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Seven: The Hunter's Heart

(The day spent at Tenebra Angela Concert Hall was one of the best days of my life. I had the music sink in and hummed what I could remember of what was the symphony written by a man whose personal tragedy was the motivation. Despite the story behind it, and the emotion of the melodies, it was something that I wanted to listen to again. I hummed lowly as I walked with my mother and Clement back to the house. Unlike them, I still wore the decorative mask along the tread back in the slums.

(Before long, we were just metres from our house when I caught the stench of blood. It wasn't just due to a wolf's keen sense of smell; it was very close. And I dreaded the situation that could have led to blood being spilt.

(Instead of our house, I hurried to the house next to it, the one a lot shabbier than ours. I heard my mother call for me, but it was too late. I entered the rotting house, and that was where the odour of blood was the strongest. Inside, I was at the kitchen, the counter broken, its pieces just left on the floor. The stove was rusted. The walls were covered in cobwebs, and I could see the spiders even from the doorway.

(I headed past the fragmented counter, and saw the thing to make this the worst day of my life. There on the floor made of only dirt, lay the brown pup that talked to me when nobody else would. He had his eyes open, but he was not breathing as he lay sprawled, blood caking on his fur, staining his shirt. My heart went heavy and I dropped to my knees, suddenly in tears. "No..." That was all I could say. I took off my mask and discarded it before I buried his face into his, the tears falling.

(Before long, I raised my head, knowing just who was cruel enough to kill a pup, and he sat on a ragged and dirty couch, seeming lost in a trance, butcher knife in hand. I howled angrily as I ran up to the monster, a dull-brown wolf, wearing only a pair of ragged trousers with suspenders. I yowled when I tackled him, "YOU FUCKIN' BASTARD!" I began to punch his face repeatedly. "YOU KILLED HIM! YOU FUCKIN' KILLED GASTON! YOU KILLED MY ONLY FRIEND!" I didn't even pause as I punched him again and again. I could have attempted to tear his throat out with my fangs, like any wolf would, but I was just so furious that I thought about only causing him pain.

("NO!" I was grabbed from behind by a pair of arms. "Lemme at 'im! HE'S A FUCKIN' MONSTER! HE KILLED 'IS SON! HIS OWN FLESH AN' BLOOD!" No matter how much I thrashed I was taken out of the house and brought back in ours. Before I knew it, I was in front of my mother, holding my arms against my sides. "I WANNA KILL THAT BASTARD!"

("Listen to me!" my mother howled. I looked into her bright-amber eyes. Sounding calm, she spoke, "There was nothing you could do for the pup. And that wolf could have killed you if he was not like a statue. Please, don't do anything so reckless. You will have something to make you angry, but you need to control your temper."

(I sobbed again, tears falling down my face like rain. "It's my fault. He must've known that I gave Gaston money fer food... I'd hear the beatings, and I did nothing even then..."

(Still holding my arms at my sides, my mother told me, "There was still nothing you could have done. And you did not kill the pup. There is a lot that y-want to do, but you cannot afford to be reckless." I buried myself in her chest and neck, and it would be a while before that wound would heal.)

"Charleston, Ferndale, and Pineton. Hares. Charleston favours the Viria Marketplace, which is outside the borough's train station. Ferndale likes to frequent near the westside tracks. Pineton stalks outside of the borough's slums." That is the note that Dolan has given me. I head back toward the slums after I've had my rest at the inn, after I've had my breakfast.

