Chapter One
The dusk wrapped its arms around the city like spider silk, unearthly
fingers stirring the twilight dust of past endeavors, forgotten promises, lost dreams.
Somewhere, a sigh heaved, a cry hushed,and the soft swell of atonement faded to
nothingness. Night falls on Paradise City; night falls like sleep over a city wrapped
deep in the blanket of dream.
Above me, muddy orange skies drown out stars. Its been so long
since I've seen stars, I wonder why I still look for them. A lost
pilgrimage, I supposed. Paradise City is a pilgrimage in itself;
so many have come to this city hoping to find what the seek. I always
paused to wonder whether it was Paradise lost or found.
But the world is filled with empty questions, and the stillness
of the night is only a momentary hush. Before me, the wide, round
doors of city hall loom like the fortress they were built to portray.
Inside these walls, they say, is the heart of the city. They're
wrong, of course. But how can you explain to one who has never
felt the beating within their own chest how to find it in another's?
They're all business people. Well, so am I. I'm apart of them,
apart of the facade of arteries and capillaries, minions scrambling
through the mainstream to support a structure that is no more the
back bone then it is the heart. We are content in our ignorance.
They are, at least, in thier's.
I, however, am not. Were I, I reason slowly, I would not be here
at these great doors. The irony is as sweet and sharp as steel. I let myself in.
"Order! Order!" the chairman barks. He barks, literally, because
he is a dog. Most of them here are dogs. Dogs run the city; they
are the government, the police, the doctors, the social workers.
They do it well. They are obedient, loyal, clever; they are, after all, dogs.
Not everyone would believe so. The cats don't; then again, the
cats don't believe in much of anything. Or maybe what it is they
believe we have yet to understand. One must never out rule one's
opponent on the grounds of ignorance. We, on the other hand, view
both cats and dogs as two sides of the same street. We are ponies,
the equine, and are to feline what we are to canine, as they are
to each other - the same, only slightly different. Brought out,
perhaps, at no better time then a counsel meeting.
"Fashionably late, I presume?"
If blue swade shoes were a horse, he was lucky; very Lucky. His
forelock was swept off his face, but an unruly wisp protruded beneath
the rim of his hat. He should have removed the hat, I frowned slightly.
With the grace of a stallion fresh from the meadow, Lucky swept
me up on the sleeve of his pinstriped suit. "Let me guess... social
call. You were late because your pressing social engagements clung
to you like a wet rag and forbade you to leave their presence...
wait, no, you don't have a social life. I know! At the office...
there you sat, so engrossed in your work, trying to cram that extra
hour into the day, you forgot the time! Mmm, no, you never forget
the times when I'm late. You weren't convorting with some mysterious stallion, were you?"
"Lucky," I smiled wanningly. He relaxed his grip, and I slipped
free, unruffled, sizing up my partner with a dignified glare. As
a social companion, a title to which I still used with some duress,
Lucky was a little trying. But as a business associate none were
better then he; a bright young horse with a strong sense of justice,
his head and heart in the right place. That is, when they weren't distracted by a pretty mane...
Lucky and I had been coworkers for the last two years, one year
at the firm where we had both tasted the thrill of the chase, and
a year at The Eye, Private Detective Agency. Lucky and I were the Detectives.
I believe here would also be a wise point to state, unequivocally
and completely, that Lucky and I are business partners; nothing
less, and nothing more. Besides, becoming involved with a coworker
is still the private sector's number one faux pa. Nor, I add clearly, is it of any interest.
Meanwhile, Lucky has found us a seat in the side wings where the
reporters sit. I hate reporters. Literary buzzards is a more accurate
term. They wait, note pads poised, ready to pounce. And they're
always cutting in, which makes a conference very difficult to follow.
"What did I miss?" I whisper.
"Not much," Lucky shrugs. "The dogs have been going on about the
Pride. They've been at it for hours."
"Mmm," I closed my eyes. "Just as I expected. I shouldn't have
bothered coming. There isn't anything new going to happen."
