The master spy or Puss in the boot adventures

III. Palace sneers and kitchen peels

III. Palace sneers and kitchen peels

1. A story to believe?

Sharp Moustache's face twisted into a sneer as he leaned casually against the counter, his eyes narrowing at Mer-mer. "You may have scrubbed the floors of the palace, lad," he drawled with a curl of his thin lip, "but you spent your days in that grimy kitchen peeling limp potatoes and mopping up after the nobles. A truly epic tale, isn't it?"

Mer-mer's eyes flickered with a mix of hurt and determination as he slowly nodded. "Yes," he said, his voice carrying a quiet, firm pride, "I was but a servant in the kitchen."

A self-satisfied smile danced on Sharp Moustache's whiskered face, but before he could let his laughter swell into mocking glee, an unexpected force—an old, steadfast paw—smacked him squarely on the back of his neck.

Undeterred, Mer-mer continued, his tone gaining a hint of excitement. "But only during the day. When night fell, I transformed into D'Artagnan, the invincible protector of the poor."

Sharp Moustache arched a skeptical eyebrow and pressed on, "And pray tell, why would D'Artagnan require the help of a mere kitchen servant?"

Mer-mer's lips twisted into a secretive smile as he leaned in, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "The situation, you see, was far more complicated than appearances suggested," he murmured, then let his gaze drift as if looking back through a swirling haze of memories.

His mind transported him to a scene bathed in the gentle glow of candlelight. "Imagine, if you will, the grandeur of Versailles with its gilded halls shimmering in the soft flicker of countless candles. By day, I toiled away, hands raw from scrubbing pots and peeling endless rows of potatoes for the ungrateful noble elites. But then dusk came, and I would slip through secret passageways, donning a hidden identity." His voice took on an almost lyrical cadence as the tone shifted to pure cinematic recollection.

Sharp Moustache leaned in despite himself, captivated by the vivid tableau that unfolded. "In those troubled days, corruption was the norm. The nobility feasted while the poor starved. But there emerged one figure brave enough to defy the injustice—the enigmatic D'Artagnan!"

In Mer-mer's mind, the dilapidated walls of a neglected mill melted away, replaced by a vibrant vision of a bygone era. A dark, cloaked figure raced over the rooftops under a silvery moon, rapier gleaming at his side. Below, in narrow, rain-slicked cobblestone alleys, a ragtag band of the Cardinal's guards harassed a cluster of trembling peasants. With a gravity-defying leap, D'Artagnan plunged into their midst, his blade flashing in the pale light.

"Gentlemen," he purred with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I dare say you've lost your way. The brothels and taverns lie just that way." His sword spun in a graceful arc, disarming two guards before they could even blink, and the remaining men scattered into the gloom, leaving the peasants to express their gratitude with tearful thanks.

The vision shifted seamlessly. Now, D'Artagnan crouched high in the ornate rafters of a grand ballroom, eyes sharp and alert as he spotted a poisoned dagger glinting ominously in the hand of an assassin aimed at the queen. With breathtaking agility, he swung down from a crystal chandelier, intercepted the queen mere moments before danger could strike, and with a swift toss, sent a gleaming silver platter soaring to knock the would-be killer unconscious.

"Forgive my intrusion, Your Highness," he said with a rakish smile as he gently helped her to her feet. "I daresay this dance now belongs entirely to me."

As the dazzling visions subsided, Mer-mer's voice softened into a reflective murmur. "Yet, my most perilous challenge had still to come, for I had boldly fallen in love with Queen Anna herself. Our affair was as passionate as it was doomed..."