Moggies, Magic and Murder

by Pearl Goodfellow

  I grinned at my kitty and then turned my attention back to the building in front of us. Still no sign of anyone.

  “Come on, let’s check this place out,” I said, standing from my squatting position, and turning toward the hangar. “Middie, Onyx, Gloom and Carbon, you take the back of the building, snoop around, see if you can find a discreet way into the hangar.” I turned to Fraidy, Jet, Eclipse, and Shade. “You guys follow me. And act natural,” I said, already sauntering across the lot toward the front doors of the warehouse. My other cats slinked off toward the rear of the building.

  Me and my crew reached the front door, and I tugged casually on the handle.

  “Locked,” I said.

  “That’s because it’s closed,” Eclipse opined.

  “Yeah, I know it’s closed, buddy, I just tried it,” I said, gritting my teeth.

  “No, I mean, it’s closed for the rest of the day, look.” Clipsy pointed his paw to a sign in the middle of the door. The opening and closing hours.

  ‘Thursday: close at 2 pm.’

  “Ah, well, then … I guess we join those guys around back then,” I said, pushing away from the door.

  “Yep, we have a visitor, sure, yep, sure,” Jet jabbered.

  I followed my zippy cat’s maniac stare and saw a short, redheaded man striding toward us, a stack of file folders under his arm. “May I help you?” His voice seemed incredibly big for his diminutive frame.

  “Yes, actually, I was looking for Ulrich Darkmoore,” I said, approaching the man. “My name is Hattie Jenkins. Ulrich had proposed a business relationship a short while ago.” I explained. Not lying was the best tactic here. “I was hoping to ask him some further questions on the matter.”

  “We close early on Thursdays,” he said, still bounding toward me. “Ulrich’s long gone.”

  “Do you work here?” I tried.

  “Not here, no,” he said. “I’m Mr. Darkmore’s accountant. I take my work home.”

  Just the man we’re looking for.

  But, there wasn’t much else I could do here. It seemed like the numbers guy had the whole of Ulrich’s arsenal of accounts tucked under his arm too. Argh, so close.

  I hoped my other kitties knew what was happening here right now, and they wouldn’t make a noise that would alert this nosy accountant.

  A loud clatter from somewhere inside the building ripped the tiny guy’s focus from me.

  Spoke too soon.

  The beanie huffed an exaggerated breath and rolled his eyes. “Bloody feral cats,” he complained. “I have to chase them off, they’ll tear apart the garbage bags otherwise … but I’ll tell Ulrich you stopped by,” he said.

  I nodded my head and turned to leave, but then the redheaded man did something … wondrous. He put down the file folders on the top step and walked off to scare away my ‘ferals.’

  I gawped at the back of the departing man, and then at the stack of files.

  “Could just be receipts for herbs and the like, boss lady,” Shade offered.

  “Could be,” I said, reaching for the papers. Right on top. RIGHT ON TOP, a folder entitled: ‘Hem proj. Shadow Supplies.’

  I scrabbled inside my bag for my phone, while the cats lined up the pages so I could take pictures of the written evidence. I snapped two of each and threw my phone back in my purse.

  “Let’s go,” I said, dashing across the carpark to my broom.

  “What about the others?” Fraidy whined. “You just gonna leave ‘em here to be killed by the accountant?”

  “Sweetie, Onyx’ll get them all home safe and sound, don’t worry.” I picked my timid cat up and placed him on the broom. I had utter faith in my head cat. The other kitties hopped up onto the stick.

  “Hold on,” I said. I couldn’t wait to get back to The Angel, so I could call David and let him know what we’d found. I wasn’t sure if any of this pieced together yet, but I felt some of the bonds of the investigation strengthening as we gathered up the clues.

  I guess we’d find out soon enough.

  What was this hematite for? It clearly wasn’t just for lawn use, given the large quantities that seemed to be changing hands.

  Were the Warlocks planning a huge, blowout ritual of some kind? An event where they could burn through this apparently massive stockpile of their favored ceremonial stones?

  Or was there something more threatening behind the ever-growing piles of this curious rock?

