Vermin? You sure?
~~~
Chapter Fifteen
The weasels, flanked by a dozen guards and bound paw and claw, knelt at the footpaws of Ruggan Bor. The golden-furred fox looked down at them in much the same way he would look at a beetle - giving the impression he would lose interest and crush them at any second. Sylver found himself wishing the fox would blink. The way he stared constantly was somewhat frightening. Mawk was trembling and chewing his lip.
"What are these?" the fox barked suddenly at Grissoul.
"Some gang of travelling clowns, lord," Grissoul replied. "They just wandered into the camp. Dunno where they came from."
"Do they carry weapons?"
"None save a few darts and slings, milord," Ermath said, dropping the weasel's confiscated weapons at the chief's footpaws. "They say they came seeking aid."
"Is this true?" Ruggan Bor demanded, pointing his sabre at Sylver's throat.
"Yes, it's true. We are harmless travellers, we only came here to ask for directions. We mean no harm to your tribe. What harm could we cause, even if we wanted to?" The fox nodded and sheathed his blade.
"This is true. Nine beasts could do nothing against a tribe this size. But how do I know you are not scouts from a much larger force? The Juska chieftains are always battling among themselves, you may be spies sent by another chief." The fox paced up and down in front of the weasels, pawing at the hilt of his sabre. He stopped in front of Luke, who started mouthing a prayer.
"Remove that make-up," the fox instructed. "All of you." The weasels scrubbed their faces with the sleeves of their clown outfits, too scared to ask why. Ruggan Bor leaned forward and examined their smudgy facial fur.
"No tattoos," he proclaimed. "So you are not Juska tribesfolk. Where do you come from?"
Sylver's mind raced. He could hardly tell the fox the real story - if the reaction of Grissoul and Ermath was anything to go by, he would not be believed. If the chieftain was not told a believable story, the weasels would probably be killed. He settled for the simplest and safest way out.
"Oh, we've come from many places," he said, trying to keep his voice light and cheerful. "Here and there, hither and yon. We go where our paws take us." He picked up two pebbles and attempted to juggle them, doing surprisingly well considering his paws were tied together. The band looked faintly surprised, but soon realised what he was up to and tried to look as if they had planned this.
Mind racing, Sylver continued, still juggling. "I know one as great as you must keep an eye open for spies at all times, I bear no ill will to you for searching us - and let's face it, what could I do about it if I did? Unbind us now and let us perform a show for you and your tribe - will that buy the information we need?" The other weasels dared not actually say anything, but their expressions read "please?" The golden fox seemed supremely unimpressed, but one or two of the guards looked interested. The weasels held their breath.
Finally, Ruggan Bor nodded to a rat.
"Cut their bonds," he ordered. The rat obliged, and the weasels gratefully stood up and shook some life back into their paws. Alysoun winked at Sylver, then sighed and fell backwards dramatically. A Juskabor weasel dropped his cutlass and caught Alysoun as she collapsed. Ruggan Bor raised one eyebrow.
"Is she ill?"
Alysoun opened her eyes. "Why no, sir, but we have not eaten or drunk this past day, and I am weak with hunger." She fluttered her eyelids at the jack holding her. To the astonishment of the band, the jack blushed.
Ruggan Bor sighed. "Fine. Grissoul and Ermath, find this lot some food. You weasels will do your 'show' as soon as you've eaten." He turned his back and strutted away. The Juska weasel carefully lowered Alysoun to the ground.
"Oh thank you, good sir," she simpered, overacting horribly. The weasel blushed furiously, retrieved his cutlass and ran.
"Alysoun, you're shameless," said Miniver.
"Well, it worked."
~~~
Within half an hour, food was acquired. The tribesfolk seemed reluctant to refuse when confronted with the Seers, and soon the weasels were sitting down with wooden bowls of vegetable stew and, except in the case of Bryony, roasted pigeon. The Seers watched them as they fell upon the food. They tried to whisper to each other without the vixens noticing.
"We're doomed, aren't we?" Mawk squeaked, still trembling.
"Quiet!" Sylver hissed. "No, we are not doomed. I know we're in a sticky situation, but even this is better than being dead. We'll just have to do this show as best we can and hope they like it."
"Just don't think about what'll happen if they don't like it," muttered Icham.
~~~
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