A Light Dawns

Punch, Oilrag

Punch can't seem to cease his pacing. His limbs cannot withhold expression of their impatience for freedom, and the bare packed-earth floor of the dungeon is their canvas. The cell in which the deposed advisor finds himself is no more than 10 feet by 10. There are no pallets, no mattresses, no real accommodations for sleep or sitting. So he paces.

Oilrag is also pacing. However, unlike Punch, the polecat is actually getting somewhere. Having heard about the failed escape attempt, the advisor creeps into the dungeons, paws clasped before him and head tilted slightly. Seeing Punch's dilemna, Oilrag's pale eyes glitter in amusement. "It finally happened, then."

Punch's eyes spring toward the polecat, as if his attention had been held taut at the ready, only waiting for such a visitor. "Y-you!" he says in a loud whisper. He darts to the bars of his cage and grasps them. "H-h-how did you..? I s-saw you flee to the d-docks! How d-did you get back in? A-and why?"

"I have my ways," Oilrag whispers smugly. "It was a simple matter to slip through the gates when the guards left to pursue you. My motives are of no concern."

"You m-must help me to escape," Punch says, not in a tone of command, but as if it were certainly a matter of course. "Th-th-this k-king cannot rem-main in power," he glances around quickly, to make sure no guards hear his words. "Nobeast--nobeast i-is s-safe while he d-does." He quickly appends, "...as l-long as his cond-dition remains com-compromised, of course." He hisses, "He will d-destroy all that /we/ have b-built!"

"Ah..." Oilrag smirks. "A light dawns. I wondered how long it would take you to reach that conclusion. I have been preparing for this eventuality for countless seasons, and have a plethora of ways of fixing this situation. However," Oilrag holds up one claw. "Should I choose to assist you, what's in it for me?"

Punch releases the bars of the cell to sweep his arms across the tiny enclosure. "I have nothing t-to offer. Not as long as--as I remain in here. But," he says, leaning forward again, "I w-will help and serve you as you n-need. And I do not im-imagine you will succeed alone."

"That's somewhat better." Oilrag nods. "However, there is one thing you must swear to do. If you do not, then you're on your own."

Punch waits, saying nothing, only nodding.

"Well? Will you?" Oilrag snorts impatiently. "Your survival depends upon this."

"O-of c-course," Punch says.

"Nobeast must know of my role in this. If I am discovered, then all our hopes and dreams are crushed--those that aren't already. You, and any others who wish to come with you, must make a vow of silence regarding my assistance." Oilrag inhales slowly after this long statement, and waits for Punch's response.

Punch is silent for a few moments, though not in compliance with any vow. His eyes probe Oilrag, as if to wring secrets from the strange polecat's oily visage. If Punch's search is successful, it doesn't seem to alter his expression in any way. He simply nods again. "I swear it," he says in a voice kept discreetly low. He thinks. "And what i-if the k-king should recover?"

"Then we will adjust our plans accordingly," Oilrag says confidently. "However, between you and me and the..." He looks around for a moment, searching for an inanimate object to finish the statement with. Finding none, he simply abandons it. "...never mind. Anyways, I highly doubt that the king will come to himself anytime soon."

Just then, a guard enters, bearing a basket of rolls. Punch promptly disengages, pushing away from the bars and coolly turning away from the other advisor. "W-work must cont-tinue," he says flatly. "Those building c-crews could become d-d-angerous if left idle for too long!" he instructs.

"What?" Oilrag blinks. "Oh, er, yes. I will see to it that they will proceed as instructed." He glances sideways at the guard.

A roll clatters along the floor and comes to a stop against the wall. The guard, having done his duty, stalks off. "There are r-remedies for the k-king's ailment," Punch says, picking up the dropped thread of conversation. "S-so I have heard."

"Perhaps," Oilrag whispers. "However, unfortunately, the only remedy for a power-hungry madbeast that I know of is a blade between the ribs, a cure which I am slow to administer."

Punch stoops to retrieve his meal and holds it up for Oilrag to view. "N-not sure how much longer I'll make it on this alone." He eyes the roll with mild trepidation.

"That can be amended. I can slip in and out of the kitchens easily," Oilrag whispers. "I will return when I have assessed the situation involving His Madness more thoroughly." With that, he's gone, his black robe swirling around him like a concealing cloak.