Monster in the Making: The Turbulent Trials and Errors of Macavity
OR
Becoming the Napoleon of Crime is Harder Than it Looks
Mortimoses pulled the cracking leather straps on his drawstring satchel. His twin brother, Sesomitrom, stood vigilant at the door of the wooden cabin room. Sesomitrom turned to his brother, swinging his own leather bag over his shoulder.
"We can't wait much longer," he rumbled quietly, furrowing his ginger red brow. Mortimoses sighed, wrapping his fingers around the back of a rotting wooden chair.
"I have to wait. I can't leave without saying goodbye."
"Fool. This long-term relationship won't last, not with an older queen. Besides, if we don't leave soon…" Sesomitrom let his sentence hang in the air, knowing full well his brother would understand what he meant. The ginger tom snarled and returned his gaze to the door.
Mortimoses could not help but admire his brother. Sesomitrom was older by only a few minutes, but he seemed so much wiser. And stronger. Sesomitrom was a much better fighter than Mortimoses. Also, though the two were identical in shape and form, something about the way Ses stood commanded your attention. Maybe it was his piercing eyes, or deep, throaty voice. Or, maybe he was bribing them; Mortimoses was never quite clear on that area.
The younger tom hoisted his satchel over his shoulder and joined his brother at the door.
"She's not coming, is she?" he sighed. Sesomitrom did not look at his brother's sorrowful face, but averted his eyes to the quarter moon shining dully above them. The moon disappeared behind a cloud.
"We can't wait any longer. That's the third disappearance of the moon. He will be home soon." Sesomitrom grabbed Mortimoses's hand and pulled the sulking tom to the two awaiting horses. Frika, the stable tom, met them there.
"Yew two shore ye want t'go through wit' dis? Once ye' b'come a' Advocate, yew can't leave."
"Better to leave and never return than stay and live forever in Hell," Sesomitrom grunted as he climbed upon his ride. Mortimoses, slightly smaller than his brother, had to get a leg up from Frika.
Sesomitrom fastened his ebony cloak around his neck. He tossed his brother's long flowing coat, dyed a deep blood red, over to him.
"You've been a good friend, Frika. An elder brother we have never had. I fear we shall not be able to repay you for all you've done for us." Frika bowed his yellow-stripped head bashfully.
"Ye have ne'er a reason to repay me. Jus' my knowin' ye are in a better place is reward enough fer me." Mortimoses leaned down and gave his tabby friend a warm hug.
"If she comes, tell her I love her," he instructed. Frika nodded wordlessly.
Sesomitrom kicked his horse lightly in the side.
"The moon returns. Time for us to make our leave, Mortimoses," Sesomitrom whispered. The younger tom nodded, and the two dark figures galloped down an unlighted road.
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Adlemain stumbled through the bushes clutching the train of her hooped skirt. She faltered to a stop, catching her breath. She looked up, panting, and caught sight of a single lantern, bobbing in the dark of the night. She rushed towards it, and found herself running into Frika.
"Please," she gasped, grabbing the yellow tabby's shoulders. "Please tell me he hasn't left yet." Frika didn't answer, but instead turned his eye to the dirt road, covered in fresh hoof prints.
Adlemain sank to her knees, tears swelling to her eyes.
"Why?" she finally croaked. "Why would he leave me?" Frika crouched down beside the young queen and placed a sympathetic arm around he shoulders.
"It was for the best dear, you know that."
"Why didn't he wait?"
"He did! But he could not wait any longer. The moon had already disappeared three times. They would have been caught had they stayed any longer."
"But I don't understand why—" Frika placed a hand over Adlemain's mouth cutting off her sentence. He listened intently, and in the distance he heard the thundering roar of many horses galloping down a dusty road. He jerked the younger queen up and made a mad dash for the bushes. Adlemain watched with frightened eyes as a forbidding carriage made it's way towards Mortimoses and Sesomitrom's tiny cabin.
The horses reared to a stop. A foreboding tom with broad shoulders and a scowl exited the carriage and made his way to the house. There was an eerie quiet, followed by a tremendous bellow of rage. There were several crashes and the sound of glass shattering. The lanky tom stormed out, unhitched one of his horses, and took off down the road.
Frika watched the figure until he was out of sight, then turned to the frightened Adlemain.
"He'll be heading to yer home. It'd be best if ye were to leave this town as soon a possible. There's a village up north he don't know about that I'd be willing to take you to, but it's your choice."
"But," she stammered, "but what about…"
"Mortimoses no longer exists! He's an Advocate now, and as good as dead. Accept that!" Frika yelled. The yellow tom lowered his voice and continued. "It's yer choice: come wit' me t'safety, or stay he an' risk bein' killed by him," he said, motioning in the direction the dark tom had run.
Adlemain stared at Frika with damp eyes. She whimpered softly as she stared down the dirt road, but took Frika's hand a followed him to the awaiting horses.