The Many Adventures of Silver the Cat
Written by Lady Erina of Renais Court, retyped for your pleasure by Meelu the Bold
The Second Chapter:
"Experimental Candlesticks w/Switches, g250 Per Pair," or
"Silver the Cat Meets His Match."
"What do you mean?" Eirika trembled.
Well, the monster remarked, you did disappear into thin air on the roadside.
Amelia bowed as she came further into the room, offering the sword to Eirika. Seth cringed. Poor Eirika did not get a break, going from one emotional trauma to the next—the loss of a friend and then the vanishing act of a . . . somehow, he didn't feel like he spent enough time with her to justifiably call himself her lover. Seth settled for fiancé, but somehow that didn't fit either.
"He's . . . disappeared? Has a-anyone contacted his family? How about Kyle or Forde or Nolan—" Eirika asked. She did not reach for the sword, but switched her gaze back and forth between Franz and Amelia.
"No, milady," Franz gulped. "But the King, he's putting top priority on the search. We're dispatching whatever we can spare to relay messages to Palgo –er, his hometown, milady—and to form search parties, although King Ephraim is hesitant to announce the disappearance officially."
No! Seth cringed, his stomach sinking. The Tail whipped side-to-side, unpleased. No, don't lessen the guard! There's an assassin on the loose! I'm not that important! Don't do stupid things just because I'm not here to make you stop!
"I see."
Eirika bit her lip, staring wide eyed off into the distant plane of her own sitting room wall. It was painted off-white, with a pink trim, as if she'd never grown out of being a young girl.
She reached for the little square table she used for eating privately, just big enough for two. Patting the surface to make sure it was still solid, Eirika eased herself into an elegantly carved chair. To her credit, it didn't look like she was about to break out into tears. Seth glanced back at Franz, who looked highly uncomfortable.
"Milady, I'm sure that this is just a misunderstanding," he began, taking a step forward to speak. Amelia followed close behind, putting a hand on his arm. Seth followed that action with a raise of the invisible eyebrow. "I'll bet anything that he's . . . he's with his family or just stopped along the way, helping someone to get on with their life."
Eirika rewarded Franz for his trouble with a stare that would make an Archmogall wet the ground beneath it in fear.
"Without clothes," she asked, bluntly. "If everything was just dumped at the roadside . . . what do you think that means, Franz?"
Suicide or bandits, Seth thought. Either a really bad suicide or really good bandits, to take the legendary Silver Knight. Not very flattering ways to meet his end. And even then, bandits that good would've grabbed his sword and Johnny, who was certainly worth as much as a fine weapon. Arguably more, if he thought on every time that Johnny had saved his life.
"Er . . ."
"It's alright," the Princess said, smoothing her hair and forcing out a dignified expression. "I'm sorry, I just . . . I'm sure you're absolutely right, Franz. Please, carry on with your duties."
Franz and Amelia bowed in unison.
"Yes, milady."
The two young knights left quickly, closing the door behind them. Seth noted, suspiciously, that halfway through, Amelia slipped her hand into Franz's, discreetly.
Hmm, said the monster, tapping its chin thoughtfully. Do you suppose there's something going on there?
Eirika, on the other hand, leaned over her clasped hands on the table, with her hair falling around her like a cowl. Concerned, Seth jumped from the window seat cushion and clumsily tumbled to the ground on all four feet at last. Well, if nothing else came from this that was good, Seth consoled himself, he would have a superior sense of balance.
"Eirika?" he said. He nudged her leg with his head, for lack of proper hands.
She swallowed thickly and looked down at the stringy old tom on the floor. She smiled boldly, leaning over to scratch his ears.
"I'm alright, Silver, no need to worry," she said. Her voice carried strong, he supposed and she wasn't bursting into tears, so perhaps this wasn't too harsh of a blow. Seth knew her better than that, at least.
She clasped her hands and rested her chin over the table, deep in emotionless thought, or so he could see from the floor. Even if he could work up the courage to break just about every rule of court etiquette and/or chivalry to jump up on her lap, Seth doubted he would be able to do so just yet without clawing off a portion of her thighs. So much for normal cat behavior.
". . ." Eirika lifted her head. Her mouth was set in a funny, quivering line. "It's my fault. I'm to blame."
"I'm sorry?" Seth asked, not sure if he heard her correctly.
"I harassed him when I shouldn't have," Eirika continued, absently petting her cat's neck. Her touch, usually gentle, was now a little too abrasive for his (or any cat's, for that matter) tastes, but Seth was too busy trying to understand Eirika correctly to care at all. "I knew it he'd been having a rough time of it, lately, Silver, I really did. I should have just said hello and been done with it. I'm a fool."
Eirika bit her lip, and glanced around the room to see if he'd pop out anywhere, as unlikely as it was. Her hysteria became a little more vigorous, until she was almost smacking the cat at her feet in a downward, repetitive motion.
"A fool! I'm a nagging old bat, and I'm not even married! I'm not even twenty! No wonder he doesn't want to wed me—" she said, staring off into the distance of her bedroom door. Instead of actually stroking, she was floppily waving her hand near cat fur and hitting it mostly by luck. Eirika pulled hair from her face with her other hand, and looked like she might cry again. She sniffed, long and loud.
Now look what you've done, you sniveling little runt. Drop and give me twenty, said a gravelly voice in the back of his head. It was most definitely not the monster.
Dear Gods in heaven, my conscience has a voice, too, Seth thought, only a little surprised by now. What unnerved him was how very much like the old drillmaster it spoke. I'm unsound. I ought to join Madam Lune in the nutter club. Tea and cakes on Saturdays. It'll be fruitcake, with my luck.
Pay attention, carrot-top, or we'll add another twenty to that!
Shaking away the minor trauma of hearing voices in his head, Seth looked up at Eirika's distraught face. All thoughts of schizophrenia fled and concern and love took over.
"Eirika, please don't blame yourself," Seth begged. "I'm fine. I'm just not myself at the moment, so please don't be so harsh—"
At that, Eirika's hand came sweeping his way, and knocked him on his side. He yowled sharply.
"Oh, ye Gods—Silver, I'm so sorry!" Eirika exclaimed shrilly. When Seth's vision returned a second later, and his head stopped spinning, she was already on her knees. "Oh, please forgive me, I'm just . . . I suppose I'm getting a little histrionic. I apologize, Silver."
"You do not have to apologize, milady," Seth said, staggering momentarily. "It was just my head . . . ooh . . ."
It was perhaps the most pathetic meow he uttered since becoming a cat, and he'd already made the records, by his reckoning. Perhaps Eirika was entirely correct to be concerned . . . but no, getting bowled over by a Princess hardly compared to being gored, stabbed or otherwise injured by angry insurgents with pitchforks. Or Valter, Seth thought darkly, but only because his had done the most lasting ill.
"Poor kitty," Eirika murmured. She rubbed his chin affectionately. "I'm being silly. I can't help being worried . . ."
Of course not, Seth thought guiltily. Lately, most of his time was spent feeling guilty for some reason or another. He had to find some way to assure the King and Eirika that he was perfectly fine, just . . . gone. A letter, perhaps, but he now lacked fingers and the magic to manipulate objects was something that he'd never, ever attain, being as magically inept as he was.
"I . . . I think I will eat supper with Ephraim after all," Eirika mumbled, combing through her hair with her fingers.
See, what that really means is that she's going to grill him for information, commented the monster. Funny, after the drillmaster's cameo as his conscience, the black monster of selfishness and sin seemed almost normal.
And with her brother to comfort her and to keep her from doing drastic things, Seth decided firmly, I can finally start looking for this assassin. That may have presumed too much of Ephraim; if anything, he was more drastic than Eirika. But as long as the two of them were together in a public place (the Lesser Hall counted as a public place, always full of other noblemen and women, not to mention the not-quite-as-invisible-as-he-used-to-think servants), he could feel marginally at ease.
