Apatapa 🐯

Change is coming to the Township of Falaney Creek while Seti, a jaguar, only wishes to live out his life and work his craft as a jeweller. Unbeknownst to him, an odd encounter with a peculiar raccoon has set his future in motion.

This is a teaser for an early draft of a novel I have been working on. I would greatly appreciate any and all feedback on this chapter, thank you for reading!

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Tarnished metals fascinated me. I turned the silver necklace in my hands and marvelled over its tainted surface. It wasn’t that the tarnish hid potential. Rather, the jewellery’s potential had already been met and faded. Polishing would cause abrasions or thinning of the metal but it could still be renewed and repurposed. Silver could gleam again, just marked by the passage of time. To me that held more beauty than perfection. I smiled as I dabbed a coarse cloth in the juice of a squeezed lemon. My fingers were steady and firm as I buffed away the stain. The yellowed metal grime slowly yielded to my gentle scrubbing and revealed the shining silver beneath. Lemon juice and a scrub was far from a perfect polish, but it was good enough and all I could afford. I lived by my craft as a jeweller, I kept out of trouble and usually found my purse to be full enough to survive next month’s rent. I was cautious as I threaded the cloth into the delicate segments of the necklace, with slow and measured strokes I swept the metal clean without warping the simple filigree. My work left its mark, a patch of tarnish lifted to reveal speckles of pitted silver I couldn’t fix with my rudimentary polish. I left a scratch or two, unavoidable abrasions with such dated silverwork. I knew the dark grime that stuck to my cloth contained minuscule amounts of silver, the necklace forever thinned by my service. A wealthier patron may be offended by such a thing, but my customers were far from wealthy. This necklace belonged to a neighbour, a family heirloom her grandmother had worn for decades. The necklace had never been worn by her mother due to a lengthy scandal which culminated in an entire branch of the family tree fleeing the township. I was so charmed by the drama I offered to restore it for free, the real payment was just to see her wear it proudly. I took a deep breath and placed the polished necklace on my workbench. It gleamed, the simple design of the piece obscured by its brightness. It was only a few segments of silver worked with filigree that once may have been branches and leaves, the detail had long faded to mere suggestions in the metal. I leant back in my creaking chair and sighed as I tried to dry my paws on a spare cloth. I frowned over the tackiness of my fingers, the scent of citrus filled my head. I wiped down the necklace with a damp cloth, again with a dry cloth and then buffed over the entire piece with a single drop of olive oil to help protect its shine. I tutted to myself. The oil was expensive and I hadn’t originally planned on using it, but the silver shone like moonlight and I knew I wanted it to stay that way. I turned the necklace in my hands as a final check, and once satisfied I wrapped it up in an scrap of cheap silk I’d cut from an old scarf. I didn’t have to carry it far, Demora only lived a few doors down and the day outside was comfortable. I relaxed in the warm air, the smooth pavers underfoot always felt good. I nodded cheerily to another neighbour as they cut daisies from a flower box hanging off of their window. I lived in a confused corner of the Township of Falaney Creek. It was a gorgeous old Wetbank neighbourhood which was originally built away from the town’s centre, but it had become encircled by recent developments as the town expanded and subsequently became more affordable. Many of us who lived here were skilled tradesmen who turned reasonable coin for our hard work, but despite this most of us were renters. Demora was a baker and though her kitchen and oven were elsewhere, she always kept freshly baked treats around. Her home often smelled of leavened bread, as it did today. I drew in a breath and smiled as she welcomed me in. She was a dog with sunny fur and an even warmer disposition. She gasped as I unveiled her necklace. “It’s gorgeous,” she drew in a tender breath as she put it on, her fingers lingered on the silver leaves. It gleamed amidst her yellow fur and took on an almost golden sheen. Overlooking her dining table was a portrait of her grandmother, I’d always seen the resemblance but with the necklace in place it was uncanny. “Storms, you look just like her.” “So I hear.” She delighted me with a smile, I grinned back. “Nan would’ve been proud to see me like this, it’s prettier than I imagined. Thank you.” Joy warmed her words. “Any time.” I bowed my head. We weren’t a wealthy neighbourhood, but we