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Book 1 – Law

Chapter 2

     Bells sounded brazenly over the crackling flames settling deep into the ancient wooden beams, a dissonant chorus to the sounds of battle below, the clash of metal on metal and flesh, the screams of the killers and the dying mingling.  His panic was a pressure on his chest, shaking him with every breath, and the world was heat, red light, and warped and twisting walls, without size or proportion, passages of repeated chaos ending only in more of the same.  He ran with no destination, ran merely to show that he was not helpless, not just a leaf in the wind.  The voices down below became more distinct, as if trying to reach him, almost forming words.  The pressure and shaking on his chest grew fiercer, and suddenly a voice he knew broke through.
     "Hell's teeth, Locke, wake up!"
     Locke blinked several times as the world came back into focus.  The light from the dingy window beside his bed was never really bright, but to his drowsy eyes it seemed blinding.  Jimmy's eyes were glaring out from their black mask as he shook him roughly.  As his muscles realigned to waking movement, he grabbed the paw from his chest and flung it away.
     "Okay, lay off already," he mumbled.  "I'm up."  He felt his eyelids closing again even as he said it, and so to avoid belying himself he forced his legs sideways with an effort and sat up on the edge of his bed.  Anyway, the dream, still vivid in memory, had drained sleep of its attraction.  His long silver tail draped out behind him, matted a little from sleep.  He reached up to scratch an ear and found that his paw had gone numb.  "I must have slept on it," he mumbled.
     "Yeah, well work it out fast.  We're already late, slacker."  Jimmy stood over him for a moment, then turned to leave.  "You have five minutes to dress and meet me downstairs.  No time for breakfast now, or lunch, rather; we'll have to eat something at the Sly Dog when we give your femme idéale her cut.  Assuming there's a cut to give her."  He moved his head to dodge the pillow Locke threw at him, then left the room, his bushy, black-ringed tail following him down the hall.

     Locke began talking before he reached the bottom of the stairway in the two thieves' small flat.  "It took me seven minutes, but I make allowances for the unusual exertion we made last night.  And my tail needed brushing.  There was still hay in it."  Locke was a silver fox, and took pride in his appearance, on those occasions when he wished to be seen.
     Jimmy tapped his foot and said nothing.  He was leaning by the door.
     "Of course, you make allowances too, as evidenced by your lack of comment.  It's only reasonable since last night was the product of my inspiration and planning.  I understand your gratitude, and let me assure you I need no verbal praise.  My spirits are soaring."  He waved a paw in the air to illustrate.
     "Naturally," muttered Jimmy, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall.  It required winding only every week or so, a recent invention the pair had stolen from a wealthy cat's house some months ago.
     "I also understand" Locke continued, "that you are in a hurry.  I understand completely.  A fine, discerning mind like yours always looks to the next step.  As the bee to the flower, except there are no flowers in Azaria, only exotic treasures worth a fortune, the chief of which is now in our tenement."
     "We don't have our money yet."  Jimmy spoke in his usual quiet, even tone, but his tail was twitching.
     Locke smiled.  "Oh, come on, partner.  Loosen up a little!  We are now the most successful burglars in the history of the Republic!"
     "I thought burglars measured success in money," said Jimmy, frowning.  "We can't spend jewels, and heaven knows we can't spend that blasted sun carving."
     "We're visiting the fence today, Jimmy."  Locke made his tone intentionally supercilious.
     The raccoon raised his voice slightly.  "I know that, dammit!"  He paused, then continued more softly, "I explained all this before we started, when you first came up with this crazy job.  Yes," and his mouth turned up at the edge, "you did an impressive job planning and executing it so far, and no doubt everybeast in the city will be talking about it for some time."  He frowned again.  "But now you're going to find out how much trouble it is to get rid of such famous loot.  We're not smugglers, Locke, and if you think any fence in the city will take the Calmayan Sun you're deluding yourself.  It's hotter than the real sun.  If you take my advice we'll have the old weasel melt it down today and save ourselves the trouble.  It's worth more to us that way, and much less dangerous."
     "You're exaggerating," said Locke, his mood cooling.  "We just have to wait until things die down.  Anyway, the jewels will be easy to fence."
     Jimmy shook his head.  "Things won't die down.  You've outstripped yourself this time, partner.  Don't forget we robbed the most powerful beast in town, short of the President himself.  He won't let things die down.  Secretary Harris has instituted random searches before, for far less.  They'll find out it wasn't a guild job soon enough, and they know it couldn't have been one of their wretched wage slaves, or a dock beast, or a beggar.  They'll prioritize.  It's only a matter of time before they find it.  And us."
     "You have such a way of cheering me up."  Locke glared at Jimmy.  "You're my only Sun.  Let's just go before I burst into song."
     Jimmy had already packed the valuables in the usual way, in a knapsack padded with cloth to hide their shape, and he shouldered it with a grunt.  The Calmayan Sun weighed almost forty pounds.

