32. BACH SCHTABBING
It was the middle of the night, and Bach Schtabur was on a mission, with a name like that who could blame him for becoming an assassin, the alternatives were a confidence trickster, a politician, which was to be fair, pretty much the same job but with a stricter dress code, or a real estate agent. He had been sent to remove a problem, namely the Crown Princess. She had been talking too much lately and becoming far too useful to the wrong people.
According to the reports, this was her chambers, so Bach readied his knife, slipped in, and checked for guards. With none-detected and the princess bundled under a big pile of duvets, it was a simple matter to stab.......... the pillows. Apparently, she wasn't here; she just didn't let the maids make her bed. Bach mumbled a curse under his breath and, after quickly hiding the evidence of his bungled attempt, came to the realisation that he would need to do some more research.
Two days it took him to find out that the princess preferred to sleep, without guards (who does that? It’s just bloody bad form is what it is) in a small workshop detached from the palace, so she was alone, isolated, and unguarded.
Bach smirked to himself, this was almost too easy, but he’d take it. He wasn’t one of those honourable killer types (they’d refused him entry to that particular club after finding him attempting to bribe the examiner.) He would take every advantage he could wring out and then look for more; after all, that way lay long career-killing stuff. The kind who had a code tended to not last very long in this line of work. Or, even worse, met somebody, decided to turn their life around, and then got that person killed. Justifying their choice to go back to the other kind of assassination.
So he observed her movements, day in, day out, even factoring in the threat posed by Alba, he didn’t bother with the cat, as felines were not known for doing much about assassins, except looking grateful for the free meat as he left. He watched where the guards passed, and at what hour, hell, he even had a blowgun loaded with tranquilliser darts for the owl-bear. As a bonus, the dose was high enough that if he did it right, the dose would off the princess too. The darts didn’t come cheap and making sure the salesman forgot him properly cost even more, though the look on his face when Bach had shivved him while he was counting his money, thereby gaining a refund, had been priceless. Finally, after weeks of planning, he was ready to do this.
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Rascal was napping peacefully when it happened, the door creaked open, and a man walked in. Naturally, being a cat, of course, Rascal didn’t care about that; he was a cat; if they wanted a guard, they should buy a dog (or if you are feeling particularly malicious towards humanity, there’s always a goose.) So he rolled over with barely a murr, and went back to sleep.
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It would have all gone smoothly, except for one slight snag, hell-cats, while very burny looking in the body, have a unique trait. Their bodies taper from hellfire to ashen grey as they reach the tail, a very sensitive tail that was on the flagstones, which were also grey. So our unfortunate feline was awoken by a stompy feeling in the vicinity of his tender appendage. Thus, in the grand tradition of cats everywhere, he went completely ape shit.
Mibbet was awoken by a caterwaul that could wake the dead and looked up just in time to see a cat, a maul. The unfortunate intruder attempted to flee, very much hindered by a half tonne of burning cat with a grudge. Who seemed determined to claw every inch of bare flesh it could reach, (not killing them of course, killing them results in not being able to make them suffer more, and at this moment in time, Rascal very much wanted them to suffer.) Who was suddenly backed up by a large and very owlish chunk of BEAR flesh, who wanted in on the fun, and was recently taught when you break your toys, you don't have a toy, who waded into the fray with a terrifying screech, (Nothing screeches like an owl-bear. There's a reason one of the more common variants of owl are literally called the screech owl. Then, when you mix bear into that, well, it really is brown trousers time.)
Bach cursed, he hadn’t expected a bad day when it started out, yet here he was, on fire, covered in cat scratches and about to be covered in BEAR scratches, but he was determined he was going to finish this job if it bloody well killed him, (and, since the guards had probably heard the ruckus this mission most definitely would.) So when he saw the princess approaching fast and seemingly without that huge axe of hers on hand, he couldn’t help smirking as he levelled his blowpipe to take the shot.
Mibbet was at a loss, choppy was only under the bed, but it took a little while to fish her out. Yet, Alba and the cat were fighting. She had to help, so she blindly rushed in. Then noticed the intruder was levelling a pipe at her. Now she was no poison arrow frog, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on here, so as he drew the pipe to his lips, she grabbed the other end and BLEW.
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Bach’s eyes crossed as he was given a taste of his own medicine (literally and figuratively.) The dart flew back down the pipe before he could take the shot, and in a way that will be familiar to anybody who has ever had a fly decide to bull-rush their tonsils would understand, he swallowed the damn thing.
He wanted to resist, but for some reason, the pixies he was seeing were singing lullabies, and he was so sleepy. But it wasn’t time to sleep yet; he had a mission; apparently, lullabies having failed the hallucinatory pixies decided on plan b, a big ass mallet.
Mibbet stared down at the slumbering intruder; whatever the hell was in that dart, she was glad not to be hit by it, but she couldn’t resist putting the boot in once or twice as the guards finally arrived.
The slumbering assassin was hauled off quickly, though now the guards wouldn’t leave her alone. It took hours to calm the cat and Alba, but eventually, fresh guards posted outside; she was able to go to bed, with one minor change. This time, Choppy went under the pillow.