Moggies, Magic and Murder

by Pearl Goodfellow

  “It is quite safe, Bethany. Thank you. Now, please don’t keep our guests waiting.” The intercom clicked off.

  “Follow me,” Bethany snapped.

  I could hardly believe it. Was Shields here? Ready to see us? Portia gave me a slight dip of her head, and put a discreet finger to her lips. I got the order: She would do the talking, and I would keep my mouth shut. The Witch Fearwyn flicked her head toward Jet. My zippy kitty trotted in wide-eyed innocence next to my feet, but I gave Portia the hand-on-heart sign and an obvious nod of my head. I promised to keep Jet in line too ... even though I was pretty confident this was a promise I couldn’t keep.

  Bethany stopped us just outside Shields’ office. The stern blonde rapped courteously on the walnut door. “Enter.” Shields’ sing-song voice resonated from behind the thick wood. The door swung inward of its own accord, and directly before us, sat the slimy governor. The air before the man seemed wavy and shimmery.

  Gideon’s face broke into an overly sunny smile. “Welcome, Custodians, welcome. How good to see you so… so ... fighting fit this beautiful morning.” The governor tossed a boyish curl from his forehead and gestured to the seats in front of his desk.

  Wordlessly, Portia and I sat down. Gideon motioned toward Bethany and the door. “That will be all, Bethany, thank you.”

  “But, sir, I think --”

  “As you see here, I am safe,” the governor said, keeping his voice neutral. He splayed his long fingers out toward the shimmering shield that separated him from us.

  “Very good, sir … I’ll be at my desk if you need me at all.” Bethany turned on her heel and closed the door behind her.

  Gideon Shields smile curled ever-upward as he leaned across the desk to within an inch of his magical barrier. “I must say, this is a surprise. Clearly, not all of you reveled in my impromptu tachyon party?” He arched a well-groomed eyebrow. I was bursting to scream at the man, but I remembered Portia’s wordless instructions and gripped the arms of the chair instead.

  “As you can see, your magic is critically flawed,” Portia hissed, keeping her composure … uh, composed. “The work of an amateur wannabe, if you ask me. We sit here before you, alive and well.” The Witch Fearwyn paused, and then added: “And they made you Chief Warlock?”

  “I’m afraid it is your logic that is flawed, Ms. Fearwyn,” Shields said. His eyes twinkled warmly at Portia. “Because that wasn’t magic you witnessed in the grounds of your hovel yesterday,” he explained. “Well, maybe there was a small vein of sorcery involved, to be sure … but ninety-eight percent of that little exploit was down to Warlock Tech. An arena far beyond your pay-grade, yes?”

  “You killed Orville Nugget. You will rot in Steeltrap for this, I can guarantee it. Your little Shield might help you right now, but even with your magic and tech combined you cannot escape your fate, governor.” The Witch Fearwyn looked remarkably calm. Personally, I felt like I was going to throw up. The fact that the killer of Orville Nugget sat mere feet across from us with a sickening smile plastered on his face was enough to make anyone feel nauseous.

  Shields scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, Orville Nugget,” he murmured. “My bad. It should have been all of you. But it would seem your cutesy-homespun-communal magic saved your bacon.”

  Jet jumped up onto the governor’s desk just in front of the tech-magical shield. An assortment of the Chief Warlock’s desk knick-knacks sat, unprotected, on our side of his Wonderwall, and Jet placed a casual paw on top of an exquisite crystal. “Family heirloom, guv, yep?” He asked conversationally. Gideon’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you touch that you flea-infested rug. You will remove that grimy paw immediately.” The governor nearly pressed his face against the shield in an attempt to intimidate my cat. But Jet was as high as a kite on his morning dose of the herb, and he was certainly in the mood for play. “Yep, yep, looks ‘spensive, dude, yep. Is it? Is it ‘spensive?”

  “Very. Now step away.”

  Jet’s dark eyes shot to the right to look at the governor. “Does it fly?”

  The playful twinkle disappeared from the governor’s eyes, to be replaced by a cold, malicious glint. “Don’t you even think about it, you rat. My father gave me--” Jet’s paw was so fast I barely made out the black blur as he swept the crystal clear across the room. It shattered in a cascading fall of powdery glass.