     Two hours later Locke was failing to meet the eyes of a fence.  Since he and Jimmy were independent thieves, they were restricted in their choices – most fences thought it too risky to deal with an outsider, and especially two such ambitious ones.  The Azarian Thieves' Guild frowned on competition.  Joseph Marlon was either well-connected or brazen enough, or both.  He was a wrinkled old badger with rimless spectacles and a bland taste in clothing.  His eyes were watery and mild, and it was their very mildness that made them hard to meet.  It was hard to affront something that refused to react at all, unless one were prepared to use violence, a proposition that held a certain attraction to Locke at the moment, though it ran against his nature.
     "Robbery!" he said, with feeling.  "They're worth five times that!"  He forced his eyes to lock with the old badger's as he said it, then shifted to the white stripe running down his forehead.
     Marlon paused to adjust his spectacles before replying in the same bland monotone he had used for the entire interview.  "Without prejudice as to the accuracy of your appraisal, Mr. Locke, please consider the economics of the situation.  While I appreciate, as always, your business, you must realize the, er, singular nature of your recent acquisition creates complications for me.  I am aware that your, ah, line of work brings you in conflict at times with the City Watch, so I think I need hardly point out how overwhelmingly probable it is that they will be searching my outlets, and my colleagues', for these very jewels, hundreds of eyes and ears armed with detailed descriptions.  That poses a considerable risk to me, and I should be surprised if I can resell any of them within a year's time.  Most likely it will be several years before I will be wholly safe, and, as you know, safety is always my first consideration, especially in dealing with an independent such as yourself."
     Locke growled as the withered old badger continued his speech.
     "That delay on any return in my investment is something I must take into account, as I am sure you will agree, so I must insist that three hundred Stars is my first and final offer, quite non-negotiable.  And, as for your other, uh, item, I do not wish even to see it.  I should be reckless to the point of temerity to have any part in it.  Of course, I make no judgment on your wisdom in stealing it – you no doubt have your reasons – but by no means can I offer you any help with it."
     "This is theft!" Locke said in as restrained a tone as he could manage.  "You're taking advantage of me!"
     "I hope you will not take it amiss, Mr. Locke, if I point out the irony of that charge, given your profession.  I intend no disrespect.  In any case," he continued, adjusting his spectacles again, "the offer is really quite generous.  You are welcome to seek better from one of my competitors, but I doubt you will succeed, even if you find one willing to deal with you at all.  Of course, your refusal to work under normal channels lends a certain risk even to that, albeit one which in token of friendship I am willing to take, for you."  The mild, watery eyes blinked at Locke.  With a muttered curse, he began folding the empty sack in which he had brought the jewelry.

     Outside Marlon's office, which adjoined a larger building dedicated mostly to pawn shops and dry storage, Jimmy leaned against the wall.  The knapsack was not much lightened by the absence of Lady Buford's jewelry, but he still had it slung over his shoulder when Locke emerged and slammed the heavy wooden door behind him.  Jimmy watched with a faint curl to his lips as the angry fox exited the short stoop and approached him, noticing the small purse he carried.  "You didn't sell us out cheap, did you, partner?" he asked humorously.
     "We needed the money now," growled Locke, "and the bastard wouldn't negotiate.  He didn't even want to see the Sun, but after this I wouldn't show it to him if he begged."
     "We'll be seeing the Mad Professor soon.  If he melts it down, that will be at least six thousand Stars' worth of raw gold and jewels.  Maybe more, if those rubies are as flawless as they are big.  I'm getting tired of carrying the blasted thing, to be honest."  He rubbed his shoulder where the strap of the knapsack ran across it.
     Locke transferred his glare from the small purse to Jimmy.  "No," he said, meaning it, "not until we've at least tried to get more.  Helena has contacts among the wealthy.  I'll bet there's some envious beast out there who would just love to have Councilman Buford's prize in his own house."
     "Which would lead the Watch straight to us if word ever got to the wrong ears," replied Jimmy.  "I warned you about this when you first dreamed up this crazy scheme.  Don't forget I've been doing this longer than you."
     "I haven't.  But this was part of the plan all along.  I've spent too many years now working the small game.  It was high time I made things difficult for someone closer to Barran.  And the money we get from this will make things better for many of the beasts he trampled on his way up."
     Jimmy looked at Locke with a curious expression.  "So," he said after a few seconds, "you haven't put it behind you yet?"
     "No!  How could I?"  Locke stared into space for a moment, then started walking out of the small alleyway.  "I don't want to talk about this.  Let's go give Feist and Alise their cut.  If we're lucky we might have enough left to buy ourselves some dinner when that's done."
     "Old Marlon must have been feeling generous," said Jimmy, following.  "I wasn't expecting enough even to pay Feist."

