"Raider 05: Willy the Cat" by Richard Lorenz

Ah, my food had arrived. I had not counted the days, but Varen made it sound like I had been denied the pleasures of the table for over five weeks. That’s a lot of meals I missed, and a lot of making up to do.

I reached for the ham first, and had no plates on which to set it, so I put it back and looked for a loaf of bread instead. I was going to split it in half lengthwise and use one half as a plate, but there were no knives either. Or forks or spoons. Plates, bowls, or cups. Now, I can eat with my hands when I have to, but I have yet to find a graceful way to drink from a jug, or a barrel. I have used my hands to drink from a spring, but my hands were filthy now. I have also used an empty skull when the occasion called for it. But all the skulls here were still in use. Anyway, I couldn’t picture pouring cold milk into my hands and still looking civilized.

After I sent the two boys back for dinnerware, I asked about getting some new clothing, and maybe a haircut and a shave. I also wanted a sword, but did not figure they would let me have one yet. I still was not sure if Lem would let me use a knife of my own.

Valentine suggested one of the boys’ uniforms since I was about the same size. “No,” said Varen. “He would be a tad bit too conspicuous. Prowling about dressed like a trainee is sure to draw attention. We will need a better disguise than that.”

Disguise? That brought up an interesting question. How many people were likely to recognize me?

“Oh. Not that many. There are very few who saw the drawings, and fewer still who saw the Scryings. Most of the search party came straight back after capturing you, and never even got close enough to take a look. There were just a few soldiers with Korb when they began the journey home, and only three priests.”

“Wasn’t I paraded through the streets? Prize captive and all that?” That was the usual punishment, or at least how the usual punishments started. Things usually went downhill after the citizens spit upon and threw rocks at criminals.

“No. We spread the word that you died of your wounds en route here. Of course, there was an entourage from the Council waiting inside the gates to take you. And a contingent of the Duke’s Guard. They have each been convinced that the other somehow spirited you away and locked you up. They are at each others throats now, teeth bared in tight little grins. Its wonderful,” Varen sighed.

“Wonderful!?” I was shocked. This could be terrible. When Church and State fight with one another, it is usually because they have taken their eyes off the people. Then the people get stepped on and crushed, not trusting either entity anymore. Anarchy and true atheism result. The powerful and amoral begin feeding on the weak and defenseless.

Varen’s laughter cut me off as I tried to explain this to him. The others joined in. I glared at them and tried again to make my case.

“But they are already powerful and amoral. That’s why I plan to get rid of them!” Varen declared.

“And take the reins yourself? Have you ever ridden a runaway horse? Do you know how hard this will be to stop once it gets started?” I ranted. Revolution and civil war are rarely good ideas, and I wanted no part in this one.

It was a good thing the boys returned with the plates and silverware then. We were all getting a bit tense. I grabbed a slice of ham, and a thick piece of bread smothered with butter and honey. Oh, this was good!

“So,” I said after a minute of chewing, “how about a fresh change of clothes? Or shall I send this out for cleaning?”

“No, you need a whole new set. Those can’t even be mended anymore,” said Valentine. “How about some of my older clothing. I would offer you something new, but it obviously would not fit.” Lem snickered. I was quite short, but Valentine looked like he had great taste in clothing. Better to dress like a noble than a peasant.

“Sure, but what is wrong with these? I don’t see any major damage. A needle and a little thread, and I can have them looking as good as new. Or, rather, as good as when I … um … found them” I finished awkwardly. I did not want to tell them were I really got these clothes.

There was silence. They seemed to be trying real hard not to look at Lem in particular. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Well…” Lem began, but he was interrupted by Varen.

“I ordered him to whip you on your trip here. He learned a fair amount from the priests of To’kmet. I knew the priests accompanying you would want you punished before you got here. Frankly, I didn’t want you here at all. So, I ordered Lem to whip you to death.” Lem looked very shamefaced. Well, so did Korb and Valentine. Only Varen did not seem affected by the confession.

“Then, when you turned up dead, they would blame Lem, the Duke’s man. He and Korb would point back at the priests. More acrimony. More debates. They would pour more of their time and energy into watching each other …”

“When they should be watching you” I interrupted.

“Well, yes, I suppose they should be. But you should feel lucky that they are not. Otherwise, you might have been recaptured by now.”

Korb stood up to leave, as did Lem. Valentine stopped them with a word. “A toast before we go.”

I looked at him. A toast, now? The question must have been plain on my face. “To our new comrade-in-arms.” Varen lifted his glass, as did Korb, although Lem was a reluctant.

