The fence was a stockade of roughly-sawn planks four feet high, with the damaged section on the side facing the prevailing winds.  The planks had warped and Doug realized that he had a long afternoon’s work ahead of him.  But the job was part of his cover for this assignment, so the fox took a few notes on a scrap of paper.  No sense in being out of character by doing a less than professional job. 
        He heard a noise coming from an open window as he turned away and he froze momentarily, ears flicking.  He stepped through the gap in the fence towards an open window and peered over the sill.
        A slim gray fox was sitting up in a bed, reading a newspaper.  Despite the gray fur he was instantly recognizable from the pictures that he and Bob had memorized as part of their assignment.
        It was Sarkozy.
        The fox tensed, all his instincts telling him to climb through the window; he then forced himself to relax.  He had to tell Bob, and the two of them had to work out a plan to lay paws on their quarry and get him back across the sound to Canadian soil.
        Doug nonchalantly placed his knapsack on the doctor’s front doorstep and headed down to the lumber yard.  He looked up at the afternoon sun and decided to stop by the market on his way.  Something cool to drink while he worked would be welcome.


1315:

        Linda Kelso stiffened as a pair of paws covered her eyes and she giggled as a familiar voice whispered, “Guess who?”
        She made a show of patting the paws and said, “I’d recognize those paws anywhere – Jack, you naughty fox.”  She and Luke both started laughing as she turned toward him and he kissed her.  Seated at the kitchen table, one of the town’s midwives, an elderly badger, chuckled to herself as she sipped at a glass of apple juice.
        “Jack, eh?” Luke asked, cocking an eyebrow at his wife.  “I might have to have a word with him.”  Husband and wife grinned at each other, and Linda tweaked his nose gently.  “Mother Jezebel, how are you today?” he asked the badger courteously.
        “Just fine, Luke, an’ so’s Linda,” Jezebel said, grinning and showing that two of her teeth were missing and the others were discolored with age.  It made her look a bit like a witch from an old story.  Nonetheless it was a pleased expression as she remarked, “Does my heart good to see you two so happy – it’s good luck for the baby, you know.”  She set aside the glass and reached down into her bag, pulling out some knitting.  “Neither of you need fret none – the baby’s well, and Linda’ll have a easy time of it.”
        Luke blushed a bit and Linda giggled.  “I’m glad of that,” he finally managed to say.  “Still not going to tell us if it’s a boy or a girl?”
        The elderly badger laughed as her knitting needles clicked.  “Not on your life, young Luke,” she chuckled.  “’Twould be bad luck.”