     Professor Aloysius Feist had come down in the world since President Barran's coup.  Once the Royal Professor of Alchemy and the Physical Sciences under the Fox King, his studies were now confined to a small laboratory converted from a dingy warehouse near the East Side Docks.  A sign hung over the door that read: "Professor Feist's Manufacted Apparati, Exotic Materials, and Mechanical Repairs."  Once inside, any beast seeking the Professor would notice a small desk to the left of the door.  Since the Professor spent perhaps five minutes a week working at that desk, he would then have to continue through the small foyer into the large bay that made up the bulk of the warehouse.
     Locke and Jimmy did not even turn to look at the desk as they walked past it, knowing the Professor's habits through long acquaintance.  But no amount of familiarity would have prepared them for what greeted them as they entered the large room.  Locke was about to call out the Professor's name but was interrupted by a loud noise, almost like one of the cannons mounted on the outer wall of the City, but sharper and harder.  It was followed almost immediately by the clash of metal on stone from several places, including just a few feet away from the two thieves.  A smoking shard of metal bounced off the floor and careened until it stopped against the wall twenty feet further.  Locke and Jimmy exchanged a glance and, without a word, ran toward the metal frame stairway against the far wall that led up to the second floor platform, which ran around the walls of the room about fifteen feet up leaving an open space in the middle.  In one corner of this walkway the Professor was laying in front of a workbench covered in broken equipment and charred fragments of metal.  The two thieves hastened to the spot, neither expecting to find the poor weasel alive.
     Locke knelt over the prone form of the old scientist to look for any signs of life while Jimmy examined the workbench.  Neither had spoken yet, but in a moment Locke said, "Hey!  Jimmy, I think he's alive!"
     Sure enough, a few seconds later Feist's eyes blinked open, and in the middle of the singed and black-smudged fur of his round face they shone bright and clear.  A second later he shook his head, sat up, and said in his usual tone of phrenetic annoyance, "What the devil are you two doing here!?  Can't you see I'm busy?"  He wiped a sleeve of his white coat across his eyes, succeeding only in blackening the sleeve.
     "Not too busy to take a little nap," Jimmy said calmly.  "From the looks of things, I'd say you're lucky it wasn't a permanent one.  Didn't that explosion hurt you?"  The raccoon had turned around to look at the Professor, and was regarding him with a critical eye.
     "Bah," said Feist, waving the idea away with a paw, "it wouldn't dare.  Who would finish my project if it did?"  Locke and Jimmy were never sure if the old weasel meant it when he said things like that, or if he was merely being eccentric.  Undoubtedly the hardship of the past twelve years had taken its toll on his mind.  "More importantly," he continued, "where is my device?  I cannot afford to lose it!"  He struggled to his feet with help from Locke.
     "It's scattered around the room in about thirty different places," said Locke, "and I'm surprised you aren't too!"  Feist didn't appear to have a scratch on him.  "What were you making, you crazy old loon?"
     The Professor began frantically sorting through some of the scraps on the workbench, shoving Jimmy out of the way in the process.  "The same thing as last time, of course," he said, holding up a still smoking section of metallic cylinder to his eye.  "I'm trying to make a hand-held model of the cannons we have on our City walls, which as you know I designed in the first place.  The applications would be tremendous.  With it, I'm sure I could convince the President-"
     Locke cut him off.  "I don't want to hear about courting the President, Feist."
     Feist snorted.  "You may as well get over that, young fox."  He aimed his piercing eyes at Locke.  "Just because your father-"
     Locke cut him off again, this time more savagely.  "I don't want to hear about my father, either, Feist!  And I'm not getting over anything!"
     Jimmy intervened before the Professor could escalate the argument.  "Feist, every time you try to do this, it either blows up in your face or refuses to work at all.  Give up, maybe?"
     Nothing could side-track Professor Feist like a challenge to his work.  "You can keep your half-witted opinions to yourself, you young purse-snatcher!  I just need to hit on the right formula for the blast powder, that's all!  And I have to build everything out of melted-down scrap metal, barely fit for a shovel!"
     "I'm not that young, gray-whisker," said Jimmy, frowning.  "And you can demean my work when you find a way to fund yours without it.  We didn't come here to resuscitate you, we came here to pay you."
     "And about time, too!" said the Professor, with some heat.  "But by heaven, you'd better be more careful how you go about it!  It won't be worth my investment if you lead the City Watch right to my door again!"
     "What are you talking about!?" cried Locke.  Jimmy narrowed his eyes.
     "You recklessly left my gliders at the scene of your little adventure, you young fool, that's what!" replied Feist.  "I had a visit just this morning from two Watchbeasts, one of them an Inspector!  How they traced them back to me, I don't know, but they were sure of it, and I was afraid to deny it.  I simply told them that they had been stolen from me, which is true enough, since I expected to get them back, and now I won't.  At any rate, I think I've put them off my trail, and yours, but for heaven's sake, be more careful next time!"
     "I told you that would cause trouble," said Jimmy.
     "And what helpful suggestions did you make at the time?" Locke demanded angrily.  "Neither of us expected them to get lodged in that tree, and if you think we should have stayed there to untangle them, with the alarm ringing and fifty guards coming after us with truncheons, you should have said so!  And," he added, a bit more acidly than he intended, "I'm not the one who drugged and tied the guards in the bell tower.  That was your failure, not mine.  My part of the job went off without a hitch."
     "Fair enough," said Jimmy calmly.  "I'm not blaming you, but we should have thought ahead more.  I wonder what other little clues we might have left?"
     "Well, there's nothing we can do now but wait," said Locke.  "I doubt we made any mistakes worse than those.  But we'll see.  I'm glad now we took the trouble to disguise ourselves for the roofing job."  He removed the purse from his belt and started fishing coins out of it, stacking them on the workbench.  "There you are, as promised, Professor.  One hundred and fifty Stars."  He pulled out two more coins.  "Plus ten more, for the trouble we caused you.  That should square us, right?"
     Feist regarded the neat stack approvingly.  "Very good.  This will fund my researches for some time.  Now, is there anything else I can do for you two?"
     The two thieves declined, promising to keep in touch with the Professor.  The day was wearing on, and there was still one more errand to do, at the Sly Dog Tavern.