deserved beauty too. We could decorate ourselves in our histories and wear our stories proudly. I rapped at her table as I stood. “I can’t stick around, I’m headed to the forge to start on a new project.” “Well you’re not leaving without taking one of these.” She stepped towards her kitchen, snatched the cloth off of a covered basket and produced a loaf of sourdough the size of my head. My mouth watered as the scent of the baked bread intensified. I accepted it graciously. Demora often gave me bread which I’d eat with jam from another neighbour. From others I was given the hard ends of cheese or dried fruit, whatever leftovers they had spare. In return, I would do odd jobs for anyone in need. A jeweller’s deft hands made quick work of many fiddly tasks. Through my connection with the community I was always finding little things I could do to make their lives brighter, easier or simply just kinder. The mother of a household at the end of the street was so charmed by a decorated set of needles I’d made for her that she now insisted on darning any holes in my clothes. Such was the shared joy we bounced between each other. I wasn’t sure I could survive here without it, my neighbours helped me thin down my expenses to something sustainable. I dropped by home to stash the bread before I left for the day. I had a small workshop at the communal forge located near the centre of town, between parks and the river. It was a delightful space, home to a community of creatives who worked with metal, glass and clay. Decorative sculptures, bowls, jewellery, the forge supported craftsmen of everything from gaudy sculptures to simple belt buckles. There was a spring in my step, I’d been teaching one of the sculptors how to work filigree and in payment she had set aside a fistful of brass I planned to fashion into shiny rings with a willow leaf motif. I was so lost in thought as I approached the forge I almost walked straight into an armed guard. “The forge is closed today.” He stood before me with a hand on the pommel of his sword. He was a fox with a heavy build, his tunic embroidered with the spindly insignia of the Township of Falaney Creek. I made an exasperated sound. “But I work here.” Concern rose in my chest. “And I've work to do today.” “Forge's closed.” The guard stared me down, his voice flat and disinterested. I peered past him to the paved square which held the forge. Horror twisted on my face. A crew stood around with tools as they dismantled our workshops. “But it's our forge.” It was communal, a core facet of the lives of craftsmen in the township. The guard only shrugged. “This square's been flagged for construction so—” “But—” “Forge's closed.” He folded his arms. “Any complaints, you know where to send 'em.” He cocked his head back towards the hill past the centre of town, upon which the mayor's house was built. A hiss rose in my throat. I cut my gaze to the side and bared fangs. This was frustrating. Shocking, even. Just yesterday I'd spent hours honing my craft, retooling junk into jewellery. It was how I earned my living. Storms, the forge was how so many of us did. A thorn poked at my throat. “I have tools in—” The guard shook his head. “Shouldn't have kept them on public property.” “I- we have...” I was quivering. There'd been no warning. “We keep lockboxes here, you can't.”
The fox clicked his tongue. “Ah well.” He tilted his head back towards the hill. “Hope you write letters even half as annoying as you’re being right now.” There was an infuriating drag to his words. I clenched a fist. “Listen. This—” “You listen. Go home, save yourself the trouble and find a real job. You want a forge? Pay a smith.” He spat out a breath and placed a meaty paw back on the pommel of his blade. “Hear the Coraband’s recruiting.” My mouth hung agape, was he threatening me? “It’s public for a reason.” I snarled under my breath, a smarmy smile grew on his face. “There's something I need in my...” I trailed off. The guard was shaking his head. “Can't help ya.” His claws braced against the hilt of his sword as he tightened his grip. I stared him in the eyes, pleading for even a hint of cooperation. There was none to be found, I huffed and turned. My tools were expensive. My tools were mine. These bullies couldn’t get away with denying me my possessions. I set a brisk pace as I headed down the street, out of the guard’s view. I cut into the park which ran alongside the path and hid behind a row of trees and bushes. As I slunk towards the square I kept stealing glances at the guard. The fox stood around with a sour look on his face and shooed off a few others curious about the square. The park went all the way to the edge of the square and nobody took notice of a jaguar amongst the trees. From my vantage point, I could see into the square. A few other guards were positioned around the entrances. Another