The moment Fleck pushed open the thick oaken door, she felt a piecing pain in the middle of her chest and let out a startled gasp of pain and outrage. A small, brown female Commoner with flashing green eyes and an awkwardly large spear had been guarding the entranceway. When the door had opened, she had whirled around and landed her spearpoint straight in the middle of Fleck’s chest. Her expression was hard and fierce.
“Who are you and what do you want?” the she-cat snarled.
“I’m Fleck, a member of the guard, and I’m here to guard King Slate during his breakfast,” Fleck spat indignantly. “And who, might I ask, are you?”
“Why should I tell you, impostor?” the she cat hissed, digging her spear deeper into Fleck’s exposed chest. “You have no prof that you are a guard and King Slate never has anyone guard him during his meals.”
“I know that, but the rules have changed,” Fleck growled. “And if you don’t kindly remove that spear from my chest, I will do it for you.”
“Ha!” The small brown she-cat gave a sly smile. “I think that I’ll just kill you now... It’ll save King Slate the time...”
The she-cat removed the spear from Fleck’s chest, then heaved it back, poised with deadly accuracy. She then swung it towards Fleck, who was weaponless. Fleck darted skillfully out of the way, so that she was just in front of the she-cat and facing the left side of the spear. While her adversary was off-balance from the blow, Fleck snatched the spear from her grasp.
“Now,” Fleck said in an imperious tone, pointing the weapon at the small brown she-cat’s chest, “I have the weapon. Do you want me to do the honers and save Slate the time, mm?”
The she-cat stood there, shock-still and terrified, for a few long seconds. Then she shouted over her shoulder, “Help! I need some help over here!”
Fleck dropped the spear to avoid the long explanation. A moment later, other Commoners rushed in, weapons at the ready. One of them had a particularly nasty-looking energy-rifle and was in the lead. He was a lanky tabby tom with amber eyes and looked like he could use a few good meals. Nevertheless, that was a pretty impressive rifle.
When he saw fleck, he grinned from ear to ear. “Ah, the guard, right?” he inquired. Then, without even waiting for an answer he continued, handing Flack a large Acid Pistol. “I’ll lead you to King Slate’s dining quarters.”
Fleck followed him, the Acid Pistol poised for action. In a moment’s notice, her excessively eager guide had lead her the room that she remembered well from the last time she had seen it. The tomcat lead her to a large door that was painted gold and decorated with painted songbirds of every color.
“This is your guarding post,” the tabby tom explained, still grinning. “You are not to leave it unless it is an emergency. You can’t come enter King Slate’s dining quarters unless it is an emergency. You can’t let anyone but the waitress in unless--”
“Unless it is an emergency,” Fleck finished, rolling her eyes. “I get it, I get it.”
“Okay then,” the tabby said, not seeming offended at all. “So you have it all covered? You understand what you have to do?”
“Yes,” Fleck replied with a sigh of exasperation. “You can go now, please.”
“All right, then. Put in a good word for me with the boss, okay?” The tabby tom gave her a wink and chortled contentedly as he left.
“Commoners,” Fleck sighed. It had taken a lot of time to get in, thanks to the one at the door, and even the nice ones were just plain annoying. Take the odd tabby that had lead her here. Fleck shuddered. Hopefully this wouldn’t all be for nothing.
Fleck examined the wound on her chest. It wasn’t too deep or large, but it still stung like mad. She wondered why Slate hadn’t notified the sentries about the new arrangement during his meals. The way some of these cats minds worked. Fleck sighed yet again. You met some colorful characters during a war.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Slate, who stormed into the room, grumbling loudly, and tried to push past her.
“You may enter,” Fleck said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
“And you,” Slate snarled, rounding on her, “may not speak to me like that! I am your king, after all!”
“That’s nice,” Fleck said in a tone used appropriately by a mother speaking to a talkative child, opening the large, intricately carved doors for him.
With a trifle more angry grumbling, Slate entered his dining quarters, head bent low. He must have had the sense to know that he was fighting a losing battle, trying to get his guards to respect him.
“Oh, and the tabby that lead me hear called you ‘boss,’” Fleck chuckled, trying to contain her glee. “Isn’t that a load of laughs?”
