Captain of the Guards- Chapter Thirty- The Information

Fleck was welcomed at the threshold of Ember’s chambers by his maid, who seemed to also serve as his cook. When Fleck entered the room, led by the maid who told her that her name was Katrina, she found Ember speaking to Quince at the low table. The table was set with the same tablecloth and bishop’s hat napkins as last time, but had a graceful glass vase full of lavender to replace the fruit bowl that had been there the night prior.

“Oh, hello, Fleck.” Ember greeted her warmly, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Care to join us? I hope that you don’t mind Quince being here while we talk. You are in time for dinner, I see. Did you collect the information?”

Fleck was bombarded with questions. She decided to answer them in the order that they had been spoken. “Yes, I would love to join you... No, I don’t mind Quince being here. And what was that last one? Oh, yes. I did get the information. But perhaps not in the exact quantity that you or I would have preferred.”

Ember gave a nervous swallow at hearing this. “Well, then...” He seemed to be unable to complete his sentence.

“If you mind my being here, I could leave,” Quince suggested politely. “I know that I’m intruding and I’d understand completely if you de--”

“No, it’s okay if you stay,” Fleck insisted. It really wasn’t. She would have rather had it that it was just her and Ember. That felt a bit more private, like no one could overhear. With Quince here, it felt like everything that Fleck said was going to be recorded and a subject of gossip. But she really didn’t feel like kicking kind Quince out of a fine dinner. It all was very hard to explain, even in Fleck’s head.

Ember clapped his paws together to bring the attention back yo himself. “Well, then!” This one sounded far more confident then the other. “What did you learn from speaking to the four suspects?”

Fleck hesitated for a split second. “Well...” She didn’t really know where to begin. The interviews had not revealed half as much as she had hoped that they would. She hoped that he would tell her who to start with and luckily he did.

“Why don’t we begin with you telling me about your interview with Mink?” Ember requested. “Do you think that he’s guilty?”

“Oh... Okay,” Fleck said without enthusiasm. “Well, I think that he could be, but I’m not sure. The questioning was short and he didn’t really seem to want to talk. Mink willingly admitted that he was a thief and stole from other cats for survival. He told me that he couldn’t find any work because of his bad record. Mink also didn’t seem vary sad for the three cats who were murdered. Actually, none of the cats that I interviewed did. And when I asked him why he hang out on the bad park of the kingdom, he told me that that was where he belonged and that he had no where else to go. I don’t really think that he could be the murderer, but my opinion could be clouded by the fact that I feel petty bad for him. He doesn’t really seem to have any self-pity, himself.”

“Hm... So you think that your compassion might be alternating your decision?” Quince murmured. “Isn’t that something that Slate might want? For you to trust and pity Mink because of his hard life? And that also might have been a tool Slate used to get Mink on his side. He might have bribed Mink into joining him with riches, land, food, a high ranking, or something like that.”

“Maybe,” Fleck said indecisively.

“What about the other suspects?” Ember asked with great interest. “How about you tell me about Smokey.”

“She seemed like an okay cat, but could end up being our prime suspect,” Fleck answered thoughtfully. “She was a trifle more easy to get things out of, but I can’t tell how much of it was the truth. Her view on shooting practice was that they are fun and enjoyable, which I found quite odd.”

“What did I tell you?” Ember said knowingly. “All of the cats that we’re dealing with here are just plain weird.”

“Yeah, okay,” Fleck muttered, not really sure if she completely believed this sweeping statement. Then she continued to tell him about Smokey. “She claimed that the other warriors here are cowards and use barely any ammunition during the battles when I asked her if she thought that it was a good idea to use the valuable bullets for practice. Smokey also thought that they ‘had it coming for them’ when they got murdered and that the war isn’t going to move foreword if something like that doesn’t happen. She says that she hated Spark and claims to have not known Gemini and says that she thought that FireLily was okay.”

“Hm,” Ember murmured thoughtfully. “Well, that’s another possibility for the killer. What about Tyla?”

“Here’s dinner!” Quince announced gleefully.

The soup had roughly chopped vegetables in it and was full of whole, deep green spinach leaves. It was garnished with a sprinkling of sliced and sauteed leeks complete with a sprig of rosemary. The rosemary slightly unsettled Fleck as it brought back a bad memory, but she ignored this and just enjoyed the soup. With it came steaming slices of freshly made bread for dipping.

