*****

Chapter Ten

*****

Argos sipped his drink at the completion of their toast. The coyote gave a happy little groan. A hint of sugary sweetness and tart cherry juice balanced out the stronger oak and vanilla notes of the base whiskey. “Damn, that’s good.” He took another sit, and set the glass down. “How about you, Spots? How’s your beer?”

Rivi tasted his beer, and gave a happy mewing noise. “Quite good, thank you!” The cheetah took a longer drink, and then wiped his muzzle with his napkin. “I do enjoy a nice, refreshing lager.” He glanced around. “I do hope my comments about hares and rabbits didn’t put anyone off their meals.”

“Didn’t bother me none,” Argos said. “You ain’t wrong, after all. They do bare a resemblance.” He gestured with his glass. “But eating a food animal, with a faint resemblance to a people, don’t equate to eatin’ said people.” The coyote took another sip. “Now, whether the rabbits themselves feel ill at ease around someone partaking of a hare dinner, that I can’t say. I imagine it depends on the individual rabbit.”

“Most likely.” Rivi traced a finger along the handle of his glass mug. “It’s just one of those weird things I think about. If they ever feel as though we’re feasting on their kin, or something.”

Argos shook his head. “They ain’t no more kin to hares, than Iosa and I are kin to those hounds, the humans train. I wouldn’t think it would bother them none, but then again…” He sipped his drink, and set his glass down. “I ain’t no rabbit, so I can’t say as to speak for ‘em, either. I can tell you, if I saw a human eatin’ one of their hounds, I wouldn’t feel no kinship with the animal, just cause our heads and muzzles may vaguely look alike.” Argos held up a finger. “I would, however, have all sorta ugly feelings about someone eating their pet, but that’s a different topic of discussion entirely.”

Iosa leaned towards the feline. “Argos has strong feelings about taking care of strays. Which might explain you.”

“Hilarious, Iosa.” The coyote leaned back, folding his arms. “Hilarious.”

Rivi smiled, then picked up his mug. “I posit it might be different, though.”

Argos canted his head, watching the feline. “Different how, exactly?”

Rivi took another drink before setting the mug back down. “You’re making the comparison to hounds humans train, right? While I’m comparing rabbits, to hares.” He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “The difference is, hounds are hunters, correct?”

Argos nodded. “Correct.”

“Your people are also hunters, as are Iosa’s.” Rivi waved at the gray fox. “Historically, of course. The rabbits, meanwhile, were gatherers, farmers. They foraged and grew their own food, whilst your two peoples hunted all their food.” Rivi put a hand to his chest. “As did mine. Again, historically speaking. But the rabbits were not, and have never been, hunters.” Rivi made a face his muzzle twisting up. “On the contrary, they were hunted.”

The coyote grimaced. “Yeah, I see where you’re going with this, Spots.”

“I would simply theorize that due to the terrible way their people were treated, during the Age of Barbarism, that even now rabbits might view a coyote, feasting upon a hare, in a vastly differently light than the coyote himself does.” Rivi smiled, looking between the two of them. “That’s all.” The cheetah’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry, I hope that doesn’t come across as insulting. Or offensive. Or-”

“It don’t, Spots.” Argos held a hand up, afraid the cheetah would dig himself into fresh hole of self-doubt, if he didn’t step in. “It’s a well-reasoned theory, actually. Kinda makes me wish I’d ordered something else.” Argos pivoted in his chair, glancing around for anyone nearby who might take offense to his dinner order. “Looks like I’m in the clear, at least.”

Rivi giggled to himself. “I didn’t mean to put you off your food. These are just the strange thoughts that wander through my head, sometimes. When I see hare served, sometimes I cannot help but wonder. After all, they’re one of the few food animals that bares a striking resemblance to a people who were once themselves…” He trailed off, his ears drooping. “Well, you know.”

“Food.” Iosa cooly sipped her cocktail. “You can say it, Rivi. All three of our peoples’ once saw the rabbits and their ilk as food. None of us are proud of it, but no one in their right mind is.” She flicked an ear back. “What was it you called that time period?”

“The Age of Barbarism.” Rivi flourished a spotted hand. “There are several known such eras in my people’s history, but the Age of Barbarism is what we call the worst such period in our history.” He flattened his ears. “Pre-history, really. When our continent was ruled by tribes of hunters, at war with one another. Fighting other felines, hunting down the…” He trailed off, disgust watching across his face. “I don’t even want to use that word.”

“It’s alright, Spots.” Argos reached over to pat the cat’s shoulder. “We all know what predators hunt.”

“Yes.” Rivi gave Argos a thankful smile, but revulsion edged his voice. “I hate it when people still use that word to describe them. It tells me an awful lot about who those people are, deep inside.” The cheetah made an odd noise, a frustrated, growling sort of mewl. “Anyway, we call most of that period now, the Age of Barbarism.” He looked between the other two. “You don’t call it that?”

“We don’t dress it up quite the same.” Argos picked up his drink, staring into it. The blue-white electric light above him glittered off the ice cube. The cherry juice stained it ever so slightly red. “Maybe history professors and the like call it something like that. Most of us just call it what it was. The Times of Blood and Fear.”

Rivi swallowed, his ears drooping. “Certainly more poetic than our name for it.”

Argos took a drink, then set his glass back down. “Unfortunately, more accurate, too. When our people did terrible, unspeakable things to theirs, until they learned to do terrible, unspeakable things in return.”

“Yes, I suppose they did.” Rivi drank some lager, then wiped his muzzle with the back of a hand. “Well, I’ve certainly put a damper on our evening. My apologies.”

Argos gave a little, and shook his head. “Spots, you gotta stop apologizing for every little thing you do. You ain’t put no damper on nothing. We’re just having a talk. History is just that, history. It’s behind us. You ain’t ruining the mood just by reminding us that the world was a shitty place back then.”

“The coyote’s right.” Iosa swirled her drink. “Besides, if you ask me, history is but a series of lessons to learn from. We can only hope that the right lessons were learned. Case in point…” She gestured between Argos and herself. “Our people learned that rabbits are not to be fucked with.”

Rivi giggled a little bit, smiling. “Yes, it’s my understanding, and please correct me if I’m wrong…” He adjusted his spectacles. “But on your continent, what you called the Times of Blood and Fear gradually came to an end only because your victims rose up against you.” He quickly held up his hands. “Historically speaking.”

“You don’t gotta add that every time, Rivi.” Argos crooked his arm over the back of his chair. “But you’re right. Turned out that just cause you don’t hunt down your food, don’t mean you can’t learn to hunt down your enemies. Pacifism, as an ideal, don’t last long when someone’s trying to eat your family. Those rabbits and the like started arming themselves, and coming after us.”

Iosa rubbed her hand against the table. “A few unlucky generations on both sides really only ever knew blood, and fear. Hence the name. Wasn’t ever really any one, big war or anything. No great armies amassed. Just countless tribes and villages, all trying to use violence, to end violence. Till eventually, the survivors started realizing it wasn’t working.”

“And thus began…” Rivi waved his hand in the air, as if illustrating a grand banner. He deepened his voice, returning to his radio announcer tone. “The Age of Reconciliation.” The cheetah dropped his hand back down. “I’m sorry, I’ve jumped ahead.”

Iosa chuckled, taking a drink. “Think nothing of it. That’s what your people call it, I assume?”

“Correct!” Rivi sipped his beer. “That’s the first major historical era to follow the Age of Barbarism. The Age of Reconciliation, when morality finally blossomed across the young world, and it’s dark-hearted peoples.”

Argos curled his lip, his ears back. “Wasn’t morality, Spots. It was survival. It was the realization that you either learn to see your enemy as your friend, or you kill each other to protect your children. And then the burden’s on them. Die as enemies, or live as friends. People started making that choice, so their children didn’t have to. Survival, not morality.”

“I posit,” Rivi said, waggling his finger. “That it was morality. You chose to see your ancestral enemies, a people you had only ever known as your…” He scrunched his face. “And I’m using this word only in the historical sense. Your prey…” His muzzle twisted further. “And you chose to see them as your friend. Not for yourself, but for your children. That is, and of itself, a kind of morality.”

“And I posit,” Iosa said, punctuating her words by gesturing with her glass. “That it was both. We didn’t want to keep wiping each other, but that required negotiations. Truces. And truces…” She shook her glass. “Required communication. And the more you communicate with your enemy, the more you start to see them as people. Not predators, or prey, or enemies. And then you don’t want to kill them anymore.”

