Raise The Curtain For Act III!

[Eliza Lacrimosa]

A feast? These grotesque savages actually believe that this is a feast?

The dish Eliza was currently staring at would have made the culinary artisans back home cry bitterly into their marinades. It was the most revolting thing she had ever seen.

?Hantz!? The beastly little savages had proclaimed, slapping down an ugly, misshapen hunk of twisted scales. It almost looked as though it had been a fish at some point. One which had died quite horribly, if the horrid leer across its charcoal visage was any guide.

Eliza grimaced. She wouldn?t have fed this garbage even to servants.

It wasn?t as if she had anything against fish particularly. Trout had always occupied a special place in her heart. Yes, trout, which was presented lying in luscious repose across a silky bed of greens. Long fillets of pale, flaky meat, served floured and buttered and sprinkled with garlic and rosemary...

But this was definitely not trout.  This was... hantz.

Hantz came with the head and fins still on, exuding a sharp bouquet of brine. When she eventually worked up the nerve to crack the charred shell open, the meat was stringy and full of fibre-thin bones. One milky eyeball stared reproachfully at her.

There was no sight of greens, either. Down here, they?re probably ?browns,? anyway, Eliza thought, electing to give the fish a pass.

Eliza elected to give the fish a pass. Trying to distance herself from the smell, she watched the strange chattering beasts swarming alongside the rough stone table. Their movements reminded her of insects.

The primitive creatures seemed to have a very bizarre caste system in place. The blind ones were treated with greater respect; they sat comfortably while the relatively ?normal,? seeing creatures bustled about serving the meal.

It made sense, she supposed. Blind beasts would probably spill things.

One of the feral underlings skittered over, clutching a hollowed-out coconut husk bowl. ?Brkich!? it announced, proudly shoving the dish into her paws.

A foul-smelling steam wafted up from the filmy brown liquid. Soup of some kind, perhaps? Eliza tilted the bowl, and bloated chunks of something ghastly-looking bobbed to the surface. One of them looked disconcertingly like a clawnail clipping.

Perhaps not. Her pallor rapidly draining, Eliza pushed the bowl aside. The feral chattered something at her, the penultimate lilt in tone indicating that she?d probably been asked a question.

Eliza attempted to dismiss the cretin with a regal sniff. She was hardly in the mood to talk to savages.

The clueless feral insistently repeated the string of blather, gesturing at the wretched hantz.

?He would like to know if thee are enjoying thy fish,? said a grandfatherly voice behind her.

?No, actually.? Eliza said. Since I'd rather be hung than taste that rubbish.

Headspikes rustled as the hog nodded. ?That is unfortunate. Perhaps thee would prefer some of the brkich stew??

?Oh, perhaps,? she lied. Her oh-aren?t-you-a-sweet-little-simpleton smile faltered when the hog?s head turned slightly, exposing a hollow eye socket.

One of the brkich servers peered curiously at Eliza, cocking its head to one side. ?Vik?hrr Chivkis,? it nattered to the hedgehong, ?im vikvi iv yi??

The one-eyed hog issued a stream of clicks and churrs. ?Ihn vikvi. Iv... chafa pyr vik??

?Iv... chaf-vik??

The codger chuckled, nodding. ?Chafvik.? This set the nearby ferals chittering with high-pitched laughter.

?What did you say to them?? Eliza asked, non-plussed.

?Fritterik speak a language which only has words for things they know. They have never seen a beast like thee, so they ask, ?What stoat is this?? But, I told him, thee are not a stoat.?

Thank the merciful Fates, Eliza thought, glancing in Revel?s direction. 

?So,? the hog continued, ?I told him that thee were a Chafvik, which means a ?stoat fox.? The Fritterik think it is funny.?

Eliza?s sarcastic response was interrupted by the eyeless mouse on her other side. ?Ey, Vik?hrr Chivis, you say dis un are Chafvik??

?Mm,? affirmed the hedgehog.

The blind mouse?s laugh was thick and guttural. ?Hyakkak! Never see?d a one like dat. Mik takea look.?

Eliza snorted derisively, and turned away. Stupid eyeless twit, believing that he could actually look at-

Interrupting the thought, spidery claws latched onto her head, pulling her backwards. The mouse?s filthy chest fur pressed against her ear, and claw-tips crawled all over her face, tracing the paths of her hideous scars. She struggled, trying to get free.

Her claws scrabbled ineffectually, and then sank into the mouse?s flesh, forcing his grip to ease momentarily. 

?How dare you!? Eliza shrieked, wrenching herself free. She punctuated this exclamation with a kick. 

The blind oaf started, surprised. Without thinking, Eliza snatched the husk bowl, and tossed the contents into his face. With a reedy shriek, the mouse recoiled, rubbing at his eye sockets.

?You stupid, primitive savage!? she spat, bouncing the empty bowl off his chest. ?If you ever touch me again, I?ll kill you!?

The stupid hedgehog attempted to butt in, laying a conciliatory paw on her shoulder. ?Please, Miss, calm thyself. Chivkis Mik was merely trying to-?

