The Diary of Argyle

This is a three part story I finished about a week ago. This post is the first part; I'll get the others soon enough.

THE DIARY OF ARGYLE THE CYNIC

[First Entry]

What makes a good story? Conflict, can't have one without that. And romance, that's always nice. Characters are necessary, too. This is my story, and that makes me the main character. But this isn't a fictional account of someone's exploits. These things actually happened, and so I should introduce myself. You could say I'm a philosopher and yet not a poet. You could say I'm someone who writes but doesn't do it as an art. You could say I'm insane when I'm drunk, but even more so when I'm sober. You could say these things--and people say them about me all the time in this city of Negav-- because I am well-known as Argyle the cynic.

The ruling Council banned a book of mine roughly a hundred years ago; even so, I assume that many of the people I've met have at least heard of it in spite of the ban, considering the looks I receive when I'm forced to introduce myself. Equally Wise and yet Useless Adages for Felaryans. It was not a completed work, and started as a diary of sorts in which I recorded various 'wisdoms' I heard and why they were actually quite shallow when you gave them enough thought. They confiscated that book a long time ago, about the time I started handing out copies. Even so, I got quite popular before they shut me down. They said that if I did it again, they would force me out of the city.

I told them that was fine by me, even though I once again found myself not in agreement with them. There was a silver lining, however--they had never said I couldn't keep writing for my personal interests, and more importantly they hadn't banned me from going to bars. So, for a hundred more years I drank my thoughts (and the voices) into submission each night, putting the drinks on my tab which I would pay off by betting my pocket change on games of chance. If I just wasn't lucky that night, I was run out of the establishment and had to find another one—but I was usually exceedingly lucky (you learn to spot a bluff after a hundred years of this type of practice) and my winnings allowed me to continue to imbibe their glorious elixirs for days on end.

One night, after growing quite drunk from drinking much richer liquor than the cheap stuff I normally did, the barkeep stopped serving me my medicine. Outraged, I demanded to know why. He informed me that I'd have to win at a certain game of his in order to write off my tab, as we both knew I didn't have nearly enough money to pay it off. Immediately I remembered the game this bar's owner had come up with long ago, the first time he needed a way to deal with me.

I sat down at a table with the four largest drunks of the night. The owner explained the rules of the game--boozehounds' bar bet--as a tournament-style poker card game. Everyone had a bank of one hundred betting points with a minimum bet of ten points. Whoever won would have his debt annulled and the others would have to work theirs off to the bar. We were all in agreement, and the first hand was dealt.

The community cards were so good that everyone went all in on the first hand. I was the last one who had to call the bet; since my hand wasn't too great, I folded. Obviously only one of my opponents remained, except now he had quite a bit more to bet with than I did. However, he had only won by luck so far—not skill. It took me a few rounds of back and forth with him, but eventually I won. The man slammed his fists on the table and went off to the kitchens to join the others.

I leaned back in the chair and smiled at the barkeep, shouting for another dose of ethanol. After I had treated a party of me, myself, and I to a few rounds, the doors of the bar slammed open and someone asked in a very official voice, "where is Argyle?" Every finger in the bar seemed to suddenly be pointing at me, and I looked deep into my pewter mug before asking the bartender to fill it back up. The voice was standing directly behind me when it demanded, "You are charged with conspiracy to defy the Council."

I heard one of his lackeys fiddling with what I suspected were manacles. Without turning around, I asked him, "that's quite an interesting charge. What sort of proof do you have?" I wondered if these guys really didn't have anything better to do; I wondered how many people would be mugged between now and whenever this little game was finished.

Obviously my speech wasn't too slurred for him to understand; I saw him grab my journal from the table. "I'm sure this has all the proof we'll need," he said in a self-assured voice.

"Assuming, of course, that you can read it," I noted, finally turning around to look at them.

