Oliver woke the next morning feeling very warm and extra stretchy.
Being a chimp hadn’t been a whole lot of fun. Its movements felt awkward, like being a small hairy man. But this was different.
He twisted his long torso, touching a hind paw to the tip of his nose, and rolled over, setting himself into a crawling position. Then feeling for the edge of the bed, he lost his balance and flopped off—
Gritting his surprisingly sharp teeth in anticipation of impact, all he felt was the muffled thump of wood against dense fur. He shook it off and got to his feet.
Oliver found that moving on all fours wasn’t like crawling as a boy or even a chimp. His legs worked like powerful springs he could release to launch himself this way and that, and if he used all four together, he could fling himself straight up into the air, which of course, he did repeatedly.
In the bedroom mirror, he caught glimpses of a large cat pouncing, albeit clumsily. Gray with black spots, a fluffy white belly, and a long thick tail, he had never seen one, of whatever he was now, before.
Out of curiosity, Oliver tried speaking, but it came out as an assortment of half growls, half hisses, nothing close to recognizable words.
Testing what had been his hands, he found they were really good at grabbing the blanket off his bed and then tearing it to shreds, but not much else. Claws extended easily whenever he ‘stretched’ his fingers, so easily, in fact, that it was almost harder keeping them in… He guessed he wouldn’t be writing for a while.
The windows were still dark, the Sun was still coming up, and he was still bored, so he padded out to the hall, tripping over his paws as he went until he was just pulling himself along with his forelegs, dragging the rear behind.
He practiced prowling up and down the hall, counting in his head, ‘One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four,’ a number assigned to each foot, until eventually, he was able to manage an even stride.
The door to Scaggs’ room was open a crack. She always wheezed when she slept. Not much, not usually, but now it sounded comically loud.
Toying with an idea, Oliver nuzzled the door open, brushing it aside with his thick fur. He pulled alongside her bed and, coiling his back, pushed down hard with his front paws, shooting himself upright, then pushed off with his hind paws and unsprung his back.
As he floated at the apex of the jump, everything slowed down, like time itself was standing still, and he took that moment to look down on the room. Scaggs was sleeping peacefully on her side, a pillow nestled against her tummy. Then the floor rushed up to meet him, and Oliver fumbled the landing, ending up on his belly, but wasn’t the worse for it, so he tried again.
Yep, Ms. Scaggs sure is a sound sleeper, he thought as his head brushed the ceiling. When he landed, he couldn’t resist any longer and, launching himself up onto the bed, landed with his front paws on either side of her. But this didn’t rouse her. She just kept on snoring.
—Fire burst from a symbol on her headboard, inches from his face—
Jumping in a panic, he flipped onto the dresser, flailing wildly as half a dozen items, combs and hand mirrors, shot out from under him.
Oliver fell to the floor with a commanding thud, and Scaggs bolted upright as he bolted out the door.
Her laughter faded to a weary sigh. She was usually groggy in the morning, especially before her rot brew, but now she sounded different, fatigued.
“You’re certainly having more fun today.” With a wave of her hand, she ignited a row of candles. “Come on, come here. I’ve never seen a snow leopard before.”
Oliver skulked back into the room.
“Divine’s bastard, you are one pretty cat.”
He jumped up onto the bed, next to her.
She flinched. “Scary too.”
Finally, he got a good look at Ms. Scaggs. Her eyes were red and puffy in that way that made her look old, that way she’d looked after he’d had his fall. Something was up.
“I’ll tell you about it later, boy—err kitty.” She stretched her arms, letting out a yawn, before booping him on the snout. “Now would you mind? I need to get dressed, and we need to come up with a plan for our visitor.”
? ? ?
When Thelemule stepped through the door to the library, he looked exactly like a man who had just seen a very large cat eyeing him hungrily, then skidded to a stop while Scaggs grinned behind him.
“All right,” she said, acting like Oliver wasn’t there. “As promised, one day in my library.”
“An-and the rest of the house,” Thelemule started the sentence stammering but was in control of his voice by the end.
“Sure, fine, just let me know if you leave the room, will you?”
“You’re not staying?” His eyes flinched back-and-forth between Scaggs and the snow leopard.
“Oh no, I have work to do downstairs. Have fun and remember… no writing anything down or casting any spells. You’ll set off the wards if you do.” And with that, she exited the room, leaving the two alone.
