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Chapter 11

When I enter Duck's quarters late that night, I'm dry, for the first time in weeks. My coat even smells of soap, although not a perfumed kind. I've missed this feeling, and it's put me in an even better mood. Kit has already returned to Duck's side, having already brushed out all the black strands of fox fur from his coat. He looks proud, but when our eyes meet, his smile widens even more. Seeing him makes me feel fuzzy and warm, but seeing him next to Duck is also sobering, in a way.

"Be seated." Duck tells me simply. "The time for our next move is upon us. The true reason for this and all my previous voyages with this ship." The dalmatian's voice is as cold and steady as ever. "This night is perfect for our activities. No rain, and a dark moon." Duck gestures to Kit with a subtle flick of his paw. "The twenty-year-old Mirodivalian. Let's be merry for the time we can."

"Yes sir," Kit replies, bowing before hastening to a bookshelf on the portside wall to fetch a crystal carafe with an ornamented stopper and a blood red, almost black liquid in it. Along with it, he fetches two fine wine glasses with an ornate carving of the dalmatian royal crest on each base. One glass is placed in front of me, another one placed in front of Duck, and both are filled with a polite amount of what I can clearly tell is some kind of wine. Duck nods to Kit, who then leaves the room without a word.

"Have you had enough time to get to terms with what it is I require of you?" Duck asks. "I ask again because I need you to be certain before we start in earnest, and there's no going back from here."

I nod.

"Do you still swear to serve as I've explained?"

"I do. I swear to serve loyally so long as he remains safe in your service too."

Duck folds his arms. "Kit, I presume?"

I nod again.

"Kit serves me admirably, and will be offered generous terms when it comes to his employment. If you turn out half as obedient as him-"

"I will try my best, sir,"

"If you turn out half as obedient, and remain quiet and listen to me when I speak without interruption, you will go far, too." Duck sips at his wine, and bids me do the same. "Kit isn't bound to my service; he can go where he pleases as we reach shore. But you have sworn your life to the cause. I expect you to understand what that means."

"I do understand," I tell him. "I swore to protect him too. And you said that you will not make me shame myself in your service. I just need you to know what I'm not willing to do, sir. No matter what you ask me."

Duck studies me for a long time, during which I feel as if I'm about to lose my steel.

"Excuse me?"

"I just mean... Your grace, with all due respect. You took me from a place I considered home and brought me to a place where I don't belong. I'm on my back foot here, and Kit has been helping me out more than I care to say. In light of this, I swear to do as best as I can, but if he goes, then I don't know if my word is strong enough."

"The word you just gave me is a very serious thing," Duck tells me. "I'll do what I can to ensure you stay alive. Don't let it go to your head though. I don't intend to do everything in my power to keep you un-disciplined. I expect you to understand that obedience, and serving me, is the best way to stay alive. Your own plans in all of this might run counter to that. Disobey my word for whatever reason, and you will place yourself in danger. You will learn to understand that too. But at this point, I was expecting you'd trust me." Duck swirls the wine in his glass with a frown of concentration, and empties it. "I care for my coltellinos like I care for Prince Matteo. Have I given you any reason to doubt this? Have you found, by chance, another place you'd rather be?"

"No sir, I'll go where Kit goes," I answer obstinately. I'm likely pushing it, but it is important to me that we understand each other clearly. "I will place Kit's life above my own. He is, in a sense, my family. I swear to protect him."

"You do not need to repeat yourself," Duck counters. "What is it you suspect me of? Do you suspect my requirements for you run counter to the safety of my own personal valet?"

"I just want to make sure," I say. "I want to make sure nobody takes him away-"

"That is something Kit can easily ensure for himself." Duck shakes his head, the patience dropping out of his voice. "Kieran, boy. If you cannot see that weasel's devotion to you, then I'm forced to question your good judgement. I could easily discern it, at the fifty paces which separate our living quarters, and indeed through the floorboards."

I flush deeply, and burry my muzzle in my glass for want of a proper response.

