Chapter 3

The door opened in what would have been an impressive way if the door had dwarfed her, rather than the other way around. Light spilled forth from the grand entrance-way and Haru felt the inspiration of another painting spilling from her long-dormant muse as she witnessed the owner and proprietor of the Cat Bureau exit the building, back-lit as he approached her.

He was, of course, a doll; a figurine, a small statue – but he was also alive. How or why this happened, no one really knew. There was not one person who would be able to say with any certainty why some such creations of man came to life, and others did not, but that was the way of things.

It was Haru's considered opinion that looking for answers never brought any kind of happiness. Asking questions could be very healthy, but asking, "why is it this way?" – no, that wasn't any good to anyone. Some things just were, and it wasn't the place of anybody – and certainly not her – to question why.

Haru was an artist, and she knew that there was an Ultimate Creator. There had to be. Nothing as spectacular and complex as the world around her could have possibly happened by chance, any more than any of the paintings in her old home had happened by chance. Oh, some of them had seemed to create themselves, had flowed from the brush like she wasn't in control, but none of them had "just happened".

Standing on the cobbled court before her, the top of his hat at the height of her knee – or maybe just a little higher (an inch or so, nor more) – was the one whose help she had come seeking. Of course, now that she was here – in this place that was all but completely forgotten – her need for his help had diminished. The lunatic king would surely not be able to find her here, but would she be able to stay?

"Good day," she said politely, bowing to the orange-furred feline. For that is what he was, though he was dressed in the fine, powder-grey suit of a gentleman, this living doll was certainly very cat-like in face and feature.

"How do you do," he returned.

Haru almost melted at the sound of his refined British accent. Every girl had their weak point, and hers was accents. Some irritated her to no end, while others had her like a plate of butter left out in the sun. One such had almost convinced her to share his bed before her mind recognised the words that meant nothing compared to the sound of his voice. She'd clobbered him nicely and moved when that happened, determining to never let herself get into that position again. Now here she was lining herself up for possible trouble in order to escape definite trouble.

"I'm in a spot of bother, actually," she answered, her voice unconsciously taking a little of his accent into her own. "Owing to having saved a cat prince, the king decided to take me as his own, without asking. Now my home isn't the refuge it should and used to be."

The traditional lie of "I'm very well thank you," or the more casual "yeah, I'm good," or any other variant thereof would have been pointless. After all, if any of them were true, she would not be here. Oh, certainly she was healthy, or she wouldn't have this interruption in her otherwise near-monastic solitude of life. If she wasn't healthy, she wouldn't have been fast enough to a) save Prince Lune's life, or b) whack the king hard enough to escape and make her own front door fast enough to get any kind of head start on his pursuit.

"You are welcome to stay here for as long as you like. The king is likely to forget by tomorrow of course," offered the gentleman cat with an incline of his handsome head.

"I wish I could believe that," Haru answered with a sigh. "I don't think that his majesty is likely to forget me any time soon."

Her host looked at her curiously, the question obvious in his face and bearing.

"I think I may have broken a rib or two, and certainly his majesty will be covered in bruises by tomorrow. I did not go quietly," she explained. It was best to be slightly detached about it all. If she thought over the events of the day in relation to herself, she would probably break down. Safe though she probably was, breaking down was never a good idea.

"Well, please, do come in. His majesty is unlikely to find you here. I believe he has forgotten that the Bureau even exists – like so many people," that very last bit seemed tacked on, pensive, and regretful, as though the fact saddened him.

Haru blinked a couple of times as she looked at the door through which the gentleman-cat had just returned. She could see him removing top hat and tailcoat inside, and it did look very cosy, in an old-fashioned style and values sort of way. However, she had absolutely no idea how or even if she would be able to fit.

That wasn't the only thing – Haru had a couple of very simple rules by which she lived her hermitage of a life. Rule one: be healthy or end up dead. Ending up dead was going to happen one day anyway, but she had reasoned that as long as she was healthy, that "one day" would be a long time in coming. Rule two: never enter the house of someone if you don't know their name. Rule two was particularly aimed at men, and came into very strict use if they had an accent that… well, like this guy's.

Right now, Haru was thinking fast on both. She was healthy, and she would rather end up dead than as the king's mistress. She had come here seeking refuge, it had been offered, but rule two and the possible impossibility of actually fitting in the house prevented her from taking advantage of it.

"Excuse me," she said, kneeling down in front of the door and peering in more intently. "But I don't see how I can come in, and I don't even know your name," she added, trying to sound as though these were things that mattered in the same way breathing mattered – necessary points, but not ones that took a lot of thought to arrive at.

"Oh, how rude of me. I am Baron Humbert von Gikkingken, and you will shrink as you come in through the door – it's just a little spell that I've found useful over the centuries. Do you care for tea Miss–?"

"Haru Yoshioka," she supplied.