Eirika sighed, stood up and walked into her bedroom, and then back out again. She paused, and examined the hem of her white skirt. Her brow furrowed, seeing invisible faults. It might have been his viewpoint, but Seth could see no flaws in her appearance, although admittedly, he might be a little biased. She sighed, and turned around to go back in her bedroom.
Seth shifted uncomfortably as he waited for her to reemerge. After keeping tabs on the Princess' every move nearly all day, letting her out of his sight proved difficult. Every muscle in his little cat body tensed as he heard her grunt, as if in pain.
I've broken every other rule, he thought as he dashed, unhesitating, through the door. Everything in this room was pink, he first noticed, like walking into the mind of a five-year-old girl. A vastly feminine five-year-old girl, whom he supposed Eirika must have been at one point in time. Lace and potted plants were everywhere, in corners and on flat surfaces. Eirika stood doubled over, her torso thin and rigid, in a state of half-dress. She seemed winded, but fine. This was the most of her skin he'd ever seen. He tried to stare fixatedly at her feet.
"Oh, Silver," she panted, smiling. "I'm sorry, did I worry you? It's just a corset. My lady's maids lace it up a lot tighter, never fear—I like to do it myself so I can breathe. Still—one suffers to accommodate fashion—"
Eirika straightened her back, holding a hand over her belly as she sucked in a breath. Seth glanced away. As she dug through her wardrobe for an appropriate gown, he stared pointedly at the lace on the edge of her covers, and remembered ironically one particular instance, where, already covered in greenish monster blood, Eirika had brutally run her sword through the backside of a Bael and been spattered with sticky white silk and guts. That had been to cover him as he had been distracted, dispatching a Gorgon. Somehow, it felt strange to know that secretly, the Princess kept everything she owned very ladylike and girlish.
Did she consider that Bael more or less troublesome than the corset?
"Alright, then," Eirika murmured, admiring herself in the mirror. She held up her hair to see about putting it up, but ultimately decided against it. A good choice, Seth approved, finally feeling that it was morally correct to look at her again. Eirika's hair fanned out behind her as she walked, and the effect was flattering on her.
The dress he did not recognize. Eirika must have updated her wardrobe in the time he'd been gone to suit a more formal sort of woman, with long silk dresses and of course, the wretched corset. The one she wore now was not unlike the rose-colored dress she'd worn two days before, only this one was a deep midnight blue that contrasted with her blue-green hair and eyes nicely. Seth watched as she fastened blue-jeweled earrings on and twisted her ring so the stone was facing up.
"I'll just ask Ephraim a few questions," she resolved to her mirror. "Maybe I can lead the search party."
Seth would have frowned if cats had that capacity. He weighed the options; it would get at least the Princess out of Castle, but not knowing who the assassin was meant that he just might join the Princess on her ride to look for the man who was trying to protect her. No, it would be better if the Princess stayed where he could watch over her.
Eirika knelt to give Seth one last scratch behind the ears, smiling.
"Sorry, Silver," she apologized for maybe the third time. "You can't come with me, sweets."
Sweets? Well . . .
You are a cat, the monster said. It shrugged, although he wasn't sure how he knew that something in his mind shrugged.
True, Seth gave in, and then realized he'd replied to a manifestation of his mind and that it hadn't been the first time, either. Totally mad, he sighed, as he watched Eirika's heeled shoes cross the carpets. He was going totally mad.
..0..
With Eirika safe under the eyes of her protective brother, Seth was free to roam, as he had planned. The floor of Castle Renais, however, seemed completely inhospitable to all cats. Several times, he'd been kicked by the odd hurried maid or pageboy—had he ever been that frantic as a page? Eleven, going on thirty. Yes, that had been him.
Maybe he'd issue some sort of 'kindness to cats' order amongst the recruits and pages. Of course, he'd need to be human to do that, and by then, there would be no point except to save Socksie, and he didn't even know her. Perhaps, if cats could communicate amongst each other, he could beseech her help in tracking down the murderer.
The very first thing he needed to do, though, was check on Johnny. The black stallion was almost as well-known as he, and to those that he rescued, twice as well-loved. Eirika, for instance, always had an apple on hand whenever she saw his coal-black face.
To get to the stables, one had to pass through the courtyard, and subsequently the little area chalked off for trainee combat practice. A congregation of boys—and one or two girls, he amended, with their hair cropped short like how Elsie did—stood near a wall, gathered around in a circle. From the looks and sounds of it, they were standing around something interesting, and probably against trainee code. Cat he may have been, but inside Seth was still the General. He trotted over immediately to see if he could put an end to it.
By sneaking between the legs of some recruits, Seth gleaned a clearer view of their activity of choice. A female page rattled a pair of wooden dice in a cup, boldly calling for bets. Gambling. A definite breach of code for recruits, although full-fledged knights were allowed to take a roll or too, if it fancied them. After watching Forde lose his money to King Joshua, repeatedly, Seth decided it was too chancy for his tastes. Though he played a few card games with the other knights, it was always for fun, and usually late at night when no one had anymore stories to tell. And also . . . wait for it . . .
The girl, kneeling on the packed dirt in front of a pile of coins, shook the little cup hard. From one opening, she let a die fall into the loose cloth gauntlet she wore, hiding it under her gauntlet. On the opposite side of the cup, there must have been some sort of opening, probably a sliding-out sort of bit, because Seth could see her slip in another die, probably loaded. It was only because he was so low to the ground that he saw her move, and that his eyes were already sharp.
And you trained these no-good piss-faced heathens? the drillmaster ranted. What happened to my lessons? You were afraid to do anything but toe the gods-be-damned line!
He'd do something more permanent when he was tall, imposing and man-shaped. For now, it was enough to break up the little betting hall. Preparing for a phenomenal smack afterwards, Seth leapt forward, barreling in a jump at the girl. His claws dug into the leather of her gauntlet and he even managed to sink some teeth into her deft fingers. She dropped the cup mid-way, revealing its secrets.
"Eugia!" a boy's voice cried out. Albar, Seth thought as Eugia shrieked and smacked him across the ears.
"Damn cat!" she screeched, striking him over the head again, this time with a closed fist. Ow, ow, ow, at least she learned something from him, ow, ow, ow.
"What's going on out here?" roared the familiar voice of Sir Garcia, appearing from seemingly nowhere. Ah, Sir Garcia. Almost as pants-wettingly frightening as the old drillmaster, except that Garcia'd never actively terrorized Seth in his years as a recruit and then later as a cavalier. And Garcia would never think of calling him 'carrot-top.'
As he recalled, the drillmaster's life had been tragically taken in the midst of a rant, specifically on personal hygiene, due to a sudden heart attack. Seth had been around seventeen, and hadn't been surprised in the least. He wasn't even certain that he'd been sorry.
He bolted immediately from Eugia's reached, letting go just as a horde of angry gamblers descended on Eugia the cheat, and Garcia descended on them. At forty feet away, Seth glanced behind him to view his handiwork. Two or three managed to slink away, penniless, but the majority cowered nervously as Garcia began to voice his displeasure. Seth reserved a little pity for those Eugia had swindled, and then for Eugia herself. Punishment from Garcia had always leaned over into the hard labor category.
"What's this! Petty dice-rolling in the Royal Castle?" Garcia raged.
Seth marched onward to the stable, passing a few more reliable pages, and stable boys. He spotted his own squire, Jake, leaning up against a wall and flirting with an older girl he recognized as a distant cousin, Anna, who he'd actually placed in the Castle as a seamstress. He remembered writing the recommendation letter.
He passed them by, nonchalantly as possible. The key was to make it look like cats wandered into the stable everyday, completely unafraid of the horses there, which could easily trample him under hoof. For the most part, Seth ignored that possibility.
Seth sneezed as he entered, the little particles of dust and hay getting into what was proving to be a delicate cat nose. He didn't even know cats could sneeze before becoming one. Although it hadn't been officially announced there were now warnings of bandits, particularly vicious ones, and the animals must have been taken in early. He envisioned the griping and grumbling of disgruntled farmers and herders around the Castle; didn't that ruddy General clear out all of those nasty types? Where is he now?