The man in charge of bringing me in wore the rank of warrant officer, while the other two appeared to be from the militia. He made a face, as if he had forgotten that Felarya's magic can't translate written words the way it could speech. He opened the book to the first page. "What does this say?" he demanded.

"It's a list of my favorite drinks. The first is 'double whiskey'--one part whiskey to one part whiskey. After that is--"

"Don't screw with me, old man," he said flatly.

"Old? I'm a hundred years young, my friend. Very well. I guess I can't help it, you'll find out sooner or later. It says 'I, Argyle the Cynic, welcome you to Felarya. It is a strange place, and you might come to hate it here, but I offer you the following condolence should you find yourself despairing--the only difference between where you came from and where you are now is that the first spat you out while the second will swallow you whole'."

"Such sentiments are unbecoming of a good citizen," the warrant officer said, slamming the journal shut in his hand.

"Figures," I said, "rights have a habit of disappearing when those in power find them inconvenient. So you're bringing me in? Very well," I said, turning back to the barkeep, and putting on my fedora. "I'd like a few drinks to-go ple--" There was a sharp pain in the back of my head, and everything turned black. When I opened my eyes, my head was throbbing. I looked around at the untended overgrowth of this world, and remembered just how massive and strange it had seemed when I first wandered here.

Damn, I was reminiscing again. I looked in my hands, and found that I had in fact never received my to-go drinks from the bar. Those bastards...but no matter. Even though the voices were quiet now, they would probably come back any minute since I was so precariously sober, which was evident by my hangover. But I wouldn't give the voices the chance to speak up--I removed my hip flask and imbibed the alcohol therein. Now fully hydrated, I set out in the most favorable-looking direction.

It was safe to assume I was no longer in the city, and that they expected me to live in exile. If I entered the city, the wards on the gates would go off like an alarm and guards would quickly take me into custody. Less likely, but still possible, was the off chance that I had been magically transmogrified into a tomthumb or something as punishment and was now wandering about in someone's garden. I smiled to myself—maybe a cute neko would pounce on me (I won't lie, I have always had a thing for neko women. They're quite fantastic.) Regardless, I planned to head to the dimensional gate to the North, since Negav had banished me.

Contrary to what some will say, moss grows on whichever side of a tree it damn well pleases, but on a serious note I had no bearings to judge my path on. Still, I somehow managed to find a small, beaten trail, and I followed it to find the road leading from Negav to the North. This was good news! If they hadn't bothered to dump my body very far off the road, then they might also have been too lazy travel up the road very far in the first place—meaning I could still very well be within the ward of the Eye.

After reaching the road, I figured the best thing to do was to wait. I sat down and opened my book--apparently they didn't need it for evidence anymore, after I told them what it said. Since they wanted both me and my thoughts out of their city, I was a bit surprised they hadn't burned the book or at least locked it away, but then again the Council rules the city quite differently than I would.

I began writing my thoughts as they came to me. A few hours of waiting went by uneventfully--but rather quickly, because I had something to do. I realized I was not appropriately drunk yet because I felt like I was being watched, but I put the paranoia out of mind as best I could. Eventually, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a wagon traveling down the road. I waved it down, hiding my joy as it stopped.

"Can I help you?" the driver asked.

I earnestly removed my hat and held it plaintively, trying to look as helpless as possible. "I would like to buy some food," I said. When I heard the voices awaken loudly, I added, "and alcohol. Lots of alcohol. In fact, I'll take the alcohol over the food." Ask any drunk and they'll agree--you can survive in Felarya for forty days without food, for three days without water, but when you finally get either you'll suddenly wish you had even the cheapest swill.

"I plan to sell my goods in the city, not on the road," he frowned. "Why don't you go to the city and buy some for yourself?"

Fantastic, I thought to myself, why did I waste time writing in that stupid book? I should have come up with a cover story, instead.

"What's that about a book?" he asked. Did I say that out loud? The voices were now almost as confused as I was.

Frantic, I held up my diary, "yes, I have this! An original Argyle!"

