"Ain't heard of no tablet, Descoteaux or not," Auntie Cia replies. "I'm sorry, sweetie." Anata smirks at the term of endearment.
Red shrugs. "Ah, well. We'll scare up another lead somehow."
"As for the Descoteaux vanishing, I can only tell you what I've heard," Auntie Cia continues. "There was a little dust-up a bunch of months back - just some disagreement about farm land - and the usual bullshit and posturing ensued. You know how little patience I have for your family's tiff with the Descoteaux; I didn't pay it any mind. But ol' Narcisse Descoteaux got his underwear all in a bunch, started shouting about how this was the last time the Beaulieu clan would dare mess with the Descoteaux, and then...they all just up and vanished. I went with your Pops, Beau and Marcelle to go check their place out, but we didn't see a damn thing. That was a week or so before the kidnappings started."
Red frowns as he hears about the border dispute. "Nothing suspicious at the farm? Damn strange. You'd figure a family that big would've left a trace of passing, even if they knew the swamp."
Anton grunts at the border dispute. "People saying, 'I'll show you, I'll show you all' kind of stuff is never good news, but they've usually got one damn fool idea or another in their head about how to go about it, and they like showing them off." He ponders. "Did anyone dig anyplace new up somewhere around here? Maybe that disputed land, where was that?"
"Think it was maybe four or five miles that-a-way," Auntie Cia replies, pointing back to the road and away from Placerville. "In the middle of nowhere, too; I think that your Pops was only lookin' at it for crawdad and catfish farmin', anyhow. Just a bunch of muddy water holes and sinks."
"You're welcome, Renard," Auntie Cia says. "And good luck with...with your adventures an' all your craziness an'..." She sniffs, and scoops Red up once again for a big hug. "Just be safe. Enough worry to go around right now, and there you go givin' your Auntie even more."
"Don't you worry about me, Auntie. I have friends watching out for me," Red says, deciding that 'friends' sounds more reassuring than 'crazy bastards.'
"That you do," Auntie Cia replies, giving Red one more squeeze - slightly more gentle this time. "But you let me know if you ever need anything. Your Auntie's lived a long life, and I got a lot of friends." She smirks. "Tell you what, you make it back, I'll finally set you up with that niece of mine. She's probably enough woman for you."
"'M not aiming to settle down just yet, Auntie, unless you count putting me back on the ground. " Red attempts to give her a squeeze in return. "Thank you for everything, Auntie. It means a lot to me."
"Ain't nothin when it's for family, Renard," Auntie Cia replies as she puts Red back down.
----
The slow lap around the perimeter brings Cia, Red, Anton and Anata back to the barn where Ozzy, Lucius and Martin are finishing up with their feathered friend.
"So, you get anything out of him?" Cia asks. "Besides a squawk or two?"
"'Is name's Gerry Farmer," Ozzy answers, "and he ain't no beast. Most of this lot ain't, but Narcisse Descoteaux's worked 'em over but good with some Asenath-infused whammy. Gerry said they took 'im to a cave or summat. I reckon ain't many caves in a swamp, so I reckon you might know where he was?" Ozzy looks to Red and Cia, hoping they know a place.
Red's brows knit together as he scowls. "Caves fill up with water around here, just like everything else - save one place we've seen recently. Might be ensorcelled to not flood, like I figure the Descoteaux farm is." He gestures over down the road. "Auntie Cia just mentioned some sinks a ways from here - contested territory 'tween my family and the Descoteaux, too. Sounds like a good place to start. Wanna go stomp something into a mudhole, Ozzy?"
"I much prefer our success rate with underground caverns as opposed to creepy old manors," Martin weighs in. "I concur, let's beat feet and go spelunking."
Ana's expression sours somewhat as she listened to the exchange between Red and "Auntie Cia", and turns fully into the mask of faintly perturbed dignity that seems to be her default expression - at least in the presence of this particular band of thugs and mercenaries. First it was panicky peasants, fighting other panicky peasants, with the curious addition of fur, but with that same sense of a crowd being led on by rumors and the scent of fear.