Seth looked down the rows of animals. Most of the older horses looked down at him, amused that such a tiny creature would dare enter here. A lone stable remained, mucking an empty stall.
"Excuse me!" Seth called hopefully. One did not climb all the way to the top by giving up after a few unsuccessful attempts. "Could you tell me where my horse is? Johnny, the big black one."
The boy gave him an odd glance, but did not move from his duty. No help from magically inclined laborers here. However, someone else came to his rescue, and consequently shocked a few years out of his life.
"Oh, good ole Johnny, then?" a chipper voice intoned from above. "He's right over there, littlun."
Seth looked up. The horse was talking.
"Ye Gods!"
"What about them?" the chestnut gelding asked amiably. It was Griochnebobb, he saw, Kyle's unfortunately named steed. If Seth had ever given thought to how a horse might sound if it could talk, he would have never associated Grikey with such a spry voice and manner.
"You . . . you can talk!" he said, wide-eyed, even for a cat.
"Yes, sir!" Grikey replied cheerfully, tossing his head. "And so can you, littlun. I'm Griochnebobb, but all me friends call me Grikey."
"Yes," Seth said, composing himself. He shouldn't be surprised at all. He could talk, however it came out. "I know."
"What's that, littlun? How could you know me when I've not met you meself?" Grikey asked.
"I'm . . ." would it be insane to say that he was the human rider of Johnny? Would Grikey laugh? Seth had a feeling that Grikey would laugh no matter what he said. Grikey was that sort of fellow. "I'm Seth. The knight. I was human once and—"
"You too, then?" Grikey brightened. Seth was dumbstruck as Grikey continued. "I mean, I'm horse, through and through, but sometimes Kyle's little lady turns some poor boy into a toucan or some creature. I hear about the little lady all the time."
"Do you mean to say that there are others like me?" Seth asked, horrified. Lute had to be stopped. It was terrible enough learning to walk as a cat; flying as an exotic bird would be even more difficult.
"No! Not anymore at least," Grikey replied. "Kyle made her change them back. They got into a flaming argument about the whole mess. Didn't hear about anything else for weeks on end, but the little lady stopped in the end. Now all me rider talks about is that little colt she's carrying; congratulations to them, no doubt, but dear Epona in the fields above, if that isn't tiresome after the first fifty times!"
Epona? He'd never heard of her. Seth supposed it was some sort of horse-god.
"My gratitude, Sir Grikey," Seth said, bowing his head respectfully. "Just over there?"
"No problems, sir, no problems at all," the horse said, suddenly bashful. What an airy personality for Kyle's horse! Seth navigated over the muddy floor to where Grikey had pointed, with his snout. Fortunately, cats were too light to sink really deep into the muck.
Johnny stood still, with his eyes closed. Not so much of a black nightmare, anymore, now that he was calm and placid. Seth cleared his throat and addressed his old companion.
"Erm . . . Johnny?" he ventured tentatively. The warhorse blinked awake, lazily looking down at him before standing a little straighter. Seth wouldn't have noticed if he had thought Johnny was just a horse, albeit an exceptional one.
"Sir?" Johnny replied, flattening his ears, staring straight down at the cat before his stall. "Sir Seth, is that you?"
"Yes," Seth confirmed. Johnny relaxed, and snorted. Was that the horse way of sighing? Whatever it was, Seth felt vaguely pleased to know that someone knew he was just fine, more or less. Most other horses, intrigued, quieted themselves to listen, although some were sleeping. The stable boy took this moment to look up.
"It is a relief to see you again, sir, even if it's not the same you!" Johnny exclaimed. "I thought I might have crushed you in my panic, sir. I'm shamed, sir, I was trained better than that."
"No, no," Seth said. How very strange, to be talking to your horse like he was just another knight. "I am unharmed. Forget that. I'll admit that I was a trifle shocked, too."
"Yes, sir," Johnny said. If he were human, he may have saluted.
"And you? Any lasting damage?"
"No, sir. Had a run in with a farmer in a wheatfield, but he was kind enough to return me to the Castle, sir."
"Ah. Good work, Johnny."
"Ah, do you think so, sir?
This was familiar, restorative talk, even if it was with a horse. Johnny was no different from a militant Franz, really. Perhaps when Forde left, Seth could ask Nolan to spare his assistant so that he would have another pair of capable hands. Seth nodded.
"Anything else, sir?" Johnny asked, sounding relieved. Seth furrowed his cat-brow, another thing cats could do.
"Yes. There's a murderer on the loose—an assassin. I want you to spread the word amongst the other horses and keep a sharp eye out for anything suspicious," Seth ordered. "This assassin threatens the life of the King and Princess."
"What?" exclaimed a sleepy voice, feminine voice behind Seth's back. He twisted his neck to see. It was Hope, Eirika's sweet mare. Eirika had a tendency to lavish attention and affection on those close to her, and effectively spoiled Hope rotten for years. Apparently, the feeling between Princess and horse was mutual. "Not my Princess, not on my watch. Listen everyone! This little kitty's got something very important to say and you all should hear it!"
Every head turned. Even the stable boy watched, amazed at the miracle of one battered tomcat holding council with a stable full of high-ranking horses.
"Thank you, Dame Hope," Seth said. It was easier to address her, thinking of her as just another knight assigned to the Princess' protection.
Nutter, the monster accused playfully.
"There is a murderer crawling in the halls of the castle," Seth announced. "I have reason to believe that he is an assassin, and that his targets will be King Ephraim II and Princess Eirika. If this is so, then there is a strong possibility that he is not working alone. My guess is Grado-loyal rebels, but there are other organizations at work that we have reason to fear. If any strange types are to suddenly appear in your midst, I am to know. Communication between an assassin and his employers is key to their success. If we can catch them this way, all the better. "
"Get a load of this, Jasin!"
"Holy hells, it's like . . . like they're listening to him!"
Oh, right. Seth swallowed, patiently keeping his dignity by ignoring the astounded pair of stable boys.
"That said, I will check in with Sir Johnny each night succeeding this until the villain is found," Seth finished.
"Can do!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Got it!"
The chorus of whinnies of affirmation echoed all the way down the stalls. The unfortunate stable boys took this as a bad sign, and rushed to calm the excited horses and to kick that damn cat out. Seth hurried away from Jasin's boot before he received another kick in the ass—he was collecting several, too, since becoming a cat.
"Good luck, sir!" Grikey's voice called over the din as Seth raced out.
After achieving suitable distance from anything that wanted to harm him, Seth slowed to a walk, heaving a sigh. The horses had been a start. What other animals lived in the Castle? If he couldn't take command of the knights, he would use whatever resources he had on hand.
If he remembered correctly, King Fado had owned a dog . . .
..0..
Bear did not so much walk as lumber along, as he was very big. But these days he did not walk much, nor was he inclined to. Ephraim kept him in his rooms, surprised and relieved that the hardy dog from his childhood had survived Grado's invasion and possession of the Castle despite being almost twenty years old. Now, Bear was twenty years old, and all he did was lie on the soft mound of blankets the King set aside for him and lap water and soft food from a dish.
Ephraim didn't complain. He must have found the old dog a comfort. By all means, the animal should have been dead years ago. Bear probably wouldn't be able to do a thing were Ephraim assaulted as he slept. Why was he going to ask the decrepit sheepdog for help?
Ephraim counts as a sheep, I suppose, the monster in his head countered. You certainly think so.
It was getting easier and easier to ignore the blasted little voice in the back of his head.
Luckily, the King was disappointingly slapdash about everything and the door stood open, just wide enough for a skinny cat to sneak through. Inside was just about as messy as his study. These particular rooms had once belonged to King Fado, and Ephraim had moved in as custom dictated. Eirika had received all of her tidiness from Fado, whereas Ephraim had gotten short-ended.
