To think, all this time, Holsley had assumed the humble lives of mice were easy. Eating cheese, chilling inside walls, being all cute and adorable. It all sounded so easy. Turns out, though, that it actually sucked and sucked hard to be a mouse.

He swung around the corner at top speed as the cat, now roughly the size of a horse, came stumbling after him. It knocked over a suit of armour with its momentum, just one thing in a series of things that had become the victim in its way. It lashed out at Holsley, missing him by a single inch, and spun gracefully back into the pursuit a second later.

Holsley’s screams echoed down the corridor.

By this point, every person in the keep, no, every person in the goddamned city must have heard how much trouble he was in. The bard knocked over a side table as he passed by, casually smashing a vase on the floor, and it did nothing to slow down his feline pursuer.

The giant cat snapped at him again.

Thankfully, the corners were frequent here, and he dodged this next attack by ducking around to the next hallway. He heard a table shatter under the creature’s massive weight, and when he turned around to settle his curiosity, he saw a head, bigger than ever, staring back at him with moon-shaped eyes.

Twice as large as a horse, he guessed. Every time the cat grew bigger, it doubled in size. Would it ever stop growing? How frequently did it grow? Questions he didn’t have a moment to spare thinking about.

Holsley just sprinted forward, and the cat followed.

He barrelled through an open set of double doors leading into the next corridor, hoping and praying that the cat might get stuck. It didn’t. Despite the fact that it now took up most of the corridor, the cat slipped through like it was wearing the Ring of Trespass. The doors groaned against its weight, one snapped off completely, but neither gave it much trouble.

For lack of a real plan, Holsley once again wondered what the great Marlin Mandrovi would do.

Well, for one thing, the magnificent minstrel would probably still have his lute. Holsley didn’t. If Marlin did, he might have made use of that spell Holsley had that allowed him to talk to animals. No point dwelling on that, though. What else would he do? He would probably find a weakness and exploit it.

‘Weakness,’ Holsley mumbled breathlessly. That wasn’t a bad idea, but what weaknesses did a giant cat have?

They hated water. He knew that from experience. He doubted there’d be a suitable bathtub around here, though. Maybe he could use something they loved instead.

He recalled Donathal. The city hadn’t just been home to elves and the odd human; there were many different animals there, including cats. Elves loved them. They would often adopt them, and in some patches of green, the elves would grow catmint to appease them — a herb that cats were inexplicably drawn to.

Perhaps he could use catmint to deter his peruser. Holsley could just about remember what it smelled like, too: minty and strong, with a hint of tangy citrus.

Moreover, he could replicate the smell using his minor illusion song. He didn’t have his lute, but he didn’t need it for minor magic as long as he could still whistle the tune required to summon the illusion.

Another swipe. This time, a little too close to his heels. The cat was either catching up or simply playing with him. When he dared another look back again, he saw the thing was now taking up the entire corridor. Gone was its sleek aesthetic, replaced by a clumsy elephant-sized physique that struggled to squeeze through the walls.

He reckoned that the catmint smell would buy him a few seconds, but it wouldn’t eliminate his problem. Holsley needed to distract the cat for a long time. In all the traditional bardic tales of might and heroism, when a hero was facing down a giant of some kind, they usually killed it by dropping something heavy onto it.

A rockslide would bury a cyclops, a boulder would smush a giant eagle, and a massively overgrown oak attached to a crude swinging pulley system would break apart a rock monster.

Holsley needed something along the same lines here. That’s when he remembered the library. The pair had passed it on their way through the corridors. It resided down a set of stone steps that led down to the floor below.

Libraries require a few things to be used correctly. Shelves were a must, and a bookkeeping system was a close second, but most important of all was light. Without light, a library was useless. Holsley was willing to bet that a library built in the Old Stone Keep would be a grand affair that needed a lot of light.

That meant a chandelier.

He almost chuckled. It would be the second time in twenty-four hours that he’d brought down a chandelier to save himself.