"The Baroness is here," Lucky said.
I opened my eyes. "Where?"
"That would be the animal," his head nodded to the balcony.
That was news. The Baroness never went to town meetings unless
something was going to happen. Usually, it was the Baroness who
caused it to do so. As the city's richest patron it allowed such privileges.
"I'd better look into this." I was already on my feet and shuffling
through the crowed wings before Lucky had chance to query. Into
the main lobby again, I was searching the sea of heads when a dark
paw placed itself lightly on my shoulder.
"Gotcha!"
"Brandon!" I was startled. The part-german shepherd of a mongrel
was smiling widely, his tail wagging beneath his long officer's
coat. "I hardly consider that proper decorum with a lady," I spoke levelly.
"I hardly consider you a lady," he shrugged. He meant it in all
the best possible ways; Brandon and I were old chums. Simply, he
was a dog, and therefore social delicacy was a bit lost on him.
"You here with that cud-chewing partner of yours?"
"She most certainly is," Lucky had arrived through the crowd. (I
closed my eyes) "Evening, Brandon."
"Lucky," he bobbed his head curtly enough, but the tail had stilled.
I stepped between them, drawing the focus back to the hall. "Brandon,
do you know why the Baroness is here?"
He paused, his wide perked ears alert to shuffling of bodies that
filled the great hall. He nodded slowly, mentioning Lucky and I
to follow. He started at a causal pace through the magnificent
halls of the opening lobby. "It's the buzz," he spoke causally.
"Now that old Aron has spent his ninth life, new orders have unfurled in the underworld."
"That I know," I told him impatiently.
"Yeah; but did you know Ariel is the new Queen of the Pride?"
He stopped, and watched my face. He got his answer. He smiled.
"It just reached the streets a day ago. One of the dogs on the
beat stumbled upon it most unwittingly; he lived," he added, as an after thought.
"Ariel... that seems to ring a bell," Lucky mused. "Was she one of the uptown cats?"
"You could say that; she worked out of West Paradise. Certainly was no stranger to the law."
"Cats," Lucky retorted. "They're all the same."
Brandon shrugged. "All spots and stripes to me."
"Really, you two," I admonished lightly. I moved a few steps forward,
chin on hoof. "If the Pride has a new leader, it would make sense
then, that the city is entering a period of social and economical
unrest," I began slowly. "Thus, those who abide by the law might
suddenly feel they are imprisoned by it, in this time of unrest.
I would never suspect the Baroness of being the city's most law abiding citizen, however."
"She owns half the city!" Lucky laughed. "What does she need to break the law for?"
"Laws are made through allegiances, Lucky; if she nolonger has
support of the Pride, who's to say she won't fall victim to them?"
"And the Baroness would just hate to loose a penny of her hard
earned fortune," Brandon smiled. "Thus, the meeting.
I thought about it some more, then shook my head. "Let's get back to the Hall," I said.
Once again inside, little had changed. Dogs barked from opposite
sides of the room, the echoing of their voices bouncing over and
over. The chairman stood pounding his gavel on the block, barking
for order. At last it came. The Police Chief, a great wolfhound
that seemed bristled with years stepped up to the podium.
"Citizens of Paradise," he began gruffly. "Tonight we shall go
to sleep beneath a vast new darkness. But before you do, I ask you
to think of a time when you have ever gone to sleep without knowing
what lies at the end of that dark street. And I will tell you that,
as always, it is the officers of the city who have kept you safe,
and shall continue to keep all the people of this city safe through
another dark night. I have complete confidence in my dogs, a confidence
earned and displayed by many years of peace, order, and good government.
Nothing in Paradise city is going to change."
There was silence in the hall for just a moment. And then it began,
a shallow clapping, until it built like a wave and overflowed into
the echoing cavity of the building. When it had died away, one
remained clapping still. She had risen to her feet, and as she
stood gazing over the crowd from her balcony, all eyes below had turned.