While they ate, Fleck told Quince and Ember about Tyla.

“At first, Tyla wasn’t really willing to talk. She wouldn’t even let me in. But I finally got her to talk by mentioning her brothers. She told me that their names were Slasher and Thor and she says that she wishes that Slate and his guards would all ‘just drop dead.’ She also told me about your system  that you have for the battles and says that--”

“Hold up,” Ember interrupted. “What system?”

“Well, I don’t exactly agree with it, either,” Fleck said with a snarl in her voice. “How someone has to claim the body of a deceased cat or else you’ll just leave them there to rot.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Ember exclaimed in an exasperated tone. “I don’t have enough able-bodied cats as it is! I don’t need them breaking their backs over bearing dead cats!”

Quince drew her lip back in a snarl. “Why didn’t you tell me about that? I have no relatives here, so no one’s ever going to claim me if I die. So you’re saying that I’d be left there on the battlefield, forgotten, until I rot away?”

“Uh...” Fleck could see her king sweating under the pressure. After a while he stammered nervously, “Just... Just go on, Fleck.”

“Tyla called you a coward and said that the kingdom would be better if you were dead and gone,” Fleck continued. “Then she said that she had talked to much and bid me a blunt farewell.”

“There’s our murderer!” Ember announced through a mouthful of soup.

Fleck shook her head. “I’m not so sure. She seemed to really hate Slate and the guards, too. Why would she ever work for them?”

“I don’t know,” Quince said hesitantly. “It could be another one of those setups. She could have said that because that’s exactly what she wants you to think. So it could very well be her.”

“What about her brothers?” Fleck questioned. “She seemed to have really cared about them. And they were killed by none other then Slate’s cats.”

“Well, it could be that she joined Slate to get her revenge on him for killing her beloved siblings,” Quince invited.

“Could be,” Fleck murmured in agreement.

The hot blueberry pie was then served, along with a dozen different berries and cool, melty ice cream. This was a meal that Fleck would never forget.

“What about FireClaw?” Ember inquired with an unappetizing drip of the creamy blueberry filling painstakingly making its way down the king’s chin. Fleck was forced to either look away or throw up.

“I literally bumped into him on my way to his home,” Fleck explained. “He acted normal enough. But everything he said seemed somewhat... Fake. It felt practiced and hollow whenever he said anything. It might have just been my imagination, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s our murderer.”

They had they hot mint tea after they had finished the pie, which was the perfect way to end the wonderful evening. Fleck departed with a content stomach but a convoluted mind. Was it the poor young thief, Mink? Was it the causal killer, Smokey? Was it the easily angered sister, Tyla? Or could it be the cheerful but hollow gentleman, FireClaw? Fleck didn’t know, but she got the feeling that she would be finding out soon in a way that would not be pleasant.

______________________________________________________________________

-KittyLover8

© 2013

Captain of the Guards- Chapter Twenty-Nine- The Investigation

Fleck stole away from Slate’s kingdom at around three o’clock in the afternoon. She had high hopes for dinner later with Ember, whose soup and pie were making her mouth water at the thought of them. Her rations had tasted like dirt compared to his fruit, tea, and oat-and-poppy cakes.

Fleck had had difficulties leaving, as she was stopped more then once by her fellow guards. But she knew that she had done good with timing and couldn’t really hope to have been any earlier. She estimated that she had about three or so hours for the four interviews, which gave her a good amount of time. Although, she had best hurry. First, she would start with Mink, who she had been told hung out around the outskirts of the empire and was therefor the closest.

“Mink, here I come,” Fleck muttered, pressing forward a trifle faster.

Once Fleck reached the edge of the kingdom, she started to look around. Ember had told her that Mink hung out on the South side of the empire, which was the closest side to Slate’s kingdom and usually around the area where the battles took place. Fleck thought that it was a strange place for a young cat to live. Or a cat of any age, for that matter.

Soon, she found a bunch of cats slinking around as if they didn’t know what to do with themselves. Most of them gave Fleck inquiring looks with a vague hostility. Several of them gave her more intense looks then others, but they left her unfazed and not the least bit intimidated.

“Hello, there,” Fleck said cheerfully, flashing the group of cats a friendly smile. “I was just wondering if any of you know where a cat named Mink might be. If you do, could you please point me in his direction?”

“Why should we?” a large tom asked hotly, lashing his tabby tail.