  CHAPTER 14

  “How is this even possible?” I said, staring wide-eyed at the four kitties I had only just left behind at Shadow Supplies on Phlange Isle.

  We were back at The Angel, sitting in the kitchen at the rear of the shop, and Onyx, Gloom, Midnight and Carbon were also seated in the kitchen at the rear of the shop. At the same time.

  “There are some secrets to the passage of time that only the Lemniscate know of,” Onyx said, all straight-faced.

  “The most logical creature in the world thrusts a knife in rationale,” Gloom quipped. “What Onyx means is: We stole a broom from the warehouse, and Jet drove it home.”

  I looked at my grouchy kitty’s wind-blown fur. She looked as if she had purposefully given herself a center part.

  “Warp speed?” I guessed.

  “Uh huh,” she confirmed, settling down to groom herself back to fabulousness.

  “So, yep, what did ya get, boss?” Jet said, jumping up on the table. The rest of the cats hopped up to join their brother while I fished the phone out of my bag.

  I pulled the iPad from the stand on the kitchen counter. I’d set it up there because I had had some flight of fancy that I would use it for reading recipes. I imagined myself floating around the kitchen preparing home cooked meals, whistling a smug tune. But sadly I forgot all about the device as I breezed past it to microwave my chicken tetrazzini. My kitchen iPad had gathered at least as much dust as my expensive copper-bottomed pots. I plugged my phone into its larger relation so we could view the images on a bigger scale, and propped the iPad onto its fancy stand in the middle of the table.

  The first photo came up. Rows and columns of numbers and names.

  “This looks a lot like what was on those boxes, don’t it, ‘Clipsy?” Shade said.

  Eclipse pressed his nose to the screen and enlarged his pupils. “Yeah, I’d say this stuff here is pretty much repeating what was written on the crates,” my mysterious cat confirmed.

  We studied the names and their corresponding numbers. Plenty of names we recognized from Shade and Eclipse’s earlier recon: The Krackplain’s, The Beastells, The Whitekills, and several other prominent Warlock family names. Next to the names was a row of numbers: From low to high, separated by just a dash.

  The rows went something like this: Name: Wartington. Se: 23,433 - 32,567.

  “Shame Shields’ name isn’t here,” Eclipse said.

  “I noticed the absence of both Kramp and Bloodstag, too,” Onyx observed.

  “What do you think that means?” Fraidy said, pawing at the numbers columns.

  “I don’t know,” I confessed. “Maybe the amount of stones delivered?” I tried, feebly.

  “Looks more like a ‘range’ of goods delivered,” Carbon said, yawning. “Like, the Wartington family were given a batch of stones from a larger batch of rocks, I mean. So Wartington’s got the inventory from 23,433 - 32,567 range of the stockpile.” Carbon paused. “I think?”

  I scratched my head. “Maybe,” I said. “But, that would mean the Wartington’s got nearly ten thousand hematite stones. I dunno. That’s a heck of a lot of rock, and why would they be serialized like this?”

  “Any chance these stones could be individual weapons, like?” Shade asked, his voice quaking a little.

  Fraidy groaned. “I hope not. Because Wartington is pretty low on the incline,” Fraidy stabbed a paw at the ascending numerical rows again. He slid his paw down the ledger until the numbers increased. “Look, Wartington has been assigned from numbers 108,655 - 139,723.” His small head swiveled t
oward us.

  “If these numbers correspond to the amount of stones, and the stones are like bullets or bombs or something, then we’re in trouble because this list goes up to over one million.”

  Our heads leaned over the images on the device for a closer look. I felt a chill run through my veins, as I hoped against hope that my fear mongering cat had got it wrong.

  I pulled back from the screen and ran a hand through my hair. “Guys, let’s not jump the gun here,” I managed. “We don’t know anything about this hematite yet. It could be just used for garden ornamentation and the Warlock ceremonies as we’ve been led to believe by Zinnie and Ulrich. We have no idea yet whether this rock is used for Weaponry.”

  “You think Kramp was in on all this, though?” Eclipse asked. “Before he died? What if Barney just knew too much about this, and the powerful Warlock families, aka Shields, just wanted to be sure he wouldn’t spill, so they had him killed? To shut him up?”

