agitation

Three months before the mating ceremony. Midday.

"Bast! You're insufferable!" Jemima huffed, crossing her arms.

"Stop whining so much! We're dating! Can't we do something I want to do? Compromising, and all that," Pouncival said, mimicking her posture so that they were standing toe-to-toe, glaring heatedly at each other in completely identical positions.

"That isn't what compromise means! You can be such a child," Jemima said, rolling her eyes. "Whatever, I'm not in the mood, anyway. It's always about you, Pouncival. You don't know anything about making someone else feel special, do you?"

"Wh-what?"

"I agreed to date you cause you're my friend and I like you – and it doesn't hurt that you're cute." She reached out and pinched one of his cheeks and he flinched away, eyes narrowing further. "But dating you is nothing like being friends with you. It's okay sometimes, but then I realise it's not even about me. You just want to be dating some queen, not that it matters who, right? Right now, I'm not Jemima. I'm just 'Pouncival's girlfriend', exactly the same as all the others who came before me. It's incredibly unpleasant."

"What? Why would you say that?" Pouncival spat, so shocked he forgot to be angry for a second.

"I'm not saying we have to break up, Pounce. But think about it, won't you?" Jemima sighed, and just like that she was off, tail flicking irritably. Pouncival considered going after her – they were meant to be going out on a date, after all, how dare she just walk off like she didn't care – but he valued his own dignity more than he wanted to spend time with her. Sniffing, he spun round and stomped off in the opposite direction.

He hadn't been walking for long before he came upon Tumblebrutus. The other tom didn't notice him – he was totally wrapped up in practicing some elaborate routine. It was one Pouncival recognised. It was one they usually practiced together, after all, being the only two toms acrobatic enough to pull it off.

Tumblebrutus had fantastic form. Pouncival hardly ever took the time to notice it, choosing to focus all his attention on perfecting the routines himself, but it was undeniable. Tumblebrutus paused, breathing heavily, then slid fluidly forward into a cartwheel that quickly turned into a series of handsprings forward. Usually he'd have a bit of trouble with this sort of thing, being as gangly as he was, but today he was perfect. Pouncival, forgetting his annoyance at Jemima, felt his lips curve into an appreciative smile as he watched the flexion of Tumblebrutus' muscles, his body relaxing as he lowered himself to the ground and began his warm-down exercises.

"Nice work, Tumble!" Pouncival called out, bringing his hands together in applause as he strode over to meet his best friend.

Tumblebrutus visibly started, eyes widening as they locked with Pouncival's. Then he smiled sheepishly. "How long were you watching?"

"Not that long, but you pulled that last set off perfectly," Pouncival grinned, depositing himself right next to where Tumblebrutus sat and giving him a firm clap on the back. "Maybe you'll even catch up to me someday!"

Tumblebrutus snorted. "Maybe so." And Pouncival kind of loved how Tumblebrutus would let him get away with cheeky jokes like that while any other Jellicle would cuff him across the ears and tell him he was being arrogant. Tumblebrutus was the perfect friend. Pouncival forgot that sometimes.

Man, if Tumble was a girl, he'd make a way better girlfriend than Jemima, he thought offhandedly as he shared a sideways grin with Tumblebrutus. The other cat was breathing heavily, rivulets of sweat running down the sides of his face, but it was a good look. Pouncival had to wonder why Tumblebrutus hadn't had a girlfriend yet. So he decided to ask, because why not?

"Hey, Tumble, why don't you get a girlfriend?"

Tumblebrutus blinked. "Huh? Um… I don't really need one," he said, sounding rather baffled. "I haven't exactly met any girls I've felt connected to. Not enough that I'd want to try dating them," he elaborated.

"Oh, not this again," Pouncival said. "Yeah, you're looking for true love, yada yada. That stuff's not real, Tumble. And if it was, you would find it after you start dating someone and get to know them."

"Yeah?" Tumblebrutus said sceptically.

"Exactly. Like, for example, Jemima. I know I'm not in love with her because she gets on my nerves more often than not. But before we were dating – when we were just good friends – I thought the world of her. I didn't realise anything until I asked her out." Pouncival nodded, having delivered his words of wisdom.

"What's wrong with Jemima?" Tumblebrutus asked, brow furrowing. Pouncival rolled his eyes. Of course Tumblebrutus would nitpick on that part.