Fleck turned to the others, deciding that a tomcat with that kind of personality wouldn’t get her anywhere. She did not need to get into a fight and decided that it would be best if she remained personably kind and used as little threatening anger as possible in her tone. She gave the group another smile, hoping to lighten the dim mood. “Could you please tell me where Mink is?” she asked again.

“Why do you need to know?” a ginger she-cat asked with a slow wave of her long, slender tail. “I’d be glad to give you the information if you give me a good reason, you know.”

Fleck cleared her throat, feeling uncomfortable. “I’m here on official business with the king. I am only here for a friendly talk with him and I swear that he will not get hurt in any way while I speak with him.”

“Good enough for me,” the ginger she-cat said with an impassive shrug. “He’s over there, just about ten yards away. Shouldn’t be a minute before you reach him. Good luck.” The she-cat pointed to indicate the direction.

“Thank you,” Fleck said and dashed off.

Soon she had reached her desired destination, right next to a tiny brown tom that was probably only about nine months old. On his face making a bridge over is nose was a long scar. His ears were tattered and he looked like he’d been through a lot. He was lying down on the dirt, and when Fleck approached he lifted his head and looked at her without much interest.

“Hello, Mink.” Fleck greeted him with warmth, as she pitied him for being such a young cat with such a rough life.

“Hi,” Mink said without much emotion, placing his head on his paws. Apparently, he din’t really care that Fleck somehow knew his name without him introducing himself or ever having met her before.

Fleck sat down. “Mink, I wanted to inform you that there has recently been three murders.”

“I know that,” Mink said without much interest.

“I was wondering,” Fleck began a little awkwardly, not knowing how to handle the questioning, “why do you live over here where all of the crooks are. It’s dangerous around here, especially as after those murders.”

“I’m a crook, too,” Mink replied, a little wistfully. “This is where I belong. I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

Fleck nodded sympathetically. She had a genuine empathy for the young cat and didn’t really think that he was the murderer. “That reminds me of another question I wanted to ask you. Why do you steal?”

Mink shrugged. “I do it because I need food and its the only way to get any. The war’s putting cats out of work, making them all go away. There’s plenty of jobs that I could get, but I already have earned myself a bad record. No one wants to hire someone who robs. Anyway, I can’t go like the adults because I don’t even know where to go. I don’t think that they do, either.”

“I’m sorry that you have such a hard life,” Fleck told him.

Mink shrugged again. “Hey, at least it’s a life.”

Mink closed his eyes, signaling the end of their conversation. Fleck decided that it was best not to press him, even though the conversation had lasted far shorter then she had expected and hoped. She hadn’t learned as much as she would have liked, but you win some you lose some. Fleck hoped that the next questioning went better. She would head to the little cluster of trees just a little ways from where she was, which served as Smokey’s shooting range where she spent most of her time, according to what Ember had told Fleck.

When Fleck arrived, she immediately spotted the chocolate and smoke tortoiseshell she-cat, who was shooting rounds from her rifle at an archer’s-style target. The colorful target was secured to a tree and was tattered from over use. Smokey didn’t seem to see Fleck for some time. Patiently, Fleck waited to be seen. She didn’t want to say anything and startle the she-cat.

“Hey,” Smokey said after a little while. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Hi, I’m Fleck,” Fleck clarified, remaining polite. If she was going to get anything out of this she-cat, she would have to try to play it nice. “I’m just here for a little chat with you, if you wouldn’t mind, that is.”

“No, not at all,” Smokey said in a wistful and dry tone that reminded Fleck a little of Jade. “The name’s Smokey, by the way.”

Smokey blew the smoke from the tip of her rifle and set the weapon down on a tree stump. She then sat down on the healthy-looking almost too green grass, and Fleck mirrored her.

“So I was wondering if you know anything about the three murder cases that happened in the kingdom a couple of days ago,” Fleck started gingerly, not waiting to sound like she suspected Smokey. The best way to get something from this interview would be to act casual and friendly.

“Yeah,” Smokey replied indifferently. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering why you practice shooting,” Fleck explained. “Is it a way of being able to protect yourself?”

“Well, I guess that, too,” Smokey said, a little uncertainly. “I really kind of do it for fun. I know it sounds a bit strange, but I love fighting. I don’t get to do it at all around here, but I find it fun. Plus, I think that I’m pretty okay at it.”

