Without wasting any more time, they headed inside, met with Fr. Blueroot who had graciously accepted to hold the funeral, and took a seat, all four next to each other on the bench closest to the altar.

And after that… Emil wasn’t too sure. He felt dazed and lost. His clothes were stuffy and sweaty and way too tight on him. It had only been a week since he got them. Had he put on weight? Was he getting fat? Nowadays, he ate fancy stuff for almost every single meal. He had to. Otherwise, the people he met with would think him to be stingy, or lacking in manners. He had to show that he wasn’t all that. Which meant that he had to gorge himself. Yes, and while he ate his fill, he forced poor Kitty to go hungry. Wasn’t he horrible? Truly, a horrible, terrible man, and a hypocrite, too. He was essentially a dictator at this point. Ruling the city with an iron fist. And he dared preach about rationing and quarantine? Who did he think he was? He was nothing but a kid. It had been three years, sure, but it’s not like he was actually any older. Three years had passed. He was 21, but only in mind—if even that.

He was a kid. That’s all he ever was. And he was supposed to be the leader here? He? He hadn’t even finished high school yet! Pathetic. Utterly, utterly patheti—

“Now, her dear friend Jazz would like to speak a few words.”

Jazz moved up to stand behind the pulpit. Sometimes, her eyes would move down to read from an invisible message. She stuttered a little. By the end, she was crying, and Emil hadn’t heard a word she’d said. She stepped down again, sat next to Emil, and leaned into him. He put his hand on her shoulder. She was crying. He wasn’t. He was horrible. A horrible mayor, a horrible party leader, and a horrible friend.

As if rehearsed, Plus soon went up to hold another speech. Emil didn’t have anything prepared. For a split second, burning dread exploded through his body at the thought that maybe, just maybe, they had asked him to do a speech as well, and he’d forgotten. Or it was in the message they sent—the one he hadn’t seen. His teeth gnashed together. What should he do if they called on him? Improvise it? Force himself to stutter through an awkward, impromptu speech? What would he even say? What had Jazz said? What was Plus saying?

“...But back then, I didn’t know how much you would come to mean for me. For us. You had been the right person at the right time, and from then on, the thought of beating the tutorial without you never so much as crossed my mind. You were… are irreplaceable.” He chuckled. A single, dramatic, almost choreographed tear rolled down his cheek. “But you wouldn’t want us to give up here, would you?”

He was saying everything Emil could possibly want to say. And Rat hadn’t even held his speech yet. Considering that the man had done a course in English rhetoric, there wasn’t a single doubt in Emil’s mind that anything that was left to say, Rat would say.

Anything Emil could say would either be derivative of their speeches, or completely inspired off of them. There was nothing he could do. This was it. They would call him up, he’d make a fool of himself at Sully’s funeral, and they would finally realize that he was a fraud—that he always had been, and then they would cast him out of the party, and he’d be alone, all alone, save for maybe—

A clawed hand fell on his right shoulder. His eyes flashed over to find Kitty right next to him, crouched and almost invisible. Emil’s mouth flailed open, closed, and then he glanced over at the altar. Plus was still speaking. He looked back down at Kitty. “Kitty?” he whispered. “What the heck are you—”

“The mayor is dead,” Kitty whispered back. “Only a quarter ago. Mitt and Pinn ran all the way here to tell you.”

Emil’s brows furrowed across his face. “What?”

Kitty glanced down the aisle, back to where he came from. “The former captain of the guards is here, too. We can have a press conference set up within the hour.”

The stress, the anxiety, the sheer nerve-frying dread of his previous brush with horror melted out of his system, replaced by utter confusion. “What are you talking about?”

He soon found his confusion mirrored on Kitty’s face. “Well, I mean… If you don’t announce it quickly, then… The nobility and the people will all think that you’re an over-emotional person who values your personal circumstances over your work and the city as a whole. There’d be riots. Nobody can announce it in your stead without being lynched.” He drew back a little. “You aren’t thinking of…?”

Emil, in turn, leaned away from him. A million billion thoughts were all crashing through his head like the staggering waves of a stormy ocean. What the hell was Kitty thinking, bursting into a funeral like this? And to announce the death of someone as vile as the mayor? Did he seriously think Emil cared that the mayor had died? Even more so, how could he possibly think that Emil would ever leave Sully’s funeral to go hold a speech of all things, especially when he’d made such a big deal about not going to work because of the funeral?

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

And what would his political allies think if they heard that he was so lacking in morals and sound thinking that he would go back on a promise, simply to rush to work?

The storm in his mind surged, and with barely withheld contempt, Emil turned back to the speech. “Please leave. You’re disturbing a sacred moment.”

Kitty looked at him, eyes as big as saucers. His head was in a right whirl as well, Emil had no doubt about that. But, thankfully, Kitty was well-trained, so instead of making a big deal about Emil’s lack of official scruples or whatever, he simply nodded, said “Alright, I’ll inform them about your decision,” and then he disappeared. It was as though he’d never been there to begin with.

Looking back at his party members and friends, Emil was glad to notice that none of them had taken any notice of the exchange.

