Blood Runs Thicker than Water

       Moomintroll didn’t know where else to look. He had checked every alley within a minute’s dash, calling Snufkin’s name until his throat went dry. He had even peered into shops—though Snufkin loathed shops—just in case. He didn’t dare wander far. After Moominpappa had left for the trial (well ahead of time), Little My had declared she’d “nip in and see if Snufkin’s already inside the town hall,” slipping past the guards by ducking under a hemulen lady’s billowy skirts. The day was unfairly cheerful. Sunlight gilded the town hall’s gingerbread facade, its window boxes spilling over with blooms of all colours. Only the two policemen at the entrance spoiled the charm: a hulking hemulen and a wolpertinger, maybe the same as yesterday. Moomintroll chose a bench half-hidden by flower beds across the ton hall square, just in case. He fidgeted, tail twitching— A sharp tug. “Snufkin?” he whirled, hopeful. “Nope. Just me.” Little My perched in the nasturtiums, petals stuck to her hair. “Right. Ground floor’s clear. Couldn’t get upstairs—some well-toothed git like a marten caught me twice and tossed out even before the thing started. Nose like a bloodhound, ears like a bat. And he’s not the only one. No way my tall bro sneaked past.” She smirked. “Since no one’s yammering about a second criminal, he never even tried. Come on.” Moomintroll scrambled after her. They circled the block—fences, guards, more fences. One pine tree leaned invitingly over the barrier, but no one answered from its meagre needled branches. “Maybe the public garden?” Moomintroll pointed to a green patch down the road. Snufkin would most certainly want to sit closer to the trees in this town of stone. Or by the water. “Or the river! We’ve seen a river at the outskirts, with nice bridges—” “Oh, for my dirty socks!” Little My didn’t budge. “Seriously?” “What?” He knew Snufkin’s favourite spots, didn’t he? “You idiot.” She rolled her eyes hard enough to strain a muscle. “Snufkin didn’t come for a picnic. He’s here to spring his hair-brained father. If he’s not in the courthouse, he’s ambushing the prison transport. We should’ve scouted the route. Hours ago.” “Why didn’t you say so?!” “Didn’t fancy waking up early.” She shrugged. “Besides, that Joxter man could use a closer look at how prisons work. It might teach him to keep his paws off ‘No Smoking’ signs. And also, you'd make about as good a criminal accomplice as a shovel made of shit," Little My scoffed. "You'd just get in the way." Moomintroll's ears drooped. What if Snufkin really didn't want company? That time he had followed him uninvited to the Lonely Mountains, they had had a proper row—though they had made up eventually. "Oh, stop moping," Little My relented, rolling her eyes again. "You'll do for eyes and legs. I'll be the brains and the bite." She unfolded the tourist map Hodgkins had grudgingly marked with the prison's location, and off they went. They scoured side streets, trespassed through gardens (to much barking and shouting), checked every spot where she would've staged an ambush, and every nook where he imagined Snufkin might rest. Moomintroll regretted he had left the harmonica at the Adventure in the absence of pockets on him. Snufkin might have heard the familiar sound from afar… Near the prison, they crouched in bushes, staring at the grim blockhouse standing bare in its field of fences, watchtowers, and barbed wire. Even Little My fell silent. That is, Edward the Booble might help, but Muddler mentioned the day before that the giant had gone north, to desolate territories where he was less likely to trample people. Hungry, thirsty, and defeated, they turned back, cutting through fields where tidy houses clustered closer until the town swallowed them again. Pedestrians swarmed; bicycles whizzed past. Moomintroll tucked Little My under his arm to keep her from being squashed, his eyes still searching the crowd— Chomp! "Ow! Little My!" Clutching at the bitten finger, he dropped her just in time to see her vanish into a newsagent's shop. He dashed after, helping the flustered shopkeeper search for his tiny companion through the aisles, but to no avail. Panting and baffled, he went outside. Little My waved at him from an alley. "Cheers for the distraction while I was shoplifting!" She smirked but got serious in a second, thrusting a newspaper at him. "Spotted this while you were carting me about." The headline screamed: TERROR ENDS. Beneath it, smaller: Notorious vandal who plagued the Chancellor's Isle for over six months sentenced. And there—a photograph. Snufkin. Hatless, overweary, hollow-eyed—but unmistakably him. Moomintroll sank onto the pavement, swearing under his breath as Little My climbed his shoulders to read over his head. "What nonsense! Why ‘Joxter’? He'd never—" Then he reached the final paragraph. "Executed? Tomorrow?!" Little My cursed, her fingers digging into his fur as the paper crumpled in his paws. Moomintroll flung the newspaper aside, scooped up Little My under his arm, and sprinted towards the town hall, then skidded to a halt. If the paper had already printed the story, the trial was over. Joxter—no, Snufkin (blast it all!)