Have Spacecat, Will Travel: And Other Tails

by John G. Hartness

  I sat back in the passenger seat, all the wind taken out of me. I looked out the window, over to the sad little tomato stake cross, and there stood Peter again, but this time the light around him was so bright it was hard to see past it. It was like he glowed from the inside, and it was almost blinding. The light dimmed, and I saw his face.

  He smiled at me, and even though he was twenty feet away and through a car window, as his lips moved, I heard his words as clear as if he sat in the back seat. “Thank you, Lila Grace. You helped bring her home, where she needed to be. Now she can be at peace. Well done.” Then, in the space between eyeblinks, he vanished again.

  “You okay, Lila Grace?” Willis asked.

  “I think so, honey,” I said. “Take me home, I need a drink.”

  “Lila Grace, it ain’t even noon.”

  “Five o’clock in Dublin. Sounds like a whiskey lunch to me.” I gave one last look at the rugged little cross as we drove away.

  8

  Of My Understanding

  He’s a Stratocaster Messiah,

  long hair swirling around his tattooed shoulders

  as he wails the Word at the wasted youth

  who scream with the tear-streaked cheeks

  of the truly untouched.

  She’s the Shepherd swaddled in cardboard,

  shivering beside the dumpster,

  faith discarded like yesterday’s meatloaf

  crying for a piece of salvation

  or just a promise of resurrection.

  He’s the God of his understanding

  all turned out in pinstripes and pocket square

  with his envelope bulging ostentatious in the plate,

  greasy grin and clammy handshake

  for the pastor on his frantic

  way down the steps for kickoff.

  She’s the Trinity of love, innocence

  and the suffering of little children

  with her blond hair covering the scars

  from mommy didn’t mean to

  and daddy gets angry when he drinks.

  She smiles undimmed and leaves a flower

  on the lady sleeping in the alley

  so she can have a pretty

  bright beside her when she wakes.

  Shiny

  A Queen of Kats Short Story

  There it is,” Remarin whispered. “That’s perfect.”

  That store is closed, Remoron, Trand, his best friend, whispered in his mind. The fact that Trand’s consciousness was trapped inside an enchanted dagger provided only the slightest impediment to his incessant heckling.

  I don’t care, it’s perfect, and I’m going to have it, Remarin thought back to his friend. The “it” in question was an ornate silver pendant in the form of a cat’s head, complete with emeralds for eyes and a tiny ruby where the cat’s tongue poked out of its mouth.

  Remarin turned from the jewelry store window and crossed the street, pretending to be interested in the wares on display outside a bakery. He poked and prodded the day-old loaves for a moment while he took in every detail of the jeweler’s storefront. No access from the front, that much was obvious. Every window was barred vertically and horizontally, almost as though there were valuables inside and the proprietor didn’t want to be robbed. Thoroughly inconsiderate of him, Remarin thought.

  The cobbler’s shop to the right was far less secure, but breaking through a wall in the middle of the night was bound to draw more attention than he wanted. He looked up, seeing a line of spikes set into the masonry atop the store to deter pigeons from crapping on the customers as they entered or window shopped. That level of care meant the clientele was well-off, meaning that the stones in the cat were most likely real. That settled it, this was the place. And if he couldn’t go in the front, he’d check the back, but it was almost certainly going to mean the roof.

  You do know the owner probably sleeps above the shop, don’t you? Trand’s mental voice cut through Remarin’s planning.

  Were you this shrill when you had lungs? Of course I know the owner sleeps up there, probably in that room with the curtains on the window. I also know that it’s a warm night, so his back window is likely open to let in a breeze. That’s where we’ll make our entry.

  Right into the man’s bedroom? You’re truly remarkable, Remoron. Most people grow more conservative with age. You have managed to, if possible, become even more reckless.

  Impossible, Trand. You should have seen me when I was a child. I once tried to ride a trebuchet across to a neighboring island. Fortunately for me, our Arms Master caught me before I cut the rope.