"I don't deal in contraband," he said as if he expected someone to jump out of the bushes and arrest him should he answer incorrectly.

I goaded his furtive interest, "it's not the book you're thinking of, it's actually a sequel."

"I've heard quite enough," he said, whipping his horses to urge them forward. A whistling streak of fire hurtled through the air in front of the pair of them and they reared up and whinnied. I looked to see what it was—a flaming arrow, now sitting by the side of the road. When I turned back, a band of angry-looking neko and a few humans had appeared silently, from nowhere, and were blocking off the road.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked the tallest neko, standing in front of the horses.

"Negav," the driver said, pretending to be unafraid.

"Well then, we'll have to collect the tariffs we're owed."

"You don't look like tax-collectors," the driver remarked.

"Nor should we," the neko smiled toothily. "Seeing as how we're highwaymen and all..."

The driver pulled a hidden rifle from overhead in a single fluid motion, but before he could take aim, another flaming arrow shot it out from his hand.

"Thanks for the save, Yumiko," the neko said, his smile now evaporated. He held up a hand, giving a signal. I could tell it meant for everyone to move in, and I quickly realized that I was a loose thread in their plan. I spun around to see two neko leaping through the air at me. I rolled towards and underneath both of them, turning around so that I would face them as they landed. They were faster than most neko I had fought in bars, and were already moving to flank me. Damn, they were smarter than I was used to as well.

I didn't have a table to knock over or hide behind, and not even a chair to brandish—and so, I charged for one of them, moving so that he wouldn't try to leap at me. I baited him by getting close enough for him to use his cudgel, then allowed him to follow through with a second, unarmed attack after missing with his first. Now that he was off-balance from having missed twice in the same step, I reached out and grabbed his arm, putting my foot forward in front of where he needed to step. I used it as a fulcrum, and twisted sharply to trip him over my outstretched leg a single movement, then I kicked him hard in the side of the head to knock him out. I had to admit, that was a lot easier to pull off when I was sober.

I felt the other's bloodlust behind me, and leaped away from the wagon while turning to look at where I just had been standing. I saw him fly through the air, just barely missing my hat with a swipe of his claws. He was out for blood, and was so intent on hurting me that he had even missed his leader's signal to stop. No, he wasn't trying to make him stop...it was something else. The voices were now mocking me, as if everyone were making sport of me. I ignored them, and focused on the neko who was now charging me. He swiped wildly at me, and while the attacks were easy to predict, that didn't make them less ferocious or easier to dodge.

He pulled both arms back, preparing to deliver a strike with both sets of claws at once—and in doing so, he left an opening. I stopped retreating backwards, planted my foot in the ground and brought the knee of my other leg into his chest. It missed--he worked his feet to weave his torso around the attack, but doing that messed up his footing and so his attack also wasn't perfectly accurate; he merely grazed my cheek after I read the trajectory and partially dodged it. I grabbed his wrist on the follow-through, let myself roll backwards to the ground and brought my foot up to launch him backwards with a kick.

This maneuver actually worked, but when I got up he was already rising up to his full height after landing on all fours. Apparently, I had only served to make him angrier. Suddenly, something whistled past my head and I saw the neko spin in place on his foot. When he stopped, he was clutching an arrow in his hand. We both looked at the white ribbon attached to its shaft, and he retracted his claws back into the space between his knuckles before bounding off around me in a series of leaps back to the wagon.

I stood there, turning to follow him with my eyes. If he could react fast enough to catch arrows, how had someone like me lasted so long against him? It wasn't as if he had been going easy on me. As the neko ran by, I heard the voices say something distinct, Nekomura. Normally I ignored the voices, but they had a good point—there was a good chance that these brigands were from the neko village north of Negav. It was worth a shot, and I chased after the neko who had attacked me. They had already brought out several chests and jars full of gods-know-what. The leader jumped out from the wagon, apparently satisfied after giving it a final once-over. After I watched the wagon begin moving on with its lightened load, I figured it wouldn't hurt my chances at survival too much, and shouted, "what was that signal you gave to your men?"