"Kit will remain in my service. And if he leaves, he won't go far, lest you persist in your bone headed, and might I say, egotistical, self-serving stubbornness. I have it on good authority that such behaviour is very unattractive. Did you have any serious objections, or shall we continue to explore the limits of my patience?"

"N... no sir," I say, the last of my boldness puffing out along with the two words like steam from a kettle. I'm not sure if that knowledge unsettles or comforts me, but I see the truth in it. Kit knows everything about Dalmatia. He's spent hours telling me about all the things he wants to do there. He knows what he's about. He knows what I am and what I'll become, and he's still convinced that his future is a bright and sunny one. I ought to trust him, but more than that, I need to place my faith in his better judgement and maybe take a leaf out of his book, too.

"Then let's begin." Duck refills my glass. "Kit has explained your predicament with letters. I have heard of this affliction before, but I didn't expect you to take the learning into your own paws. In the future, I'd prefer to hear these things from yourself. I could've aided you with these lessons, too. In fact, I was planning to, once we reached shore."

"How much did he tell you, sir?"

"Enough that I can more effectively do my job and keep you safe, Kieran. I initially intended for you to serve in a different way. But now that I know you're capable of reading, then that means those plans are out the window, and I've laid new ones. Reading will become an important factor tonight, so make sure you empty that glass."

I sniff at the wine, as its brought to my attention, even though I've nearly emptied it already. Now that I think about it, it smells kind of wine-like, but not quite; it's much, much stronger, and the red is much deeper when held against the light.

"What is this tiger to you?" I hear myself ask. "May I know the truth now? The actual truth?"

"Straight to the point." Duck smiles briefly. "Very well. As I'm sure you've guessed, I've had an eye on the first mate for a while now. And I'll tell you why. It started ten years ago. Ever since then, my brotherhood has been plagued by an imposter. A very skilled operator, and slippery like no other. They had been leaking information, and getting my agents arrested, tortured and killed. Many of my finest men, and good friends besides. It has made my work very precarious and far riskier than I'd like."

I tilt my head; I know he promised to keep me out of harm's way, but I'm still worried about what he might put me through.

"I have reason to believe, by which I mean I'm certain, that Krish is the lead I seek, which will bring me closer in my investigations. Because he's the last name on the list of suspects."

The slave Kieran would've nodded and lowered his head, and prepared for whatever lay ahead. But free foxes demand explanations, even from dukes. Especially from dukes.

"Why are you so sure?" I ask.

"An agent I personally tasked to get to the bottom of this mystery told me as much. He'd taken a bad wound in his service, and had just enough life in him to incriminate one of my tigers in doubtless terms. He'd seen the individual's stripes, but not much more. I could not make it known that I desired all my tigers to report at Castle Dalmatia, or the guilty one would've gone to ground in the time they'd take to get here. I couldn't say which of my men I could trust, either. It was a precarious situation, and time was running out. So, I had to take the case into my own paws, and track each of the tiger agents I had down without any of the others suspecting a thing, and make sure in no uncertain terms that they were no threat to us. Do you understand?"

I nod, though I have a bad feeling about where all this is leading. "How did you prevent the word from spreading? After you'd visited a few of these tigers, surely, they'd wonder why? Wouldn't they talk?"

Duck doesn't answer me at first, but pours himself a glass of the deep red wine, and empties it quickly. His silence on the matter is deafening.

"Sometimes, the work I need done cannot be performed by good men."

I hesitate. "So, you killed them?"

"Mercy and hesitation can be more dangerous than swift, spontaneous action. Do you understand what I mean?"

"You... you prevented the news from following you. Even if they were innocent."

"That's more or less accurate," Duck concedes. "I'm not proud of this. But our order had a hundred members once, before this infiltrator started working against us. There was no other way to verify the honesty of my tigers. My brothers were dying by the month. I had no other choice. This way, I will at the very least have spared my brothers that burden, but that is a measly justification for the poor men I left in the ground."

