Tales of the Many-Tailed - 4 - A not so triumphant return (Patreon)

Held aloft above slavering jaws, the guard's jangling armour and thumping boots punched at her sensitive ears. With a creak and a groan of hinges, the last cellar door in the row swung open. A whiff of dust rose from within, carrying the heavy scent of flour.

Rufus stuck his blocky head inside, sniffed around, and exited at the female guard’s command. His wet black nose lifted, and a deep inhalation dragged at her fur. Before he pushed his nose into her side, her skin tightened, and fur bristled as his huge canines pressed fear-heated lines against her ribs. Hastened panting scoured the back of her throat, as her body flinched.

“No scent of rats or anything odd here. I don’t know what someone foresaw.”

“Why do you think our orders were because of an oracle, Monica?”

“Scour the lower levels for danger in a tiny size. Vague orders mean only two things: we’re being tested, or there is an oracle poking a commander?”

Leave me out of your prophecies. As soon as I get to that class stone, I’m out of this castle.

As Edith swayed helplessly in Eric’s grasp, she let out another whimpering meow. Throughout this patrol, the guard kept steady, firm pressure on the scruff of her neck. Her back was a punk’s spiked crest from the base of her tail to Eric’s hand; the result of Rufus’ attempts at grooming. The mastiff’s warm drool clinging to her fur had become the worst thing she’d experienced since arriving on this world, though his breath, smelling of rotten bone marrow, came in a close second.

“Give her here.” The woman beckoned to Eric, then stepped around the corner where a spiral staircase ascended.

He passed Edith over and wiped his hand on his pants. “Did you have fun, Monica?”

With their faces hidden in helms, how will I recognise this woman and other guards when I return to human form?

Monica’s next order carried a merry warmth. “Ahead, Rufus.”

He passed by close to the woman, and his tail slapped against Edith’s feet. After the continual slobbering, she instinctively hissed at him before her brain could filter it out.

Don’t let him eat me.

“You knew he was going to slobber over the cat and me.”

Nails clicking on the stair treads, the mastiff bounded to the top.

“I don’t know what you mean, Eric,” Monica added glibly, and lifted Edith even closer to her face. “Do you know what he means, kitty?”

Unable to help herself, Edith chirped curiously.

“She doesn’t know what you mean either.”

“Very fun,” Eric grumbled. “This has been a bit of a waste of time aside from finding the kitten.”

“Maybe we’ll find a problem on the way back or the next loop.”

“You really expect to find something?”

“They didn't give us enough details about what we were to seek, yet we get told to do this odd patrol. I’d wager someone high up has seen something and won’t share. It could be a problem with a diseased rat, and it hasn’t come out of its hole yet.” Monica headed up after Rufus.

The staircase led them into a granite-lined corridor with no banners in sight, though it frustratingly stretched farther than Edith could make out. The bright array of aromas rolled inside her nostrils as she counted the visible doors.

I never needed glasses. This is so frustrating.

Before they opened the first doors, Edith caught the sharp scents of yeast and sourdough starter. The briefly opened doors revealed stone baking ovens and covered pots, and the smell made Rufus paw at his nose. Despite his objections, he entered at Monica’s command to sniff around. Other doors opened into a large kitchen, with a row of wide fireplaces, and a spit dog resting by each.

They had just passed through an intersection when Monica pushed open a door with her right hand. “Good evening, matrons.”

The words echoed in an elongated room with a quartet of trestle tables and a pair of crockery cupboards holding wooden trenchers and mugs. At the far end, three grey-haired ladies sat in a crescent before the fire, their dark cotton attire matching Maggie’s maid attire. The greeting drew their attention from their knitting.

“Watchers,” the closest lady intoned. “How can we aid your duties?”

The guards stepped forward, and Monica extended Edith.

“We found a pet hidden behind a banner. Could you have someone enquire what room she escaped from in the morning?”

One woman rose and approached with crisp steps, wizened hands plucking Edith from Monica’s grasp. The fire's lingering warmth radiated through her touch and eased Edith’s crushing fear. The maid wrinkled her nose and kept Edith at arm’s length. “She stinks.”

“She was panicking, and my hound kept licking her to calm her down,” Monica explained.

“The way she’s trembling, I said that didn’t work. Why do you think she’s a favourite?”