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps we're a bit hotheaded for each other. She sure doesn't look it, but she's got a real stubborn streak." Pouncival sighed in a long-suffering way and lay back on the ground, hooking his hands behind his head and staring up at the overcast sky. Out of the corner of his eye he could make out Tumblebrutus' face, lips curved downwards in a tiny frown.

"I don't get it. You two look great together. You're both really passionate, it's nice."

"Well, maybe it looks nice, sure, but… argh, it's hard to explain, you haven't dated anyone. How do I put this? If you were a girl, we'd be great together, because you know how to calm me down but Jemima'll only rile me up even more. And you know how much of a shit I am when I'm pissed."

"I-I see," Tumblebrutus murmured. When Pouncival tilted his head a little to the side, he saw Tumblebrutus blushing furiously.

"Oh, for the Everlasting Cat's sake, Tumble, I didn't mean it," Pouncival chuckled. "I don't harbour any unsavoury intentions towards you, don't worry."

"I hear you loud and clear," Tumblebrutus said softly, and then he was standing up. "I'm gonna clean up. Hate being sweaty like this. I'll see you later, Pounce."

"Catch ya later," Pouncival said agreeably. Maybe he would sneak in a little practice himself. Work off all the frustration. Bast, but he was frustrated all the time. If it wasn't Jemima, it was some other Jellicle, or just being here in the Junkyard, or the restlessness that itched unrelentingly at him because of it all. He wasn't a prim, perfect little Jellicle, even though he fit in well enough that they were quite happy to call him one. He'd had no Jellylorum or Jennyanydots to lecture him on manners or being a proper little gentleman. Practicing acrobatics was fun and he was damn good at it. And he knew that the Jellicle life was a privileged one, that he was lucky. But still… it could be tough. He felt as if something essential was missing.

"Is it that I'm not making the most of it?" Pouncival wondered. "Or is it because it's not really for me?"

"Or maybe it's that you're so fucking self-entitled and wishy-washy. Get over yourself."

Pouncival leapt to his feet, transitioning from flat on his back to a defensive crouch in an instant, teeth bared. But…

What on earth?

Pouncival was staring at a mirror, surely. Because the cat who had spoken – using his voice, no less – looked exactly like him. Well, not quite. The scar that should've been over the other cat's eye was absent.

"What?" he whispered. Was he sick? Going mad?

"I hate it, being you. You don't know what you have. Don't even know yourself. It's maddening," the lookalike spat.

"Who are you?"

"I'm you. I'm Pouncival."

"No, you can't be," Pouncival said, and he felt awfully dizzy.

"I'm telling you that I am. And I'm a terrible person. You're a terrible person. Look at you! Thinking maybe you're too good for the Jellicles? Yeah, that's what you think. That's what I think. And you – I – treat everyone else like shit. Because only you – I – matter. We're just fighting to be unique, but oh! There's two of us now. That makes things a little more difficult, huh? And hey, maybe I'm better than you. I'm not so damaged, after all," the lookalike sneered, gesturing at his unscarred face.

"Oh fuck. I've lost it," Pouncival whispered.

"Well, if we're too good for the Junkyard, what are we doing here?" the lookalike said, widening his eyes and raising his hands, upturned, in a questioning way. "Why don't we," and the lookalike took a great step forward, "get out of here?"

"Wh– " Pouncival was cut off when he was bowled to the ground by the lookalike. And then, with horror, he realised that the other cat was raising a hand threateningly and that his claws were unsheathed.

"Oops, is tough little Pouncival scared?" the lookalike gasped mockingly, baring his teeth in a manic grin.

"Fuck!" Pouncival choked out, tearing himself away from the grip of the lookalike, leaping to his feet and running as fast as he could. Away, away, just as far away as he could get. He was faintly aware of the pounding of the lookalike's feet in pursuit even as they passed the boundary of the Junkyard and headed deep into the city. Even then, Pouncival kept on running.

And he didn't stop. Running away became his life.

(x)(x)(x)

Two days after Tumblebrutus disappeared from the Junkyard. Morning.

"I think I'm reconsidering a few things," Jemima announced as she entered her parents' den. They both looked up from where they were tucking into breakfast.

"Such as?" Munkustrap asked patiently once he'd finished his mouthful, patting the spot next to him. Jemima took it.