Bear didn't seem to mind the difference. He lay slumped in the quilts, looking very dead.
"Please forgive me," Seth began. He was speaking some feet away from Bear, in case the old dog still had it in him to eat a cat. Bear sucked in a mighty snore and ignored him.
My running has improved immensely, Seth comforted himself, and took a step closer to the great shaggy lump. "Please forgive me," he repeated, a little bit louder. Bear snored a little bit louder.
Once, years ago, when Seth had been called in to King Fado's study (to be promoted to General, although he had not known that then), he had witnessed the dog in his prime. As Seth recalled, Bear had always been lazy, and defiantly disagreeable to most people and commands. Despite that, King Fado had sworn that there was no better dog than Bear and that he did justice to the quality of Renaitian sheepdogs. How had Fado gotten around Bear's innate sloth . . .? Oh, right.
Preparing to turn and run the moment things got toothy and violent, Seth took a deep breath and shouted, "WAKE UP, YOU LAZY OAF!"
Bear lifted his head obediently, searching for his former master. "Fado?" it mumbled under a sheet of fur.
"No, just me," Seth said, still very tense.
Bear's vision must have been going, although behind all the fur it was difficult to tell. He leaned forward, heaving bad breath and wheezes into Seth's face.
"Yumble a ca-umble," Bear mumbled. He slumped down again.
"Excuse me, could you repeat that?"
Bear peeked out of one dark eye. He couldn't have looked more disinterested if he tried. His voice boomed, very much like the previous King's. He sounded weatherworn and wise, like an old, old soldier. "You're a cat. Why should I bother with you, cat?"
"My name is Seth, and I'm not a cat, I'm a man," he replied, raising his voice for the dog's benefit.
Bear breathed out. It wasn't a sigh, but it was close enough, and it spoke of distinct annoyance.
"You look like a cat," Bear said. He sunk further into the blankets.
"I'm under a spell," Seth said wearily. The horses had been far readier to accept his new shape than Bear, especially Grikey. Magic and spells were more commonplace to horses bred for resistance, he supposed.
"Good spell," Bear commented. He didn't sound very impressed. "What sort of magician made you a cat, then, cat?"
"A ghost," Seth said, feeling very silly. To his surprise, Bear immediately perked up.
"Fado?" he asked, his gaze boring through the fur curtain over his black eyes.
Seth shook his head. "No, a woman named Lune. She is—she was the grandmother of our current Royal Librarian. Does the late King Fado appear to you?"
"No," Bear said, sadly. "But sometimes my senile tricks me into thinking it is so."
Bear began rocking side to side. Seth stared at him, wondering what exactly was happening. A massive shaggy paw emerged, followed by another. Bear still lay across the blankets, but now he had clambered to rest on his own paws. He was as close to standing as he could muster.
"Tell me, cat," Bear said. "Why do you disturb my rest? I'm served my purpose and I've lived my life. I am a dog on my last legs, cat, just waiting for death to take me."
"The life of the King is being threatened, Sir Bear," Seth said, ignoring any other more subtle or formal explanation. "A murderer roams the halls of Castle Renais. An assassin."
Bear's eyes widened in alarm, and then hardened. His throat rumbled with a low, angry growl.
"I protected Fado in his sleep all my life," Bear said, his voice deep with unquestioned loyalty and resolution. "I may be weak and feeble now, but I can still serve my master by serving his son. Little Ephraim will have nothing to fear as long as I watch over him, cat. I pledge on the trident of Renais that this is so."
Deep within himself, Seth felt a familiar stirring. Once, years ago, he had met a man like this, one that had inspired him to work his hardest and give his all, never mind the obstacles. Although Bear was now ancient and frail, his presence filled the room like only a knight of great valor could, and it made his charges feel safe and protected. Once, years ago . . .
"King Ephraim will have no better guardian, Sir Bear," Seth replied, sincerely. "You have my gratitude."
He bowed his head reverently. To his shock, Bear copied him, pushing his head far towards the thick quilts.
"You're a good cat, cat," Bear said. "Even if you are a man at a heart."
It had not been a mistake to come to Sir Bear. He was as much a knight as Johnny and Grikey; perhaps more than that. He was a real General, retired but real, the kind that Seth strived to be.
"Tell me, Sir Bear," Seth asked before leaving for Eirika's side. "Which kennel is it that you were born to?"
"None, cat," Bear said, at last allowing himself to recline once more into the blankets, conserving energy for when the King would need him. "I was born to the bitch Sugar, who was kept by Fredrick, a knight of the realm, to play with his own pups."
"Thank you," Seth said absently. No small wonder then, that Bear reminded him of the knight he idolized as a youth, the father of Forde and Franz.
Bear did not answer, but he knew the old dog was listening. Respectfully, Seth quietly exited the room to rejoin with Eirika, who would be finishing her inquisition dinner with Ephraim by now. Eirika, normally gentle as lamb, could be a surprisingly powerful negotiator when she wanted to. If she wasn't heading the search team for him by now . . .
Which meant, Seth thought unhappily as he crossed a passage in the Royal wing, that he needed to get a message to her somehow, telling her that he was not dead or in the custody of ruthless cutthroats. Putting an end to this search party nonsense was the top of the list, because, Gods know, every set of arms was needed here.
After that, he would take another look at the Duchess' bedroom—Miss Clara probably had no idea what she was talking about, but it never hurt to look. A fat mouse scurried past him. Deep in thought, Seth ignored it until a smooth, sultry voice asked, "Are you going to get that, or me?"
Seth halted and looked around. Usually, he could hear an approaching newcomer before they even turned the corner. The voice belonged to a calico that had snuck up from an angle, and her steps were deathly silent. Her splotched tail stood gracefully erect and flowed behind her as she walked. Her four dainty paws were socked orange, brown and black.
"I don't believe we've met," Seth said. The Tail swished once or twice. Socksie stretched languidly across the floor. "You must be Miss Socksie."
"You're kind of skinny," Socksie commented. She sounded disappointed. "And don't call me that wretched moniker."
"Is that not your name?" Seth asked, being as polite as possible. It must have been a cat instinct infringing on his human ones, because he was beginning to detest Socksie and her arrogance.
"No," Socksie said, keeping her distance so far. She sat down and began to idly clean her paws and ears. "And I bet your name isn't really Silver, is it?"
"That's correct," Seth said uncomfortably. "My name is Seth."
"Hmm," Socksie's nose twitched. "How boring. I have a beautiful name—Caramia."
"That is lovely," Seth agreed quickly. "If you'll excuse me, I need to be somewhere."
He tried to slip around her, but Caramia blocked his way instantly. She was faster and more agile than him, probably since she'd been a cat all her life. Caramia peered closer to examine him.
"You are skinny," she said, as if rating him on a scorecard. "And beat up, too. Did you win many fights, then, before coming to this hellhole?"
"I beg your forgiveness, but I have to be somewhere," Seth said a little more forcefully. Caramia backed off, twitching her nose again. She was pretending to be affronted, he could tell. Caramia seemed very false.
"Can't you spare a moment and make love to me?" Caramia sniffed.
"What?"
Even I'm surprised, the monster said, backing off. You're on your own, boy.
"I said, can't you take a little time out of your oh-so-busy schedule to make love to me, Seth," she said, spitting out his name like a dirty word. "Don't look so surprised. I like five-toed toms."
"No," he said, flatly. He was still amazed she had the nerve to even say that to him. "And even if I wasn't preoccupied, the answer would still be no."
If Caramia was amazed that he had the nerve to refuse her, though, he had not stopped to look back and find out. Perhaps there had been no cat instinct involved at all; perhaps he just didn't like Caramia, entirely on her own. Seth decided not to bother with asking Caramia to help him track down the murderer.
Another mouse scurried past him. Ye Gods, there were so many mice in the Castle and no one did a thing, probably not even Caramia, the actual cat. Seth wondered exactly how difficult it was to catch a mouse. Mice, though, could get into places without being noticed or bothered by obstacles. If he managed to talk to one, they would make finer allies than Caramia would.
