CHAPTER 3. SMOKE AND GOLD

The dank and earthy smell of the forest was thick, the air was wet and chill with the promise of winter, the forest floor was a damp carpet of leaves and mud and moss, almost bouncy, but above all the rank stench of someone who hadn't bathed in days and the fumes from a fire reached Cheshire's heightened senses and led him from limb to limb in a northward direction, deeper into the Dusk Woods. He had been following this trail for some time and now the odor was stronger and much closer. He leapt from his tree to the ground and prowled closer, his black fur blending well with the darkness of the canopied forest, his belly low to the ground and his padded paws silent as spirits as he moved closer.

The man was sprawled on the ground, a hat covering his face and a gun lying on his broad chest. Cheshire let the pants he had been carrying with him, for when the form he now wore became a hindrance, drop from his mouth and then slunk forward from the brush towards his prey. He eyed him humorously, a smile threatening the torn corners of his kitty-cat mouth, he carelessly batted the gun off the man's chest, watching it land a few feet away then began messing with the man's hat, intending to annoy him into wakefulness. When the man snorted, Cheshire couldn't repress a guffaw, which woke the man up and Cheshire leapt to the tree limbs overhead before he was spotted.

The disoriented man looked around him, rubbing his eyes, trying to make them adjust to the dim light quicker. He scratched his head in puzzlement, and heard a snicker from above, he reached to his side, wear his holster was attached but found his gun was gone, he looked about himself and saw it laying a few feet away then scrabbled towards it.

"Ah, ah, ahhh…" the Cheshire cat cooed down at the scrambling man, but he kept moving. The cat pounced, landing in the fire and extinguishing most of it, then leapt back up knowing that sparks clung to his fur giving him a most interestingly dark aura.

When the man finally retrieved his gun, Cheshire was safe in the tree limbs, though he doubted it would take long for the man to spot him. With winter nigh at hand, the trees had given up most of their cloaking leaves, leaving Cheshire to pose among the limbs in a most uncomfortable way. And just as the cat had expected, the man spotted him and fired a round, and just as planned Cheshire leapt from limb to limb and then eventually into the brush and skirted around so that he was now behind his prey. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed toying with those he hunted. He snickered, and the man turned and fired again.

Cheshire leapt right into the fray of flying bullets, disappearing in a puff of somber colored smoke and appearing only inches from the man's face. He wacked the gun from the man's shaking hand, leaving behind red trails in the man's skin, marking him as a kill. Cheshire laughed, a throaty sound purring from deep within, and then, allowing himself to transform only slightly, knocked the man senseless.

"…A job well done, my man!" the drunk boy who had been ordered to retrieve the sketched portrait and hold it next to the tied and gagged criminal, who was neglectfully left on the floor next to the table where the woman of leading authority held office.

Cheshire stood stoically by, a tired expression plastered on his face, successfully containing his rising anticipation of going back home with another purse-full of money.

"Yes, certainly, a job very well done," the hard looking woman commented and then proceeded to drain her mug. She stood and motioned for Cheshire to follow with the criminal.

Cheshire obeyed, slinging the man over his slim shoulder and following, perfectly able to keep her quickened pace. He kept his eyes on the floor, the form-fitting black leather outfit she wore was hardly modest, was he ever going to be able to get over this boyish blushing problem? If he had any intention of keeping up the image he had established here, he would have to remedy this problem soon.

They walked through the doorway that led to the secret dungeon, although it wasn't a secret to anyone who lived in this town or worked among the folk who lived here, Reigh had told him that the only people it was really kept secret from was the royalty. This had made little sense to Cheshire, no one ever spoke of the royalty in Far Side, and here in Dusk Wood the royalty were strongly despised. He hadn't quite figured out why yet, but he could find out if he wanted to, the problem was he didn't really care.

Reigh unlocked one of the iron doors and motioned for Cheshire to dispose of the criminal, and Cheshire heartily obeyed, quickly slashing the bonds and gag with a knife he retrieved from his boot. Reigh locked the door when Cheshire was safely on the other side, and they walked back to the bar.

"I have some questions for you, Smoke," Reigh said and led the way to a table in the far corner, where she normally held office for her bounty hunters. Cheshire sat down with her and waved at the boy who had congratulated him earlier.

"And these questions are?" Cheshire asked while he took his knife from his boot again and began whittling at the table top.

"Why do you go by a name like Smoke, and why on earth do all of your kills have nightmares about a cat as black as night, smiling like a crescent moon with purple smoke seeping from its nostrils? Are you some kind of magician? As your employer I have a right to know such things," she ended just as the boy set before them two mugs brimming with the bar's best.

