed, his brows knitted as though the expended motion was some sort of chore.

?We were invited, by the council that runs the city,? Cleite explained. ?The Court of the Seven Winds wished the learn more about the culture in Carrigul.?

?So zey sent their master scholar,? Noonahootin concluded, nodding. He wished he could be proud of his son at that moment, to beam at the accomplishments of his youngest child, yet Carrigul was no place for his son. ?Und you brought ze whole family?? the old owl asked.

?Life experience for the little ones,? Cleite answered happily, catching on to his father's worry.

Rikkareed coughed politely into his paw and waited expectantly as the owls all turned to look at him. The weasel gestured to the fox sitting a few chairs down on the opposite side of the table. He was making a peculiar face, his eyes crossed as his tongue delicately touched the tip of his nose. The young owls were hooting in glee at his silly expression, and the fox suddenly chuckled and stood up, waving his paws jovially in the air.

?I'm sorry, they're just so sweet at that age! Allow me to introduce myself,? the red tod smiled, his pointed teeth just poking over his black lips. ?Mister Beechton Valash, business beast, at your service.? His eyes, velvety brown and twinkling brightly, glanced very briefly at Noonahootin's cracked talon. ?Forgive me if I don't shake paws. I'd like to keep mine attached to my wrists!? Beechton threw his head back and gave a hearty chuckle, Noonahootin forcing a few grunts of mirth out of his tightening throat.

?Ein pleasure,? Noonahootin muttered, memorizing the fox's long face and frame. He could not decide if it had been a good idea to send Zevka with Nyika or not; surely she would have wanted a word with her wayward employer, and yet the owl did not know if he could trust Zevka to not lose her temper and spoil their ruse. The presence of his family created a very precarious situation for him; their safety was now compromised alongside his own.

?Mister Valash and I were discussing economics in the north,? Cleite said lightly, rescuing his glass at the last second from a shattering fate as his daughter scooted by. ?Or rather, I was. Mister Valash, on the other paw, is positively fascinated by the financial policies in my sister's kingdom.?

?Heh, well, as well-travelled as I consider myself to be, the world is such a big ol' place,? Valash cheerfully explained, his claws absently fiddling with the silver buttons on his coat sleeve.

A small bell rang and Rikkareed excused himself, bidding the birds and fox a good evening and making to leave.

?When shall our host arrive? I hate starting dinner before everyone's here,? Cleite observed, looking around as though expecting the missing beast to appear right then and there.

?My lady Tikora shall arrive shortly. She is attending to some unavoidable business at the moment. Please, enjoy my lady's hospitality in the meantime. The cheese and smoked salmon appetizers are a local speciality. The brandy is from a very esteemed family estate to the south. Hopfit's winery has been distilling the same recipe for generations. I will have the servers refresh your drinks.? With a snap of his claws, Rikkareed sent a servant over to pour Noonahootin a glass of brandy from the crystal  decanter sitting on the table before the weasel excused himself again and departed beyond the dining room doors.

?You'll have to tell me all about this one, Duke,? Cleite mused quietly to his father, balancing his own glass between two finely curved talons.

?Later, darling. Thank-you,? Breda said in a cautionary manner, perching on the arms of the high-backed chair Noonahotin politely pulled out for her before nesting down in his own seat. Across the table, Beechon Valash resumed a seat in his own chair.

?There's two more with me. A marten and a cat. I'll tell you every detail the moment I can,? Noonahootin whispered as he raised his glass to his beak and took a healthy gulp. ?For now,? he broke their focus, his booming voice returning to him as he cast the two smaller owls an immensely proud look. ?Vhat are these little ones, hm, vhat are their names??

The lad is Belenus, I remember from the letters but...oh, confounded old memory, what's the lassie called?!

As the boy peeked out from beneath his mother's shawl with enormously wide eyes, his wee sister eagerly clambered onto the table headless of her mother's protests. Noonahootin, pretending to be most affronted by the child's behaviour, peered at her in mock anger.

?Vhell? Who-HOO are you, mein little chick??

?My name is Aislin,? the young owl proclaimed, hopping right up to her grandfather and sticking her face close to his. ?It means 'dream'!? She was so proud of herself that she beamed too hard and fell over, not used to thrusting her chest out and chin up quite so much.

?Oh, my,? Noonahootin cooed softly and chuckled as he helped her up. ?You haff no idea.?