ART OF DECEPTION, continued

From the death-cell confession of Kevya of Morvogrod -

Someday, your precious system here will collapse.

I will not live to see it happen, this I know. But I can envision it, and the prospect fills me with hope. And when the system collapses, your veil of lies will fall from the eyes of the creatures you oppress here, and they will see your evils for what they really have been. They will be free to speak openly of the daily horrors which they dare not even whisper about now, for fear of a visit from your soldiers in the middle of the night. They will come to recognize you for the monsters you are, and they will curse your memory as I curse you now.

There have been many monsters in Morvogrod. Lebrevnya was a minor monster, I realize now, even if he was the one who ordered the invasion of my homeland. And Kosturnya, he is not even worth mentioning in the same breath as your more accomplished tyrants. Sasha Tomitky, he knew the worst of your monsters firstpaw when he was brought to the court of Yosef. Now there was a creature worthy of the label monster. Yosef's reigns of terror made Lebrevnya seem a rank amateur by comparison. As horrendous as I found things here in Morvogrod under Lebrevnya and Kosturnya, it must have been so much worse for poor Sasha under Yosef. I can scarcely imagine anybeast, much less a sensitive soul like Sasha, having to endure such a regime day after day, season after season. Of course, Yosef was so intent upon maintaining his own power and rooting out his real and imagined enemies for destruction, he could not be expected to devote more than a fleeting and cursory interest to his lowly court composer. I have heard it said that Yosef would often talk about Sasha right in front of him, as if the songmaster wasn't even there. Perhaps this was actually a relief for Sasha; knowing his temperament, I am sure he would rather have been ignored by Yosef than to have had the full attention of a bloodthirsty, paranoid dictator like that. Sometimes it is better to keep your peace and try to stay invisible, however bruising that might be to an artist's ego.

When Yosef died, there must have been a great relief throughout Morvogrod and the lands it occupied. I cannot conceive that it could have been otherwise. There may not have been celebrations in the streets, and nobeast may have spoken aloud that they were glad of his passing - at least not in public - but I am sure the feeling was there nonetheless. Not even the sense of patriotism that Yosef played upon during Morvogrod's tensions with Mossflower and Redwall could counterbalance the environment of oppression he engendered.

I thought I had seen the worst that Morvogrod had to offer when I worked under Lebrevnya. But I was wrong. My treachery remained undiscovered after I killed Lebrevnya, and that allowed me to stay in place so that I could assassinate Kosturnya as well. And when I still was not found out after that second murder - thank fates and all seasons! - I became court artist under my third master in Morvogrod, Yurdurov.

What can I say about Yurdurov? Here was a beast with the potential to be every bit as bad as Yosef. It was The Terror all over again. Yurdurov, of the secret police. Yurdurov, who might have harbored suspicions about the deaths of his predecessors, and manipulated the situation to ensure that he would become next leader of Morvogrod. Yurdurov, whose contacts from his old post might allow him total suffocating control over his empire to a degree not seen since the days of Yosef, and whose rabid nationalism would almost certainly have led him into all-out war with Redwall and Mossflower. Lebrevnya had been bad enough, but I had not seen true evil firstpaw until I met Yurdurov.

I know now - yes, I can hear the whispers and rumors as well as anybeast - that Yurdurov was indeed looking hard for the conspirators who may have poisoned Lebrevnya and Kosturnya. But when one harbors such suspicions, one thinks of those who prepare the leaders' food and drink, or perhaps wash their clothes. The court artist is not who immediately comes to mind as one who could commit such deeds as I have done. And so I remained free from the cloud of suspicion, free from the imposition of late-night interrogations, even as I plotted Yurdurov's doom.

I had to kill Yurdurov. I could not have allowed him to live, anymore than I could have allowed poor Ogachev to live after that mole had seen me performing my fighting exercises. Yes, I had fulfilled my mission by murdering the one who'd ordered the occupation of my homeland, and then sweetened the deal by claiming his successor as well. But Yurdurov was so much worse than the other two. I knew that if he were allowed to consolidate his power and take full command of Morvogrod, my countrybeasts - and many others besides, both here and elsewhere - would suffer far more than before.

The question was, how? Even if I were to remain at liberty, that would not accomplish my goal. My freedom, my very life, was of no consequence compared to the threat posed by Yurdurov. But this new tyrant was not interested in my art, and made no pretense of appreciation for the sake of appearing refined in such matters. He was a ruthless apparatchik, unconcerned with social niceties, interested only in politics and security. I tell you now that I came very close to abandoning my charade altogether and attacking him directly. If we had ever been alone in the same room together, I might have done just that. I know I could have killed him. But since I was not even remotely within his sphere of concern, what reason would he have had to meet privately with his forgotten court artist? And how was I to kill him with my art if he wanted nothing to do with it?