I have Michi seek out the hare that is my next target. These agents of Samuels, I am certain, would want revenge on who has killed him. So, here I am, seeking the one that may be nearest the factory, now overtaken by Dolan's men. I tread on the rooftops, looking down from the edges, to seek the one of the hares that have tricked and hurt many parents despite that they had their hands proverbially full. It doesn't feel long before I hear the familiar caw, and I follow the sound of my friend, who I find making small circles in the air, I follow down, to find a hare, which I can tell by a tall and slender figure despite the business suit, and he stands in pause, disturbed by the sight of a crow circling above him. I climb down the stone construct that was atop, and upon seeing me, the hare reaches beneath his blazer--

But Michi dives toward him, not needing to be commanded to distract him, and I run toward the hare. I draw my left Khopesh with my left hand and pin him to the wall with my right hand, keeping his arm against his chest as well, and he struggles as I have my Khopesh pressed against his throat. I tell him coldly, "You must be Samuels's agent, Pineton." He doesn't answer; he just keeps struggling, just to point his pistol at me. I add, "Time you join 'im." With that, I slash his throat, and I release my grip on him. The hare stumbles aside, choking. As I make sure that he will not get up, Michi rests upon my shoulder, cawing. I sheathe my Khopesh before I raise my hand and let him peck lightly. I see a moment pass, and I kneel down, to press a finger against his wrist. No pulse. One hare that no one will miss.

After a short lunch, in the form of a sardine sandwich, I head to the area of the train tracks. The area is none too shabby, as I observe these houses erected of stone, the small patches of grass being lush, and the sounds of various mammals grunting or groaning are nothing to calm me. However, it is just like every place as I always expect someone to jump me. I remain calm, seeking a hare that should stand out like a single red rose in a bright-green meadow.

I slowly climb down from a rooftop of one of the houses making its own residential block. When I reach the ground, I hear Michi caw, circling just above the metal-roofed gazebo in the centre. From behind a tree in one of the corner grass patches, I look carefully to the small shelter, and I find nothing. So, I move to the left, and I find two figures laying down. The figure with the back facing me, is clearly a female, a cat, based on the ears. I get a better look taking a few steps forward, and I finally make out a slender male, one of the hares. Peculiarly, his pelt is completely silvery white. I know that because he and his female companion are completely naked, their clothes scattered, and there are two rabbits at the opening, clearly bodyguards.

I approach with a stride, and with one hand, I grab each rabbit by their throats and lift them off the ground. I listen to them choke until they go limp, but I lessen my grip on them. After placing the rabbits back down carefully, I head inside the small shelter, and draw my stiletto. The cat just looks up--

When I plunge the stiletto in the hare's throat, the cat instinctively rolling aside, apparently thinking that she was the target. As I wipe the blood off the stiletto with the discarded shirt, the horrified cat tells me, "Wh-what d-you want?"

I look down at her, sheathing my stiletto. "I came here only to kill Ferndale. I suggest you take all his money along with his weapons." I pause, before correcting myself. "In fact, I order you to. You will need them."

My raven friend alights upon the lifeless hare, but he stares at me instead of beginning his meal. So, I tell him, "I can find my own way to the market. Best you take your meat now." Understanding that, Michi begins pecking at where I stabbed the hare's throat.

If I am not mistaken, those who live near the Viria Marketplace are those who hear the sounds of the train whistling at the strongest. This is also not so drab, the market. Understandable as buildings in the industrial areas need to be well intact. I enter the market, and I am greeted by fumes with a smell that is anything but pleasant.

The walls of beige bricks have been in good care. Rows of canopies as well as stacks of crates and various mammals there to buy their next meals fill the space, and I see limited space. So, I wonder if I can find a single hare by myself. In addition, the voices overlapping are no help in seeking a conversation that sounds like criminal activity. It is not the hanging carcasses that disgust me, but the blood stains that I can make out on the floor of this place. Blood has splotched on the pavement of this market. I walk casually in the long strip that is the Viria Marketplace, looking carefully for something that may lead me to my target.

Before long, I have a clue. I find a short crate stack that is labelled "Malleo". I kneel down and lift a crate. I cannot smell what is inside, but I have another idea: I throw the crate on the ground. On impact, the boards, along with glass that is apparently inside, break. That is when I pick up the pungent odour. That is just what I need. I hurry past, wanting it to not even touch my feet.

The time then comes. I hear a voice express outrage. "Who sabotaged me fuckin' bits an' bobs?!"