"Ah," Cheshire took a sip of his drink. "The personal sort of questions," he chuckled. "I will tell you most of the truth, I believe I can trust you with that much," he took another sip and then set the mug down. "I go by the name Smoke simply for safety precautions," he began. "Surely you can understand that, I don't live in this town and therefore am not under your protection. If I was simply doing this for myself and my own selfish hunger for money, I wouldn't bother with a fake name, but I have a family to protect. And as for the cat, panthers are extremely good trackers, if you can master their animalistic tendencies, honestly, I'm surprised that all of the criminals I've been able to capture are still alive, they're lucky in that respect." And there he stopped, smiling broadly at the woman in front of him, her face fixed into a frown.

"I'll buy the first half," she said after carefully placing her own mug on the table top. "The second half is questionable, I have never once seen the beast, and surely it would terrorize an out-of-town farm or some such and I would hear of it, wild animals cannot be fully removed of their instincts," her watchful gaze was searching Cheshire's for hints, he could sense it, but he knew the silver ice in his eyes wouldn't give him away.

"People here already look at me with unease, do you really think I would give them more reason to question me by lugging around a dangerous beast?" he asked, a smirk adorning his lips.

Reigh shut her lavender eyes, breathing in deeply, "I believe that the reason they look at you with 'unease' as you put it, is simply because we all can see you are hiding something, Smoke. A name I can tolerate, but this beast, as you say, must be brought to light. The prisoners have pitted my people against you, they are afraid of you, and if you do not come clean I will be forced to turn you over to my brother and let him deal with you. I hate to lose a good hunter."

Cheshire felt a tightness in his chest he hadn't felt for a long time, fear. "Reigh, you must understand," he spoke calmly, defeat coating his tone. "This beast, it can't be revealed."

"And why not?" she asked, her pale brow furrowing.

"I fear that," he faltered for an explanation. "I fear the judgment, if it were to be revealed to the public," he ended blandly.

"Public judgment? A panther isn't something that I would want to bring to the center of town for a judgment, you buffoon, my brother and I must be the only ones who really know of it, the town will trust our dealing of you and your beast."

Cheshire was silent for a moment, "May I think on it?"

"So you have the night to run off? I think not, I expect an answer now, Smoke," she lifted the mug again and drank.

Cheshire leaned back in his chair, eying the woman before him with contempt, but also respect, her lavender eyes were fixed on him, her pale lips in a fine line and her midnight hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. He couldn't help a snicker as she drained her mug and crossed her arms below her breasts, making the rotund things bulge and cause the leather to squeak appreciatively, "Alright fine, you nagging witch, I'll show you the damned beast."

The sleek black carriage stopped on the cobblestone road just outside the once topsy-turvy house, though now it seemed to be a bustling café. The house seemed to be completely repaired; nothing of the former run down place seemed to remain, except for maybe a slight tilt about it. So when the young man gazed at the quaint little residence out of his expansively paned window there was a mild look of approval upon his elegant face. He opened his door and let himself to the ground, all the while his exotic amber gaze sweeping the place.

He stood a moment in silence, taking in the faint scents of baking goods, and when he spoke, his voice was deep with a hint of arrogance about it, very regal. "Roger," he addressed his driver without much attempt at poise.

"Yes, my lord," the driver replied, turning in his seat to face his master more squarely.

"Are you quite sure this is the correct address? It seems much altered from our first visit," the young man inquired, running a hand through his white-gold locks, ruffling it like a flustered rooster.

"Quite positive, my lord," replied the adoring servant, with a slight bow of his heavily covered head, for he was going bald and his loving wife took great pleasure in sewing odd pieces of fur together to form sock like caps for the aging man.

"Huh," the young man's shoulders slumped and his arms swung limp at his sides, much like the first time he had visited the place not too long ago. The last time, he remembered quite clearly, he had sagely said: Well, I rather expected at least a livable house, not a dump. A hunter such as he is can afford better. And then, with much thought: well, I can't very well wound him if there's nothing to wound, and I can't make him miserably homeless when he's barely got a home to begin with… He sighed in frustration just remembering that, then he brought himself together and said to his doting driver, "Will you drop the formalities Roger? It's hardly necessary."

Roger, already pink from the chilly breeze, hid his embarrassment well, "Of course, forgive me," he paused, perhaps waiting for his master to give him an order or make some sort of move to leave or return to the carriage. "Sir?" the servant asked.

"Yes?" asked the golden man, and then seemed to grasp something in a mindful way. "Oh! Of course," he smiled attractively and waved a hand at his servant. "I will be quite alright here Roger; I no longer have need of you. Please, my dear friend, take the day for yourself, I shall return to our room this evening at some time, good day!" and he walked up the little path to the café and mounted the steps as Roger snapped his whip and the horses plodded on down the cobblestone road.

The young golden man entered the café without fear, he knew the cat was out, making a profit by taking down more of the his own puppets, and even if the cat was here he doubted that it'd have any reason to suspect him of anything unpleasant. The golden man was, after all, a pleasant sort of person, rapacious at times perhaps, but only when provoked.