“She smelt of flowers when we found her,” Monica replied. “Sweet ones, but a light scent, not cloying.”

“We found her at the base of the western stairs,” Eric offered.

“The kitchen staff said Princess Grace had taken a fancy to a tortoiseshell kitten at lunch.” The heavily wrinkled lady sitting right beside the fire said. “We’ll bathe her and see her returned if the escapee is hers.”

“We’ll, Beatrice?” The woman holding Edith asked.

How can I slip away without getting them in trouble?

The question received a toothless smile. “Since you’re so sceptical, I’ll allow you to take charge, Treas.”

Beatrice returned her attention to the ball of yarn in her lap.

“I can’t return her like this,” Treas murmured. “Perhaps something neutral in case the kitten belongs to someone else. Thank you, watchers.”

Rufus whined from his spot near the door. A door bumped against the wall farther down the hall, and thick heels clacked, the impacts familiar; Edith tilted her head to side-eye the room’s entrance.

A petite hand grasped the doorframe, and Maggie whirled into the room. Her rush sent a burst of rose scent from the early bath through the room.

“I’ll take care of her,” Maggie called breathlessly from the door. The tension in her scent matched the tight lines around her dark eyes and the bunched muscles along her jaw.

“Who are you, young miss?” Treas asked

“I’m Maggie, Maid to Princess Grace. We have a missing kitten. I heard a cat chirp, and someone mentioned a tortoiseshell kitten at the western stairs? Female?”

“Is this your escapee?” Treas lifted Edith, who wiggled and tried to hook her back paw around the old woman’s wrist. The old maid blocked the attempt with her other hand, then tapped Edith’s nose. “Behave.”

The crisp order pressed into Edith’s mind, and she froze, able only to stare at Treas.

“She wasn’t so unkempt last time I saw her, but the colouring is right,” Maggie replied.

Rufus let out a small whimper, and Monica looked at him. “She smells like the kitten when we found her?”

A soft bark earned a nod, and Monica tossed him a treat.

“It seems we have a conclusion for our evening’s mystery,” Treas said, striding past the guards with Edith. “This smelly prize goes to you—”

Damn it.

Rufus lifted his head, snout extending towards Edith, but a sharp command from Monica had him planting his butt on the floor. Fear pounding in Edith’s brain made her meow plaintively, and Treas raised her higher.

Maggie’s attention jumped between the three of them, and the sharpness in her dark gaze softened as her eyes returned to Edith. The release eased the tension in her heart-shaped face.

“Sorry for bursting in,” Maggie said. “I heard your conversation from the main hall.”

How good is her hearing? I didn’t even make it back to the first door on my route!

“That’s a proper use for a servant’s attentiveness,” Treas said approvingly, pressing Edith into Maggie’s hands.

Is that a class rune or just what they call keen hearing? Why do you have to be so good at your job?

Grumbling, Edith nipped at the maid’s thumb.

Her tiny teeth didn’t even break the skin, and Maggie ignored the attack. “Might I have your names? I know the princess will want to reward you for Goldie’s safe return.”

“The watchers did all the work,” Treas said crisply. “They can introduce themselves.”

“Monica Greykennel, beast master,” Monica said, bowing to Maggie.

“Eric of the south docks, sword adept.” Eric offered, then copied Monica’s bow. “Apologies, she’s a little waterlogged.”

“You were being most sensible delivering her to the night maids. Did she give you much trouble?”

“Her meowing had Rufus concerned for her,” Monica replied tightly. “He kept giving her kisses to calm her.”

“Kisses? Well, the princess is concerned for her. Good evening again, and my apologies for the interruption to your night,” Maggie said, before slipping away with Edith held before her. She moved briskly, slipping through the doors as soon as they opened.

Soon Maggie was climbing the spiral stairs to the apartment, muttering under her breath.

“You stink, and you are drool-soaked, Goldie. Next time you escape, do me a favour and roll in the stable muck instead.”

With her efforts undone, Edith squirmed in frustration, ignoring the comical, cute look of her splayed paws. A different guard stood outside the room. He knocked, then opened the door as they approached. Heels that had been clicking rapidly against the room’s stone floor stopped as the door swung wide.

“Maggie has your escapee, Your Highness,” the guard called.