". . . the Pontifex?"
Eirika's voice drifted through the corridor. Seth heard Ephraim mutter something incomprehensible. He quickened his pace a little more, turning a corner to see them standing just outside a door. Ephraim's study, probably, since he spent long evening hours there nowadays, sifting through the documents pushed on him by both the Royal and Common Councils. Mostly reparations acts, Seth thought, thinking on all the bureaucratic hoops he'd jumped through himself in the past year.
"Yes, I need you to take dictations for me," Ephraim said. His voice sounded taut and tired. "Until Seth returns, I won't travel anywhere, much less Rausten. The Pontifex has every right to know the reason why, as soon as possible."
"Of course, Brother," Eirika nodded. A flash of red at the other end of the hall must have caught her eye. "Oh, here, kitty, kitty. Here, Silver. Here, sweets."
I'm not laughing at you, said the monster in between giggles. Just near you.
Admittedly, it was humiliating to be responding to a baby-voice and a ridiculous nickname, but he came to her anyway. Eirika knelt briefly and scratched his ears welcomingly before standing. Ephraim raised an eyebrow.
"My new cat," she explained. To Seth's surprise, she scooped him up and held him tenderly as she talked. "One of the maids had him and she couldn't keep him. . ."
Ephraim raised a hand. "Say no more, my soft-hearted Sister. But why Silver? He looks like a red tabby to me."
"Well, yes, that's the point," Eirika said, with a touch of laughter to her voice. The joke doesn't ever get old to her, Seth thought. I'm not amused. But it was nice to hear her happy when things were going very wrong everywhere else. "I suppose you could call him my replacement Silver Knight."
Ephraim shook his head before unlocking the door to let them in. The paperwork inside must have meant more to him than his dog. Or rather, the paperwork probably meant more to other people than a very old Royal pet. The piles inside were still as mountainous as he'd left them. Document thieves would have found King Ephraim's innate disorganization a more daunting obstacle than any lock or bar.
"Eirika, use the, the good stuff, what is it?" Ephraim asked, snapping his fingers to jolt his memory.
"Vellum," Eirika supplied. She took her place at her desk and set Seth on her lap. He sat very still for her as she dug around in a drawer for another notebook and carefully cut out a sheet. "Why not just normal paper? She probably has them read to her while she's working, like you do. Rennac won't know the difference."
"No," Ephraim said. There was a noticeable tinge of nervousness to normally unshakable voice. "L'Arachel will know."
"Alright," Eirika said, pen in hand. "I'm ready."
Ephraim sighed, and switched into dictation mode. "'To Her Majesty, the Pontifex L'Arachel Aurelia Manselius; one line; Divine and Saintly Empress of Rausten; two lines; I send my deepest regrets and plead for forgiveness that I will not be able to appear in your Holy Court as previously agreed. An emergency of the gravest' . . . er . . ."
"'Urgency?'" Eirika suggested, stroking Seth's neck absently with her off-hand. Ephraim had been absolutely correct about her penmanship. It simply flowed off the nib of her pen in looping curls, hardly a margin of variation to be found.
"'Urgency,'" Ephraim nodded. "'Has arisen and forces our plans aside.' Break."
Eirika looked up, dipping the pen back into the inkwell. "What's wrong, Brother?"
Ephraim paced the length of the thick carpet, deep in thought, as if he couldn't answer that question. He's trying to decide whether or not to tell the Pontifex why he can't go as planned, Seth realized. Admitting that I'm gone puts Renais in a bad position, despite that Rausten and Renais are now close allies. And were there not rebel groups arising in the Holy Theocracy of Rausten, striving to throw off the chains of the Gods from their government? Ephraim wanted to keep the situation quiet for now.
A knock on the door made all three heads snap to the door. Eirika's hands tensed on Seth's neck, anticipating something she knew would not happen. The door did not swing open as it would have, had it been Seth on the other side.
"You may come in," Ephraim said, disappointed. The door opened to reveal Emmie with a load of wood and a smile.
"Good evening, your Majesty, your Highness," she bobbed two skillful curtseys, carrying what must be an incredibly heavy load.
"Good evening, Miss Emmie," Eirika grinned, raising up Seth above the desk to show her and moved a five-toed paw in a wave hello. He could hear the monster snicker, not even trying half-heartedly to block it out.
"Hi, Silver!" she mouthed, sparing a hand to wave back. Emmie tottered over to the hearth and began her work. Ephraim paced a little more, running a hand through his hair.
Ephraim must always notice servants, Seth thought, because I would have kept dictating.
This seemed very strange to him, because Ephraim had grown up surrounded by them and Seth had not. Although his family claimed the little space of nobility just before peasant—landed family of knights—there were a lot of family members, most of them girls. With nine girls, an unmarriageable aunt or two and a father with only one leg still attached, there'd been almost no money for anything so much as an errand boy. His mother, the esteemed Lady Flora of Palgo, had hemmed her own sheets all her life.
Emmie finished up quickly and picked up the handle of her little load basket. She curtseyed respectfully.
"Your Majesty, do I have permission to start up a fire in your chambers?" she asked of Ephraim. He thought for a moment.
"Yes, I think I'll try to get a decent night's sleep tonight," Ephraim said thoughtfully.
You see, you ruddy little rodent, why can't you be a little more like that, his conscience growled murderously. A well-rested force is a better-prepared force. Now, drop and give me twenty.
"And you, Princess Eirika?" Emmie asked, curtseying again. Eirika smiled.
"It's alright, Miss Emmie. I have Miss Clara to take care of my personal needs," Eirika dismissed her, gently. Emmie bobbled, but this time hesitated.
"Er, your Majesty . . . forgive me for being rude, but . . . is it true?" Emmie asked, fearfully. Eirika and Ephraim shared a worried glance. "Is there really an . . . an assassin on the prowl? That's all the girls will talk about and Miss Clara won't say a thing."
The twins of Renais heaved a collective, silent sigh. Wait, when had Seth's disappearance become a bigger issue than a murderer hell-bent on the Royalty's deaths? He wanted to hit them, at least Ephraim, and remind him who was running the country.
"It's true, Miss Emmie," Ephraim nodded. "I want you and the other kitchen maids to be on your highest guards."
"Yes, your Majesty!" Emmie squeaked. She turned to leave, and then paused. A funny expression passed briefly over her face. "L—Miss Linde is also wondering where the General's gone, because she's delivered meals three times today and each time she's found them uneaten. Did he have to suddenly go?"
"That's enough, Miss Emmie," Ephraim said shortly. She squeaked once more before slipping out the door with her peculiar nimbleness. He turned to Eirika, who glared at him disapprovingly. "What?"
"You could have been nicer," she admonished. "She's one of my girls."
"Right, sorry," Ephraim said. Eirika seemed to know automatically that her brother was being sincere. She gestured for him to continue. "Where was I?"
"Plans aside," Eirika said quickly.
"Ah, yes," Ephraim bit his lip.
"She'll understand if you tell her why," Eirika said, comfortingly.
"It's not her I'm worried about," Ephraim said, cracking his knuckles. "Begin, 'I can only appeal to your most patient nature, Holy Queen, and pray that you will accept pushing the date further, to the autumn equinox, an equally auspicious day. This emergency is of a personal nature and I will not . . .er . . ."
Seth listened as Eirika supplied words. The twins of Renais functioned like fine clockwork, rapidly producing a letter of state to one of the most difficult and powerful of foreign politicians. The Pontifex's arm extended through Rausten and out into foreign countries, as the head of the holy Church. The previous Pontifex, Emperor Mansel Octavius Athenius, had held a policy of "let them be," but L'Arachel and her boundless energy and fervent faith would not even dream of leaving all the lambs of her Church untended.