  And yet somehow that doesn’t feel lucky for the world at large, Trand replied.

  Remarin ignored his friend, as he so often did both before and after Trand’s physical body was lost in an unfortunate disagreement with a spellcaster. The slim thief tossed the baker’s boy a coin, snatched up a sweet roll, peeled off the burned crust, and walked off, munching on his treat. He walked several blocks up, then crossed the street and strolled down a side street, apparently carefree.

  The thief turned left onto another side street, walked a few blocks, then ducked down an alley leading to a narrow courtyard that opened up behind several shops, including the jewelry store. Remarin kept to the shadows, peering out into the open space to determine the easiest route to the roof. He nodded to himself as he saw that the rear window of what he assumed was the jeweler’s bedroom was indeed open.

  That makes things simpler, he thought.

  Oh, certainly, Trand replied. Now it looks like all you need to do is scale the back wall of the jewelry store in full view of anyone who happens to look out their rear window or wander outside, then slip into the man’s bedroom as he sleeps within, make your way downstairs, steal the necklace, and exit the way you came. All without waking the jeweler or being seen. Simple.

  Oh, ye of little faith, Remarin replied. Besides, I have no intention of climbing that wall where any idiot could see me. This one will do just fine. With that, he turned his attention to the alley wall opposite where he stood. The brick was old, but sturdy, with few holes or missing blocks. Remarin took a running start and leapt for a decorative ledge about ten feet from the ground. His fingers just caught on the narrow surface, and he turned his feet sideways to gain what meager purchase was there.

  The slender man’s fingers, strengthened from years of just this type of activity, held firm as he hauled his body up the wall. Flakes of mortar scraped from the joints in the wall as he inched upward, finally slithering up the vertical surface until he balanced on the inches-wide ledge with his toes. He shimmied sideways to the corner of the building, then dragged himself up to the roof, using the wider cornerstones for purchase. It was slow going, and his arms and shoulder burned, but after long minutes, Remarin rolled over onto the top of the building, three stories above the street.

  He lay on his back, working to control his breathing as he looked up at the star-speckled sky. He noted the constellations above him, so different from the ones he grew up watching from his home in Torin, or even in Bravis, where he spent so many years before meeting the girl Kit and having his whole world turned topsy-turvy. The young princess had brought untold turmoil into his life, and now Remarin found himself halfway across the globe plotting with the young queen-in-exile to regain her throne. But those were tomorrow’s concerns. Tonight, he had a necklace to steal, and no matter how long he lay on the roof staring up at The Sorcerer and The Bull and Serpent watching him from the sky, it brought him no closer to his prize.

  He rolled to a crouch, peering across the rooftops to ensure he was alone. Nothing worse than finding another thief trying to poach your score.

  I can think of a few things worse, Trand remarked.

  That’s because you are an eternal pessimist, Remarin thought back.

  Oh, and here I thought it was because I was the one living out the prime example of something worse.

  Remarin let that go. He had to, because his friend was right. He was
trapped in a dagger because of a heist gone awry. Admittedly, there were some extenuating circumstances, and tonight’s adventure involved neither wizards nor sleeping with inappropriate people, but Trand’s point was still valid.

  And irrelevant. Seeing no one stirring atop the string of connected buildings, Remarin began to move from chimney to chimney, creeping ever nearer the jeweler’s shop. He clung to the shadows, his dark, tight-fitting clothing making him little more than another shadow dancing across the rooftops as he flitted ever closer to his quarry. After several minutes of sneaking, he stood atop the jeweler’s roof, directly over his open bedroom window. He dropped to his stomach, stretching out flat on the roof and dangling his head over the edge.

  There was no balcony to drop onto, not even so much as a window box with flowers or herbs for cooking. The shopkeeper was a cautious man, working to keep his shop as secure as possible while still maintaining some comfort in the summer night. Remarin took a deep breath, locked his fingers onto the lip of the roof, and at a pace that would make a snail impatient, slowly began to rotate himself around on the roof and slide down until he dangled from the rooftop by his fingers.

