Oliver had spent the last few hours sitting on top of a neighboring roof, looking down at Ms. Scaggs’ house. Her satchel was strapped to him, hanging neatly between his forelegs. It dragged a bit whenever he landed a jump, but besides that, wasn’t too bad.
She had told him to watch the house until she got back, but not to do anything if anyone entered, just stay outside, so he could warn her what she’d be dealing with.
From this vantage point, the clock tower in the market square was peeking out between two roofs, its hour hand almost to the seven. The windows of Scaggs’ house were still glowing dim red in the muted light of the overcast day. And then, one by one, they blinked out.
The house was not immediately set upon by an army of burglars as he was expecting. Instead, a lone red-haired woman ran up to the door, and as she bent over in heaving breaths and knocked, Oliver jumped down to greet her.
“Rafe… is at… The Dolphin…” Miranda wheezed. “Is… Scraggs… here?”
After tapping twice for ‘no,’ Oliver paced back and forth. He didn’t want to leave the house unguarded, but Scaggs had made him promise to go after the book, given the chance. The house was still locked and gated, the Sun was still up, and she was due back at any moment.
So, should he wait? Imagining Rafe passed out drunk with his head lying on top of the book, it would be so easy to grab…
Oliver darted toward the docks, but Miranda was still heaving from exhaustion. He ran back, meowed at her, and darted off again, this time stopping a short distance away.
She followed, but after watching her trip over herself, trying to keep up, Oliver thought that forcing her to go at her own pace would be a good idea, so he ran ahead and waited on top of a building that overlooked the pier. A few minutes later, when she finally got there, he jumped down.
“Your problem…” Miranda wheezed, “is that you have… too many legs. When I left… Rafe was at the bar… same as ever, like nothing happened.”
Oliver wiggled the bag until she went through it and brought out the spirit board.
She looked at him in a panic. “I can’t read. I’m sorry.”
He’d spent too much time around wizards and mages. While most people could make out a few hundred words, it wasn’t uncommon for someone not to be able to. He sighed as she put it away.
“Should we go after him?” she asked.
He tapped once.
“You just gonna jump him?”
Oliver tapped twice, ran over to the Dolphin, and leapt up to the windows on the upper deck. Clear as day, Rafe was sitting at the bar, huddled over a mug.
“Hey! Is that your cat?” the bouncer yelled from below.
“Yes yes, sorry. Well, he belongs to a friend, but I’m taking care of him. He’s really well trained. Ol—Throat Ripper, come down here, boy.”
Oliver jumped down next to Miranda, and she scratched him behind the ears.
The bouncer, a large man with a shaved head, crossed his arms. “He can’t come in.”
Not this again. Oliver sighed, then cautiously approached the man, who backed away clutching a stick. So, Oliver flopped on his back and began playing with an imaginary ball of twine.
The bouncer put the stick down, bent over, and rubbed Oliver’s belly. It tickled, and Oliver’s instinct was to bite the man’s hand off, but he rolled upright and held out a paw to shake.
“He’s a circus kitty.” Miranda scratched his back. “Good with kids.”
The bouncer chuckled, then reached down and shook his paw.
“I’ll take him to my room if things get rowdy,” she offered.
After thinking on this for a while, the man shook his head. “No pets. He can wait out here if you want.”
? ? ?
“Messer’s down there, second door on the right,” Miranda’s voice came from just outside the alley as ‘Throat Ripper’ waited on a roof near the back.
“Ohh, really?” Rafe’s voice mocked her. “I ain’t falling for that.”
Jumping down, Oliver raced onto the street just in time to see his older brother step back into a well-lit area with lots of witnesses. Desperate, he sprinted past Rafe, blocking the path to the Dolphin.
“You working for Scaggs now?” Rafe shot Miranda a curt glance and drew his knife, a slightly smaller fighting knife than the one he’d lost under Oliver’s bed. “Outta my way, cat. I’ll gut you.”
“I could call the cops on you, you know.” Miranda circled around to stand next to Oliver as he debated whether or not to spark the knife out of Rafe’s hand.
“Go ahead. Let them search me, all I care. You ain’t got nothing,” he said flatly.
