Morning Over a Bookshop

“Tra la la, the Starveling Cat! Sharp as… something! Blunt as a—OH!”

Oh, excuse me miss. Am I intruding?

“Who are you and what have you done with Aspasia, you brute? Stay back, this is the finest Rattus Faberware and it’s quite loaded!”

I passed Aspasia on the stairs saying that she was off to the Bazaar to procure eggs and Rubbery Lumps for two. As she neglected to mention which other party she meant to feed with them, I presumed it to be myself. However, as I see this is not the case I will leave you both to your pleasantries.

“Oh… no, please, sit down! If you’re a friend of hers then I should offer you a cup of tea at the very least. May I ask your name?”

I am Mister Tiddles. A pleasure to meet you.

“Oh, of course! I do beg your pardon. She has mentioned you before but I had thought that you were one of those cats she always seems to be talking to in the street. Though I did wonder how a cat could have come to be a three-time Ring of Roses champion.”

Most fighting cats claim that their secret lies in the back legs, though I have met some proficient in conventional boxing. But you still have me at a disadvantage regarding your own name.

“Oh, I’m no one you’re likely to have heard of. In most circles I’m more famous for the curve of my… well.”

Yes. Er.

“Perhaps I should put some clothes on before we continue.”

There seems to be a purple gown halfway under the chaise lounge…

“Er. Yes, that would be mine. Thank you. So how is it that you know Aspasia?”

I fell from a rooftop fighting match onto a cat of her acquaintance whilst they were conversing. He was sadly slain by the force of my fall but he gifted me his name with his dying breath.

“An honour, if a bit ghoulish. Then, I suppose cats go in a great deal for both those things. Oh, here’s your tea. Do you take sugar?”

No, thank you love. I had best finish this and be going at any rate. I should hate to think of the two of you put off by my presence.

“Between you and the Rubbery Men of my acquaintance I’m beginning to think that the politest men aren’t men at all. Are all of your own species this accommodating?”

I’m afraid I could hardly say, being unaware of my own past or place of origin. Certainly I’ve never met anyone in the Neath who looks remotely like me save a few unsavoury sea monsters.

“How dreadful! I know the secretary of a certain Implacable Detective who might be persuaded to aid your search…”

It hardly concerns me at the present time, but my thanks for the offer regardless.

“Of course. Will you be needing a cab? Aspasia has a cat she pays to hail them from the window.”

As I live in the opposite flat that would hardly be necessary. Good morning, young miss.

“Good morning, Mister Tiddles. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Snow in the Neath? Snow in the Neath.

“Oh dear. Here come the carollers again.”

Shall I fetch the boiling pitch?

“I’m afraid we’ve run out since last Knife-and-Candle night. Such prolonged exposure to the snow should catch up to them in any case.”

I found a rat half-frozen in a drift of it this morning. The poor creature seemed to be clawing out its own eyes.

“At least snow on the surface could only—will you hold still? I only have so much salve!”

Terribly sorry, love.

“How you manage to stagger back here in such a state every morning I can hardly imagine. With this many slashes you look like a cut-paper fancy you could buy at the Bazaar for a penny.”

I assure you I’m worth much more than that as an objet d’art.

“Of course you are. To this end I may need you to accompany me in a decorative capacity to the Duchess’s winter fete next week.”

I say, I’m hardly cut out for such events…

“Just wear your mask and no one will give it a second thought. I’ve had worse than you accompany me before. Half the guests will be our friends from the Mandrake anyhow.”

But why myself? I would be surprised if as wanton a breaker of hearts as yourself had no one else to accompany her.

“You’re so busy with your Black Ribbons and your recovering in bed every other day and such that I hardly see you anymore. And it does get so tedious having someone on one’s arm that one has to impress all night. Even with the prospect of such a thing leading to later dalliance.”

Is skulking about drunkenly in imitation of the Vake frowned upon?

“I’m sure everyone would be terribly amused. If it gets too dull we can always stage a brawl. The Duchess says nothing completes a party like at least three call-outs and a stabbing.”

Then I can certainly—good lord, I think the singing is getting worse.

“I hear boiled Neath snow has much the same effect as pitch. Let me get a saucepan.”