     The Sly Dog Tavern was not the classiest pub in the City, nor one of the worst, though the upper-class beasts would probably rate it closer to the latter than the former.  It did carry the distinction of being one of the only businesses in the City not in any way connected with President Barran's company, the Red Star Mechanifactory.  It also bore the further distinction of being the only business owned and operated exclusively by an unmarried female, one Miss Alise Gisette, a red fox vixen of previously noble line who had used the little left of her family's fortune after President Barran's new government had confiscated most of it to purchase and refurbish an old building in the southeast quarter of the City.  It had never made her wealthy again, but she managed to keep it going through the difficult years following the transfer of power and now it was an established part of the neighborhood.  Though the establishment had many regulars among the working poor and lesser professioals of the City, it also had a following among the jobless, sick, and pariahs of the City; and any beast too poor to pay could always find one free hot meal a day from the kitchen of Miss Alice Gisette.  This small bit of goodwill she could afford to continue mainly because of donations from Locke and Jimmy, and, as she pointed out as frequently as she could, it was the only reason she tolerated Locke's continued presence at all.
     When the two entered the pub that evening, there were no other customers.  Jimmy wordlessly took a booth and placed an order with a pretty young feline barmaid, and remained there watching with amusement as Locke strode to the bar and spoke to Alise, who was busy polishing glasses.
     "Any gray hairs yet?" he asked quietly.
     "Of course not," she replied without looking away from the mug she was rubbing.
     "Well, you can always mix in some of mine, you know," he said with a grin.  "I've got plenty."
     Alise put the mug back on its peg on the back wall, then turned around and met Locke's eyes.  "I'd rather get them from old age than you," she said distinctly, then turned her back to him and picked another mug to polish.
     Locke shook his head sadly at her back.  "So cold, to die a lonely old maid," he said.
     "Your lines get less classy every time you come in here, Locke," she said.  "I've already heard the news, and you're crazy.  I always thought so, but now I know."
     Locke snorted.  "Philistine," he said disapprovingly, "it was a work of art.  Beasts will be discussing it for years.  And I'll do even better in the future."
     "Sure you will, if they don't find you first and hang you on Palace Square for all to see.  And that's if they don't bother with a show trial."  She turned around and looked at Locke again, this time with a stern expression.  "Think of what would happen if they displayed you in court and someone recognized who you are.  Twelve years is a long time, Locke, but it isn't forever."
     Locke met her eyes.  "Then at least I'd die with dignity."
     Alise scowled for a second, then turned back to the wall.  "That's right," she muttered, "just like your father.  He died with dignity, too.  Stubborn to the bitter end."
     "I won't hear my father denigrated," Locke growled.  "Not even by you."
     "Oh, come off it," Alise snapped.  "It's all in the past now.  All of it."
     "Not all of it," said Locke.  "Not me.  Not you.  Not Barran."
     "Barran might as well be on the moon or across the sea, as far as you're concerned," replied Alise.  "Give it up already."  Neither spoke for a moment, and the only sounds came from Alise's cloth on the mug and Jimmy's spoon scraping his bowl.  Gradually the vixen's face softened, and she asked in a gentler tone than she had used so far, "Do you have the money or not?  I've had to dip into my own savings to feed my beggars this week."
     Locke counted out one hundred and fifty Stars, and the two talked more quietly for a few more moments before Locke sat down across from Jimmy to order.

     It was fully dark when Locke and Jimmy left Alise's.  The walk back to their tenement was not long, and they took their time.  The Sun was as safe with them as it would be back home, at least until the Watch began doing random searches.
     "How much is left of Marlon's generous payment?" asked Jimmy.
     "Fifty Stars," Locke replied, sullenly.
     "You were exaggerating.  That will buy us hot dinners for a month at least, and that's if we get the good stuff.  Which we won't, because you have no taste."  Jimmy was unusually breezy, Locke thought.
     "My taste doesn't matter, as you know," said Locke testily.  "We have bigger things to worry about than food right now.  Or at least I do."
     Jimmy shook his head.  "You have your priorities confused.  So you're still dead set on fencing this darn thing?"
     "Of course I am.  We've barely started yet."  Locke wished he could feel as confident as he sounded.  Why had he not determined this beforehand?  Of course, there had been so much work to do planning the heist, he had barely had time to consider what would happen after the getaway.  Still, though...
     "Okay," Jimmy said, cutting in on Locke's thoughts, "I guess I have no choice.  We can't fence it in the city, so I'll just have to contact Omar."
     Locke stopped walking.  "Who the blazes is Omar?" he asked.
     "Keep moving.  Don't draw attention to yourself," said Jimmy without changing his tone.  When Locke had caught up with him he continued.  "Omar is a fence who specializes in smuggling between Azaria and the rest of Trysar.  He's been doing it for years now, ever since the coup, and I know how to reach him.  As long as we can keep the Sun safe, I can have it fenced in a month."
     Struggling not to raise his voice, Locke demanded, "Why didn't you tell me this before we even started, you overgrown bumblebee!?  Or this morning!"
     Jimmy simply shrugged.  "I didn't say he was easy to contact, just that I knew how.  It's a lot of trouble and it'll delay our payoff by a month.  I wanted to know how sure you were, that's all."
     "Jimmy, I swear, if you're making this up-"
     "Relax," Jimmy said, smiling.  "Why would I do that?  I'll just have to leave you alone tomorrow, that's all."
     "And why can't I come with you?" asked Locke.
     Jimmy shrugged again.  "They're old associates of mine, my contacts from before I met you.  They're skittish, that's all.  They trust me, but I don't want to strain things."
     Locke grunted, and the two walked in silence the rest of the way home.  Just through the door, Locke paused.  Jimmy put the knapsack down on a wooden table and sat on a cushioned chair.  "Well?" he asked.  "Are you coming in or not?"
     Locke walked through the door, closing it behind him.  "Sorry," he said, and sat down in another chair across the room.  In a moment he spoke again.  "Am I just living in the past, Jimmy?"
     "Oh no."  Jimmy shook his head.  "You're not sucking me into one of those.  I let you do that for a few years after I rescued you because you were just a kit then.  No more.  You work that stuff out on your own."
     "I can't forgive Barran for what he did."
     "Then your mind is made up.  There's no point in asking me anything."
     Locke looked at the floor.  His long silver tail twitched a little.  "But I can't figure out if the last thing Alise said to me before we left is the whole reason why I can't forgive him, or if it just makes nonsense of everything."
     Jimmy stared at Locke for a second.  "In either case," he said, "it's true.  You're not Prince Luciano Volpe the Fourth anymore.  President Barran saw to that when he killed the Fox King twelve years ago.  The last Fox King may have passed his skills to you, but you'll never see the crown.  That was melted down long ago."