“We’ve got a witness.”
“What, the cat?” Rafe tucked the knife away and brushed by them, heading back to the Dolphin.
If Rafe had already gotten rid of the book, sold it, they’d need to start searching all over again. And Rafe had to have gotten the money for that new knife from somewhere… Oliver started getting that sinking feeling.
“You must really hate your brother,” Miranda called after him.
Hesitating, Rafe glanced over his shoulder. “He threw in with the witch. He’s her pet now. If that cat didn’t eat him.” He resumed his gait.
“That book you stole. It wasn’t what you think. It was to help Oliver.”
Rafe stopped, but didn’t look back.
“Scaggs said he might never… stand again without it,” she pleaded.
Rafe resumed walking, his stride unsteady. “It’s his own fault,” his voice wavered. “I didn’t have nothing to do with that.”
Again, Oliver rushed into position between Rafe and the Dolphin, and again, Rafe simply stepped around him. “What’s with that stupid cat, anyway?”
“He can understand you, you know. He’s just trying to help your brother.”
Rafe looked ‘Throat Ripper’ in the eye, then down at the bag Oliver was carrying. “Stupid magic cat. Witch probably fed Ollie to you—I don’t need this.”
Hunching his shoulders, Rafe broke into a trot toward the bar as Miranda yelled, “No dummy the cat is…” Rafe ducked inside. “Ollie…” her voice trailed off.
As desperate as he was, Oliver was glad Rafe hadn’t heard. It was too easy to imagine his brother mocking him endlessly for being stuck as a cat. Still, anytime his fall was brought up, Rafe’s voice softened.
“Do you want me to go in?” Miranda asked.
Oliver tapped twice. What he wanted was for her to go get Scaggs, but he didn’t know how to communicate that. He looked toward Scaggs’ house.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“You want to try Scaggs again?”
He tapped once, thankful for any break, no matter how small.
“Yup, I’m pretty good at guessing what guys want, especially when they can’t talk. It’s a job skill.” Miranda shrugged, crouching next to him.
“Should we both go?”
He tapped twice.
“Alright, you want me to go alone?”
He tapped once and rolled onto his back, elated.
“I’ll tell you about that game sometime,” she winked, “when you’re older.” Then she picked up her skirts and ran off toward Ms. Scaggs’ house.
? ? ?
Oliver was back on the roof… again, watching the pier… again.
If only… he thought.
If only, he hadn’t gone exploring that night. If only, he’d taken the book out of the workshop. If only, he hadn’t been so desperate with this whole stupid notion of becoming a girl. If only… he wasn’t like that in the first place.
He stretched out his front legs, extending his claws. Was he just a cat now?
If only… Rafe wasn’t such a jerk.
Still, he remembered the way his brother called out ‘Ollie’ so gently while searching the house—
And then just like that, Rafe emerged from the Dolphin and started walking. It hadn’t been five minutes since Miranda left to go find Scaggs.
Passing from pool-of-light to pool-of-light cast by the overhead spark lamps, Rafe made his way down the avenue. He was not trying to move quietly or go unseen. In fact, he was kicking a lot of things: barrels, garbage cans, stacks of trash, even a lamp post or two. That looked painful, and as Oliver followed from the rooftops, he got the impression that Rafe was upset about something.
Though still on the same road that ran along the water, the buildings were getting older, more run down, and Oliver had to drop down to ground level as the rooftops became sparse and broken. Rafe was heading into the Dregs.
Oliver had slept there a few times when his stepfather first kicked him off the ship. It was a solemnly desperate place, even more so than the docks. People there weren’t just unemployed. They’d given up, and were usually sick, or injured, or dying.
Up ahead, Rafe approached the one building in the area that wasn’t burnt out or falling down: A chapel, a small stone structure built as a symbol that the Church cared about everyone. It had been abandoned long ago.
When Rafe entered, Oliver crept under the front window.
“You’re back?” a man’s voice scoffed. “I told you to get lost.”