And now it was muddy water holes, which may or may not be flooded, and flooded with Asenath's minions.
And it's with a yet another weary sigh from Anata, the decision is made to move out to this contested little scrap of land. The poor half-crow Gerry Farmer elects to stay behind ("Not much good, hobblin' around on caw! a busted leg," he said), and with directions and a final hug and kiss for Red from his Auntie Cia, the group rolls out.
It's a good half-hour of walking before even Red starts to lose track of where you are, and a few minutes later, the group is completely dependent on Cia's directions. Red doesn't remember him and Beau ever venturing this far into the swamp - the fact that Pops even was thinking of venturing out this far says just how much his adoptive father's holdings have grown - and how desperate he was for an advantage over the Descoteaux. Pavers turn to gravel, turn to wooden planks laid on the ground and strung over small creeks, and finally to a dirt path, partially turned to muck with the rains and the occasional impromptu bridge. Work equipment - mostly wheelbarrows, picks and shovels - are left by the side of the path, not in panic, but in laziness. It seems you're getting close to where you're going.
And soon enough, the outline of a few ramshackle shacks appear through the trees and brush. You can see pits with tripods on top and winches dangling over them, at least a dozen or so, and it looks like the shacks are, or were, housing and cook shelters. Seems like you've found the work site Auntie Cia mentioned. The island it's on is big enough that there's more than one way to approach - but only one way that's not trudging through who-knows-what.
"Reckon you can sneak up and give a listen?" Ozzy asks. It's not really directed at anyone so much as it's an admission that a big hairy mage isn't good at being quiet.
Martin's whiskers twitch as he assumes his natural slouch and ducks down into the brush, and the last thing his friends see of him is his tail carefully sliding side to side before he's gone.
Pressed with his belly to the ground, Martin crawls forward, ears pinned back as he eases underneath the brambles. His fur picks up some of the muck seeping between the pads on his hands and feet, but all he's focused on is what his eyes, ears and nose are telling him. Up ahead, he hears at least ten feet stepping around, accompanied by the sound of digging and a few bestial - yet human-ish - grunts of effort. His fur stands on end at the scent of canine of some variety, but he also smells something that makes his mouth water - pig, and more than one, by the scent of it. One final meter forward brings Martin to the edge of the bushes, just close enough for his eyes to peek through the leaves. He sees a half-dozen beast-men with chains around their necks working in a few different pits and a half-dozen more coyote-men with spears standing guard. No pigs, though -
Wait, scratch that. Martin hears a very, very loud thudding set of hooves in the dirt, and the front of the tent bulges up just in time to disgorge one very large boar-man. Covered in black bristles with a huge humped back and a build that's as much fat on top as there probably is muscle underneath, the boar-man looks over the work site and snorts through his yellowed tusks.
"What's taking so long?" he squeals.
"Worthless layabouts are taking too long, Olivier!" one of the coyotes replies. "Figure they want a break!"
"A break?" the boar-man snorts. "A break?" He stomps over to the closest pit and picks the rabbit-man in it up by his ears. The rabbit-man yelps and cries in terror as Olivier stares into his wild yellow eyes. "Here's your fuckin' break!" He grabs the rabbit-man's neck with his other hand, and squeezes. His muscles bulge even more than the poor rabbit-man's eyes do, and a few seconds of strained effort later, there's a wet crack, and the rabbit-man's feet stop kicking. Martin looks away, and sees Lucius crouched in the shadows by a box of supplies, knife in hand but holding himself back. He nods to Martin, motioning with his off-hand to stay out of sight.
Olivier drops the lifeless body and turns to the others, ears all down and tails curled underneath them. "Break's over! Back to work! Pa said there's gotta be more here, so we keep diggin' until we find it!"
punkey