I turn around, finding just the animal that I seek: a hare. He is brown like cocoa and wears a blue suit, its hues not unlike mine. He continues to rage about the broken crate and spilt contents as I approach him, harassing a squirrel, who drops his purchases upon being grabbed and squealed at. I draw my Khopesh with my left hand. He barely reacts when I run the blade past him, and all too easily, he goes down from me retracting my arm, running the blade across his throat.

The squirrel tries composing himself as he sees the hare stumble, choking. Suddenly, I hear a gun clicking. As if he knows about the mask making for my protection, the barrel is pressed against my back. There are no words from the hare behind me. However, I hear the same squirrel, still there, squeal, and he runs toward the hare. Hearing the thudding as well as wooden boards breaking and no sound of a shot, I turn around to see that he's managed to tackle the hare to the floor. This hare has cocoa-hued fur and a blue suit as well. I need only step toward the scuffling hare. With the hook of my Khopesh, I gash up his forearm, making him lose grip of his pistol. I seize the chance and slash the hare's throat. To the panting squirrel, I state, "That was brave of you. Thanks for that."

There is another place that I wanted to go to, and that is where I choose to have my dinner: Bright Nancy's. Shortly after I finish what they have the luxury of cooking--a chop, boiled potatoes, and green beans--I notice the cat named David on the stage, playing the harpsichord, and he is not alone. There is a female cat at the front of the stage, and she sings:

"I was happy here,

Unfettered and free,

Living a life- of contentment and luxury

Licking smooth bones, swigging fine wine

A remarkable beast, proud and divine...

"She seeks adventure,

But she knows it means trouble

Nine lives is ace, if you use them wisely

Just look at this place,

Where the joy 'as all crumbled

Now she is here,

To see death with 'er eyes..."

I wonder if she might be referring to me, for this speaks to me in a way. In fact, it reminds me of the life led by the cat I call Pasht.

The cat continues singing:

"Most learn to read

But all fall for lies

She wants to live

But only for others

When I follow her

Will I cheer, or will I cry

"She needs adventure

Though she knows it means trouble

Nine lives is ace, if you use them wisely

Just look at this place,

Where all joy is crumbled

Now she has come,

To see death and desire..."

The cat then repeats a whisper, before she gets back to the tune that I know.

"She needs adventure

Though she knows it means trouble

Nine lives is ace, if you use them wise

Just look at this place,

Where all joy is crumbled

Now she has come,

To see death with 'er eyes..."

When the song is brought to an end, I am with the many to applaud the singer as well as the harpsichord player. Heading back with the crowd, David catches sight of the wolf with the eyepatch, and stops to say, "Well, welcome back."

I comment, "What a truthful song."

David replies, "Glad you like. I assume you came for another session with me."

"I did. I hope you're not too busy serving meals for that."

"I will inform the Madame of it", he tells me, suddenly not confident in what is to follow.

The two of us lay in his bed, spent, as I have made sure. I want something worth remembering of this cat. So, here we are, me holding him in my arms, and I wonder if he likes my caress on his back as he does not purr. I feel something for this cat. I ask him, "Are you happy?"

Shifting backwards to look up, he asks back, "Whot?"

I repeat, "Are you happy, David?"

Looking quizzical, he replies, "I do not understand..."

"It is a simple question."

The hesitation to answer, I comprehend. He then says plainly, "Yes." However, I know the truth. I scowl at him, and that brings something out of him. He adds, "I came to this brothel of all places because I'd nowhere else to go... And it only made me lonely..."

Steering off the subject, I inquire, "Does the Madame care how long you are with a client?"

"We 'ave time", he answers, sounding dejected.

"You're the first man I met who..." I just cannot decide the correct term. "Can you elaborate?"

