Roland leaned harder on the piece of wood he’d broken off the wall and wedged between the bars.

Just under two hours ago, it had been the bed they’d given him to sleep on. Now, it was a crude crowbar he hoped would help him escape this cramped cell. Roland gritted his teeth as he put more of his weight into it, which was admittedly not much. The minuscule meals were getting to him now, so much so that you could practically play his ribs like a xylophone.

After this, Roland would have nothing left. The cell hadn’t been built for comfort, and that plank was the last of the furniture. At least, he thought it was. In truth, there was no light in the darkest part of the Tressan dungeons, and he’d only discovered his surroundings by feeling around for what was there. For all he knew, a three-piece suite could be hidden in the corner.

‘Come on!’ he growled between clenched teeth, threatening to break. ‘Come on, please!’

The plank slipped, and he slipped with it. Roland crashed to the floor and swore at the flash of pain in his elbow. Without much thought for manners, the rogue hopped up and kicked the bench, kicked the bars, and kicked up the hay off the floor. He then muttered a string of obscenities before collapsing to his knees.

He never gave up. Not now, not ever, but he did need to think. There was a lock on the door; maybe he could use the wooden splinters as a crude lockpicking device. The rogue was so tired, though. So exhausted. Days of stale water, slim pieces of bread, and waterboarding do that to a person. Others might consider accepting their fate. Roland didn’t.

‘As persistent as ever.’

The voice was even, cruel, and quite familiar.

Roland looked to the outside of his cell just as a candle was lit. After the momentary blindness, he just managed to squint the sight of a tall figure whose beady, red, piercing eyes looked at him through the darkness. More details pressed on his mind as his eyes caught up to the light.

It wasn’t a man. It was half of a man, and the other half was a fox. While the unusual visitor stood upright, his body was covered in red and white fur, and he had the betraying features of a vulpine creature. Ears pointed up, whiskers pointed out, and claws that were just pointed — not to mention the bushy tail that swung with each step the creature took towards him.

‘Fox!’ Roland coughed it. ‘Come here to gloat, have you?’

‘In a way.’ Fox quietly placed a stool on the floor — the one the guards used when they wanted to sit and watch the young rogue. He fluttered back the coattails of his jacket and took a seat. As he did so, Roland caught the unmistakable glint of gold on the werefox’s finger.

‘I heard you’d returned to Tressa, so I just had to see you, Roland,’ Fox continued. ‘How have you been? Where are you living these days?’

‘Where’d you get the candle?’ Roland nodded to the light source in Fox’s hand, who momentarily looked at it bemusedly. ‘Only magical light works this far down in the dungeons.’

‘Swiped it from upstairs,’ he replied. ‘I just wanted us to have a proper chat. You know, before you get executed.’

‘A lot of trouble you’ve gone through just to see me, especially since you want me dead.’ Roland glanced up and imagined how many tubheads Fox would’ve had to sneak past to get here. He wasn’t stupid; he knew it had taken work, and he also knew that a lucky spot would have ended with Fox Matthews thrown in a cell himself. He looked back at the sinister figure. ‘I don’t think I’m supposed to have visitors.’

‘Well, you did the same for me once, so I thought it was only polite,’ replied Fox, gingerly picking a bit of dirt from his jacket. ‘I thought I’d never see the day that Roland Darrow, the jewel of the Whispers of Tressa, would see his comeuppance. Tell me, how does it feel knowing you’re about to get what’s coming to you?’

‘How are the Whispers?’ Roland swayed. ‘Still a bunch of devious, backstabbing dickheads?’

Fox stood up from the stool without a sound. Not a murmur. He stepped closer to the bars, and Roland wished he had the energy to take a step back — that little tantrum he’d subjected himself to ten seconds ago had knocked the life out of him.

‘Wondering if they’re going to save you?’ Fox grinned. ‘I’d put that thought to rest. You were kicked out, Roland, and with very good reason, too. They want absolutely nothing to do with you.’

At the mention of his sordid past, an old scar on Roland’s lower back flared up. The young rogue resisted the urge to massage the nostalgic pain away. It was one of the hundreds of scars he had on his back, but the only one he had ever received in Tressa.

Roland had already guessed that the Whispers wouldn’t save him. It was nice to have confirmation, though. Yet, he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Roland had hoped that a few might come. It wasn’t a surprise, he guessed. People didn’t tend to like thieves, but none more so than other thieves.

Without stopping, Fox stepped through the bars.

The were-creature slipped through them in much the same way a cat can supernaturally slither through any gap. One moment, he was on the side of freedom, then the other, he was squaring up to a kneeling Roland. The rogue knew he needed to stand, and so summoned the strength to do so. They were of a similar height, but Fox had an intimidating two inches on him.

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‘You owe me, Roland,’ Fox growled, his beady eyes staring daggers into Roland’s own. ‘For what you did to me, you owe me more than you could ever give.’

Roland didn’t answer. He just stared back at Fox. It didn’t take much experience for him to know that Fox knew a little more than he was saying — probably a lot more. If he were to talk, he’d reveal something, so it was best just to keep quiet and let the vulpine figure talk.

‘They say you were found on the coast in a little rowboat with nothing to your name but a silver rapier and a ruby worth ten thousand gold crowns.’ Fox forced Roland to take a step back, edging him towards the wall of his dank cell. ‘I want you to tell me where you found these items. I know they’re important since the guards spend every night trying to torture the truth out of you. Give me some information that I can sell. Do that, and I’ll call us even.’