Description
Book 1 – Law

Chapter 2

     Bells sounded brazenly over the crackling flames settling deep into the ancient wooden beams, a dissonant chorus to the sounds of battle below, the clash of metal on metal and flesh, the screams of the killers and the dying mingling.  His panic was a pressure on his chest, shaking him with every breath, and the world was heat, red light, and warped and twisting walls, without size or proportion, passages of repeated chaos ending only in more of the same.  He ran with no destination, ran merely to show that he was not helpless, not just a leaf in the wind.  The voices down below became more distinct, as if trying to reach him, almost forming words.  The pressure and shaking on his chest grew fiercer, and suddenly a voice he knew broke through.
     "Hell's teeth, Locke, wake up!"
     Locke blinked several times as the world came back into focus.  The light from the dingy window beside his bed was never really bright, but to his drowsy eyes it seemed blinding.  Jimmy's eyes were glaring out from their black mask as he shook him roughly.  As his muscles realigned to waking movement, he grabbed the paw from his chest and flung it away.
     "Okay, lay off already," he mumbled.  "I'm up."  He felt his eyelids closing again even as he said it, and so to avoid belying himself he forced his legs sideways with an effort and sat up on the edge of his bed.  Anyway, the dream, still vivid in memory, had drained sleep of its attraction.  His long silver tail draped out behind him, matted a little from sleep.  He reached up to scratch an ear and found that his paw had gone numb.  "I must have slept on it," he mumbled.
     "Yeah, well work it out fast.  We're already late, slacker."  Jimmy stood over him for a moment, then turned to leave.  "You have five minutes to dress and meet me downstairs.  No time for breakfast now, or lunch, rather; we'll have to eat something at the Sly Dog when we give your femme idéale her cut.  Assuming there's a cut to give her."  He moved his head to dodge the pillow Locke threw at him, then left the room, his bushy, black-ringed tail following him down the hall.

     Locke began talking before he reached the bottom of the stairway in the two thieves' small flat.  "It took me seven minutes, but I make allowances for the unusual exertion we made last night.  And my tail needed brushing.  There was still hay in it."  Locke was a silver fox, and took pride in his appearance, on those occasions when he wished to be seen.
     Jimmy tapped his foot and said nothing.  He was leaning by the door.
     "Of course, you make allowances too, as evidenced by your lack of comment.  It's only reasonable since last night was the product of my inspiration and planning.  I understand your gratitude, and let me assure you I need no verbal praise.  My spirits are soaring."  He waved a paw in the air to illustrate.
     "Naturally," muttered Jimmy, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall.  It required winding only every week or so, a recent invention the pair had stolen from a wealthy cat's house some months ago.
     "I also understand" Locke continued, "that you are in a hurry.  I understand completely.  A fine, discerning mind like yours always looks to the next step.  As the bee to the flower, except there are no flowers in Azaria, only exotic treasures worth a fortune, the chief of which is now in our tenement."
     "We don't have our money yet."  Jimmy spoke in his usual quiet, even tone, but his tail was twitching.
     Locke smiled.  "Oh, come on, partner.  Loosen up a little!  We are now the most successful burglars in the history of the Republic!"
     "I thought burglars measured success in money," said Jimmy, frowning.  "We can't spend jewels, and heaven knows we can't spend that blasted sun carving."
     "We're visiting the fence today, Jimmy."  Locke made his tone intentionally supercilious.
     The raccoon raised his voice slightly.  "I know that, dammit!"  He paused, then continued more softly, "I explained all this before we started, when you first came up with this crazy job.  Yes," and his mouth turned up at the edge, "you did an impressive job planning and executing it so far, and no doubt everybeast in the city will be talking about it for some time."  He frowned again.  "But now you're going to find out how much trouble it is to get rid of such famous loot.  We're not smugglers, Locke, and if you think any fence in the city will take the Calmayan Sun you're deluding yourself.  It's hotter than the real sun.  If you take my advice we'll have the old weasel melt it down today and save ourselves the trouble.  It's worth more to us that way, and much less dangerous."
     "You're exaggerating," said Locke, his mood cooling.  "We just have to wait until things die down.  Anyway, the jewels will be easy to fence."
     Jimmy shook his head.  "Things won't die down.  You've outstripped yourself this time, partner.  Don't forget we robbed the most powerful beast in town, short of the President himself.  He won't let things die down.  Secretary Harris has instituted random searches before, for far less.  They'll find out it wasn't a guild job soon enough, and they know it couldn't have been one of their wretched wage slaves, or a dock beast, or a beggar.  They'll prioritize.  It's only a matter of time before they find it.  And us."
     "You have such a way of cheering me up."  Locke glared at Jimmy.  "You're my only Sun.  Let's just go before I burst into song."
     Jimmy had already packed the valuables in the usual way, in a knapsack padded with cloth to hide their shape, and he shouldered it with a grunt.  The Calmayan Sun weighed almost forty pounds.