"Like the last one... Sanjay... the tiger we met in Nawesh-"

"Two agents in the same city. I had to act fast. I couldn't risk the rumours of that one's death spreading onto the ship. Your loyalty was fresh, so I couldn't reveal to you the true reason behind my actions, and I wanted to see if you could keep your word to me. I already took a great risk bringing you aboard. I feared I had a tiger left to kill. But now that I have you here, there's another way we can do this. One where we don't need to shed any blood before clear guilt is proven. If you can help, we might be able to take Krish alive, and have him answer for the crimes he's accused of."

Duck sighs, and slumps in his chair, his poise failing him somewhat. "I am wary, though. I'm all but certain he is in the process of going to grounds. If he is allowed to disembark, I will likely not find him in another ten years, and the deaths will continue. My men first, then you, then I. And I can't risk his secrets following him into his grave, either."

"I understand that," I tell him, though I don't, truly. "What will happen when your other brothers find out about your investigations?"

Duck raises his muzzle, puffs out a breath of air, as if he is exhausted by it all. "They will complain, and rightfully so. I will present them what evidence we have found, and I believe it will be enough for them to forgive me."

"Forgive you? Just like that?!" My outburst is clearly step too far. I know as soon as I see Duck's muzzle snap back to me and the steely gaze resume.

"What was that?" he asks coldly. "Do you have any objections?"

I decide its best to hold my muzzle.

"What I've done is disturbing. But I also need you to understand the necessity of it. Why solutions like this is never off the table completely, due to the nature of our profession. Why it is I who had to do it. Tell me, do you understand, truly?"

I nod more hesitatingly this time. "You say the evidence you hope to find will assuage your guilt? When you're not even sure about its existence."

"That is exactly how sure I am of its existence, Kieran. All I need you to do is to find it."

"And you put your faith in me just like that? You trust me to read this piece of writing you don't even know exists?"

"You weren't meant to be critical to all this. I needed you as a cadet, to watch and learn. But an opportunity I cannot relinquish has arisen, and you get some safe, paws-on practice."

"And what is that?"

"As I said, I believe Krish is going into hiding. He's brought his wealth onboard, which is not normal for an occupational journey. I think he might know he's hunted, and he's doing what my agents are all trained to do; taking all their belongings, erasing all trace of their existence, and disappearing. I don't know what he knows. He and I have never been introduced, you see, he's been recruited by a brother. And because I'm still alive, after having sailed with him for half a year, he likely doesn't suspect that I am connected to the Dalmatian he works for. Certainly, he won't expect any Dalmatian to be leading the effort to hunt him down. Or rather, hunting a very specific document which I know he must carry."

"What is that, then?"

"The last communication to whoever he reports to," Duck tells me, as if I'm naturally meant to know what one of those is. "And I'll explain why. He will be wanting to report his status to this foreign operator, to ensure they know he's still loyal to them. Naturally he will be exchanging coded letters. Agents are all taught to make codes for themselves, which are virtually unbreakable, with a very simple method. By relying on the last sent letter as a cipher, the next one is encoded, and can only be decoded by the communications preceding it. Intercepting one letter is useless, as there is no way to know what number in the sequence the letter is. Intercepting two letters in a row is practically impossible. Or rather, it should be impossible. But I have already intercepted last communication, because I know all his methods. I know he's not sent his response yet. All I need is the copy of the letter he means to send as a response, which he must have with him. Unless he can remember a sequence of five hundred random words flawlessly. Since he doesn't know that I am, in fact, his empoloyer, and that I have a copy of the preceding letter, he likely considers his current copy safe; I don't believe he'll keep it terribly closely guarded. Which is why this task is excellent for your training. Should you find anything at all down there which looks like an important letter, I would like you to bring it to me. And another thing... he cannot know that you've been there. Understood?"

"If..." I chew on the words, as all this information rattles around inside my head. "If... I find this, this writing. How will I know it for what it is?"

