The Cat Who Knew How to Cry

6. DEATH'S ASSISTANT (part 2)

"Once a ghoul, always a ghoul!" she hissed, choosing the worst possible epithet for the follower of the Merciful, renowned warriors of the undead.

"Turned us down?"

"Worse. He told me he'll do it himself. Himself! And just how exactly does he plan to sniff out the conspirators without us? The stupid vampire!"

"What?! Where does he get off thinking he can do this without us! He obviously failed to understand something. Let me talk to him, Talia. I'll explain things. Clearly and simply."

"He understood perfectly," the Alae wrinkled her brow.

"I'm not just going to leave it at that. Where is he now? I want to talk to him myself."

"There's no point..."

"I don't get it." Irson was starting to lose patience. "You were just talking about him like an old devoted friend you could count on, and now this!"

"Oh, Irson," Talia rubbed her face in distress. "He is old and he is devoted... but not quite a friend, more like a comrade-in-arms. We've been through a lot together and see many things in the exact same light. But he's... got his quirks. Just think, ten years ago it was unthinkable for him that anyone would dare criticize Veindor and his circle. And the notion that a non-human might lay claim to a spot alongside the Merciful's noble servants? Laughable! Then I happened into his life. On the one hand, he feels very strongly that everything he and I have started can be super beneficial to Veindor and company... But on the other, to him I'm still an uneducated, bigmouthed schemer with a tail. A sloppy mop-top oddball, the daughter of Enhiarg's foremost harlot. All in all, a completely unworthy being – even discussing the tenets of the Merciful's sacred teachings with me is blasphemy. And now you show up – a poisonous innkeeper with a Lindorg diploma... Barking up the same tree. You can see why he's a bit rattled."

Bit by bit, Talia returned to her sardonic tone of voice. But her explaining didn't mollify Irson one bit.

"That's stupid."

"Well, I guess if you wanted to you could stick a sign that says 'certifiable idiot' on anyone's forehead. You and I probably don't have any shortage of stupid notions in our heads either," Talia countered, slapping her head.

"So, what do you suggest? Let him do as he pleases and run our own investigation parallel to his?"

"No, I think we should try and prove to him that we're not the vile beasts he's made us out to be in his wild imagination. Then everything'll work out."

"And I think your pal could use some straightening out! Even a bit of extreme correction would do. I'm not a confrontational Tanae by nature, but that's the kind of crap that gets my venom flowing! I don't feel like I have anything to prove. Least of all to some..." Irson scuffed his foot in annoyance.

"I prefer to think of it as 'indulging others' weaknesses,'" Talia yawned ostentatiously. "Let's not sink to his level. No one's asking you to do the dance of a hundred rings[1] for him. I for one... am going to try to bring him back to his senses. Then you can talk to him in a harsher tone. We might just be able to get through to him then." She twitched her shoulders. "Yeah, that's what I would do. But it's your adventure, not mine. You decide."

"All right... How do you plan on 'bringing him to his senses'?"

"Hey, Irson, you don't by any chance have any aches or pains right now?" Talia asked out of the blue.

No..." Irson was taken aback.

"Too bad. Come on, don't look at me like that. I'm telling you: our ace in the hole in the fight against xenophobia, common prejudice and religious dogmatism, which some associates of mine have, is my spirit. All my fussing with all these Veindor-pleasing things has made a pretty strong impression on it."