Rivi’s eyes lit up, his ears up. “Yes, exactly! That’s the sort of critical thinking and argumentative analysis we scholars engage in. As I said, we call that era the Age of Reconciliation. It’s the time period in which we felines not only stopped fighting amongst ourselves, but also stopped hunting the other peoples. When morality took hold, and we realized what a grievous sin it is, to consume another thinking person. As that realization grew and spread across our scattered tribes, we began to turn from hunting peoples like the antelope, to trading with them, to forging alliances, and so on. Reconciliation.”

Argos crossed his arms, wondering just how accurately Rivi’s people had taught him their own bloody histories. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the Church had dressed everything up in fancy flowers and ribbons, and convinced him they’d brought religious enlightenment and happiness to all the heathens. Argos also wouldn’t put it past them to conceal the bloodier side of the current regime’s suppressive tactics. But he knew that topic really would put a damper on the mood. Poor Rivi had been through enough today without being questioned about the sort of things his own people probably kept him blindfolded too.

“Wasn’t quite like that for us, I don’t think.” Argos took another drink. “Pretty gradual changes, but we got there in the end. Fast forward a bit, though, and those rabbits made for incredible warriors. Back before powder, in the days of swords and spears, rabbit warriors were among the best you’d ever see. Quick, agile, and with enough natural balance for a blade in each hand.” He sighed, tilting his head back. “Musta been glorious to fight alongside one. Or just fight one.”

Iosa waved her free hand. “Yes, yes, we’re all well aware you’ve got a thing for Linha.” She glanced at Rivi, grinning. “Linha’s a rabbit we work with sometimes. Fancies blades, over guns.”

“I see,” Rivi said. “What exciting lives you must live.” He took a drink, staring into his beer. “I haven’t ever really known many rabbits in person. Come to think of it, until I left on my pilgrimage, I hadn’t really known anyone but felines. I’d met other peoples, of course, but only ever briefly.”

“If I may, Spots?” Argos gave Rivi a long look, choosing his words carefully. “Your homeland is a very insular place. So I’m not really surprised.”

The cheetah took another drink. “I suppose it is, yes.” He set the mug back down. “If I might circle our conversation back around, slightly…” Rivi wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It’s also my belief that you could draw a line from the Age of Reconciliation, all the way up until the Post Fracture Ages, and the development of Gilded Familiar. It was our collective experiences learning to communicate with one another at the end of the Age of Barbarism, that gave us the wisdom to learn to do so all over again, after the Fractures.”

Argos rubbed his muzzle. “That’s a theory, anyway. But those two periods were so far apart, I ain’t so sure one really influenced the other.” He shrugged. “Though, I guess some of them might have said something like, let’s not kill all these newly arrived strangers this time, just cause they don’t speak the same language we do.”

Iosa leaned forward. “But isn’t bloodshed exactly what happened, immediately after the Fractures?”

“Fear begets violence, sadly.” Rivi held his hands out. “But thankfully, this it was far shorter lived. In large part because both survival…” He gestured at Argos. “And morality…” Rivi indicated Iosa. “Won out once again, when the world as a whole realized that whatever had happened, it was a calamity we were all suffering together. And that we’d be better suited to survive our reborn world if we worked together. Thus, eventually…” He brought his hands back together. “The Gilded Familiar Tongue. A commonly familiar language, to facilitate communication with all the newly integrated peoples of the Fractured World. Based upon the experiences of…” He waved his hand towards Argos. “Hunters, and gatherers coming together, in ages long past.”

Rivi poured himself a glass of water. “It’s only a theory, anyway.” He took a drink, then smiled to himself, his ears perked in smug feline display. “A theory around which I wrote a thesis in university. That paper not only attained the highest marks, but was also subsequently published in an acclaimed interpretative historical journal.”

“No shit?” Argos helped himself to the water pitcher as well. “Great job, Spots. See? Told you, you know a lot more than I do.”

“Yes, well…” Rivi made a thrumming noise, something that sounded suspiciously like a self-satisfied purr. He pushed his spectacles further up his muzzle. “I may know a thing or two. Now, I should specify that it wasn’t centered specifically on that theory, but I did propose that if not for the progress made with regards to truces and shared languages between enemies during the Age of Reconciliation, we’d never have collectively come together to ensure our communal survival in the post-Fracture period, let alone see civilizations thriving across the shattered pieces of the Broken World.”

Iosa perked her ears. “Guess he wasn’t kidding about you being a scholar.”

“No, he was not.” Rivi drank some more water, and then refilled his glass. “That is my actual profession. In fact, I was most recently named the newest Wandering Scholar! So titled because it means I’m undertaking the Scholar’s Pilgrimage.” Pride glimmered in Rivi’s eyes, and in the open-muzzle breadth of his smile. “It’s a very prestigious position.”

The vixen straightened up, her ears swiveled towards Rivi. All at once, her attention was sharply focused on the feline. “Is it possible I’ve seen you in a publication, somewhere? Argos and I were in your homeland, earlier in the year.”

“Then it’s entirely possible, yes!” Rivi gave a happy little mew. “So, you’ve actually heard of the Scholar’s Pilgrimage?”

“I have, yes.” She waved her hand, as if dismissing any implied importance to her knowledge. “Probably just about it while we were in Church lands.”

Rivi nodded, smiling. “That could be. After all, most people outside my homeland don’t seem to know about it. I keep trying to explain what I’m doing, and only getting blank stares in return. But, back home, I suppose I’m at least mildly famous…” He glanced back at Argos. “In fact, I was actually recognized by another feline here on the ship, wasn’t I Argos?”

“Sure were, Spots.” Argos flashed the feline a smile.

Worrisome thoughts resurfaced in Argos’s head, even as he kept them hidden behind a veil of excitement on Rivi’s behalf. The felines from Rivi’s homeland recognizing him was one thing. Iosa seemingly doing the same was something else entirely. It was rare for her to suddenly show so much interest in anyone or anything without proper reason. And all too often, trouble followed whatever that reason was.

The cheetah was clearly proud of his academic fame, and Argos did not wish to dampen his sudden good mood. Rivi had every right to be proud of being recognized by that panther. But if Iosa had also seen his picture, it was possible the cat might be more famous than he’d let on, even after meeting the other felines. Then again, it was just as likely that Rivi’s potential fame had flown right over his own head. And their earlier talk about Rivi’s potential notoriety had quickly been derailed in favor of a less comfortable subject they discussed in the closet. Argos knew he needed to revisit that talk with Rivi, when the circumstances allowed.

If nothing else, the way that lion had been grasping for recognition still didn’t sit right with the coyote. It might have been nothing. Maybe the lion had just seen Rivi’s picture in the paper. Or maybe he’d grown up in Rivi’s neighborhood. Maybe he used to bully the poor cheetah in school. Or maybe it was something worse. Maybe Rivi’s family owned him money. Argos swallowed back a frustrated growl. It might be something worse, too. Depending on well connected Rivi’s family really was to the higher ups of the Church hierarchy… Rivi might make a hell of a hostage for one of their enemies. Or even just someone hoping to score an immense ransom.

Argos slammed the rest of his cocktail, then thumped the glass down. There were just too many damn unknowns. It was entirely possible that there was nothing nefarious at all afoot. Hell, for all Argos knew, the lion might have just been wondering what a cute cheetah like Rivi was doing with a scruffy coyote like Argos. He snorted. Somehow, Argos doubted it was that simple. But he also knew that now was not the best time to run down each and every possibility in his head.

“I do believe our food is coming!” Excitement bubbled in Rivi’s voice. He moved his silverware and drinks aside to make room.

Rivi’s excited reaction pushed aside most of Argos’s sudden uncertainty. Argos looked over his shoulder to see their server approaching with a tray covered in heavily laden plates of food. He did not want to dampen Rivi’s happiness over finally getting to fill his belly. Instead, Argos resolved to talk to Iosa about the cat in private, when circumstances allowed.

