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At the sorry bottom of the unforgivingly ragged tracks (worn by carts - and before them herds, and before them wild animals crawling up and down the mountains with the seasons) sat this latest conquest of civilization: three crappy wooden buildings and some tents. The trail to get to it was littered with the wheels and pieces of carts that failed the dozen hairpin turns you had to take to get down the slope safely. Countrymen on their big mounts used those turns and the rocks that tripped commoners as a test of riding skill - so at the foot of this decline was an unmarked graveyard of horses, too. That was what began a town: a store trading tins, a bar with a room upstairs, a temporary lawman's office with room for a drunk, and a burial ground. The rest would come when the real civilised people came.
Vector liked this one. It was colder than the last, and the last one before it - at some point he'd stop heading North every time he had to leave. But this place had those Iron mountains that ran red in the rain and cut into the clear sky on a chilly day, looking like broken stonewear on a tablecloth. And, he thought, he had a little bit longer out here before things got too developed - once there was a road either taming the mountainpass or stretching all the way from the river up to this little piece of heaven, people would come and make a church and a proper economy. Then, they started having records, and connecting those to other records in other towns, and it was around then that things became less welcoming to people saddled with more debt than a natural life could pay. But this land stretched on forever, and when that time came there were three safe directions to run and make oneself useful in.
The crocodile stretched his long spine from shoulder to tail and leaned on his shovel for a moment; the earth here where the slope dropped off suddenly was a mineral clay mix - easy digging, but the foundations of every new building had to be so deep you might as well build a cellar for the cellar. Maybe this town would someday be known for crafting, then, since it had the natural inclination for pottery. It had to become a town, because it was the flattest and most liveable land for a days ride, plus that spring that made it so icy to wash out here picked up silt and became murky a few miles further down. Yes, this would be a good place a few years after he left.
Vector wiped his hands down, took some jerkey and a bap from the store - with a nod to the yawning chipmunk sawing wood over the produce, and went to check up on his actual job.
He could hear a caterwaul before he could open the door to the acting-sheriff's office: a guitar was being assaulted by grubby short fingers that made the strings buzz and whine, while the same chorus that he'd been delighted to three hours ago started up anew with all the vigour nobody else had.
"Oh, wow, you're getting good! You keep practicing, Charmy - night and day!"
The kid he called Charmy had been tagging along with Vector since they were back in Clover Ridge at the start of the spring. There were a lot of bees out in that country, but none of them seemed to claim him when Vector asked around. Although he'd never imagined himself a family man, when it came time for Vector to leave, and it had become clear Charmy wasn't 'a good fit' for the nearest convent's care, Vector brought him with him to the next town over to look for a good home. He'd heard of people trying to shoo off a stray dog from their farms only to fall in love with the mutt, but never really believed it could happen to him too: although if a good home came along, he told himself they wouldn't pass it up.
So Vector's impromptu protegee had been learning the ropes of what it was Vector did - whatever that was. They took odd jobs, they minded security. Occasionally Vector would take gigs as hired muscle, and Charmy would be left with someone who they knew well enough to trust and didn't know them well enough or have the good sense to say no. He was obnoxious and overconfident, but good with horses and had a sixth sense for judging character. He must have thought quite highly of the person in the prison that he was serenading:
In a holding pen in the corner of the room a teenager sat, with legs crossed and eyes closed - so perfectly still they could have been a statue. Their 'prison' was only held together with some nails and hope, and they were almost skinny enough to have slipped through the bars. Their long, coiling tail certainly could have looped around and twizzled some of the repurposed iron poles keeping them in, but it was coiled tight to their back like a lasso, as stiff as the rest of them.
They didn't react to the buzzing guitar, nor to Vector, nor to their own personal depletion. This was day three of their incarceration, and Vector had only seen them move when they first settled down into their pose.
"How's it going, spy?" He said easily, kneeling down to the teenager's level. They hadn't spoken a word since he'd overpowered them where they were alone on the thieve's camp. Even then, Vector hadn't been sure what they were saying, so he couldn't quite be confident they were a boy, but he suspected they were. He knew, however, that they were the spy who had been tailing the company he ran security for last month, and because of that they'd lost four good men and left families fatherless: he recognised the shape of their triangular shadow with the knife-point horn, no matter what colour they disguised themselves as.