Fleck turned to the target on the tree. It’s center had been penetrated by so many bullets that it was no longer there. There was a hole in the tree where the center of the target used to be.

“I can see that you are,” Fleck began in a complimentary tone, “based on the looks of your target.”

“Thanks,” Smokey said modestly. “I change it out every few days. Just, you know, to make sure that it doesn’t fall apart.”

“Do you think that it’s wise to use so many valuable bullets just for practice?” Fleck inquired. She knew that it was a bit of a dangerous question to ask, but she had to know the answer.

“Well, to tell you the truth, not really,” Smokey replied honestly. “I know that I really shouldn’t be wasting all of this ammunition, but I’m the only one doing it. Besides, the other cats around here don’t use much ammo during battles.”

“What do you mean?” Fleck questioned, trying to hide her shock.

“They’re cowards,” Smokey explained bluntly. “They’re relatively afraid to shoot at any of King Slate’s cats. They think that the guards are some kind of monster who, if they shoot at them, will kill them instantly. Or some kind of nonsense like that. I don’t really pay much attention to those fools. If you ask me, they had it coming for them when they got murdered. These battles aren’t getting anyone anywhere and someone has to act. Else this war’s going to last forever.”

Fleck’s eyebrows raised several inches. “So you think that they deserved to die?” She was careful to leave suspicion out of her voice.

“Well... No.” Smokey looked uncertain. “I kind of think that Spark did. He was a horrible cat and I’m glad that he’s gone. But I think that FireLily was okay and I never knew the other cat. What was that cat’s name? Gem?”

“Gemini,” Fleck informed her bluntly.

“Yeah, him,” Smokey said without any emotion whatsoever, save maybe boredom. “Anyway, is there anything else that you wanted to ask me?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact there was,” Fleck replied, trying to keep this questioning alive. “Do you know anyone around here that might be the murderer? We’re trying to find out, but I haven’t get any leads.” The question was a tactful one, as it made it look definite that Fleck didn’t suspect Smokey.

“No, I’m sorry,” Smokey answered, picking up her rifle and resuming her shooting practice. She shot in between words. “I told you, I don’t really mix with the other cats. The only one other then me that I know is really just Spark, and he’s dead now.” She said this without any empathy for the cat, instead with loathing. “Is that going to be it?” Smokey sounded eager to end the conversation.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Fleck said with a small, barely audible sigh. “See you around, Smokey.”

Smokey waved her tail in farewell and continued her shooting practice. Fleck had to admit that she was pretty good, especially as for someone who lived in Ember’s peaceful little kingdom.

Fleck decided that the next one would be Tyla, who lived in the middle of Ember’s empire. Fleck arrived at the little, unkempt home that she assumed was Tyla’s from Ember’s description. Fleck gave the large, plain and ancient-looking door a timid knock. When there was no answer for a good length of time, Fleck repeated the gesture without success. Finally, the head of a calico she-cat with beautiful blue eyes and a dirty look on her face was shoved through the doorway.

“What do you want?” she asked loudly and without a hint of patience.

“I assume that you are named Tyla?” Fleck restrained herself from returning the foul look that the calico she-cat was giving her.

“Yeah,” Tyla replied with a lash of her multi-colored tail. “And what of it?”

Fleck cleared her throat. “I just wanted to have a friendly talk with you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Yeah, I kind of would,” Tyla said, spitting onto the ground next to Fleck’s paws. “Now go away before I make you, streetcat.” Tyla began to rudely shut the door, nose turned up in disgust.

“Wait!” Fleck stuck out a paw to stop the door from shutting. “Please don’t.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” Tyla retorted hotly, glaring at Fleck, her eyes alight with smoldering hatred.

“Because...” Fleck searched for a reason, any reason, that might make the impossible cat change her mind. “Just give me a chance to talk to you. Please? About anything you want. I just want to get to know you.”

“And why do you want to ‘get to know me?’” Tyla questioned. “I assume it is because you want something from me. Is it information, food, refuge...? Just be out with it, streetcat! You’re wasting my time!”

“All I want is a talk,” Fleck replied cooly. “Now if you’ll just let me...”

“Fine,” Tyla snorted moodily. “But this had better be good.”

Tyla opened the door a bit more so that Fleck could squeeze inside. The house was in shambles. The carpet had been torn to shreds, an armchair was overturned, the coffee table had scratches gouged into its mahogany surface, the silk curtains were tattered with claw-marks and the walls were so beat-up that they looked like they were hundreds of years old and belonged in an abandoned house. Tyla obviously had anger issues and took it out on her home.

