The jailer received her orders, nodded, and slinked toward the shed.
“Get ready to run,” Slypaws whispered over her shoulder.
“Sly – we can’t take this power couple. I can give the doxy a second drooping lip so she at least acquires the virtue of symmetry, but I can’t go up against her Big Guy. He fights dirty.”
“We have no other choice. Everyone has to squeeze through the hole one by one to get out of here, and we can’t go through at all if that hideous couple is right outside.”
“I’d rather die beside you than watch you sacrifice yourself in vain.”
“That’s very noble, Twitch. But let’s see what she wants.”
They listened to the car wheel being rolled away from the hole. Daylight showed between the dirt floor and the bottom of the shed wall. The jailer stuck her nose in.
“We want fresh water,” Twitchwhisker demanded.
“Shut up, dearie, else I’ll give ’ee a slap across thy snout.”
“You touch her, you scabrous heap of filth, and your entrails will be draped over the rafters.”
Drooplip squinted at Slypaws, then decided not to push it further. “We’re moving you’se all.”
“Where?”
“It ’tain’t none o’ yer business, issit? But I’ll tells ye: you’se already know there’s a threat to the City. The Protector’s son is coming ’ere wid his throng o’ followers – why are ye prickin’ up yer ears?” She directed the question at Slypaws.
“No reason. I didn’t think any of Meatbreath’s sons were old enough to attract followers.”
“Well, this one is. Not that it matters to me. One Protector’s as good as t’other – that’s what oi say. They’s all the same to a Businesswoman such as meself.”
“A Businesswoman! Give me a break!”
“Protectors need chattels. Which is what you’se lot are.”
“I’m not anyone’s property. I’m a free Raccoon Citizen,” Twitch declared.
“Sure you are, sweet’eart. You can say that to your designated lover. It’ll increase his ardour.”
“Maybe it’ll be the Mini-Pro.”
“Twitch, be careful,” Sly whispered.
“Roight, then. First couple. You’se are comin’ out by twos, get it? No funny business. No, not you two.”
“We’re content to go last,” Slypaws said.
The first pair went out – two yearling women brashly wearing their Revolution hats. A shadow fell over the entranceway. Twitch sniffed and made a face. The male loner. “Go and reason with him,” she whispered in Slypaw’s ear.
“No, it’s useless.”
“I’ll try then.”
“Be careful what you say.”
Twitch put her nuzzle to the hole and called. “Yoo-hoo! I want to propose a bargain.”
“Sure. Speculate away, so long as you keep it under the table.”
“That’s very clever. With whom do I have the honour of making a transaction?”
“Trusty Lockjaw is the name. And sellin’ ladies is my game. Let’s hear your proposal.”
“I propose – just speculatively speaking, of course – that you release me and my friend. In return, we’ll promise that the Protector’s Son takes you as his Business Manager. For all the affairs of the City.”
“You know this guy?”
Shut up, Twitch!
“No. Never met the dude. But we believe we can … work out a deal with him. He’ll be happy that you guaranteed our safety.”
“You don’t know him, but you’re going to deal with him! Nice try, ladies.” The shadow withdrew from the entranceway. Light flooded back in.
“Wait! I’ve got more …”
The listening shadow returned.
“The Mini-Pro is from the Creek, isn’t he? I’m a leading Clan Mom there.”
“So? Lots of Creeker Moms here in the City. If you told me the Protector’s Son is your direct kin, we’d be having a different conversation.”