  “Yep! Goal!”

  Shields' mouth fell open, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Portia’s lips tug upward into a smug smile. She reached out and gave Jet a stiff two-fingered pat to the head.

  “That was a precious piece of glass, and you will pay for it.” Gideon Shields’ pout would have been funny had the situation not been so serious.

  “How did you know we were all together yesterday?” Portia demanded, catching the Warlock Chief off guard.

  “My tracking method is beyond your understanding, Ms. Fearwyn. Do I have to repeat myself? You have no experience with the advancement of Warlock tech, do you? I’d be surprised if you even knew Warlock technology existed. But I’m certain you have no idea just how far our technological strategies have evolved.” His full lips curled into a self-satisfied grin.

  “So you’re saying that your mighty tech was no match for our little itty-bitty spell?” The old witch mocked.

  “It may well not be at the level I’d like just yet,” Shields confessed, blushing slightly. “But you can be certain that in no time at all magic will be seen as a sluggish, redundant art form when compared to the forever-forward nature of hi-tech.”

  “Let me be clear,” Portia said. “I’m not concerned as to whether your tracking tactics are crafted from magical or scientific means. And I have no interest in your electronic gadgets, Mr. Shields. I am merely concerned with how you knew we were all together.”

  The Warlock Chief laughed; an effortless, tinkling sound that practically oozed from his plump, boyish lips. “Oh, come now, Ms. Fearwyn. Has this direct-questioning tactic ever worked for you? It’s terribly brutish.” He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. “If I may suggest that you utilize the incredible investigative talents of your Custodian brotherhood instead of expecting answers to be dropped in your lap?” I mean, surely, between the chief of police, his trusty amateur sleuth sidekick …” Shields pinned me with a stare that made me want to cover myself up. I could only shiver silently in my seat. The governor continued: “...the most powerful witch, allegedly, in the Coven Isles and two bright faeries, you’d think you’d have picked up a clue or two already.”

  Gloom hopped up onto the Warlock’s desk. She plopped herself beside her mischievous brother and stared at the governor through the wavering shield. “I think you’re forgetting to mention the most important members of the Custodians,” she said, curling her tail in the air above her head.

  “What, eight mothballed vermin on legs?” Shields’ laugh was derisive.

  Jet stuck his chest out. “We’re not vermin on legs, nope, nope, nope. We’re the fabulous, furry four-legged friends.”

  Portia scooted Jet to one side. “We’ll find out your methods, governor,” she said. “You can be sure of that. And I’ll be delighted once this offense is tacked on to all the others in your ever-building record. I’m confident this little invasion-of-privacy transgression will afford you at least an extra ten years in Steeltrap. That’s on top of your life sentence for the murder of Orville Junior.”

  Gideon tented his fingers before him and looked pensive. “Hmm,” he mused. “Yes, as much as I’d love to be acquainted with the ‘residences’ at Steeltrap Penitentiary, there’s just one small matter that is being seemingly overlooked right now.”

  I couldn’t resist. “Oh, yeah?” I blurted. “And what’s that?” Portia gave me an earnest look of disgust at my disobedience.

  “Well, for me to serve time in our Capital’s finest incarceration center, I would first need to be caught, no?”

  “You plan to take your wall with you everywhere, governor?” Port
ia asked, cocking a thread-bare eyebrow. “Why, yes, of course, you do. I’d expect nothing less from a coward such as yourself.”

  The Chief Warlock laughed. “Oh, Ms. Fearwyn, you really are too funny,” he said. “As it would happen, it turns out I didn’t need my little safety blanket today. I see no evidence of you having found the Wyrmrig. I confess this was some rather hastily gathered intelligence. Erroneous intelligence if my eyes are to be believed.” He chuckled again, and his caramel eyes laughed along. “Anyway, it won’t be my little wall here that keeps me away from a stint in Steeltrap. It will be a matter of ... how shall I put this … distance that will keep me out of any Talisman prison cell.”

  The Witch Fearwyn’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

  Shields pushed back from the desk and sunk back into his chair again. “I fear I’ve said too much,” he said, smiling. “But maybe I should just caution you with: “You should never, ever underestimate technology, Ms. Fearwyn. Especially the Warlock variety.”