Fleck coughed nervously. Tyla showed her to the ripped-up couch that was miraculously still standing. They sat down and Tyla began to speak, still having not lost her snotty manner.

“So, you’re obviously here for more then just a chat,” Tyla grumbled, shooting her guest another dirty look. “So what are you here for.”

“I’m here for just what I said that I was here for,” Fleck summed up evenly. “A friendly talk.”

“Whatever.” Tyla rolled her eyes, obviously unsatisfied with Fleck’s answer. “So what are you going to talk about.”

“We are going to talk about whatever you like,” Fleck replied contemptuously.

There they sat for quite a while, neither saying a word and both of them lashing their tails. Tyla was sending a barrage of foul looks at Fleck, who pretended not to notice. The questioning wasn’t going as Fleck had hoped and she didn’t need another disappointment.

“So did you hear about the tree murders that happened on the North side of the kingdom?” Fleck asked as casually as possible.

“Yeah,” Tyla replied. “Most have. Word of something as big as that gets around pretty fast.”

“I see,” Fleck said with a small nod. After a minute’s hesitation she added, “Could you tell me a little about yourself? I heard that you were badly affected by the war. What was it? The latest battle?”

“Yes,” Tyla replied with a fiery intensity burning in her eyes. “Both of my brothers, Thor and Slasher, died in that horrible, bloody battle. Ooh, Slate and his foul guards! I wish that they would all just drop dead! And if anyone hear deserves to die it’s dumb old Ember. He’s the worst king there ever was and that’s including Slate. He’s such a horrible leader and doesn’t do a thing whenever there’s a battle. When my poor brothers died there was no funeral. In fact, the cats that died and weren’t claimed were going to be just left there to rot! Luckily everyone who died was claimed, but still it’s such a cruel system.”

Fleck had to agree. “Yes, it doesn’t really sound like something that Ember would do. It’s so heartless.”

“Well he did it, all right!” Tyla exclaimed heatedly. “He got his when those three cats died. It just goes to show him that he’s torn this kingdom to pieces and now its going to eat him alive! If you ask me, we should overthrow that fiendish king.”

“Hm,” Fleck murmured, collecting her thoughts.

“I haven’t had a night’s rest since my brothers died.” Tyla’s looked as though she was on the verge of enraged tears. “They were my life. And now they’re gone. I think that he should have just surrendered his kingdom to Slate from the beginning. That would have saved more lives then I could count.”

Fleck nodded in agreement. “I think that he was too proud to just let Slate take it without a fight. Either that or he was afraid that his cats would object to this and call him a coward.”

“Well he is a coward!” Tyla instead angrily. “This kingdom would do better if he was dead and gone.” A silence filled the room after this statement. Tyla’s cheeks flushed as she realized that she had said the wrong thing. “Sorry. I talk to much. I shouldn’t have said that. Good-bye.”

Fleck said her thanks and left southward where FireClaw lived. Once there, on Clarence Street, she headed towards his home, witch was not far away at all. It was only a couple of houses away when she was delayed by bumping into another cat on her way there. Both had been in an obvious hurry and hadn’t payed any amount of attention whatsoever to the other pedestrians.

Fleck got up and for the first time got a good look at the cat that she had knocked into and who had not yet gotten up. He was a molded orange tom with dark brown eyes and a white muzzle, chest and paws. The tom was rubbing the top of his head, which had evidently hit the sidewalk at the collision.

“Hello, sir,” Fleck said politely. “I’m so sorry that I knocked you over. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Nor was I,” the orange tomcat said as he got up. He looked her up and down, trying to see if he could remember who she was. When he couldn’t figure out her identity, he asked, “And you’re Miss...?”

“My name is Fleck,” Fleck answered. “Your’s?”

“FireClaw,” he muttered in reply, resuming rubbing his head, which was growing a nasty-looking bump.

Fleck was both surprised and relieved. Now she might be able to talk with him without that same horrible reply of an awkward introduction that included her suggesting a ‘friendly little talk.’

“FireClaw...” Fleck intoned, acting like she was searching for something. “For whatever reason, that name rings a bell. Do I know you from something? Odd thing is, I don’t recognize your face.”