David pushes away, to get up, and reach into the drawer of his nightstand. What he pulls out is a pipe and a clump of a concoction, with which he fills the pipe. Talking through his teeth and taking a flint, he explains, "I'm one of many to smoke after intercourse. I've 'ad only two men court me the time I've worked 'ere." I hear the scraping of the flint. "You're right that this place is not utilised for some drug operation, but with my wages I've bought drugs fer meself." I see a puff of smoke, before he turns back around to face me, but does not use the blankets to cover his naked body again. "I've 'ad an 'abit o' utilising this when I got sad. I tried thinking of me two past male clients after they'd paid me." I looked down sombrely, realising how deep into the abyss he has fallen. David continued, "I believe this stuff t-be of use to face me demons."

Sitting up as that interests me, I inquire, "What kind of demons?"

As a pause, David inhales the fumes from his pipe, and exhales that smoke with a sigh. "I cannot explain... But I have a past, and I 'ope to face it through this."

"You can't change the past, Cat. I would know. No matter 'ow you view yer uses o' that shit, 'tis not healthy."

The cat just absently smokes his pipe, and looks ahead, me barely in the corner of his eye. I ask, "Does your boss 'ave a telephone?"

"In her office", he answers. "But I reckon she'll mind." That doesn't stop me, for I get out of the bed, to get dressed in my grey suit and leave the cat his pay, along with a tip. I have an idea.

Knock, knock. I hear a female voice speak, "Enter."

I open the wooden door, seeing a neat office with walls and a floor of polished wood. At the desk, a Shephard in a grey business dress sits and she looks up at me, asking, "What brings you t-me office, Ma'am?"

"I wish to use yer telephone."

She scowls at me, but she points to the machine behind her, though I wonder if it is begrudging. Nevertheless, I dial the number of the building that has my interest, and then aggressively turn the crank with my good hand while the earpiece is in my other hand. After turning the crank enough, I move the earpiece to my good hand.

A moment later, I hear a man speak, "Ahoy, Sputure Station."

"Lieutenant Wickerson."

"Hang on."

There's another moment of silence before I hear the baritone voice speak, "Wickerson here."

"'Tis the vigilante", I whisper.

While waiting for an answer, I pull out pages that I keep on me. "Well, that dinna take yeh so long."

"This is business, Lieutenant."

"Typical", he sighs. "Name your request."

"I want ta know of which criminals there are bounties on in Ashcrown."

"If you could hold again, Miss..."

"I do not mind." While waiting for something, I hold the microphone, and turn to the canine, asking, "Have you a pen to spare?" She opens a drawer, from which she takes a fountain pen, and a small ink pot.

I still have to wait on the bear, and the silence is actually comfortable--until the bear tells me, "I've the records of wanted criminals."

"Ashcrown."

The bear goes into detail about one criminal big enough to have a bounty for his capture. His name, his species, his image, and where he likes to frequent. I know that he is to be no problem, knowing that he is a drug dealer wanted for peace disturbance as well as frequent assault.

After writing the useful detail, I say, "I must add as I may not have another chance: what criminals are wanted on bounties in Solmil?"

The bear comments, "The Artists' Land? Jus' lemme find the big con artists there." It is no jest; he tells me about three criminals wanted on scams in that borough, and I write down enough detail about them. I still write about the third criminal as he adds, "Bringing all these felons in alive sounds like a lot of ambition fer someone callin' 'erself Death."

"I don't do it fer you"--I pause before adding in a hushed tone, "I do it fer the reward."

Wickerson responds, "I'm not surprised."

"Well, I should go. Much planning. I may see yehr again."

"I look forward to it, Vigilante."

"Ta-ta." I then hang up. Awkwardly, I head out, the canine not questioning me about the conversation.

Because of the scene that I've made at the Viria Marketplace, I find the wanted criminal, an otter, harassing a mouse just outside of the train station, but near the edge of a crevice that was made for the track. My raven friend caws and pretends to be dead, as I order him to. In doing so, one of the friends of that otter is distracted. The other, I slash his throat before he knows that I am there. Michi flies away, for I hear a gun fire, which distracts the otter, and I kick him hard, making him pummel to the pavement. The remaining expendable enemy is also an otter, but I am on him fast, and I stab him in the lungs. The one that is my target, I pick him up by the throat and butt his head against mine, knocking him out before he can fire his pistol. It makes no dent in my mask.