  “Neither your poorly performed magic nor your overly hyped wonder-tech can keep you from your destiny, Mr. Shields. There’s not one slimy hiding spot on our Goddess’ green planet where you can cower for long. Because we will find you.” The veins in Portia’s neck looked tight and sinewy.

  Shields chuckled. “But, my dear,” he said. “Who said anything about hiding on this planet?”

  What the...

  Portia furrowed her brow, her lips forming into a question, but she stopped herself and said: “I think our time with this coward is done. My word, look at him.” She pointed an accusatory finger at the Warlock Chief and looked back to me. “Your cat … the terrified one? He’d put our governor here to shame, I do not doubt it.” Fraidy would have been very proud to hear such praise. I must remember to tell him when I see him next.

  Shields stood. “Ladies, it’s been an absolute pleasure.” If you could only have seen the look on the governor’s face as he said this. He looked as if he’d just concluded an afternoon tea party with the Queen. It was almost obscene. Shields continued smiling behind the shimmering shield before him while Portia and I stood. Jet and Gloom jumped down from the desk to join their well-behaved brother, Onyx, and before all of our eyes, Shields sputtered out of existence. The vibrating barrier remained for a second or two then dissipated in the same way the governor did.

  Portia pushed up from her seat. “Let’s get out of here.” The Witch Fearwyn marched out of Shields office, past Bethany and into the elevator that had brought us to this floor. I followed her in just as she pressed her back to the elevator buttons to block Jet from his shenanigans. Together we rode downward in silence, no doubt all of us reflecting on our impromptu meeting with the Warlock Chief.

  “I guess the cat’s outta the bag now,” Gloom said, looking up at Portia and me.

  Onyx took a step toward her. “I beg your pardon, sister?”

  “Shields knows we don’t have the Wyrmrig,” my female kitty confirmed. “Because of this unplanned and overly-passionate meeting we just had, we have lost our advantage over the governor.” Gloom eyed Portia as she took a spot behind my calves. I guess my grumpy cat didn’t want to risk another dousing.

  “Humanoids,” Onyx hummed. “They are horribly prone to emotional responses. You must not be hard on them, Gloom,” my sage cat advised. “They have not yet reached the stage of evolution where they’re able to weigh their decisions. But, yes, I believe we would have been better served if we hadn’t just laid all our cards on the table to the nefarious governor.”

  Portia crossed her arms and focused on the illuminated descending numbers above the elevator door.

  Were my kitties right? Had we just given away our tactical edge all because we wanted to prove to Shields that we were still alive?

  The doors slid open, and Portia charged out in a snapping of starched black cape. Onyx, Gloom, Jet and I trotted obediently behind her. We were nearly at the spot where we’d left our brooms before I finally caught up to the old witch. “Portia?” I gasped as I narrowed the gap between us. “What did the governor mean about planets and distances and stuff?” I queried. I knew the Witch Fearwyn had been as puzzled by Shields’ bizarre statement as I was, so I wondered if she’d put anything together that would give us an idea of where the governor was coming from.

  Portia snatched her broom from the crevice beside the small door in the wall of the Black Diamond Cathedral and plucked mine from its place immediately after. She handed me my besom. “I’m not in the mood to answer questions right now,” she said, already swinging a striped stocking leg over her mount. “I need time to think. And while I can’t imagine you and your fuzzy circus being able to remain silent on the journey back to Gless Inlet, I wonder if you’d be courteous enough not to include me in your incessant jabberings?” Portia pulled the tip of her broom upward, pushed off with one foot and took to the sky.

  “Wow, who peed in her cauldron?” Gloom quipped, taking her position next to the thatch.

  Jet’s ears flattened. “Did she see me?” He said, letting his bottom jaw fall open.

  “Huh?” Gloom said.

  “Did, yep, Portia see me pee in her cauldron, yep?” Jet leapt onto the stick next to his sister and promptly began fidgeting.

  “Are you being serious right now?” I asked my squirming cat.

  “Gross!” Gloom said, stomping further up the broom to put some distance between her and her brother.

  Jet looked at me, his eyes black and cowering. “Aww, boss, nope, nope.”

  “Jet?” My voice was low and cautionary.