"Well done," she spoke evenly. "Well done indeed. I hope that is a promise you intend to keep."
"Baroness," the Chief removed his hat. "I assure you, my dogs will
keep this city running smoothly. The Pride--"
"Will do whatever they bloody well please. Ariel is no cute kitty;
she's only just begun." Polished hooves rested on the mahogany
banister, and the flame-coloured mane was curled and fitted beneath
the vale of her chapeau. She smiled, slyly, slowly, more like a
snake then a animal that was meant to run wild across a wide meadow
and stir the dust of the world up with her hooves. "Are you sure your dogs are up to the task?"
A low rumbling had begun again in the crowd, and the chief stood
at his podium, hat clenched between his paws and twisting. "My lady,"
he spoke slowly. "I have been chief of the town for 35 years--"
"Dog years," someone in the crowd hissed, and there was hushed tittering.
The Chief began again. "My lady, there has always been order in
Paradise City. That will not change." And the old dog bowed his
head, and slipped back into the shadows.
"That was harsh," Brandon shook his head. "The chief's a good
dog; if anyone can keep the Pride in check, it's him."
The crowd had begun to disperse, and the three of us ducked to
a side exit to avoid the flood of reporters that lay in ambush on
the front steps. Outside the night was cool and still, just as I had left it.
"Where are you headed?" Brandon asked.
"The office, home," I replied firmly. "I have filing to do before the morning."
"I thought that's what you have a secretary for."
Lucky chuckled a little here. "Twink's more a sympathy case then
a secretary. Tries hard, means well, but Siren here has re-invented
the alphabet as far as the filing system is concerned."
"There is nothing wrong with my filing system," I frowned. "Nor,
I might add, would it kill you to do a little paperwork yourself."
Lucky put his hooves to his heart in a mocking gesture. "Oh, you
sting... and then you re-file." He winked.
I narrowed my eyes, taking a step toward Centre Street in deliberance.
Brandon stood, tail wagging ever so slightly. "Why don't you meet
me at Pye's later tonight," he grinned. "Might be able to enlighten
you a bit more. Oh, and of course you're welcomed to come along too," he turned to Lucky.
But the blue stallion shook his head. "Sorry, got things of my
own to take care of; I should really be off," he shrugged, and with a nod of his head was away.
Moths fluttered in the lamp light, causing the shadows to jostle
and dance. Brandon stood where he was, smiling at me. At last
I heaved a sigh, the deep, wistful sigh of defeat. "Very well; I be there around nine thirty."
* * *
I pulled the door shut behind me, hearing the rattle of the signs
as they clanked from the movement, remembering too late to hold
them still. Then I realized that Jade probably wasn't even home,
and even if she was, surly wouldn't be asleep this early. I heaved
another defeated sigh, and let that package of papers I held slump onto the desk.
"Oh, Siren, is that you?"
I bolted upright. Was it...? No, it couldn't... yes, it was.
"Great Auntie Blossom!" I forced the smile.
The ancient purple pony didn't look a wink over fifty, and though
her hair was always a slightly different shade of purple, she would
never admit to dyeing it. Great Aunt Blossom wouldn't admit to
much of anything, save a little arthritis in her left knee and a
fondness for biscuits. Actually, she rarely talked about her self,
which, in light of some of the other great aunties, was not such
a bad thing, expect when one realized this was only because she
never stopped talking about everyone else. Namely, if you were
caught standing in front of her, you.
"What are you doing here?" I continued to smile bravely. "Did you see Jade?"
"I did," she hobbled over to the arm chair, settling her self down
with cane in one hoof, plate of cookies in the other. "Had to rush
off to an important meeting, she said. Ah, you fillies these days...
always rushing about with this, that, or the other thing.... in
my days, we never went pill-nill over every little thing... but
that was back in the country. You should all move back to the country;
the city is not a proper place for a young pony."