"The papers we're looking for is most likely contained within a sealed envelope, somewhere secure. The seal will likely be some official or government, to protect it from prying eyes with the fines which comes from breaking such a seal unlawfully. And it'll look very important, in all likelihood, though it won't sound important when read. Likely, it will read like any other official letter. If you find anything else of interest, do bring it along with you. Be as thorough as you can, and look for anything even remotely curious."

"So, I'm looking for almost anything which seems like it doesn't belong?"

"The better it's hidden, the more likely it will incriminate him. Whatever you find in there, bring it to me. Kit and I will copy it out as quickly as possible. Then you will return whatever you found to where you found it without misplacing anything in that room."

"Why is this something you need me for?" I ask him.

"If you haven't noticed, I'm really rather visible and quite recognizable. Even in the darkness below decks, it'd only take one sailor to awake and glance my way to instantly recognize who I was and incriminate me. I'm a guest on this ship, and do not command the men's loyality, even tenuously, like the tiger does. And I'm carrying my luggage, too, which will eventually uncover who I am if I was forced to turn it over, say, on suspicion of theft. You, however, are a common sight below decks, and quite inconspicuous in comparison."

"But surely, he's worked out that I am under your command, hasn't he? So, won't he keep an eye out for me too?"

"He'll never find out that you've been down there." Duck gains a contemplative look for a moment, but shakes his head as if to dislodge the thoughts. "He mans the helm every night, of course, and you, and your scent, belongs down below. But if worst comes to worse, uou'll want to find something valuable to put in your pockets, just in case. If you are caught, you will be brought to the captain, who is playing along, and he will turn you over to me. You're my charge, after all."

"I'm not sure the captain would just comply with you, sir." I grumble under my breath. But I ought to trust Duck. He speaks with an authority which suggests he knows what he's doing. He has to.

"Don't worry yourself, fox," Duck tells me, yet again reading my expression so effortlessly that I'm tempted to drape a pillowcase over my head the next time we meet. "None of this is very likely to happen. You see, there is a point when our dear first mate's nightly labour will become a routine, which will make him less aware; less alert. One who works at night should be especially aware of the inherent lack of sunshine, and the effect it has on the mind. You will learn this quickly, I'm sure, but I'm telling you now anyways. The sun gives life not just to plants and trees, but to us higher beings as well. Remove it, and we suffer much the same fate as a flower. We close up and shrink away, and lose our lustre."

I nod carefully, sipping at the sharp wine he's given me, trying to calm myself. It's so strong it brings tears to my eyes. A mix of tastes I hadn't expected to find in any wine; spices and smoke and fruits and... roses?

"How many brothers have you left?" I ask. "When will I meet them."

"I don't intend to introduce you to anyone in the forseable future. You're far too recognizable, and we are all in danger of being captured. You'd be very easy to recall during questioning, let's just put it like that. However, of those I trust, I have my personal steward, two agents in hiding somewhere in the Dalmatian countryside on my orders, a dear friend of my family in Castellania currently attended by one of my most trusted agents, and a scattered few of dubious loyalty, whom I fear might become targets, should our efforts not come to fruition. Should we fail here, I will have to make sure they don't fall into the paws of the enemy."

His tone is crestfallen, sure. But I feel it's far too casual for such a grave task. I feel the words exit my muzzle before I can stop them. "What you mean is that you'll be killing them. Right?"

"Mind your tongue, fox." The dalmatian barks suddenly.

My ears fold flat. I ought to be more mindful. He has a way of speaking which doesn't hint at it, but I suspect this has disturbed him more than he's telling me.

"Will I have to... to kill him at some point? Krish, I mean."

"I don't mean to wager my life or yours by engaging him in combat. Once I have all the information I need, I'll have him arrested by the watch, and I can I finish the work I've started away from prying eyes."