  “Well, I mean, when you ask like that, then, yep. I peed in Portia’s cauldron, yep. But, it was just a little. Just like a dash, yep? Yeppers, just a dash.”

  “For the love of Goddess!” I exclaimed.

  Onyx jumped to the front of the broom. “I confess, I’m sympathetic to the Witch Fearwyn’s wish that we all remain silent. My sage cat shook his head with an expression of sincere remorse imprinted across his furry features.

  “Me too, O,” I said, swinging a leg over my ride. “Let’s have a little bit of peace and quiet on the ride back, shall we?” My three kitties thankfully nodded their heads, and we took off for Glessie Isle. I couldn’t wait to tell David about us seeing Shields and the governor’s strange remarks about planets. I also wondered if the chief had found anything else out about Orville’s death.

  CHAPTER 7

  There was some kind of commotion going on around Burning Peak as we flew over the Glimmers on our way back. From the air, I could see Shields’ goons running like disorganized ants across the rocky slopes. Although I couldn’t make out any coherent words, I could hear the soldiers barked orders as they talked into their crackling hand-held devices.

  “Wonder what’s that all about?” Gloom queried, staring down from her place on the thatch.

  Jet stared at his sister with wide eyes. I could see what looked like white froth gathered in the corners of his quivering lips. My Goddess, he does look rabid.

  “Yep, maybe the rock grumlins have revolted, yep, yep,” he said, lifting each of his paws in turn, seemingly unsure of what to do with them.

  I looked over my shoulder at my cats. “Guys, it’s not our concern right now. If the governor’s swat team are being given the runaround down there, then that’s just an added bonus for us and a good direction for the grumlins.”

  The three Infiniti hummed their agreement, and we flew on.

  In the lead by about thirty feet or so, Portia Fearwyn suddenly slowed her broom. I caught up with the old witch and waved. “Everything okay?” I shouted across to her.

  “Please touch down on Sugar Beach -- by the dunes. We’ll have a quick debriefing before you head back to the apothecary. We need to work out what needs to be done next.”

  I saluted Portia across the divide and followed in her slipstream until we neared Sugar Beach. The dunes shifted majestically below me as I pointed my besom downward to join the Witch Fearwyn on the g
round. It was then that something out of the corner of my eye grabbed my attention. Portia saw it too; I could see her squinting her hard eyes toward the sky to the right of me. A broom. With a passenger aboard. Only the brush jolted and jerked in an ungainly fashion. Whoever was riding the chariot clearly didn’t have much in the way of magical control. The broom veered left, while the passenger was flung right until both the chariot and its rider was nearly separated. The man -- I could see enough now to make out the rider’s gender -- was quick, and dived for the broom before the separation gap was too large to traverse.

  “Is that Dilwyn Werelamb?” Gloom asked, screwing up her face.

  Portia clucked her tongue behind her teeth. “I believe you’re right, kitty,” she said, waving her arms in broad arcs to get the rider’s attention.

  Werelamb saw the signal and aimed his broom (as best as he could) toward the bottom of the dunes where Portia, the kitties and I were standing. He jerked, stopped, then started again and came around in a clumsy arc above our heads. He hit the head of the broom, and it jumped downward, and shot the remaining twenty feet or so to the ground. Dilwyn Werelamb came tumbling off in near-perfect stuntman roll. His face looked a little shocked when he got to his feet, but nonetheless, the gentle farmer of mythical beasts walked over to us in fairly steady line.

  “Mr. Werelamb, I trust you haven’t recently graduated flying school?” Portia said, walking to join Dilwyn.

  “Oh, I know how that might have looked,” Dilwyn said, offering both Portia and I a sheepish smile. “But, I do know how to fly. Over thirty years experience, in fact.”

  “Then what, pray tell, are you doing lurching about in the sky?” The Witch Fearwyn folded her arms and waited patiently for Werelamb to explain himself.

  Dilwyn swallowed and folded his hands in front of him. “I followed you both from Cathedral.”

  A light went off in my head. “Dilwyn, was that you that had the governor’s henchmen running around like their heads were cut off?” I stepped toward the man and put a hand on his forearm. “Were you just at Burning Peak, Dilwyn?”