—would be back in his cell by now. He spun on his heel, veering away from the town. Why hadn’t Pappa stopped this travesty? Why wasn’t there a word in the paper about the "renowned author’s" intervention? Little My kicked and cursed, screeching that he’d achieve nothing without a plan. But what was there to plan? All he had to do was explain the mistake to those stuffy officials (This isn’t Joxter, it’s Snufkin!), and they’d let him go at once. He dropped Little My only at the prison gates, hammering on the dull grey paint, shouting to be let in. And jumped when a small, grey door creaked open beside him, and a sullen creature with a pinched muzzle and stubby ears (a schnaps, Moominmamma had called that sort) peered out. "Leave the restricted area," it droned. "But there’s been a terrible mistake!" Moomintroll cried. "Fetch the warden! The person you’ve arrested isn’t Joxter! It’s Snufkin, and he’s innocent!" "Our judicial system is impeccably balanced and error-free," the guard recited, stepping back to shut the door. Moomintroll lunged and kicked the creature’s knee, shoved it aside, and barrelled through. A hemulen guard loomed by the watchhouse. Easy to dodge— Or not. A boot hooked his ankle, sending him snout-first into the dust. "Right then," boomed the hemulen, twisting Moomintroll’s arm behind his back. "Assault on prison staff and unlawful entry." Cold metal cuffs snapped around his wrists. Real ones. Not like imagined adventures of "liberating" park grass and trees with Snufkin. He spat out dust, babbling about the mix-up. "Leave him here?" growled a third voice. Moomintroll craned his neck—a wolpertinger, its fangs even more terrifying from the ground level. "Nah, police station," the hemulen said, almost kindly. "Doesn’t look dangerous. Bet they’ll slap him with public service and call it a day. Fetch the van." Shoved into a metal box on wheels, Moomintroll blinked at the welded bench and barred window. Was this how they transported Snufkin? Then—Wait. Where’s Little My? Forgotten at the gates. Well, perhaps she’d manage… something. He snorted. Oh, I’m not dangerous, am I? Just wait till they meet a pint-sized mymble fury. The van jolted into motion. Countryside pits gave way to cobblestones rattling beneath the wheels; buildings flickered past the grille. When the engine finally stopped rumbling, he found himself in a soot-stained yard behind the town hall and police station, far less tidy than their facades. Dragged through narrow corridors, he was thrust into a large room. A portly hemulen sipped coffee behind a desk. The sight of a sandwich in front of the guard made Moomin’s stomach rumble. Half the space was caged off, just like the police station back home. And inside the cage… "Moomintroll!" Moominpappa leapt up. "You’ll never guess what’s happened—" "I can guess, Pappa," he sighed as they shoved him in. *** Snufkin forced himself up the bunk. He wouldn’t meet his end slumped in a corner, lost in delirium—he’d face it standing (not literally, though), eyes open. But the fever had other plans. Chills and heat rolled through him in waves, dragging up visions so vivid they stole his breath. "Snufkin, won’t you stay for tea?" Moominmamma turned from the stove, apron dusted with flour. "Well, traveller, how fares the wide world?" Moominpappa lowered his newspaper on the veranda. "Snufkin!" A ring of woodies kids blinked up at him with star-bright eyes. "Hello," Toft whispered shyly from behind them. "Snufkin, do you go already?" Moomintroll held an autumn leaf, his eyes brimming with that quiet sadness— Yes, Snufkin answered silently in the dark. It seems I must. Then— "Snufkin! You there? Answer me, damn it! I can’t see in the dark like you!" Little My’s voice. From above. Impossible. Snufkin laughed hoarsely. "If you were real," he muttered to the hallucination, "you’d be asking for food." A metallic scrape. Something small and very solid dropped onto his shoulder. "Ow! What the—?" He poked the vision