CHAPTER FROM THE COMPLETE BOOK
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“OH, these seats!” Archibald growled. “Why must they be so plush? Every time we go around a corner I change sides!”
“Then use your walking stick as a wedge,” the Pyjami snapped, pushing him away when he slid into her again.
“I wouldn’t need to if you weren’t so obsessed with polishing everything!”
Evening fell across the harbour. Clouds turned pink and sky darkened. Beneath it, the black saloon crunched along a wharf and pulled up beside a berthed launch. Dressed in a blue suit and chauffeur’s cap, Sedervitz Tappen-Noo alighted and opened the door for his passengers. The Pyjami got out, but Archibald struggled to follow.
“Oh, this is quite ridiculous!” Archibald growled. “This car is too low and its seats are too high.”
When his complaints degraded into curse, the Pyjami demanded Sedervitz lend a paw. Amused, he did so, with Archibald smacking it away, before trying again.
“Perhaps you might consider a second walking stick, Archie,” Sedervitz said, when the animal eventually conceded, “if you find one inadequate?”
Archibald snatched his paws free. “If I had a second one, cat, I’d beat you with it!”
Sedervitz laughed.
When all three had boarded the launch in a sort of reverse fiasco, Sedervitz replaced his chauffeur’s hat with a captain’s cap and started its engine. With a roar, he churned them from the wharf, spray sweeping their wake as the boat swung around. Archibald was sent careering to its stern, where his veritable swathe of obscenities was drowned beneath throbbing engine.
Being one of Ruen’s wealthiest residents, the Pyjami owned an enormous yacht which was often moored off the northern headland. The Spicy Cabanari was spectacular in appearance, displacement and luxury. It boasted three galleys, thirty-thousand bedrooms and a carport. It had four small dining halls—each with its own polished table—a shopping centre’s worth of escalators, one shopping centre and a bath. On it, the Pyjami held spectacular balls, her guests being the elite of the elite. So elite, that it ought to be spelt with a capital. The galas were not given to entertain, so much as remind them who was in charge.
When they rounded the headland, the Spicy Cabanari appeared. Lit in a trellis of lights, its white slate shimmered across water like an early rising moon. Thumping through waves, Sedervitz approached its stern, before slowing with a flare of engine to bump them alongside. A rope was thrown from the deck above, which he used to secure the launch. The boat pitched and rolled, and when it teetered in their favour, the Pyjami and Archibald stumbled aboard a platform, before Sedervitz followed magnificently.
While the platform ascended to the height of deck, Archibald shivered, his fur wet from sea. “I’d rather be back in the car,” he grumbled. “At least it was warm. And why does there have to be so much water? All this splashing makes me want to go to the toilet.”
“Perhaps you ought to have gone before we left the Sett,” Sedervitz said, amused.
“I did, confound it!”
“And yet you suffer still?”
“Unfortunately, my bladder is not what it once was.”
“Is that because it used to be your brain?”
When Archibald exploded with rage, the Pyjami said, “Sedervitz. That is quite enough. Hold your tongue, or I shall hold it for you.”
Smirking, Sedervitz gazed across water coloured purple by evening.
The cats stepped from the hoist while waiting animals stood to attention. Sedervitz strode past them and demanded the chef be sent for immediately. When they hurried away to oblige, he marched magnificently across the deck, while the Pyjami helped Archibald hobble after him.
“What is he doing here, anyway?” Archibald hissed, fuming at the cat’s magnificent strides.
“Sedervitz is a fine animal,” the Pyjami said, “and a considerable asset to what we’ve been discussing.”
“Rubbish. He is nothing of the sort. The cat is insolent and arrogant. He’s probably one of those pesky little runts himself. To trust an animal of that age with what you have prepared is ludicrous!”
“On the contrary, my dear Archie. Sedervitz Tappen-Noo is more devoted than you realise. I have absolute faith in him.”
Archibald snatched his paw from her. “Why?” he growled. “Tell me. And I warn you that my support might be less than forthcoming should you refuse.”
“I have reasons you do not need to know!” she snapped. “I trust him implicitly. Indeed, I trust him more than I do you!”
He muttered, knowing well her brilliance. With a humph, he accepted her paw again and they struggled to a doorway.
Through it, a luxurious room waited. Cream leather seating lined its perimeter, with a plushness suggesting any who sat on it might not re-emerge for days. Portholes lined a wall painted a burnt orange, and although the ceiling was low, it glowed from hidden lighting. At the room’s centre was a polished table, upon which was a small granite box brimming with crispy scales.
The Pyjami led Archibald to the seating, where he prodded its upholstery warily.
“He complains a great deal,” Sedervitz said, when she arrived beside him.
“He is old.”
“You are old, and you don’t whine like he does.”
“Not out loud, perhaps,” said the Pyjami. “Do not forget, Sedervitz, that we need his co-operation. We will not manage without another councillor included. I expect the very best behaviour from you. No more riling. Is that understood?”
Sedervitz took a large crispy scale, which he munched indignantly, while the Pyjami helped Archibald to a chair when he refused to drown in upholstery. The chef arrived, and Sedervitz ordered a remarkable quantity of food and a bottle of sparkling water.
The chef left, Archibald sat and the Pyjami indicated it was time.
Sedervitz pressed a button beside a picture on the wall.
“My dear Archie,” the Pyjami said, “there comes a time when leaders must make decisions based not on common agreement, but rather the common good.”
