Hotel Scenes from the Velvet Paw of Asquith Novels

Chapter 1

From The Purging of Ruen, Chapter 13

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In which Oscar returns from a day of traipsing around the beautiful seaside city of Ruen, only to find the hotel he's been staying at has been cordoned off in preparation for an exclusive dinner for the city's councillors.

OSCAR frowned at a sign in Hotel d'Ruen's foyer. It was not a complicated or confusing sign. It had only six words, and three of them were one syllable. After a day of wandering around He frowned because he was thinking about things that were complicated: his bizarre conversation with a cyclopic dog, and a freak encounter with a manure-smearing cat. The former hinted at something unruly brewing, while the latter provided an illustrated example.

The sign wasn't helping him understand either.

Which only highlighted his day's frustration.

He'd spent most of it perusing cafés, all of which made excellent hot-fin, but had offered no further curiosities. In them, he'd deliberated his options, which ultimately revolved around perusing more cafés. He'd asked waiters about pooh-smearing animals and nasty things brewing, which they assumed were references to their cafés. As a result, he'd been thrown out of them, which was another reason for the number of cafés frequented.

After a day unconstructive and indiscrete, Oscar was left convinced he was about as useful as a bucket with no bottom, and he failed to recall any Catacomb's training regarding bottomless buckets. The manure-scrawling had been rinsed away and its author was about as famous as one of his poems. Were it not for the audience who'd seen the graffiti, he might have dismissed the encounter as dream. Moreover, a day spent wandering through the city had revealed nothing to illustrate Horace's concerns either. Indeed, Ruen seemed wonderful, particularly if one aspired to being thrown from cafés. He sighed, feeling to have pieces of puzzle from two completely different puzzles. He was keen to throw them back in their boxes and go home. But he was on curiosa, so he couldn't. And anyway, he didn't have the boxes either.

Instead, he continued glowering at the sign.

He wondered whether Horace's offer of ear-consolation might elucidate more clues, but felt the dog had already divulged more than intended. Perhaps he could admit to being a Velvet Paw of Asquith. But because that would be about as discreet as wiping faeces on a wall, he refrained. Disheartened, he realised that tomorrow he'd probably just peruse more cafés.

He read the sign again.

Dining Room Closed For Private Function.

He scowled. It might as well be referring to his competence, except that he hadn't any. After a day of being useless, he'd been looking forward to another excellent meal of food to compensate.

"Are you having trouble with it, sir?" a staff member asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"The sign," the animal said, pointing at it. "Are you having trouble with any part of it in particular?"

"Trouble?"

"Yes. It's just that you've been staring at it for some time, and I was wondering what bit of it you were struggling with."

"I am not struggling with any of it, thank you," Oscar said, not in the mood for convivial hoteliers. "Not with the sign, anyway."

"Are you certain? You've been looking at it for quite some time."

"I was thinking about something else."

"In relation to the sign?"

"What?"