Fleck shivered in the cool night air, awaiting the very right moment to come. And this moment came a few seconds later, when a cloud hid the silvery moon. Soundlessly, Fleck clawed her was up the trunk of the hollow ash tree, speedy but silent.
Soon, she reached an opening, where, as she had thought, a hoover gun that was automatically set of by activated motion sensors nearby was mounted only a few feet directly above her. Smiling slyly, Fleck carefully climbed sideways on the rough tree bark. Once she was several yards away from the powerful, dangerous weapon, Fleck swung herself silently up onto the narrow ledge.
With great care, Fleck noiselessly crept along the ledge until she came across what she had been looking for; a gray-brown sensory pad carefully camouflaged on the bark of the same color. Most cats wouldn’t be able to see such an insignificant little change in the texture of the bark, but nothing could escape Fleck’s eagle-like eyes.
Fleck slid her dagger from it’s sheath, gripped it in her strong jaws, and attentively cut the wire that connected this sensor pad to all of the others. And, more importantly, to the gun, which loomed threateningly a couple yards ahead. Fleck continued along the tree ledge, dagger poised to strike and at the ready, proceeding to cut the wires as she went. She was quite pleased with her work, and she had sabotaged at lest twelve dangerous pads.
But now Fleck had still more work head of her. Silent as the whispering midnight breeze, Fleck delicately began to, piece by piece, painstakingly take apart the powerful gun. She worked quickly, knowing that she only had so much time. After doing this, she would have to creep through the entranceway and assassinate King Slate with nothing but a dagger. She wished that Ember had in the lest supplied her with a proper sward, as her dagger was fairly blunt due to lack of care.
Fleck unscrewed the bolts with the tip of her dagger, which she had named FoeFlayer, as they were quite large. When each one fell from it’s place on the massive weapon, Fleck would catch them in her paw and add them silently to her pouch.
Soon, her work was done and the once-awe-inspiring hoover gun was just a sad pile of medal. Fleck tied the pouch to her belt and cautiously slunk forth, in the direction of the entranceway, careful to stay in the shadows and to not make a sound.
Unwillingly, Fleck thought of the last assassination that Ember had executed, which had been, regrettably, a successes. She remembered her stinging tears and the twisted feeling she had felt in her heart when her friend had been killed. So why was she doing this assassination? Well, truth to be told, Fleck didn’t really care if King Slate died. He was a cruel, heartless tyrant who cared for none but himself, and Fleck hated him. But Fleck did, however, care if her friend was killed.
Shaking her head to clear it of the troublesome thoughts, Fleck began to hastily slip past the threshold. This is where disaster, as she had suspected, struck.
Bright red laser beams webbed speedily across the doorway area and a sudden, mechanical alarm bell rang loudly through the still night air. Fleck pulled herself backward, some of her fur singed but otherwise unscathed. Heart pounding violently in her chest, Fleck slipped into some shadows, holding her breath.
Fleck took a quick look around her, observing her extravagantly decorated surroundings. She was inside of Slate’s sleep room for the first time, but was left unsurprised. The floor was covered with soft, expensive rugs with rims encrusted with a verity of priceless gemstones. Upon the walls beautify woven tapestries made from fine silk thread were hung. A pair of swords, one solid gold with three rubies on its hilt and one pure silver with three sapphires were mounted on the wall opposite of the doorway.
Plush green and red couches embroidered with golden thread and laden with overstuffed gold pillows were spread neatly about the large room. Each one had a mahogany coffee table with rims painted gold to match, each with a half-full bowl of chocolate set in its middle. It really did look like the kind of place where a king--or rather a queen--would like to kick back.
Fleck sheathed her dagger as to keep it from catching any of the little light in the room and closed her eyes for the same reason. She kept all of her other senses alert, ears pricking and swiveling ever at the ready for the slightest sound; nose twitching, searching for a new scent; and all paws on the floor, awaiting then to shift ever so slightly downwards when Slate walked across the creaky old things.
And soon, all of these senses were alerted of Slate’s presence as he cautiously entered the room, laden heavily with fear scent.
“Who-who’s there?” he spluttered in a quaking voice, pleased with himself for mustering enough bravery to speak at all. “Show yourself! I’m armed.”
At this, Slate forbiddingly reloaded the gun that he was holding, which Fleck recognized as the RazorBlade, which shot out small javelins attached to the gun by strong cords. The owner of the gun could then pull the enemy forewords with this cord and inflict more wounds if needed. With a small, forlorn sigh, Fleck thought of how much Frost had liked that very gun. Luckily, Slate had not heard the sigh, but it had still been quiet risky. Fleck cursed herself for being so careless.
Slate crept cautiously foreword, now so close to Fleck that she could have reached out and touched him. Ceasing her chance, Fleck drew her dagger and held it at the ready, about to strike the king. But before she could, her fellow guards rushed in to see why the alarm had been sounded.
“Whur dur ya wan’, Meloord?” Ob asked in his quaint way of speaking.
“I don’t really know who, but someone had sneaked into my home, and demolished my hoover gun. I need the protection of my guards at a time like this,” Slate said, looking doggedly about.
Fleck slipped undetected into the throng of guards, making like she had been with them all the while. Briskly whipping sweat off of her brow, Fleck attempted to look casual. She had left her dagger, belt, and pouch of bolts in the shadows so that he wouldn’t suspect her.
Slate turned his head sharply towards his guards, expression accusing. “But who? Who did it?” he asked dangerously. “We may have a traitor amongst us. Is everyone present?”
There was a bit of mumbling and shuffling as cats glanced around to make sure that everyone was there. Fleck had been just in time. If she had still been in the shadows right now, they would know that she...
“Huh,” King Slate sniffed disdainfully at this, obviously unconvinced. “Well, you things can go back to sleep. Any suspicious behavior and I will cut off your heads and stick them to a stake! Now leave, before I run you through with this javelin!” As he said this, their king hefted a javelin that wasn’t loaded in his RazorBlade.
Hence occurred a general dignified fleeing of the guards.
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Later that night, when the moon was dipping low in the sky, the restless guards were talking, as they were unable to sleep with all of the previous excitement.
“Who do you think the most likely traitor is?” Jade questioned Fleck in a mildly inquisitive tone.
“Well,” Fleck said nonchalantly, shrugging, “I don’t really know. I trust all of my fellow guards. I think that they must have just snuck in, and that no one’s a traitor. I mean, we’ve all risked our lives and shown our loyalty at some point.”
“Well said,” Ginger interjected with a complementary nod to Fleck.
“Thanks,” Fleck replied with another casual shrug.
With that, Fleck curled up in a tight little bun, expertly feigning immediate sleep. But in reality, she was a guilty and nervous wreck.
I have, once again, betrayed and lied to my good friends. What should I do? Who’s side am I really on? I grew up with Ember’s cats, and they’re my friend, if not very close ones. But these cats--I know that I would give my life for them. But I’m an enemy spy! I can’t befriend the enemy... Oh, I don’t know what to do. Well, at lest I wasn’t really caught, even though I failed this mission. I’d be even more lost if these cats, especially as Ginger and Jade, knew who I really was.
An enemy. A traitor...
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-KittyLover8
© 2013
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