The server quickly set plates out in front of Rivi and Iosa. Rivi’s duck was presented as two whole sliced breasts, roasted until the skin was golden and crisp, while the fat beneath melted and succulent, and the meat still slightly pink. An orange-hued sauce was ladled all around it, with a curl of artfully sliced orange peel on either side of the plate. It was served alongside potatoes roasted in the duck’s fat, peas with mint, brown bread with butter, and small bowl of spicy legume soup. Iosa was presented a much larger portion of sliced and roasted potatoes, seasoned with salt, pepper, and then lightly spiced. Finally, a wooden platter laden with hunks and spreads of cheeses, curled up slices of cured meats, dried fruits, honeys and mustards was added to the table. Pieces of toasted bread ringed the rest of it.

Iosa stared at the food she’d ordered, her ears back. “I have made a serious mistake.” The vixen glanced up at Argos. “You’d better help me with this. You too, cat.”

“Anything unfinished can easily be boxed up and taken to your room, as well.” The server smiled, then looked down at the coyote. “Yours will be out shortly, Sir. The hare is already in the kitchen and being prepared. Would anyone like another drink?”

“Yes, please.” Argos passed the water his empty cup.

Iosa finished hers off, then handed up her glass as well. “I’ll have another, too.”

Rivi stared at his beer mug, still two thirds full. “I’m afraid I’m not quite the experienced drinker my companions are.”

Argos chuckled. “Ain’t no need to keep up with us, Spots. In fact, please don’t. You don’t wanna make yourself sick.”

The server smiled, placing the glasses on his tray. “I’ll be back shortly with those drinks, then. Enjoy.”

Rivi picked up his utensils as soon as the water turned away, then paused. “Do you want us to wait for you, Argos? I don’t mind.”

“Hell, no.” Argos plucked a slice of cured pork off the tray. “I ate lunch, Spots. You ain’t eaten since…” He popped the morsel into his mouth, happily murmuring at the rich, slightly spicy flavor. “Hell, did you even have breakfast?”

“A very small, and very quickly consumed pastry, at my hotel.” Rivi cut a piece of duck in half, then dragged it through the sauce. “Long before the sun had even risen.” He stared at his duck, whispered a prayer in the old feline tongue, and ate it. Rivi gave a long, low groan as he chewed it. “Oh, Divines…” The cheetah’s eyes rolled, and he sagged back against his chair after swallowing. “That’s so good.”

Iosa laughed as she helped herself to roasted potato. “I think he’s going to melt.”

“I’m sure they got a bucket we can scoop him into, later.” Argos went for a slice of cheese next, savoring sharp, slightly nutty flavor. “This shit’s pretty good.” An angry hunger pang rumbled through his stomach. “I shoulda ordered one of these for myself and just destroyed the thing. Lunch or not, I don’t think my belly’s in the mood for food foreplay.”

Rivi giggled, his whole face twisted up. “You say the most colorfully inappropriate things, Argos.” He ate another piece of duck, and gave a happy whimper.

“This is him being behaved.” Iosa pushed the plate of roasted potatoes closer to the coyote. “Have some of these, Argos. They’re little more filling.”

Argos picked up a potato with his fingers, then used a knife to spread one of the soft cheeses across it. “You know, Spots, as much as you’re into manners and formalities and shit, I’m surprised you went straight for the duck.” He stuck it into his muzzle, speaking around his food. “Soup’s the first course.”

“Ordinarily you’d be right,” Rivi said, slicing up another piece of duck. “But I’m far too hungry to start with legume soup, no matter how delicious it may be. Don’t you know?” He grinned at the coyote, waggling a piece of meat at him. “Cheetahs are voracious carnivores! Or at least, we’re descended from them, as previously discussed.”

“Yeah, you’re a real badass hunter type, Rivi.” Argos returned his smile, trying a different kind of preserved meat. “Actually, that’s made me curious. You mind if I ask you a religious type question?”

Rivi shook his head, scooping up some peas. “Not at all. I know our beliefs are not exactly widespread beyond our borders, outside some of our colony states. And I never want to be preachy to anyone, but I’m certainly happy to talk about the Church of the Divine Weavers, and what we believe in.”

Argos gave a casual shrug, making a little sandwich with some toasted bread, a few slices of meats, and some cheese. “This ain’t a real deep question, or nothing. It’s just that I always kinda thought your Church believes that all the original peoples of our world were created by your divines.” He took a bite, chewing it thoughtfully. “As we are now, I mean. But you mentioned being descended from hunters. Which…” He ate the second half of his little sandwich. “Potentially implies a belief in something else. The gradual change, I mean. Or am I just readin’ too much into it?”

“Oh, lord.” Iosa put her head in her hands, sighing. “The alcohol’s making him get all deep and thoughtful. I think we need to cut him off before he becomes obnoxious.”

“On the contrary,” Rivi said. “It’s quite refreshing.” He picked up the soup spoon, brandishing it like a pointer. “Do you want a real answer, Argos, or a basic summation?”

Argos scratched one of his ears, then flicked it. “Real answer. Not like we’re doing anything else, right?”

Rivi waggled the spoon again. “Very well! So, to begin, The Church of the Divine Weavers do believe that the divine entities created everything. From the world and its peoples, to the star-strewn cosmos and all that inhabits it.” He ate a spoonful of soup, and gave another happy little purr. “Oh, this is quite good, too. Spicier than I expected.” Rivi licked his muzzle. “But delicious.” He ate another spoonful, then gave Argos a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt my own story. It’s just that I’m quite hungry.”

The coyote only laughed, snacking on a few more of Iosa’s potatoes. “It’s fine, Spots. Talk at your own pace.”

The cheetah ate a few more bites of soup, then paused to drink half a glass of water. He wiped his muzzle with his napkin. “As a whole, The Church believes and teaches that the divines created multiple strata of life. We occupy the topmost strata.” He gestured at Argos and Iosa. “All the world’s peoples. Those who think, and speak.” He waggled his knife, then resumed slicing up his duck. “Language, true language, is generally considered the dividing point. The next strata down are the major animals. Mammals, reptiles, and so on. It continues onwards from there, down to your insects, your plant life, and on and on.” He chewed on a piece of duck, sighing through his nose. “It’s believed that each order of life was created to serve and support the next. We serve and support the divines. The major animals serve and support us, whether that be by nourishing us, or plowing our fields, or what have you. The next serves them in turn, and so on. A carefully constructed, thoughtfully balanced network of life.”

Their server swept in, setting fresh drinks down before Argo and Iosa. He smiled at the coyote. “You hare will be here momentarily, sir.”

“Wonderful, thank you.” Argos picked up his glass as the server returned to the kitchen.

“Now, you mentioned the theory of gradual change, yes?” Rivi ate a few bites of potatoes before continuing. “Officially, the Church does not believe in it, nor support its teachings. However…” He shook his utensil. “Unofficially, there are plenty of religious scholars within the confines of the Church who are open to branching beliefs. Case in point, I once read a paper theorizing that if the thinking peoples had gradually descended from animals…” Rivi jabbed his knife in the air, punctuating his words. “And the author did emphasize the word if, to avoid straying too far from Church doctrine.” He put a particularly large piece of duck into his muzzle, his eyes widening. Rivi held up a finger, asking for patience.

“Bigger than expected,” Iosa said, chuckling.

“That’s what he said.” Argos tasted his drink, grinning.

Iosa giggled. She glanced at Rivi, who only gave the coyote a confused, quizzical look. “I don’t think your friend gets it.”

Argos rubbed his neck, ruffling the thick fur there. “Yeah, that stuff goes over his head. Probably for the best.”

Rivi finally swallowed his food, offering an embarrassed smile. “Sorry about that. I should have been more careful. I don’t usually put anything that big in my muzzle.”

Argos snickered. “Way too easy.” He glanced back at the cheetah, speaking up before Rivi could question him. “So you were saying? Something about branching beliefs?”

“Right, yes.” Rivi sliced up his remaining duck, carefully proportioning it this time. “This particular scholar posited that our beliefs are not necessarily incompatible with others, including the theory of gradual change. He suggested that if any of the thinking peoples had descended from animals over time, then it was clearly because the divines themselves shepherded such a change. And that they chose to allow our kind to develop so gradually, to ensure that all their layered systems of life were properly functioning together.”