“What’s your name?” asked Lem. “I refuse to call you ‘comrade‘.”

Varen and Valentine looked at each other. Valentine licked his lips and raised his glass again. “Confusion to our enemies, then.” Always the diplomat, he was trying to alleviate the tension his toast had created.

“Confusion to our enemies” joined Varen and Korb. Our glasses came up and clinked together, wine swirling in the darkness. Lem stared at me for a moment, then raised his glass and toasted also.

“Confusion. Chaos. Helter skelter and willy-nilly. Hmm… “ mused Varen. “How about Willy for a name?”

“The Cat, for catalyst” finished Valentine.

“Willy the Cat?” asked Lem incredulously.

“Willy the Cat” repeated Korb. “I like it. A common name. And a cat goes pretty much where it wants, without being seen. Seems like a good name to me.”

Me too. Willy-nilly. Will he or nil he? Will I, or won’t I? Very appropriate. And cats, well, they don’t have masters. They go where they want, do what they want, all without being seen. They blend in to the scenery. And they catch rats. Good, I have two rats I’ve my sights set on.

Valentine left with the Lem and Korb, leaving me alone with Varen, and a lot of food. Varen had eaten a little fruit, while I had gorged on everything I could reach.

“Now, tell me plainly. What do you get out of this? What do I get out of it?” I was waving a knife around while I spoke. I wanted to appear threatening, to see his reaction. See how much he trusted me. And how much he feared me. If at all.

“What do I get? Hmm.” Varen leaned back and closed his eyes, a little smile playing around his mouth.

In the silence that filled the room, I began to notice the rough walls, and the way the oil lamps played on them. Shadows danced across Varen’s face, giving him a look of depth and mystery. I shivered when I realized he reminded me of my father.

His whole face was changed from a general and a planner, to a dreamer, a philosopher. “How about peace. Peace for the people. Maybe a little prosperity. And for me? Peace of mind. A clear conscience. Or at least clearer.” Then he grinned at me and sat up.

“We need to do some planning. Now that you are well fed, are you going to fall asleep? That’s what my old teacher used to do, to recuperate. Well,” he smiled “that’s we he told me at least. I think it was just because he was getting old.”

“No, no, I’m good for a while. But I want to focus on a few immediate needs for now. We’ll talk business later, when I’m a little more alert.

“I wouldn’t mind a change of clothes, and a little money so I can go out and purchase a few necessities. By the way, my belongings, where are they? They’re not much, but I’m still kind of used to them.

“Forget about them,” Varen snapped. “I’ve put out feelers, more for myself than you.” He seemed a bit pessimistic. “I wanted to know more about you, about atheism. I hoped something in your writings might be of assistance to our cause. Free us from …“ Varen paused to search for the right words, “enslavement to … beliefs. Perhaps.

“Anyway. There is no way to get in there. At least not without the priesthood finding out. Sorry, I’m kind of tired, and I’m starting to ramble.” So, I thought, without telling me they are, he still told me where they are. The Temple complex. And that was a problem.

The writings were all mine, in my handwriting, and that was no big deal. But the armor was marked with the smiths’ sigils. They would be able to track them down. And religious persecution of the innocent was a nasty business. All of my stuff was cast-off, but I do not think the Temple Hierarchy would care.

“I need to get it all back, now. I don’t want to make trouble for anybody.” I explained about the craftsmen’s marks. I figured Varen would understand loyalty to friends, or at least work associates. “And if they decipher my books, well, some are theology, and one is a journal of sorts. Lots of people could end up in To’kmet’s dungeons.

“Do you know where they are? Which room? Which building? I’ll go get them myself.”

“No!” Varen snapped in irritation. He obviously was not used to being hounded like this. “There is no way? You can’t get into the Temple without being seen, and then wander around on your own. ‘Excuse me. I’m looking for my books of heresy and a unicorn’s horn.’ It just can’t be done!”

“It can be done,” I soothed. “I can do it. Get me some dark clothes, and take me to see it. I’ll get my belongings back. Give me a hand, and I’ll translate my books for you.” I was leaning across the table staring intently. I preferred his help, but I would do it alone. Together, though, would bind him tighter to me. He would see my abilities and trust me a little more. Feel his need for me more acutely.

“I can’t risk it!” he retorted hotly, leaning back in his chair.

“Risk? What risk??! I’d be the one going in there” I snapped back.

“I can’t jeopardize your anonymity. You can’t get caught. You know about me and my nephew. Lem and Korb. You know we’re plotting something. The priests of To’Kmet will bleed the information out of you. Then we’ll all end up in there with you. No, and I repeat, No.”