Oliver stuck his head up. A single candelabra lit the chapel. The room was small, having only three rows of pews, one on each side. One held empty dinner plates piled high with chicken bones, and dirty clothes were draped over the altar. Books were stacked on everything, and none of them looked like the Verses. In fact… they looked like the books from the auction.
The man, both tall and stocky, wore a priest’s robe that didn’t quite fit right.
“Sorry ‘father,’ there’s been a bit of a mix-up.” Rafe scratched his head. “You can keep the stone, but that book was for another job.”
“Wha’? You said that book was from Scraggsie’s laboratory.”
“Nope, that was a different one. Pulled two jobs last night, must ‘a got ‘em switched.”
“Bring me my book, now.” The ‘priest’ reared his head as he stepped up to Rafe. He had at least six inches on the boy, and Rafe was taller than most.
“Funny, that’s what the other guy said.”
“Well, if you bring me the other book—”
Rafe interrupted, “The other guy said that too.”
“I’m no fool. I’m not going to just give you that book back.” The priest grabbed Rafe by the collar.
“Then you’re not going to get your book, and begging your pardon, but the other guy is scarier than you.”
The priest hauled Rafe up by the neck. “An’ now?”
Rafe gagged, his legs kicking in the air. “Nice try…” he wheezed.
The man’s face pulled into a grimace. “I don’t know what your game is, but I was promised you could handle this. Bring me what I asked for, tonight.”
And then the ‘priest’ tossed Rafe out on his butt, slamming the door behind him.
Rafe did a double take at ‘Throat Ripper’ and whispered, “Well, I tried… You wouldn’t happen to have a book in that bag of yours?”
No, but he did have all of Scaggs’ notes, which was exactly what the priest must be after. And she had made him promise to get the book back if he could. But still, he wasn’t just going to—
“What have you got there, kitty?”
Oliver put his paw over the bag.
Rafe raised his brow. “You really can understand me, can’t you?”
Oliver pawed at the ground.
“Huh.”
He pawed again and again.
“Alright, if you understand, how about twice for yes, and once for no?”
Reverse!? Damn it Rafe, you always have to make things difficult. Still, Oliver was shocked his brother was actually trying to help.
He tapped twice, this time for ‘yes.’
“Come on.” Rafe led him a short ways from the chapel. “At least show me what’s in the bag.”
So, very slowly, Oliver twisted the satchel off his shoulders and laid it in front of his brother.
The older boy puzzled over the spirit board, setting it aside.
“Are these Scaggs’ notes?” Rafe squinted, trying to read a page.
In answer, Oliver reached out with his spark and set one corner of it on fire, then snuffed it out.
“Okay okay!” Rafe flinched. “I don’t need them all. Just give me something to work with here?”
There were roughly fifty pages stuffed into the satchel, and Rafe started going through them one-by-one, holding each up in turn, waiting for the cat to double tap ‘yes.’
Rafe grew impatient quickly, and as Oliver had no idea which were useful, he ended up approving six at random before the older boy slid the rest into the bag and shoved it back.
“Okay, now we wait a bit, so he’ll think I actually went to meet the ‘other guy.’” Rafe sat down facing the chapel. “I don’t suppose you have my knife in there?”
Oliver tapped ‘no.’ Whenever Rafe had a knife, he usually found a way to torture him with it. Cutting his hair while he slept had not been a one-off, and one of Rafe’s favorite games was playing mumbly-peg with Oliver’s hand. Thankfully, he was good at it.
“It’s just, I keep losing them.”
That was by design. Oliver had gotten good at making sure Rafe lost every knife he got his hands on, and was consistent enough about it so that Rafe thought he was just bad at keeping track of them.
Rafe shrugged. “Can you do anything besides growl and set pants on fire?”
Not anything he thought Rafe would understand. He tapped once for ‘no.’
And as they sat in awkward silence, Rafe stared at him like he was a zoo animal while Oliver tried his best to ignore it.
Rafe grunted. “Is Ollie going to be okay… If we get that book? Yeah, he’s a useless…” He held his tongue, not saying ‘fairy.’ “But I don’t know, that fall looked…”
Was his brother actually pretending to care? Oliver didn’t trust it, but tapped ‘yes’ anyway.