"Misto helped me remember a few things last night. With his magic," she clarified when both parents shot her baffled looks. "Before, all I remembered was that I saw Pounce and Tumble at the scene, but… I don't know. I don't think it's very likely that Tumblebrutus is the culprit, to be honest. Nothing matches up."

"Start from the beginning," Demeter said softly. "Maybe we can help you work things out. Anything to find out who would hurt you."

"And Pouncival," Jemima reminded her, and Demeter nodded with a small frown.

Jemima described the scene she remembered – Tumblebrutus' cowardice and Pouncival's somewhat darker attitude, as well as the possible existence of a third cat arriving on the scene. A third cat who had seemed to scare the life out of Pouncival.

"I was already badly beaten by the time they left," Jemima finished. "I don't know if I had all my injuries by then – I remember being in pain, and really confused. I can only say it seems pretty likely that it's either Pouncival or the third cat… the one who was approaching afterwards, who did this to me. To us."

"If what you say is accurate, then it certainly sheds a new light on things," Munkustrap said after a long moment's consideration. "But have you realised that your memory largely conflicts with everything we know?"

"Not everything," Jemima argued. "We know how Tumblebrutus lost that patch of fur from his tail. The one you put him in the cage for. It was from when Pouncival attacked him."

"Yes, but the fact remains that Tumblebrutus escaped, despite knowing that it implies his guilt," Munkustrap said seriously.

That was true. It didn't add up.

"Pardon my intrusion, but I think I can offer a possible explanation." The three cats turned to the entrance of the den to see Plato standing there, smiling apologetically.

"Any reason for your eavesdropping?" Munkustrap asked drily even as he waved Plato in.

"I was dropping by to check up on what shift I've been assigned to watch the borders," Plato said smoothly. "But I heard Jemima's story and your argument and I thought… there's definitely a way that some of this works out."

"Do explain then," Munkustrap said. "You have a good head on your shoulders, after all."

Plato dipped his head, acknowledging the compliment, then said, "What if Tumblebrutus was kidnapped from that cage?" Jemima couldn't help but gasp and Munkustrap sat up a little straighter. "After all," Plato continued as if no one had reacted, "He could hardly have escaped alone. And he would've been pretty vulnerable in that cage. It wouldn't have been hard for a cat to knock him out while he was cramped in there and drag him away."

"Maybe you're onto something, Plato…!" Munkustrap said, standing abruptly. "And the problem we had with identifying the scent… why, we've experienced that before. How could I have been so blind? It had to be a magic cat who did it, so they could erase the scent trail… Macavity."

"Or, a cat like Macavity," Plato said quickly, and Jemima thought he sounded awfully hasty in that defence.

Munkustrap gave Plato a sideways look. "Like Macavity? Do you have someone in mind?"

Plato pursed his lips, eyes conflicted. "I don't know. I think Pouncival has something to do with it. I…" he trailed off.

"Pouncival couldn't have helped Tumblebrutus escape," Munkustrap said with an edge of impatience. "He was definitely in the hospital den the entire time. We can't rule out that he may have had something to do with the whole affair, especially since he was quick to leave the Junkyard himself, but we don't have anything concrete. But with this, it's fair to say that Tumblebrutus probably wasn't the one to attack Jemima… or Pouncival," he tacked on quickly at Jemima's look. "Although… he was still there, if what you saw is true, Jemima. He came upon the scene and left before deciding to come back and rescue you. He never mentioned anything about that. Not to mention the writing on the wall that certainly wasn't there until after I left Tumblebrutus alone at the scene of the crime. So I do think he's still hiding something."

"But he's innocent," Jemima said plaintively. "He must be. Maybe Pouncival's in on something with another cat, but– "

"What if he got mixed up with Macavity?" Demeter whispered, the first time she'd spoken in a while. Everyone looked at her. Jemima didn't miss the way Munkustrap's face softened, or the way Plato's lips tightened. Ah, yes. My mother and Macavity. What sort of horror story was that? Jemima wondered bitterly. It was hardly as if anyone cared to tell her. You don't want to know, was what they'd tell her, but why would she ask if she didn't want to know? It was important. Important because Demeter was her mother, and… well. Jemima didn't look anything at all like Munkustrap. Not that it had to mean anything. She shuffled back, sitting on her tail to hide the way it quivered.