two sat in the centre throwing dice. The crew destroying the forge were preoccupied with their task. I grit my teeth. Could I do it? With a quick dash in, I could grab my tools and run. They’d see me but would they catch me? I wrinkled my nose. Probably. I could wait for a distraction or come back at night. Futile ideas spooled about my mind, this was not something I’d ever had to consider before. “What's your plan?” A hushed voice fell from the canopy above me. I startled and glanced up. Sitting on a branch in the tree was a raccoon. He dropped to the grass, silent as he hit the ground and rose. I blinked. “What?” I was so surprised the word slipped past my lips. He wore a distant expression though his blue eyes were bright. His brown fur looked soft and faint woody tones of oakmoss drifted through the air around him. I couldn't place his age, slightly older than me but there was a youthfulness he carried with grace. I glanced to his tunic, he wore no insignia. Relief grew within me, but I kept my suspicions nonetheless. Curiously, he wore a copper bell on a thin length of rope which hung to the height of his collarbones. It hadn't jingled. His gaze drifted to the square. “You'll find me no friend of the guard.” I nodded slowly as he turned towards the square and squinted. “Your plan?” he asked. I bit my lip. “I have none. They've got my tools.” “Hmm.” He tilted his head as he sized me up, his gaze lingered on my hands. “Glassblower?” “Jeweller.” “Ah.” He rubbed his chin. “And where would your tools be?” “In a lockbox, at the back of the third workshop to the right of the forge.” He winced. “Right in the middle.” I nodded. “What sort of lockbox?” “It’s wooden, about the length of my arm. There’s a map of the creeks carved into the lid.” I sighed. A friend had made it for me, I’d probably never see it again. Another precious thing lost to the mayor’s grip on the town. Storms, they were tearing down the forge. My heart sunk. “My tool bag will be right at the top.” “Wait here.” He strode past me. “Huh?” He'd vanished behind the tree. I followed but nobody was there. I froze. “What?” I whispered and spun. Expecting him to have slunk around the trunk like some kind of prank. But no, he was gone. I paced about the tree, bewildered. I glanced up to the canopy, expecting to see him climbing between branches. Instead, I heard the rustling of bushes. A chill crept down my spine, he'd disappeared entirely. I whipped around to face the square but there was still no trace of him. I shook my head. It made no sense, if not for the faint aroma of oakmoss I wasn't sure I could trust that he had been there at all. But now I wasn't sure what to do. I was beyond sceptical but until I thought of a way to get my tools back myself, there wasn't much else for me to do but wait. I passed my time glaring at the backs of the workmen dismantling the forge, I cringed as they tore up the complicated pipework that carried molten metal to our workstations. It didn't take long, a call went out in the square. Commotion followed as a dozen officials raced about. A wisp of smoke rose to the sky, I traced it to where a small fire had caught on a pile of pennants that used to decorate the forge. Moments later something scratched in the grass behind me. I jumped, startled. The raccoon stood at a respectful distance, my tool bag clutched to his chest. I squinted at him before my gaze dropped to my tools. “How?” He held my bag out towards me. “A bit of good fortune.” “Explain yourself.” I grabbed it. “How did you do that?” He ignored the question. “It was locked.” I stated firmly. “Was.” He nodded in agreement. “I didn’t bust it open, if you were afraid of that. It’s a very beautiful box.” As a scowl darkened my brow his gaze dipped to the tool bag I clutched to my chest. I exhaled to smother the sparks of indignation that clung to me. “Sorry.” I held out a hand. “Thank you for your help, really. This is all such a scare, I’m quite shaken.” He shook my hand in a single exaggerated motion. “My pleasure.” He felt real. I don't know why I still doubted that, but it was relieving to know he was corporeal. “What's your name?” I asked. He shook his head. “Better if you don't know.” He turned to leave. “Wait.” I reached after him. He peered over his shoulder. “I could fix your bell and make a chain for it. Please, it's the least I can do.” The raccoon's left ear flicked. He raised a paw to the bell. “Good awareness.” He shook the bell, it made no sound. “You'll find it's not broken but a chain, hmm.” He lifted the ratty cord of rope that held it. “I'd quite like that.” His gaze drifted to my eyes and he smiled warmly. “Another time, perhaps.” I furrowed my brow. “I've enough electrum to–” The words caught in my throat, he was gone. One moment he was there, the next, nothing. He hadn’t even moved. I might've blinked. Storms, I hope