Chapter 1: The Perfect Crime
The cougar expired on the soggy ground, his horrified face going blank. Walls of rain fell upon him and soaked his fur, and a river of lightning lit up the crimson blood trailing across his sable breast. A dagger had been unceremoniously buried in his chest, and with a tug of the wolf's jaws, the weapon came out with a nauseous squelch. Turning away without giving the body so much as a piteous glance, the lupine slipped the blade into the sheath dangling from his necklace, and he carried on with the last little chore. With a few shoves across the soggy ground, the cougar's muscular body tumbled over the ragged edge of the earth, and thence came a faint plash, of godforsaken beast crashing upon the shark-toothed rocks of the burgeoning river.
"Right, then," said the wolf over the pounding rain. "Let's get our money and get outta here—"
"Hold it, Seamus," said the fox. "We've still got a problem."
"What are you talking about? We've done our job."
"It's only a matter of time before the authorities find this bloke. The first thing they're gonna be lookin' fer is you."
"I already told ya, Rudd: I've got my alibi."
"But an alibi's not enough. See, you're wanted on a whole litany of charges, and the authorities are gonna raise hell lookin' fer ya. Narnia can't be turned upside down on account of ya, which means we've gotta make ya easy to find."
Seamus went all bewildered. "You're joking. I'm supposed to get caught?"
"Oh, no, no, no—nothin' like that. See, they are gonna catch ya. But yer not gonna be alive when they do..."
The wolf went goggle-eyed, and his voice went all shrill as he choked on a single word:
"…What?"
Quick as lightning, Rudd leapt at the lupine and kicked him in the belly.
Seamus cried out in agony and plashed into the soggy grass. Rudd shoved him like a stone across a pan of ice, sending the lupine tumbling down the edge. Seamus yelped and thrashed at the slick ground, but the sloping earth carried him away into its ever-open maw.
A flash of lightning lit up the land in blinding blue light, giving Rudd one last look at the wolf's helpless face before it disappeared. There was a shrill scream and a crash upon the rocks—a final report of sudden demise.
The vulpine turned away and trotted onto level ground. Thunder roared in furious reply, the wrath of some nature god bellowing from on high, but he paid it no heed. It had all gone according to plan: a quick dispatch on a stormy evening. No one dared to come around on a night like this, and any scent that faintly resembled Rudd's natural juices would wash away in the rain. And when the authorities came around in the morning, they would see what he wanted them to see. A wolf had killed a puma out of spite, and he died in the effort. That was all anyone would know, and that was all anyone needed to know.
The vulpine shook a layer of water away and made haste for the trees. The tavern was on the other side of the woods, and a crackling fire and a hearty ale awaited him.