"Yes, Macavity… this could be a scheme to slowly rip apart the Jellicles from the inside out," Munkustrap muttered. "There's no real evidence, but what if he was the one to kidnap Pouncival all those months back? Perhaps he was forcing Pouncival to do his bidding, so he had him attack Jemima. And for whatever reason, Tumblebrutus was there. Then Macavity himself showed up and attacked Pouncival, leaving the scene as it was for Tumblebrutus to find it when he came back…?" Munkustrap frowned.

"That sounds awfully circumstantial," Plato said with a grimace. "That's not normal for you, Munkustrap. Usually you're all about evidence."

"Well, there's hardly any of it in this case," Munkustrap said wearily. "But the fact that Tumblebrutus was impossible to trace really does imply the involvement of a magic cat. Bast, why are we so in the dark?"

"Are there other magic cats who have a vendetta against the Jellicles? Other than Macavity?" Jemima asked.

"Not really, not that I know if. If there was, Deuteronomy would probably know – he keeps an eye on these things," Munkustrap said. "But Macavity hasn't been all that active for a while. I thought he'd decided to only show up at the Balls, but you never know what criminals like him are thinking."

Jemima thought it was interesting that both Demeter and Plato had to hide a grimace at Munkustrap's words. Demeter was understandable – from what Jemima had gathered, they'd had some sort of altercation. A relationship, maybe. But she didn't know that Plato had had anything to do with Macavity.

"I think the best course of action would be to find Pouncival and Tumblebrutus," Plato said – and wasn't that a neat little change of subject?

Munkustrap groaned. "It'll be like Pouncival's disappearance three months back all over again. That said, you're right. Let's get everyone on it. Meet me in the central area." The silver tom strode out of the den, Plato following after a quick glance at Demeter. Jemima smiled apologetically at her mother, who sat alone and dumbfounded with a couple of half-eaten breakfasts before her, before exiting the den herself, quickening her pace to catch up to Plato.

"Hey, Plato," she said. He turned and smiled slightly at her, pausing to allow her to catch up. "Plato, what do you think of Macavity?"

"I don't really know," Plato said. "I was only really a kid when he first started terrorising the Jellicles. It was a few years back. You weren't even born, huh?"

"No, I wasn't," Jemima said quietly. She was the youngest of her generation, Plato the oldest. There wasn't such a giant age gap between Plato and the likes of Munkustrap, Bombalurina and Demeter. But there was a considerable age gap between him and Jemima. Still, she found Plato's avoidance of her question odd. "But I've still seen Macavity, you know. He turned up for the last few Balls."

"Ah, fair enough. I don't know, though. He hasn't done all that much to us for a while. I guess I don't really know enough to have an opinion, but I think it's going too far to immediately jump to the conclusion that Macavity is behind all of this," Plato said, sounding uncomfortable.

"Well, which other magic cat would target us?" Jemima asked matter-of-factly, and she could've sworn that Plato ground his teeth at that. "Besides, you can't blame me for being suspicious, not after what Macavity did to my own mother."

Plato, usually so smooth, made a misstep, placing his foot down awkwardly and almost falling over as a result. "You know about that?" he gasped out after managing to regain his balance.

Hopefully he doesn't call my bluff, Jemima thought nervously to herself as she crossed her arms in the best impression of a haughty look. "I think it's pretty important for me to be aware of it," she said.

Plato looked her up and down suspiciously. "What Macavity did definitely wasn't right," he said finally. "I won't deny that. It was awful…" He bit his lip, Jemima thinking that the display of emotion was definitely uncharacteristic of him. "But whatever," he said finally. "We need to get to the central area. What matters right now is that we track down Pouncival and Tumblebrutus, right?"

"Right…" Jemima said slowly. There wasn't any way she could press him further without it looking suspicious, but she'd been close. Perhaps next time…

(x)(x)(x)

Two days after Tumblebrutus disappeared from the Junkyard. Midday.

"That wasn't so bad," Bill Bailey tried.

"In comparison to the lush Jellicle beds? It was bad," Pouncival snorted.

Bill Bailey wasn't so awful and Pouncival, having felt guilty about being so rude to the guy, had let him tag along to one of his regular hiding spots for the night. It was just a courtyard behind an old brick house, but it was always deserted. Sure, cobblestone didn't make the most comfortable place to sleep, but it had always been a safe place for Pouncival.

