The Purging Of Ruen - Abridged Read online

  Part of the keep’s roof collapsed in a shudder of explosion. The Dervy ignored it, her gaze dulled in calculation. “But that’s brilliant,” she whispered, and moved closer. “Sedervitz, will you show me the consequence of such work?”

  When Oscar groaned, Sedervitz glanced at him again. “Not that there’ll be a next time,” he said, “but don’t try playing the hero again. Instead, leave it to animals as magnificent as me. Animals worthy.” He sneered. “Look on the bright side; at least animals will no longer need to shy from your disgusting appearance.”

  When he moved to unlock the cage, the Dervy smiled at Sedervitz, and said, “Now might be a rather good time to use a fluff grenade, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  Sedervitz turned to her. “Use a what?”

  Jolted from despondence, Oscar stared at her while trying to remember whether he had one, and where he’d put it. Fiddling with his collapsible tummy, he retrieved the remaining grenade and waved it at her triumphantly. With a flick of his paw, he primed the thing and lobbed it at Sedervitz.

  The cat spun around and stared at Oscar’s tummy. “A collapsible tummy!” he cried.

  In the three seconds remaining, Oscar raised his whiskers, and said, “Where’s your sharpened tube of worming ointment now Sedervitz—”

  But the cat just gaped at him.

  “—because you’re going to jolly well need it, matey!”

  There was a flash and a bang, and then a veritable world of fluff.

  The Dervy leapt sideways and covered all available orifices. While Sedervitz hoiked and wheezed, Oscar retrieved the pawcuffs and lashed him to the cage.

  “Knocked out and pawcuffed in one evening!” the Dervy said. “Lookth like Othcar ith conthiderably more worthy after all!”

  But before anything further was said, there was a tremendous explosion from the keep. The air shuddered and stone spat through it, as the wall groaned and began to divide in two. With a splitting beneath them, the courtyard shifted and lifted sickeningly. Scaffolding collapsed. Catapults growled and slipped from tethers, their ropes screaming at breaking point. Then, like whips slicing air, rigging tore to lash from high points of knot like some tentacled monster gone mad. In the distance, the keep ignited and slid downward in a thundering plume of smoke. Its boom shifted castle grounds further and ruptured rock from battlement above. In the cage, the massive knot of rope began to tear and unwind as shifting catapults bore upon it.

  In despair, the Dervy threw herself at Oscar. He grasped a rope swinging like a python from the catapult and wrapped it around his paw, while the other pulled her closer.

  Amidst the noise of tilting world, Sedervitz glared at him and pulled at the cuffs. “I hope you realise, Dooven,” he said, hitting the cuffs, “that this is all part of my ruse.” As the cage began to twist, Oscar glared back. “A word of advice, Sedervitz,” he said, when their world turned sideways and began to invert. “You really ought to fail more often, you arrogant animal, asit suits you rather well.”

  The wall shattered, anchoring was lost and thirteen catapults slid across the courtyard in a laborious lunge of dance. They buckled, split and groaned, their payloads bursting like rotten fruit and swamping everything beneath in a nightmare of fetid minestrone soup. Above, the massive arm of catapult screamed in release, slamming tight the rope Oscar held. With a pull immeasurable, the cats were launched up and away in a monumental volley of throw. As they rocketed into the sky, the ground beneath burst and splayed, returning the castle back to considerably less than the sum of its parts.

  Soaring through the air, the Dervy screamed into Oscar’s fur. And tearing though cold night, he found that yes, his head could indeed play a tune. When their ascent slowed, the wind’s roar lessened—although the Dervy’s screams did not. Suspended, Oscar scrabbled frantically in his collapsible tummy for the bedsheet, before latching his paws into its threaded cords. When decent began, he threw the sheet upwards, where it whipped and whirled while he struggled with the cord. After a jolt, the sheet snapped open, slowing their descent. The Dervy did not stop screaming, however, until Oscar assured her the worst was probably over. She ceased dousing his fur in warm dribble and removed herself from his coat. Together, they watched the view. Beneath them, the Castle of Ruen boiled in cloud. Beyond it, the Spicy Cabanari waited in splendid indifference upon a black oil of sea. Upon the coastal road, a strobing line of blue flashing lights crept closer. And in the distance, scribed beneath silvered starlight, lay Ruen, sleeping in its cradle of shore, unaware of how close it had come to a most dreadful awakening.

  “Ith it over?” she asked, the cold wind pulling at their whiskers while they clutched each other.

  He smiled. “So you haven’t lost your lisp?”