“Good good, he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. Shouldn’t ‘a pissed off Dad like he did.”
…And there was the Rafe he knew and loathed.
Oliver had a hard time getting the satchel back over his shoulder and Rafe only smirked at his efforts, not helping.
“I don’t have time for this.” Rafe finally leaned over, grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck, and pulled the strap over him. “Stupid freaking cat. Stay.” He patted at the ground before heading back into the chapel.
? ? ?
Angry voices shot back and forth, Rafe and the priest, coming from inside. Curious, Oliver peeked through the window just in time to see Rafe get thrown out on his butt, empty-handed.
“Freaking priest ripped me off.” Rafe rubbed his backside.
Freaking priest indeed. Oliver had had enough and jumped through the open window.
“Huh?” the priest grunted as Oliver dashed across the room. He got close enough to the candelabra to reach it with his spark, which he now used to start snuffing out candles.
“Watch out Father!” Rafe yelled, crawling through the window. “I told you the other guy was scary! Sent his thing after you.”
The priest caught sight of the cat just as the last candle went out. “Wha’ is that?” his voice was more irritated than anything, but there was a quiver of fear in it.
Oliver began stalking around the room, trying to say, ‘I am so sick of tapping. I am so sick of freaking tapping. If I have to tap one more time…’ But it all came out as guttural growls and hisses.
Rafe yelled, “It’s not a good idea to piss off a wizard. Just hand over—”
“—Hold on.” The priest stumbled toward the altar. “I ‘ave a crossbow.”
‘No! no! no!’ Oliver pronounced in hisses. He pounced, digging his claws into the back of the priest’s robes, and hung off him, shredding wildly.
“Wahaha!” The man stumbled backwards into a pew, pinching Oliver’s spine, forcing the cat to let go and roll away.
“Just give him the book!” Rafe yelled.
“That’s not going to happen.” The priest heaved a pew, flipping it onto Oliver’s tail. Then he stepped into Rafe and, planting a fist in the boy’s gut, sent him sprawling across the floor.
Frantically, Oliver scratched at the pew, yanking his tail, trying to free himself. The priest took a step back and peered over his shoulder—to a pile, a large book on top, the Sylvan book, with the bloom stone sitting precariously atop that.
Then, kicking another pew at Oliver, the priest jumped back and grabbed the bronze statue of the Song Mother off the altar. He rushed forward and, towering above, lifted the idol for a killing blow—
So, Oliver set his robes on fire.
Flames shot up, burning with blinding light. With a yelp, the priest tossed the idol, and it landed with the crunch of wood just as Oliver pulled his tail free and leapt away.
The fire grew, climbing the priest’s robe, spreading as the man stumbled into stacks of books.
Oliver bit down on the Sylvan book, and the bloom stone toppled off. As a cat, he couldn’t take both…
The acrid taste of bloom stone filled Oliver’s mouth as embers of burning fabric fell from the priest, setting fire to the wooden rafters. Oliver jumped out the window.
A moment later, Rafe rolled out the front door, smoke and light pouring after him. He scrambled to his feet and then toward Oliver, the book clutched in his hands.
“Want to trade?” His brother eyed the stone.
Trying not to think about what he was doing, Oliver raced to the river, opened his mouth, and let the stone fall over the levee’s edge. The water claimed it with a soft kerplunk.
As he glanced back at Rafe, from out of nowhere, the priest hurtled toward them, flames flowing from his robes like wings. The man held a wad of pages out in front, trying to keep them from the fire.
Oliver dodged as he stumbled past, over the edge, and fell into the river.
He jumped atop the levee wall just in time to see the priest disappear in a splash. The man did not resurface.
“Stupid freaking cat. You’re useless too,” Rafe cursed as he stomped forward. He grabbed the strap around Oliver’s neck. “Why’d you dump that? It was worth a fortune.”
Then grabbing Scaggs’ satchel, Rafe stuffed the book inside. “Tell Ollie… tell him I’m…” He bit his lip. “Tell him he owes me, big time.” And he dropped the satchel, skulking off into the night.
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Which of these characters would you most want to hangout with? (why in the comments)