When I watch the otter shoved inside the carriage, I call to him, "Tell Wickerson, the vigilante sends her regards."

To my surprise, that baritone voice speaks, "He already knows." Leave it to that police lieutenant to finish that part of the job. As I watch that carriage head away from the station house, another officer hands me a stack of notes. I count them up, to know that the reward is as said. That officer comments, "One less speck of scum off the streets."

All I hear as an answer to a request that I've given bizarrely, is a throaty cackle from the rottweiler. When the laughter dies down, he comments, "D-yeh really think there are no same-sex lovers in the world?"

"I met one, actually", I clarify. "A man. At the borough's honest brothel."

"Finding one is easy, actually. He's at this pub right now."

I state bitterly, "I do not believe you."

"Ah, but he is", Dolan explains. "Quite a few o' me followers trust me to know of the so-called crime against nature. Finnis. He is a greyhound. One o' me top lieutenants. Ask him if y-don't believe me."

I head out of the office, and into the pub's dining chamber. There, I see standing out among the rest of the canines, a black greyhound, distinguished by his long muzzle making his head look flat, and he wears a tweed suit. I sit down in front of him, saying, "Finnis?"

"Here t-say it's my time?" he asks irritably.

I lean forward, to tell him lowly, "Yer boss let me in on your... personal secret."

He scoffs, "The mouth on that dog!"

"Simply for his sake, I wish to offer you a parting gift."

"When did you become kind to criminals?" I choose not to answer that. So, he adds, "What is it?"

"A cat. At a brothel. I wonder if he would find you attractive." Another pause. "Bright Nancy's. One hour. A she-wolf in a grey suit and with an eyepatch will cover it."

I have checked out of the inn where I stayed when I wait outside the brothel with my suitcases, and dressed in my grey pinstripe suit and having my eyepatch on. I eventually see the black greyhound approach me, seeming to grin. He asks, "So, where's this cat I was told about?"

I answer nonchalantly, "Follow me", and lead him inside, carrying my luggage--

And I am intercepted by the female Shephard, who seems like she has been crying. She utters, "Good. David told me to expect you." I look around, seeing that the dining chamber is empty, and the only sound in the building is from upstairs, which I can hear only faintly, from feet tapping the floorboards to the distinct creaking of beds. The only other individual on this floor was the barwoman.

"What's this about?" I ask the Shephard, looking at her again.

"Just follow me", she answers. I leave my luggage near the bar, knowing that no one will steal it. The greyhound follows as well.

Noticing the greyhound, the Shephard asks, "Wait. Whot business has he?"

I answer bluntly, "I promised 'im David. He deserves this urgent information."

The Madame sighs at that, looking even sadder, as if that were not possible, before continuing to guide us.

The madame opens the door to David's apartment--

And I see the grey cat lay upon his bed, dressed in a ragged black suit, eyes closed, his left hand on his chest. He is not breathing.

I can barely take in the sight, for the greyhound turns me, holding me by a shoulder, and snarls, "What fuckin' bollocks is this, Munter!?"

I reply calmly, "I assure you, I knew nothing of this."

The madame weighs in, "He died just today. This morning, he requested, 'A black she-wolf with an eyepatch will come. When she does, let her know I expect her.'" She looks to David's body, continuing solemnly, "I found 'im like this two hours ago. I wondered why he had not eaten breakfast or was on the floor, and he was already dead." I wrest the greyhound's hand off of me, so I can look at the cat. I slowly tread around his bed--

On the other side of the bed, I find an open tin box. I kneel, to pick it up, and cringe at the odour from it. "Opium", I state. I also spot his pipe, the stem and spout broken apart.

"I smelt that, too", the madame replies. "He apparently ate it. All at once."

I look to the greyhound, upon standing up again, and he droops his muzzle as if he wishes to deny the image. I speak, "I deeply apologise, Finnis. If I knew, I would have... At least, let me compensate."

He grumbles, "Keep yer bloody money." He then storms out.