        “I’m not saying I believe in what you do, Doc, or in what Luke’s saying,” Jack said, “but there must be something to it, I guess.”  He stood in the middle of the town’s open-air market while all around him farmers and tradespeople offered their wares and people haggled over prices.  A young feline watching over her father’s latest catch caught his eye, and she blushed in embarrassment as he smiled at her.
        Thomas Windsong nodded, leaning against the counter of his booth.  Trays of fresh vegetables and fruit were set out for sale, and his tail flicked at errant insects.  One of his eyebrows went up as Jack finished speaking.  “I’m surprised, Jack.  I figured you might be more open-minded.  Here,” and he tossed the fox an apple.  “I’m no different from Father Cruikshank – we ply the same trade.”
        Jack caught the fruit and took a bite of it before shaking his head negatively.  Swallowing the mouthful he said, “There’s a difference, Tom, and you know it.  Your gods are older, and from what I’ve seen they’re a hell of a lot more ready to talk back if you ask them something.”
        Windsong smiled at that.  It was an old argument, dating back to when they were schoolchildren.  Jack believed what his senses told him, and anything that smacked of the supernatural confused him.  He guessed that was one reason for the fox’s slide into the bottle a while back.  “You didn’t come here just to talk, Jack.  Tell me what’s up,” he said, running one paw over the wood counter of his booth.
        “Well, it’s like this, Tom,” Jack said after taking a few more bites of the apple, “Luke had some kind of vision or something when he laid a paw on our prisoner.  He says that the guy’s telling the truth and he’s not guilty of what he’s charged with, but you and I both know that isn’t going to cut any ice with the magistrate.”
        “So?”
        “So Pete sent me and Luke to see if you’d spiritwalk him,” Jack said.  “Luke had to go see Linda, so here I am.”
        The horse nodded, sinking back to take a seat on a stool.  “I haven’t had to do that sort of thing since that trouble last year,” he said, cupping his chin with a paw as he thought.  “Are you sure you want me to try this?”
        Jack shrugged, his brush swishing idly as he gnawed the apple down to its core.  He dropped the core into a trash barrel and wiped his paw on his shirt while saying, “Pete asked, because it’s the only way we’ll know for sure.  And you’re the town’s shaman, Tom.”
        “When’s the magistrate coming up?”
        “Couple more days, and he’ll be here.  You going to try?”
        Windsong nodded.  “I’ll think it over a bit more, then give Pete a call.”  Suddenly a sly look caused his ears to lay back.  “You going to pay for that apple?”
        “You gave it to me.”
        “Doesn’t mean you get away without paying for it.”  A paw extended.  “Two cents.”
        “Highway robbery,” Jack grumbled good-naturedly, but dug into a pocket and handed over the coins.  “I’m only paying because if I didn’t you’d put a bad word on me,” he said with a smile.
        Windsong smiled back as he put the coins in a small box.  “You know it doesn’t work like that.”
        “You never know,” Jack said, and waved a farewell as he headed out of the market. 
        On his way out he bumped into another fox, taller and more heavily muscled than himself and carrying a sack of tools.  “Oops,” the stranger said as he recoiled before actually striking Jack, “Sorry, wasn’t looking where I was going, eh.”
        “No problem,” Jack said, and continued on his way.


        Doug watched the constable walk off, and allowed himself to relax the tiniest bit while he suppressed a sigh of relief.  Their orders from the Ministry (from the Minister himself) were very clear that the Rain Island authorities were not to know anything about their mission.  There was no current extradition treaty apart from ‘good faith’ – the practice where either government would give back a fugitive caught on their soil based on an officer’s sworn statement and a warrant.
        If the Rain Islanders caught Sarkozy, and dug too deep in their investigation, they might not want to give him back.  Hence his mission.
        He made his way through the crowd of townspeople buying and selling and entered the town’s lumberyard, where rafts of logs felled further up the coast were dried and cut for shipment elsewhere.  Bob was working here, as part of his cover.
        Doug stuck his head in the foreman’s office and said, “Hi!  Name’s Doug, and Doctor Travers sent me to pick up some lumber.”
        The foreman, a burly brown bear with traces of gray in his headfur and along his muzzle, looked up from a ledger and nodded.  “He called me,” he said in a deep voice.  “What do you think you’ll need?”
        Doug pulled his list of materials from his pocket and passed it over to the foreman, who squinted at it as he read the list.  “Looks okay,” he finally said and gave the list back.  “Find someone to help you fill it and bring the bill to me so I know you’re not trying to stiff the old guy.”
        The fox bit back a retort, nodded, and left the office.  He knew exactly who he needed to find.
        The lynx was helping stack freshly-sawn planks in another part of the yard.  Doug walked up to him.  “Hey!” he said, pitching his voice louder to make himself heard over the scream of the mill’s saws.  “I need some help here.”
        Bob’s ears flicked and he turned toward the fox.  “Yeah?  Whaddaya want?” he asked gruffly.
        “Your foreman told me to come over here and pick up this stuff,” and Doug held up the list.  The lynx studied the slip of paper and jerked his head toward several stacks of boards.  As they walked over, Doug pitched his voice low and said, “I have some news.”
        “You finally got a job, so you won’t be sponging off my wallet?” Bob asked with a grin, and he ducked as the fox tried to take a swipe at him.
        “No, you idiot,” the vulpine hissed.  “Yeah, I’ll admit I got a job repairing a fence.  But here’s the side benefit,” and he quickly told his partner what he had seen.  To his pleasure, the lynx’s ears stood straight up in surprise.
        “Didn’t think it’d be that easy,” Bob said.  “What do you think we should do?”
        “First things first,” Doug said firmly.  “We have things to do, so we’ll wait until we’re done before we start laying any plans.”
        “Okay.”


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