Slate slammed the door behind him. Fleck heard him stomping to the table, roughly shoving a chair away from it, seating himself with a thud, and banging his fist on the table impatiently, as if this was going to bring his breakfast in any faster.
“Glad to see that you’re in such a wonderful mood this morning,” Fleck called to him, her voice heavily laden with sarcasm.
Fleck ignored Slate’s angry words that followed her disrespectful joke and awaited the waitress. She hoped that the calico she-cat would fall for her lie, for that was what her plan depended on. If not... Fleck didn’t know what would happen or how she would anonymously feed Slate the false rumor.
Then, Fleck spotted a little calico figure carrying a heavy-looking and needlessly large silver platter. If she remembered correctly, the calico’s name was Lyla. Fleck straightened herself and raised her pistol, pointing it towards Lyla’s chest, which was half-blocked by the silver tray.
“Who goes there?” Fleck questioned seriously, deepening her voice by a degree so that it was gruff and threatening.
“It is only me,” Lyla answered, her voice trembling a little. “I am Lyla, King Slate’s personal waitress. Please let me in.” She said the last sentence almost pleadingly, eyes afraid.
“Oh, hello, Lyla.” Fleck lowered her weapon and dipped her head politely to the she-cat. Then she added, just to strike up a nice conversation, “What have you got there on the silver tray?”
“N-nothing,” Lyla, who was now trembling, stammered.
“Don’t worry,” Fleck said with a hint amusement in her voice. “I am not a pig like the last guard and have already had my morning rations. All I am is curious, so please tell me. Not to frighten you further or anything, but it does look good.”
Lyla seemed to calm down a little at this. After a moment’s pause she replied, “It’s two slices of frosted berry Danish with a small zucchini, summer squash, spinach, purple onion and cheese breakfast wrap served with a few slices of kiwi and a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice.”
“Sounds delicious,” Fleck said, discreetly licking her lips. “What do you usually have for breakfast?”
Lyla shrugged. “A small mouse, maybe.”
“Huh,” Fleck grunted. “He gets to eat like a... Well, like a king, while we get to have disgusting rations.”
“Yeah,” Lyla sighed. “Yesterday’s breakfast consisted of fried patties, a bowl of creamy yogurt topped with fresh fruit, and a small slice of apple pie topped with a sprinkling of powdered sugar.” She said each word with a hungry longing. “And he barely even touched it! I was almost tempted to finish of the scraps, but that’s prohibited for whatever reason. It was pure torture watching the perfectly good stuff get thrown out.” Lyla heaved another sigh.
“I’ll bet that it was,” Fleck nodded. Then, after a short pause, “Hey, have you heard the latest gossip?”
“I don’t usually hear many rumors,” Lyla confided drearily. “Really, I am kept busy almost all day long. These’s King Slate’s breakfast, then about an hour or two after that is his late morning snack, a little later his lunch, an afternoon snack, then dinner, and then maybe an evening snack, too. So when I’m not serving him his meals, I am eater eating or cleaning dishes in the kitchen.”
Fleck looked sympathetic. “Sounds horrible. That Slate really does eat like a pig, doesn’t he?”
“Tell me about it,” Lyla sighed, looking thoroughly depressed. “It’s constant and extremely exhausting. One would think that he would be far too fat to sit in his chair, but he rarely ever actually finishes the whole thing. Usually not even half of it. Anyway, what’s the rumor that you were about to tell me about?”
Fleck leaned closer to Lyla and whispered in an excitedly secretive tone, “Well, I’ve heard that Ember’s planing on moving his whole empire to a different place, one to the East, you know where that huge river is? They’re going to move to there. Something about him wanting to avoid the war and further death in his kingdom. So he’s going to start over. It might not even be true but... I’ll bet that the cat that tells Slate’ll be given a promotion. Maybe even become the next captain of the guards or Slate’s adviser or something like that.”
“Oh?” Lyla said, puffing out her chest a bit.
“But please don’t,” Fleck said to her, eyes darting like she had just made a huge mistake in telling the calico waitress the rumor.
“And why not?” Lyla inquired, a little defensively.
