Carrion and the Cat (or, Torture by Animal) – Amaruk Wolfheart

Spoilers: Books 1 and 2

Warnings and Pairings: the same as before

Notes: First of all, I have no clue as to what kind of furniture and stuff would be appropriate in the Abarat in this situation. I'm doing my best, but I fear it's still sadly lacking. (shrugs) Ah well. Hopefully I can improve, hm? ;) A thousand thanks to you reviewers! It's great to know that there are people actually bothering to read this.

Chapter One: In Which an Ominous Bundle Appears

The war was finally over. Day had defeated Night, and there were still celebrations occurring all over the Abarat. One group of people, however, remained solemn. A question had arisen, a very serious one, requiring great thought.

What was to be done with Christopher Carrion?

Several were all for executing him, others for a life-long imprisonment, but some were not so sure. The Great Council of Islands was still in turmoil, as a third or so of its members had been killed and the Chamber of Decrees on Soma Plume was still being rebuilt, so the bulk of decision-making fell to Candy Quackenbush and her closest allies. They had already organized and participated in much of the fighting. Finnegan Hob was even more respected now, if that were possible. The geshrat Malingo was recognized as a great sorcerer, and Candy herself had become a favorite of the islanders. The Council felt that Carrion's fate was in good hands.

However, there was still a great deal of debate among the friends as to what should be done with the last living Carrion. Everyone managed to agree that Mater Motley (fortunately deceased) had been the true evil behind the plot to bring Absolute Midnight to the Abarat, but Carrion's degree of involvement and responsibility was under debate. It was Candy Quackenbush who finally, after a solid week of discussion, came up with a solution that was generally accepted.

She presented the idea that Carrion's temperament should be judged. Could he be trusted to return quietly to Gorgossium with his titles and lands reinstated and forget plans of war, or was he likely to bide his time and try again to establish Absolute Midnight and take over the islands? Candy suggested keeping him in a sort of rehabilitation facility for a month or so where he could be observed.

Someone asked how Carrion could be judged when it would probably be quite easy for him to show no murderous or tyrannical tendencies for a month. The man was a good actor, after all.

Candy considered this for a moment, then smiled, and began outlining her plan.

-.-.-.-

Christopher Carrion sat brooding in his cell, knowing that his fate was still being debated several corridors away. He thought rather bitterly that there wasn't much question about it – so why were they taking so long?

As if in response to the unspoken question, there was a short knock on the cell door, which was opened by a guard without waiting for a reply.

"You're bein' moved," he informed Carrion.

"To where?"

"To a rehabilitation place," the guard answered, with, it must be noted, a steady voice – an excellent accomplishment for someone staring down a simmering Carrion.

The formerly titled Prince of Midnight stood. "Very well."

-.-.-.-

Carrion was finally led through a door which opened onto a short, carpeted hall. To the left were two doorways, only one of which actually had a door. To the right, half of the hall opened onto a room, and he could see that it was connected by a large doorway to another room, also half-open to the hall.

The guard pointed to the doors on the left. "Bedroom, bathroom." Turning, he indicated the right side. "Kitchen, living room." Without another word, he turned around and went back through the door. There was quiet click, clearly audible in the empty hall, signifying that the door had been firmly locked.

He would not have admitted it, but the whole procedure had Carrion confused. What, he asked himself, was the point? Why was he suddenly moved from a cell to a – a "rehabilitation place?" Deciding that this particular question would most likely be answered later, Carrion set to exploring his new surroundings.

The bedroom was small with a carpeted floor, containing only a bed and a lamp on a small table. There was a small closet with several identical sets of clothing. A large mirror on the opposite wall was somewhat puzzling, but not particularly worth noting. It was closed to the hall except for the doorway without a door.

The bathroom, also small, was otherwise nothing special. Its most interesting feature was that (thankfully) it had a door. So far everything was very plain. But then, he thought wryly, what else can I expect? He was a prisoner, not an honored guest.

He moved on to inspect the living room. This was carpeted as well, with somewhat more furniture, including a couch, an armchair, a table slightly larger than the bedroom's, and two lamps (one on the table, the other on the floor). Again, there was a large mirror, this one above the couch, on the wall opposite the hall.