     Two hours later Locke was failing to meet the eyes of a fence.  Since he and Jimmy were independent thieves, they were restricted in their choices – most fences thought it too risky to deal with an outsider, and especially two such ambitious ones.  The Azarian Thieves' Guild frowned on competition.  Joseph Marlon was either well-connected or brazen enough, or both.  He was a wrinkled old badger with rimless spectacles and a bland taste in clothing.  His eyes were watery and mild, and it was their very mildness that made them hard to meet.  It was hard to affront something that refused to react at all, unless one were prepared to use violence, a proposition that held a certain attraction to Locke at the moment, though it ran against his nature.
     "Robbery!" he said, with feeling.  "They're worth five times that!"  He forced his eyes to lock with the old badger's as he said it, then shifted to the white stripe running down his forehead.
     Marlon paused to adjust his spectacles before replying in the same bland monotone he had used for the entire interview.  "Without prejudice as to the accuracy of your appraisal, Mr. Locke, please consider the economics of the situation.  While I appreciate, as always, your business, you must realize the, er, singular nature of your recent acquisition creates complications for me.  I am aware that your, ah, line of work brings you in conflict at times with the City Watch, so I think I need hardly point out how overwhelmingly probable it is that they will be searching my outlets, and my colleagues', for these very jewels, hundreds of eyes and ears armed with detailed descriptions.  That poses a considerable risk to me, and I should be surprised if I can resell any of them within a year's time.  Most likely it will be several years before I will be wholly safe, and, as you know, safety is always my first consideration, especially in dealing with an independent such as yourself."
     Locke growled as the withered old badger continued his speech.
     "That delay on any return in my investment is something I must take into account, as I am sure you will agree, so I must insist that three hundred Stars is my first and final offer, quite non-negotiable.  And, as for your other, uh, item, I do not wish even to see it.  I should be reckless to the point of temerity to have any part in it.  Of course, I make no judgment on your wisdom in stealing it – you no doubt have your reasons – but by no means can I offer you any help with it."
     "This is theft!" Locke said in as restrained a tone as he could manage.  "You're taking advantage of me!"
     "I hope you will not take it amiss, Mr. Locke, if I point out the irony of that charge, given your profession.  I intend no disrespect.  In any case," he continued, adjusting his spectacles again, "the offer is really quite generous.  You are welcome to seek better from one of my competitors, but I doubt you will succeed, even if you find one willing to deal with you at all.  Of course, your refusal to work under normal channels lends a certain risk even to that, albeit one which in token of friendship I am willing to take, for you."  The mild, watery eyes blinked at Locke.  With a muttered curse, he began folding the empty sack in which he had brought the jewelry.

     Outside Marlon's office, which adjoined a larger building dedicated mostly to pawn shops and dry storage, Jimmy leaned against the wall.  The knapsack was not much lightened by the absence of Lady Buford's jewelry, but he still had it slung over his shoulder when Locke emerged and slammed the heavy wooden door behind him.  Jimmy watched with a faint curl to his lips as the angry fox exited the short stoop and approached him, noticing the small purse he carried.  "You didn't sell us out cheap, did you, partner?" he asked humorously.
     "We needed the money now," growled Locke, "and the bastard wouldn't negotiate.  He didn't even want to see the Sun, but after this I wouldn't show it to him if he begged."
     "We'll be seeing the Mad Professor soon.  If he melts it down, that will be at least six thousand Stars' worth of raw gold and jewels.  Maybe more, if those rubies are as flawless as they are big.  I'm getting tired of carrying the blasted thing, to be honest."  He rubbed his shoulder where the strap of the knapsack ran across it.
     Locke transferred his glare from the small purse to Jimmy.  "No," he said, meaning it, "not until we've at least tried to get more.  Helena has contacts among the wealthy.  I'll bet there's some envious beast out there who would just love to have Councilman Buford's prize in his own house."
     "Which would lead the Watch straight to us if word ever got to the wrong ears," replied Jimmy.  "I warned you about this when you first dreamed up this crazy scheme.  Don't forget I've been doing this longer than you."
     "I haven't.  But this was part of the plan all along.  I've spent too many years now working the small game.  It was high time I made things difficult for someone closer to Barran.  And the money we get from this will make things better for many of the beasts he trampled on his way up."
     Jimmy looked at Locke with a curious expression.  "So," he said after a few seconds, "you haven't put it behind you yet?"
     "No!  How could I?"  Locke stared into space for a moment, then started walking out of the small alleyway.  "I don't want to talk about this.  Let's go give Feist and Alise their cut.  If we're lucky we might have enough left to buy ourselves some dinner when that's done."
     "Old Marlon must have been feeling generous," said Jimmy, following.  "I wasn't expecting enough even to pay Feist."