I blinked. I tried to catch his scent, but only the lingering aroma of oakmoss remained. It was disorienting. How anyone could just vanish like that was beyond me, but he was gone like a spectre come morning. I scrunched my face, my fingers pressed against the corners of my eyes as I took a deep breath. I had my tools, that was what mattered. I was thankful but my curiosity had been piqued. I clutched the leather bag to my chest, with this I was certain I hadn't dreamt him up. I checked to make sure all of my tools were there. Nothing was missing or damaged, but a curious silver coin had been placed inside. It had been stamped with a crude symbol of a raccoon's mask. The uneven depth of the impression made me suspect it was worked by an unskilled hand. He’d left me a mark for a reason, I chewed my lip in puzzlement. I didn't like that I owed him a favour. Perhaps that wasn’t certain, but I felt some obligation to him now. I wouldn't give an unknown favour to a stranger. I'd make a chain for his bell and if ever he came asking for that favour I'd offer it instead. I wouldn't be goaded into whatever game he was playing. I rubbed the surface of the coin, it had been coated in something oily. I sniffed it. Oakmoss, but far stronger than the scent he wore—it was almost eye watering. I wrinkled my nose and stuffed it away in my pocket. I exhaled. He made me nervous. He'd been willing to sneak into the square, he might be some make of criminal. By accepting his help I could land find myself in trouble. I grimaced. There was a friend I could talk to, someone who kept their ear close to the ground and had a penchant for knowing things one should not know. I lifted my tool bag over my shoulder and set off towards Drybank on the south side of town. There were four distinct regions to the township. Wetbank to the north side of the river, given its name due to the proximity to the creeks which the township was named by. Drybank to the south and then the Mayor’s Hill on the northern edge of Drybank. Frustratingly, there was also the Coraband District, on the eastern side of Wetbank. I dreaded to even think of the place. The streets were warmer down south, the mayor had ordered all the trees cut down to make the most space for cheaper housing. The flagstones were ramshackle and full of gaps which routinely filled with muck of questionable origin. Dust drifted on the breeze of Drybank. I clutched my tools to my side. I didn't think this area was unsafe, but the sheer number of guards who walked these streets always put me on edge. There were dozens who patrolled the entire southern district with an air of wanton superiority about them as they troubled townsfolk they deemed suspicious. I kept my head down as I strode towards the alley where my friend lived. She'd rented out the cellar of what was once the biggest tavern in the town. It was a musty living space, but it was large and cool. She'd dressed it up with vibrant rugs and cushions, drapes and incense which left the air hazy in a way she claimed allured her clients. I rapped at the door to the cellar and hoped she wasn't with a client at the moment. The latch clicked. I stepped back as she threw open the door. She went by Taro, though it wasn't her birth name. She was a shapely hippo who welcomed hungry eyes with a low-cut shift and a skirt of thin red fabric which had been layered to show enough leg while maintaining enough mystery to keep a client’s interest. Adorned on her shift was a small silver brooch shaped like a tulip with worn details. It was the first piece of silver I'd ever worked, and it tickled me to see she still wore it proudly. A smile delighted her eyes, which were edged with a soft pink powder that complimented the almost-purple brown of her skin. “Ahh, Seti.” She raised a hand and rolled her wrist as she gestured me inside. I grinned back. “It's been too long.” I stepped forward and embraced her in a firm hug. Today she smelled of little but herself. She breathed deep as she squeezed me back. “Oakmoss?” she whispered in my ear. “It suits you.” I stepped back, embarrassed. “Not mine.” Intrigue filled her face. “Tell me about him.” I shot a hand up, my face scrunched. “Not like that.” She rolled her eyes, pulled shut the cellar doors and we descended into her chambers. I sat against an orange cushion and curiously eyed a set of cuffs that had been placed on the short table in the middle of the room. “I've got a client coming so make it quick.” Taro sat on the edge of the table and crossed one leg over another, flashing me an eyeful under her skirt. I smirked. “Didya like that one?” I lifted my shoulders. “Could've been more subtle.” “Men don't come to me for subtlety darling.” She pursed her lips. We'd long since grown past discretion. She was my oldest friend, I knew her business. Storms. I'd once helped her find clients and