After a long moment of silence, the Shephard, not all curious about the "promise" that I made to the greyhound, explained, "David has been like family to me and the girls. It is why all the girls are in their apartments, and why I plan a funeral right now." She presents an envelope, adding, "He left this, also telling me to give it to you."

I head to the Shephard, to take the envelope, labelled, "To the black she-wolf with the eyepatch." I wonder why he wanted me to read whatever his final thoughts were that he wrote on paper. I look back, to the lifeless smoke-grey cat, his eyes closed, never to open again. I look down again, noting some kind of symbol. It is only small shapes. On all sides of what should be a gem, is smaller shapes. I look up, seeing that the madame is still here. I ask, "Are you familiar with this symbol?"

"Too familiar", she replies, irritated. "That is from the crest of the house of Terrecon. Horrible people. He claimed to me to have denounced his family name. Now I know why."

I step forward, to get close to the madame. "Sorry to say, I will not attend the funeral. I have my own business, and I want no more delays." I head out the door, but look back, adding, "I am sorry for your loss. This saddens me as well, but I see no time to grieve." With that, I head back downstairs, to retrieve my luggage, and head out of the building's pub, never to return to this whorehouse.

Almost immediately after the southbound train from Knightsedge begins to accelerate, I open the envelope left only for me. I unfold the pages and scan them, to know that David has written front and back. And I know that the ink is fresh just by the smell of it. I get right to reading it.

"My name is David Langdon. I write this now as I see my hours numbered. I have met only one individual who may care about my story. It is a luxury that I have bought my own pen, ink, and parchment. I am still saddened by so much of the population not knowing how to read.

"Where should I start? My family is really from Knightsedge, one of the revered houses, or so it was centuries ago. I am really the second-born of my family, but I am the only son of Lucia Terrecon. Though my father has a status as high, my mother was insistent upon raising me and my sister in Terrecon Manor, and he agreed. My sister was horrible to me, which she got from my mother. My father was almost never around, leaving only my mother to teach me the duties of the house that was to be led by me one day. As I am left-handed, my mother would discipline me by chaining my left wrist to my bedframe. As I never showed improvement on writing right-handed "like a real person" as she put it, she starved me every day. All that I would get to eat were the scraps of whatever they ate.

"To add salt to the wounds, my sister would go berserk every time she looked at me. She would pin me to the floor and punch me until she wore her arms out. She would also rip up my clothes, which got me in more trouble with my mother. She once ripped up a book that I needed to read. All those acts of cruelty were out of envy that she would not have control of the house when she was of age.

"School was no better. I was enrolled in the borough's elite school. The classrooms were the only places I could be myself. Unfortunately, my sociality lacked terribly. For years, I spoke with a stutter and I would hunch over, afraid that others would call me names or crack my fragile bones. For that, I blame Lucia. The worst of the other children to assault me was a girl I met under the wrong circumstances when I was fourteen. Her name was Avery. She would regularly stalk me between classes and after school, to call me names--the worst one being Twee Cack--and to mash my face in mud or anything that could cling to my fur. She was worshipped by other girls for having the quickest wits, whatever her idea of that was.

"What crossed the line is the day I my mother announced my betrothal. I was to marry the daughter of her best friend--assuming they _are_friends. That turned out to be none other than Avery. It was the moment I put my foot down. I shouted, 'No! I'm not marrying this bitch! I had it with her and I had it with you!' I broke into a rant. 'All my life you've been controlling me, starving me, cuffing me, and calling me worthless just because I can't keep up with school and because I'm fuckin' left-handed!' As she was about to speak, I added, 'Not done. Don't even think about claiming that I'm like the devil because you know it's a load of bollocks. Maybe you're so difficult because you're jealous of father laying with whoever he finds at a bloody brothel, but sister is difficult because she wants control of the house and you don't care because you're a bloody bitch. Well, I am done. I am done with your condescension, I am done with the abuse, I am done with being pushed hard, and unless you can respect what I want, I am done with you!'