"Auntie, some of us do like it here," I had begun to file the papers
into their appropriate slots. One, a newspaper article about a
the young scientist, Rocket, coming to the city later that month.
He was supposed to be working on the secretive Atom Project, that
is, nuclear power. Not a good time for such a convention, with
the Pride in questioning, I thought. I took the paper, and filed
it under "U" for upcoming events, and wondered what the hell Lucky
found so weird about my system.
"Where is Lucky?" Auntie Blossom queried.
My arms went limp, and I rolled the filing drawer back into the
wall. "He had to meet some friends this evening, I think he said."
"You should get out more," Blossom continued. I cringed. It was
coming. "Lucky, he is a fine young pony. Very good lines. You
should see to him before some other young filly does."
"Auntie, Lucky and I are just friends. Besides, I have a good
job; I am a career pony. I don't have the time for boyfriends or families or foals."
"Tsk; so you say now while you are young and beautiful. Looks fade."
"Brains don't."
"Aye, you haven't had to keep a conversation with Auntie Bubbles for a while, now have you?"
I released a breath between pursed lips, looked at the clock and
realized I would be late. I shuffled through my desk drawer for my change purse.
"Off to a meeting?" Blossom surmised, a little sadly.
Defeated on all fronts. I turned, at last crossing over to plop
into the chair beside her. "I have a to go out in a little while.
I said I'd meet Brandon at nine thirty."
"Brandon...?"
"The police officer, Auntie." "The dog?"
"Yes, the dog. A very good dog."
Blossom said nothing to this only because the silence spoke volumes;
volume upon epic volume of the dismay she felt would become of her
young grandfillies. "Jade is dating a nice stallion from the office,"
I began hopefully. "I can't remember his name, but I do believe
they are quite serious about one another."
"I am not worried about Jade," Blossom munched her cookies.
"And you don't need to worry about me. I can take care of myself."
"You young ponies," Blossom sighed. "All the same, every last
one of you. Now be a dear and fetch the water bottle; auntie's knee is acting up again."
* *
It was a quarter to ten when I paid the cabby outside the small,
bright pub at the corner of Right and Fleabane. The Pye in the
Sky it was called, if I remember correctly, because as a kit, Pye
could never remember the words to "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star".
The confusion arose in the fourth verse, where he was never sure
it if was a diamond in the sky, or a cherry in a pie, and slowly,
the song morfed into a confusing ditty about a pie in the sky that
puzzled the youth to no end. Being named Pywackit, which so conveniently
shorted to Pye, only added to the mystique, so when he opened his
little pub five years ago, no more fitting a name was to be had.
Plus, it was always a great conversation starter.
Inside, Brandon was at the bar, no longer in uniform but still
wearing his coat. This gave no real indication to how long he'd
been there, because Brandon and his trench coat were rarely seen
apart. Behind the counter, Pye stood with the soda hose, his clean
white vest and red bowtie the usual uniform. By the time I reached
the offered stool, my gin and tonic was already at my place. "Thanks, Pye, I really needed that."
"Do I sense the dreary aftermath of Auntie Blossom?" His whiskers
twitched, and feline perception was darn eerie at times. But the
grey tom merely gave me a wink, and dropped another shot of gin into my glass. "On the house."
"Pye, you spoil us, you know that," Brandon raised his glass,
a solom oath before he drank, "I wish all cats were like you."
"Hardly; if so, then the entire police force would spend the better
lot of there time half-liquored. Then see how well that'd do."
The bartender smiled mesuredly, then moved away to serve another patron.
Brandon set the glass down, reached out and patted my hoof with
his furry paw. "There, there, what did old Blossom say this time?
Brandy will make it all better for you..."
"Really, Brandon, you're a mooch when you've been drinking." I
let my shoulders relax a little, and took as sip of the gin. I
was never sure if I actually liked the drink, it was really the
only thing I remembered when it came time to order. That was how
it became my regular, and so I'd grown used to it, I suppose. "You
were going to tell me more about the Pride," I reminded gently.