So, I did what I was best at. I bided my time, and observed my new master as well as I could. I still made art - even if Yurdurov was immune to my talents, other high-ranking court officials still clamoured for it. And although it took over a season, during which paranoia grew palpable in the palace and even I was the recipient of more than one analyzing stare, I at last found my quarry's weakness, as I always do.

Yurdurov was not moved by things of sight or sound - to him, vision and hearing were the tools of power, not to be squandered on mere frivolities like art and music. And he was far too unimaginative and unromantic to be snared by the kind of aromatic trap I'd set for Lebrevnya. No, Yurdurov's weakness was his sense of touch. He was a tactilly-oriented beast, constantly touching, caressing objects with his pawtips as if analyzing them thus would reduce them to their most basic nature and allow him to understand them fundamentally. This was not a character trait that was ever talked about - indeed, one did not talk about Yurdurov much at all, if a creature knew what was good for it - but I observed it enough times on the few occasions when I did find myself in Yurdurov's presence. This would be my avenue of attack. I could only hope it would work. And whether I was caught this time was unimportant.

I see that vase on the table now before us. It was in Pryshenko's paws when he and his guards came to arrest me. Of course, knowing its true nature, the Information Minister had it wrapped in a cloth so that his fur would not come into direct contact with the glaze. It did not slip from his grasp even after I grabbed his blade and rammed it into his brain. He slid to the floor with my vase still held in his paw. I suppose I should be flattered; while my art has killed Morvogrodians before, tonight was the first time I had the pleasure of seeing one of you die while holding it.

I was going to use the same kind of poison that I'd put into the page edges of Kosturnya's picture flip-book, but it turned out that that particular type of poison was neutralized by the glaze. I could not use just any kind of poison, in the same way that I could not use just any kind of glaze. The coating on the vase had to seem superficially stable like any ordinary potter's glaze, and yet slowly wear off upon repeated handling. The poison was in the glaze, and was of a type that would be absorbed through the fur and skin and directly into the body. But you already know this from your analysis, otherwise Minister Pryshenko would never have moved openly against me. I could not depend upon Yurdurov to lick his paws after every handling of the vase the way Kosturnya did after entertaining himself with his flip-book. I needed something more subtle and yet more sure. I was free to experiment to my heart's content; with a new tyrant in power who did not care about me one way or the other, I was seldom disturbed in my studio, and even if I had been, who would have been able to tell whether I was concocting poisons or paint colors? And since paints themselves are often toxic, it is hardly surprising that I was never caught before now.

Yurdurov displayed no outward emotion when I presented him with the vase on the occasion of the first season anniversary of his reign. But I could see his paws caressing it probingly from the moment he received it, and I knew he was getting pleasure from the experience. I made that vase especially for him, remember, and I made it irresistible. Look at it now before you, on the table there; look at its exquisite curves and undulations, almost like it is flowing while standing perfectly still. Look at its perfect compactness, the economy of line and form. Even knowing how deadly it is, doesn't some part of you still yearn to reach out and touch it now, to feel the smooth flow of its shape under your paws? For Yurdurov, it would have been unthinkable not to touch it. Had it not been poisoned, it might almost have made him an admirer of mine after all.

But then he died. The third ruler of Morvogrod to die in such a relatively short time, that would have been sure to arouse suspicions under any circumstances. But Yurdurov's cronies - such as Pryshenko, who I am sure had an eye on the throne for himself - were quick to investigate this time. The entire secret police force and all of its investigators descended upon the palace, scrutinizing every aspect of Yurdurov's death and circumstances. Expert eyes diagnosed the cause of death as poisoning - you do not have to tell me this, I know I used a less subtle poison this time that was sure to be detected - and in time the vase was pinpointed as the murder weapon. And since there could be but one beast in all of Morvogrod with the skill and expertise to devise such a weapon of beauty, it brought your guards to my door this night.

I have no regrets. Yurdurov is dead, Pryshenko is dead as an added bonus, and that is all that matters. The time of Morvogrod as a threat to its neighbors and a terror to its own citizens is drawing to an end. I was resigned to my own death long before I ever set foot inside this palace. And I have achieved far more than I had ever hoped to accomplish. Everything has unfolded as it was meant to. I have no regrets.