ART OF DECEPTION, continued

From the death-cell confession of Kevya of Morvogrod -

I see that, in your notes, you are calling me "Kevya of Morvogrod." How ironic! I am no more of Morvogrod than any of you are from Argochad. But, wait ... now that I think about it, perhaps that title is more true than I ever realized. It was Morvogrod, after all, whose invasion and occupation of my homeland turned my life in the direction that was chosen for me. It was the need for vengeance that became my sole reason to be, that defined my very existence, which I owe to Morvogrod. Without all of you, where would I be? What would I have become? We will never know now. So, while I am of Argochad by birth and by blood, by culture and by custom, by spirit and by affiliation, all of that has been twisted and perverted by what you have done to us. You sought to conquer us, and perhaps you have succeeded, in the sense that so many of my countrybeasts now live only to oppose you. Our life before you came is gone forever. And you likewise conquered me, by forcing me to become an agent of destruction against you. You are to be congratulated.

But back to Kosturnya. Never in my wildest imaginings did I suppose that I would be able to take the life of our invader Lebrevnya and remain undiscovered in Morvogrod. I knew I was clever in my subterfuge, discreet in my method of assassination. But to be free to walk the halls of this place after the hated Lebrevnya was dead and buried, that was a thing I had never even planned for. In hindsight, how could I not have suspected that I might escape detection? But I did not think in such terms. I had come here for one purpose only, on a seasons-long mission from which I held out no hope of returning. And now that Lebrevnya was disposed of, that purpose had been fulfilled. So what was I to do?

You are wondering how a subject from an occupied land, who might well harbor sympathies for the rebels who resist your troops, could manage to maintain a stash of poisons and work with them undetected, right here in the royal palace itself? It was not difficult. Who would dare to question the great Kevya, maker of art without compare, summoned here by the most high Lebrevnya himself? I carried my main stock of poisons all the way from Argochad, right in with my artist's tools and supplies, there in the open for anybeast to see. That was one advantage of producing artworks unlike any others: nobeast could understand how I achieved such things, and to them it was almost magical. When guards inspected my luggage, they saw paints and pigments and tools, the things they expected to see in an artist's baggage. But because my talent was so unique, they never stopped to consider that some of what I carried were poisons, mixed right in with my legitimate art supplies. And because Lebrevnya himself was eager to have me in his presence, the inspectors were not as thorough as they might have been. My outward appearance and demeanor contributed to the masquerade; who would have suspected a twisted-pawed, hunchbacked, introverted artist to be a trained killer?

So Lebrevnya was dead, by my paw, and now I found myself the court artist to his successor Kosturnya. Ah, Kosturnya! So unfit to rule an empire such as Morvogrod, but all that the system could come up with on such short notice. A beast of simple tastes, overwhelmed to find himself at the helm of the nation to which he had been a mere functionary for so many seasons. He was only too well aware that no real power rested with him, that the true rulers of Morvogrod would be those in the shadows who whispered their desires to him in the night and expected him to carry out their secret biddings. He was happy to play along ... and so was I.

Could it be? I asked myself. Could I remain in place to kill not just one but two of Morvogrod's rulers? Lebrevnya might be gone, but the soldiers he'd sent to Argochad were still there, and the regime of Kosturnya showed no indication of recalling them. I had been around the royal court long enough to know by that time that there were many despicable creatures employed here, generals and spies and manipulators, any of whose deaths might prove a boon to my besieged homeland. But my attention locked onto Kosturnya. I had been sent here to kill the leader of Morvogrod, and now I might have the opportunity to succeed twice in this area.

Did you know Kosturnya? I spent enough time in his presence to get to know him fairly well myself ... not that there was much there to know. As I said, a simple beast. Uncomplicated. My great fortune was that he professed an affection for my works, and decided to keep me on. I have always wondered about this; in my heart I suspect that poor Kosturnya was utterly baffled by my art, too undeveloped in his tastes to truly appreciate it. But he was always one to seek approval from his peers. My art was widely hailed, his predecessor had liked it so much that he'd brought me here from Argochad to make it for the royal court, and so Kosturnya deemed that he must like my art too, or else risk appearing an unrefined fool. And so I remained, to pleasure my new master in any way that I was able.

It only took me a season to discover the particular pleasure of his which would be his downfall. As you may or may not know, Kosturnya was particularly fond of picture flip-books. You know, the ones with a succession of similar drawings which, when flipped quickly, create the illusion of movement. Kosturnya had seen one or two as a child, and asked me if I could make one for him. I happily obliged, with a couple of simple examples. Ah, you should have seen him! Or maybe you did, since the secret police seem to keep an eye on everything that goes on here. Anyway, he was delighted! He would sit there for long periods, flipping the pages in total absorption, oblivious to anything else.

It was on those occasions that I observed a peculiar habit of Kosturnya's. He was incapable of reading any book or document without pausing to lick his paws between turns of the page. So pronounced a tendency, it could only have been some nervous affliction; he was probably not even aware of it. It was then that I decided to make him the most lavish flip book that had ever been seen in Morvogrod.

If Kosturnya had been delighted by my earlier examples, he was enraptured by my masterpiece! It featured a band of cavorting woodland minstrels - hares, squirrels, otters - dancing 'round as they played their silent melody. I knew Kosturnya was fond of woodlanders and the simple lives they led, but in a romantic, removed way; it almost did not seem to occur to him that these were the very same creatures his regime oppressed and tortured day in and day out. It was a fantasy version of woodlanders that he liked, of the kind found in childhood stories. But then, that was the kind of beast Kosturnya was.

I did put a lot of work into that book, for such a triviality. The fullness of the squirrel's bushy tails, that seemed to puff and swirl as the pages were flipped ... the sheen of the otters' fur, the joyful flopping of the hares' ears and the stomp of their footpaws. It was quite an elaborate piece, for an entertainment usually reserved for children. And my efforts went beyond merely the artistic, for imbued into the pristine, clean white page edges was another of my specialty poisons, this time one that would produce a fairly quick death if taken through the mouth in even the tiniest of quantities.

Well, Kosturnya could not put that book down when I presented it to him. Over and over he flipped it, to witness the festive imaginary creatures playing out their scene before his eyes ... and after every flip, he would lick his paw, that had been in contact with the page edges. Flip, lick. Flip, lick. And all the while, that vacant expression of childlike delight upon his face. Like he had been reduced to an infantile state once more, without a rational thought in his head. Surely, not at all like the leader of a great and powerful empire like Morvogrod.

But his smile would not fade, and I smiled along with him