He straighten, nodded, and beckoned I lean closer. "It's just the
word of the streets, mind you," he whispered, "and dark streets
have a lot of secrets they're telling nobody. But Ariel is not
a newcomer to the streets; she's been involved with gang work since
she was a kit. She already has an outstanding criminal record, if
you catch my drift, even before she took over the Pride. The rumors
have it, she killed Aron; or, her henchmen did. It was a hostile takeover."
"I see," I mused slowly. "That means there's a lot of squabbling in the inner ranks."
"Safe bet," he nodded. "She has the backing of Lucifera, though,
we know that much. Her cause will be well funded."
"Lucifera is nut case."
"Name me a cat that isn't."
"Ah hem," Pye had his back to us, and was stacking stemware, but
I saw him wink as he strode away. Pye was a big enough cat not
to be bothered by a dog's remark, especially one with three empty glasses to his name.
"Lucifera may be a senile old widow, but has only slightly less
of a fortune then the Baroness."
"Seven times a widow, if I remember correctly."
"Uh huh... anyway, Ariel has been rounding up the strays from every
corner of the city. There's a war brewing."
"When isn't there," I shook my head. "How lucky it must be to
be a simple, normal citizen and never know a wink about what happening just beyond the alleyway."
"Dog's life," Brandon grinned.
"And what is the Dog Father's stand on all of this?" I asked lightly.
Brandon shrugged. "The Dog Father is the biggest there is. He's got nothing to worry about."
Ah, the ignorent bliss of dogs, too... To know thy master, and
know that thy master knows no wrong...
Pywackit returned, seeing our glasses has dropped dangerously low.
"Another round?" he asked discreetly.
"Lay it here," Brandon slammed the empty on the counter, wiping
the froth from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Say, Pye...
know anything about cat-queen Ariel?"
"Of course," Pye answered levelly. "I am a cat, therefore I know
every intimate detail of every other cat in the city."
"The two of you," I admonished, and shook my head to the offered
gin. "I should really be getting home a decent hour."
Brandon nodded in acceptance, then excused himself for a moment,
while Pye called after him with some reference to a potted orange
tree he had growing in the lounge. Then he went back to drying glasses;
the bar was pretty quiet in the midweek. "You know," he began slowly.
I raised my head, setting at last the empty glass before me. "The
only way I've managed to stay afloat all these years is because
I eschew politics like a flea bath. Not too many cats have straight businesses in this town."
"Not to many dogs, either," I reminded, to be fair.
"I was never a part of the underworld, and for that I'm glad; some
cats hold that against me." He shrugged, and went back to putting
the glasses away. "There are a lot of new faces in the neighbourhood," he said at last.
"Strays?" I straightened.
He only shrugged again. "Do you want me to call you a cab?"
"No, that's fine; it's a nice evening, and I think I'd like to walk."
"Are you sure it's safe for a filly to out this late all by herself?"
It was said mostly in jest, but there was a genuine concern at its
base. I smiled at him warmly, and shook my head.
"I be fine, Pye; do let Brandon know I'll call him in the morning."
"Of course you'll be fine," he smiled. "At this point, I worry
more about myself locked up with that dog-eared mutt of yours; I
tell you, the things I do to make a dollar."
The chimes jingled as I shut the door, stepping back into the
night. Brandon and Pye were like the archetypicle cat and dog,
and yet they'd never in a million years admit how fond they were of the other.
I was glad to be in the open air again, because the choked air
of the taverns played havoc on my voice. Not that I'd sung in years.
Not that I would ever choose to sing again. Yet sometimes, alone
on the quiets streets, there was a stirring inside me. A small
voice, an awakening, that only arose when the streetlight fluttered
and moon was high. All around me the sleeping city weeped and cried,
laughed and sighed, and the music of the night filled the silence
with its trembling harmony. Who could hear this music but the night
animals? Sometimes I envied cats for this, and envied dogs when
they gathered on the solstice to sing their hymns to the moon.