Holsley turned on his heel with a more determined direction in mind and leapt down an unexpected corridor on his right.

The cat clumsily ran straight past it. He heard the beast hiss and grunt as it struggled to turn itself in the tight corridor. Holsley laughed. He hadn’t planned on that happening but was grateful it had. Holsley could put another few moments between them.

He was halfway down a set of stone steps when he heard the cat’s approach above him. The library was close, just one long hallway away, and he knew there was no better time than now to cast his illusion.

Raising his hand, he imagined the smell of catmint. It was a strong, minty odour. Quite intoxicating. Not really for him. When he had it firmly held in his mind’s eye, he flicked his wrist, and a green vapour fluttered from his fingers.

He hoped this worked.

The cat appeared, and its eyes narrowed in on him.

The feline had him at last. It would have him before he reached the bottom step. It lunged, sword-sized claws bared, pupils the size of saucers. Then, it caught the heady aroma. Its demeanour changed midair, but it was already too late. The cat, now off-balance, tumbled down the stairs, and Holsley suddenly found himself underneath a rolling ball of giant black fur.

He sprang over the bannister without thinking, barely skirting the feline boulder. Of course, he had done this without considering what was on the other side of the bannister. The young bard rolled over the stone railing, fell, and crushed a side table directly beneath where he had vaulted.

Both he and the giant feline lay motionless for a second.

Thankfully, Holsley found his feet first.

He quickly checked himself over. Nothing was broken, but his torso, especially his back, ached fiercely. Holsley hobbled down the last hallway, hugging his chest closely. He took rapid breaths as he approached a set of ornate double doors up ahead. This was going to be close. The cat was already regaining its composure.

PRIVATE LIBRARY

Holsley read the plaque on the door twice. Ten feet was all that stood between him and the fine doors that barred the entry to the room beyond. Once inside, he could lock them, get his bearings, and set a trap. Maybe the cat wouldn’t find him and stalk off somewhere else. After all, he didn’t want to harm the cat, no matter how dangerous it was.

A spiteful hiss shattered that dream.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

He winced as he turned and saw the overgrown feline staring him down. A second passed. The creature pounced forward, and just as quickly, Holsley rushed to the doors. He frantically tried the handles. They were these weird, fancy metal ones that didn’t open like others. He had to jiggle them.

Holsley could hear the cat struggling to manoeuvre its massive size between the walls. Things toppled to the ground in its rush. Paintings were thrown off the wall, the carpets torn, and the side tables shattered. He could almost feel its breath on the back of his neck.

He tried harder in sheer panic.

The door came free, and he rushed inside, but the cat was right on him. He slammed the door, catching the cat’s paw. It quickly turned its claws towards him. The young bard pressed his weight against the wood, but the cat was much stronger. It would be through in moments, and he’d be meat confetti.

What other tricks did he have up his sleeve?

He whistled, conjuring up an illusion of a large mouse in his palm. Well, it sort of looked like a mouse — if you were staring at it from a distance. Up close, it was blocky and pointy, as if it had been made out of folded paper. It was the best he could do. Holsley threw the makeshift rodent through the gap in the door and slammed it shut as soon as the cat was distracted.

He stood there for a moment, catching his breath.

The doors rattled, but they didn’t open. He knew the cat was powerful enough to knock them down, but in that tight corridor, it would take a while. Well, he hoped anyway. Holsley backed away from the door and took in the room he found himself trapped within.

The library wasn’t as grand as he had expected. It was still a sizeable room, but it didn’t span multiple floors or anything. It was also a mess. Books were haphazardly scattered across the desks and floor as if waiting to be picked up and read where the reader had left off. Notes, parchments, maps, and dried-up inkpots littered every surface, some even pinned to the walls.

‘Weird?’ Holsley picked up the closest piece of parchment. It was a ripped page from a journal, supposedly from a ship’s log, detailing the onboard inventory. What made it strange was that the date at the top was from hundreds of years ago. There was nothing on the other side.