“Um, I’m the one that found the cats that were murdered,” FireClaw offered awkwardly. “I don’t know if that’s it, but--”

“It is!” Fleck exclaimed happily. Then her voice lowered into something more dark, but with an empathetic understanding as she said, “That must have been awful, seeing them like that.”

“It was a... surprise,” FireClaw said with a shrug. “Really nothing more then that. I have seen plenty of dead cats, what with all of these battles. The worst part is, I don’t know if this kind of thing is going to happen again. And... and if I’ll be the next victim.” FireClaw gave a bit of an exaggerated shudder, one which Fleck couldn’t tell if it was fake or genuine.

“Did you know any of the cats who died?” Fleck asked with a small, inquiring tilt of her sandy-colored head.

“No,” FireClaw answered with a shake of his head. “It’s a shame that they died, isn’t it? We’re already short on able-bodied cats and there’s no way that we’re going to win this war if this kind of thing keeps up.”

“That’s what Slate wants,” Fleck muttered, feeling sick of this war. Everything was so upside down. After a pause she asked, “Do you know any cats that could be the murderer?”

Again the answer was no. “If I had, they would have already been questioned,” FireClaw claimed.

“Well, okay, just wondering,” Fleck said carefully.

“Fleck, it was nice meeting you, but I’ve got to go. Maybe I’ll see you around.” FireClaw gave her a farewell flick of his slender tail.

“Where are you going?” Fleck asked, mostly out of curiosity and not suspicion.

“To the bakery,” FireClaw replied with a somewhat practiced air. “I’ve got to go and get some bread.”

Normal enough. But somehow... “Okay then. Good-bye.”

After they departed, Fleck left for Ember’s chambers, eager to report everything to him... And to have a delectable dinner with him.

______________________________________________________________________

-KittyLover8

© 2013

Captain of the Guards- Chapter Twenty-Eight- The Report

In the dark of the starless night of the crescent moon, a cat slipped soundlessly through the shadows. The ink-black sky was swathed with clouds so dark gray that they were almost black, blotting out the stars. To these dark clouds, the cat was grateful, as they cast the world into darkness.

The cat was approaching its destination with speed. It moved like a tawny owl, silent but fast. In the distance, the cat could still see the splotch on the horizon that was Ember’s kingdom. Soon, that pathetic little kingdom will merely be another kingdom of Slate’s, the incompetent fiends serving as slaves and their once-king Ember bowing for mercy at my lord’s feet, the cat thought smugly with a confident sneer, suppressing laughter. Ah, yes. How oblivious they all were.

Almost there, the cat told itself, pressing forward faster then ever before. The trees around it cast eerie shadows, and the cat got a sensation that it was being watched by an unseen foe. The cat ignored the feeling and kept on moving, looking over its shoulder from time to time in attempt to catch the enemy cat off guard. Finally, it couldn’t stand it anymore. The cat skidded to a stop and whipped its head around to face the unknown cat.

“I know that you’re there,” the cat hissed menacingly, stalking forward in a show of its well-muscled limbs. “Show yourself before it’s to late.”

There was no answer. Just silence apart from the lone and timid chirp of a single cricket.

“Show yourself, now, or I will kill you,” the cat snarled, losing the small amount of patience that it possessed.

To show that it wasn’t afraid, the menacing cat snatched up a nearby mouse, who had been trembling underneath a bramble bush, hoping that it hadn’t been seen. The ruthless cat flung the mouse in the direction of the shadows. Nothing, just a screaming silence.

The cat shook its head, deciding that there must be no one. If it was caught... It couldn’t even begin to imagine what would happen.

The cat resumed its flight towards Slate’s kingdom, which was about a minute away, at this pace. The skillful cat’s paws pounded the leaf-strewn earth with a remarkable silence. The cat was panting, but amazingly enough with hardly the slightest sound. It was obviously exercising great efforts as not to be seen, even though this was its own territory.

Soon, the cat had arrived at the edge of the great forest. Eyes darting in every direction as to make sure that it had not been seen, the cat crept soundlessly into the open, packed-dirt clearing. Cautiously, the cat made its way towards the towering hollow ash tree, which stood almost directly in front of it.

With a practiced air, the cat leapt onto the side of the ash tree with apparent ease and dug its razor-sharp claws deep into the age-softened bark. The tree didn’t so much as tremble as the cat did this, which was quite remarkable seeing as the cat was fairly large and muscular. The light-footed cat freed one of its paws from the tree’s back and dug it into the surface about half a foot above. The cat continued this at a fast pace until it had streaked all the way up the length of the tree. Now the cat was almost there. Just a little bit further and it would be right where it wanted to be.