Duck places something on the table in front of me. I suppose it's a dagger of some sort. A long and slender one, it's blade no broader than my little finger

"You will likely have to break through the tiger's outer lock. I've had a glance at the mechanism. It's really rather crude-" Duck pauses. "Do you know how to pick a lock? It's really rather simple, I can show you."

"I've picked a lock before, but only a very simple one," I tell him. "I used to have a whalebone brush handle with which I could open some of the doors in the pillow house if the... customers... couldn't wake from the poppy wine."

I don't mention that I had mostly used my skills to gain access to the pantry, where the day's leftovers had been stored. It feels somehow a dishonest thing to admit, even when I had been starving. Thievery is, and will probably always be, slightly embarrassing to me. It serves as a reminder how vulnerable, and desperate I was. But I guess it can be heroic to steal, in some cases, if things are as Duck says.

"Very good," Duck concludes. "The night is young, but well underway. Is everything clear to you? Are you ready to start?"

If I say I am, I'd be lying, so I just nod once to affirm that I've heard him. Ready or not, this is it.

The Dalmatian gets to his feet, pulling out a short, stubby cigar, which he chews the end off and subsequently lights on a nearby candle.

"I'll be outside, keeping an eye on the tiger. If I tap twice on the roof planks, that means the tiger is leaving his post, and you must get out immediately." He comes over to me and puts a paw on my shoulder. A surprisingly physical gesture which I guess is meant to reassure me. It doesn't. "I believe you can do this, Kieran. Your night eyes and your very mild scent will serve you well tonight. I'm glad to see Kit has a say in your toilette at least."

"Thank you," I respond, "I do prefer to remain clean, if ever possible. It's quite a tricky thing on this ship however."

"I am well aware, it was I who lent him the soap. I am also aware that your bed tonight will smell quite strongly. That will serve you well as an alibi."

"A what?"

"A cover story." Duck blows a puff of smoke out from his nostrils. "Your fox's scent can be quite pungent. Every sailor on board knows it. They expect it, if nothing else, from the reputation your kind has earned. Should any mild scent trace turn up in Krish's room, everyone on board will understand that it is merely a side effect of sharing a ship with a fox. Nothing out of the ordinary. Do you see what I mean?"

I do see what he means. I'm just a species with a smell to them. To everyone. I'll never understand this strange sentiment, but I won't complain for now, if Duck is correct in saying it'll work out in my favour.

Sneaking past sleeping sailors is the easiest thing in the world; it's been my bread and butter for the last decade. Once at Krish's door, I pull out the knife Duck gave me. It's surprisingly well suited for the task. The thin blade slides easily through the keyhole and catches on something metallic that yields as I twist it, before the door slides open.

The room I enter smells so overwhelmingly of tiger that I instantly feel off balance and worried. My body tells me that there's a tiger here somewhere. Without a doubt. But the room is clearly empty, so I step inside warily, ignoring my instincts.

It's not wet in here, naturally, the room being shielded from the rains by Duck's quarters above, and separated from the crews' quarters with the sturdy door. An absurdly sturdy door, come to think of it. Maybe this was some kind of brig once? It doesn't let in the sound of the creaking woodwork, or the sound of the sea. It's unnaturally quiet in here. In any case, I feel very isolated in here.

I make my way over to a desk by the starboard wall, and scan the papers spread across its surface carefully. Though it takes some time to make sense of them, they don't feel terribly important. Surely, they won't be, lying out in the open like this. The desk is otherwise occupied by a large, black book. Every page seems to contains dull reports of what has been sighted and what has happened with the ship; the temperature, heading, speed and position, with an entry underlined the date I stepped into the kitchen to take over Kit's duties. Another date is underlined, the date when I came aboard. Then another date in between those two, but I can't recall what might have happened that day. Chills run down my spine as I realise that he's been keeping an eye on me. I leaf through the thick book but there has to be hundreds of pages, each with its own date. I don't have enough time to read such a tome. And anyways, I'm searching for something secret. It's far more likely to be inside the chest I suddenly notice underneath the desk.