  His feet swung in midair just a foot or so above the window ledge. He kicked out, straining his grip as his feet flew back, then clenched his fingers tighter as he swung forward. He sucked in a sharp breath, then kicked back once more, increasing his arc. This time, when his feet swung forward, they passed into the open window, and at the farthest point of his arc, Remarin let go of the roof and slipped soundlessly into the bedroom, dropping to the floor in front of the window in a silent, black-clad heap.

  As he passed over the ledge, he felt his elbow clip something, and the instant he hit the floor he rolled onto his back, looking up to see a row of glass bottles lined up on the inside lip of the window ledge as an impromptu alarm system, designed to catch someone trying to break in with just this strategy. One bottle wobbled back, forth, back again, then tumbled toward the floor. Remarin lashed out with his left hand, swatted the glass cylinder back into the air, then clutched it in his hands. The entire episode took place without a sound, and Remarin let out his breath in a silent hiss.

  He rolled to his feet, replacing the bottle on the windowsill, and took stock of his surroundings. The jeweler, a fat man with a thick walrus mustache, snored like a drunken water buffalo in his bed. Curled up beside him was a woman Remarin assumed was his wife, a slim woman in a nightgown with her face hidden beneath a pillow, presumably to keep out her husband’s sonorous snores.

  Testing each board as he moved, Remarin slipped silently across the floor, stopping at the door to check it for other traps or alarms. There was nothing, the jeweler apparently deciding that barring every window and setting up his impromptu alarm on the bedroom sill was enough. Honestly, Remarin thought, it would have been enough to thwart most thieves. But he wasn’t most thieves.

  No, you aren’t, Trand agreed. You are a uniquely stupid and persistent thief.

  Ignoring his friend, Remarin opened the bedroom door and moved downstairs into the shop. As he turned the corner at the landing, he froze at the sight that greeted him from the shop below. There was another thief already there!

  The other burglar was small, clad all in black as Remarin was, complete with a hood over his face. Remarin pressed himself tight to the wall and watched as the thief slipped through the store, all the way to the front display window, almost as if he was on a mission. He stayed low, out of sight from any street-side passersby, then almost seemed to slither up behind the window case, just snaking out one arm, wrapping his lithe fingers around the very necklace Remarin was there to steal, and darting back out of sight.

  “I’m sorry,” Remarin whispered. “I don’t think that belongs to you.”

  The other thief’s head whipped around, and Remarin saw that the lithe man’s hood completely covered his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t belong to you, either, since you’re whispering and sneaking around in here like the thief you are,” the man whispered back, his voice rasping through the darkened store.

  Remarin kept his gaze locked on the other man’s hand, which held the cat pendant dangling by a thin gold chain. “Like the thief we both are, apparently. Look, I’m a reasonable man. I’m only here for that pendant. You can take anything else you like, and as much of it as you want. But I have my eye on that as a gift for a friend, so if you’ll just toss it over, I’ll be on my way and you can plunder to your heart’s content.”

  The other thief’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. “Sorry friend, I was here first. You just stand over there and look pretty, and when I’m done, you can have whatever’s left.”

  “Or I could just yell for the shopkeeper and we could both go to prison,” Remarin whispered.

  “You won’t do that. No one gets as old as you are without a healthy fear of prison.”

  “I’m not sure what I’m more offended by, your insinuation that I am a coward, or you calling me old,” Remarin snarled. “Now give over that necklace before I take it by force.”

  The other thief slid the necklace into a pouch on his belt, then dropped into a defensive stance. “Try it, old man.”

  “Oh, that’s done it for sure,” Remarin muttered, and darted toward the man.