"I was testing you," the neko said with a face that bore no expression.

"Did I pass?" I asked, picking up my hat, dusting it off, and placing it gingerly on my head.

He stood with hands akimbo and dodged the question with one of his own. "What's your name, human?"

"Argyle."

"You're from Negav's militia, I take it?"

"No," I said.

"You must be from some fighting force in that city," he remarked.

"No, I just fight in bars from time to time. I don't have a real job, per se, but I'm a writer. A cultural satirist."

"Normally I'd think you were insulting the skills of my men—or at least my intelligence," the neko frowned. "However, your mind seems almost as sharp as your fighting skills, so you wouldn't do something so stupid as that, now would you?"

"I could be of use to you," I said, grasping for straws. I might be exiled, but now that I think of it my homeworld isn't that much better than Felarya, and besides a lot could have changed in the hundred-or-so years I was gone.

"So, they've kicked you out," he remarked. How could he know that? "Must have pissed in someone's tonic," he added.

"So will you take me?"

"That depends," he said. "If you work for us, you can't have such a fancy name." He sniffed the air, and smiled. "How about...Mouse-malt," he asked, to the chortling of the rest of the brigands.

"Sounds like a very girly, very neko drink," I remarked.

"You can take the offer or leave it," he said diplomatically before adding with a shrug, "I'm sure you can survive a few days in the wilds."

"Alright, alright. I'll work for you."

"Oh, you won't be working for me," he smiled. "Well, you'll take your orders from me or one of my peers, but our orders come from the boss. I'm merely going to present you to him. Such things as your job prospects are not for me to decide."

The voices whispered. "He's in Nekomura, I take it?" I asked, recalling what they had said earlier.

"Indeed," the neko smiled. "You will accompany us there. But make yourself useful and carry something, will you?"

[Second Entry]

Nekomura was a far cry from Negav. There weren't really streets, just places in between the buildings. The buildings themselves weren't as grand-looking, and most were built into or around trees. Obviously, the neko-to-human ratio was reversed, but an even more noticeable change was the fact that the citizens all moved with purpose and didn't make eye contact with me or the band of ruffians who would've drawn at least some attention in Negav.

The leader, who I now knew was called Shadowclaw, led his less-than-merry band to a hovel not unlike the others. After stepping in, I recognized it was a bar by the smoke of various intoxicating herbs and the ubiquitous aroma of alcohol. We passed the patrons by, and walked to a door which looked like it led out of the establishment. Shadowclaw knocked twice on the door, and the porthole slid open. Two eyes looked out at us, and it slid closed again before the door was unlatched from the other side. It opened, and at that moment I realized most of the brigands had left to mingle with the barflies—leaving me alone with Shadowclaw. He led me through corridors lined--almost littered--with exotic weapons. We stopped in front of one of a door, and my guide gestured for me to enter.

I stepped inside; the air was filled with the smoke of a musky herb. A single candle on a table lit the room; behind the table, a large-framed neko sat watching me. He didn't seem concerned or bothered by the silence, but still broke it by speaking to himself as if I weren't present, "he looks so...scrawny. Why would Shadowclaw think I would be interested in him? Perhaps he's less of a brawler and more of a thinker." He fixed his eyes on me. "Well? Tell me your name, human."

"Argyle," I said.

He frowned. "I'm the boss of this little operation. Name's Shiangoh. But if you want to work for me, you will need a nickname. Shadowclaw didn't give you one?"

"Mouse-malt," I said when the voices urged me. I really, really shouldn't be conversing when I'm this sober.

The neko laughed and the room seemed to brighten with his mirth for a moment before returning to dim dullness. "Tell me, Mouse-malt, what do you know of thieves?"

"They take what isn't theirs?" I asked.

