Catland - a humorous fantasy

Chapter Twenty-One: The Black Curtain

"His Lordship Ambassador Thumbledramp the Great!"

The herald didn't even crack a smile as he shouted the name, which Greg thought was pretty impressive.  It must be something they covered in Herald School.

Leopold and Millicent had already been announced, and Greg hurried after them as they strode down the long, rich carpet that ran the length of the High Hall.  The room was relatively narrow, but imposingly long and vertiginously high-ceilinged.  Far above them, carved arches of white marble glowed in the light from the high-set windows; below, the hall was bathed in shadow, and the torches on the walls made the whole room flicker and pulse with a light that was warm and lurid and alive.

Along the walls to their right and left, the nobles of the kingdom were ranked amid three tiers of benches, paws clasped meekly in front of them as they stood and watched the envoys pass.  Ahead, a magnificent dais of carved wood rose loftily at the far end of the hall, with windows of colored glass looming behind it, clothing it in a haphazard pattern of shattered rainbows.  The throne sat in the midst of the varicolored splotches of light, grand and serene, the confident heart of the whole soaring, resplendent hall.

At least, Greg assumed it was the throne.  It was a little hard to tell, with that thick black curtain around it.  The curtain hung from a looped bronze rail, for all the world like a shower curtain.  It was quite a nice curtain—velvet, probably—but there was still something ridiculous about it.  If it was meant to convey a dark and sobering sense of mystery, it had conspicuously failed.

As they neared the throne, Greg saw Glimmerind off to one side, standing at the foot of the dais, beaming at them from behind his long, slicked whiskers.  The sight of the tall courtier-cat made Greg feel disastrously exposed.  Glimmerind had a way of looking at you as if he had already guessed all your innermost secrets, and wanted you to know that he would keep them to himself—at least for now.  Greg wondered if he had practiced that look in the mirror before perfecting it.  He had no doubt it was a skill that came in pretty handy at court.

A few feet away from the base of the dais, Leopold and Millicent stopped, so Greg stopped too.  Glimmerind bowed low and stepped in front of them.  "Beauteous Collabraxidol.  Brave Millicent.  Mighty Thumbledramp.  It is my honor to welcome you into the presence of His Most Holy Highness, the Glorious King of Catland.  His Highness wishes me to convey how pleased he is that you have seen fit to honor us with your presence.  He was beginning to fear you had come all this way only to take in the wonders of the Sump."

Well, that wasn't very subtle, Greg thought.  Glimmerind had obviously had them followed—and he wanted them to know he had had them followed.  As usual, his aim was to make you spend time and effort trying to guess how much he knew and what he was going to do about it.  The best way to deal with people like that was generally to ignore them, and Greg had no doubt that Leopold and Millicent were wise enough to—

"Spying on us, is it, you wretched simpering scum?"

Millicent had obviously chosen a different tactic.  Greg cringed.  Glimmerind smiled.

"Only looking after your safety, my dear Lady Millicent.  This city is home to a thousand dangers, you know.  Even your fearsome friend the Gray Death is wise enough to watch his back."

Once again he was baiting a trap, and Greg could see that Millicent was getting ready to bull her way right into it.  Impulsively, he decided to forestall her.  He stepped forward, past the tall, preening figure of Glimmerind, and dropped to one knee facing the dais.

"Your Excellency.  Er, Majesty.  Highness.  Your Kingly Kingness.  Your Gracious Grace.  I, Thumbledramp the Great of the Eastern Kingdoms, wish to offer you my ... solemn allegiance.  I bow before your majesty, Your Majesty.  Er ... forever and ever, amen."

That was pretty good, Greg thought.  He was really getting the hang of this.

The curtain around the throne did not stir.  No voice, no sound, issued from it.  The whole vast chamber was filled with silence.  Greg, still kneeling, began to feel silly.

Glimmerind touched Greg gently on the shoulder.  "His Highness thanks you for your pledge," he intoned, "but he wishes me to assure you that such formalities are quite superfluous.  His Highness is not that sad sort of king who thrives on ceremony.  He begs you to state your business plainly, that he may all the sooner grant you what you have come here to seek."

Greg felt a grim and growing certainty that there was no one on that throne at all.  This whole "new king" business was only a ploy stage-managed by Glimmerind to conceal his own ruthless bid for power.  Glimmerind had betrayed the old king, ordered his death, and replaced him with a mythical figure who conveniently commanded whatever Glimmerind wished him to command.  As he got to his feet, Greg felt a sudden, boiling rage that made speech quite impossible.  Glimmerind watched him with mild and expectant eyes.

"I quite understand your reluctance to speak up," pursued Glimmerind, when it became clear that Greg was not about to break the silence.  "Matters such as these are not for the ears of any ordinary noble.  My lords!" he cried, raising his voice sharply.  "Be so good as to vacate this chamber.  His Highness would confer with these foreigners alone."

A great rustling and shuffling followed, as the nobles detached themselves from their positions among the benches and made their slow, shambling way to the exit.  None of them spoke, or yawned, or smiled.  Once again, Greg was struck by how cowed and docile they seemed, with none of the haughty pride or imperious languor that the word "noble" evoked in his mind.  He was puzzling over this when one of the retreating noblecats caught his eye.  Glimmerind had taken hold of Leopold's paw and was leading him closer to the foot of the dais, so for a brief moment there was no one to observe the glance that was exchanged between Greg and this anonymous cat.  The cat's eyes were wide and sad.  When he was sure that Greg was watching, he swiftly opened his mouth, closed it again just as rapidly, and turned to follow the other nobles out the door.

It had been only the briefest of glimpses, but Greg had seen.  He had seen, and his mind boggled, and his blood ran cold, and his heart pounded wildly.  Suddenly he understood what they had seen and heard at the Sump.  He understood everything—well, almost everything—and he fervently wished he did not understand.

No teeth.  The cat had no teeth.  Bare red gums had gaped at Greg from the inside of its hideous denuded mouth.  The cat had no teeth—and it wasn't alone.  None of the noblecats, Greg felt sure, had teeth.

This explained the eerie silence of the nobles—and much of their docility, too.  They had been, quite literally, defanged.  But why?  Merely as an exercise of power?  As proof of their servility?  This seemed wildly cruel.  What kind of monster would exact such a toll from his own people?  What kind of king would—

Greg looked up at the curtain around the throne.  He had to know.  He simply had to know.

Glimmerind was talking to Leopold.  The tall courtier cat was frowning.  "Yes, yes, I understand," he was saying, a little impatiently.  "But you must know you can speak freely in front of me.  I am, after all, the king's most trusted advisor—as I was to his predecessor before him.  Anything you can say to him, you can most certainly—"

Greg didn't hear any more.  He was already bounding up the steps of the dais, up toward the looming black of the velvet curtain, the sheen of it rippling and pulsing in the torchlight, calling to him, promising him answers, promising peace and fulfillment and an end to troubles, an end to grief, an end to endless questioning—if only he could reach it, if only he could fling back that curtain and behold, once and for all, the face of the truth.  He knew it was there.  He knew the truth was waiting.  It was right behind that curtain, and all he had to do was pull it back and—

Greg reached the curtain.  He pulled it back.  He beheld the truth.  And the truth was more terrible than anything he had ever dreamed.