The chest has a far more intricate lock than my knife can deal with. I've nothing else to pick it with, but if I'm lucky, the key is the room here somewhere. Hopefully, Krish is of the same cautious breed like Matron, who wouldn't keep the key to her strong box on her person for fear of losing it when out and about. Thankfully, looking around for hidden keys is one of those skills a lonesome, hungry slave quickly learns.

There's nothing in the tiger's night stand, nothing emerges when I shake the large black book or search around underneath the papers on the table. Searching the single bookshelf which has been nailed to the wall above the desk, I find an unlit candle, some scattered trinkets and a few books stacked so as to look as inconspicuous as possible. Curiously, I pick up the smallest of these, and flip through it absently. It's the size which interests me, in truth. I can hide it completely between two paws. It contains a mess of tiny, curly writing which I can't read without pushing my snout all the way up to the pages. Who'd need such a small book, it would be exceedingly easy to misplace or lose it, and then its size would make it very tricky to find. That makes a puzzle piece fall into place, which I don't get more time to stew on, because when I leaf through to the end, a tiny key drops from it and clatters onto the desk.

The chest unlocks with a soft click. It has clearly not been made to stand under the desk, where its lid won't open half an inch. With a lot of effort, I manage to haul it out into the open. I'm not prepared for what I see when I open it. Gold, silks and fine jewellery everywhere I look. Incenses, whose smells wash out of the chest like a warm breeze, filling the room. Jars of no doubt expensive oils and perfumes, and bundles of smoke leaves. Whatever isn't made from gold is surely worth more than its own weight in the stuff. I've never seen such obscene wealth in my life; wealth accumulated for a life in Duck's service, or the result of whatever crimes the tiger has done? If captain Ajag has even an inkling of what is contained in this chest, I'm not surprised he wants to throw the tiger to the dogs, so to speak. I've only ever seen a dozen gold coins at a time, and I only ever held one once. But in the tiger's chest there is, among all the wealth, a solid gold ingot resting on fistfuls of coins, like a sow with her piglets. Unassuming, as if gold simply grows on trees where Krish is from. Heeding Duck's advice, I stuff a few coins down the sash I've tied around my belly and hips after the Naweshi fashion, to make up for the less than perfect fit of my old shirt and trousers. I wonder for a long time at what anyone would do with such wealth. Or worse, what they might do to claim it. Similarly, I marvel at how little I personally care about it. I only take because that was what Duck had told me to. I can grab another pawful of gold, and solve any problem which might befall Kit's life and mine. And yet, I don't. If killing is low, stealing from those who are doomed to die is even lower. I would rather earn my own money. In the midst of my reverie, my eyes catch onto something markedly not valuable looking, nestled in between some bolts of silks. A sealed envelope. The seal is red, but in the darkness, it looks black. Impressed with a curious pattern too, which makes me bring the paper closer to my snout. It's identical to the seal on the letter declaring my freedom, which currently resides in Kit's locked chest. I slip the tiger's letter inside my sash, along with the tiny book.

I search for more letters, both in the chest and in the shelf, but my search doesn't turn up anything of interest. As I'm climbing the desk to look on top of the bookshelf, my ears perk to a very faint sound. The two distinctly spaced taps ring through the small, dark cabin like a dinner bell. The warning Duck spoke of. That must be it. But so early? No time to contemplate it. Quickly, I jump down from the desk and start heaving the chest back where it belongs. Then I remember the letter. If it's as important as Duck thinks, he'll probably look for that first. But I've already pushed the chest under the desk, I can't open the lid enough to slip it back inside. I don't know how long I hesitate, and by the time I've decided to keep the letter with me, there's no time to replace the key in the little book and place it back on the shelf either, so I reach for the door, hoping the tiger doesn't notice the missing items for just one night.

But all of that hope vanishes when I lay my paw on the handle, and feel it shift under my pads without my input.