"Wrong," he smiled. "A common misconception, but nonetheless wrong." He picked up one of two matching tubes from his desk and began working it over with his hands as his speech built up momentum. "The concept of ownership is something we made up. Or rather, our ancestors made it up. You see, in the beginning there were no societies. Then, neko, like men, banded together into communities. They gave up their unlimited freedoms—to take and do whatever they pleased—and gave a portion of these rights to an authority figure. The authority rules by virtue of this contract made by our ancestors." The neko set the tube back down on the table and steepled his fingers. "But the problem is that this happened so long ago that I was never allowed to have my say in the matter. And so I view this contract as null and void, at least for me, and live by a different philosophy—one much more suited for the nature of this world."

"The strong shall devour the weak?" I asked.

The neko didn't smile, but somehow I sensed he was pleased with my answer. "Mmm...that's close enough. You obviously understand the truth of the situation. Of course, in our case 'devour' is meant figuratively. It should rather be said, 'the strong shall do what they please with the weak.' So why would a clever thief like yourself live in Nekomura and not Negav? Neko aren't as easy to pickpocket as humans."

I wasn't expecting the change in subject, and was too sober to think of a convincing lie. "They kicked me out. I was writing in a diary."

The neko stood up abruptly, but I sensed no hostility. "Ah! Now I remember! Argyle, you magnificent bastard, I read your book!"

"It's nice to meet a fan," I said. "I wasn't aware it was translated into any neko languages."

"The neko respect those such as you; we are likewise always looking for truth. While we believe in upholding tradition, we know that even tradition sometimes needs to be re-examined." He stroked his whiskers and smiled. "You've impressed me, human. More than I thought you would. I suppose I should open the challenges to you."

"Challenges?" I repeated.

"Yes. My daughter is betrothed to whomever can best my three challenges. He must show me wisdom, he must show me strength, and he must show me fortitude. If you really are the same cynic you claim to be, you already possess more than enough wisdom."

"I can also show you fortitude. No man or neko can drink more than I."

The neko laughed. "That is also acceptable. We shall see--after all, I am quite an accomplished drunk." He held up a gourd which was sitting on his table. "Do you know what this is?" he asked. I shook my head. "It is a Gokut gourd--a rare item created long ago by a neko craftsman and enchanter who bore that very name. Gokut's secret was lost to time, which is unfortunate because these gourds have a wonderful property--when one is stoppered, it refills itself with an odd-tasting but potent firewater. It's also rather durable, having been specially petrified with minerals from a river flowing in the legendary crystal forest."

My sobriety was so stressful that at this moment I wasn't sure which sounded more appealing—the gourd or his daughter. This must have been obvious to him, because he laughed, "how about you get this as a dowry?" When he saw me smile, his expression turned dark. "Very well, you have my word. But you should know the remaining challenge is not so open-ended as the other two. The challenge of strength has always been one-on-one combat between myself and my daughter's suitor. You see, I've been in many fights. That's how I got this," he said pointing to a large scar over his left eye. He then popped the eye out, and it took me a moment to get over the shock—obviously it was glass. "After I flew into a rage and ripped off the man's arm in one such fight, no-one wants to fight me anymore. My skills are becoming dull—that's part of the reason I created these challenges in the first place."

"And what's the other reason?" I asked.

He casually popped his eye back in the socket. "The other reason is my daughter. She's a bit of a...spirited child. Strong-willed, like her father, but perhaps too much so. She doesn't seem interested in any of her many suitors. I'm sure you've gotten this impression from her—from my little Yumiko." I coughed--this old neko, who was built like a bank vault, was the father of that curvaceous little pistol? "What was that?" Shiangoh growled.

"I apologize, I'm not myself when I'm sober," I said, apparently unable to keep my thoughts to myself. He laughed and tossed me the gourd, which I caught as if my life depended upon it--and if very well might if any more thoughts slipped my tongue without my knowledge. I popped the cork off, put it to my lips and let gravity take over. I felt the wonderful burn of man's--and neko's--oldest friend, and when it was empty I stoppered it again. I heard liquid sloshing around inside, and quickly drained it once again.

