A Father's Rebuke

Peridiscus Junior, Peridiscus Senior [Riverdale]

After Saxifrage assisted in the escape attempt of Dangeon, Notch, and Punch, her brother Peridiscus tried unsuccessfully to control the resulting damage. Both she and he wound up in the custody of Viddick, the Captain of the Guard. Only with the intervention of the elder Peridiscus, and the dispensation of cash and booze to certain unnamed parties, was their freedom restored.

A bedraggled version of Peridiscus, Jr. shuffles into his father's study. The polecat had bathed and changed into fresh clothes, but the marks of the night's adventure is still evident across his face. Scratches on his face evince his panicked run through the forest, and from his falls. Heavy bags under his drooping eyes mark his exhaustion. His still sopping wet hair hangs around his features; he had not bothered to dry it from the shower. The hob closes the door softly behind him and stands in front of his father's desk.

His father does not look up. Not immediately. His quill drags across the rough surface of an open ledger, gripped with a force that has sapped his nearly hairless digits of their color. A bony wrist peeks out from amidst the capacious folds of a blanket the old polecat wears draped over as much of his body as his task allows. The scratching continues for a minute--perhaps longer. Time could be stopped but for the movement of that nib across the paper. At last, Peridiscusm Sr. lifts his head to direct two eyes like veiled full moons at his son. "Sit," he says. His voice is accustomed to authority, still deep, barely weathered by his many years. "This has cost me."

Peridiscus solemnly takes his seat. The young hob does not meet his father's gaze, choosing instead to stare blankly at the other polecat's hands and the piece of parchment he was writing on. Peridiscus is bemused: He had expected to be terrified, but he felt only hollow and exhausted. After a moment, he finally responds simply, "Yes, father."

The paw that sweeps the ledger closed is thin and strong, with hollows carved in it by strung sinews. Peridiscus, Sr. shrugs himself deeper into the embrace of his cocoon of covers. A small fire crackles behind him, desiccating the already warm summer air and perfuming the study with its smoke. He looks at his son, then tips some brandy into a small snifter. Leaning forward, he slides it across the desk to Per. "Drink," he says and pours his own.

Peridiscus, startled, had raised his eyes to watch his father pour out the brandy and offer it to him. The hob obediently raises the glass to his lips and takes a sip, keeping his expression neutral and looking into his glass.

The old hob regards his son through foggy blue eyes and draws from his own brandy a luxuriant sip that his old tongue seems, in its languorous way, to want to coat itself in. It shifts first one way, then the next, then brushes the old man's thin, dry lips. Peridiscus sets the brandy down. He leans back. "This is quite a mess you've caused, Peridiscus. You and your sister Saxifrage." He folds his hands across the paunch of cushions at his midsection. "It has cost me."

Peridiscus feels his ears flush red at the old polecat's accusations. It wasn't his fault. He tried to mitigate things as best he could. He tried to protect S. It was she who-- Why did she have to-- "Sir, I take full responsibility. I was not-- I failed to be present when the incident at the hotel occurred." His voice is a tired, dull monotone. He pauses, but when his father says nothing, he rambles on. "I did the best I could to prevent trouble at the hotel when I arrived and took stock of the situation. I chased after her, sir, I wanted to? establish and witness her innocence to the soldiers. Perhaps that was a mistake. I failed." He sets his glass of brandy back down. His fingers felt too weak to establish a grip on anything.

The father listens in silence. His expression betrays nothing of his thoughts, but when the younger Peridiscus finishes, the old man offers a nod. "That is what I wished to hear, Peridiscus. We must be above politics. Have I not said this before?" He stutters to his feet, dragging with him an awkward tumble of blankets and cloaks that shifts tectonically around his wizened frame. "It is not our place to question the law of the land."

Peridiscus's eyes grow wide when he catches the old polecat's meaning. He stirs uncomfortably in his seat. "Sir, I." He pauses as he tries to formulate his thought properly. After an instant, he continues more carefully, "I am gravely concerned about the political situation. Is it not possible that the law might turn against us?"

The old polecat does not stray far from his desk, as if it possessed talismanic powers. He refills his snifter from the bottle, which he turns towards himself to scrutinize. "Hmm," he rumbles, seeming at first incognizant of his son's remark. "I share your concerns. The Knothills did not get where they are without some measure of prudence." He sets the bottle on the table so that Peridiscus, Jr. can clearly view the label, with its vintage prominently displayed. "That sometimes means keeping our heads low. We will outlast this."

Peridiscus gulps relief. This seems sensible, at least more so than blind adherence to the say-so of a possibly mad emperor. The young hob seems more awake now, and he decides to press his luck. "Yes, father. Perhaps we should also have some sort of exit strategy. The emperor had his own queen arrested. Armed soldiers at-attacked our business!"

"You needn't lecture me. Snevin is kind enough to keep me informed." The older Peridiscus swirls his glass. "The same cannot be said of you and your sister," he clucks. He drinks. "We cannot be seen to resist. It is ill-advised for polecats to take such overt positions." He drinks again and seems to linger on the thought. He leans against his chair back.

Peridiscus subsides at the rebuke. He looks glumly at the desk in front of him. "Yes, sir."

His father sits down again, emptying his glass. He reopens the ledger and fumbles through the pages until he arrives at the last one. "How did you intend to pay this down, Peridiscus? I imagine you're clever enough to know that your freedom was not cheap."

Peridiscus's eyes snap up in surprise and a flash of anger burns through them. The hob fumbles for words for a moment before the anger is doused and his face settles into an expression of blank neutrality. "What do you propose, sir?"

The older polecat leans back. "We are short on options, Peridiscus. It's all these mouths to feed, you see. All these blasted workers, milling about, idle half the time for lack of work. We do not see the business we once did, yet we keep all these sorry beasts on board." He lifts his paws in a sober distancing gesture. "It cannot continue. After the business of last night, well. It was either let some of them go or leave you and your sister to rot. Goodness knows Flora softened you. You would not have lasted long in there, I wager."

Peridiscus, face stricken with unexpected guilt, leans forward in his seat, hands clasping the armrests whitely. He says nothing for long moments before deciding that his father might perhaps expect a response. "I-I'm sorry," he stammers, but trails off.

Peridiscus, Sr. silently pours another glass of brandy for himself. "Close the door on your way out," he says and rises to his feet, preparing to retire.

Peridiscus sighs inwardly. He rises stiffly from the chair with a measure of relief. The hob turns to leave, his throat closed up with worry and shame. He trudges to the door, opens it with a tremulous hand and shuts it again behind him.