In my defence, you left me unsupervised. Will that guard be in the corridor all night?

Inside the room, Grace stood in her banquet garb, and as they crossed the threshold, she dashed forward to collect Edith.

As if she expected it, Maggie yanked Edith up, too high for the teenager to reach.

“Princess Grace, she’s befouled. Please, let me wash her first, or your dress will need spells to clean it.”

Grace stepped back, a hand lifted to her nose. “What have you been doing, Goldie?”

“I’d say a tracking mastiff decided she needed to be stinky,” Maggie said. “I’ll wash her, and then I’ll help you prepare for bed. The beast master Monica and the sword adept Eric found her during their patrol. They had just delivered her to the night maids when I caught up to them.”

“I’ll see they’re rewarded. She’s sleeping in my room,” Grace said.

“Cats are active at night, and it’s already late,” Maggie noted, even as Grace waved her to the ensuite. “She’s bound to disturb what little sleep you’ll manage. Fatigue won’t help your weapon drills.”

How about a deal? If that guard leaves the door, I won’t disturb anyone in here.

Bath time was brisk and no-nonsense, with Maggie thoroughly scrubbing Edith in the bathroom sink. Though she let out a few protesting meows, she restrained her claws. The rose scent tickled her nose again, far nicer than the lingering stench of her drool-plastered fur.

What had that mutt been eating? Actually, given all the things I’ve seen dogs eat, I’d probably rather not know.

Maggie dried her off before exiting the ensuite, and Grace claimed her for a cuddle despite Edith’s grumbled protests.

“Princess Grace,” Maggie chided.

“You were worried too,” Grace replied, and moved out into the main room.

Someone had replaced the bowl of goat’s milk with a plate of puréed chicken that looked like pâté. Grace plopped down beside it, with Edith in her lap. Sniffing it, Edith couldn’t identify all the subtle herbs mixed into the meat. Some smelled like Earth herbs, but slightly different.

“Maggie says you have all your teeth, so that should be suitable for you,” Grace said, pressing her forehead between Edith’s ears. “Will you behave if I let you in the bedroom?”

Ask me no questions; I’ll tell you no lies.

The princess’s presence tickled against Edith’s whiskers, outlining the space she occupied.

Grace sighed. “Why do I ask? Of course you won’t. Sleep well, Goldie.”

After a last pat, Grace set Edith near the bowl and rose. With no appetite, Edith merely sat and sniffed at the food while Grace withdrew. The bedroom door clicked shut, and after a rustle of cloth from within, pillows thumped down on the window seat.

“Good night, princess,” Maggie called as she slipped from the room, clicking the door shut behind her.

Edith turned to dash after her, only to find herself in Maggie’s grasp.

How did she move so fast? Sneaky, it seems one should never underestimate a maid.

“You are not escaping again,” Maggie said, carrying Edith to the outer door, then plonking her back inside. It had clicked shut before Edith’s feet hit the floor. Her legs wobbled with sudden fatigue, and the world swam.

I could practice shapeshifting now. Wait. Arnold could smell my scent when they came back, so it is too great a risk to try that here.

With a guard at the door and exhausted from the day’s events, Edith curled up on the couch. The rapid shifts of danger, and the dislocation of the summoning sent her crashing into oblivion.

It was still full dark when she woke with a start and almost screamed at her strange surroundings. Her tiny kitten form made the sitting room around her feel like a vast hall. With the memory of a truck's lights filling her vision and its heavy motor thrumming out a furious roar, it took her a few minutes to orient herself. That roar transformed into normally faint sounds caught by feline hearing. Some came from the windows that thrummed with evening’s breeze, while others slipped beneath the door, having echoed through the stone passages within the castle. The howling of dogs squeezed Edith’s body tight.

A full moon had dipped toward the western horizon, turning the battlements into shadowy teeth that reached through the window and touched her spot.

Damn it! Someone better tend my garden.

She dropped to the floor and padded about, split between options. The frustrating limits of her form and current situation clashed with its perfection as a hiding spot. As she looped around the room, her ears kept twitching; the guard’s armour jangled softly at his slightest shift, and to her keen hearing, each jangle was a metallic klaxon announcing her captivity.

The battlement’s stretched shadow caught her eye as she tried to figure out what had woken her. One merlon-shaped tooth lay across where she’d slept.