But now he wasn't entirely sure what to do, or where to go. Usually he'd have at least sensed Carbucketty's presence by now. Sometimes the lookalike would simply show up, not doing anything but making it clear that he was watching. Other times he'd come sprinting right after Pouncival, bowling him over and digging in his claws before leaving, laughing his head off. At first, Pouncival had been pretty good at evading him, but as weeks went by and his condition deteriorated, it became harder and harder.

Ever since he'd had his short stay with the Jellicles, he hadn't seen Carbucketty once. And that was somehow even more frightening than seeing his face peering out from a nearby window, dark eyes promising horrors to come.

"Where are you going?" Bill Bailey asked. Pouncival belatedly realised that he'd stood up, leaving the other tom huddled on the ground alone.

"I don't know. It's not too safe to stay in one place too long," Pouncival muttered, glancing back and forth. "C'mon. Let's walk. It might be fine with two of us."

It wasn't to say that he wasn't wary of Bill Bailey. He still suspected that the Tumblebrutus lookalike had some sort of plan, but he was too tired to think about it. For now, Bill Bailey was docile and cooperative and potentially useful. Pouncival could run away if he needed to. He'd always been quicker than Tumblebrutus – it shouldn't be any different with Bill Bailey.

"Okay. I'll look around," Bill Bailey promised, leaping to his feet and stumbling a little in his haste to follow Pouncival.

They walked for a little while, not bothering to speak. Or, at least, Pouncival didn't bother to speak. He thought offhandedly that Bill Bailey didn't tend to say much unless spoken to. He glanced back at the other tom, who remained a reasonable distance behind him. He looked pretty attentive, with his ears pricked and his gaze sweeping back and forth along the streets. When he saw Pouncival looking, he smiled nervously. Pouncival rolled his eyes. Maybe Bill Bailey was a bit like Tumblebrutus. Like a much wimpier version of him, or something. Just then, Bill Bailey gasped and dropped into a crouch, pointing upwards and mouthing something. Pouncival spun round, but he was too late – there was a figure dropping rapidly towards him, probably having leapt off a nearby fence. Less than a second later, he was sprawled on the ground with strong hands pinning him down. He was faintly aware of Bill Bailey whimpering.

"That was a lot easier than I thought it would be," Plato said, quirking a smile at Pouncival. And Pouncival, for all his bravado with Bill Bailey, could only turn his cheek so he didn't have to stare into Plato's fierce eyes, could only lie there, totally helpless.

"What are you going to do?" Pouncival whispered.

"Frankly, you're way too suspicious. But that's only really my intuition and some circumstantial evidence leading me to assume things, so… I'm going to do this right. Ask you some questions. If you promise you won't run, I'll get off."

"O-okay. Fine," Pouncival said, although he was already mapping out the best escape route in his mind. It was a shame he'd been so distracted, because he wasn't quite as sure of his surroundings as he usually was when he was alone.

Plato gingerly got off of Pouncival, though he still kept a vice grip on his wrist, evidently not trusting Pouncival to stay true to his word. "So, Tumble's not gonna leave?" he said, pointing over at where Bill Bailey was quivering.

"Oh, I, uh…" Pouncival cursed inwardly. How could he explain Bill Bailey? "Tumble…?" he said, hoping that Bill Bailey would understand.

"I won't go," Bill Bailey said, and for all his quivering his voice was firm and clear.

"What a loyal friend," Plato remarked, shrugging. "It's okay if you do. I'm pretty sure you're mostly innocent."

"I'm not going to leave Pouncival!" And now Bill Bailey moved closer. He took hold of Pouncival's other arm so that Pouncival felt a bit like he was the rope in a game of tug-of-war.

"Well fine. I just have some questions," Plato said.

"Spit them out, then," Pouncival growled.

"Tell me everything about what happened that night. Absolutely everything you remember – who attacked Jemima, who attacked you. Oh, and Jemima remembered a lot of things as well, so if your account doesn't match up with hers, I'll assume you're lying."

"You're not going to believe me," Pouncival said with a sigh, because who would believe a tale about a crazy cat called Carbucketty who just so happened to perfectly resemble him?

"Try me," Plato urged, and even though his grip on Pouncival's arm was still rough enough to hurt, Pouncival swore he heard sympathy there in his voice.