?Don?t touch me!? Eliza shrieked, smacking his paw away. ?How dare you disrespect me in such a manner??

The hog spluttered wordlessly, his eye wide with surprise.

A ways down the table, the ferret Verand began to laugh. It was the nastiest, most cutting sound Eliza had ever heard.

Burning tears began to well up, and for a brief moment, Eliza didn?t care. She hated him! She hated all of them! These stupid, wretched insects were trying to drag her down to their level, make her like them. But she wasn?t like them! She was nothing like these brainless savages, or the brigands! Even with the scars, even with her dress all torn to rags, she was twice the beast that any of them would ever be. She didn?t belong in this miserable cave!

Eliza turned and stamped away, ignoring the hedgehog?s protest. The Fritterik shrank back, giving the pine marten a wide berth.

She stormed angrily down the first tunnel she came across. Eliza couldn?t see a thing in the darkness, but she pressed on anyway, trying to put as much distance between herself and the nightmarish wretches as possible.

The floor dipped unexpectedly and she tripped, sprawling into the gloom. Eliza lay still for a while, too tired to move. Her heart was clamoring in her ears.

Breathe in, breathe out, she told herself. Breathe in, breathe out. Calm down. With every frantic beat, let the tide of rage slowly ebb away.

She lay in the darkness for a while. It was curiously peaceful, here in the cool blackness. There were no savages here, nor any brigands, corsairs, or woodlanders. No Revels or Slug-guards or Verands. Just her.

Her ear pricked up at the faint sound of pawsteps. Probably that bumbling hedgehog, come to fetch me so I can apologize.

Tough tailfur. She wasn?t apologizing for anything.

Eliza sat up, squinting back along the tunnel. A long ways back, she could see the mouth of the cavern as a faintly glowing corona. As she watched, part of the glow detached itself. The pool of light bobbed closer, casting faint shadows along the walls. Eventually it resolved itself into a gold-tinged silhouette.

It was that stoat Captain, the twerpy incompetent one. Venril, or Vennil, or something.

Eliza had always had a fondness for males in uniform. Even a simple military outfit somehow possessed that magical quality to straighten a male?s back and inflate his muscles. Venril, however, seemed to have been issued a defective model. The poor stoat wallowed in the depths of his tunic like a disheveled scarecrow.

?Miss Lacrimosa? Are you all right??

Go away, you pathetic worm, said the voice in her head. ?Yes,? said the voice in her mouth, miserably.

She was not all right. She hadn?t been all right since the collapse.

Probably-Venril blinked awkwardly in the torchlight. ?Er... is there anything I can do to help??

?Unless you can kill your first mate, dig us out of this rockslide, and take me home, I seriously doubt it, Captain.?

There was an awkward silence. ?I?m... sorry for what happened to you, Miss Lacrimosa. Verand?s actions were completely inappropriate, and I promise that I will ensure that the Baron has him thoroughly disciplined.?

Eliza stiffened, paws clenched tightly. That?s your way of helping, poindexter? You?ll have Verand?s paw slapped by some stuffed-shirt Baron? This is all your bloody fault! If you had had even the slightest measure of control over your horde, I wouldn?t be here.

His sentiments carried less weight than a broken feather, and Eliza almost told him so.

However, despite the scarring, the imprisonment, and the abysmal circumstances she?d been forced into, Eliza Lacrimosa remained, at her core, a socialite. That core, honed on the jagged edges of sharp tongues and broken promises, recognized what a golden opportunity she had here.

Venril was a Captain. An ineffectual and neutered one, mind you, but nonetheless a Captain. Captains could make a lot of things happen.

Ingratiating oneself, she had found, was like dancing to an improvised solo. Watch the players, find their flow, time your steps accordingly. Once you?ve hit your rhythm, never stop moving.

Eliza slipped on her mental dancing shoes, smiling gratefully at the stoat. ?You have no idea what that means to me, Captain.?

?Er... you?re welcome,? said Venril absently. The stoat began rummaging about in his pack. ?I?ve got some dried fruit stored away in here. It?s not much, but if you can?t stomach that disgusting brkich stuff, it?s something at least.?

She gratefully accepted the fruit. The chunks were hard and yellow, and had sand crusted on them. Back home, she would have slapped them away and demanded proper sustenance. 

But this wasn?t home. Home was somewhere on the other side of a yawning chasm of circumstances, and fruit was worlds better than brkich. She slipped a piece into her mouth. The fruit was rock hard and tasted like dirt, so she swallowed it quickly.   

?Is it good??

?Compared to that beastly fish, it?s divine,? she said with a wink.

The stoat reddened slightly, and began fiddling with his tunic. ?Er... we should probably start heading back to the cavern. For safety.?

?Of course,? Eliza agreed, taking his paw. ?Thank you, Captain. For everything.?

?Think nothing of it, miss,? Venril gulped. As they began picking their way along the tunnel, Eliza snuck a sidelong glance at her newfound minion. Such a weak little fellow. She almost felt sorry for him. He was cute, in an amusingly pathetic sort of way.