  A silence fell over the room as we all leaned in again for a closer inspection. My cell phone shrilled, and Carbon rolled off the table in a surprised tumble.

  “David? I was just about to call you, we’ve found --”

  “Hat, not much time to talk, really, so listen carefully, okay?”

  I nodded, even though David couldn’t see me. My friend filled me in all of the pertinent stuff while I remained quiet on the other end of the line. My kitties gathered around me, looking at me with expectant faces while I listened. The chief finally finished his spiel, and I ended the call and put the phone back on the table.

  “Well?” Gloom said, her eyes bulging. “Spill.”

  “Orville cracked the device,” I said, staring at my kitties.

  “Okay, yep, yep, sounds good, right? I mean, that’s what we were trying to do, right? Get into that gadget? So, that’s good. Good for Orville, right? Yep.” Jet babbled as he paced the length of the table.

  “Shut up, Jet, you’re making me nervous,” Midnight said. “Boss lady, what did young Nugget find in the core?”

  “Hematite,” I whispered. I was instantly pinned by sixteen golden-orbed eyes.

  “It’s hematite at the core. And it’s infused with the Lost Language.” I felt like I was in a dream.

  “So, whoever activated the bomb that killed Kramp, used this language from a distance?” Carbon asked.

  “Looks that way,” I said.

  “Dare I ask, but has young Orville been given any indication as to what the numbers stand for?” Onyx asked, his voice steady.

  I nodded dumbly at my wise cat. “They’re serial numbers,” I said, waving my hand over the image on the iPad screen. “The gadget we have in our possession has a serial number of 721,332 - 846,984. Orville thinks it corresponds with a portion of stones that are currently in circulation.”

  Gloom gasped. “So, Fraidy was right? We have over a million of these harmful rocks floating around our isles? They’re weapons?”

  “Looks like it,” I replied. I felt the blood draining from my face. Had we been played? Had we been made to focus our energies on what lay inside Burning Peak, only to find that while we put our attention there, there was a vast and active weapons trade being played out under our noses? Had David and I made a mistake? The whole thing reeked of subterfuge.

  “Well, we need to get there. To Custodian HQ, right boss?” Shade interrupted my thoughts.

  I snapped out of my stupor, then.

  “No, buddy. No time. The Custodians will continue the work, but in the meantime, David has found the drifter. I’m to meet the Chief at the Mywrden Cliffs in thirty minutes so we can question Typhon,” I said, unplugging my phone from the iPad, and pulling back my hair in a ponytail.

  “Wait, why are you going to the bluffs to interview this Jyldrar, dude?” Carbon asked, jumping back up onto the table and stretching out. “Why not the station?”

  “Because, David said GIPPD is still swarming with Talisman suits. Apparently, they haven’t given up on the Warlock Grenade yet. David wants to question Typhon without the added ‘circus' of the Talisman administration.”

  “Makes sense,” Gloom said, nodding.

  “Any volunteers?” I asked. “I’ll need four of you.”

  I watched as four of my cats took one step backward. Onyx and Carbon weren’t so quick, however, and they were left at the front. Two of my cats actually stepped forward. Shade and Fraidy looked up at me, their whiskers twitching.

  “Looks like our bro’s brave-ometer is still on the up ‘n’ up,” Shade said, resting a brotherly arm across Fraidy’s shoulders.

  “You’re all brave. Every one of you,” I said. My cats peered at me, faces expectant, waiting for a cat-praising speech.

  “Come on, let’s go,” I said, shattering feline illusions. My fellow journeyers shrugged and followed me out the door.

  “Look, there’s the chief,” Carbon pointed to a solitary figure standing at the edge of the bluffs. An outline of a man looking over the tumultuous crashing of the Harbinger Ocean below him. David looked pensive as we approached. So lost in thought, he was, that he didn’t even notice our arrival until we pulled up directly to the side of him. CPI Trew turned. The sun was just setting, its bulk mostly obscured by slate gray clouds, but I saw a flash of the fiery orb in the chief’s eyes.

  David smiled at me. “Had enough of this craziness yet?”

  “I’m scared, David,” I blurted. My words surprised me. My friend grabbed my arm and pulled me into him. He wrapped his arms around shoulders, and rested his chin on the top of my head. For one blissful moment, I felt safe.