The coyote took another sip. The combination of tart cherry juice and sweet sugar still mixed well with stronger, oak and vanilla flavors of the whiskey. Whoever the bartender was, Argos liked their style. He rattled his glass, considering Rivi’s words. “I ain’t especially religious, and I don’t spend a lotta time thinking about where we all came from. But…” He took another drink, then set his glass down as the server approached with his food. “That sort of, mixed theory don’t sound totally crazy. I guess I tend to think we probably did just…” He shrugged. “Evolve, or whatever. But that don’t mean some kinda god didn’t decide to let that happen.”

“The theory of gradual change tends to be more accepted in certain scientific circles, than those of the religious studies.” Rivi returned to his soup, eating another mouthful. “In my nation, there was certainly a great deal of pushback against that particular paper, despite the lengths the author went to maintain its theoretical nature. Most of the Church just believes the divines made us as we are, and that’s that. But…” He tapped his spoon against his bowl. “In company such as yours, I’m not averse to admitting I do believe that gradual change, guided by the divines, is certainly a possibility.”

The server then returned with Argos’s meal. “Your hare, Sir.” He offered the coyote a smirk. “If anyone asks, you’d pre-ordered it, and it was simply being held for you.”

“Got it.” Argos smiled at the human, his ears perked. “And thank you again.”

“My pleasure, Sir.” The server set a few plates down in front of the coyote. “Enjoy.”

Argos licked his muzzle, his belly rumbling again as the server retreated. His roasted hare was presented nearly whole, half-curled around the plate. All the fur was expertly removed, while the remaining skin was browned and slightly crispy. It was stuffed with garlic, celery, onion, and apple, and surrounded with a pool of deep red sauce. A pyramid of glazed carrots sat nearby. The meal was also served with accompanying course of toast points heavily laden with a pate made from the hare’s liver, along with sauteed oyster mushrooms.

Rivi leaned over, inspecting Argos’s meal. “It really does look like a rabbit, doesn’t it?”

Argos flattened back his ears. “That ain’t helping, Spots.”

“Oh no!” Iosa whimpered, fixing the coyote with a wide-eyed, pleading look. “Don’t eat poor Linha!”

Rivi returned to his own food, a sheepish grin on his muzzle. “My apologies, Argos. If it helps…” His smile grew, ever so slightly. “Your friend looks delicious.”

Argos picked up his utensils. “Yeah, yeah, you’re both hilarious…” He started to cut a hunk of hare meat, then paused. “Wait, Spots, are you teasing me, too?”

The cheetah forked some peas, focusing on his food. “Perhaps a little bit. Was it too much?”

“Hell no!” Argos wagged his tail. “I’m proud of ya, cat.”

Argos ate his first bite, and discovered the sauce’s gentle red wine tartness and faint minerally tang of the hare’s heart complimented the richness of its meat exceptionally well. “Oh, yeah. That’s good.” He sighed, licking his muzzle. “That’s real good.”

Iosa picked up a slice of cheese, pointing with it. “Tell me, Argos, just how does Linha taste?”

Argos froze just after impaling another piece of hair upon his fork. It hovered halfway to his muzzle. “No comment.” He quickly put the food into his mouth.

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Rivi giggled, a musical, chirping noise. “I’ve never been partial to such tawdry, innuendo-laden dinner talk before.”

“Well, I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” Iosa said, just before devouring her cheese. “Because this is about as tame as we get.”

The cheetah returned to his soup, spooning up the last few mouthfuls. “Well, I’ve never heard of anyone actually dying of embarrassment, so I’m certainly I’ll persevere somehow.”

“That’s the spirit, Spots.” Argos used his fork to tear meat off the hare’s haunch. “Embrace wallowing in the mud, with the common folk.”

Rivi pushed his soup bowl away. “I rather get the feeling you two are anything but common folk.” He glanced at Argos’s plate. “It is fascinating how closely some creatures resemble others. But do you know what I find more fascinating still?”

Argos tried the carrots next. They were roasted still soft, and with a sweet, orange-flavored glaze. “What’s that?”

“Humans.” Rivi took a drink of his beer, his eyes wandering to the servers. Most of them were human. “They’re the only people I can think of who don’t resemble some other creature.”

Argos popped a slice of toast topped with hare’s liver pate into his muzzle. “You mean cause they ain’t got muzzles?”

“It’s more than that, really.” Rivi set his mug back down. “I’d never really met many humans, before my pilgrimage. There aren’t many of them in my homeland. And now that I’ve met a good number of them, something has become ever so clear to me.”

Argos ran a piece of hare back and forth through the sauce. “Which is?”

“Of all the world’s peoples,” Rivi said, lowering his voice. “They’re the only ones who look as though they don’t belong.” He quickly held up both hands. “And I don’t mean that offensively. Thus far, I’ve found them to be lovely, friendly people. But…” He slowly lowered his hands, then idly traced a finger up and down the handle of his mug. “There’s nothing else that looks like them. The other speaking peoples of the world often resemble one another. For example, you and Iosa. On the broad sense, coyotes resemble foxes.” Rivi put a hand on his chest. “Cheetahs resemble leopards. Other people may resemble an animal, as we’ve discussed. But humans…” Rivi splayed his ears, his blunt feline snout crinkled up in thought. “Don’t remember anything save other humans. They’re the only people with a near complete lack of fur, and who look as though the divines forgot to sculp their muzzles.” He giggled to himself. “They’re like a children’s drawing of a person, come to life.” Then the cheetah gasped, clapping a hand to his muzzle. “Oh, my, that sounded terribly offensive. That was not my intent.”

Argos reached out to pat the cheetah’s arm. “It’s fine, Spots. I know what you mean.”

“You know why that is, don’t you Rivi?” Iosa scraped a slice of cured pork through some grainy mustard. “Why humans don’t look like anyone else?”

“Of course.” Rivi turned to the vixen, his ears perked. “Because the Fractures brought them here, from another world. And now they’re our permanent guests. Along with all the other peoples and creatures who came with them.”

“Guests, huh?” Argos glanced at the cheetah, one ear slowly splaying back. “Is that what the Church teaches you?”

Rivi nodded. “Yes, that’s right. We believe that all the refugee peoples that the Fractures left us with should be treated as our guests.”

Argos grimaced, then rubbed his muzzle. “Don’t that kinda imply that the Church thinks the world belongs to them?”

“Well, no…” Rivi scowled, looking away. His brows furrowed, and his tail lashed, as if the idea had never before occurred to him. “It just means we should treat them nicely.”

“Which is correct.” Argos speared a piece of hare. “But saying that an entire people are your guests has a certain…” He waved his fork around. “Connotation. Your people might like to think your divines built this world for you, but the world belongs to all of us. Humans included, now. They ain’t our guests, Spots. They’re our neighbors, our equals. They got their own continent, with their own cities, industries…” Argos popped the food into his mouth, then gestured with his fork in a grand arc. “Hell, look around you, Spots. They built this thing. Humans may as well have brought us modern intercontinental travel. This world’s as much theirs as ours, whether your Church likes it or not.”

Rivi stared down at his hands, his ears drooping. “You’re right, of course. I…I didn’t mean to imply I thought any less of them, just because they’re different.”

“I know, Spots.” Argos reached over to gently rub Rivi’s upper arm. “And I didn’t mean to sound like I was yelling at you. It’s just…” He trailed off, flicking back his ears. There was no need to rehash things. “Well, I don’t mean to speak bad of your beliefs, or your Church. I hope you understand what I meant.”

“I do.” Rivi looked up again, a little smile returning to his muzzle. “But thank you for your clarification, just the same. “For what it’s worth, the term guest is a loose translation of an old feline term, with a connotation you might consider friendly. It indicates a stranger, that requires your assistance. And when humans, and the other peoples from their plane of existence were first encountered in ours…” Rivi shrugged, picking his fork back up. “They were absolutely strangers, who needed our assistance. Just as everyone did, after the Fractures.”

“There, see?” Argos returned the feline’s smile. “I like that connotation a lot more.”

“Oh, gods.” Iosa put her hand in her hands, groaning in mock frustration. “Get a room, you two!”

Rivi gave her a confused look. “We already have a room.”

Iosa burst into yipping, vulpine laughter.

The cheetah glanced back at Argos. “I don’t understand why that’s funny.”

Argos waved him off. He wasn’t about to explain that joke to Rivi just yet, especially not in public. “Don’t worry about it, Spots.”