The café smelt wonderful. Blends of breads and cakes and soups and warm drinks filled the air like a symphony of smells that were fresh and immediately made the young man aware of just how hungry he was. He made his way to the bar and sat on one of the many stools, gazing at the menu above the large hole in the wall that provided him with a splendid window view of the baskets full of bread and a peek into the kitchen itself. He noticed that a rather attractive blonde with a frumpy apron with too many ruffles up front and heals that made her appear as if she were trying too hard to be someone she wasn't, was taking orders. There were two young boys also taking orders, he took a second look at them and decided he would never be able to distinguish one from other even if he had known them their whole little lives. He wondered how the cat lived so sweet and innocent a life here and yet felt the need to go about assassinating the pieces of a well-proportioned game for a bit of extra pay, it didn't really make sense to him.

"Good afternoon, sir, have you decided what you would like?" the soft voice pulled him from his musings, it was just as well, he decided before turning toward the voice, if he thought much harder he supposed he'd give himself a headache.

He turned to the voice and the placidly bored expression on his graceful face melted immediately into one of astonishment. The sweet face he now stared into was perhaps one a fallen angel or that of a young goddess. He was speechless, her profound beauty swept over him like a spreading fever, sending shivers down his spine and bringing a warmth to his cheeks that he was all too good at keeping in check in normal situations. The soft perfectly sculpted face tilted just so and asked softly with lips red as the blood of a raspberry pie, and if he were to be presumptuous enough to taste them, he was certain they would be just as sweet as they appeared: "Sir, are you alright?"

He shook his head and placed a hand on his forehead, trying to manage his unreasonable feelings and cool the heat that was escalating through him.

"May I get you something?" she asked more urgently. "Is there anything I can do sir?"

He cleared his throat, "Oh, I'll be alright," his voice husky and shaking despite his efforts. "Perhaps a glass of ice tea?" he didn't lift his head until he heard her scurry away.

Breathing deeply he looked to the window that allowed him the small view into the kitchen, he could just see her, her back turned to him, the strawberry tinted honey of her hair was wrapped into a thick French braid down her back and tied with a white satin ribbon, a few unruly curls had escaped it however and just brushed the nape of her slender neck. And then she turned and he saw the long, velvet, mouse-brown flop-ears that fell to her shoulders like perfect accessories, fully revealing her soft, shy nature. She hurried out of the kitchen to where the young golden man sat, her perfect cheeks blushing slightly, she set the glass down in front of him, and then looked up at him. His amber gaze met hers and it took the breath from the young man's lungs, her eyes were deep, inviting orbs of warm chocolate, as enticing as they were gentle and they pulled softly at the strings of his long dormant heart. He glanced away quickly and reached for the cup.

He gulped down the tea, not heeding the small cubes of ice, and got what he deserved. The freezing of the back his throat and the slicing sensation of the chill brain-freeze "Thank you," he managed to choke out, and set the glass down carefully. "Thank you very much," he managed a chuckle as the freeze left his mind clearer and cooler. "May I ask for the name of such a delicate flower?" he asked, now able to gaze upon her face without insuppressible rapturous responses from his betraying body.

She gave a light laugh and blushed prettily, bringing one hand to rest above her perfect breasts which seemed all too exposed, even though the dress she wore was not all that low cut or fashioned in any way that emphasized that beautiful feature. The slight ruffle at the lining was contrived in order to hide more of them, but perhaps wasn't given the right amount of thought on the seamstress' part, once sighted, the gorgeous things were hard to look away from.

"My name is Bunny I suppose," she laughed.

Fitting, the young man thought drolly while his face colored and he wrenched his gaze back to her lovely face. "A pleasure," he stood and bowed to the goddess before him, hoping to have a moment to bring his mind back to safer waters, preferably chill ones.

"Oh, please sit down, sir. May I take your order?" she asked, smiling so innocently, oblivious to any of the hardship she was putting this young man through.

"Yes," he looked askance at the large menu board and was saved the arduous task of choosing by the large printed CAFÉ SPECIAL OF THE DAY! "The day's special, please."

She nodded and turned, perhaps a bit too swiftly, the skirt was short and the turn furled it up to a precariously high level, showing just a teensy bit of her white panties. The golden man allowed his head to fall to the cool top of the bar and he was content to wait there until his angel returned. Never had he imagined that he would find an object preciously beautiful enough to capture his heart strings and make them sing with song and movement, and in the house of his enemy too. What exactly had he gotten himself into? Damaging the one who attempted to foil his games would also damage this stunning creature he was becoming quite fond of, even if the only thing he really knew about her was that she was simple enough to wear plain panties, and that he could hardly look at her without losing his better judgment. He sighed heavily and lifted his head at the sound of heals approaching.