Natasha had once explained the hierarchy to him while valiantly trying to extract Bael poison from his arm and set the bone so it would heal properly when she applied an elixir. While the pain had been incredibly distracting at the time, he still remembered fragments. L'Arachel's policies would mean constant contact with foreign Kings and politicians—a Prime Minister, in the case of Gradia, and the High Councilman in the case of Carcino—since basically, the Pontifex commanded all clergy. Natasha may have been a Grad, and she may have sworn her allegiance to Emperor Vigarde, but if Pontifex Mansel had not instated the policies that he did, she and all other Grad clergy men and women would have had to face a choice between their loyalty to Grado and their loyalty to the Gods.
Obviously, L'Arachel was picking up the reigns Mansel had ignored. Seth could no longer ask Sister Natasha what she thought of the new Pontifex's policies, since she had been long gone, serving as a holy woman in Gradia, when Pontifex Mansel had been killed by an unknown assassin and L'Arachel rapidly crowned in his place. Uncomfortably similar to this situation, but were Ephraim to die, Eirika would face too much opposition to take control before chaos did.
And the assassin wants her dead, too, reminded the monster.
You only know that on assumption, Seth shot back. He froze, realizing he'd just responded to one of his inner demons.
A helpful inner demon, it said brightly. He pointedly ignored it.
"And I'll sign it myself," Ephraim said, closing his letter.
"Oh, parsnips," Eirika said. She sounded surprised. Eirika never really swore, not even in when normal people, himself included, would be screaming out every oath they knew. "I almost wrote that down too. Here you go, Brother."
She turned the paper around so he could lean over and tack his Royal signature to the end, King Ephraim Siegfried Renais II. It looked oddly un-Kingly against Eirika's beautiful script, but not many people would be able to match her. The calligraphist herself reclined in her chair as Ephraim signed the letter, petting her cat.
"I don't know why I didn't get a cat sooner," Eirika commented. "I rather like it."
"He looks like a storm hit him," Ephraim remarked snidely. Eirika stuck out her tongue.
"He's lovely," she defended stubbornly, raising her chin. "And extremely clever."
"Has he pissed on any of your belongings yet?"
"No," Seth said irritably. A potted plant in the corner of her room begged to differ, but he'd never liked the ugly leafy things anyway.
Eirika playfully swatted at her brother's arm. "See, even he's offended."
"Alright, alright," Ephraim said, re-reading the letter critically. "I certainly hope she doesn't Purge me dead for this."
"All the way from Rausten?"
"She's a very powerful woman. Very forceful. I wouldn't be surprised."
"Heehee," Eirika giggled. Her voice darkened in tone, though, as she spoke further. Seth looked up at her face. Her mouth was set in a frown. "Brother, I can't just sit by and wait as a party of knights searches for my future husband. I want to go. You know I can defend myself."
Guilt, guilt, guilt. His new favorite emotion. It bombarded Seth with renewed vigor.
I have got to get some sort of message out, before she goes ahead with this. There was danger both ways, but at least with her in the castle, he could look out for her.
"I know that," Ephraim shook his head. "But I need you here. What if he returns, suddenly? It would be more convenient if you were waiting here instead of trying to get a message to you, tracking him down in Gods-know-where. And I need you, Sister. I want to search too, but I can't."
Eirika sighed, conceding defeat, for now. "Alright, Brother, you win. I'll stay."
She stood up, tightening her hold around Seth so that he wouldn't fall out of her arms. Ephraim bent down and kissed her cheek goodnight. Eirika did the same, scowling.
"But if there's no word in three days, I'm going too," she threatened sternly. Ephraim tossed up his hands in exasperation.
"Fine, fine. Gods forbid me to deny my dear sister anything," he said. The King was being only half sarcastic.
Eirika crossed the room, and, wishing her brother one final good night, opened the door to leave. No one was waiting out there for her. She sighed, hefting her cat closer to her—a little too close, really—walked the short way from the Royal Study to her rooms.
"It's not fair, Silver," she mumbled as she walked, still frowning. "I get him back after eight months alone and then he vanishes. The Gods must hate me."
No one hates you, Eirika, Seth thought, leaning his head against her shoulder. Just me.
..0..
Miss Clara had been completely right. There was no way that Duchess Freya had been killed in her boudoir, even though someone had wrecked a vase of flowers and pushed over a chair to make it look that she had. A very clumsy move for someone as skilled as an assassin, to kill someone other than his target. Other than her affair, the Duchess had few faults and fewer enemies, being a confidante to the Princess and remarkably polite and kind-hearted to those around her.
Creepy Clara knows her stuff, the monster approved.
Seth gained a new appreciation for the guardsmen, too. Someone, probably Franz, had thought to have a chalk outline drawn across the floor where the body had been when the Duchess' corpse had been taken away for burial.
If the Duchess had been pulled from the garden her room, the assassin would need to be strong, and know the interior of the Castle very well to remain unseen. The window was too high up to be used, so the assassin would have need a key. Not very many trained killers bothered with lockpicking, once they'd signed away their lives as honest people.
This particular villain is very well-prepared, Seth realized. It was not a happy truth. If he hadn't known that Nolan had set double guards to patrolling the Royal wing, he wouldn't have let Eirika alone at all.
"So what do you think?" said Lune's arrow-tipped voice asked abruptly. Seth jumped, badly surprised.
"How . . . !" he said, looking up at the sage's ghost. She was sitting patiently on the table. The blue rectangle had gotten huge. Seth was beginning to suspect that she couldn't turn heels.
"I'm dead. I can go anywhere I like," Lune sniffed, as if he was a simpleton.
"Then why don't you halt this murderer yourself?" Seth challenged. The Tail whipped across the floor furiously.
"Don't you shake that tail at me, boy," Lune replied crossly. "I'm dead. Not omniscient. I don't know who it is."
This struck Seth as both ironic and silly at the same time. "And turning me into a cat will help you find out."
"Exactly. No one expects a housecat. Not even the Gods are that observant," Lune waved her hand upwards in the dark. Seth had found that his night vision, at least, had improved considerably. "Domesticated cats are relatively new, anyway, only a few thousand years of evolution. My studies prove that the Gods only make a thorough inventory every eon."
Despite being totally bonkers, that does make some sense, the monster admitted. It certainly explained the total lack of divine intervention during the War of the Stones.
"Am I to understand that you turned me into a cat—"
"I could have turned you into a cow. Or a lizard," Lune said thoughtfully, fingering one such creature, dangling in her hair by a slender ribbon.
"No, being a cat is just fine," Seth said hurriedly. "I just have one question."
"Speak it," Lune replied, looking very superior from her perch on the table.
"How can you work magic when you're dead?"
"I'm a sage of near infinite wisdom and power," Lune said bluntly, as if that explained everything. "And Hermod owes me a favor."
It took Seth a moment to remember Hermod, the fleetest of the gods and husband to the lady of death, Proserpine. This was absolute lunacy. Years of half-hearted devotion and near total dismissal of divine beings must be finally catching up to him. It certainly explained a lot.
The Gods have Their own ways of redirecting Their children, his inner Natasha remarked serenely. She made three.
"Of course," Seth said, resigning to the madness. He was a cat. It didn't get much more unlikely than that; who said a god didn't owe this woman a favor? It wasn't like any other explanations were forthcoming. "So why are you here now?"
"Because you're sniffing the wrong trail, obviously," Lune said. She set down her knitting and slipped off the table, kneeling next to him. On the Dasyanian carpet, she rapidly traced her finger through the fibers. They glowed where she touched them.
"Do you know that symbol, boy?" she asked. Seth tilted his head, waiting for the glimmering magic to dim long enough for him to look closely.
"It's a broadsword," he said, immediately recognizing the familiar contours of the weapon. Lune cuffed his head sharply.
"No! It's the sword of L'Arina, the Saint Latona's warrior sister," Lune said crossly, although her voice was deadening like it had before, when she'd turned him into a cat. "The theocracy of Rausten uses this symbol as their official seal. The real sword lies broken in their Royal Temple, and even the smallest fragment is imbued with incredible holy power."