The cheetah shrugged, and returned to his meal. “Very well. Anyway, I just found it fascinating that one people in particular looks so wildly different from the rest. Even some of the other peoples who arrived with the humans…” He circled his fork in the air, a piece of duck impaled upon it. “Gnolls for example, more closely resemble us than the humans.” Rivi ate the piece of meat, thoughtfully chewing it. “Kobolds could be considered another exception, but even they look like lizards.”

“You know what I’ve heard, Rivi?” Iosa idly swirled her drink. “That long ago, the humans considered gnolls and kobolds to be their enemies, and vice versa. It wasn’t until the Fractures that they started working together. Now, they’re practically inseparable.”

Rivi smiled at her. “I’ve heard the same. Almost like they had their own little Age of Reconciliation.” He finished off the last of peas. “I can only imagine what being stranded together somewhere so unfamiliar, and so seemingly broken, must have done to their collective psyches. They probably decided to stick together because suddenly they were the only familiar thing around. Like Argos indicated earlier, the need for survival makes friends of the staunchest enemies.”

“No shit.” Argos popped another hare-pate canape into his muzzle. “I’d start cozying up to my foes too, in their place. They make a hell of a team, though. Companies like Black Star have sure as hell taken the airship and intercontinental travel industries by the throat.”

Rivi finished the last of his food, spearing the final piece of duck with his fork. “Did you know, I’ve read that one of their top engineers is a kobold.”

Argos nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s right. Kobolds got a real mind for engineering, and mechanical shit. Black Star pays extremely well, too. And they got patents popping out their asses.”

Rivi scrunched up his face. “That’s quite the colloquialism.” He lifted his fork, staring longingly at the last bite of food. “This meal has been so satisfying, I’m almost averse to finishing it.”

Argos chuckled, pulling more meat from his hare carcass. “Well, you got plenty more meals to come, Spots. Don’t feel too bad.”

“True enough.” Rivi ate the last piece, sighing. He pushed his plate away, and then slumped back into his chair. “That was an exceedingly satisfying meal. Made all the more satisfying by good company! I do hope you don’t fatigue of my ramblings, but please let me know if you do.” He gestured at Argos. “As I mentioned to him, I can be quite the chatterbox.”

“Can you?” Iosa lifted her ears in mock surprise. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s true,” Rivi said, his tail swishing behind his chair. “Especially on a subject I find particularly interesting, or when I’m feeling unusually comfortable in my surroundings. Which…” He glanced at Argos, a shy smile gracing his muzzle once more. “Thanks to Argos, I am.”

Argos reached over to pat his shoulder. “Glad to hear it, Spots. On that note, you know that stuff we talked about earlier? Iosa knows all about the special club we’re both in, so it’s okay to talk about it around here, too.”

Rivi blinked, his ears splayed in confusion. “Club? I don’t recall discussing a club. I was in a photography club, when I was younger. And a poetry club…” He tilted his head. “I don’t think we talked about that, did we?”

The coyote chuckled. “Nevermind, Spots. I’ll explain later, when you’re not dead tired.”

“That would probably be for the best.” Rivi took a long drink of beer. “As it is, I fear as my food settles, and the alcohol hits me, it won’t be long before I’m dozing off in my chair.”

“Given how long you’ve been up,” Argos said, savoring a bite of hare with plenty of sauce. “I’m impressed you haven’t dropped off already. We’ll get you up to bed, as soon as I’m done eating.”

“Please don’t cut your evening short on my account.” Rivi sat up a little straighter, scowling. “I can always order some coffee, or something.”

Argos gestured with his knife. “Don’t worry about it. After I get you settled, I can always head back out into the ship, and let Iosa drink me under the table.”

The vixen giggled, crossing her arms. “As usual.” She turned to the cheetah. “By the way, Rivi. I adore that sweater. Purple and gold is one of my favorite combinations.

“Oh, thank you.” Rivi perked up, holding his arm out for Iosa to inspect the golden-striped, dark-purple sleeve. “They’re some of my favorite colors, as well. I think half my wardrobe might be purple.”

Iosa reached out, and with Rivi’s permission, gently felt the material. “Mine as well! I haven’t seen a sweater like this before, though. It’s quite lovely.”

“I thought so too! It was surprisingly different to find a sweater that wasn’t in a drab color. I also found a nice red one.” Rivi looked down at his own clothing. “Did you know that the term ‘sweater’ was a human contribution to Gilded Familiar?”

Argos smirked to himself as he continued eating. “Can’t say as I did, Spots.”

“It’s true.” Rivi tugged the garment in question out a little. “After all, our various peoples don’t really sweat, at least not the way they do. In old feline, we would just call this sort of thing a mid-coat, or a lesser coat. But thanks to Gilded Familiar, we all call them sweaters, now.”

“Well, whatever you call it, it’s beautiful.” Iosa settled back in her chair.

The cheetah offered her a big grin. “Your dress is lovely as well, Iosa.”

“Thank you, Rivi.” She waved at Argos. “Maybe you can help me get this one to wear brighter colors, more often.”

Rivi turned to look Argos over, his tail twitching through the seat’s opening. “I did tell him I liked his waistcoat.”

“Hah!” Iosa slapped the table. “Told you it was a waistcoat.”

Argos gave a deep sigh. “It’s a vest.”

“Technically,” Rivi said, reaching out to brush a finger across the front of Argos’s maroon clothing. “These lapels make it a waistcoat.”

“Fine,” Argos said. “It’s a waistcoat. I’m wearing a waistcoat.”

“Yes.” Iosa grinned at him. “I know.” She tilted her head, ears shifting back in thought. “You do look a bit like a seedy saloon bouncer, come to think of it.”

Rivi glanced between the two of them. “Well, I think he looks dashing in it.”

Argos smiled, returning to his meal. “Thanks, Spots.”

“Oh, he does,” Iosa said. “He makes a very dashing bouncer.”

Argos snorted, his tail flicking against the opening in the back of his chair. “At least you admit I look good.” He ate the last of his carrots, and glanced over at the cheetah. “You got room left for dessert, Spots? You can always take it back to the room.”

Rivi blinked, sitting up straighter. “I’d already forgotten I had dessert coming.” The feline perked his ears. “But now I’m excited! I can always squeeze in a bit of crème brulee.”

“Me too.” Argos ate one of his last bites of hare. “I love that stuff. The trifle’s probably good too, though.” He chewed his food, gesturing with his knife. “You know, we’re gonna be on this thing long enough, we can definitely visit all the restaurants, if you want. There’s fancier ones than this, if that’s your thing. And there’s all kinds of down and dirty, greasy spoon places on the lower decks, especially third class and steerage.”

The cheetah scrunched his muzzle. “I don’t want to dine in any dirty eateries, with grimy cutlery.”

“It’s only an expression,” Iosa said. “At least, most of the time.” She popped a fried potato into her mouth. “While Argos here cleans up well, and had a penchant for expensive alcohol, he also has a fondness for the sort of cheap food you’d find at a street corner stall, in the slums.”

The coyote grunted, finishing off the sauteed mushrooms. “I like food, alright? Doesn’t matter to me if it’s expensive or not, as long as it’s good. And food stalls make some really good stuff.”

“Well, I don’t disagree with you there.” Rivi took a sip of beer. “Though I can’t say I’ve much experiencing dining in the slums.” He set his mug back down. “But I have been to a few less than reputable restaurants, frequented by unsavory sorts. And sure enough, they did have excellent food.” The cheetah flattened his ears. “Then again, I was warned by my companions at the time not to look in the kitchen, or I might lose my appetite.”

“That’s how you know it’s gonna be good,” Argos said, slicing up the last portions of hare. “It’s like sausage. The less you wanna see how it’s made, the better it’s gonna taste.”

Rivi scratched one of his ears. “If you say so. I do enjoy sausage, after all. When I was younger, my mother used to buy this spicy boar sausage from the local butcher’s shop. It had apples ground into it, along with two varieties of hot peppers, and a little of the boar’s blood and liver.” The cheetah licked his muzzle, sighing. “If I wasn’t so full already, just thinking about it would make me hungry.”

“I didn’t mean that quite so literally, but that does sound good.” Argos nudged a morsel of hare to the edge of his place. “You wanna try this, Spots? It’s really tasty.”

Rivi’s gaze flicked to the coyote’s plate. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid I don’t have any of my meal left to offer you in return.”

Argos pushed the plate towards the cheetah. “Wasn’t looking for a trade.”