"Has your order been taken, sir?" he was faced with the girl in the frilly apron, and it would've been easy for him to look at her with little more than disgust, but he hid it well behind a mask of reserve.

"Yes," he drawled. "Thank you," he added a moment later, hoping to dismiss her from his presence, but she didn't budge, she was studying him, he realized, and he found that fact not to his liking at all. "Do you want something?" he asked in the most civil tone he could manage.

"Well no," he could see that he had made her feel a bit awkward. "I just haven't seen you here before," she continued.

"This would be my first time in this dainty little café," he confirmed for her in the same stiff tone, he wasn't sure what about this girl-in-the-frilly-apron unnerved him, but something about her wasn't quite to his liking.

"No," she said hesitantly. "I mean I've never seen you in town either," and here she paused, looking at him a bit less intently. "I am Alice, nice to meet you!" it was as if she had suddenly flipped a switch, the charm was instantly turned on, and something in the golden man's brain clicked together. She was an actress, or perhaps overcome with intentional mood swings, one moment brooding, the next gushing with joy and excitement. In his mind, she wasn't 'real'.

"And you," he managed, and then heard a plate clack against the countertop. His Venus had returned, the beautiful Bunny! "Oh, thank you my dear," he smiled graciously.

"You're welcome, sir. Alice," she turned to Alice, her voice still as gentle as a caress. "Some of the orders are ready," and she turned back to the kitchen.

"I'm on it!" Alice called, and headed to the other side of the bar to the window and took the waiting plates.

The golden man contented himself to sipping the steaming soup and contemplating his next move, or rather, how he was going to monopolize Bunny for a friendly chat, or perhaps, how he was going to make his presence in this town not so odd, nobody in their right mind would vacation to Far Side for a holiday, he now needed a reason to be here, that much was clear to him. He dunked a crust of his bread into the creamy soup. He ate for a time in silence, then the sound of water filling a cup and small cubes of ice clinking merrily against the glass brought him from his thoughts. Alice stood before him, on the opposite side of the bar, she set the pitcher of tea on the counter top then stared at him.

"Yes?" he asked, I bit more comfortably now that his thoughts were cleared and he now had a purpose, though he wasn't quite sure how to accomplish that purpose, but he knew he could count on Roger for some ideas.

"Who are you?" Alice asked innocently, though how such a direct question could be asked in such a way surprised him.

"You mean my name? Or my title? Or perhaps who I perceive myself to be?" he asked playfully, knowing that he was being annoyingly sarcastic.

"Well, I was meaning your name I suppose, but if you want to tell me all that then go right ahead," she replied. "The only reason I'm asking is because I know Bunny never would, she's not exactly great at keeping the conversation moving," she added not a breath later, and then awaited the man's reply, leaning against the counter in a very familiar sort of way, as if she and he had been friends for a while, which totally contrasted with the question asked.

"I am Lord Lucius Radiant, of the Illume Manor," he said proudly, and then slunk back in his chair. "However, here in this town I wish to be known as simply Lucius Radiant, no title please."

"And why is that," she leaned in, interested.

"I would rather be looked at with equality, I am simply a man looking for opportunities," he smirked at his own pun, and then dunked another crust of bread in the cooling soup.

"Oh, I see," she said, then looked over her should and noticed that some more orders were ready and she was off again.

Lucius had another moment of quiet to himself, and he thought that perhaps this Alice person wasn't nearly as terrible as her clothes, hadn't Roger told him many times not to judge appearances? Though appearances were what he was best at, judging and otherwise, they were important. So what exactly did he want to be perceived as here? Exactly what he had confessed to Alice, a man on the lookout for opportunities, but what kind of opportunities? Perhaps his trade, he thought. He knew that his gifts to the servants had been adored thoroughly for his craftsmanship, and the children of his farming families and even the farmers themselves looked forward to his seasonal shows. Could his odd hobby be turned into more than that? Perhaps roger would know.

"Well don't you look deep in thought," the voice was male and tired sounding.

"Yes, I confess I was," Lucius replied as he turned to the voice, and found before him a most interesting specimen. He wore an odd, old looking top hat, and a coat just as worn to match, his skin was a most interesting pale shade and his eyes, in contrast, were deep, dark pools of thick blood, and the choppy hair that stood out jagged from beneath the hat was a pure, snowy white.

"Well I hope you don't mind my intrusion then," he leaned onto the counter, removing his hat and messing his hair.

"Oh no, of course not," Lucius quickly replied, he could tell he would like this one, he was definitely a pleasantly odd sort of person.

"I'm Hatter," he held out a hand, a thimble still stuck on his pointing finger, Lucius couldn't help staring at it a moment. "Oh," Hatter eyed his finger, one eye closed. "Don't mind that, it's frozen on there, it gets rather chilly up in my work room."