"Ha!" he bellowed, "you drink like a mermaid!"

"Thanks," I said, somehow knowing it was a compliment. My head was swimming, but the voices were finally gone after a few moments, and I stoppered the gourd and tossed it back to its owner. "That firewater isn't half bad."

"You're a cheap drunk, then," he smiled.

"Not cheap, merely...economical. I drink my liquor as if I were running a business."

"Well," he laughed, "we all drink for different reasons, I suppose." He removed the cork.

"To each his own?" I asked.

He agreed, "to each his own," and drained the contents of the gourd with a smile.

"I'm a bit curious," I said, now comfortably floating in a mild sense of elation, "what are those tubes you have there?"

"These? They're a rather interesting weapon. In fact, they're how I lost the eye."

"Oh?" I asked with genuine interest.

"Well, I wasn't always the leader of half of Nekomura's thieves. I used to be a grunt like you. These Vishmitali were carried by two men who were escorting a caravan. When I stepped too close, they swung with them in a surprise attack and cut out my eye, and...well I've already said what happened next."

"You ripped his arm off, but then what?"

"Well, after I ripped his arm out, I was too close for the other one to use his Vishmitali. It's a sort of polearm weapon, you see. It's good until the enemy gets too close, so I pounced on him and clawed it from his hand. After that, the rest of my band was emboldened and they overtook the rest of the guards. I was promoted, and that was the start of my advancement up the syndicate. And now, here I sit—-at the top."

"So, how does it work?" I asked, curious. He smiled and picked it up. Somehow, he triggered it and the small rod extended telescopically until it was about ten feet long, and finally a blade sprung outwards from the tip, unfolding like a flower of death and locking into place. "That's pretty snazzy," I said. "I wouldn't mind having one of those."

"They're not for sale or trade," he said firmly.

"Fair enough."

[Third Entry]

After my meeting with Shiangoh, I found the days in Nekomura were every bit as slow as they were in Negav. The nights, however, brought much more festive drunks than the ones to which I was accustomed. For once I had somewhere else to look besides the bottom of my mug. For example, tonight at the next table over, I saw another of Shiangoh's brigands who had convinced some neko women into betting their clothes in some strange card game I had never seen.

This ruffian and I were of the same mentality—while the other thirteen neko and humans we had 'recruited' had been training for a fighting tournament which our leader assured us was coming soon, this neko had come to the same conclusion as I had. Specifically, that we wouldn't get any better if we practiced for another few weeks, at least not enough to fight against someone who already knew what they were doing.

I smiled as I remembered the first night I told Shadowclaw of my plan to go drinking rather than sparring with the other recruits. He laughed and said he would buy me as many mouse-malts as I could drink. He wouldn't be making that mistake again. I looked down into the bottom of an empty mug, and even though I had full ones on the table it depressed me greatly. Looking away, my eyes turned to stare at a piece of parchment that I had been making scratch marks on with a piece of charcoal I had palmed from a waste bin. It probably made sense when I was sober, but what I saw when I was sane and drunk were the etchings of a madman. The device I had created was much like the 'tekko' I had been given by the neko, who said I needed claws of my own if I were to join them. Apparently the claws I had been given weren't wicked-looking enough for my sober mind, and so I had devised a set of bracers with retractable claws that extended over the back of my hands and gave me two trios of matching blades each of which was the size of my forearm. It looked like the implement of a serial killer, and I wondered if I could even find a blacksmith who would make such a thing.

"Whaddya got there, buddy?" a voice called out from behind me.

"I don't want any trouble," I said simply, turning my fedora's brim down over my eyes and assuming they were talking to me. I wasn't being presumptuous-—nine times out of ten, there was at least one person in a bar who was talking to me, so why wouldn't it be this drunk?