Oliver blinked, but otherwise kept still, sitting up on his front legs.
The library was arranged with floor-to-ceiling shelves along the outer walls and a row of shorter waist-high shelves in front of those. The thing about this arrangement was that in order to take a book down, you had to turn your back to the center of the room… as well as to any large cats that might happen to be sitting there.
Whenever Thelemule’s back was turned, Oliver began counting to three, starting over at one if the old wizard looked at him. It took a good five minutes, but as soon as he got to three the first time, he ran, quick as he could, at Thelemule. Still clumsy, only having been a cat for a few hours, his stride wasn’t graceful, but he managed a perfect stop two seconds later, just as Thelemule spun around.
Oliver sat there and blinked.
Shaken but seemingly undaunted, Thelemule engaged a strategy of reading while facing Oliver and glancing up every few seconds.
Once the wizard became too comfortable, and Oliver got to three again, he picked up his hindquarters and took a careful step forward. Thelemule glanced up, and Oliver sat back down, staring at him.
Oliver waited until the wizard looked down, then padded over and hid behind a low shelf. He began stalking around the perimeter, ducking back and forth between the inner and outer shelves, keeping out of sight. But unable to see his prey while doing so, he got bored and began a game of jumping as high as he could, up from behind the lower bookcases, while holding himself perfectly still whenever he was in the air above them, staring at Thelemule.
But eventually, he got bored of that too and started browsing the lower bookshelves.
Thelemule, engrossed in a book, dropped his guard. Oliver charged.
The old wizard side-stepped behind a sofa, and Oliver plowed straight into it, spinning onto his back.
“You’re the witch’s boy, aren’t you?” Thelemule stroked his beard. “I should have picked up on that from the way you aren’t used to that body. You move like a kitten. But what really gave it away is that you’ve been reading the titles off of books for the last half an hour.”
He continued, “That, and you’re about his size. I could be wrong, I could just be talking to an animal like a madman, but if you can’t understand me,” he shrugged, “no one will know. Oh, come on, tap with your paws, once for yes, twice for no. Am I right?”
Unsure what else to do, Oliver tapped once.
“Okay, and just to double-check, am I wrong?”
Oliver tapped twice.
“Well then, nice to meet you, but honestly you almost gave me a heart attack.”
Oliver glanced at the doorway, thinking of getting Ms. Scaggs.
“You’re still welcome to keep an eye on me. I’m not doing anything untoward, I assure you. So why not pick out a book, and we can read together?”
Oliver led Thelemule to a low shelf and put his paw on a primer Scaggs had assigned him.
“Ahh, basic geometry, I suppose everyone needs to start somewhere,” the old wizard said as he pulled it off the shelf and set it on a stand for Oliver.
Thelemule leaned over every once in a while to turn the pages until Oliver tried his spark and found that if he used it like he did to clean the walls, he could make the pages turn. He still couldn’t use his spark fully in this transformed state, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the chimp.
Thelemule coughed. “So, you’re a mage? I’d show you some magic, but in here with all the wards, I think I might catch fire.”
They were both poring over books when Scaggs poked her head in. “I see you’ve made a new friend?”
Thelemule looked up from his book. “Yes, well, he is incredibly well mannered.”
“I was talking to the cat.”
Oliver tapped once.
“Oh,” said Thelemule, “It’s one tap for yes and two for no. I’m sorry we haven’t been introduced. What’s his name?”
“Throat Ripper,” she growled.
“Odd name for a boy.”
“Fine, it’s Oliver.”
Thelemule held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Oliver.” Oliver put his paw on the wizard’s hand and they shook. “So glad to see things worked out between you two. Well, wait, this isn’t a punishment, is it?”
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Oliver tapped twice.
“Good. Good.” Thelemule smiled, then turned to Eliza. “Have you been messing around with old ‘Whatshiznams’ spells? Funny, I didn't see any books like that.” His eyes narrowed. “And I thought we had an agreement?”
“It’s not Whatshiznam’s magic. The book I’ve been working from doesn’t belong to me, so it’s not part of the deal.”
“Interesting tactic. Sell all the books you don’t want me to see and then buy them back later?”
She shook her head. “There are two books in this house that aren’t mine. A copy of the dictionary and the book you’re referring to. They both belong to Oliver. So off limits.”
