Beckett took the news that Dierdre had stolen his new clothes with more tact and aplomb than one would think, at first. Perhaps it was the fact that, having stood outside for the last half-hour or so without a stitch on, he had finally managed to achieve the closest thing to acclimating that he could manage. Perhaps some little anxious corner of his mind had predicted such a thing might happen, convinced that there was no chance of escape being as easy as it felt like it might be. Whatever the reason, when Wallace emerged over the top of the fence and delivered the news, the dormouse's response was sober and muted. He looked off to one side, thoughtfully. He turned back to fix Wallace with a clipped nod of understanding. Then, with his hands between his legs and his thick tail tucked along the crack of his backside, he retreated back to the manor.
For the rest of the day, he was posted in the library, poring over his book of magic. He took his bag into the room, so he could take his meals there. When he felt the need to stretch his legs, he did so by taking a lap or two of the room, book still in his paws as he flipped through its pages. He would put the thing down only long enough to test some incantation or experiment with the manipulation of his willpower. Then, he would once again be deep in the covers of his book.
Wallace found the mouse to be poor company, at that time. Once or twice, he tried to engage him in conversation. He would lean against the doorframe, arms folded, naked body on full display. Beckett had no words for him. At best, he had vague half-words, acknowledgments and assents thrown out with all the care of a half-eaten apple core to a whickering drake. Wallace had encountered this sort of behavior, before. Occasionally, he would run into a person who could place themselves in front of a task and stay there. Nothing but the pull of their bodily needs or the building they were in bursting into flame would pull them away. He had, in his travels, met a few people who fell into that state naturally. He had even robbed a few, as unsatisfying as the act felt to him afterwards. Rarely, however, had he met somebody who, by dint of life handing them a bad hand, was forced into such a workman's trance. He might have found it a pleasant surprise. He might have written off Beckett and his ability to pull himself together, and been impressed to be proven wrong.
Mostly, however, he was stymied. Wallace still had his conversation with Dierdre buzzing in his head, and was more eager to play the part assigned to him. He would make a few more passes, a few more attempts to get the dormouse's attention. After a while, however, as his blood began to cool, it became increasingly obvious that he was thrusting his crotch at a stone wall. He decided instead to skulk off to another part of the house, to amuse himself with his lockpicks.
By the time evening rolled around, he had managed to learn the trick to most of the locks in the house. He was working on getting into a room in the servant's wing when he heard Beckett call from upstairs.
"Wallace! Wallace, are you here?"
He did not jump at the sound of Beckett's voice, but he came pretty damn close to it. For a brief moment, he had forgotten he was not alone. "Aye?" he called back.
"I think I've found something." The voice coming from down the hall was supremely unconfident. "Can I ask you to come here a moment? I... I n-need a second set of eyes, I think."
Wallace was confused but, glad to finally hear Beckett say words, he tossed his picks into his bag and threw the bag over his shoulder. He padded down the hall towards the foyer, and walked around to the foot of the stairs. "What do you have, Beck? Finally learned to shoot fire... balls..."
At the top of the stairs stood Beckett, one hand clutching the elbow of his opposite arm. He was dressed, now; a monochrome green doublet and cream trousers covered his body. Wallace was confused to see clothes on the dormouse, but even more confused at the fact that being covered up seemed to do nothing to blunt his ever-present air of anxiety and exposure.
"Y-you can see them, right?" Beckett asked, refusing to make eye contact. "I-I-I'm covered? You can't see my... I'm covered, right?"
"You... are?" Wallace looked the dormouse up and down. "How did you manage to sneak those in to the house?" Realization hit. The rat's eyes widened. "Is this magic? Did you magic a bunch of clothes into existence?"
"Um..."
Beckett looked down at himself. From his perspective, he was still just as naked as he was this morning. The only thing that was different was a vague, almost imperceptible shimmer, filling the air an inch or so off of his body. It did absolutely nothing to cover him. Even his cock, stirring awake with the first flush of "fear," knew that.
"Not exactly," he explained. "It's illusion magic. I found a way to make things appear that aren't real, and used it to create a set of clothing."
Wallace vaguely knew what an illusion was. He had been around people of dubiously magical persuasions long enough. Even so, he squinted, confused. "Right. So you're telling me that you're actually still na-?"
"Yes," Beckett interrupted. "I am. Please..." Unable to fight the urge any longer, Beckett put his hands over his crotch. "Please don't stare too hard. Now that you know it's fake, you might accidentally see through it."
The rat laughed. "You know it's nothing I haven't seen before, yeah?"
"Wallace?"
He rolled his eyes, but in the face of such a plaintive, pathetic face, Wallace had no choice but to relent. "All right. So you can magic up a set of fake clothes. I suppose that gets around this Weaver lady's bugbear against us having real ones."
"That's what I thought too, but there's a problem." Beckett stepped to the side, compelled to hide part of himself around the corner, just in case. "It seems like I can only use this stuff on myself. The enchantment feeds on my willpower and it fizzles out if it's not attached to someone who can provide more."
"All right? That is a problem, then?"
"Well... I thought it would be good to make a run in town for supplies."
Wallace stared up at Beckett, confused.
Beckett blushed and shrunk behind the wall, some more. "I... was hoping I could get you to do it."
The rat paused, as the words sunk in. Then, once they did, his lips curled into a smug little grin. "Oh, well that is a problem. I wouldn't know thing one about maintaining a magic illumin thing."
"No." Beckett fidgeted. "No, I suppose you wouldn't."
"Besides, it's a bit risky, either way. I mean, I only just robbed the village this morning. What if somebody saw me?"
Indeed, Beckett thought, as an errant breeze passed right through his false clothes. Imagine being seen.
"So, what's the plan?" Wallace turned and sat down on the bottom stair. "You gonna have to make the supply run, yourself?"
"No!" The word spilled out of the dormouse's mouth, immediately and without thought. He only caught himself a moment later, at which point he was forced to pretend as though he would give the question some amount of consideration. "That is... I don't think it's going to be possible. A-as you said, the Weaver apparently has the power to bar doors. She probably won't let me leave the property, knowing I have the means to cover myself."
"I think she will," Wallace replied, idly rubbing his nails on his chest-fur.
"You do? What makes you think that?"
Wallace froze. "Uh, well... I mean, think about it." He looked back, trying to remain casual. "Taking your clothes away and refusing to let you put new ones on? Why else would she do that, if not because she wants you running around naked?" Inwardly, he ran the idea through his head, making sure it sounded plausibly like something he could have come up with on his own. Then, he pressed on with confidence. "Yeah. Obviously. This whole thing's gotta be some scheme to embarrass us. And you being forced to walk around a village with nothing but magic separating your tender bits from a couple dozen sets of eyes? Sounds pretty embarrassing to me."
Beckett made a noise, possibly meant to be one of assent and understanding, but whose meaning was muddled as it came out as a tiny whine.
Wallace laughed. "I think you should do it."
"No."
"Aye."
"Absolutely not."
"Beck."