Then Holsley noticed the trinkets, particularly the extensive collection of bottle miniature ships. They were everywhere, but there were other nautical treasures too. Above him, he spied a rowboat suspended from the ceiling; its wood was rotting, and the beneath of it was covered in barnacles. Behind glass cases, he saw bits of coiled rope, torn cloth from old sails, and brass instruments that he guessed would’ve been used to chart a course across the sea.

It was less a library and more a museum dedicated to life on the ocean. Even the books, mostly journals and nonfiction about the ships that had once sailed the Avanni Coast, reflected this theme.

A deafening bang at the doors brought Holsley back to the here and now.

‘Okay,’ he said to himself, looking up at the promised chandelier hanging above the lounge area. ‘I can do this.’

His eyes followed the rope keeping the chandelier aloft. It was attached to a winch on the far wall that, no doubt, was used to bring the chandelier up and down to light the candles. He knew that if he cut the rope, the massive structure would fall, and if anyone or anything were underneath it when that happened, they’d be crushed.

Holsley reached the winch just as the doors burst into shreds, and the cat slunk into the room. The cat didn’t need to take a moment to observe its surroundings; it found Holsley with ease and let out an annoyed hiss.

The young bard reached for the rope but found himself with an unexpected problem — he had nothing to cut it with.

***

It wasn’t hard for Roland to track Holsley down. The bard had left a wake of destruction across the keep, one that even an unfortunate man born blind, dumb and deaf could follow in a hurry. All he had to do was trail it and keep ahead of the guards behind him.

This night wasn’t going the way he had planned in his head.

Originally, Roland had hoped to sneak inside, swipe the rapier from beneath everyone’s notice, and slink away into the night before the tubheads could raise the alarm. Instead, he and Holsley had held the most powerful woman in the city hostage, royally pissed off her pet, and then subsequently put the whole keep on guard.

Not a winning strategy for a thief.

He tapped the hilt of his sword. At least he had the rapier, he told himself. Now, all they had to do was escape. Once that was accomplished, they would never need to return and put themselves in this situation again.

Roland sighed as he jogged.

That cat had really done a number on these corridors. If Roland didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn a localised tornado had been by recently. Everything that had been standing was now shattered, and intimidating scratch marks were lining the walls, ceiling, floors, and even the doors. To him, they were big arrows pointing toward his best friend, and he followed them quickly.

The route took him quickly through the corridors and to a set of stairs. Somehow, he just knew that Holsley’s weight had shattered the side table lying in pieces below. He smiled. That must have hurt. Roland bound down the stairs urgently and caught a sudden whiff of something in the air.

He raised an eyebrow — was that catmint?

He knew the smell of it from the Underside, where it grew as frequently as weeds. It was probably why there were so many tabbies down there, too.

BANG!

Roland put some gumption in his step.

There was no mistaking the sound of doors being thrown off their hinges. He stopped at the end of a long corridor, almost in disbelief. The cat was no longer a house cat. It had surpassed panther-sized, horse-sized, and even elephant-sized. The thing was huge. It couldn’t even fit through the doors without struggling.

‘Whoa,’ he mumbled.

Then, he heard Holsley’s wail and sprang into action.

The oversized kitten leapt into the room, eyes set on the bard, but before it could attack, Roland leapt onto it.

With a running jump, he ascended onto its back, digging his only good hand into the cat’s fur. The lute on his back twanged nervously, and he wished, not for the first time, that his other hand wasn’t made of stone.

The cat ignored Holsley and bucked wildly in an attempt to get him off. As Roland spun about the room, desperately clinging to its fur, he caught Holsley out of the corner of his eye. The bard stood next to a winch tied with a rope that suspended the chandelier above him. Holsley had a plan, but it was clear he had a problem.