They ignored him, still as the dead. The wound on their thigh had dried up, but the grime on their cloak was starting to smell like decay, and they were shrivelled at the mouth. Vector bared his teeth in displeasure.
"The convict hasn't moved, SIR! I've been watching 'em like a hawk, SIR!" Charmy shouted, hands on his hips at Vector's side. If Vector really squinted, the teenager might have jumped as Charmy shouted, but he wasn't sure if he was just seeing what he wanted to.
"Thanks, kid. Do you want some water, spy?"
Silence.
"You gonna eat the dinner today?"
Nothing.
"Well, how about you come out with me for a little walk around? You must be getting stiff?"
The wind rattled the windowpanes temptingly, the flimsy cabin just aching to give way and let the teenager free. Only they remained unmoved and unaffected.
"Well, then you're a fool. That woulda been an easy escape to pull." Vector snorted. He knew he had a face that looked mean and conniving no matter what he did, so he didn't have to try to hide how unnerved he was; this spy had been skinny when he brought him in, and although Vector couldn't quite let down the anger at what their actions had caused, he had never envisioned himself a torturer.
"Make no mistake, spy. I'll have to send you to town when the next cart comes in with supplies." Vector leant against the flimsy cage to speak quietly, but the bee beside him leaned in too, so there was no hope of secrecy. The spy didn't move.
"I don't wanna do that, because I reckon you and I can help eachother out, alright? You can tell me where your gang rode off without you, and I can let you out. Better than, I'll protect you. Help you live as a free man, you hear? You're young, not too many people know you: you could make a go of it, somewhere else where it's warm and comfortable. Sounds nice, right?"
Straining his eyes, Vector thought the teenager's mouth twitched on one side, like the ghost of sneer, but their eyes stayed shut.
"Ugh, suit yourself..." Vector sighed. He tore up the bap from his coat pocket slowly, letting it crackle in a tempting manner just a foot from the starving spy, then gave a third of it to Charmy, eating a third in one snap of his jaws, and leaving the last just outside the jail on a small plate.
"When's the cart comin'?" Charmy asked through a full mouth. Vector picked up his guitar and tuned it for him as he thought.
"Not tomorrow, day after. As long as no outlaws interrupt it." Vector said to the room aloud. Charmy chewed menacingly.
"And then you'll be in a real jail. With handcuffs and manual labour!"
Vector looked hard at the prisoner, and grimaced.
"Sure, if the spy's lucky. Those prisons fill up quick, better hope there's a spot for ya."
"They won't let 'em go, will they? If there's no room?"
"Who knows what they do with too many prisoners, kid?" Vector paused ominously as though he were thinking, watching the spy for a break that didn't come, then slung the guitar back to Charmy; "Why don't you practice somemore? I reckon our guest loves it."
Vector gave the spy one more sorry look, and fled when the strings were back Charmy's vindictive hands.
That night, a small company of labourers was camping in town. It was good for local business, but bad for those wanting a nights' sleep - especially if you were currently sitting in a chair in front of a single jail cell containing a statue with a wild hope that you might be able to catch a nap, and not wake up with paralyzing back pain. Vector growled, shifting against the wooden chair again. The still spy seemed to be taunting him with how effortless they made their trance look.
Charmy was rolled out on a mat on the table under Vector's scarf; Vector was almost positive that the spy was simply going to starve themselves to death here, and had no intention of violently breaking out, but if they did suddenly snap Vector needed to be in between them and the sleeping bee. In the daytime, he had faith in Charmy's ability to fly out the window and away from any trouble, but that kid could sleep like a rock: it was a real skill.
Vector gave up on sleep and switched to a book - this one was an adaptation of one of the great plays of a few hundred years ago. He wasn't much of a man for classics, but this was alright - all fairies messing around in people's love lives and crude jokes. He whiled away an hour, and he chuckled from time to time, noise always dying as he caught sight of the sombre spy, who he could believe looked faintly annoyed by his laughing.
