Frank Wiener's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Frank Wiener climbed to the beast's stage at dusk. He carried his patched hot dog costume under his arm. A guard stopped him at the door. "New rules," the guard said. He pointed at a board nailed to the wall. "No patched costumes. No stitched seams. The crowned beast banned them. Yours breaks three rules." Frank's stomach dropped. The costume that won him the last round could not take the stage tonight. Frank slumped against the wall. His act was the squeaker. The squeaker lived in the costume. Without a costume, he had nothing. "Then I can't perform," he said. "You can perform." The voice was low and steady. Kira Thornpaw stepped from the crowd. She was his friend, the lynx who had cheered loudest at both his wins. She held a bundle of fabric against her chest. "You just need a different skin. I pulled this from a trader's cart." She unrolled it. It was a plump sausage body with a wolf's head, soft and round, a hot dog shaped like a wolf. "One piece. No patches. No seams to find." Frank touched it. His paw found no stitches. "The squeaker," he said. "I need the squeaker inside." "Then we move it." Kira worked the toy loose from his old costume. She tucked it into the chest of the new one. Frank pressed. It honked, clear and loud. He grinned. But a shadow fell over them both. It was a hulking figure, part wolf, part tiger, with a horse's build and curved horns. Frank had seen this one judge the floor before, never kind. Amarok Stridemane folded thick arms and stared down. "That's a new costume," Amarok said. "The rules say no repairs. They say nothing about a new one." A slow nod. "Clever cat. But the beast watches close. One wrong honk and he'll call it a trick." "It's not a trick," Frank said. "It's just me." Amarok studied him. "Prove it. Go up now, before they change the board again." Frank pulled the wolf-hot dog body over his shoulders. It fit snug, no tear, no bright squares. He walked onto the stage. The crowd murmured at the strange round shape. He pressed his chest. Honk. He stomped. Honk. He spun, and the one-piece body moved with him, tight and whole. The crowd leaned in, then roared. He finished on his melting bow. The crowned beast rose from his seat. He did not smile. "The costume is legal," he said. "I have no challenge to the cloth." The hall quieted. "So tomorrow the cloth stays home. You dance my stage in no costume at all. Only you. Then we see if the wolf has an act, or only a toy." Frank stood in his new skin. He had taken the stage tonight. But now the squeaker, the thing that made him, was banned too.