A Clock, A Thief, and a Dragon

Farah the ferret thief scampered down the alleyway, the shouts of her pursuers echoing behind her. 

Even the best have to run for it on occasion, she thought, consoling herself. 

The rain was falling in sheets as she ran, soaking through her cloak, leathers, and down into her fur.   

“She went this way!” a coyote shouted. 

“Ugh, these idiots are annoyingly persistent,” Farah grumbled with flattened ears.

The nimble ferret kept running, cloak flapping behind her. She briefly paused as she came upon a partition wall. Smirking, she dug her claws in and scaled the wall as her pursuers closed in. 

A throwing knife struck the wall in a shower of sparks before clanging away as Farah looked over her shoulder and stuck out her tongue. 

“Missed me! Missed me! Now you gotta kiss me!” The ferret reached the top of the wall and leapt for the nearby roof. 

“But not really,” she added. “Ew.” 

Her pursuers, a mix of canines, felines, and a pair of rats all glared at her. Farah wondered if they had any throwing weapons left, or if they’d attempt to follow after her. Either way she figured it best to keep running across the rooftops. 

“Circle around! Those roofs stop eventually!” One of her pursuers called out. 

Farah huffed as her claws ran over the slick shingles of the houses and various businesses. They were right of course: the rows of houses would end eventually, but Farah was confident she had a headstart on her pursuers, as long as she didn’t— 

—A loose shingle gave way and the little mustelid slipped onto her side and found herself sliding off of the roof.

Oh, of course! Farah thought, protesting the fates.

How had she gotten into this again? Oh right. 

A week ago she stumbled upon a clock shop she had been casing for a heist with its wares now strewn across the cobblestone streets of the Fog District. She found out soon afterwards that a gladiator had apparently crashed through the wall of the shop: Farah wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip by. 

She stole the mechanism from the clock she had been studying and ran to the black market to sell it before the owner of the clock shop - a rich, naive raccoon - returned.

The ferret had considered it a successful score and decided to visit a local tavern afterwards. She was regarding the silver masks in the tavern warily. She got a kick out of pestering the cultists: it was still a source of amusement for the thief. 

“Can’t decide if you’re creepy or ridiculous looking,” she said. They ignored her as they glided by in their robes. 

“Also you’re not actually gliding!” 

Still no reaction. 

They weren’t as fun to pester as the Tyrian fanatics, especially back when she used the bellydancer routine. They would get easily offended and start rattling off passages of their holy book - as if their trite little words were going to convert her or something.

Ever since she’d arrived on the drenched shores of Vulane she’d found no shortage of use of her thieving skills. However she now had run into something she had never run into before: 

A conflict of interest. 

A tiger in a purple turban and dark purple cape approached her from the corner of the room. “Excuse me, ferret. My master would very much like to acquire the use of your services.” 

Farah’s ears twitched. “What kind of services are we talking about?” 

“Your skills of course.” 

Farah rolled her eyes. “Alright, lead on.” 

The tiger and ferret left the tavern, where the tiger led her down the street to the billowing fumes of the Fogs. Farah had been there too often. She wrapped a scarf around her snout to ward off the addicting fumes. 

In a dilapidated building Farah found herself on the opposite side of a large one eyed jaguar relaxing on a cushioned sheet. The ferret’s heart skipped a beat when she saw a raccoon next to the jaguar. 

“Scratch,” Farah greeted. “Been some time. Ooh, when did you lose an eye? It’s distinguished looking.”

Scratch rumbled in his throat. “Always quick on the wits I see. I have a job for you. I hear you’re in high demand, so I’m prepared to offer a considerable amount.”

Farah rubbed her paws together. “Yes, yes, go on!” 

The jaguar motioned to the raccoon. “This is Frances Whisperwheel. The proprietor of the clock shop in the Fogs. He’s had a valuable mechanism stolen. We want you to steal it back.” 

Farah grinned. This was awkward, she was being asked to steal something that she herself had stolen. 

“Well I’m interested but I have no idea where to start looking for this device.”  

Scratch growled, “I have a well placed source, they say it’s in the Black Fog Cafe. Azheretiti’s domain.” 

Farah’s tail twitched. “Oh, you sure that’s accurate? I mean everyone in that place is an addict.”  

Scratch growled, “I am certain.” 

Farah held up her paws. “Alright, I’ll get right on that.”  

The ferret knew where it was: she had delivered it to Azheretiti herself. 

“Hopefully I’ll be in and out before that senile old dragon knows what happened.” the ferret said to herself. 

She had taken herself to one of the taverns to ponder her conundrum. Crossing either Scratch or Azheretiti was risky. Both? 

Even worse. 

But the prospect of stealing something she had already stolen again made her tail twitch with excitement. 

Farah downed her glass and slapped a coin on the table. 

“Ah, hells. It will be exciting.” 

The ferret stood up from the table and headed back to the Fog district. Scarf around snout again.  

“Ugh, I am sick of going back to this place. All those weirdos putting smoke in their lungs. What’s the appeal? Get drunk like a normal beast.”

Beasts of every type lay sprawled outside the opium den known as the ‘Black Fog Cafe,’ their minds on journeys far from where they lay. A mink mumbled and wrapped his arms around Farah’s ankles as she stepped over him. 