Instinctively, I jump to the side where the open door will hide me, and press close to the wall. The dark room is suddenly bathed in moonlight from the stairwell. But the moonlight is obstructed by a large, broad shadow with a long thin tail and small, round ears. There is no hiding from a tiger in a tiger's own room, no matter where I stand. Even scanter are my chances of escaping a tiger who, in all probability, knows he's being hunted. I don't have any faith in Duck's reassurances right then. Krish knows what I am, he's been keeping his eyes on me, how can he not? I'm not just a thief, I'm a thief who works for the dalmatian, whom he has written of in his big black book. If the tiger is indeed guilty of what Duck has accused him of, if everything else Duck has told me is true, then there's no way in hell I'll be shown any kind of mercy. As soon as Krish notices me, I'm good as dead.

The tiger immerses himself in the darkness of the room, and closes the door softly behind him. Carefully. Intently, to my racing mind. He looks around, not towards me, but towards his desk. He knows. I'm sure of it. I have to act in the next few heartbeats before he turns to face me. But what can I do? If I try to make my way out of the room, I'm turning my back on him. Not ideal. Furthermore, the ship is too small. I can't escape. And there's only one fox on this ship, whose scent is currently mingling with the scents of incense, neither of which should be so readily apparent in his room. He can't not know. I clutch my slim knife tightly in both paws. I don't dare to try talking to him. And if I open my muzzle now, all I'll end up doing would be to give away my hiding spot and make it easier for him to kill me. What could I even say to him that'd make him spare me? I can't risk it. What other options do I have?

I can see his head turning slowly. So slowly. So slowly it feels absurd. The whole world moves as through molasses. Everything slows down to an impossible degree; the tiger's twitching whiskers, his tensing muscles, my own heartbeats. I see the moment when his weight shifts to one of his massive feet, and his body starts to turn, and it feels like it takes several minutes. I close my eyes and hope to every God in heaven I have the strength within me. This is for what I was chosen, everything else Duck said was just masking the trail. This is what I'm meant to learn. All I can see behind my closed eyes is a tiger with a field of roses sprouting from his fur.

The unnatural slowing of time reaches a point where I'd be hard pressed to say if it moves at all. But it clearly is, because I'm moving. Krish pivots slowly, extending his inch-long claws in a smooth motion. He's prepared to kill. I can tell as soon as our eyes meet, and I see the fire in them. He might have killed me too, if it hadn't been for the fact that I'm already mid-leap. Krish's fist descends, but slowly, as if he's merely showing me how he intends to hit me. It's surprisingly easy, even mid-air, to twist away from the descending paw, then use that momentum to reach his table, getting myself half ways around the back of the tiger, and about five feet into the air. While he recoils from his swing, I leap towards his now exposed back. I feel exceptionally light, as if I have all the strength in the world surging through me. My heart beats a storm, but with the way time moves, it sounds like it's pattering along at the same speed as always. The only difference being that I can hear, and feel it's beats in my whole body.

I reach out and wrap one arm around Krish's neck, grasping on for dear life as I stab toward it with my other paw. The knife is awfully sharp, and the resistance I'd expected simply isn't there; the blade slips in as if through butter, and the thick orange fur swallows every last inch of it. Maybe it's my strength born from desperation, or maybe I've missed whatever bones he has in his neck. I spend what feels to me like an eternity just marvelling at the absurd sight. The strangeness lasts until I pull the knife out again, and blood shoots out as if from a ripe ale cask. The spray subsides, and the blood runs like ink from a knocked over inkpot, as black as the night which surround us.

I don't register the tiger's reaction before it's too late. He wrenches around, knocking me off him so that I fall to the floor. Crazed with pain and anger, his yellow eyes bores straight into me with so much force that can almost feel them. He wants to roar, but nothing comes out of his neck but blood. He only sputters and coughs. My knife must have hit some important part of the mechanics of speech and sound. But he remains standing. I'm certain tigers are like all other people, that their necks are weak and vulnerable. But Krish doesn't seem hampered by the loss of blood, as it sloshes all over his desk chest and other personal belongings. An unbelievable quantity of blood. It gets everywhere. I can even feel droplets landing on my snout, and settle in my coat like sea spray. Unlike salt, this sin won't wash out.