“Oh, well. You won’t have to worry about To’Kmet for long,” I said as I leaned back and smiled.

“Those people aren’t scared of anything,” Varen snorted. Then he stood and started pacing around. Agitated. I guess he either felt comfortable with me already, or he let his guard down when he got tired.

I sighed contentedly and looked at the table. The remains of the food were scattered around. By my count, I had devoured two whole hams, all the fruit, and a few vegetables. A loaf of bread, a wheel of cheese, and all of the milk. I left the water because it wouldn’t spoil, and I could use it later.

After surveying the table, I raised my eyes to his furious glare. He had stopped pacing just long enough to face me. My silence must have gotten under his skin finally. “I didn’t say ‘they,’ I said ‘he.’”

“He!? To’Kmet? Am I hearing you right? People dive out of his way so he doesn’t kill them for getting to close to him. That avatar business of his started in the Ring, and won him some acclaim. Now he carries it outside, into the city. Of course, the priests are all for it. As he convinces people that he really is To’Kmet, they believe there is a real god ruling our city, and the priesthood gains more power.”

“So, if you don’t believe he is really a god, want do you believe?”

“I believe in power. I believe in right and wrong. I believe To’Kmet is a powerful wizard, maybe. Absolutely amoral and entirely self-centered.” Varen sighed before continuing. “I wish there was a way to stop him. You know, most people don’t even remember his real name anymore. Robert. I heard that he killed the last person who called him by his given name. It was an old friend. The guy who took him in and taught him the ways of the streets when he first got to the city. Boiled his eyes in his head until the popped and ran down his face. Set his hair on fire. There were flames coming from under his fingernails, and black, oily smoke pouring from his mouth. And there was nothing anyone could do about it.”

Well now, this is really interesting. Varen really had my attention.

“What a sorry town we’ve become, where something like this can happens on the street in broad daylight, and nobody tries to help. To’Kmet cursed him, then turned and walked away. The old man started burning within moments. To’Kmet didn’t even stay to watch.

“His shadow covers this city. He is reputedly the god of death, pain and torture. His priests have all become sadists. Well, most of them. There were a few who were that way to begin with. Now they are all sadistic and vicious. And the citizens of our fair city are becoming inured to the violence. Crime is on the rise, and the games in the Ring are getting bloodier. Not just to the death. A quick death gets boo’s, while lots of blood gets lots of gold. The meaner the fight, the more cheers.

“And the Avatar is the worst. He fights with a sword to start with, toying with people. He always fights solo against groups. Chops up a few, throwing arms, legs, and heads into the crowd. Then he drives his sword into the sand in the center of the ring, letting anyone use it, while he draws two short knives. Naturally, the others move in quickly to take advantage of him now. He gets cut up, loses some blood. But he is really talented. So fast. You would think he is possessed by a god.”

Varen’s gaze is focused beyond our narrow walls. Seeing past tournaments. Past slaughters. Games that were no more the murders. The outcome certain from the beginning. If this guy, Robert the Avatar, is really possessed by To’Kmet, then no mere mortal can stand against him. Varen’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Finally, it comes down to him and one other.” I can tell Varen is soul-weary. He has seen this scenario played out too many times, and he is sick. He wants to do something about it, but knows he can’t. “He throws away his two knives, and lets the last man standing came after him with his own sword. He takes a few more nicks, some more blood on the sand. The crowd is on its feet, knowing the end is near. To’Kmet stands still while his victim lunges with his own sword. He grabs it with his bare hands, just short of his chest and holds it there, while his blood runs down the blade. As soon as it touches his opponenet, his victim starts to scream, hair starting to crisp, skin curling and crackling, eyes boiling away. He chars from the inside out, turning black, then the gray and white of ashes, blowing away in the wind. And the crowd is cheering.”

Varen had stopped pacing, standing still as a statue, unable to look away from his memories. I could see the tears trickling down his face now, sparkling in the fading torchlight. He may not think so, but this was good for him. A cleansing of the soul. Many people in positions of authority don’t feel they can unburden. They take the world onto their shoulders, and slowly break down inside. There has to be an outlet like this, but Varen obviously doesn’t have one. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be talking to me like this.

“Varen,” I whispered. “Let’s put this food away, and go to bed. Then we can get a fresh start in the morning.” He had given me a lot to think about tonight.

He swallowed and nodded, but didn’t wipe away his tears. I did most of the work, but I didn’t mind. He was still distracted by his thoughts, but now he was also emotionally drained by reliving his memories. I saw him out the door, and heading up the steps, before I turned and slipped back through the crack in the wall.