     Professor Aloysius Feist had come down in the world since President Barran's coup.  Once the Royal Professor of Alchemy and the Physical Sciences under the Fox King, his studies were now confined to a small laboratory converted from a dingy warehouse near the East Side Docks.  A sign hung over the door that read: "Professor Feist's Manufacted Apparati, Exotic Materials, and Mechanical Repairs."  Once inside, any beast seeking the Professor would notice a small desk to the left of the door.  Since the Professor spent perhaps five minutes a week working at that desk, he would then have to continue through the small foyer into the large bay that made up the bulk of the warehouse.
     Locke and Jimmy did not even turn to look at the desk as they walked past it, knowing the Professor's habits through long acquaintance.  But no amount of familiarity would have prepared them for what greeted them as they entered the large room.  Locke was about to call out the Professor's name but was interrupted by a loud noise, almost like one of the cannons mounted on the outer wall of the City, but sharper and harder.  It was followed almost immediately by the clash of metal on stone from several places, including just a few feet away from the two thieves.  A smoking shard of metal bounced off the floor and careened until it stopped against the wall twenty feet further.  Locke and Jimmy exchanged a glance and, without a word, ran toward the metal frame stairway against the far wall that led up to the second floor platform, which ran around the walls of the room about fifteen feet up leaving an open space in the middle.  In one corner of this walkway the Professor was laying in front of a workbench covered in broken equipment and charred fragments of metal.  The two thieves hastened to the spot, neither expecting to find the poor weasel alive.
     Locke knelt over the prone form of the old scientist to look for any signs of life while Jimmy examined the workbench.  Neither had spoken yet, but in a moment Locke said, "Hey!  Jimmy, I think he's alive!"
     Sure enough, a few seconds later Feist's eyes blinked open, and in the middle of the singed and black-smudged fur of his round face they shone bright and clear.  A second later he shook his head, sat up, and said in his usual tone of phrenetic annoyance, "What the devil are you two doing here!?  Can't you see I'm busy?"  He wiped a sleeve of his white coat across his eyes, succeeding only in blackening the sleeve.
     "Not too busy to take a little nap," Jimmy said calmly.  "From the looks of things, I'd say you're lucky it wasn't a permanent one.  Didn't that explosion hurt you?"  The raccoon had turned around to look at the Professor, and was regarding him with a critical eye.
     "Bah," said Feist, waving the idea away with a paw, "it wouldn't dare.  Who would finish my project if it did?"  Locke and Jimmy were never sure if the old weasel meant it when he said things like that, or if he was merely being eccentric.  Undoubtedly the hardship of the past twelve years had taken its toll on his mind.  "More importantly," he continued, "where is my device?  I cannot afford to lose it!"  He struggled to his feet with help from Locke.
     "It's scattered around the room in about thirty different places," said Locke, "and I'm surprised you aren't too!"  Feist didn't appear to have a scratch on him.  "What were you making, you crazy old loon?"
     The Professor began frantically sorting through some of the scraps on the workbench, shoving Jimmy out of the way in the process.  "The same thing as last time, of course," he said, holding up a still smoking section of metallic cylinder to his eye.  "I'm trying to make a hand-held model of the cannons we have on our City walls, which as you know I designed in the first place.  The applications would be tremendous.  With it, I'm sure I could convince the President-"
     Locke cut him off.  "I don't want to hear about courting the President, Feist."
     Feist snorted.  "You may as well get over that, young fox."  He aimed his piercing eyes at Locke.  "Just because your father-"
     Locke cut him off again, this time more savagely.  "I don't want to hear about my father, either, Feist!  And I'm not getting over anything!"
     Jimmy intervened before the Professor could escalate the argument.  "Feist, every time you try to do this, it either blows up in your face or refuses to work at all.  Give up, maybe?"
     Nothing could side-track Professor Feist like a challenge to his work.  "You can keep your half-witted opinions to yourself, you young purse-snatcher!  I just need to hit on the right formula for the blast powder, that's all!  And I have to build everything out of melted-down scrap metal, barely fit for a shovel!"
     "I'm not that young, gray-whisker," said Jimmy, frowning.  "And you can demean my work when you find a way to fund yours without it.  We didn't come here to resuscitate you, we came here to pay you."
     "And about time, too!" said the Professor, with some heat.  "But by heaven, you'd better be more careful how you go about it!  It won't be worth my investment if you lead the City Watch right to my door again!"
     "What are you talking about!?" cried Locke.  Jimmy narrowed his eyes.
     "You recklessly left my gliders at the scene of your little adventure, you young fool, that's what!" replied Feist.  "I had a visit just this morning from two Watchbeasts, one of them an Inspector!  How they traced them back to me, I don't know, but they were sure of it, and I was afraid to deny it.  I simply told them that they had been stolen from me, which is true enough, since I expected to get them back, and now I won't.  At any rate, I think I've put them off my trail, and yours, but for heaven's sake, be more careful next time!"
     "I told you that would cause trouble," said Jimmy.
     "And what helpful suggestions did you make at the time?" Locke demanded angrily.  "Neither of us expected them to get lodged in that tree, and if you think we should have stayed there to untangle them, with the alarm ringing and fifty guards coming after us with truncheons, you should have said so!  And," he added, a bit more acidly than he intended, "I'm not the one who drugged and tied the guards in the bell tower.  That was your failure, not mine.  My part of the job went off without a hitch."
     "Fair enough," said Jimmy calmly.  "I'm not blaming you, but we should have thought ahead more.  I wonder what other little clues we might have left?"
     "Well, there's nothing we can do now but wait," said Locke.  "I doubt we made any mistakes worse than those.  But we'll see.  I'm glad now we took the trouble to disguise ourselves for the roofing job."  He removed the purse from his belt and started fishing coins out of it, stacking them on the workbench.  "There you are, as promised, Professor.  One hundred and fifty Stars."  He pulled out two more coins.  "Plus ten more, for the trouble we caused you.  That should square us, right?"
     Feist regarded the neat stack approvingly.  "Very good.  This will fund my researches for some time.  Now, is there anything else I can do for you two?"
     The two thieves declined, promising to keep in touch with the Professor.  The day was wearing on, and there was still one more errand to do, at the Sly Dog Tavern.