"She answered me with a punch in my face. For that, I tackled her to the ground and punched her repeatedly, whilst her 'friend' and Avery just stood by. I took whatever things I could, along with as much gold as I could lift from my parents' bed chamber, and a kitchen knife that I kept under my pillow. I used it to threaten, to keep all those bitches away from me.

"Living in the slums was actually the best thing to happen to me. Being destitute and having little to eat was nothing I couldn't handle. To make a living, I sold my body to strangers, which led to my realisation of my sexuality. Unfortunately, that was when things went downhill. As I sold myself more and more, I became lonelier and lonelier. That was until the day I found myself working at a brothel.

"Even still, I was hard to make happy. I never opened up to the women of the brothel where I've been living for the past four years. I am only twenty-four years old as I write this. Even though I would interact with the women and slowly became social with them, I haven't been as happy for as long as I can remember. I believe that as no one can accept a leftie, no one can accept a man who loves men. I do not believe in it, but Lucia, Garret--my father--and my sister Patricia can all rot in hell. Over the time of working at this brothel, I met them again through the use of a hallucinogenic, hoping to face them in that form, but I cannot remember anymore how those fights against those forms end.

"To you, my reader: I want you to know that I love you. This has been from the heart. This is who I am. Yet, I plan to part with this world."

Here I am again in Ventine, now to recuperate from my adventure. The serval at the gate is surprised again by my arrival, but lets me through. As I tread the sand-covered landscape, I hear the speech of various voices as well as the sounds of amusement from children playing and the guards grunting as they spar or perform a series of stretches or from weightlifting. It is the grounds frequented by guards, recruits, and operatives that I pass and they all pause--I can tell--from seeing the she-wolf with the violet eye again.

When I have my luggage left in the cabin that I can sleep in, I head back into the exercise grounds as I still have time, this whole area covered with sand and taken up by benches with pulleys or weights, wooden tables, and racks of weapons from swords to guns to clubs. I stand out among all these people for how I dress. I wear my grey suit whereas all these men and women are only half-dressed. I find the one that I seek, observing a specific spar between two jackals. The Savannah Wolf wears only black trousers with a sash. When I walk up to him, he tells me, "Your visits should get more frequent, I presume."

I reply, "You are right to." I watch the spar with him. As I see nothing to talk about, I note that Themba folds his arms and watches sternly, but he knows that there is a reason I am in the sanctuary now. There always is. Upon seeing the fight brought to its end, Themba commands them to do a series of stretches and then get something to eat.

Themba then turns to me, telling me, "This is no social call, I presume as well."

I take a long inhale and exhale before I look at him tenderly. I say lowly, "You told me: in this journey of mine, there will be casualties... You were right, Themba..." He shifts to me, to wrap his arms around me.

He says, "No battle is without losses on both sides. It is some-ting you cannot control."

I pull away, to look into his eyes, and I respond, "I thought I could make someone having nothing to with my missions happy. But he was miserable, too far gone to be pulled out of the abyss."

To make another point, Themba states, "Dare 'ave been many instances when I needed to risk a life to take a life. You will find dat as well."

I sigh and turn aside, remembering what happened before I restarted that fight with Samuels before beheading him, but I dare not tell my dear friend about it. I speak, "I have turned to other criminals--those working for Jack--to 'elp with a child liberation. Surely, you're no stranger to child labour and slavery." Themba nods. So, I continue, "It is not just police from whom I require assistance. After all"--I pull out a pouch carrying money--"how else d-you think I get all this money?"

Themba objects, "You sound like it's a bad thing, but I know why you do this."

The pouch in my pocket again, I speak, "I still think that such people deserve to be dead and not having a bloody tombstone."

We start walking together when Themba tells me, "I am familiar with the saying of you Symphonites, and I believe that to be where you are, Sister."