Moving through a doorway in the wall separating living area from kitchen, Carrion studied the final room. A counter with a sink and a small lamp ran along one wall parallel to the hall. A large table (in comparison to the others, anyway) with two wooden chairs was placed in the middle of the room. There was a small door under the sink, and Carrion opened it to find two small bowls and a glass. Above the counter was yet another mirror.

Quite frankly, he was beginning to find the mirrors unnerving.

Visual inspection of the rooms completed, Carrion let his eyes close while he reached out with magical senses. He could feel the spells which blanketed the entirety of his new prison, especially thick around the door and the mirrors. All of them were spells against the occupant of the rooms breaking out, either physically or magically, and he recognized the majority of them as being from the volumes of Lumeric's Six. They ranged from simple to somewhat complex, and he felt a twinge of grudging respect for the caster, who'd wisely included "alarms" which would alert said caster if one of the spells was broken or even attacked. Some of the combinations were ones Carrion himself had used in the past.

He realized with interest that there was a familiar feel to the magic; he'd encountered this caster's work before. After a moment's concentration, it came to him – the Wormwood, anchored in the Hereafter, the battle on its deck – and his eyes blinked open in mild surprise. The geshrat. The one who'd been Kasper Wolfswinkel's slave, the one that- the one that she had freed… Malingo, that was the name. And apparently he'd learned a few more tricks since then.

Someone knocked on the door, pulling Carrion out of his musings, and he heard another slight click as it was unlocked. He turned his head toward the opening door, and schooled his features into a cold mask.

"To whom do I owe the pleasure of a visit?" Carrion asked dryly.

"I came to explain what's going on."

Carrion's gaze focused sharply on the speaker, and a flare of emotion – anger? frustration? hatred? something else? – was briefly visible behind his eyes.

Candy Quackenbush stood in the hall with two guards. When Carrion did not otherwise respond, she started talking.

Candy explained that, for one month (or thirty days), Christopher Carrion would live here to be judged on his temperament – or, more plainly, whether he could be trusted to return peacefully to Midnight and not start another war. The mirrors in the three main rooms were actually a type of glass that allowed a person on the opposite side to see into the room, but prevented the occupant of that room from seeing his or her observer. And he would certainly be observed around the clock, so keep that in mind.

Additionally, as a way to accurately judge his character, he would have a "roommate." Carrion's interactions with this roommate would make up the bulk of the evidence that Candy and the others would use to decide Carrion's fate at the end of the month.

"A roommate?" Carrion repeated, with the faintest trace of distaste.

"Someone will be sharing these rooms with you for the month you're here," Candy elaborated.

It was a rather vague elaboration, Carrion thought, and he narrowed his eyes searchingly at her. Who in the Abarat did she and her followers hate enough to confine with their potentially-homicidal prisoner for thirty days?

"You'll be meeting him this evening, and I can tell you more then."

Several questions were on the tip of Carrion's tongue, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of his curiosity. Instead, he merely nodded – the condescending nod of a master dismissing his servant.

Candy's eyebrows drew down in a frown and she shook her head slightly, almost as if she'd been expecting better, then turned and left. The guards followed her out, looking visibly relieved at leaving the Lord of Midnight behind.

Carrion let out a slow sigh, walked back into the living room, and sat down on the couch. He closed his eyes. For what felt like the first time in memory, he was weary in body and mind – crushingly weary. From a long, draining magical battle with the Hag, he'd been flung first into the Izabella and then into a war in which either side would have been happy to kill him on sight. Add to that a week's worth of discomfort and tension while he waited to learn of his fate, and it was hardly surprising that it would all come crashing down on him the instant he could afford to relax a little. Before he realized what was happening, Carrion was asleep.

-.-.-.-

A sharp rap on the door jolted Carrion out of his uneasy rest, and in seconds he was on his feet, looking for all the world as though he'd never even shut his eyes. It took only a moment for him to recall Candy's visit in its entirety, and then he strode back through the kitchen toward the door.