     The Sly Dog Tavern was not the classiest pub in the City, nor one of the worst, though the upper-class beasts would probably rate it closer to the latter than the former.  It did carry the distinction of being one of the only businesses in the City not in any way connected with President Barran's company, the Red Star Mechanifactory.  It also bore the further distinction of being the only business owned and operated exclusively by an unmarried female, one Miss Alise Gisette, a red fox vixen of previously noble line who had used the little left of her family's fortune after President Barran's new government had confiscated most of it to purchase and refurbish an old building in the southeast quarter of the City.  It had never made her wealthy again, but she managed to keep it going through the difficult years following the transfer of power and now it was an established part of the neighborhood.  Though the establishment had many regulars among the working poor and lesser professioals of the City, it also had a following among the jobless, sick, and pariahs of the City; and any beast too poor to pay could always find one free hot meal a day from the kitchen of Miss Alice Gisette.  This small bit of goodwill she could afford to continue mainly because of donations from Locke and Jimmy, and, as she pointed out as frequently as she could, it was the only reason she tolerated Locke's continued presence at all.
     When the two entered the pub that evening, there were no other customers.  Jimmy wordlessly took a booth and placed an order with a pretty young feline barmaid, and remained there watching with amusement as Locke strode to the bar and spoke to Alise, who was busy polishing glasses.
     "Any gray hairs yet?" he asked quietly.
     "Of course not," she replied without looking away from the mug she was rubbing.
     "Well, you can always mix in some of mine, you know," he said with a grin.  "I've got plenty."
     Alise put the mug back on its peg on the back wall, then turned around and met Locke's eyes.  "I'd rather get them from old age than you," she said distinctly, then turned her back to him and picked another mug to polish.
     Locke shook his head sadly at her back.  "So cold, to die a lonely old maid," he said.
     "Your lines get less classy every time you come in here, Locke," she said.  "I've already heard the news, and you're crazy.  I always thought so, but now I know."
     Locke snorted.  "Philistine," he said disapprovingly, "it was a work of art.  Beasts will be discussing it for years.  And I'll do even better in the future."
     "Sure you will, if they don't find you first and hang you on Palace Square for all to see.  And that's if they don't bother with a show trial."  She turned around and looked at Locke again, this time with a stern expression.  "Think of what would happen if they displayed you in court and someone recognized who you are.  Twelve years is a long time, Locke, but it isn't forever."
     Locke met her eyes.  "Then at least I'd die with dignity."
     Alise scowled for a second, then turned back to the wall.  "That's right," she muttered, "just like your father.  He died with dignity, too.  Stubborn to the bitter end."
     "I won't hear my father denigrated," Locke growled.  "Not even by you."
     "Oh, come off it," Alise snapped.  "It's all in the past now.  All of it."
     "Not all of it," said Locke.  "Not me.  Not you.  Not Barran."
     "Barran might as well be on the moon or across the sea, as far as you're concerned," replied Alise.  "Give it up already."  Neither spoke for a moment, and the only sounds came from Alise's cloth on the mug and Jimmy's spoon scraping his bowl.  Gradually the vixen's face softened, and she asked in a gentler tone than she had used so far, "Do you have the money or not?  I've had to dip into my own savings to feed my beggars this week."
     Locke counted out one hundred and fifty Stars, and the two talked more quietly for a few more moments before Locke sat down across from Jimmy to order.

     It was fully dark when Locke and Jimmy left Alise's.  The walk back to their tenement was not long, and they took their time.  The Sun was as safe with them as it would be back home, at least until the Watch began doing random searches.
     "How much is left of Marlon's generous payment?" asked Jimmy.
     "Fifty Stars," Locke replied, sullenly.
     "You were exaggerating.  That will buy us hot dinners for a month at least, and that's if we get the good stuff.  Which we won't, because you have no taste."  Jimmy was unusually breezy, Locke thought.
     "My taste doesn't matter, as you know," said Locke testily.  "We have bigger things to worry about than food right now.  Or at least I do."
     Jimmy shook his head.  "You have your priorities confused.  So you're still dead set on fencing this darn thing?"
     "Of course I am.  We've barely started yet."  Locke wished he could feel as confident as he sounded.  Why had he not determined this beforehand?  Of course, there had been so much work to do planning the heist, he had barely had time to consider what would happen after the getaway.  Still, though...
     "Okay," Jimmy said, cutting in on Locke's thoughts, "I guess I have no choice.  We can't fence it in the city, so I'll just have to contact Omar."
     Locke stopped walking.  "Who the blazes is Omar?" he asked.
     "Keep moving.  Don't draw attention to yourself," said Jimmy without changing his tone.  When Locke had caught up with him he continued.  "Omar is a fence who specializes in smuggling between Azaria and the rest of Trysar.  He's been doing it for years now, ever since the coup, and I know how to reach him.  As long as we can keep the Sun safe, I can have it fenced in a month."
     Struggling not to raise his voice, Locke demanded, "Why didn't you tell me this before we even started, you overgrown bumblebee!?  Or this morning!"
     Jimmy simply shrugged.  "I didn't say he was easy to contact, just that I knew how.  It's a lot of trouble and it'll delay our payoff by a month.  I wanted to know how sure you were, that's all."
     "Jimmy, I swear, if you're making this up-"
     "Relax," Jimmy said, smiling.  "Why would I do that?  I'll just have to leave you alone tomorrow, that's all."
     "And why can't I come with you?" asked Locke.
     Jimmy shrugged again.  "They're old associates of mine, my contacts from before I met you.  They're skittish, that's all.  They trust me, but I don't want to strain things."
     Locke grunted, and the two walked in silence the rest of the way home.  Just through the door, Locke paused.  Jimmy put the knapsack down on a wooden table and sat on a cushioned chair.  "Well?" he asked.  "Are you coming in or not?"
     Locke walked through the door, closing it behind him.  "Sorry," he said, and sat down in another chair across the room.  In a moment he spoke again.  "Am I just living in the past, Jimmy?"
     "Oh no."  Jimmy shook his head.  "You're not sucking me into one of those.  I let you do that for a few years after I rescued you because you were just a kit then.  No more.  You work that stuff out on your own."
     "I can't forgive Barran for what he did."
     "Then your mind is made up.  There's no point in asking me anything."
     Locke looked at the floor.  His long silver tail twitched a little.  "But I can't figure out if the last thing Alise said to me before we left is the whole reason why I can't forgive him, or if it just makes nonsense of everything."
     Jimmy stared at Locke for a second.  "In either case," he said, "it's true.  You're not Prince Luciano Volpe the Fourth anymore.  President Barran saw to that when he killed the Fox King twelve years ago.  The last Fox King may have passed his skills to you, but you'll never see the crown.  That was melted down long ago."