("Come on, Love. At least a bite", Clement told me. "You know you need to eat." After finding Gaston dead, I was so depressed that I hadn't eaten for two days. It was just as well that I didn't eat the porridge in front of me. I always hated it, but we had to make do. This time, it wasn't the taste that prevented me. I sensed Clement next to me. I wasn't even tempted to get up and walk away from him. He said, "I know you're sad about that boy, but life goes on. He wouldn't want you to be this way if he knew." I still acted as if I was frozen. So, Clement continued, "It is a part of life. You can't let this get you down. All that you can do is move forward. I know you blame yourself, but it's that wolf's fault." At that moment, I started to cry again. I was too distant from my emotions to cry but I did now.

(I asked through my sobs, "Why did he do it?"

(Clement rubbed my back, telling me, "That wolf was too far gone. It wos something the life of crime and poverty that changed 'im if he was not always that way. He must 'ave been a coward, for only a bloody coward would hurt his own pup... Whotever the reason, he killed 'is son. The police met 'im and he admitted to the act. Justice is served. When the authorities are aware of who the killer is, that killer gets arrested and a sentence is passed down. With all that done, they close that case, and move on to the next one." He still rubbed my back, but I felt no better.

(Before long, I heard my mother speak, following the door opening, "Is everything okay?"

(I nodded quickly, and my mother quickly came to me, to hug me from behind. I had two people who loved me very much. That is all that a child could have that they ask for.)

I am in the Great Temple of Mau-Re, on one knee and facing the floor, awaiting the call of the cat that I hold above all. The familiar voice says, "Rise, my child."

I look up, showing my face. I have my blazer on the bench to my left. "High Priestess", I say sombrely. "I came to speak of a failure of mine."

She tells me, "You may."

I rise, but I do not stand, out of politeness to have my eyes near-level with her emerald eyes. "I met another cat. He lived and worked at a brothel that was not also home to a drug operation. However, he kept his own, claiming to be how he faces his demons. He was like me, left-handed. He also loved men the way he should have loved women. I wanted to help him... but I was too late... He took his own life..."

The High Priestess approached me, clad in her white robes and blue sashes, but also with a pendant on her. She placed her hands upon my shoulders, telling me, "I know what is in your heart, my child. You wish to help others in time of need. What you must remember is that you cannot protect everyone from danger, even their own."

"You are right, High Priestess", I admit, feeling like I could cry.

She takes her hands off of me, and backs up. So, I stand up. She tells me, "De cat named Holly: she told us you sent her. She has been isolated as she was treated for her... addiction, but she has not been well... so I was told, and she cried for hours on end each day, calling for death, which I assume means you..."

"I will see her", I state.

"I understand that she has not been de only prostitute addicted to opiates, but treatment will not be enough if you bring more of dem here."

I nod, understanding what she means.

Shortly after having dinner with the rest, I unwind at the bathhouse, and place my arms on the edges of the massive tub, just soaking in the hot water, the steam being as relaxing. In minutes, I am joined by a familiar cat. The grey and black cat with a green eye and a blue eye. She is as naked as I am. I comment, "You knew I would come to this place."

"I hoped to see my saviour again", Holly replies.

I lower an arm and tell her, "Come 'ere." She shifts near me, and I wrap my arms around her. "You missed me immediately?"

"The doctor reckoned that I wanted to die. So, everyone was confused about what I wanted."

I admit sadly, "I tried to help another courtesan, but I failed..."

"You shouldn't give up on that", Holly whines. "There will always be failures; even I know that."

I then become serious, stating, "You wanted more than to thank me fer yer freedom."

She pulls away, to lift an arm, showing a burn mark on her arm, where I saw the house crest. Now it's burnt out. "I want to repay you, Death, with more than sexual pleasure."

I object lowly, "No, Holly, it is too soon. You might have expertise, but it is too dangerous fer you at this time."

She sighs, looking down. "I must be ahead of meself." She then moves close to me again, to feel my embrace. "I still wish t-be of assistance. If I am ever deemed fit to join the spy network."

I rub her back, and she starts to purr as I respond, "It is still a goal to enjoy." My hunt is still ongoing, but for now, giving comfort to someone who's been helpless is something that I love to do.