But sometime around two in the morning, it occurred to Vector that maybe it wasn't his voice but being out of the loop on a joke that wound them up: he hated not knowing what people were talking about, and how boring it must be to sit with one's eyes closed so long while someone else laughed. So, he got an idea, and cleared his throat:
"See, you'll like this one: 'And, lo, what'll I find when the sun shines on this grove, my home - my queen, straddled atop this ass of a man!' then the little fairy, he says; 'truth, it doesn't cost me sleep; I have seen such a sight every night before now, and so too all my kin: 'tis not disqui-etting to us' - and then Pluck 'brays', in imitation, it says - god they loved a little pervert on a stage back then!" Vector chuckled to himself and the spy, and the uproarous laughter from the inn made it all feel less dead a room to him, so he carried on:
"They had some crazy words back then. I wonder what disqui means. Obviously the ettes something like french, but sounds kinda old romany to me-"
"Disquiet." said a hoarse and deep voice in the darkness. Vector half jumped out of his skin, and peered down at prisoner. His eyes remained closed, he was stiff as a board, but his stony face was lined all of a sudden with a twitching irritation like there was beer fermenting in his nose. Vector cracked a lopsided grin:
"This quiet?"
"Disquieting. Troubling."
"Oh, what's his trouble? I musta missed it..."
Vector grumbled audibly, but his face was pure delight as the spy groaned in irritation;
"It doesn't bother the fairies to see the Queen sleep with an ass, because that's all they've ever seen her sleep with - because the King is an ass." The spy said through gritted teeth, like Vector's stupidity had in this moment pained him more than when he'd shot him in the leg nearly four days ago; "It could not be more obvious, only a complete fool might miss that."
Vector laughed harshly in victory, examining the teenager - teenage boy, he was now almost certain - from his casual distance. He flicked the pages of the book like they were cards on a table, and considered his hand.
"Well, since you're such a fan - you want to borrow this one? It's a real page turner,"
The spy sat silently again, and Vector approached like he would a wild horse, low and quiet, bearing a tempting gift.
"I mean, maybe you're wrong - and this is a whole new word you hadn't heard of? You so sure you're so clever?"
"If either of us needs the reading material, it's you." The spy snipped. Up close, Vector could see he was gripping his knees tightly, eyes flickering somewhat. His usually dark purple skin looked pale and shrivelling.
"Tell you what, then: you take a look at my book here, and if you're right you can have my breakfast. If I'm right, I'll play you a song all night as well - I'm the one who taught the boy everything he knows about music." Vector chuckled lightly, on one knee by the bars and holding the book aloft. When the spy didn't say anything, he reached in and tapped him on the head with the book. The spy's resolve crumbled, and his eyes burst open with a nasty scowl for Vector - they were a piercing gold and sunken like he was a day over dead already, and when he read the approximation of pity in Vector's harsh face he closed them immediately, and tried to regain composure.
"C'mon, spy. I don't want you to die."
The spy grunted in derision, gripping his knees again.
"Do you want to die? 'cause if you do, don't let it be hunger that brings you down. It's no fun, and it's not honourable."
"Don't speak to me about honour." The spy spat, and his hoarse voice cracked and faded into nothing as he spoke, sealing himself back in to his fate. Vector sighed heavily, head against the bars, and waited.
Commotion outside started to burble higher, but he kept his focus on the starving teenager, like if he took his eyes off him for a moment he might dissolve into nothing. Then they both jumped when a gun fired twice in rapid sucession, and somebody screamed.
Vector leapt to his feet, and the spy's eyes burst open again as he dispersed the pigment in his skin to almost invisibility. Vector saw him by just the murky shadow he left, and he found himself speaking to that in his haste.
"Then on your honour - don't you touch my boy." He snarled, and barrelled out the room.
A man was being thrown out of the bar by the tough Mistress of the House; he'd been sick on himself, but more importantly still had a gun in his hand.
"Easy, easy, you're alright-" Vector said tearsely, picking the man up by his shoulders and shaking him. His fingers grazed the trigger again, but when it fired pointed directly at Vector's boot, no flood of pain followed.