The song echoed through the darkness, through the sleeping streets,
and maybe, just maybe, if I sung now, no-one would hear-- "Hey there, stranger."
I knew it was Lucky before I turned, and when I saw him, relief
washed over me. He was standing under the pool of light, leaning
on the lamp post, every bit as showing of the character he put himself
out to be. A horse who was perfect gentleman, opening doors for
the needy and rescuing damsels from the dark streets. It was charming, if blastedly annoying.
"Have fun with that water-hound of yours?"
"Lucky, be nice," I sighed, falling into step beside him. "I can't
see how it could possible hurt you if acted like you liked Brandon.
If it wasn't for him, half of our cases would be nowhere, and the
other half wouldn't have even started. So you could give him credit, for once."
Lucky was silent for a long moment. "Sorry," he finally said.
We walked on, side by side, the street lights measuring the distance
with their pools of light. "What did he have to say?" at last he asked.
"More about the Ariel, and the Pride. She's bringing strays into the middle city."
"How does that effect us?"
"I don't know yet."
"And the Baroness...?"
There was a long silence. Lucky turned, trying to catch my gaze
beneath the shadows. "I never liked the Baroness," I said.
"She's okay, I guess," he tossed his head. "I've never met her,
not really. I was thinking, perhaps we ought to drop in on her,
see if we can't... well, offer our services. I betcha she pays really well."
"We could do that," I did agree it was a good idea; after all,
business, before the uprising of the Pride had been slow. "There's
just something here in the mess of things I don't like, and I can't put my hoof on what it is."
Lucky reached out, and put an arm around me. "You're just tired.
Besides, you're a detective. It's your job to feel there's something
in the thick of it that's amiss. However, once in a while, a dark
alley is," --he pause, as we came to stop by one such alley-- "just a dark alley."
And that was when the cat jumped out of the bag, or in this case, the dark alley.
"Meow!" It was a tawny coloured kitten with darker stripes along her sides
that made it impossible to tell which was pigment and which dirt.
The scrap of a dress she was wearing was tattered and torn, and
her tabby coat was ungroomed. Her eye were deep green, like mine.
She had leapt from the alley, stumbling on the ground before us,
and then threw her paws upon Lucky's knees.
"Gwa!" Lucky leapt back. "It's a --a cat!"
"It's just a kitten," I corrected, as the girl couldn't have been
much older then twelve. "Where did you come from?" I asked.
"No where," she purred hopefully, still sitting on the ground,
rubbing her head on Lucky's leg.
"Stop that!" Lucky cried. "What are you doing here?!"
"Nothing," she answered.
"What you're name?"
"I dunno."
Lucky looked at me, perplexity written on his face. I smiled;
it wasn't often I won a chance to see the cool, swauve Lucky being
completely undone. I turned to the forlorn mess of a cat, and crouched down to its level.
"What were you doing in that alley?" I asked again, gently.
The kitten shrugged, grooming a wiry whisker into place that was
really a lost cause on the whole. "Sleepin'" she said.
"Sleeping!" Lucky sputtered. "Then why'd the heck you come belting out here?!"
"Had a bad dream," she answered frankly.
"You don't know your name?" I tried again.
She shook her head.
"What did you mother call you?" Lucky asked, exasperated.
"Scat," she said.
I rose to my feet, and Lucky just stood there, arms fluttering
at his sides, but hadn't moved, mostly because the kitten was on
his foot. "Well," I began, "there's only one thing we can do..."
"Call the pound?" he frowned.
"We'll take her home. She need a bath and a hot meal."
The kitten's eyes lit up at my worlds, and she leapt to her feet,
throwing her scrawny arms around Lucky's middle. "I like you," she purred happily.
"Me? Me? what did I do?! H- hey, wait... Siren! This... this is your fault!"
"Come on, this way," I smiled in answer, and we must have made
an odd trio, a stallion, a filly, and one small cat, as we went our way through the darkness.
To Be Continued...