I can't convince my feet to move as I watch the tiger come towards me in slow motion. My paws are wet with his blood, and its coppery scent overwhelms my nose completely.

I feel the brutal swipe before I realise what is happening; a fierce downward strike which punches me in the shoulder and rakes across my chest. But the pain doesn't seem to follow it. It knocks the air out of my lungs, and almost sends me clean off my feet, crashing into the tiger's desk and upsetting the shelf above it. Papers, books and letters rain down on me, falling slow and languid as petals from an orange tree. I don't feel them as they bump against my head and settle on my lap. I can't feel anything but a strange, cool sensation around my chest which suggests to me that parts of me are unnaturally exposed to the cold night. I don't dare to look down. I don't take my eyes off Krish for a second.

Another paw descends towards me, aimed at my head. This time my body has the wherewithal to react. I vault forward underneath the paw, sending books and papers flying, aiming my muzzle at the only path the tiger hasn't got covered with his wide reach; between his spread-out legs. Krish almost stumbles over me as I pass under him, kicking me roughly in the ribs in the process. I manage to escape his attack otherwise unscathed, and I'd manage to keep hold of my knife.

My entire world narrows down to the tiger covered in blood, who stumbles as he slowly turns towards me, clutching his neck with one paw. The tiger has to bleed out soon, he has to. Though I know nothing of how much blood is in a tiger that size, it none the less seems most of it is no longer inside him. The diary I had been reading is soaked, as are the books I've knocked off the shelves, which Krish kick away angrily as he lunges towards me.

With time moving so languidly, I can see the lunge for what it is; an all-out desperate attempt to kill me. Krish all but takes flight, hurling himself bodily towards me. If I don't avoid him, he'll crush me to a pulp. But this strange condition affords me all the leverage I could ever want, I just need to grasp at the opportunity. I can see every twitch of the cat's muscles, every movement of the cat's whiskers, the way those fierce eyes track my paws and feet constantly, even mid lunge. I can outlive this fierce tiger. I will. I owe it to Duck, and to my lovely, sweet Kit. My life is not just mine to lose any longer.

My legs bend to keep my weight low to the ground, and I kick off, straight towards my opponent like a low flying arrow. No time to think about what I'm doing. As I slowly close in, I catch the sweeping tiger paw in both of mine, and push it aside with all my strength. The force of the push makes me to roll mid-air, and I flick my tail around for balance. As I roll, I see the tiger's exposed neck just above me, blood trailing from it like rain from a storm cloud. I've gotten under his guard. No time to lose. With the force of the roll behind my arm, I drive my knife into the soft white fur under Krish's jaw. The blade is almost eight inches long, but again it disappears into the white fur as if the tiger had been made of vapour. Then it catches on something hard, which crunches and holds onto my knife, wrenching it out of my grasp with an ungodly force.

Krish flies past above me, but he can't catch his lunge. It's like his limbs have just stopped responding. He half slides, half stumbles headfirst into the corner against which I'd been backed. I slide the opposite way on my back, feeling just how abrasive the flood boards here are, and come to a halt in the same pile of books I knocked down moments earlier, leaning against the large chest. I try to raise myself to my feet, but my body doesn't want to respond.

Slowly, time returns to moving normally, as if reality itself trickles back into the room. Krish shifts and shudders, face down and head away from me. He tries to prop himself up on his elbows, but slips in the blood; his own blood, and falls to the floor again, motionless.

A dizzying, all-encompassing pain catches up to me finally; so unnatural, so ungodly painful that I can't even open my muzzle to scream. I put a paw on my belly and it comes away sticky and warm. But I can't tell my blood from the tigers, and my coat is too dark for the wounds to show clearly. I feel sick. All of this is my fault. I'm a beast. I deserve this pain, I deserve it all.