The cat slunk noiselessly through the threshold, which had been deactivated ever since an assassin had disabled the lasers, which had been some time ago. The cat sniffed at its king’s carelessness. You were lucky that that assassin didn’t get you those three times, Slate. But keep on chancing it and you will. With a faint smile the cat added mentally, But it would be no matter, at least not to me. I would assume position as leader of this kingdom and would take over Ember’s, too. The assassin would be saving me the trouble of having to kill you myself at some point when you get a little to greedy for my liking.

The cat continued foreword, never stopping. The normally creaky old wooden floorboards did not make a sound under its light touch. The cat crept across the soft rugs that were generously distributed about the room. Soon, it reached a door with well-oiled hinges. At the lightest touch, the cat was able to push the door open. In an armchair in one corner of the room, about one and a half yards away from the bed, sat a indiffert-looking King Slate. From the ancient lamp that stood nearby the chair came a dim pool of yellow light which covered little other then the chair.

“Come closer,” Slate invited the cat with a beaconing wave of his paw.

The cat obliged, standing at the edge of the pool of light. It remained in shadow, face veiled by the darkness. The cat gave its king a subservient bow, kneeling to its better. The cat’s expression was unseen by the king, but it was one of cunning slyness. Ha! the cat thought. The gullible fool...

“What is it that you have to report, my spy?” Slate inquired with an imperious demeanor, peering down at the cat with an impassive expression.

“I have recently killed the three that you requested me to assassinate, my lord,” the cat addressed him in a quiet and slightly trembling voice.

“Name them to me,” Slate ordered in a suspicious tone.

“Their names were FireLilly, Spark and Gemini, my lord,” the cat answered without the slightest hesitation.

“Good, good,” Slate murmured as though he had a host of other things on him mind. “Any suggestions for our next move, my spy?”

“I believe that we should steal back what they have stolen, my lord,” the spy hissed with a winning smirk. Its claws scraped the old wooden floorboards with anticipation and her tail swished powerfully back and forth as if it were about to pounce on a particularly plump and juicy mouse.

“As in...?” Slate questioned disinterestedly, continuing to gaze down his nose at the cat kneeling below him.

“As in,” the spy began with relish, “stealing back the guns that they took so long ago, my lord. If we do, they will again be at a disadvantage as they were earlier in the war, my lord. Ah, that would show them, the smug little fiends. Wouldn’t it, my lord? They think that they can just take our weapons and we will lie down? They will be in a hefty surprise, my lord, isn’t that correct?”

“That is,” Slate corrected, “they will be if I give you permission to execute your plan. And of course, being me, I will.” Slate leaned back in his arm chair with an air of great generosity.

“That is most generous of you, my lord,” the spy whispered with a baneful grin, eyes closed as it mauled over its thoughts of the smug king’s destruction. These thoughts were the only things that kept the spy sane.

“Do they trust you?” Slate inquired offhand.

“Why yes, my lord,” the cat said gloatingly. “They would trust me with their lives, they would. Ha, ha, ha! The fools. It will be an easy thievery, my lord.”

“I hope that you aren’t underestimating them,” Slate said warningly. “That is a common and often fatal mistake.”

“I am not, my lord,” the cat said confidently with another laugh. “Believing that they are as bright as gnats is overestimating them, my lord.”

“Then go,” Slate instructed coldly. “You will carry out the plan tomorrow night.”

The cat nodded agreeably. “As you wish, my lord. But I have an inquiry, if you wouldn’t mind my asking, my lord.” The cat’s voice was falsely timid.

“Yes?” Slate asked. “As long as it is not another one of your stupid ones, my spy.” Slate gave a large guffaw.

Halfheartedly, the spy joined in with the laughter. The cat’s face did not match that of a cat who was laughing. This gave an eerie effect that would have unnerved the smug king if he had been able to see its face. “What do I do if I am caught, my lord? I do not want things to get too... Messy.”

Slate waved an unconcerned paw at his spy with a smirk. “Kill them. But do it quietly.”

The cat shared the smirk wholeheartedly. It began to back away, deeper and deeper into the shadows. The spy was still bowing submissively as it walked slowly backwards. “As you wish, my lord.”

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-KittyLover8

© 2013