"He's shooting blanks, in every sense that one;" The Mistress called to Vector; "Apparently his friends had the good sense to take out the bullets when they took him drinking - but not enough sense to take the damn thing off him! Nearly gave me a heart attack!"
"Well, there's some excitement." Vector snorted; the bar was still full of shouts and screams, but a couple of people cheered as Vector smacked the man around the head and swiped his firearm while he blithered.
"Enough excitement for one night." The Mistress growled, and slammed her swinging doors. Behind them wafted the sound of protests and stools scraping; Vector dragged the man to his 'office' before they could become a spectacle.
"I don't get the impression your 'friends' like you all that much." He said serenely as he staggered the man up the stairs; "I could give you some pointers, if you'd like."
The man grumbled something to the floor where he hung off Vector, face down. Vector surveyed the room - there wasn't another corner he could put the man in - the normal population of this settlement was so small that if two people were currently incarcerated at the same time, they may as well just lock up the third resident instead. The spy was back in his position in the cell, still as ever. Amazingly, Charmy snored on.
"Well, how about you two share for the night, and I'll find his supervisor in the morning, huh? It's about as comfortable in there as it is out here anyway." Vector announced, mostly for the spy's benefit, as he didn't think this man had noticed anything about where he was. Vector opened the jail door carefully, eyes on the motionless spy, and tossed the man in on his side as carefully as he could so he didn't disturb the statue.
"And we were being so literary and civilised." The crocodile sighed, and went about writing in a report book what had happened, plus a description of the man.
Minutes ticked by, according to Vector's banged up old watch. The man in the cell grunted, already asleep and occasionally yelling something unintelligible. He and Charmy seemed to engage in a snoring contest, but in Vector's humble opinion when Charmy snored it was adorable, and when anyone else did it it was disgusting and irritating.
The irritation seemed to be getting to the spy as well, and as Vector crept over to check, he could see the teenager's eyes twitching again. It wasn't until he got close enough he could smell why; where the man lay on the ground, he was now surrounded in a puddle of his own urine that was now slowly spreading on the floor towards his own mouth. The spy's cloak, so perfectly symmetrically layed out around him, absorbed what spread to them. As ever, he sat perfectly still, but something about this stillness made it the most perfect picture of misery Vector had ever seen.
"Oh for the love of - get up." Vector barked. The spy kept his eyes closed, even pinching them tighter as the door swung open.
"I mean you, kid;"
Vector growled as he spoke, and picked the teenager up by his bony shoulder, slamming the door on the drunk. The spy staggered, refusing to cooperate with his feet but unable to stop himself from being lifted, so he hung like a rag doll. Charmy grunted in his sleep as he was slung onto Vector's shoulders, rolled over, and cuddled his neck.
The spring water was viciously cold from the mountain: Vector turned to start a fire as soon as he dunked the spy in it. The stoic gasped in an instant, looking around for the danger, and only seeing the enormous jailor grumbling to himself, scrubbing his cloak in the same spring with some hard beef-fat soap, as a burgeoning fire crackled behind him.
"Well don't just gawp, you'll get frostbite!" He snapped. The spy stared at him, but slowly passed his hands over his torso and face.
"Finally. You - you can't just sit there on the stinking floor and starving yourself like someone's dog they like to belt! It's disgusting. Can't watch a man treat himself like that."
Vector's quiet ranting was made less potent by how gently he had laid the bee next to the fire under his jacket, and how carefully now he scrubbed out the blood off a convict's coat, letting it drip over himself as he held it to the flame to inspect it for further stains to clean.
The spy took the chance while Vector was distracted: he cupped his hands together to drink. He did his best to show no further signs that he had broken resolve, but he was panting with thirst when Vector looked back over him.
"What - would you - have me do?" He heaved, panting and shivering already from the cold.
"For starters: be quicker about taking limited chances;" Vector glared at him expectantly, then shook his head when he got nothing.