The cheetah used his fork to pluck the piece of meat from the plate. “Thank you, then.” He popped it into his muzzle, then groaned happily. “Oh, yes, that is exceptional.”

“You can have one of these last two canapes too, if you want.” Argos glanced at the vixen across the table. “This is what you ordered, right? You can still have some, if you want.”

Iosa waved him off. “Appreciated, but yes, that’s the meal I ordered. And I’m already far too full to keep picking at these snacks the way I am.”

Rivi helped himself to one of Argos’s hare pate canapes. “Thank you!” He bit it in half, then murmured in delight. “Everything is so good.” Rivi swallowed it, staring at the other half as if worried it wouldn’t fit in his belly. “I’m not sure I’d want to visit the other eateries. They might not be as good as this one.”

Argos popped the last piece of pate-covered toast into his muzzle. He chewed it slowly, speaking around it. “Then you might miss one that’s even better.”

Rivi scowled. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.” He ate the second half, then leaned back in his chair with a long, satisfied sigh. “Just how many restaurants are there on this ship?”

“Not sure off the top of my head.” Argos pushed his plates away to make room for his impending dessert. “Quite a few, though. Some of them are run by the ship’s staff, like this one. They also run dining halls that are exclusively for first class, second class, and so on.” The coyote sipped his cocktail. “But the ship’s kinda like a big, slow-flying city. It’s got a lot of facilities that are run independently. That includes restaurants, shops, bars, various services, and so on.”

Rivi pushed his spectacles further up his muzzle. “You know, I’d heard that Black Star ships were referred to as cities in the sky, but I suppose I hadn’t realized just how accurate that was.”

“Most people don’t, unless they’ve ridden one.” Argos swirled his drink. “The Eclipse class, in particular. That includes the Worldstrider, and the Bridgehead. They’re basically cities run by Black Star Intercontinental, that just so happen to fly. The captain’s like the mayor. Whatever he says, goes. And once you’re outside of any other nation or city’s jurisdiction, Black Star’s ships have their own laws to follow.”

“Really?” Rivi lifted his mug, contemplating how much beer he had left. “I assumed they operated under the laws of whatever country they were registered in.”

Argos shook his head. “Nope. They have, and enforce, their own laws.” He sipped his drink again, then set it back down. “Now, most of the time, they’re not far from the laws of their home country, anyway. But it’s worth noting that legally speaking, once we’re out away from land, their rules are binding. They got their own armed police force, as you probably noticed.”

Rivi rubbed the back of his hand, grimacing. “I did, yes. Before I boarded, I said the wrong thing to the kobolds checking luggage. Before I knew it, they thought I had a bomb! Thankfully, when the guards intervened, they were more willing to listen to common sense.”

Iosa straightened up. Her eyes widened, and she pivoted towards Rivi. “Wait, that was you?”

Rivi sank down into his chair, as if trying to shrink into his clothing. “Oh, you’ve heard about that, have you? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, given your occupation.”

“That’s not why I heard about it,” Iosa said, a smirk upon her muzzle. “They thought your bomb was in someone else’s bag, right?”

“Well, yes.” Rivi wrung his hands. “A gray fox’s bag, actually. I heard he was arrested!”

“He was.” Iosa paused for dramatic effect, sipping her drink. “That’s my brother.”

Rivi’s ears shot up. “That was your sibling in line behind me?” His face twisted up, and he lowered his voice. “Is he also in the secret police?”

The vixen shook her head. “Nah, he don’t do what we do. And thank the gods, for that. I love my brother, but…”

Argos picked up for her when she trailed off. “He’s kind of a dipshit.”

“Yes.” Iosa jabbed a rusty-red furred finger in the air. “That.”

“I see,” Rivi said, giggling to himself. “I suppose I did rather get that feeling, from him. He wasn’t especially friendly, either.”

“He’s a bit gruff.” The vixen paired a slice of cured meat with a piece of cheese. “He also has a tendency to think I should use my…” She ate her food, then made quotes with her fingers. “Connections, as he puts it, to get him out of trouble.”

“Speaking of which.” Argos leaned forward. “Did you get him out of jail yet?”

Iosa gave a mock gasp. “Oh no! I’ve been so busy keeping the ship safe, I forgot all about him!” She slapped the table. “What a shame. Now he’ll be forced to suffer the consequences of his actions.” The vixen splayed her ears, grunting. “At least for one night. I’ll make sure he’s actually been released before departure in the morning.”

Rivi rubbed the side of his muzzle. “I do believe I recall hearing the guards saying they’d allow him to board with only a fine.” His hand froze. “Wait, did you say morning? I thought we were due to depart this evening.”

“That was before the captain decided to see how many more people he could squeeze on board.” Iosa glanced at Argos, grinning. “Oh, by the way, departure’s been delayed until morning.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” Argos drummed his fingers against his glass. “You know your brother’s gonna think you pulled some strings to spring him out of jail anyway, right?”

“Fine with me.” Iosa smeared some soft cheese onto toasted bread. “He can add it to the long list of favors he thinks he owes me.” She pointed with her toast. “Here come your desserts.”

The server approached, and soon deposited elegant, scalloped porcelain bowls in front of Argos and Rivi. “Your blueberry crème brulees, sirs.” He quickly scooped up empty plates onto a tray. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Normally I might consider an after-dinner coffee,” Rivi said, smiling at the server. “But I’m quite ready for bed, so that might not be the wisest idea. Thank you, though.”

Argos shook his head when the server turned his attention to the coyote. “Nothing more for me, either. I’m gonna take Mister Sleepy Cat back to his room, so he doesn’t get lost.”

Rivi looked over at him, ears shifting to odd, bemused angles. “I appreciate the effort more than I appreciate being referred to as Mister Sleepy Cat.”

“Trust me,” Iosa said, finishing off the soft cheese with another piece of toast. “There are worse things he could call you. Argos loves his silly pet names.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed.” Rivi picked up the spoon that came with his dessert. “After he rescued me from that disingenuous wolf, he called me Spots McPanic Attack!”

Argos punched his own spoon through the crystalized sugar crust atop the sweet custard. “You liked the Spots part, right?” He scooped up a spoonful of custard. Whole blueberries studded it. “I can stop calling you that, if you don’t like it.” He ate his spoonful, resisting the urge to moan in delight. The tartness of the berries cut through the creamy sweetness of the custard perfectly.

Rivi followed Argos’s lead, cracking through the burnt sugar. “That’s not necessary. I do rather like being called Spots, though…” He stared at his dessert. “I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps it’s just the simple satisfaction of being called an affectionate pet name. Never really had one of those, other than perhaps from my immediate family.”

“Or maybe,” Argos said, waving his spoon at the feline. “You just like being called Spots. Not everything has to be explained in detail.”

Rivi only smiled at him. “Of course it does. I’m a scholar, Argos. Explaining things is what I do.”

“Just be glad he doesn’t call you something like…” Iosa flourished her hand. “Shitsy Stinkass.”

Argos gave a little bark of laughter. “Oh, I remember him. Worst week I ever spent dragging someone across the country.”

The cheetah splayed his ears, scowling. “That was a real person?”

“Iosa and I got sent on this…” Argos ate a scoop of crème brulee, considering how best to explain the story to an unaffiliated feline civilian. “Apprehension mission.” He circled his spoon in the air. “Had to capture this bear alive, and bring him back for questioning.” Argos scooped up more dessert. “Across some pretty wild terrain, outside civilization. Away from prying eyes, you see. Gonna be a week-long trek, at best. And no sooner is he in custody, then the fucker shits himself!”

“Oh, dear…” Rivi giggled up a musical, chirping storm. He ate his dessert as he listened, wide-eyed. “Was he in some sort of medical distress?”

“He was in distress, alright,” Iosa said. “Argos told him if he tried to fight us, he was gonna break both his elbows. And if he tried to run, then he’d break both his knees. Bear took him so seriously he shat himself and started crying.”

Argos chewed a few blueberries. “This particular individual had escaped a few other attempts at forced extraction before. I just wanted to let him know if he tried that shit with me, he was gonna regret it. I guess he wasn’t much used to anything but being coddled by his daddy’s goons.”

Rivi scraped his spoon around his bowl. “Who was he?” He paused, spoon hovering halfway to his muzzle. “I’m not allowed to ask that, am I?”