He didn't seem belligerent, and I say that only because he threw one arm around me in a exaggerated, drunken hug and grabbed the parchment with the other. "Hmm...interesssssting," he said.

"Can I have that back?" I asked.

"Didja plan on having thish made?" he slurred. It seemed odd that the forces which caused Felarya to automagically translate any language neglected to include a 'drunkard' setting. Still, his question made me think for a moment.

"I did, and still do," I said, not because I was sure of my answer, but because it was a polite way of not having to also say, 'now give me that blasted paper back.'

"Buy me a drink, and I'll make it fer ya," he said, stumbling into the chair next to me. He fell over, slamming his head on the table and knocking over part of my empty-mug-ziggurat before adding with his voice muffled by the table, "whaddya say, pal?" I was running low on money, since my current job wasn't very lucrative. However, I also realized that buying him a drink was way cheaper than convincing someone to make this thing normally—but how did I know he was even a blacksmith?

"Sure, why not," I said. "It's been a few years since I've had someone to drink with."

"Wait," the neko hiccuped. "Yer...human?"

"Seems that way," I said. The neko laughed. "Why's that funny?" I asked, not getting the joke.

"What? Y'never laughed fer no reason when you was drunk before?" he asked, giving the impression that there was more to my nature than he was leading me to believe.

"Do I look like a man who would drink so informally?" I asked, finishing my glass and fixing my tower of mugs, before reaching for my next drink.

"Nah, ya' sheem to take it very sheriously. Yer after Yumiko, too?"

I spat out my alcohol. "No way," I said, wiping it off my beard. Which is worse, abusing alcohol like that, or lying, I asked myself. What a ridiculous question--the answer is obvious.

"You're not the only one who interpreted that trial as a drinking competition," he said in a moment of clarity. "But he's not a pushover—you need to down a liter of firewater from that gourd of his before he does. And that stuff is better for stripping paint than drinking, it's almost pure alcohol."

"I usually like to make my drunkenness last until the bar closes. Don't view this heap of pewter on my table as a sign of my over-indulgence; I need this many drinks to stop the voices—I have a hundred years of tolerance, after all."

"Voices?" he repeated.

Damnit. "Forget it," I said.

"No, I met a guy once who heard voices. I found out how to help her." Either he has been an effeminate guy, a butch-looking lady, or he was too drunk to tell the difference. I prayed to the gods that it wasn't all three, and I'm not exactly on good terms with them in the first place.

"Unless you can craft me a Gokut gourd, I'm not sure you can really help me," I said, finding the depressing bottom of yet another mug.

The neko reached over and picked my hat off my head. "This should work--I just need to line it with some metal foil," he said, mostly to himself, then turning to me added, "I'll make those claws and fix your little hat for just two drinks. Waddya say?"

I looked at the overly inebriated neko, and with much trepidation ordered us two rounds of drinks.

[A Sign of What's Yet to Come]

In the tops of the trees, near the limit of Nekomura's Eye, three neko perched upon the boughs—one sitting in a tree by himself and the other two crouching on a branch opposite of him.

"Don Meowconi sends his regards," the solitary neko said.

"I'm afraid our leader isn't aware of this meeting," one of the other two said.

"Good," the first replied with a bitter laugh. "If he knew, we'd have trouble."

"This isn't a time for jokes," the final neko remarked.

"True," the first said. "Time is limited--the Consigliere told me to meet you here on this moonless night. So, what do you have to say?"

The second neko explained why the three criminals were gathered that night. "We have a new recruit, a human. Given the feelings of neko towards humans, if we use him as the scapegoat for our plan, we won't even have to kill him—the rest of our syndicate will do that for us."

"And if he's put on trial for killing him?"

"I overheard him at the bar. He hears voices—obviously he's insane. That will only work in our favor if they throw a mock trial before lynching him."

The neko mafioso concluded, "so then we wait. We wait for that day, which is coming soon."