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He felt her mental touch course over his mind, then press hard. Pain faded-was gone. Over her head he saw Sanja and Duval.
There, she said with satisfaction, that should hold you until we get you to the healers.
Lord Davan crouched down, covering him with his cape. "It's over, Belldancer. No. Don't try to talk. The woman and Nytira are recovering. The shadows are bound. More can wait. I want to get you out of here." Jariel knew better than to argue when his lord spoke in that tone of voice. Carefully Davan and Sanja rolled him over, then lifted him by the edges of the cape.
Sanja grasped the improvised Utter at Jariel's shoulders. "Next time," he leaned down to half-whisper, "let me have some of the fun."
Jariel answered from the very edge of consciousness, "Your nose isn't long enough."
The Execution by A. R. Major
Having recently come across the archives of one of catdom's noblest kings, it has become my rare privilege to share with the public one of the written records of none other than Greywhiskers IV. It is not generally known that this royal representative of the feline race was one of the first in catdom to make use of the mechanical devices of the inferior humans to assist us where strict brute force is needed. All through recorded history our race has used the inferior humans by the simple device of offering them our limited love, and the poor, love-starved beings have been putty in our paws. But we must admit, this royal king found another way to make humans work for us!
This, then, is the tale as translated from Greywhisker's Chronicles.
It came to pass on a certain day at two in the morning, human time, that Greywhiskers IV was holding court. He chose this time as it was when most of the bothersome humans were asleep. His courtroom was situated in the alley known as Fish Head Lane, right behind the local shop where the humans printed their device called "newspapers."
From the top of the empty oil drum that served His Highness as the throne of his kingdom of Catasia; Greywhiskers ruled a kingdom of definite borders. On the north was the catdom of the Blue-eyes. The south ended at the local waterfront. It extended east to west from Fifty-third to Sixty-first Streets. In this area of Catasia, Greywhiskers' word was absolute, final, divine-right-of-kings-law, and he was constantly coming up with new ways to prove this truth.
He closed his eyes to almost slits in that disconcerting way of his as he observed the faces of the three visiting Blue-eyes in front of him. How long, he mused, had it been since that certain Siamese Tom had left his Park Avenue home to establish the catdom in the north, one based on the distinct citizenship of having blue eyes? Probably during the reign of Greywhiskers II.
Those visitors in front of him were glancing around his court nervously, in spite of being offered diplomatic immunity. Well, let the visitors sweat a little, it would keep them properly humble!
The cats that made up his royal court that night, in contrast to the visitors, were sitting around in a loose circle in a completely relaxed atmosphere. They sat on boxes or crates the careless humans had cast aside. The fence behind Greywhiskers was reserved for his five loyal advisors.
"And how is my brother ruler, Blue-eyes II's health these days?" inquired his majesty, after first permitting himself the luxury of a wide yawn.
"Excellent, Your Grace," intoned the guard standing to the right of the frightened female that he and another tomcat guard had escorted to the courtyard between them.
"That delights me exceedingly," replied the king of Catasia, wrinkling his ruff in displeasure at the harsh Siamese note in the visitor's voice. Then studying his visitor shrewdly, his exalted majesty added, "And how may we be of service to one of the Blue-eyes' citizens?"
Taking this question as an invitation, the young female in her crouching position eased a little forward and said, "A boon, O mighty King. I crave revenge for my poor, dead kitten."
Humph, mused Greywhiskers, does she really want revenge or is this just a clever trick by her king to test my power and ability to rule? Is Blue-eyes II pla
"My heart goes out to a mother in her moment of sorrow," the king replied in a ma
"It was one of your territory's citizens," interrupted one of the visiting bodyguard cats. "A certain boxer dog named Flintface killed the Lady Fluffa's child, your majesty!"
The king's reply was a rumbling yowl of displeasure. This was followed by a moment of tense silence, broken by the large cat on the king's right who spoke tersely.
"The king was speaking to her, not you! Be advised that in this court you will speak only when spoken to, or when you ask permission. Since you are apparently untaught in court procedure, this infraction will be overlooked this time, but if it occurs again, it could get your tail cut off… right behind your ears!"
There was another impressive silence, then the offending cat bobbed his head and said, "Permission to speak." After receiving the king's nod, he continued, "I wish to apologize for the interruption. No offense was intended."
"Apology accepted. Flintface, you say? Harump! I seem to remember something very recent and unpleasant concerning that name. Refresh our memory, Lady Scribe."
Of course he remembered every detail of the Flintface episode, but he would not miss a chance to demonstrate to these upstart strangers how excellent were the records this court kept.
A small striped female moved to the king's right, carefully licked an immaculate paw and intoned: "One moon and three nights ago, it was brought to our noble lord's attention that the organ grinder's monkey, one Peppo by name, had been chased away from his place of honest employment by a member of the canine tribe, one Flintface by name. It was further noted that this canine was only living here by your majesty's tolerance. It was this court's judgment to give said canine one fair warning, to wit: such conduct would not be tolerated in your majesty's catdom. Said warning was given the following day by the king's own knights, Sir Strongheart and Sir Fairhowl. End of record."
King Greywhiskers put on a show of feline fury aimed at impressing his foreign visitors. He succeeded admirably; never would they forget the picture of flattened ear anger that was frightful to behold. His voice became a sibilant hiss of rage, forgotten were his courtly ma
"Sssso! That rebel thinks he can avoid my edict by going to a friendly neighborhood to commit his catacide, does he? He refuses to show remorse for his gangsterlike behavior, does he? Why, that obscenity on the face of this earth deserves to be cut up and used as fishbait! I swear by my royal kingship, that the only answer is his death! How votes the council?"
By this time the king had left his throne and was pacing back and forth in an angry crouch before the five royal advisors, his tail flicking back and forth in rage.
One by one the five cats on the fence nodded to their king, each giving a murderous yowl of assent and exposing the claws in the right forepaw like flashing sabers. The affirming vote was unanimous! Flintface was as good as dead!