“You can ask whatever you want,” Argos said, eating the last scoop of custard. “But I ain’t allowed to answer. I can randomly drop some keywords, though.” He set his spoon down on the bowl. “One of the is ‘organized’, and the other is ‘crime’. Whether or not those two words are related, I’ll leave it to you to do decide.”

Iosa traced circles on the table with her finger. “You could probably also add in words like ‘cult’, and ‘brainwashing’, as well. Part of the reason we had to drag him through the wilderness for a week was because all the local cities and towns were likely to have people who’d make the job more difficult.”

“Which meant we were stuck with a bear who shit his trousers for damn week.” The coyote grimaced, folding back his ears. “We tossed him and his clothes in a river and made him wash up best we could, but it didn’t help much. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so glad to be done with a job.”

The vixen waved at Argos. “Pretty sure Argos went home and huffed some ammonia just to try and burn the smell out of his nostrils.”

“Pretty damn close.” Argos poured himself a fresh glass of water. “You gonna want anything else here, Spots?”

Rivi shook his head, dropping his utensil into his bowl. “No, thank you. I couldn’t possibly fit anything else. Dessert was pushing things as it was…” He sighed, leaning back into his chair, a contented smile upon his muzzle. “But oh, so worth it.”

“Glad to hear it.” Argos took a drink of water. “We should probably get you up to bed, then.” He glanced at the feline. Rivi’s eyelids drooped a little. “Unless you’d rather sleep here.”

Rivi forced himself to sit back up, rubbing his eyes. “Tempting. However, I imagine my spine would prefer the sofa in our cabin.” He drained the last of his beer, then set his mug down. “Do you mind if visit the washroom, first? I can wait, if you’d rather.”

Argos finished off his cocktail. “Have at it. I’ll meet you at the entryway, near the attendant. Don’t wander off, okay?”

“Understood.” Rivi stood up, and then turned towards Iosa. He offered her awkward, but well-intentioned bow. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, and stimulating conversation. Please let me repay you for my meals, at the very least.”

Iosa waved him off, clicking her teeth. “Not on your life, cat. It was my pleasure. Argos and I are pretty well set on this particular voyage. You got a whole world’s worth of travel to pay for.”

Rivi slowly straightened up, his tail lashing. “If you’re certain.”

“I am,” Iosa said. “But it’s been a delight meeting and chatting with you, Mister Rivi. And I’m sure we’ll do so again soon. Have a good evening.”

“Thank you again for your generosity, then.” Rivi bowed a second time, a shorter, stiffer motion. “It was wonderful to meet you, and I’ll see you later.” The cheetah straightened up, and turned away. He walked three steps, then paused, staring out across the crowded dining hall. “Um, which way is the gentlemen’s washroom?”

Iosa chuckled, pointing. “Towards the front. Take a right before the exit. They’re just past the bar. Give Argos a few minutes to catch up, though. I’ve got to talk business with him for a moment.”

Argos grimaced inwardly. He knew all too well what was about to happen. Outwardly, he smiled, and turned towards the feline. “Just wait for me next to the attendant. Got it?”

“Yes, got it!” Rivi pushed into the crowd, making his way between tables jammed with people.

Argos watched Rivi until he was out of sight, beyond the bar. Then he turned towards Iosa, holding his hands up. “Look, I know what you’re gonna say, and-”

“Are you fucking insane?” Iosa’s voice was a snarl. All pretenses of friendliness and charm were gone in an instant. “Because even you cannot possibly be stupid enough to offer to share your room with anyone, let alone him! So you must be losing your mind, right?”

The coyote grit his teeth, crossing his arms. “I’m just gonna let you say what you gotta say, and-”

“You’re goddamn right, you are!” Iosa slapped the table, growling, her ears flattened and teeth bared. “Only I can’t even do that, because we’re in public! So I can’t say half the shit we both know I ought to say to you, right now.”

Argos squirmed in his chair. She was angrier than he’d expected, though he certainly could not blame her. “Look, I get it. After I get the cat to bed, we can go somewhere private, and you can yell at me all night long, if you want.”

“Of course I want to yell at you!” She jabbed a finger at his muzzle. “Not that it ever does any fucking good! This ain’t even the first time we’ve had this conversation. When are you gonna learn that you can’t save the whole fucking world? Hell, half the shit we do might well burn it all down some day, so they can build something better.”

Something cold, and angry awoke in Argos. It gnashed teeth in his heart, and hissed in his soul. He leaned forward, fixing his eyes on Iosa’s. “And maybe I’m tired of watching the world burn. Maybe I’d rather pull someone out of the flames, for once.”

Iosa sighed, looking away. “They don’t send us in to save people, Argos. They send us…” She trailed off, glancing around at all the other people in the dining hall. Though their table was isolated, the vixen still chose not to finish her sentence. Instead, she took a slow breath, then let out a long sigh. “We both know the job is harder on the soul, than the body. Sometimes, you just have to look at the greater good. Everyone they send us to…” She ground her teeth, bushy tail lashing. “Hell, look at the last one. You know how much damn suffering he was responsible for? And that was just his own people. Fucker was so rotten, even his own Church high-ups wanted him gone. Try to think about all the people who’ll be safer now, because of us.”

“It ain’t that.” Argos’s voice softened. He fixed his gaze on his empty glass, staring at the cube of ice. Argos knew if he watched it long enough, it would slowly melt away. Some days, he felt like the life he lived was slowly melting down his soul the same way. “It ain’t the job, Iosa. It’s the goddamn apathy it breeds. There was a part of me that was angry I had to share my room with that cat.”

Iosa leaned forward, a soft growl in her voice. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, I did.” Argos lifted his eyes, glaring at his partner. “That’s the point. No one else was gonna fucking do it. And we both know he’d have never survived steerage. Not on this ship, not with all those people down there. He’d have said the wrong thing to the wrong person, and gotten his goddamn throat cut.” He thumped a finger against the table. “And that’s a fucking fact.”

“Maybe.” Iosa brushed her hand across the table, snorting. “Maybe not. You don’t know for sure. And besides, it ain’t your place to save everyone in the goddamn world who-”

“And another thing!” Argos threw a hand up. Far too many unpleasant thoughts swirled in his mind like angry phantoms, howling and clashing with one another. “Does Rivi seem like the kinda person who oughta be traveling the whole world on his own? A person like him oughta have an entire ocean of escorts with him, not just one shady guide who abandons him in the middle of the night. Shit, if this pilgrimage is half the big deal he makes it out to be, why send someone like him? And if you are gonna send someone like Rivi, why not send a dozen bodyguards with him?”

“Hey!” Iosa snapped her fingers in front of Argos. “We can contemplate the intricacies and failures of feline traditions and tribulations later. Let’s stay focused on us, and how you and your soft fucking heart may have single-handedly compromised us!”

Argos snarled, baring his fangs. “We ain’t compromised! And my heart ain’t soft. That ain’t fair to say. You’ve met him. Talked to him. Tell me you’d have thrown him to the fucking sharks in steerage, knowing in your heart someone’s gonna shank him for his money. Go on.” Argos snapped his teeth. “Tell me!”

“Oh, you want to know what I’d do? I…” Iosa sneered and elongated the syllable, pointing at herself with her thumb. “Would have talked to my fucking partner first!”

Some of the fire fled Argos just as quickly as it arrived. His shoulders slumped, and his tail went limp. “Alright, yeah. That’s on me. I fucked that up. I shoulda talked to you, first. But I had to make a decision, and I-”

“The fuck you did!” Iosa slapped the table again. “You know perfectly well if you’d have told that concierge to wait, he’d have fucking waited. And…” She pointed towards the ceiling. “I was right above you. You could have taken ten goddamn minutes to come and talk to me, so we could figure out a solution together. Instead, you just…” Iosa waved her hand. “Argos’d your way into trouble, as usual. You’re like a goddamn force of nature. You might well be the single most dangerous person on this entire ship, but that includes the dangers to pose to us! To me! To yourself!”

Argos allowed himself a small smile. “I know what ‘us’ means, Iosa.”

The vixen thrust a clawed finger towards his muzzle. “Real fucking funny, coyote. You always do this shit! You make a snap decision, and then we’re both stuck living with the outcome. Once, just once, I wish you’d stop and take time to think things through, and then make up your fucking mind. But time and again, you do exactly the opposite. And now, here we are, doing it all again. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but I’m going to anyway!” She pressed her hands to the table, leaning in. The vixen’s voice dropped to a whispered, menacing growl. “If you’ve compromised us-”

“We ain’t compromised,” Argos muttered, folding his arms and looking away.