“Fine,” he said, snapping his book shut. “I’m just about done here anyway.”
“Really? That was fast.”
“There is something else I want to discuss with you. But seeing as I have most of the day left, I was hoping you might lend me young ‘Throat Ripper,’ was it? For an hour or two.”
“No,” she said, looking cross. “I need to talk to him… and to you.”
“I know, I know, that light show in the harbor? We’ll get to that later. I just want to show him something in the park.”
“He’ll make a scene,” said Scaggs.
“A good one if he’s with me. People do tend to trust wizards, especially those of us who don’t go around incinerating things at random.”
A tinge of shame on her face, she took a step back. “Why do you want to?”
“He is your apprentice, yes?”
Oliver looked at her. She’d never formally named him as such. He’d always assumed his weak spark prevented it.
“Yes, yes, he is,” she said.
“All right, so suppose he makes something of himself one day. He’d be a good friend to have.”
“I’m coming too.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You have far too much work to do.”
“I’m coming,” she said like it was final.
“Honestly, Eliza,” Thelemule held up his hand, “I’m worried that you would make a scene after last night. Best to lie low.”
So, after much grumbling, a few casual threats from Thelemule that he would stay the full twenty-four hours, and a tap of agreement from Oliver, she let them go.
As soon as they were out on the street, people began to stare.
“Don’t mind them, Oliver,” Thelemule assured him. “This will be fun …and profitable. But then the two are synonymous, are they not?”
? ? ?
Twenty minutes later they entered a large manicured park. Oliver realized it was Sunday, not that it mattered working for Ms. Scaggs; she treated every day pretty much the same, but on a bright and cheerful Sunday like today, the park was filled with families picnicking, women under parasols, and children chasing after small dogs.
Hushed murmurs rose as people stepped away to the other side of the path. A child pointed, and his mother gasped, snatching him up. Thelemule plopped down on an open bench while Oliver looked up at him, worried he’d made a terrible mistake.
“You’d better do something cute, and fast. I think I see a constable headed this way.”
Cute? thought Oliver, um okay… and he rolled onto his back, pawing at the air the way he’d seen housecats do a thousand times.
“Normally, we ought to have a plant in the crowd,” Thelemule said under his breath. “Keep it up!”
Anticipating disaster, Oliver played as cutely as possible while a group of three young women edged forward, cautiously curious.
“Can I pet him?” one of the girls asked.
“Sure, he loves that, but it’ll cost half a florin. Feeding a snow ‘tiger’ isn’t cheap.”
The girl, a young woman in a fancy blue dress, handed Thelemule a coin, then went over and patted Oliver on the head.
Unsure what else to do, he stood perfectly still. It did feel good, the way she fluffed up his fur, like scratching an itch, and she was polite about it, so he let her finish.
Thelemule took his hat off and flipped the girl’s coin into it.
Then the other girls each tossed a coin into the hat, went over, and started rubbing Oliver’s belly.
“One at a time if you please, gentle ladies, and on the head and neck only,” Thelemule announced.
The girls formed a line and began taking turns.
“Can we feed him?” a man asked as a small boy, his son presumably, poked his head out from behind the man’s legs.
“Sure. It’ll cost you a florin, and mutton only, no trotters.” Thelemule pointed to a food cart.
The man nodded and jogged over while Oliver watched in disbelief. He’d left his child within striking distance of a very large, very dangerous predator, one he’d just been told was hungry. The boy couldn’t be older than seven; this was ridiculous.
The father returned, tossed a coin into the hat, and handed a roasted sheep’s leg to his son.
The boy inched forward, holding the meat up, as much in defense as in offering. Oliver wasn’t sure what to do, so he sat there as the child tossed the leg at him and let it bounce off his chest.
He waited to see if the boy was going to pick it up and try again, but the boy backed away, hiding behind his father. Evidently, he was not. Oliver had eaten food off the ground as a human, so a little dirt wasn’t going to stop him, and he started picking at it.
“He doesn’t really eat like a tiger,” one of the girls said.
“Have you ever seen one?” asked Thelemule.
“No.”
The wizard raised a finger. “Then he eats exactly like a tiger.”
“He’s kind of small for a tiger,” another said.
“He’s young, practically a baby,” said Thelemule, and at that, the three girls each tossed another coin into the hat and lined up again.
