Two Cats

Chapter 1

There’s something powerfully amusing about looking someone straight in the eye and making them uncomfortably aware that they’re staring when they shouldn't be.

Try as they might, people can't quite help but stare at the scar bridging my nose, a drape of pale white arcing over my cheek like skeletal fingers reaching out to grab my left ear. There's nothing romantic or dashing about it - not like a sword cut stretching over one eye, or some other testimony to epic heroics. I’ve seen scars like that, and they’re infinitely more interesting.

Mine's just, you know ... there. Big, ugly, not the slightest bit romantic. People notice it, and then they try not to.

And I notice people trying not to notice it.

Sometimes while they’re staring at it, I'll grin or cough, politely waiting for them to realize that either I've stopped talking or they have. Eventually they snap out of their daze with a shake of their head, apologetic and begging forgiveness while looking anywhere but my face. They're so concerned about not causing offense, they actually drive themselves to distraction just to avoid ... well, being distracted. Ironic, really.

Clearly, this was one of those special cases.

I cleared my throat gently, blinking a questioning look at the shopkeeper, who was staring at my face in rapt fascination.

He had the typical reaction, stammering his apologies instantly, eyes suddenly trying to find something interesting about a nearby wall.

“S-sorry Milord, I was just – I don't know where my head is this morning. It's been a rough week and all, what with the...” he tossed his head sharply to the back of the shop, where several boxes of merchandise lay spilled on the floor. A large portion of his storage area was conspicuously empty.

I didn't recognize the fellow, and he probably had never had an opportunity to meet me, his Lord, either. His hair was shorn to the point where he almost had none, and those frayed bits that remained were half dark grey and half white, in a fascinatingly splotchy manner.

“Think nothing of it,” I dismissed with a wave. “You've quite obviously had your hands full, dealing with this problem. Which, of course, brings us to the whole purpose of this visit.”

“Yes, Milord. I ... to be honest, I hadn't thought this would go any further than a couple of your knights. 'Twas the furthest thought from my head to be bothering ye with the likes of this, and I'll confess to being truly surprised seeing you comin’ in through the door, like you was taking a personal interest in my business and all, and-”

“Oh, but I do! You are, in fact, one of my favorite shopkeepers, no word of a lie!” I smiled in what I hoped was a winning manner, for I could sense the unease coming off of him like the fumes from the aromatic candles he'd kept lit throughout the store. His shop window claimed they were lovingly crafted by hand, a fact that also explained a great deal about his awkward demeanor, his furtive glances at shadows, the clenching of his fingers.

Candlemakers were a twitchy bunch, and for good reason. When I thought about the stimulation and energy the herbs in my morning candle provided me, and then stopped to consider that candlemakers routinely inhaled a hundred times that amount over the course of a single day, I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for them. It was a dangerous, if fairly profitable, way to make a living.

“F-favorite, Milord?”

“Of course! I mean, let's have a look at the facts. It's been five years since you opened up shop in my territory, is that correct?”

“Five years, two months. Milord.”

“Well done, then. So, in those five years and two months, I have yet to hear of a single case where my knights failed to secure from you the monthly tribute. Not once in all that time has a single robbery occurred that I didn't consider to be prompt and timely. We come in, first of the month, and beside the register are a ledger and a purse of coins, just waiting for my men. In truth, I wish I had a hundred more like you.”