So why are you telling me? Seth wondered, watching as the sword of L'Arina faded into the carpet again.
"That's all the help I can give you. Even some things are out of my reach," Lune said, her voice turning sharp again. "I do not often admit inability, but even I cannot divine why this is important."
"That was divination?"
"Yes."
Quite random, thought the monster. Inner Natasha and the drillmaster nodded their agreement.
"Well," the old woman said, briskly. "I'm leaving, then."
Seth thought of something, and then panicked. "Wait, no! I need your assistance!"
Lune looked at him strangely with one eye. She looked a little like one of the fish Franz caught every so often, only all dried up. Lune placed her hands on her hips. Somehow, she'd grabbed the blue knitting disaster without him noticing.
"I can't tell you anymore, boy," she said seriously, for once. "The future is constantly in motion. Sometimes it was I all could do to hold on a shard of it and predict things from there."
"I don't need you to do anything like that," Seth said, and then began to explain what favor he needed, exactly.
..0..
"EIRIKA!" Ephraim shouted, fully dressed, bursting into her rooms without any sort of announcement. As her twin brother, he had that right.
Seth, who had fallen asleep on the window seat—no amount of here, kitty, kitty-ing could coax him into Eirika's bed, there were just some things that would not happen until after the wedding, cat or not—was jolted awake and nearly fell off the cushion and onto the floor. His eyes snapped onto Ephraim, and then the crinkled paper in his hands. Seth relaxed.
"Eirika! Wake up!"
"Brother . . .?" the Princess replied, sleepily. The grey sky, dreary as it was, still allowed for light to pour through the window.
"Look!"
Seth heard the sound of paper being shoved into someone's face, an indignant sputter, and then anxious silence. Eirika must be reading.
"Thank the Gods! He's safe!"
"Oomf!"
Seth chuckled as he jumped down from the window seat and padded softly into Eirika's bedroom to see her joyfully embracing her brother on the floor. In her hand, she clutched a letter, written in Seth's very own short-handed chicken-scratch that Lune had been able to copy just from the shape of his hand. He didn't have to read it to know what had been written there; he'd dictated the whole thing, missing words and all.
Eirika—Forgive sudden departure, pressing matters at home. Nothing serious, please don't worry. Infant niece born earlier than expected, had to rush. Am godfather. She is healthy and v. pretty, please send K. Ephraim my regrets, I know nothing can excuse this behavior. Plan to return in a week or so. Little sister insists on proper christening ceremony, nothing can change her mind once made. Again, send my regrets. I love you.
—Seth
While Lune hadn't been able to physically stop the runner the King had sent to Palgo, she had been able to replace the message he carried and muck about with his memory a bit.
"If I just remove it," she'd said primly. "He'll make up everything else on his own. The human brain is remarkably good at rationalizing."
The actual letter took some thought, however. He settled for "newborn niece" which was mostly true. Bethy was, in fact, having a baby, and even if it hadn't been born yet, no one in the Castle knew about it. As long as Elsie didn't come charging up, demanding where her brother was, Ephraim and Eirika would not worry quite so much. And Gods above, Alisabeth's baby was going to be a girl, no matter what anyone wished. Nine sisters, no nephews or maternal uncles or male cousins tended to mark a trend in the family line.
Eirika breathed another sigh of relief.
"I was so worried," she confessed, shaking her head. Gracefully picking herself up off the ground, Eirika re-read the letter twice over. "This does throw off your plans for L'Arachel anyway, though."
"No matter," Ephraim shrugged, getting to his feet as well. "In all his years serving the crown, he's never once asked me for a vacation."
No one wanted to name names, but everyone was thinking of Forde anyway.
"I feel he deserves this at least. And, it gives me more time to prepare myself mentally to meet with L'Arachel," the King said off-handedly, although Seth noticed a shadow of a shiver in his voice. "I have to go now, the Council will have my head if I'm late again."
"Good luck herding the masses, Brother," Eirika said sincerely. "Morning, Silver."
"Good morning, Eirika," he replied dutifully not watching as she slipped on a breezy-looking dressing gown over her thin nightclothes.
Ephraim took his leave, raising an eyebrow at the cat's behavior. Seth followed him out of the bedroom and across the pink and white carpet. Best to let Eirika be right now, he thought determinedly. Ephraim opened the door and then stopped dead. Seth looked past Ephraim's legs to see a pair of inky black boots and the hem of a sensible, knee-length, black dress and apron. It was like looking into an abyss.
How does she keep herself so immaculate? the monster commented thoughtfully. She is creepy.
Miss Clara was very nearly Ephraim's height. She looked him dead in the eye before bowing, slowly and deeply.
"Good morning, your Majesty," she said. It was like a warning.
"Ah! Miss Clara," Eirika's voice chimed in. Just as well; Ephraim seemed to have lost his voice for fright. "Good morning. Brother, this is Miss Clara, my personal maidservant."
"Good morning, Princess," Miss Clara said, slipping effortlessly past Ephraim. He mumbled a greeting before slipping out. Now, when Seth looked up, he could see that she was carrying twin dishes.
When Miss Clara set them down in the corner, Seth realized how little he'd been eating lately. Hungrily, he darted for the bowl on the right—more kitchen scraps, but at least it wasn't entirely raw. Despite being altogether ravenous, he watched Miss Clara's back out the corner of his eye. Eirika emerged, dressed in an open white jacket and a short blue dress. She brushed her hair out from its sleeping braid with a normal brush.
Miss Clara was more of a haunting figure than Lune, with her dark coloring and clothing and severe personality. Eirika spoke of laundry and today's menus, along with a variety of other mundane topics. By the time all of the kitchen scraps were gone, they were talking about new candlesticks for formal dinners, since several had gone missing and another had simply broken in two.
"I don't believe it," Eirika said, amazedly scanning the pages of her finance book. "Ephraim doesn't set anything aside for decoration. That's so like him."
She scribbled something in. Eirika sat at the small table with the notebook propped on her lap as she wrote. Miss Clara was already in the other room, folding Eirika's own laundry to take down to the boiler room, in the basement of the castle. Right next to the dungeon, Seth thought instantly. We could use someone like her for interrogation.
"Shall I purchase on credit, milady?" Miss Clara asked, easily carrying a load of laundry that must have weighed tens of pounds.
"No, Clara, don't bother," Eirika shrugged. "I'll bring it up with Brother later."
Miss Clara bowed reverently. "Yes, milady. Will your Highness be taking breakfast in the Lesser Hall?"
"Mm, no, I don't think so. Have something brought up, alright, Clara? I need to work on something," Eirika smiled. Her mood seemed lighter, now that she supposedly knew where Seth had run off to. She patted 'Staff & Finances,' which, oddly enough, she was not writing in. Weren't new candlesticks . . . well, financial? "Although I do want to take a bath tonight. Can you arrange that?"
"Yes, milady," Miss Clara said obediently. She exited as quickly as she had come. Seth could hear the click of her heels on the floor outside Eirika's room.
Once she was gone, Eirika picked up 'Staff & Finances,' utterly ignoring the notebook she'd been recording costs and salaries in. Seth had a strange feeling that 'Staff & Finances,' had very little to do with staff and finances. Without needing invitation, Seth followed her to the window seat and jumped up next to her. Feeling nosy and intrusive, he used her arm as a boost and watched as she opened the notebook.
"Oh, are you curious, Silver?" Eirika asked. Her voice was slightly conspiratorial in tone. "It's the last chapter of my newest novel."
And now for something completely different, the monster said dryly.
"But shh," she said, putting a finger to her lips. "Don't tell Brother."
Whatever Seth had been expecting, it had not been a storybook. Eirika giggled a little, reminding him very much of a young schoolgirl. She bit her lip, thinking. When had she taken up writing novels as a hobby? And when had she taken to gossip? He needed to spend more time with her, and not as a cat.