Mentally crossing her fingers, she swam up the wall through the darkness to the window ledge. The drop beyond the edge was only two stories, but her stomach lurched with vertigo. Insubstantial in the shadow, she stretched a paw tentatively through the glass and patted the open air.

I only get one chance to be wrong. Let’s experiment more!

Biting her bottom lip, Edith turned carefully to face the room. A paw slip revealed she could move through the glass without resistance, promising an open void behind her, and it set her stomach churning. The shadow of a merlon stretched across three chairs to reach her previous spot on the couch. Imagining she was swimming, Edith moved forward towards the upper arch of a chair back. Deep water seemed to drag at her paws once her body had left the ledge, but she soon had the cloth-sheathed frame under her pads.

Trips back and forth between the ledge and the chair took no effort, and with mental fingers crossed, Edith swam to the suite’s polished stone floor. The darkened floor soon pressed back against her pads and wouldn’t let her go any further down. What had felt like a possibility on the floor made Edith’s stomach knot when considered from the window ledge. So, closing her eyes, she swam toward a tree branch.

After what felt like an eternity, rough bark rubbed against her front pads, and Edith opened her eyes. Success drew her attention downward, and anxiety spiked with only open air and cold shadows enclosing her back feet.

Get me down.

Without warning, her body stretched forward and, like a diver from a tower, pierced into the shadows’ depths. As her paws touched down on grass, a metallic taste brushed her tongue. Her startled meow didn’t make it out of the shadow. A translucent rune frosted her vision, and she quickly translated it before its sharp lines faded from sight and memory alike.

That translates as shadow step, I hope I got that right.

Perched atop tufts of grass that didn’t give under her shadowy presence, Edith glared back up at the window ledge. A blur hit again, but this time she returned with her front paws barely on the stone ledge. Before panic set in, Edith looked down and pictured herself at the base of the tree. Another diver’s plunge positioned her against the rough bark of a fruit tree, her ears pushed flat by the sudden shift. Though she was close enough to scrape her nose, she was unharmed. With each jump, the same electrical contact repeated, and this time the dip nibbled at her reservoir.

So many questions. I don’t feel any fatigue. Is it because I’m swimming through the night’s darkness, or because the battlement’s shadow overlaps them all? Maybe a question for Amber if I ever find her. Some runes hit me with fatigue, and others tap into the electricity I was given, but it renews. Do they have the concept of mana here, or is it something else? I doubt it’s the force.

Perched at the tree’s base, she slipped from shadow to physical form. Though the blooms had closed for the night, she could smell a sweet odour reminiscent of apples and pears, yet not quite matching either.

She rubbed her cheek against the tree she’d landed near, hoping to mark it. A light rub was enough to cause the bark to flare with mingled scents in her nostrils. Hoping it would remain identifiable, Edith scurried back into the shadow of the battlements and sped from spot to spot. Looping around the outside of the inner castle, she found long stretches of gravelled pathways and gardens. Unlike in stories, the inhabitants had planted crops and orchards throughout the space between the walls. Eventually, she reached the castle’s great hall, slipping out of that battlement’s shadow. A deep, cold burrowed beneath her fur, leaving her flesh chilled, as the stone underfoot dug into her pads.

Unsure who might be about, Edith tried for the typical feline indifference. She strolled and sniffed as she padded across a gravel path and, on the far side of a tree, slid into its shadow. Swimming along its course, she reached a windowsill that looked into the side annex but stayed in the shadow. Beyond the window, the great hall’s polished floor and the thrones beckoned.

Ha! I didn’t have to bother with those doors. Yet I might not have enough energy to experiment with shapeshifting.

Though the corridor was within reach, Edith’s stomach and body already protested the evening’s exertions. Unsure how much time she had left, Edith retraced her route. The setting moon had washed the whole side of the inner keep and lower spires in darkness.

Though hidden among the trees, the musk-marked bark was still unmistakable. Judging by the hollow ache, her leaps around the castle had taken about half her strange electrical reserves. Yet the lure of shapeshifting tugged at her, the cost of becoming human and returning to kitten an unknown piece of her plan.

