To the west, the stars descend. Their fiery glow fading to points, then to nothing, in the glimmering blue of dawn. The pale, early light of the sun cast long flat shadows across the land, and lent the air a peculiar clarity.
     Through this morning walks a man, his feet carrying him eastward along the highway. Cheerful, his lips held in a smile. Smiling at new prospects. New futures. New cons. New marks. His smile, as some do, revealed his teeth. Perfect white teeth. Long sharp canines. The fusion of a man?s teeth and a carnivore?s. But someone looking on this would not be overly surprised. This man?s animal soul is laid bare by his eyes: green and blue, but with the flashing yellow of a cat?s. With the passing headlights, of cars during the previous night, his eyes caught fire like road signs.
     A long coat. Duster, of course, it swept the ground and gathered his shadow to him. Heavy boots. Military in style. They hit the ground hard, but make no noise. Not even on gravel. Occasionally he stops to play with this incidental effect. It amuses him greatly, especially when around other people. They always expect him to make noise, and yet he never does ? except by design.
     And with the coat comes the necessary long hair. A man dressed like this, seems to always need long hair. Black. Or perhaps dark brown. Shots of deep red streak though it as the light touches it.
     But beneath this coat, no ordinary clothing. Flowing gauzy silks form loose trousers of midnight blue, drawn with the signs of the zodiac in thin silver. Yet most see only jeans. Loose shirt of black, adorned with the twenty-eight mansions of the moon, and the thousand constellations. Of those that see it, a black t-shirt is what is revealed to the greater number.
     Behind the man, keeping pace, a hundred black cats. Maybe more. Like phantoms they vanish into the shadows with the passing of each car, refusing to be seen by anyone but this odd traveller.
     For a time, in this walk, he amuses himself by walking along the tops of fences and guard rails. Never does he slip, never does he seem anything but sure of his footing. The hundred cats behind him seem more like a hundred and one. This man is more cat than many cats.

     The trees and fields give way, and the city is revealed. The destination. His animal eyes see great, towering stone edifices. Walls and fortifications. Towers. Gargoyles and sculptures. A grand place out of myth and history, and yet he doesn?t think this is out of place. This place that the drivers of the cars do not see. They see only smoke stacks, and apartment blocks. Factories. Glowing neon signs.

     Deep into the downtown he walks. His odd appearance never causing notice. He avoids the main street, too full with tourists and shopkeepers. He fears their disbelief, and uncaring. Their acceptance of their grey lives. It is poison to him, and he knows it.
     The waterfront. Beautiful. He spends an hour watching the sun glide upon its fiery chariot into the sky, and how the deep blue of the waters washes upward to fill the sky indigo.
     His voice begins with a purr, then moves into words ?Do you think it?s too early to visit the Baron?? Asking of the cats, for none others are around. They shift, exchange long looks filled with slow blinking and flickering of tails. ?I thought so too. Come, lets find a place to curl up.?

     And so he returns up the nearby street. Footfalls silent until he comes across a large structure. It speaks to him. In a silent language known only to his kind. ?Well, if I?m here, at least I should chat with the steward. They should be up.? Into the building. Its tall glass doors opened by their invisible servants in expectation of him.

     The building teems with people. Not the type of people he expects. The smell of paper fills the air, and this distracts him. Wandering amongst the shelves of this library he gets lost for a moment amidst all this collected wisdom. He forgets his friend?s tendency to hide around these people. ?Where do you think ??? He stops. The women leafing through a book seems surprised at his sudden addressing of her. ?? Never mind.? And he walks on, glancing at the ceiling where the hundred cats hide above sculpted wood and tiles.
     ?Perhaps upstairs.?
     A spiraling stair. It circles twice more for him than it does for others -- a total of three times. But the trip is worth it. Below, an ever expanding field of rosewood shelves carry the wisdom of ten thousand years of human civilization. Around him the hidden power of Glamour. He had found the Baron?s court. Now to find the entrance.
     Walking to the woman behind the desk, he clears his throat and speaks as normally as he can ?Excuse me, can you tell me where to find the Baron?? He smiles. Warm, friendly, usually that smile alone can keep people off guard long enough for him to act. But today, it is genuine.
     ?The Baron? Oh, you must mean the Baron and the Bard, shelf D, near the filing cases. For a brother?? A leading question, obviously. He just smiles and walks off. Finding the shelf he lifts the book. No, this is not what he wanted. She obviously didn?t know what he meant. Librarians. They can be so pedantic. If I were Baron, his inner voice says, I would make all librarians dance jigs when giving idiotic replies to simple questions.
     But perhaps she told him right. Standing there to flip through the brightly coloured book, he felt the pull of this building. Up. Up it was saying, calling him towards it.
     The nearest door is his path, and he goes through. A theatre. He can feel the past plays here, and the children?s laughter. Especially he can feel the children?s applause. True happiness and creative potential. And there, at the back, another door. Through that door, he could feel it.
     Through there, and up another narrow spiral stair. The stairs creek under his feet, raising an eyebrow on his face. This is a much traveled stair. The storeroom at the top explains why. Shelves, and boxes. They fill the area, but he remains undaunted. The hundred cats have already spread out amidst the terrain and their meows call his attention.
     And what a treasure they had found: Burning in the old fireplace was a yellow fire. Not the yellow of a normal fire, but the green-yellow of a fae fire. The flames of magic that lit every candle in his Lord's manor. The heart and soul of a place so special his Lord would kill to have it. A place where this single fire burns away the veil and makes Here and There one.
     And no signs of use. No court. No guards. Nothing. Nothing but the strange little chimerae huddling in the warming glow, himself and the his hundred cats.
     His laughter, unheard below, speaks of his selfish heart. Soon, it closes in from the street and the lower reaches of the library. The spill of its glamour contained and secret. None can know of this place. It reflects the hidden heart of its caretaker.

     But he is tired, after all this work. Sleep comes to him, and brushes his face with her gentle shroud. Finding himself atop a shelf, he curls his tail about his whiskers and lets the purring of his hundred cats lead him to slumber.

Posted by Martin at February 25, 2004 03:18 AM