RED SPADE

one.

THE CLOCK STRIKES TEN. The cuckoo starts chirping, ruffling her feathers and then bouncing up and down, spilling her seeds everywhere. She stares at me beadily, her mouth curled and nails scraping the rickety walnut platform below. She doesn't come out often. I know their usual routine well. Well enough to avoid them.

Mornings spent watching the servant girls, noon spent devouring worms and gossiping among themselves. Afternoons are for reporting everything they saw to Lurch, and evenings to roost.

I stare back.

"I'll kill you anyways." I tell her. She twitches, the feathers on her left wing still crumbled from our last brawl. She blinks. Then I pounce. She squeals as my fingers grasp her tail. 

"Stay out of my way." I warn. Then I put her back into the hidey hole behind the clock. I see her beady little eye, watching me from the looking glass. Lurch has many creatures that do her bidding, but cuckoos are favourites. Slim and brown, perfect for sliding through panes of wood and hiding behind pots of oversized golden pansies.

They know everything.

Who didn't wear their hair up today? Who missed a shift in the east wing? Who forgot to grab a basin of hot water? Who stole roses from the courtyard?

Who insulted Lurch behind her back?

"Do not bother with those little spies."

Cheshire grinned lazily from on top the grandfather clock, his bottle brush tail wrapped around the glass frame. From below, all he was was a ball of inky black fur, with two abnormally large green eyes. "Meow, little cat." I scratch his ears from behind. He gives a comfortable stretch, and then gave me an incriminating look. 

"I do not meow." He replied snarkily, his eyes blinking slowly. "How long were you sleeping above there?" I asked.

"Till you woke me up." His was too big for a cat, and he rolled over and landed on the floor. He prowled towards my legs, brushing his head on my calves. "It's a miracle how they let you live in the palace free of charge." I tell him.

"I'm no ordinary kitty, my dear."

"And you are no valuable subject either, Cheshire."

"Get me a saucer of sugar milk, and I'll forgive you for saying that."

"Don't push your luck." I pat him on the head, as he purrs contentedly. "Your the only one who treats a kitty right." He complains, "The rest of them just gawk at my handsomeness." "Are you trying to charm me into getting you that saucer?" I question.

"Of course, little mouse. What else would I be trying to do?"

"Compliment yourself?"

"You jest too much. Now fetch the cat some milk."

He follows me down the hall, skidding to meet with my pace. 

"I can't play, Cheshire."

I bend down to tap his nose. He mews, his front paws pushing me away. "Darling Danica, so busy for this poor little kitty."

I look at him with false seriousness. "You know my duties as a illegitimate princess, Cheshire." He gives me a toothy cat grin. "I'll get going to my cat duties then." He yawns.

With a pop he disappears. I can already predict where he will be. Maybe charming the cooks into giving him some sugar cookie dough, or chasing the white mice from the king's croquet chambers.

The roses in the courtyard glowed an off white, painters gathered around in neat rows of four, all painting the sunset above the apple orchard. 

"It's funny how they only paint a single thing."