  She shook her head. “It wath all an act.”

  “And a rather good one it would seem.”

  “But is it really over?”

  “Almost,” he said.

  “Almotht?”

  “I’m rather afraid we have to land first.”

  She smiled and clutched him tighter as they sailed across the sky. “Then I am glad you are driving,”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Although there is perhaps one concern I have.”

  She looked at him while he watched a cliff edge approach.

  “I think I’m about to land,” he said, “in precisely the same manner you tend to park.”

  And indeed they did so.

  Snagged on the side of the cliff, neither was concerned, for this time, not only had they plenty of rope, but an entourage of police cars above.

  ——o0o——

  With his coat thick and fluffy, and sporting a fresh pair of pantaloons, Oscar Teabag-Dooven waited in the Lair of the Catacombs upon a nice, comfortable chair. He tucked his tail in beside him, a bit like a seatbelt, which was a restraint necessary considering the excellent news he’d received on arrival.

  There was a click of door followed by a soft padding of paw when the Loud Purr arrived. Oscar stood, remembering to un-tuck his tail first, as previous occasions of forgetting had made standing unnecessarily complicated. The Loud Purr frowned, his attention on the Catacomb’s collated dossier of Oscar’s curiosa.

  Sitting at his authoritative desk, the large cat remained absorbed in the report. “Pantaloons,” he then said sourly, and without looking up. “I see you exercised the utmost discretion by spectacularly destroying the majority of Ruen's unique archaeological heritage.”

  Oscar remained silent, quite thrilled.

  The Loud Purr waved for him to sit, and he did so, securing himself appropriately.

  “And according to this, you also appear to have committed several counts of theft, one of vandalism, multiple assaults—” he flicked over the page, “—as well as damage to properties,” he emphasised the plural, “considerable trespass and one count of unauthorised chicken insertion.”

  Oscar remained indifferent. Considering the news, such detail hardly mattered.

  The Loud Purr glowered at him, before passing a paper from the dossier. Oscar took it. It was an arrest warrant issued by Ruen’s Police Chief listing the aforementioned crimes, with a large ‘full unrequited pardon’ stamped across it. This was followed by, ‘Dear Oscar Teabag-Dooven, thank you ever so much for all your help,’ scrawled beneath, and signed by the chief. He smiled; such accolade only contributed to his thrill.

  “Isn’t it extraordinary though, Your Stern-Pawiness?” Oscar said. “I mean, what are the chances of such fortune?”

  The large cat glowered then at the report.

  “Really,” he continued, “all that collapsed castle and fermented manure—not to mention that ghastly green fog—and all those explosions and smoke and imploding mountain and probably molten lava—” He stared at the Loud Purr in disbelief. “And yet not one animal trapped within perished!”

  The Loud Purr nodded as he flicked through the dossier. “So it would seem.”

  “Quite extraordinary,” Oscar said. “One would surely think su
ch outcomes are reserved for ridiculous works of fiction, rather than anything resembling real life.”

  The Loud Purr humphed while flicking through further pages.

  “And Horace Humple-Henke?” Oscar asked.

  “In Ruen’s hospital,” the Loud Purr read. “Evidently treating himself for bruises.” He turned over the page. “Before treating the other one hundred and fifty-seven animals trapped similarly.” He looked up with a confused frown, adding, “With considerable help from his wife, apparently.”

  Oscar smiled. “And Sedervitz Tappen-Noo?”

  The large cat perused the document again. “Although there is mention of a Sedervitz,” he said, “it’s only in relation to him not being found.”

  Oscar frowned. If there was to be a casualty, that animal was perhaps most deserving—although he felt a peculiar tug of regret at the thought. “And the Pyjami?”

  At her mention, the Loud Purr pummelled him with a glare, leaving Oscar to feel as though he’d trodden in something nasty that was unlikely to be removed with a discreet wipe.

  The large cat sank, his glare withering into reflection. “The Pyjami,” he said, “is now in a maximum security nursing home in Milos, along with the majority of the Ruling Council, in fact.” He looked at Oscar carefully. “What was your impression of the Pyjami, Pantaloons?”

  Oscar sensed he ought to tread very carefully. “Well, clearly she is quite mad, Your Excessive Fluffiness. She’s also spectacularly bitter, extraordinarily rude and smells quite a lot like mothballs.”

  The Loud Purr nodded, and his gaze fell away. “She was once very different, Pantaloons. Determined and idealistic, perhaps, but steadfastly loyal nonetheless.”

  “You knew her?” Oscar whispered, astonished.