Even better, at the end of the day, nobody asked him to come up to speak.

Everything went well.

“He’s late,” Rat noted.

“Does he know the directions so he can get here?” Jazz asked.

“I’ve sent him a message,” Emil said. “He hasn’t replied yet, but in the last one he said he’d be finished around this time, so he should be here within the coming half an hour.”

“If he knows how to get here,” Plus said, “we might as well take our seats. What drinks will he want?”

Emil thought for a moment. Blood of a newborn? No, too far. Alcohol? Not unless he wanted to carry him home on his shoulder. Fruit juice? No, that always left him jittery. In that case… “Water. Plain old water.”

“Sounds good. Let’s get to it, then.”

The Giggling Fiend was a pub, but a fairly nice one, so you could still get food worth the money without needing alcohol to hide the foul taste. The beer was optional, but in Sully’s honor, they were happy to share a few pints. While they waited for Kitty to arrive, Emil cordially handed out the pendants, shared a few nice memories of Sully, tried to wring out a tear or two, and eventually decided to simply hope that it’d come of its own eventually. All the while, he kept one eye on the pub’s regulars. Most of them knew their little party by now, so they didn’t make any deal out of their presence. Unfortunately, not everyone was so polite. A few of the less usual patrons had a nasty habit of staring, almost as if they didn’t expect humans to be so normal.

“Here are your drinks,” the staff, thankfully, was very much used to their presence. This was one of few places in the city that didn’t make a deal out of their skin color. Instead, they simply served them, smiled, and put the other patrons at ease. Because, obviously, the fact that Emil was literally the mayor didn’t serve as enough proof that humans weren’t child-eating monsters.

…At least, not all of them.

After about an hour of waiting, with Kitty no closer to joining them, they decided to go on ahead. It’s what he would have wanted.

Over an hour later, Kitty limped into the pub, shaking lightly and gnawing at his hand to heal what seemed to be a broken leg. He almost looked like he’d been jumped, but the lack of blood around his face and claws told Emil that this wasn’t the case. No, as he had done a few times before, Kitty had simply strained himself too hard and ignored the pain to the point where it left him like this.

“Kitty! There you are,” Emil greeted, knowing that Kitty would only dismiss him if he tried to mention the whole broken-leg thing. “We got started without you, but if you wait a moment, we can get a waiter to bring you some water and a menu.”

“Ah, uh, hah,” panting lightly, Kitty took a seat in the empty spot at the table. His frilly collar was all lop-sided, and he’d completely buttoned up his vest. “No, that’s okay, I’m not really…” He gritted his teeth. “But thanks. Um…” Looking across the table, Kitty met the eyes of Plus, Jazz and Rat. “Thanks for letting me join, by the way. Very cool.”

“It was nothing,” Plus said humbly. “Couldn’t let Mole go without his guardian, could we?”

Kitty’s smile widened until it almost looked real. “Yes, you’re right. Most correct. Glad we’re on the same page, Plus.” Going back to ignoring the others, Kitty returned his gaze to Emil. “I’ve told the seventeen major houses about the mayor’s passing. They give their condolences and wish you the greatest of luck in these trying times.”

Work. Always work. Emil slowly placed his pint back on the table. “What did they actually think about it?”

Now, Jazz and Rat were also following along.

“They were upset.” No hesitation. “After I left a few of them, they instantly started bad-mouthing you about what a terrible mayor you were, and that humans couldn’t be trusted not to bring emotions into things and all that sort of stuff. I’ve got a feeling a few of them might be upset enough to consider replacing you forcefully.”

“That certainly sounds worrying,” Emil said, the alcohol bringing a chuckle to his lips. “What do you think we should do?”

“We should probably—”

“Can we talk about something else?” Jazz said. “This is supposed to be about Sully. Not work. Please, Mole. Can’t you save this for later?”

Emil shrunk a little in his chair. “Well, of course, but…”

“I made a list,” Kitty said, “and if you’ll let me, I think I can handle all of this tonight, so there won’t be any problems tomorrow when you hold your speech. On that note, we should probably write and rehearse it. As usual, as long as you dictate it and I write it, the actual words should come across as intended, and not be seen as—”

Emil held up a hand. Kitty instantly fell silent. “Jazz is right,” he said, defeated. “Thank you, Kitty, but… We’ll take it tomorrow.”

“But the speech is at eleven. Will you really be able to rehearse it in time?”

“It’ll have to be enough,” Emil said. “So, please drop the subject. Also…” He drilled his eyes into Kitty. “Burn that list.”

“Burn it?”

“Yeah. Holding onto suspicion will only divide us. So, burn it.”

“It’s a note, like… in my system. I wouldn’t write something like that physically. I’m not—”

“So delete it!” Emil shouted. The table fell mute. Everyone stared at him. He sunk down a little. “Just—get rid of it. Let’s not talk about it anymore. Okay?”

For a moment, Kitty didn’t reply. Then, in a small, hurt voice, he said, “Okay.”

“Good. Thank you. Now, what would you like to eat?”