  “Me too, kiddo,” he murmured, abruptly pushing me to arm’s length. For a second I saw the falling sun ignite in his icy blue eyes.

  “This way,” he said, and walked toward the edge of the cliff.

  “Hey,” Shade remarked looking out to sea. “I think Miss. Poof did a photoshoot out here.” He scanned the cliff face and the view below. “Yeah, this was the ‘Ocean Love’ collection,” he said proudly.

  “This doesn’t look terribly safe,” Onyx stated, as he gingerly picked his way through the undergrowth and loose stone of the tiny footpath.

  “We’re nearly there, O,” David said. “Keep your claws out; they’ll give you a little more traction.”

  Onyx’s claws sprang, and I could hear him clicking on the stones behind me as we snaked our way down the cliff face into the broad mouth of a dark cave about ten feet down from the top of the bluff.

  “Cool,” Carbon said, loving the fact that he could light some fire to illuminate the blackness. He clicked his paw on the slick black rock below our feet and a flame burst from between his toes.

  “That’s bet--”

  “I’m not sure your miniature fire will contend with the inferno that’s taking place down there,” Onyx interrupted, pointing his paw toward the back of the cavern.

  Sure enough, shadowy reflections on the glossy cave wall showed dancing flames at least eight feet in height.

  Carbon screwed up his nose, and, like a bulldog, he charged over to the inferno’s source. Shade trotted after his brother, and the rest of us --Fraidy on my shoulder -- followed.

  We rounded the corner to a wall of flame. A blaze that licked blazing forked-tongues in myriad directions. David and I held our arms up to our faces to ward off the intense heat. We watched the conflagration spread upward until it fanned out on the roof of the cavern.

  “There’s the dude,” Carbon hissed over the racket of pop, fizz, and crackle. My cat flicked his head toward the right of the pyre. A man. Hunched close to the base of the inferno, throwing sticks into the blaze.

  He’s feeding it.

  “Typhon Jydlrar?” David shouted at the wall of flame.

  The man looked up. He stood, and walked with patient steps toward us.

  “Who’s asking?” The disheveled man came to a stop about six feet in front of where we stood.

  “Mr. Jyldrar, CPI Trew of GIPPD, we want to ask you a few questions, if that’s o
kay?” David asked, still shielding his forehead and eyes from the blaze.

  Jyldrar bobbed his head but said nothing.

  “Great,” David said. “Okay if we move away from the flames a little?”

  The drifter shrugged and followed us to a niche of rock that would shield us from the intense heat.

  “That’s a roaring fire you’ve got there,” I said, looking back at the inferno. Carbon, entirely in his element was stretched out in front of the flames, warming his belly. My pyro cat purred and gave the fire a tender ‘slow-blink.’ It was love.

  “I like fire,” the man said. His voice was gruff, and he had a thick accent. “I’m ….” he turned to face his handiwork, his face falling into a dance of light and shadow as the flames leapt. “....drawn to it,” he finished dreamily.

  I did not like that. Don’t ask me why, I just didn’t.

  I stared at the man’s throat. Buried under the soot, I could just make out that strange image that I’d seen before on this Typhon Jyldrar. A spiked tail of some sort. The arrowed tip of which nestled in the well below the man’s Adam's apple.

  “Typhon, can you tell us what you were doing at the scene of the blast on October Sixth?” The chief asked, squaring up to the drifter.

  “I was pulled there,” Jyldrar said. “Since I lost my identity I’ve been pulled in many unexpected directions.” The drifter smiled at the chief, exposing teeth that looked like rotting stubs of wood.

  “Tell us about this identity loss,” David humored. “We know so little about you.”

  “I cannot tell you anything that came before my new, purposeful life,” the drifter confessed. “I can only share the freedom I’ve experienced since the death of my false self.”

  “So, you’re saying you have amnesia?” I asked, leaning against the cavern wall.

  “That’s what the doctors say, but I know different. I could not take my baggage into this life.” Typhon said. “Anyway, I have no recollection of my life before I woke up a free man on Nanker Isle about three months ago.”