The Cat Who Knew How to Cry

5. THE PUNISHING CLAW (part 4)

"So, I'm not quite the 'do-gooder' you thought me to be," concluded Anar.

"Well, if you had written all that out on paper and let me read it, I might have agreed with you," the sianae cocked her head playfully. "But I heard the tone with which you spoke."

"And what tone was that?"

"A drea-ary one," she drawled..

"Everything here is as dreary as can get. Even intrigues."

"Oh? And I thought every day brought fireworks... ending in a fatality."

"Fireworks aren't uncommon, but making them is pretty risky. The reality is much more boring. Firstly, we've got a whole army of bureaucrats calling themselves 'Guardians of the Cat's Essence' who spend their days and nights making sure that citizens' behavior corresponds to their social status. You're constantly being compared against a standard. The brightness of your shirts is scrutinized, and the angle of your bows measured, may the bastards get devoured by a mouse! Then there are the endless reports, on the basis of which a decision is rendered whether or not an individual merits a promotion or a demotion. Or being exiled to some backwater temple – to correct the flaws of their soul."

"And a more deserving candidate then assumes the vacation position."

"Right. Bribery, falsified reports, incrimination, slander – these are far deadlier than any local poisons or spells. Of course, you can also simply 'help' a competitor to fail some task. Again, our ideal subordinate is one who obeys his superior like the other's own tail, knows the Devout Cats Code front to back as it relates to their position. And Alasais forbid you show any initiative! Sometimes I think living in Rual would be easier without thinking at all. Simply memorize the Code and let it guide your behavior in every situation. Stimulus – reaction. Pure reflex. Everybody would be ecstatic with you... And, given time, you could take advantage to get whatever you desire."

"If only there was anything here to desire," Aniallu nodded understandingly.

"Right. The locals might spend years cherishing the hope that they may one day merit handing some priest a sacred rod. Or be afforded the privilege of scratching their ears in the queen's presence. Or become the superior of the brash bastard that stood one foot in front of them during the First Morning Ceremony. And they would stoop to any lows to make it happen. I've always felt kind of deranged around them. And with time, I really did begin losing my mind from sheer boredom.

"By the time Amialis realized that I wasn't going to jockey with Kor for power, I was already set with strong connections of my own, including those in the royal family. For my uncle, having an unambitious dolt like myself as an heir is very advantageous, so he mercifully turned a blind eye to my antics. I could throw a feast with my slaves, sleep through an important ceremony, even try to push through some kind of reform... which would turn out to be totally useless," Anar gave a pained frown. "He set his personal guard to stand watch over me; if Amialis were to try and mess with my memory again, it would inevitably be made public, and she would be ousted from Rual once again. So, her plains were ruined, though she's still within her power to keep me here. We're at a stalemate, a temporary ceasefire. And absolutely hopeless...

"But then, just as I've finally come to terms with my lot, you show up – the same race as us, perhaps even more Alae than we are, yet so utterly unlike us... unlike them. And just as deranged as me. To say that I'm baffled is to say nothing at all. Indeed, if Alasais herself were to come down from heaven, it would shock me less than when you spoke to me like... like an old friend. Listen," he checked himself, a blue blaze in his eyes, "You said that you help those like me to find a new home. Does that mean you're here for me?"