"Seriously, kid, are you trying to die in a cell? You could have gotten out. You could be running now. You could have every time I've tried to let you out to use the hole and opened the door to give you food you won't touch. At this point, I don't even think you want to go back to your lot - which in my book makes me thing you don't like 'em - but then you won't tell me where I can find 'em, even if you'll be dead tomorrow and have nothing to lose. It's a waste of a life! What's the damn point in all that?" He rambled at the sky in a hiss, quieter than Charmy's snoring.
The spy scowled sourly at him, and dunked his face in the water before finally standing up to brush the dried blood on his leg now agitated in the stream. Not just his ribs, but his sternum and the hips jutted out under his skin, and he fought a tremble with every step towards the fire.
"My leader will send for me when it is the right time. I will not fail in this test of faith."
Vector clamped his jaw shut tight, or he feared he might have roared and finally woken up the bee. Instead, he calmly rung out the cloak, lay it flat on the dirt beside them, then sat by his bee with an arm protectively resting over Charmy's shoulder. Vector watched the spy in the corner of his eye, still slow and woozy in the water.
"Faith, huh? You're a religious type of outlaw."
"I believe in the oaths that I and my brothers took."
"Oath to who?"
"Oath to eachother."
"And then they go and leave you behind as the sacrifice. Bites."
"I volunteered to lay down my life for the good of us all. That is the highest honour I could imagine."
Despite his self-assurance, the spy drew himself sheepishly out of the water. Without some kind of boundary he looked lost, and after a moments consideration he sat down by the fire in the same cross-legged pose he'd stiffly held for days. Vector stared expectantly at him; it was as if this boy didn't see the open mountains around him.
"You really don't have much imagination, do you spy?"
Vector was chuckling with frustration now, and it bothered the spy, but he said nothing. Vector was even starting to believe he looked annoyed, like this was an inconvenience and he couldn't wait to return to starving to death in a cell with a sodden drunk. Vector stopped laughing.
"So what can I call you?"
"... you call me Espio."
"Oh, er, si - claro, te llamo Espio... pero... cual es-"
"I speak English better than you do. I'm not telling you my name, I'm telling you what you're calling me."
"Awh, that's a shame. I've been practicing, I was hoping not to look like a fool when I'm in the south next."
Espio glared at him, but averted his eyes when Vector pulled some dried meat wrapped in a cloth from his breast pocket.
"Well, me llamo Vector. But I think you already knew that? Anyway, what's your family?"
Espio continued to stare at the mountain as Vector temptingly chewed just the smallest morsel of food, savouring it and leaving plenty for anyone else who was hungry.
"I will tell you nothing about my bretheren, I will die before I betray them."
"Eh?" Vector tilted his head and snickered; "What're you yapping about? I meant like family genus. What do they call you, Espio the..."
He had finally recaught Espio's attention, and they both stared at eachother, unsure who was being stupid:
"I'm clearly a Chameleon."
"Oh, see I don't like to assume! Y'know, I met somebody looks like a duck, but they don't quack so they call themselves a goose! You just never know-"
"You have seen me change the pigment in my skin."
"Well, yeah, but I don't know what I don't know! Maybe there's another lizard who does that too. When I was down in the sunny parts of the coast,, people were always calling me Mr Gator, and it drove me half mad. So I took the next guy by the shoulders, screamed in his face that I'm a goddamn Crocodile. And then I'm hearing people over my shoulders saying, 'see that's gators for you': I had to leave before I got myself in trouble!"
Vector laughed at his own story in the quiet of the night and the trickling stream, and this time refused to let his mirth die just because his company was grim.
"In any case, I always like to ask. Saves being wrong and looking like a fool."
"Being wrong, at least."
"Ah, hush you!"
But he kept chuckling all the same, stretching out and placing the cloth of snacks on the ground halfway between them. Espio averted his eyes from it, and assessed Vector instead.
"You've travelled far."
"Sure, and I know you have to."
"More so in recent years, not always by choice."
"See that's the thing when you live like a leech;" Vector said easily, imperceptibly holding Charmy firmer; "You suck a place dry of every spare penny, then you gotta find somewhere else."