“Don’t you fucking look away from me.” Iosa smacked the table. “You look at me and you hear what I’m gonna say.”

Argos took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet Iosa’s gaze. “You don’t gotta say it.”

“If you’ve compromised us,” Iosa said, snarling through grit teeth. “There will be consequences. For us…” She slowly lifted her hand, pointing towards the cheetah now making his way towards the attendant’s stand. “And for him.”

Argos winced, his tail flicking. “That ain’t funny.”

Iosa’s expression softened. Her snarl died away, and her ears fell. “It ain’t a joke, either. What do you think happens if he figures out who we really are, and what we’ve been doing in his country?”

Argos grumbled to himself, shrugging. “Give us a medal, maybe? You said it yourself, that bishop was a real piece-”

“That bishop might well have been his boss!” Anger flickered anew in her eyes. “They don’t send nobodies on the Scholar’s Pilgrimage! At the very least, that’s cat’s probably rich as hell. And it’s more likely he’s connected to someone important. You manage to sneak a peek at his travel documents?”

The coyote squeezed his hands into fists. He hated that Iosa was right about this. “Of course. I ain’t a fucking amateur.”

The vixen tilted her head. “And?”

Argos glanced at Iosa, then away again. “Diplomatic/Governmental.”

“I fucking knew it.” She flopped back into her chair, groaning. “The moment he mentioned that stupid pilgrimage, I fucking knew it. He works for the fucking Church, Argos!”

“So what!” Argos jerked his head back around, growling again. “Ain’t his fault where he was born, or what kinda brainwashing he’s been through. Hell, Iosa, that fucking Church has put him through the goddamn ringer.” He tapped the side of his head. “Poor cat’s so fucked up in the attic from all that brainwashing-”

“Argos!” Iosa leaned towards him, grabbing his muzzle in her hand. “Focus! This ain’t about what the cat’s been through, or what kinda person he is. This is about who he fucking works for, and who he’s fucking connected to.” Still gripping his snout, she whispered into his ear. Her voice, soft and sweet like poisoned honey, sent a shudder throughout the coyote. “What happens when a potentially high-ranking member of the Church, realizes he’s staying with the person who killed his arch-bishop?”

The coyote pulled away as soon Iosa released him. He rubbed his muzzle, sighing. “Technically, you pulled the trigger.”

“Always another fucking joke.” Iosa sat back down, crossing her arms. “You make me wanna strangle you, some days.”

“Rivi ain’t gonna find out.” Argos set his hands in his lap. “He thinks we’re secret police, and he’s gonna keep thinking that.”

Iosa closed her eyes, her head lolling. “You have to at least acknowledge-”

“Worst case,” Argos said, his voice low. “He tries to get us arrested. We both know Black Star’s arrangement with the Guild means we’re safe on their ships. Even when we dock somewhere and deboard, ain’t many nations out there on friendly enough terms with the cat Church to try and detain a couple orphans on their behalf. And even if they are, we just vanish as soon as we’re off the ship. But he ain’t gonna find out, anyway. I’m gonna keep him safe this whole trip, I’m gonna teach him how to survive on his own, and then he’ll never see me again. Win, win.”

The vixen rubbed her muzzle, sighing. “I sincerely wish I had your sense of optimism.”

Argos glanced over his shoulder. Rivi was busy inspecting a liquor list, alongside the bar. Argos grunted. “He ain’t even waiting where I told him to.”

“Color me shocked.” Iosa stared at the coyote.

Argos turned back towards her. “Look, Iosa. I know I fucked up. But, I also know I’m doing the right thing. However…” He lifted a hand. “I ain’t doing the right thing by you. So, lemme at least apologize.”

Iosa perked a single ear. “Go on.”

Argos cleared his throat. He sat up straight, looking Iosa in the eyes. “I am deeply sorry, that I’m such a fucking idiot sometimes.”

The vixen lifted her other ear. “Sometimes?”

A smirk broke out across the coyote’s muzzle. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry I’m always a fucking idiot.” Argos’s grin faded a moment later. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about this first. I’m sorry I’m jeopardizing us. I’m sorry I’m always dragging you into my messes. You’re completely right. I should have discussed the situation with you, before making a decision. And I’d love to tell you that next time, I’ll do exactly that. But I ain’t gonna lie to my partner. We both know that next time, I’ll probably just Argos it up again. So, I’m sorry for whatever dipshit thing I’m liable to do next.” Argos lowered his head until his muzzle was brushing the table, an old coyote gesture of apologetic regret. “You have my deepest, most genuine apologies.” After a few moments passed, he lifted his head just enough to glance up at her. “And I ain’t just saying that so you don’t ‘accidentally’ punch me in the throat next time we spar, either.”

Iosa glowered down at him for what seemed an eternity. Finally, the hottest of the fires faded from her eyes. Her expression softened. “Oh, goddamn it, Coyote. Apology accepted. Now stop licking the table, it’s beneath you.”

“Ain’t lickin’ it.” Argos sat back up, adjusting his vest. “Although, maybe I should be. I think the server spilled a little of my last cocktail when he sent it down. Can’t let that go to waste.”

Iosa rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t put it past you.”

“You never answered my question, you know.” Argos looked across the dining hall. Rivi was now engaged in an animated conversation with a bartender, who looked to be doing his best to disengage and slink away. “Partner talk aside, would you have let them stick that cat and all his expensive bullshit into steerage?”

The vixen rubbed her hands together. “No, Argos. But I’d have tried to pay off someone else to take him in, instead.”

The coyote shrugged. “No one left to do that. Only cabins left with room were ours, Iosa. I wasn’t gonna stick him with you, so that really only left me.”

The vixen grimaced. “I would have asked them about removing someone, then. There’s got to be someone on board they don’t like.”

“Didn’t wanna be that asshole.” Argos waved his hand. “Besides, whoever got kicked out would be stuck in Tavosa, and who knows what’s gonna happen there. If the city falls, I mighta been condemning them just as much as I’d have been condemning Rivi to let him end up in steerage.” Argos swallowed, his ears down. “I picked the least bad option I could think of at the time, alright? And the more I talk with the cheetah, the more I know I did the right thing. He needs to know the world ain’t what the Church tells him it is. That he ain’t what the Church tells him he is.” He slowly turned back towards Iosa. “He’s like us, you know. In the same club.”

Iosa scrunched her face. “The club? What club?”

“You know…” Argos flourished a hand. “The Club for Respectable Individuals…”

“Who Like Other Respectable Individuals.” Iosa glanced down at her hands. “That’s a dangerous membership to claim, where he’s from.”

“Yeah.” Argos swallowed, his eyes wandering aimlessly around the dining hall. “He’s pretty guarded about it, and…pretty ashamed of himself, for it. Truth be told, I got that feeling from him right off the bat. Good at readin’ people, and all. But I wasn’t sure till he let it slip. Figure I oughta at least get it into his head, that it’s okay to be who he is. Ain’t nothing sinful or impure about it, no matter he’s been told.”

“Seems a reasonable goal.” Iosa took a slow breath. “This is going to be just like her, isn’t it?”

Argos jerked his head up, his ears flat. “Ain’t gonna be nothing like that.” He pushed himself out of his chair. “We done, for now? You can yell at me more, later on.”

“Yes, Argos.” Iosa made a dismissive motion. “We’re done, for now. Meet me in the VIP lounge in an hour? We had things to discuss even before the cat, let alone now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.” Argos pushed his chair in, then paused. “Listen, Iosa. I really am sorry. But, now that things are as they are, I gotta ask you-”

“Yes,” Iosa said.

Argos blinked. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ll help you keep Rivi safe.” She picked up her knife, and idly spun it across her fingers. “Because while I remain infuriated by your potentially compromising decisions, I do agree that…” She grimaced, as if pained by her own words. “Helping him is the right thing to do. However dangerous doing so may be for us. Just…” Iosa stood up, and went to Argos. “Promise me, something.”

Argos looked away, afraid of what she was going to say. “What is it?”

Iosa gently grasped his muzzle, turning his face back towards her. “Please, Argos. Don’t let this one break your heart.”