Chapter Forty-Two
Mincemeat

As softly and as subtly as shadows move in the darkness, the door to the Lord's Royal Tower's bedchamber opened. There was no light from the corridor, nor was there any light from within but for the palest of illuminations from the cloud-shrouded moon outside, which shone in an almost ethereal light upon the black, polished megalith.

From without an otter slipped in. Disguised all in black, light material and crawling on all fours, he made towards the master bed; wherein, he could see the form of Zistopia's Lord sleeping beneath the sheets.

A thin smile grew on his lips as climbed the foot of the bed, and he pulled a small knife from beneath his dark outfit as he approached, a gleam in his eye while he crawled closer to the closed eyes of the silken-black panther. Angling forwards, the tip of the otter's dagger touched upon the panther's neck to which his eyes opened.

"Your reign of terror is over," the otter whispered mockingly, "oh-mighty lord."

The panther moistened his lips. "Look behind you."

"Ha, you think I'm falling for that? I'm disappointed. I was expecting something far more elaborate. Say goodbye, my lord," the otter jeered underneath the raised knife.

Behind him, a shadow moved against darker dimness. The towering frame of a black and white mammal lurched from nowhere and grabbed the otter harshly around the throat. Without a moment's delay, Appleby half turned and hurtled the small creature against the wall. The otter hit the hard stone head-first and his skull split open, his lifeless body falling with a pathetic splat to the floor… "Goodbye," the Lord expressed with empty apathy.

"Pardon the intrusion, Sir," Appleby apologized, picking up the corpse by a limp leg and pacing from the room, "I'll have a word with the chief of the Nightwatch and see to it he doubles his patrols."

"They appear to be getting more frequent, these assassination attempts."

"This one was rather skilled, Sir, was he not?"

"What do we think: individuals working on their own, or another cult trying to end me?"

"I think the latter is more likely. It might be wise to purge the streets again, Sir."

"Again?"

"If there is a group of mammals working to end your life, Sir, do you not think it would be in your interest?"

The Lord paused and thought for a moment. "No, we'll shortly be needing all the mammal-power we can get when we initiate Stage Five. Speaking of which, operation Mincemeat, is it a go?"

"Not quite, Sir. I was just going to make the phone call, when the silent alarm was set off by..." he held up the limp body of the otter... "this little fellow."

"Appleby," the Lord interjected, settling back beneath the sheets, "just see that it's done."

"Indeed, Sir. I foresee Mincemeat will be an astounding success."

...

The University of History and Arts — like all good places of learning, like libraries and like churches — had an aura of dense and heavy learning. Walking through its high-ceiling corridors, gazing upon its stainglass windows, stepping into the grand lecture halls and wandering through its on-campus garden, one could not help but feel as though they were moving through the masonry halls of a grand cathedral.

The dormitories at one end were a small complex of hexagonal rooms, each against another; wherein, the students would study during term time if they had nowhere else to stay. Three floors above them in a wide, octagonal tower were the older, yet statelier, living quarters of the university dons.

Each door bore a brass plaque with, engraved upon it in an official typeface, the name of the don who lived there. On one, 'Henry Croft (Dr.)' on a second, 'Terry Lateford (PhD)' and on a third... 'Victor Nyilas (BSC)'. Behind this wooden door, the room was dimly lit; the blinds pulled down and furnished with quality oak furniture. The figure of a goat rested in his padded chair, his arms lingering on the surface of the cluttered table. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hoof, he gazed bleakly at the framed photograph he had placed on the center of his desk. Sighing, the aged creature leaned forwards, his back stiff, and picked up the photograph, running a single finger across the faces. His wife, his two sons, his daughter… A thin smile grew but it was tainted by old wounds of pain.

The phone rung; the professor started back, grabbing the receiver and holding it to his ear, while not daring to say a word. The line was silent for a few moments of static, and then, "Secretary Appleby here. Nyilas, is that you?"

"Appleby," Nyilas greeted, nervously, "is nice to hear from—"

"I have your master's commands. After your lecture, you're to go down to the city docks and oversee the next drug shipment import."

"I... so soon after the—"

"After that you will be leaving with the boat back to Zistopia. From which point, your contract with us will be over. Am I understood?"

"You mean— I can leave?"

"Is that not what I said?" the badger replied, wearily.

"And my family? You'll let them—" With a click the line went dead. His mouth quivering, the goat slowly lowered the phone and gawked at the receiver. His eyes fell to quiver upon the photograph of his wife and kids. Dropping the receiver onto the wood, his head fell into his hooves, stifling something between a moan and a sob as both fear and fury grew within him in equal measures.

There was a knock on the door from outside. "Professor?"

Pulling himself together quickly, he called out without the effects of his emotional turmoil, "Yes?"

"It's time for your lecture. Do you need a paw?"

"No, boy," he asserted, pulling himself to his feet, "I is fine, thank you, today."

Author's notes:

Hesitance jumps around your mind,

Grooms decision thus chosen blind.

Your thoughts most succulent of snack,

All delivered by luscious feedback.

So don't hide like a tiny shrew,

Thus share that belovable review!

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