“How’s it going there ‘Throat Ripper’,” Thelemule whispered. “Had enough?”
Oliver didn’t mind the attention. Thelemule kept people polite, and the little boy feeding him was both cute and the best meal he could remember. That and they’d collected almost two weeks’ worth of his regular wages, in what, five minutes?
He tapped his paw twice for ‘no’ and rolled onto his back, playing again with his imaginary ball of yarn. The line lengthened, and people asked everything from “What’s his name?” to which Thelemule answered, “Snowflake,” to “How much for a paw print?” to which Thelemule answered, “Two florins.”
A plump man in a gray tweed coat with a girl in a fancy gold dress in tow, made his way to the front of the line.
“I’ll give you one thousand sovereigns for him,” the man proclaimed.
Smirking, Thelemule looked down at Oliver and winked. “He’s ah, not for sale.”
The girl tugged at the man’s sleeve, shooting him a dirty look.
“He’s such an exquisite cat, and it is my daughter’s birthday. How about two thousand?”
“Are you sure you’re not for sale?” Thelemule asked Oliver optimistically.
He tapped twice with his paw and whimpered.
“Oh fine.” Thelemule glowered. “No sale… and sorry folks,” he addressed the crowd, “we really must be going.”
As they left the park, Thelemule said, “Forty Florins. Not bad for an hour’s work, is it?”
Oliver tapped once in agreement.
“It’s all yours. I’d hand it to you now, but you know, no hands.”
Oliver purred. It was more money than he’d had in his entire life, if he didn’t count the coins he’d stolen from Ms. Scaggs, and for what, to let people feed him?
“The important takeaway, my boy, is magic, not snow leopards. Do you have any idea what would have happened if I had brought a real leopard into the park? I’d be in jail, and the leopard would be dead. Magic lets people experience things they couldn’t otherwise, whether it’s petting an adorable but ferocious kitty, or wielding lightning in the palm of their hand.”
He shook his hat, jingling the coins inside.
“This was fun, I haven’t busked in years, but it was also small po-ta-toes. If you get some big new idea, and you want help getting it off the ground, you can always come to me. I know this must be a bit to process, for a boy such as yourself, but don’t worry about it now, just keep it in mind.”
? ? ?
When they got back, Scaggs was waiting on her doorstep, fidgeting.
“See, I returned him, no worse for wear. He’s got a full belly and a fuller purse.” Thelemule tilted the hat full of coins toward her.
“Where did you take him, exactly?” she said, annoyed.
“You’ll have to ask him.” Thelemule scratched Oliver’s ears. “Now, to our discussion?”
Ms. Scaggs stepped aside and let them in, then led Thelemule up to the library, and closed the door behind them.
…But it’s not like a cat had any trouble eavesdropping, and after Oliver found the keyhole, he could see quite clearly too.
“So, what is this about?” Scaggs asked.
“I’m not trying to steal anything from you, Eliza, I swear. I just wanted to see your library to make sure you were everything I thought you’d be.”
“And?”
“Both more and less, but mostly more,” Thelemule said. “Though, after that light show in the harbor last night, I spent most of my time making sure you were the one responsible.”
Scaggs looked at him sideways. “What do you know about that?”
“I know you’re the only one who could have pulled it off.”
“Hey, I didn’t have anything to do with that.” Her face contorted.
“I never said—” Thelemule took a step back. “I think you have the wrong idea. I only wanted to congratulate you on a job well done, a product well made.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Scaggs deflated.
“Did it not work as intended?”
“I never ‘intended’ to blow up a ship full of sailors.”
Thelemule groaned. “Eliza, you’re not responsible every time anyone misuses your craft. If that were the case, every swordsmith in Noria would be hanged.”
“I just need to think things through.” She sighed.
“Would you like some help? Actually, I came to offer you a partnership.”
She paused, looking at him like he was mad, then said, “Well, you’ve gone through all this trouble, make your pitch.”
“What really? okay…” Thelemule cleared his throat and spoke in a prepared voice, “Eliza, you’ve been a truly terrifying rival, just a nightmare to deal with, really.”
“Thanks?”
“And now, I find I hold you in more esteem than most of my supposed allies. Turnsley has no imagination, and Charwhorm, he’s too worried about counting every pence…” Thelemule’s voice went back to normal. “No, no, this isn’t working, is it?”