With her new appearance unknown, Edith mentally crossed her fingers and willed the shapeshifting to cease. Her muscles spasmed as her fur receded, and her body unclenched, expanding outwards. Inner pressure forced a sharp exhalation. Flesh released to return to true barely dipped into the lightning pooled into her chest. Though it was dark beneath the bloom-laden trees, she could clearly see the pale skin of straight fingers instead of knuckles twisted by her arthritis, and skin unblemished by age. The spring night air raised goosebumps across naked skin, pebbling nipples, and biting at delicate places.

With guards walking the battlement above her she carefully rose to survey the new body she’d been set within by the summoning. Before she got her bearings, strange twitches flexed her scalp. A few quick pats found tufted fox ears nestled in her hair instead of human ears. Instead of the practical cut she’d kept, her hair now fell to mid-back and had become the colour of autumn leaves. Taut skin replaced the jowls and flabby underarms she’d been developing since menopause. Instead of a rounded chin and heart-shaped face, her fingers found sharp angles, a pointed chin, and eyeteeth that came to a slightly too-long point. At the base of her spine, nine tails waved to and fro. Their shifting weight like strange arms wildly flailing should have thrown her off balance, yet she stood without effort.

Without a mirror or reflective surface, the tactical inspection gave only a partial image. The strangeness of the swaying tails left an alien sensation scratching at her brain; each motion was within her flesh yet beyond her control. A brief vertigo overlaid the youthful hands with memories of her growing arthritis, twisting her knuckles off-line.

I’m naked when I resume human form? That’s so messed up. Are there ways to get around that? What happens if I shift while wearing clothing? I smelt some cloth in the basement. Maybe there is something usable for a test. Well, that’s a challenge for tomorrow; I’ve done enough today. Amber said to be subtle and patient, but toward what end? I’m a librarian.

Picturing the same tortoiseshell image she’d used for her earlier shape change, Edith added extra details. She thought of the time spent in the body, how it felt, her limbs, claws flexing, the scent of her fur, the weight of her tails and whiskers. Lightning from beneath her sternum crashed across her body, wrapping her contracting form in fur. The aching hollow the evening’s activities had caused spiked stronger than before. For a space of a few long breaths, she lay still, feeling compressed and toe-curling cramps throughout her limbs. Once she could move, she marked the same tree further around its trunk and found the scents matched.

With the ache throbbing in her chest, she sank into the shadows and pictured herself on the windowsill. Hitting at an odd angle, the burst planted her in the shadow across the wall instead of perching on the sill as she’d intended.

Don’t look down.

She looked, and the ground swam in her eyes even as she swam forward towards the ledge, her stomach lurching until she made the window. Near drunk with relief, she dropped to the floor and splayed out, hugging the floor.

After lying still for a time, her stomach started issuing silent complaints as it gnawed at her spine. Emerging from the shadow, Edith scarfed the waiting chicken pâté, hunger proving a delicious seasoning; licking her lips, she settled in for another nap.

The flowing water in the ensuite and new footsteps in the hall woke Edith, but she stayed still, eyes shut.

Can I slip out when Grace goes to training? Maybe hide in her shadow when she isn’t looking?

“Morning, Martin. Watch out for Goldie. She slipped out last night.”

“Goldie?”

“The princess has acquired a new kitten. The rascal has already escaped once. She slipped out under their noses when Princess Grace returned from the banquet with Maggie and Arnold.” The guard at the door said, stepping away.

“A new kitten is an adventure. Rest well,” Martin said.

“Maybe after I eat and tend to a few things. I’ll talk to you this evening.”

The outer door shifted, and Edith cracked one eye open. A man in the same guard uniform as the others stepped into the room. Riveted chainmail and a tabard bearing a two-headed griffon. As he entered, stones in the ceiling flared with light; the sudden brightness pressed hard against Edith’s eyes, and she pressed the open one shut.

A moment later the inner door shifted. “Hello, Martin. Don’t wake Goldie.”

“That bolt has flown as she’s merely pretending, Your Highness,” Martin replied, advancing towards Grace. “Steven spoke to me in the barracks last night and asked me to deliver this to you.”

Edith opened her eyes properly and saw he held a red satin pouch the size of a toddler’s fist, its neck stitched with silver runes.

Grace accepted the pouch with both hands. “Thank you. I’ll be out shortly.”

Does that contain the runes her father promised? I’d have liked to see them.