  The shop was cramped, filled almost to bursting with display cases, and littered with spinning racks of pegs holding cheap necklaces and charms. Remarin wove between these to the narrow space where the smaller man waited for him, only to walk right into a foot. The other thief launched a kick as Remarin came around the corner of a display case, catching him square on the tip of his jaw. Remarin staggered back, and the other thief darted past him toward the stairs.

  Remarin reached out with one hand, reaching for the loose cloth belt the other man wore wrapped around his waist. The other thief spun out of his grasp, reaching down to give his belt/sash a yank. Remarin heard a ripping sound as the slick black fabric tore under his grip, and he took advantage of the momentary distraction to launch himself at the smaller man.

  He belly-flopped on the floor of the shop with a loud “Oof!” as the thief twisted out of the way of his tackle at the last moment. Stars flickers across his vision as Remarin’s chin slammed into the wooden floor, and he heard a soft chuckle as the other thief sprinted, cat-quiet, for the stairs.

  A thud came from above, and Remarin realized that the shopkeeper was awake. “Shit,” he muttered, scrambling to his feet and running up the stairs after his prey. He rounded the landing and saw light flicker from the bedroom ahead as someone, presumably the proprietor, struck a match.

  Remarin raced up the stairs, no longer worrying with keeping quiet, and burst into the bedroom to see the shopkeeper charge a black-clad figure. The other thief ducked the man’s clumsy, sleep-addled grasp, and leapt for the window. Remarin froze in the door as he watched the slender man catch the top of the window, swing his feet out the window, and flip up into the air, vanishing into the night. A loud THUMP from the roof told of a safe landing, and the patter of running feet informed Remarin that his prey, and his prize, were getting away.

  He looked at the jeweler, who now stood wide-eyed between him and the window, said, “Sorry about this,” and dashed toward the man. The jeweler, seeing that the thief wasn’t slowing, dodged to one side just as Remarin leapt for the upper window frame. He latched his fingers onto the narrow strip of wood, then bent his body almost double as he swung forward. His feet flew out into open air, pulling the rest of his body after them.

  Remarin flexed his shoulders and biceps, straining to control the movement of his body along its axis. He fishtailed his feet down, then up, released his grip on the window, and saw the ground and buildings whirl by in his vision. He twisted around in midair, managing to draw Trand at the apex of his flip, then drove the dagger through the thatched roof into the eave at the edge of the rooftop as he started to tumble past. His right shoulder screamed as his descent halted abruptly, Trand usin
g some of the magic that enchanted his metallic form to bind his blade to the roof and his hilt to Remarin’s hand.

  Remarin dangled for a brief moment, then looked down as he felt something brush his leg. He looked down to see the shopkeeper’s head poking out of his bedroom window. The round man opened his mouth, probably to scream for the guards, but Remarin kicked him in the nose, cutting off his cry with a strangled “Urk!” The skinny thief dragged himself up onto the roof, looking around for his quarry. The other thief was two buildings over and fleeing, so Remarin yanked Trand free of the roof and gave chase.

  He sprinted across the rooftops, gaining ground when he leapt from the thatched jeweler’s roof to the slate tiles of the next two buildings. His longer legs served him well, shrinking the distance between him and his quarry. Trand, I’m going to throw you. Don’t kill him, just hit him somewhere that’ll slow him down so I can grab the necklace.

  That seems like a terrible idea, Remoron. What if he slips and falls? You don’t want to kill him. You just want the necklace.

  Shit. I didn’t think of that, Remarin thought back, then dug down for another burst of speed.

  Yet further evidence that I am the smart one. The smug superiority in Trand’s voice burned Remarin almost as much as the strain in his legs.

  The thief turned a corner up ahead, sprinting along the roof beam of the building ahead of Remarin, his slender form outlined in the moonlight. Remarin had to admit to himself that the man’s grace was impressive. His feet never stepped wrong, he never slipped on a loose tile, and he never, ever slowed down. Remarin’s thighs could attest to that. But still he pressed on. That necklace would be his.