“Only if you want me to tell you to go off and die in a ditch.”
“Eliza… weapons will be made whether you make them or not. People will die. We can’t help that, whether it’s by spark rifle or bare hand. On the continent, more people die every year to the plague than our weapons will ever kill. Really, when you think about it, our role is to be kingmakers, to make sure the best side—the right side—wins. That’s what I do.”
“I don’t know if I can make that distinction.” She crossed her arms.
“So, sell your designs to me.”
“Okay,” she huffed. “You can go off and die now.”
“Tell me, if you got out of the business, what would you do?”
“Other than be an arms dealer? Just about anything really.”
“Then think on this, Eliza. Now that people have seen what you can do, they won’t stop asking for it. You know the council. They’ll demand it eventually. Sell me your designs, and they can come to me instead. I’ll even split the profit with you. Then you can go off and spend all your time doing… whatever.” Thelemule brushed his sleeve.
“It’s not that easy.” She shook her head. “You’d need my fire spark to make the design work.”
“So, you handle that one little detail and leave the rest to me. I’ll take the burden.”
“And the profit?” she asked.
“I am a money-grubbing bastard. I’ve never hidden it. All the more reason to partner with me. Let me do everything that gives you trouble sleeping at night, and I’ll make you rich.”
“You know…” She held up a finger. “I feel a vomit coming on.”
“It would improve your standing with the guild. That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”
She bit her lip. “Would it get rid of you if I told you I’d think about it?”
“That’s all I ask.” He bowed theatrically. “And Eliza, if I could make one small suggestion? A gift of advice from one potential business partner to another.”
“Fine,” she grumbled.
“It’s just that you’re quite clever about solving everyone else’s problems—like those ‘ghosts’ at the ball—but when you try to solve your own, things tend to explode. The next time you feel like blowing something up, think about what you would do if you were your own client.”
“I think I’ve heard enough for—”
He cut her short, “Normally I’d stay out of your business, but as I’m still replacing the windows on my top floor, and Stephan, my butler, you remember him?”
“Yes.” Her expression fell. “Tell him I’m sorry. Will he be all right?”
“The ringing in his ears is getting better. I know I must sound like evil incarnate, but the alternatives are much, much worse, I assure you.”
“Fine, I said I’ll think about it and I will.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“Good, now don’t you have a sewer to get back to?”
“Good day, Saint Eliza.” He tipped his hat.
Once Thelemule had gone, she turned to Oliver. “You heard all that?”
Ms. Scaggs sat down, cross-legged, beside him. “About the fire in the harbor, I mean? It was a flame bloom.” As her facade dropped away, Oliver realized why she’d seemed tired all day. She looked terribly, horribly depressed.
“I hadn’t thought about my work hurting people. Not really. I always thought of it as helping the government, or just… an engineering problem.”
He didn’t know what else to do, so he tried to hug her, but ended up stumbling as he could only stand with one of his front paws off the ground at a time.
Rolling her eyes and smiling, but still looking sad, Eliza whispered, “You really are too adorable. You know that?” She rested her head on his shoulder. “I suppose if I left the business, it’d be good for you. You wouldn’t have to clean any more soot. I wonder what I’d do for a living? Probably coast on my savings for a while, go back to mediating ‘not-a-vampire’ disputes?” She snorted softly. “Maybe try the whole turning people into eagles for money thing… What could possibly go wrong?... besides windows.” Exhaustion turned her chuckle into a sigh.
As she buried her face in his fur, two tears seeped through. She began to shiver and stiffened, trying to control it, but that only made it worse.
Remembering his own shivering after he stole her pens, Oliver leaned against her, and Ms. Scaggs, Eliza, let go. More tears ran through his coat as the sobs came and came.
Finally, she let out a long breath and took her head off his shoulder. “That explosion, the guild told me it was a bunch of bad guys that blew themselves up, but I need to find out what really happened. Will you be all right here, alone?”
Oliver tapped once, and they went to the library. She picked out books for the evening, and sat them on stands for him to read. A while later, she stopped by and laid out a plate of food.
“I’m off. I left the back window open in case you need to use the garden for… well, you know. But try to keep out of sight, okay?”
He tapped once, curled up, and started to read.
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Who would win in a fight? (say why in the comments)