“No handsy!” Farah growled kicking herself loose. 

The black fog that was billowing across the district emanated from the windows and doors of the ill-reputed house... Ill-reputed even for Vulane. 

That was saying something.    

A silvermaked border collie stood guard at the house as Farah passed under their hollow gaze. 

“Okay, those are creepy. I’ve made up my mind.” Farah sighed as she picked her way around.

There was another guard at the entry to the depths. Farah sighed she had to take them out to get passed or lure them away. She doubted her sleeping darts would have any effect.  

The building itself had the rounded spires and tall towers of some other continent - smooth and with very few footholds. When she had come in the first time to deliver the timepiece mechanism, she had a formal writ with Azhertiti’s burning signature on it. That wasn’t an option now. 

No way could she have forged it without spending a hundred times what the heist itself was worth. 

Well, there was always the classic approach. 

Farah staggered towards the guard as if in a stupor: As usual the silvermask seemed impassive. 

The thing about their masks was that she couldn’t tell if they were a thrall or a sober believer. Without warning Farah stumbled and then struck the guard with the blunt end of her handaxe in the knee, and then followed up with a blow over the head. 

The guard staggered and lunged for Farah who nimbly evaded him, she led him closer to the various beasts on the floor who all began to laugh hysterically like the madbeasts they were becoming. Some even staggered up and towards her and the guard. 

The confusion was just what she needed to slip down into the hole, towards the lair of the dragon.   

Just as Farah was about to reach the large black door to Azhertiti’s domain, she tripped.

Tripped?

“You seem to be in a hurry,” a shadow asked.

Farah rolled and landed on her feet. The shadow was feline-shaped, with tufts on its ears.

“Yeah I’m in a hurry, no time to play.” Farah quipped holding her scarf close.

“Oh really? You seem very playful.”

Sounds of excitement could be heard from above, along with footfalls descending the long spiral staircase.

“Maybe you need some assistance?” The shadow asked, its short tail wagging excitedly. “You seem to be in a bit of a bind.”

“I’ve had worse,” Farah replied. 

THUMP THUMP THUMP... yells of excitement and confusion from above, getting closer.

“You’re a professional: You don’t need any help at all, hehehehe... Say, let’s make it more exciting, eh?” The shadow asked in a disturbingly titillated voice - almost hoping for sudden violence injected into the situation.

“You’re a real nutter aren’t you?”

“Maybe you should take the scarf off,” the figure said, drawing a rapier with a cold SHIIING... “Things are much more fun that way.”  

“No thanks. I prefer not being out of my mind.” she drew her short sword and threw a sleeping dart at the outline of the strange feline. The shadowy feline moved back, dodging the dart but barely. 

“That wasn’t very nice!” 

Farah was already scampering away her handaxe in the opposite hand as her shortsword. ‘Claw’ and ‘Fang’ as she liked to call them. 

“As I said. I have no time to play games with you honey!” 

“But I want to play with you.” the feline said as she gave chase. 

Farah turned and parried a thrust meant for her belly with her handaxe and slashed back at her opponent with her shortsword. 

The feline stepped back with a chuckle. “Not bad.”

“Like what you see? I’m not interested.” Farah snarked.

“Heh. Hey, what’s with the scarf?” The cat replied, thrusting.

Farah dodged, “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Do you not like the queen’s royal breath?”

The feline made a flick for Farah’s snout again, Farah blocked the blade on her sword and stepped forward with a chop of her handaxe, the blade biting against the guard of her foes sword.

“You overindulge in it.” Farah replied. “That’s for sure.”

“Take it off! You’ll be so much happier!” the feline replied. Making a flick, Farah backed off as the tip scratched at her leathers. 

“Uhm, no!” Farah shouted.

“Breathe it in, or I kill you. Your only options.”

That’s when the footfalls from above became footfalls right in front of her. The fight the ferret was having with the strange shadow was now becoming an impediment. 

“I choose option three!” Farah shouted ducking into the wall of confused guards and proprietors of the opium den.

“Run for it little ferret! I better not catch your cute muzzle in here again!” Farah looked back to see the feline clearly now. A lynx with bright purple eyes staring out of the black fog.

Farah would remember her. She weaved through the brawl between guards, drug addled patrons, and the lunatics just rolling on the floor laughing. It made her escape more manageable. But Farah felt the burning sensation of failure. She hated failing.

After she got clear of the brawl there was a shout as six guards gave chase. These were normal muscle, not the silvermasks. Not as creepy, but six on one was not ideal - Especially with the lynx not far behind.

And that was how Farah found herself falling from the roof. She landed spryly but the thugs were closing in. The chase was out of the fog district now, and in the marketplace. Farah weaved through the stalls and up and over onto yet another roof where she stuck her tongue out at her pursuers. 

They had given up the chase by then, but then the ferret watched them pick a fight with a large reptiloid and a rat with fighting sticks. The duo made short work of her pursuers. 

“Interesting.” Farah said to herself as she watched the males make short work of her pursuers. 

She’d heard of the escaped reptiloid - a gladiator - but the rat... She had no idea who he was. Why would they team up? The question itself was intriguing... But maybe they were desperate for something. She might actually have an idea.