  “Yes. For quite some time I did. Although it was a long time ago.” He stood and went to his tall window, which he peered through for a time. “Animals change, Pantaloons. It is true of us all. But I fear that bitterness, once sown never dies. Bitterness is perhaps, its own nourishment.”

  Unable to imagine the Loud Purr knew a creature as twisted as she, Oscar stared. Nor had he seen the cat so despondent. He leant forward. “Perhaps in the end, Your Extensible Tail-liness, such bitterness consumes only itself.”

  The Loud Purr nodded gravely. “So it would seem.” With a sigh he added, “You understand now why I was ambiguous; that this curiosa was personal.”

  Oscar did indeed. Had he been aware of their acquaintance, confusion over loyalty might have ended in disaster for Ruen.

  “Your intuition, Pantaloons, has served you well, for I did not know which of the two animals was more to blame.”

  “The two animals?” Oscar asked, having been under the impression the Loud Purr had not heard of Sedervitz.

  “Yes, Pantaloons. Family can be terribly complicated sometimes.”

  “Family?”

  “Indeed. Those two animals are as bad as each other. Tell me, Pantaloons, what was your impression of the Dervy?”

  Again Oscar stared, and then blinked in a veritable swathe of the things. He cleared his throat and glanced around for a bucket. “Well,” he began, swallowing instead, “the Dervy is quite a different animal altogether, Your Overtly Deafeningly-ness. She is clever and resourceful. She’s determined and idealistic and steadfastly loyal and—” But he stopped when realising his words echoed the Loud Purr’s description of the Pyjami, the corollary of which left him flabbergasted.

  “I thank you for averting such horror,” the Loud Purr said, in a return to both his usual gruffness and his desk. “In truth, I had no idea things had become so precarious, and knew only that one day the two animals would come to quarrel.” He sat, and after a pause, added, “You have done splendidly, Pantaloons. Your intuition has served you well, and I appreciate your discretion, despite your destroying almost everything.”

  “Well, I must say, were it not for the Dervy and indeed Horace, I fear I would have gotten nowhere. It was fortune and chance alone that permitted reprieve, rather than any skill or ability on my part.”

  The Loud Purr gave him a withering glare.

  “And what’s more,” he continued, oblivious to it, “the Dervy and I cut it remarkably fine. In the end, I could have done little to avert disaster; the collapsing castle saved Ruen, rather than me.”

  Noticing his glare, Oscar stopped, worried he appeared to seek further praise.

  The Loud Purr leant forward to offer words echoing those of the Dervy beneath the black cliffs. “Some Velvet Paws may require fire and brimstone, Pantaloons. But others are of a calibre requiring no such bolstering. You, more than you can ever know, are a Velvet Paw of Asquith most deserving.”

  They were interrupted by a knock at the door, and a cat entered with an envelope.

  Apologising for the intrusion, he said, “This arrived merely moments ago, Loud Purr.”

  Crossing the Lair, he offered Oscar a small, padded envelope.

  It was from Hotel d’Ruen.

  He opened it. Inside was a key with a label that had the number seven crossed out, and ‘Oscar’s Room’ scribbled beneath. There was also a note attached that read: ‘For whenever you are passing through,’ which was signed Percival S. Minton. Additionally, there was a piece of paper in a familiar paw scrawl. He smiled; it seemed despite her role as Ruen’s new Head Councillor, the Dervy had already found time to help Percival organise his hotel after all, just as she had promised Oscar.

  He read her writing with a lisp.

  It was a poem.

  I have a friend of whom I met,

  From far acrosth the thea.

  A noble cat and clever poet,

  Who twice did rethcue me.

  He’s a Velvet Paw of Asquith,

  Being a title quite detherving.

  And if he doubts his worth of such,

  He need think only of the Dervyth.

  And although he’s thoftly spoken,

  And jolly good with wordth,

  He has a heart as beautiful,

  As his abundant fluffy furth.

  And yeth, it’s true he’s earless,

  But on this one needn’t dwell,

  For if an “F’ is put before it,

  He ith truly that as well.

  Deeply touched, Oscar dared not look up lest the Loud Purr noticed. Folding the poem, he cleared his throat politely and wished he had some ears to twitch beneath the Loud Purr’s gaze. But having none, he stared instead at the folded paper. Curious then, he unfolded it and raised it gingerly to his nose, relieved she’d used ink rather than her more traditional choice of media.

  He placed the poem carefully back in the envelope.

  He’d get it framed perhaps, and put it on his mantelpiece.

  It seemed some poems ought to be written down, after all.

  The End.