“Because...,” Fleck feigned to be searching for some sort of excuse, eyes continuing to dart nervously about the room. “Just... don’t. I’ve always wanted to be in high command... To be captain of the guard and give orders to the others, not take them. And if I tell Slate, I will be able to feast on gourmet food for every meal of the day, never a single stale-tasting ration ever again. I’ll be like a king!” Fleck knew that this was untrue, but she also knew that Lyla seemed to be a cat who loved food... But only the gourmet kind.
Lyla was believing every word of it. “Oh... Oh really?” she asked cunningly. Fleck could almost see her thoughts. She was for sure going to tell Slate... Leaving out, of course, the fact that it was Fleck’s discovery. “Well,” Lyla said suddenly, after a long and slightly awkward pause, “I’d better give King Slate his breakfast. He, um, sounds very hungry and I’ve been... staling for a while now. Good-bye.”
Slate certainly did sound like he might even be hungry enough to actually finish his food this time. “Farewell, Lyla. I hope that you come back,” Fleck joked with a short bought of playful laughter.
“Me, too,” Lyla replied with a forced laugh, her mind obviously on other things.
Fleck opened the door for Lyla, who was unable to while carrying the heavy and very full silver platter, which looked like it was made of real sterling silver. A moment after Lyla entered the room, Fleck shut the door behind her. The second that they shut, Fleck pressed her ear against the woodwork.
“King Slate,” it was Lyla speaking, “I have brought you your meal, but also some vital news that will help you to win the war in the blink of an eye.”
“Straight to the point, huh?” Fleck murmured slyly, grinning from ear to ear.
“Huh?” Slate sounded like his mouth was full. “What information? How did you find this out?”
“King Ember is moving his cats just east of here, by the large river,” Lyla whispered excitedly. By the sound of it, she was leaning foreword towards Slate as Fleck had done. “Said that he wants to avoid the war. Knowing his location, you could catch him by surprise and eliminate him and his cats quickly.”
There was a pause, and then Fleck heard Slate’s voice once again, “If you’re information is correct, you will be richly rewarded. If not...” Fleck got the feeling that Slate had drawn a rough line across his throat.
“Yes,” Lyla sounded immensely happy, obviously confident that her information had been correct. “When will your attack be?”
“In two days.” Came Slate’s gruff reply. “I’ll tell my guards at the last minute. I get the feeling that their’s a traitor among them, although I can’t put my finger on who...”
“Farewell, King Slate,” Lyla said formally, although her excitement was still evident in her voice.
Knowing that Lyla was leaving the room, Fleck pulled away from the door. Just in time, too. Lyla opened the doors a second later, carrying the tray, which was now almost empty aside form traces of berry Danish and a half-eaten breakfast wrap. The calico she-cat looked extremely proud of herself.
“Hello, again, Lyla,” Fleck said pleasantly. Then, unable to help herself, she added, “Might I ask why you look so happy?”
“Oh, no reason,” Lyla replied in a falsetto voice. “I just feel as if... As if two days from now, I’ll be a very different cat living a very different life.”
“Is that so,” Fleck said with a small smile. “I hope and wonder if you will be. What makes you think that? A moment ago you seemed ready to jump of a bridge, and now you are a ray of sunshine.” Fleck chuckled a little at this, even though she knew that she was taking risks with this little inquiry.
“I don’t really know,” Lyla replied, sounding a little uncertain. She was obviously getting uncomfortable. “Well, I’d, um, best be going. I have to wash the dishes in the kitchens... I have a busy day ahead of me.”
“I hope top see you later.” Fleck dipped her head in farewell. “You made a very good friend, and perhaps we will be able to talk again on my next guard duty here.”
“Perhaps,” Lyla said with a shrug. “But I might not have this job for much longer.”
Then she skipped happily away to avoid further questions. Well, they certainly took the bait, didn’t they? Fleck thought, an amused smile creeping across her face. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel some sense of regret. Wasn’t she just leading her friends into a death trap? Fleck reminded herself that they were her enemies and that it didn’t matter if they happened to fall in the final battle, but that somehow didn’t make her feel any better about her betrayal.
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-KittyLover8
© 2013
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