‘I need something to cut the rope!’ he shouted at the rogue.

Of course, Roland had the very thing.

He pinched his thighs tight at the back of the cat’s neck as it hissed and clawed at him. Fortunately, he was in that sweet spot that was oh-so-hard to reach. With his good hand, he pulled out his spare dagger and threw it with the precision of a seasoned expert. It sailed across the room and stuck into the wall next to Holsley’s head.

‘I’ll get it into position!’ Roland cried. ‘Get ready!’

Holsley nodded.

This was so much more difficult with only one hand. As the cat bawled and hissed, Roland shuffle jumped up its neck and onto its head. He climbed down into a position between its eyes, resting his legs upon its nose. It shook its head to bat him off. He grabbed its whiskers, dangling from them, and pulled hard. The gargantuan feline took a few involuntarily steps forward, putting itself in a prime position.

‘Cut it!’ Roland yelled.

The chandelier came down with a mighty crash. Glass teardrops shattered instantly, covering the floor in a dangerous layer of broken glass. The cat, to the boys’ surprise, remained unharmed. The chandelier had come down to its immediate left and had missed the feline by barely a few feet, leaving it unharmed.

It threw Roland off its face, but he was too graceful to simply hit the ground. The rogue skilfully rotated in the air and stylishly found his feet on the ground below.

‘Whoa, was that a backflip!?’ Holsley exclaimed. ‘That was awesome.’

‘Thanks.’ Roland smiled as he pulled off the lute and tossed it in Holsley’s direction. ‘The sleeping spell. Put it to sleep.’

Holsley fumbled the lute in his hands.

‘I-I can’t!?’ he replied.

‘I believe in you, Holly.’ Roland waved his arms, desperately trying to get the cat’s attention. ‘Hey, puffball, come and get me!’

No, Holsley had a better idea.

The rogue ducked behind the bookcases as the cat savagely swiped at him.

‘Okay,’ Holsley breathed, putting his fingers to the task. He played the strings, skillfully and efficiently, allowing the magic of the redrose lute to guide him. Immediately, the cat’s attention came upon him, drawn in by the musical notes he was plucking.

It hissed but didn’t lash out. A few seconds later, Holsley stopped, the spell finished and stared up awkwardly at the giant creature.

‘Uh, hello?’

‘Oh, can you understand me?’ The cat straightened in surprise. ‘Well, this is unexpected.’

‘Does that mean you won’t kill me?’

‘Well, no,’ the cat sang. ‘You are a little mouse trapped in the corner, and I do so enjoy eating little mice. Especially big fat juicy ones like you.’

‘Wait,’ Holsley said, holding up his hands. Honestly, he was just happy the spell had worked. ‘You don’t want to eat me. I’d be a poor meal. Surely you want to go for something tastier?’

‘Oh, such as?’ The cat preened.

‘Good question.’ Holsley hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘Tell you what. You’re massive. Huge. You could eat anyone in this keep if you wanted to.’

‘Oh, you poor little thing.’ The cat laughed, an almost human laugh that was uncanny to hear from its fur-covered mouth. ‘My mistress has named you. Now, you must die. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Would you at least tell me your name?’ asked Holsley. ‘Seems like the decent thing to do since you know mine.’

‘Of course.’ The cat straightened up proudly. ‘You are about to be disembowelled, gutted, and otherwise torn apart by none other than the majestic Tiacat the First, Feline of Tressa and Second-in-Command for the city. For that is my name and title, little mouse.’

‘Nice to meet you, Tiacat.’

‘Now, I’ll allow you some last words because I’m such a good sport.’ Tiacat went down low, preparing to pound. ‘Do you have any, little mouse? Make it quick, I’m starving.’

‘Darn it. Isn’t it just the luck?’ Holsley shrugged and smiled coyly. ‘I can’t think of any good book-related puns.’

‘What on earth do you m—?’

The cat let out a yowl as the overhead rowboat fell on top of it.