A panel slid aside to reveal a safe, which Sedervitz fiddled with. After a click, he opened its door and removed a large roll of paper and four shiny stones. After closing the safe, he returned to the table.
The Pyjami continued, “Sometimes the opinions of several encumber foresight. At such times, it is imperative to remain focussed and peer past opinion to ensure the right course of action is not veered from.”
“Too many chefs, perhaps?”
“Indeed. And for the good of Ruen, I have taken such a liberty, for I have conceived a plan to purge Ruen of those pesky little runts via means so brilliant, that some nights I am still unable to sleep. So secret are these plans, Archie, that currently only Sedervitz and I are aware of them.”
Archibald glowered at Sedervitz, who returned it with a smile.
“However,” she continued, “during more practical aspects of this scheme’s implementation, some councillors will undoubtedly question the activities necessary in bringing it to fruition. In as much, the success of said purging pivots upon there being another councillor to help quell their concerns.”
Archibald said nothing and waited. He’d seen Ruen’s regress beneath the young animals marauding about the place. That a plan existed to end such blasphemy was encouraging. Had Sedervitz not been present, he might have shown enthusiasm. Intrigued, he asked, “And what, pray, does this scheme entail?”
With a nod from the Pyjami, Sedervitz unrolled the paper across the table and weighted its corners with stone. Struggling from his chair, Archibald stood and peered at the schematics drawn upon it. When realisation dawned, his curiosity exploded into astonishment, and he bent closer to be certain.
After some mutterings of calculation, he looked up at them. “But this is over five thousand paws long!”
The Pyjami raised her whiskers and Sedervitz’s twitched proudly.
He returned his gaze to the paper, passing a furry paw from one end to
the other, hoping the caress might reveal something far more sensible beneath. “You can’t be serious!”
Silence.
“I mean, what will it use?”
“Ah,” whispered the Pyjami, her smile cleaving her face into two distinct pieces, “that is where the true genius arises!”
Archibald waited for an answer, but it wasn’t forthcoming.
“Very much a need to know basis only, old chap,” Sedervitz said. “Though this isn’t the half of it, I can assure you.”
Confusion left Archibald oblivious to the cat’s conceit. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Sedervitz looked at the Pyjami who nodded permission. Indicating the schematics, he said, “My dear Archie, there are thirteen of these masterpieces!”
To this, Archibald reeled backwards as astonishment indulged in something of an encore. He teetered upon his stick, his gaze elsewhere, wandered to the perimeter seating and sank into it. The Pyjami ground her teeth, concerned he hadn’t exploded in congratulation. If she’d underestimated him, the cat would not be permitted to return to shore.
After a time, he whispered, “But thirteen? Where can you have thirteen of these things?”
Sedervitz was about to speak, but the Pyjami held up a paw.
“There are ways and means, my dear Archie,” she said. “Ways and means.”
“And what is it specifically you require of me?”
His question pleased her, being an acceptance of sorts: he wasn’t debating involvement, so much as battling astonishment. Which was understandable. “For two reasons,” she said. “Firstly, because the resources involved in fabricating thirteen of these things will not go unnoticed, and I require another councillor to pacify any dissent. And secondly, these will result in immeasurable chaos across the city, and it would be impossible to weave authority upon my own amidst such turmoil. I need another beside me, Archie; an animal as committed as I am to preserve Ruen’s ways. Indeed, to return its ways.” She narrowed her eyes. “I need an animal to share the burden of Ruen’s glorious return; a co-signatory to implement policies that will ensure such contamination never occurs again.”
He stared at her. “But surely, after this, there would be mutiny? You can’t seriously imagine there’d be no revolt against the Council following such devastation?”
The Pyjami smiled. “I think that were you made aware of further detail, you’d realise no animal could cast aspersion upon Ruen’s Ruling Council.”
“How so?”
Sedervitz smirked. “As the Pyjami has already said, that is where the true genius lies!”
Still he stared.
“It does take a certain genius,” the Pyjami agreed, “to find means of removing those pesky little runts from our city without breaking a single brick of its walls.”
Echoing her sentiments, Sedervitz added, “Just like the Pied Piper, Archie, but with such a beautiful irony, that not a single thread will lie loose!”
“A purging there shall be,” the Pyjami purred. “In seven days’ time, a purging there shall be!”
Chapter 11, The Purging Of Ruen.
THANK YOU
If you liked this adventure, then consider visiting VelvetPawofAsquith.com/quiz to answer a quiz about it. If answered correctly, you will receive a beautiful framed ‘Certificate of Achievement’ for having read a Dooven book without it having killed you.
Except that it’s not framed.
Or particularly beautiful, for that matter.
Although certainly you’ll receive it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Thomas Corfield was born in London several years ago, definitely before last Thursday. This was a good year for all concerned, and for him in particular, because without it, later years would mean little. He owes a lot to that first year, and now lives because of it in undisclosed locations after having successfully absconded from probation. Although he finds making friends difficult, this is only because no one likes him. Including his mother, who didn’t bother giving him a name until he was nine. His solicitor describes him as having an allergy to apostrophes and an aversion to punctuation that borders on pathological. This makes the popularity of his books all the more remarkable. At least it would if there was any. But there isn't. So it doesn't. He was recently interviewed in Joomag's Meals of Food magazine, which didn't help anyone.
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