even would've walked the same path if not for the apprenticeship I'd scored with a jeweller almost a decade ago. “So what's the trouble?” she asked. I sighed. “They've closed the forge.” She gasped. “What?” Genuine concern creased her brow. I grimaced as I nodded. “Yep. They’re destroying it, but. That's not why I'm here.” “Will you be okay?” I waved the question off. “I'll be fine,” my voice was pitted as I reached into my pocket to pull out the raccoon's coin. I held it up so she could see it. “Do you have any idea what this is?” “Hmm.” She squinted at it, her nose wrinkled as the scent of oakmoss floated between us. “Can't say I recognise it.” I clicked my tongue. “The strangest thing happened when I went to the forge. I got turned away by a guard. I was considering sneaking in to grab my tools, but this raccoon was there. And he got them for me.” I furrowed my brow. “He was like a spectre, gone the moment he left my sight. Vanished, not a trace of him. And then he was back to give me my tools. Somehow he'd gotten past all the guards.” Taro frowned. “Anything?” I watched her closely. “There's...” She sighed and lifted her head. “This isn't for anyone else. Promise.” I nodded. “Promise.” “One of the planners comes ‘round every week or so. He's been frustrated lately, running into problems he's never had before. Things going missing, reports of break ins even under constant watch. One of his documents was half-way rewritten without him even realising. He's pissed, raves about it like he's haunted. At this point he's not even sure if it's sabotage or if he's losing it.” She rose to her feet. “But he swore to me that a raccoon started working his estate. Showed up one day, paperwork all in order, stayed for a week, good worker, then disappeared without a word. Then his troubles started.” I stared. “Might be him. Did he say anything else, brown fur? About so tall?” I raised a hand to my chin. She shook her head. “Not a word else.” “Who's your client?” “Lamrel Merrit. Five inches.” “I- oh.” I cocked my head and blinked. “Good to know.” She snickered. “Figured it might be relevant.” “Sure.” I furrowed my brow. “That's that rabbit, yeah?” She nodded. “What are you going to do about it?” “Probably nothing.” I sniffed, my head still full of oakmoss. “I just worry he might call me in for a favour, which could be trouble.” Taro leant forward, her brown eyes full of concern. “You don't think he's in with The Lenders do you?” I grimaced. “Hope not.” The Lenders were a gang of crooks with far too much money who used either violence or wealth to tip the mayor's hand. “Doesn't seem like their style.” “Mmm. Maybe, but the coin. Like lending a favour.” Anxiety scratched at my chest. I stuffed the coin in my pocket and bared my fangs. “That better not be it.” She cocked her head towards the stairs. “You sure as shit aren't bringing any Lenders 'round this way.” I eyed her wearily. “Don't plan to.” “Good. Now, time to go. My client will be here soon.” I dipped my head, swung my bag over my shoulder and rose into a bone-crushing hug. “Stay safe Seti.” She kissed my cheek. “And come 'round some time I'm not working.” I squeezed her. “I'll try.” As I dipped out of the alley, I bumped shoulders with a tall, white rabbit who was walking at a rushed pace. He seemed well-dressed for this part of town. I whipped around and muttered an apology. He ignored me as he strode into the alley I’d just left. Lamrel Merrit. Five inches. I hid the stupid smile on my lips and turned for home. I wasn't entirely sure what I was meant to do now. First and foremost, I needed to sort out a new workspace. I tried to list everything I had to do to get my business up and running again, but my thoughts kept drifting to that raccoon. I'd been up to no good, so to find him in the same place implied he had a similar motive. He helped me, sure. But he'd set fire to something. Which was admittedly a bit beyond what I wanted to get involved in. I had no love for the mayor and all the changes he'd pushed upon the town, but my livelihood was salvageable. The loss of the forge was a shock, but I could manage. I just didn't want to get wrapped up in anything more. So if I’d been pulled into something, I needed to know what it was. I needed to know who that raccoon was. A buzzing grew in my chest, I couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or excitement. I almost wished he was a Lender, I knew what they were. But it just didn't fit, he seemed kind. He was something else, a peculiarity that could threaten all of the security in my life. With every step I took, the raccoon's coin felt heavier in my pocket. He could be worse than The Lenders with his vanishing act, I wasn’t convinced that was a parlour trick but what else could it be? Magic? I scoffed. Storms, I wish I knew.

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