"You can see it that way. But people living outside the law are how you make your money: that would make you a parasite of a parasite." Espio was as calm and cool as ever, but his eyes burned into Vector's harsh smile. Vector shrugged;
"Yeah, do I look like I'm getting fat off of anyone?"
"Do I?"
"Well, that's your hunger strike, not mine. And it's not noble or impressive. You just look like a stubborn little kid." Vector said, and he lightly kicked Espio. They listened to the fire crackle, scheming on their own, until Vector stretched his back and groaned.
"Speak to me, Mr Chameleon: honest man to honest man;"
"Why do you assume I'm honest?" Espio interrupted, glowering as Vector laughed.
"I just know these things. People don't die for honour if they're not honest. You're an honest man if you like it or not. So, like I was saying - honest man to honest man, what would it take for you to tell me where your camp have gotten to? I could keep you safe. I could find someone who'll set you up with some money. I could..."
"There is nothing you or anyone could do. If there were, then you wouldn't be calling me honest."
Vector sighed heavily.
"I was afraid you'd say that. I don't like watching people die."
"You caused the death of two of my brothers on the trail just last month: you can't be that concerned."
"I never said I liked doing that: you were attacking the nice folk who hired me. You killed four good men."
"You didn't have to stand in opposition: we were only asking for material possessions."
"Didn't have to stand- I was the damn security! What am I supposed to do, just let you rob people?"
"I only meant you had options."
"You had options: stop robbing people and you won't have the likes of me on your bony tail!"
Espio wasn't sure if this was Vector's true nature, or if his tough-looking exterior just predisposed him to seeming angry. Still, a protocol took over the spy's nervous system, and he sealed himself off and became uncannily still, waiting for discipline or next order.
Vector growled in frustration, swinging to his feet to stretch and pace meaninglessly. Upright he was an enormous man - far larger than any of Espio's brothers. He didn't seem to need a gun, and his hide was almost impenetrable - if he wanted to, he could have made a fine roaming monster, taking what he wanted from whoever he found. Instead, he had built a campfire for an outlaw who was due to be hung, and kept his long tail rested over somebody else's small nuisance. His dedication to keeping contact with Charmy had him almost tethered by the spikes of his tail. Vector turned his head sharply, and caught Espio in the start of a smile for the smallest moment - but politely pretended he didn't.
"See if you're not going to tell me anything, and I still don't wanna see you die, seems we've got nothing to gain from eachother, and I get nothing outta keeping you locked up."
"Other than the chance for justice."
"... and what if I don't think killing people is justice?"
"... what then, indeed."
"... What about we truce, then? As honest men?"
"Neither of us has killed the other yet. Isn't this truce?"
"Truce as in, work with me here. I can't give you a horse to keep, but I could take you back on one I'd rent. Ah, but you're not fit enough to ride, you'd die out there. Have I gotta get you a cart? That's a pain..."
"... that is insanity on your part, and I didn't ask you to save me."
"No but see here; if I deliver you to your boys, all safe and fluffy feathers, then in return you lot move on to somewhere else. And then we're back on an even score and nobody's got a grudge."
He seemed to be rationalising it to himself; Espio watched him tap one hand into the other like a teacher running through arithmetic with their slowest student. This man - burly, mean looking, bulletproof as he was - trying to justify to himself a version of the world in which everyone kept their word and worked together for the common good because good was common.
"That'd make sense to me, Espio. At least, makes sense since I'm sure you'll be good to your word."
Espio chewed the inside of his cheek, and looked down at the kid Vector kept patting softly with his tail. He weighed up a prisoner's dilemma: If Vector was telling the truth, and Espio trusted him - true they both stood to gain. If Vector wasn't telling the truth, and Espio believed him and brought him to his camp... well, his bretheren would be ready for him, but Espio would be in disgrace. If Vector's intentions were bad, but Espio prepared for this and ambushed him first, he stood to lose nothing. If Vector's intentions were good... then he would still lose nothing, and it would be even easier to overpower and hand him over for his leader to dispense of. He looked from Vector's hard face, to the boy sleeping without a care at his feet.
"That... would make all the sense to me, then, Vector. I know you'll be good to your word."