Pouncival bit his lip, wondering exactly how he should tell his story. "When I came across the scene, Jemima was already in the bin. She was already messed up. There was blood everywhere. I was horrified, obviously. I went over to get a closer look and maybe try to carry her away or something, but… then someone attacked me." He left out that he knew exactly who it was that had attacked him. It was Carbucketty that had appeared in Pouncival's moment of distraction, who had used it to attack him far more violently than usual. Perhaps it was something in the air that night. "Then, I fainted. See? It sounds unbelievable. But it's the truth. Next thing I know, I'm hearing Tumblebrutus calling for Jemima, so I call out to him. And that's the story. You know everything after that."

Plato hummed thoughtfully. "Right. And was there writing on the wall, before you were attacked?"

Pouncival froze. No, there hadn't been. But writing on the wall screamed of Carbucketty. It was exactly the sort of thing the lookalike loved to do to get under Pouncival's skin, drive him inch by inch up into a stupor of panic.

"No. I didn't get a good look," he said. "I think you'll understand if I say I was pretty focussed on Jemima at the time."

"Right." Plato closed his eyes, appearing to consider Pouncival's story. Then he opened them and tilted his head. "Nope, sorry, that won't do. It doesn't match Jemima's story at all."

"Well, tell me what she said then," Pouncival said, feeling suddenly weary.

"She said you were arguing with Tumblebrutus, that you attacked him, then ran off after you heard someone coming, to put it simply."

"Well, I'm sure it did happen," Pouncival said, "But…" He bit his lip. He wanted to wrap his arms around himself, but he could hardly do that with both the other toms still holding onto him as they were. "I think. I don't know. I want to say that I've gone mad, but it's all too real for that. All I can say is what I told you is all I remember."

"That doesn't make sense," Plato said coolly. "Unless…" And the tone of his voice was so calm, so reasonable that Pouncival couldn't help but look at him. "Unless there were two of you at the scene."

Pouncival couldn't help the widening of his eyes, or the huff of surprise that escaped his lips. "Would you be open to that theory?" he whispered.

"…Perhaps. Such a thing isn't unheard of," Plato said curtly. He looked past Pouncival, to Tumblebrutus. "Come to think of it, you're an important witness too. Munkustrap said you never said anything about being attacked by Pouncival, but– "

"No, no," Bill Bailey said, shaking his head vehemently. "I wasn't attacked by Pouncival. Pouncival was passed out on the ground because of Carbucketty, then Carbucketty went after me. I couldn't do anything but run."

Plato stared at Bill Bailey suspiciously. "Clarify. Who is Carbucketty?"

"He looks exactly like Pouncival, but without the scar. And he's really mean," Bill Bailey said, scrunching his nose. Apparently, he'd decided to trust Plato. Pouncival could hardly believe it himself, that perhaps Plato knew something of this. Not unheard of? So, there was a chance that this whole screwed up situation could be fixed?

"So I was right," Plato said, sighing heavily. "It's happening again." His grip on Pouncival's arm tightened. "And Tumble? Can I ask you something? Did you come back to the scene, after you left?"

What sort of a question is…? But the moment Bill Bailey shook his head, looking innocently perplexed, Plato's face darkened.

"So who are you, then?" he hissed. "Because you're not Tumblebrutus."

"N-no?" Bill Bailey said, but it came out sounding unsure. He looked back and forth between Plato and Pouncival's faces. "You… are you going to hurt us?" Bill Bailey asked.

Plato didn't reply. His face was drawn, as if they'd both done something to deeply offend him. "Pouncival, you – and the real Tumblebrutus – are good cats. But this is too risky. I'm going to– "

Pouncival let out a sudden shout of agony as Bill Bailey, with strength that Pouncival had never expected out of him, tugged Pouncival towards him, just barely freeing him from Plato's grasp and tearing something in Pouncival's shoulder in the process. Plato snarled, moving in pursuit, but Bill Bailey was already sprinting, tugging Pouncival behind him.

"This is no good," Pouncival panted, his right arm dangling limply beside him. Plato'd been holding on hard. His shoulder was probably dislocated. "I can't climb, all I can do is run, Bill Bailey, stop, let's just hear him out! He's a Jellicle!"

"He'll hurt us," Bill Bailey cried. Pouncival couldn't argue. Plato's expression had been decidedly unpleasant.

So they continued to run. And, by some miracle, they lost Plato. Whether it was because he'd given up chasing or that they were simply too quick, Pouncival had to wonder.