It opened just as he passed the table. Candy had returned, the two guards hanging back in the doorway, along with…

"Jimothi Tarrie?" Carrion asked quietly. There was a nod. "Ah, yes. I've heard quite a lot about you." He paused, wondering if Jimothi was supposed to be the person sharing this place with him. "And you are here…?"

"I'm here with your-" Jimothi glanced at Candy.

"Roommate," she supplied.

"Yes, your roommate."

Carrion noted that Jimothi was carrying a small bundle. The girl held something as well – a small bag – but there was an ominous feel to that bundle. Carrion regarded it with deep suspicion.

"His parents were killed when Wolfswinkel was liberated, leaving him and his siblings orphaned. They were found by a member of the Ninth Hobarookian Infantry and raised by a human family for the first six weeks of their lives, so he's accustomed to living in buildings," Candy said.

Jimothi set the bundle gently on the floor. It twitched, and Carrion forced himself not to take a wary step back.

"You'll have to feed him, care for him, and play with him," Candy listed. "Your food will be brought to you three times a day, but you'll have to ask for his food specifically."

"And he'll need to be given insects and rodents, to teach him what prey to hunt," Jimothi added. His eyes narrowed as he fixed the former Prince of Darkness with a firm stare. "And I warn you, Carrion. If you harm one hair-"

"If he's hurt in any way," Candy cut in, "you'll go back to your cell and-"

"Execution or lifelong imprisonment, yes?" Carrion held back a sigh. "And if - it - is not harmed?"

"Well, in theory, you would be allowed to return to Gorgossium with your property and titles restored. You'd be under supervision for a time, of course. Oh, I almost forgot." Candy couldn't resist a small, but very wicked, smile. "You're expected to keep a journal of your time with your new friend." She pulled a small book out of her bag, enjoying Carrion's 'you-must-be-kidding-me' look. "And it'd be nice if you named him," she added.

"Named him," Carrion repeated flatly. He looked down at the bundle again, and nudged it slightly with one foot.

There was a muffled, playful growl, and a small ball of orange fluff leaped out of the bundle, pouncing on the Lord of Midnight's foot. It was a young tarrie-kitten.

Candy, looking particularly self-satisfied, put the book on the table. Some food for the kitten was pulled out of the bag and set next to it, and she told him that the kitten was to be allowed in every room except the bathroom (the only room where Carrion was afforded a measure of privacy).

"And just so you can't claim to forget," Candy continued, "I've got a list for you." She pulled a folded piece of paper out of a pocket and propped it up near the sink. Carrion stepped forward to look over the "Rules and Regulations of Rehabilitation." So far nothing seemed to contradict or add to any of the instructions he'd already received, except…

"Litter?" Carrion asked, glancing at his visitors. Something about the word seemed distasteful and set off little warning bells in his head. The fact that Candy suddenly looked like she was trying not to snigger only made the bells ring louder.

"Well," the girl began, "seeing as you get a bathroom, it's only fair the tarrie-kitten gets one too." Carrion stared silently. And he remained silent as Candy explained further, only half-listening as he wondered just how he'd been brought so low. She and Jimothi left shortly afterward so that the two "roommates" could get better acquainted.

"Have fun, you two!" Candy couldn't resist calling over her shoulder as the door closed behind her.

Carrion seemed to be in some kind of shock. This couldn't really be happening, after all. It was only some sick joke they were playing before they killed him. Without thinking about what he was doing, he removed the two bowls from the cabinet. Emptying half of the container of food into one, he filled the other with water from the sink and set both on the floor. Taking no notice of the kitten's pleasure, he sat down in the chair in the living room.

Some time later – he wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there – Carrion blinked, and the full force of his situation came crashing down on him.

"Mrow!"

Carrion suppressed a groan. Luckily, the kitten was currently exploring the bedroom, so its attention was removed from Carrion for the time being. He was left to brood on this unbelievably undignified punishment, one which was clearly The Girl's idea through and through. For some time he sat there stewing. Then he felt a weight on his foot.

The kitten mewed.

So, Christopher Carrion, with good reason, was fuming.

And this was only the beginning.