Twitchwhisker stopped to survey the ruffian. One ear drooped at a wicked angle and a gap between his incisors when he leered. “Not with you, you scabrous lecher. Go mate with a beer bottle.”
“I don’t want to subtract anything from your defiance, which is most worthy, but I think you may have been a bit harsh to that solicitous unfortunate,” Slypaws said afterward.
“The nerve of him thinking we’re party ladies,” Twitch replied.
They shuffled shoulder to shoulder down the Crosstown Thoroughfare, climbing out of the ravine made by the creekbed onto the patio of a café. From there, they crossed the street and plunged into a labyrinth of back lanes and alleyways known as The Strip. Young raccoons gave way to them respectfully because of their age, the only sign of anyone making a social distinction in this city. Slypaws wished they wouldn’t do that. But she wouldn’t admit to Twitch that she wanted to be young again. She wouldn’t admit it to Twitch because she wouldn’t admit it to herself.
“Did you hear the news?” It was one of the street leaders who were popping up everywhere. His Citizen’s hat held a sprig of orange rowan berries.
“No. Tell us.”
“His Impotence has left town. Tonight’s Declaration has been postponed.”
“What are we to do with this gladsome news?”
“Be ready to mobilize. Have you joined a Citizens Brigade?”
“I think we won’t just yet, if that’s alright. My revolution, when it comes, is going to be individual, personal, and highly sensual.”
But the boyish leader had already turned his attention to another stroller.
“Whatever did you mean by that?” Slypaws asked.
“I mean, I am going to turn the regime of patriarchy upside-down. I shall have as many lovers as Meatbreath has wives.”
“Somewhere in a revolution there must be a middle ground between collective action and individual acts of suicide,” Slypaws said.
They turned into a narrow space between buildings. This time, the young raccoons coming in the opposite direction wouldn’t yield to their seniority. They were two male soldiers, barely out of their teens.
“Give us a lick and we’ll let you pass.”
Slypaws immediately began to growl.
“You don’t want to mess with her,” Twitch explained. “She’s seriously out of season.”
“You’re wearing Resistance hats. We could arrest you for treason. We’re High Guard.”
“This is a free city. You have no power here.”
“We do now. The law courts have been turned over to the Director of Security. She’s been personally appointed by The Protector.”
“I’m not aware of his official endorsement by the City Fathers.” Slypaws had ceased to growl. Instead, she had acquired an icy calm. “It was to occur tonight, but now it’s been postponed, hasn’t it? Or don’t you know?”
Twitch added her bit: “You’re Creekers, aren’t you? Go home to your mama and learn some manners.”
The cavalier officers made mock bows as the two Citizen ladies passed. The ladies continued along the alleyway to emerge shortly after onto a route running down to the river. Dizzying scents of pork, beer, and corn filled their noses.
“Are we going down there?” Sly asked.
“Let’s go and take a look. What’s this?”
It was a small Protector statuette – an exact duplicate of his mammoth girth and overwhelming tail, but hollow spaces where his eyes were supposed to be.
Slypaws tore its face off in one swipe.
“Wow!” Twitch said. “What was that you said about a desperate individual act?”
“Blessed Hapticia, that felt good!”
Now what? A barricade had been put across the raccoon track. It was made of packing crates, recycling boxes, shopping carts, and an old sofa.
“Stand and identify yourselves,” a voice shouted from behind the barrier.
“Slypaws and Twitchwhisker, tourists, but sympathetic to the cause.” They approached so the resistance fighter could see their hats.
“Pass, Citizens!”
“Why the barricade?” Slypaws asked the squad leader.
“We’re occupying the City before the Pro returns with his army” was the answer.
“But the High Guard is still here. We just bumped into two officers.”
“There aren’t as many of them around as it appears. We’ve heard he’s taken the High Guard to Creek Town to recruit more warriors.”
“Good luck to the struggle,” Twitchwhisker said.
“¡No passarán!”