"Or Seth. He'd put a stop to this in an instant," Eirika sighed, rolling her eyes and scratching his ears. She's right, he thought uncomfortably. I would. Why was it that Eirika could read him so well when so much about her surprised him? "I'm so glad he's safe. Although he has a lot of things to explain. Like Johnny. And that."
She pointed to his sword, propped up against the hearth.
I'm going to have to tell her the truth, Seth decided. After all this is over. Lune, cat, the horses, everything. We'll see if she wants to marry me once she thinks I'm insane.
Don't talk like that, the inner Natasha admonished.
"But . . . it really helps," Eirika said, out of the blue. She stared out her window, tracing the horizon with the edge of her pen. "It does. Just to escape for a little bit, in a little fantasy world where everything ends happily. And it sells, too, Silver! Franz takes my manuscripts down to Marconisis & Co. Printing Presses and they stamp it up, just like that. Brother's pleased with those presses."
She turned to face him and grinned, excitedly. "I have a sum all my own set away."
Remarkable woman, Seth thought to himself. Princess, warrior, novelist. Somehow, her little hobby didn't seem as completely trivial.
"Fiction is so rare anyway," she mumbled, settling in to actually write. "Even Lute says so."
Eirika's handwriting didn't diminish in quality just because she wrote stories instead of state documents. Since he'd only caught the end of her novel, he had no idea what all the characters were talking about or what was going on. The last story Seth had ever heard—he never read for pleasure, since he never had the time—had been from the mouth of his mother, and it had been extremely simplistic, a story with a purpose; to scare nine-year-old boys into pouring all their efforts into their studies.
The watermelon baby's gruesome antics had nothing on this. Mum had been inventive, not creative, even if he still eyed the space underneath the bed with some suspicion. Eirika did not notice as her cat attentively read every word she wrote down. It didn't take long to pick up on some things, like the lovers and the hero and the defeated king of evil. Often mentioned was the good king's magic ring, even if Seth didn't know what significance it held. Only Eirika and the Gods knew what elves were.
Suddenly, mid-sentence, Eirika stopped writing and snapped the book shut. Setting it aside, she lifted Seth up and stood straight.
"Time for a surprise inspection," she said, mischievously.
Someone's in trouble, the monster snickered.
That's cruel, said inner Natasha. He could actually see her fret in his mind's eye.
Shush, you two.
..0..
Seth followed Eirika's heels obediently. Surprise inspections usually meant a scramble, a dash to at least look like you were doing what you were supposed to be doing all along. The halls of the kitchen pounded with an oppressive heat that no one seemed to be noticing, not even Eirika. She put her hands behind her back, pacing before the line of girls.
Before ordering them to line up, Eirika took time to watch them at work, tracing the aisles made of kitchen tables. Everywhere, he smelled food and blood and boiling water. The scullery girls here wore dingy brown instead of blue and their aprons were stained beyond cleansing. Looking up, Seth saw that they all wore their hair in a tight bun, decorated variously with glass beads and ribbons. He listened as Eirika pointed out things that were wrong—understocked on salt, overstocked on garlic, a bucket was missing in the corner where they kept the drained blood, where had it gone? How she remembered every detail had been utterly beyond him. Now, each and every one of them stood at attention, hands at their sides and staring diligently at the wall.
"Is this the entirety of the third tier?" she asked Cookie, expecting the answer already.
Third-tier usually meant girls that worked exclusively in the kitchen. Second-tier did things like Emmie—a lot of fire-tending, water-fetching and waiting, but at least she was out of this hellhole. Top-tier was Miss Clara—personal attendants and overseers to other girls. Fourth-tier was everything else.
"Yes, milady," Cookie said, drawing himself up to look more noble.
"I see. You, miss, what's your name?" she pointed to a nervous girl with seagreen hair and bitten off nails.
"Rosay," she stuttered, hiding her hands behind her back. Maybe Seth had been dulled to the thrill of meeting with the Princess or King; constantly working under them did that, after a time.
Eirika nodded, crossing her arms. Rosay quailed. "Miss Rosay, then. Master Archibald, does Miss Rosay have very good balance?"
Seth glanced out the corner of his eye to see Cookie. Obviously, Cookie wasn't his name, but Archibald sounded even worse.
"I've never seen her drop anything, milady," Cookie said.
"Mm. Five days ago, one of the second-tier girls handed in her resignation. As we need a replacement, I have decided to promote Miss Rosay to the job," Eirika said. It must have been his imagination, but Seth thought he saw a wink.
Some girls frowned, but the ones around Rosay smiled happily and squeezed her hands, congratulating her on her good fortune.
"We'll have to speak to Miss Clara about your new dress and apron," Eirika instructed. "Come with me. Everyone else, back to your duties."
Cookie—Seth found it difficult to think of him as Master Archibald—clapped his hands briskly and yelled the same, given the chance to do so. The train of girls poured back into the wide open threshold and back to their varied jobs. Rosay smiled weakly at him, thinking he was an ordinary cat. Eirika gestured for Rosay to follow.
Once out of the heat, Eirika smiled encouragingly to Rosay, who was jittering badly.
"Don't be so nervous, it's your steady hands that got you promoted," she joked, trying to soothe the new second-tier girl. "I've been watching you. You're the first to pick up an accident and you do it quickly enough that some people don't even notice. Those are good traits for a higher-tiered girl. It would be a shame to waste you, Miss Rosay, in the kitchen."
Rosay sucked in a breath, probably wondering if she deserved that praise. She forced her hands to stop shaking, to show Eirika what steady hands she had. This was the phase when you couldn't believe
"Yes, milady," Rosay said, bobbing her head. "I mean, thank you, milady."
"Heehee," Eirika grinned. "Come now. You've got to stay calm, alright?"
Heavy footfalls, at least two, beat down the hall. Seth turned in their direction, to see Janna, huffing wildly. Her moss green hair stuck out wildly in all directions.
"Milady, you must come quick," Janna panted, doubling over to wheeze. "We found—oh, ye Gods, we found blood!"
Rosay squeaked. Eirika took her hand immediately, to calm her.
"Miss Rosay, please come with me," Eirika ordered. "This Castle is no longer safe to be on your own. Miss Janna, take me to this crime, at once."
"Yes, milady!" Janna said.
Princesses almost never run, save for when they're charging at carnivorous eyeballs or savage brigands. In this case, Eirika and the two maidservants hastily walked, something Seth, on his cat legs, was infinitely grateful for. The route, he noticed, led into the Royal wing. He could only pray that it was not Ephraim's blood or body they would find.
Seth skidded to a halt as they turned into a familiar corridor. Blood dripped into the crevices in the floor and soaked the carpet. A crowd had already gathered as Princess Eirika approached, aghast. Emmie was one of them, looking like she'd cry herself. A brown haired girl comforted at younger girl with a splotchy face and tears streaming down.
"Milady," the brunette said. "Bessie was the one to find it, milady. She was on her way to Lord Hassal's rooms to clean up, and she found it. She was screaming, milady."
Bessie croaked an affirmation and buried her face into the brunette's shoulder. On the edges of the crowd he could see that lords, ladies and servants all circled the door. Eirika stared at it. Marked in crimson on the wood, was a broadsword slashed in an X. The sword of L'Arina, Seth remembered. Lune had foreseen this event, then. Ephraim pushed his way through—Seth released his breath, not realizing that he'd been holding it.
"It can't be," he murmured. The crowd shifted, frightened for their very lives, nobles and commoners alike.
Someone's claiming responsibility, the monster said grimly. Our assassin has lost his element of surprise, so he's decided to adapt. Turning his mistake into a fear tactic.
A black figure appeared at the edge of the gathered people, peering at the scene and then backing away. Seth almost didn't see her. Miss Clara's face remained as impassive as ever, but her hands clenched around the silver charm of her necklace.
Or her mistake, Seth replied darkly. Miss Clara disappeared from sight and Seth took off to follow her.
..0..
This chapter is dedicated to my dear friends Veronica and Sarina, who are so thin they don't need corsets but wear them anyway.