There was no need to wonder where Fox had heard these rumours. It was no secret that the tubheads in Tressa were more corrupted to their core than a rotted apple. What’s more, he knew the Whispers were also in their pockets, which meant a silver noble here could reveal a scintillating secret there.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Roland shrugged, doing his best not to lose eye contact. ‘Sounds like you may have been given the wrong information.’

Fox licked his lips in consideration.

Roland looked down and caught the glint of gold on the creature’s finger. It was a ring, and even in the darkness, he could see that it had the likeness of a cat’s face with tiny rubies for eyes. He knew it was a magical ring as he had seen it before. It allowed you to slip through the slightest of gaps and was the kind of magic ring that could allow a convict to slip through every bar between here and the dungeon’s entrance.

‘I was wondering what I’d find down here after all these years,’ said Fox. ‘Perhaps, I had thought to myself, it wouldn’t be the same red-haired boy I knew so long ago. Maybe it’ll be a man who has learned from his mistakes and developed some compassion.’

You were wrong about that, Roland thought.

He made a lunge for the ring. It was a desperate lunge, but he knew he’d have a better shot at stealing it if he did it in the middle of the conversation. That didn’t happen — not even close. With the heightened reflexes of a wild animal, Fox spun away from Roland and kicked him into the wall. That was the second time he’d felt his back smashed against the unforgiving stone today.

It had been worth the try, he told himself. You only gave up when you gave up.

‘You’re so predictable,’ Fox sneered, revealing his black gums. ‘I heard you became a pirate. Is that true?’

‘Yeah.’ Roland nodded.

‘Didn’t learn much from them then, huh?’ Fox crouched down on his knees to Roland’s height and produced a set of trimmed claws on his right hand. ‘You know, I could just torture it out of you. I certainly have the tools for the job, and I don’t need to be concerned with how you look to the public on execution day. I want to know where those items came from.’

‘I’ll shout for the guards,’ replied Roland — it was his only defence. ‘They’ll come too. They’ve been jittery ever since my third escape attempt.’

‘Suppose I’ll just have to settle for watching you hang.’

Fox sighed before slipping back through the bars. After a second of internal deliberation, Fox pulled off the ring and held it out towards the rogue. Roland couldn’t reach for it to snatch it. In fact, he couldn’t even stand back up. It was like every bit of energy he’d conserved for himself had been stripped from him in that single lunge and the resulting shunt into the wall.

‘Beg for it,’ Fox said simply.

Roland gave him a cold stare as an answer.

‘Beg.’ Fox shrugged. ‘Get on your knees, put your hands together, and beg me for the ring. Do that, and I’ll give it to you. As simple as my word, isn’t it?’

‘You’d never give it to me,’ Roland snarled. ‘I know you wouldn’t.’

‘That doesn’t matter, does it?’ replied Fox. ‘What matters is you’ve got a chance here. A chance at escaping. If there’s even the smallest whisper of truth to my words, it’s more than you’ve got when I’m gone. So…beg.’

He’d have done better asking Roland to stop breathing forever.

There was a lot that Roland wasn’t good at, but being submissive was right at the top of his list. Of course, that was also something Fox knew well. Probably about the only thing Roland had ever learned from the strange figure. Roland didn’t bow to power or authority, and he certainly didn’t bow to fox-like thieves with delusions of grandeur.

Roland didn’t move an inch.

‘Shame,’ said Fox, rescinding the ring. ‘I would have done it too. Turns out that it was pride that got you killed in the end, Roland.’

‘Did you actually just come here to gloat?’ Roland could sense their impromptu visit was coming to an end. ‘Or was it genuinely to get information off me?’

‘I had to see if it was really you, but officially, both.’ Fox squirrelled the ring onto his index finger. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some gambling to do at the Crooked Hat. You remember that place, don’t you, Roland?’

It was hard to forget a place that broke your arm if you couldn’t pay the door cover. Sometimes, Roland could still feel the break in his shoulder on cold mornings. It came with a dull ache that only went away by being near a roaring fire.

‘I’m in there most nights now,’ Fox went on. ‘Actually, I became a part owner. I get to drink there for free and everything.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘First drink is on me if you can get away.’ Fox smiled. ‘If you can’t make it, I’ll understand. Trust me, I won’t go losing my head about it.’

With that, Fox blew out the candle and submerged the room once again in an unforgivable darkness. In a few seconds, he would be gone, but Roland couldn’t resist the chance to get inside Fox’s head. Fox thought Roland was predictable. He was wrong. Roland was just desperate. It was Fox, who was predictable.

‘You’re not going to the Crooked Hat tonight,’ Roland said aloud to the room, allowing his voice to reverberate off its cold, stone walls. ‘You’re planning on stealing that ruby, aren’t you?’

The lack of an answer was answer enough.

Roland kept his ears open as he concentrated on picking up on anything that sounded like slight breathing or padded footsteps. When he heard neither, he knew that Fox was gone, and he was once again alone. That comment must surely have got under Fox’s skin, he thought with a slight smile.

A minute passed before he felt strong enough again. Roland got himself up with a struggle and moved towards where he guessed the plank was. Then he was at it again, wedging the piece of furniture into the bars and trying to apply enough pressure to bend the bars out so he could slip through.

This time, he would bend it. Either that or he’d find some wooden shards, ones sleek and robust enough to serve as lock-picking tools, and then he would escape this prison. That was something he couldn’t mistake for fiction, so the only real question was how he was going to do it.