with a finger. Yes, it took some effort, but he’d hardly need that energy anyway. "Shut up," Little My hissed, biting his finger for good measure and sprang down from him. Not a vision, then. He sat up, wincing. "How did you—?" "Ventilation shaft." "No, I mean—how are you here?" "Boat, obviously. Whole family’s come to dig you out of this mess." She jabbed a tiny sharp knuckle into his chest. "And you’re an idiot for pretending to be Joxter. Let the old fool clean up his own—" "Quieter!" Snufkin grabbed her. "There are weaslings in the guard, and those creatures have extra keen hearing—“ Then the whole terror of the situation kicked in. “Wait, whole family? Moomintroll’s here? And Joxter—have you seen him?" "You shut up," Little My growled. "No sign of your dad. But of course Moomintroll’s here. Poor pining fool saw the newspaper about your trial disaster and charged straight for the jail. Got nicked immediately." The cell spun. Snufkin barely felt himself slump back onto the floor. Little My yanked his ear. "Oi! Don’t go faint on me. They didn’t take him seriously and shoved him off to the city station. And meanwhile I hitched a ride on some clerk’s tail—" (she preened) "the perks of being tiny—then climbed a cabinet and crawled through the vents. Found you. Now I’ll snipe a key from someone down there, and we’ll—" "Don't!" Snufkin hissed, grabbing Little My's arm. "You don't understand... These aren't our bumbling Moominvalley inspector. These people will shoot. You can't see in the dark, can you? I've been shot, I can’t walk at all, it’s inflamed already, and with no food, almost no water, I don't know how long I'll stay conscious..." "So what?" Little My interrupted, rolling her eyes. "You're still my brother, and I'm not leaving you here. But thanks for the heads-up about complications. I’ll hatch another plan. Like fetching extra white-furred paws for help." Oh no. Not Moomintroll, not here. Snufkin knew arguing with Little My was pointless, but he had to try. For the second time that day, he'd have to push away someone who cared. "Stop with that brother nonsense." He tried to sound scornful but turned out merely hoarse. "Mumriks inherit nothing from their mothers. So, we're not siblings, and you owe me nothing. Now you disappear, little gremlin." "Oh, you idiot," Little My smacked her forehead. "You're my brother not just because we share a womb, but because we both belong to the Moomin family! Now you stop your act. The problem is, you can't give me a lift back into the vent, can you?" After scrambling around the cell, Little My devised a solution: she hitched the vent's bent grate with Snufkin's frayed scarf as a rope, and shimmied up. "Stay put," she ordered before disappearing, “I’ll be back in a minute.” But she didn’t come back even in five minutes. Snufkin slumped against the wall, straining his ears for alarms or cries. But the background noise of lamps and voices humming remained undisturbed. When Little My finally dropped back down, she unpacked a handkerchief bundle: "Sniffed the infirmary while I was looking for you. Here you are, lab alcohol vial, bandages, and..." She produced a squashed sandwich. "lunch. Medic walked in as I was leaving. Had to accidentally drop a giant alcohol bottle from a shelf onto him. Knocked him out cold. Even if others hear the ruckus and barge in, they'll think he drank it all and hallucinated a tiny mymble on his cabinet." "Later," Snufkin pushed aside the supplies. "Listen. You must find Joxter first. He knows every weak spot in this system, every nook and hole in the island." He described the hemulen's house where he had met his father, but Little My said she didn’t get it, and produced a familiar touristic map from her dress bosom. He marked the location on the map with his newly useful claw. "Avoid weaslings, but if you can’t—they all have pepper allergy. And the execution's here, in the basement. No transport." Little My was nodding. Alright, she had never had memory issues. "Oh,” she grinned later as she was wriggling back into the vent, “and it's good we're not blood-related. Means I can marry you someday." Snufkin nearly choked on air. "Unless you and that daft Moomin-moron finally spill it! Ugh, the pining!" She vanished before he could retort anything about her insinuations. Probably, she had made it all up to distract him, because despite everything, he felt... lighter. But as he munched slowly the sandwich, fear crept back with a vengeance. Because now others would be risking their lives. Lives very dear to him. And their chances looked slim, to be honest.